Read Online Undead and Unreturnable by MaryJanice Davidson - Free Book Online
Authors: MaryJanice Davidson
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You are getting
way
overinvolved in this. Do you obsessively plan our dates? Not that we've ever actually been on a date…"
"Shut up, Betsy. For just this one time, it's about me. Go on, Eric."
"So it must be something you both like, that will not be terribly expensive, and that will encourage him to see you again in a social capacity, but not be too intimidating or force a false sense of intimacy."
I hitched up an imaginary belt. "That's a tall order, sheriff."
"Dinner anywhere decent is out. So is coming back here for a drink; this house definitely sends a message. Your idea of fast food is Red Lobster, so that lets out activities that are, ah, middle class. Which means…"
Jess waited. I waited. What the hell, I was curious. He could write a book. Nobody was good at dating. Everybody liked advice about it.
"Coffee and dessert at Nikola's ," he decided after a moment's thought. "The coffee is first-rate, the food is excellent, it won't be terribly expensive if you don't eat a full meal, and the biscotti is homemade."
" Oooooooh . Sinclair, you are
it
."
"Yes," he replied smugly.
"I am so scared right now," I said.
Chapter 14
Before I could take Sinclair aside and ream him out for… well, everything, and before I could take Jess aside and
get
the real scoop, the doorbell rang.
"Jessica, I would very much like to continue this conversation," he said, "but I must ask you to excuse us."
" Oooooh ," she replied. "Vampire biz, huh?" The evening must be one shock after another, because I hadn't heard this many ooooohs in… ever. "Who is it?"
"No one," he said calmly, "I wish you to meet." He inclined his head toward the door to the stairs. "If you please."
I didn't know what to say, and I could tell Jessica didn't, either. After an awkward couple of seconds, she shrugged and trotted out.
"Scream at me for that," he said, walking toward the front door, "later."
I was sort of terrified to see who it was, and as usual, my imagination ran away from me, because it was a perfectly nice-looking (beautiful, really) older woman. She looked like a librarian in her lilac blouse, gray skirt, sensible panty hose, and black pumps. They were leather and unscuffed .
She herself looked to be in her fifties, with black hair streaked with silver, and a handful of laugh lines in the corner of both eyes.
Her eyes.
There was something weird about her eyes. Sinclair had eyes like that, sometimes. When he was pissed at what was going on (read: other vampires trying to kill me), his eyes went like that. They were so black you couldn't see into them, like those sunglasses state troopers wear. You looked in and—it's hard to explain—you only saw yourself. Most times I could see his softer side, his love and worry for me, his amusement, the good stuff. And the times I couldn't see those things, I usually had my hands too full to worry about it.
I stared at her, a little scared, and she bowed and said something in (I think) rapid French.
Sinclair gave her a smile that looked 85 percent real. "Good evening, Marjorie."
"Your Majesties."
"It's good to see you again."
"And you, Sir."
Sinclair bent and kissed her hand, European style, but before anybody could kiss mine, I stuck it out to be shook. She did, smiling at me, and I almost dropped her hand. She was cold, which I expected, and I couldn't see anything in her eyes but me, which I did not.
An old one, I decided. A vampire who has seen absolutely everything—
everything
. And doesn't give a ripe shit anymore. About anything. I pitied them as much as I feared them. And I felt pretty sorry for them.
"It's nice to meet you," I lied.
She inclined her head. "Majesty. We have met before."
"No, we haven't." I'd never have forgotten those eyes. Not even Nostro had eyes like those. No, we hadn't met. And after today, I hoped we never would
way
overinvolved in this. Do you obsessively plan our dates? Not that we've ever actually been on a date…"
"Shut up, Betsy. For just this one time, it's about me. Go on, Eric."
"So it must be something you both like, that will not be terribly expensive, and that will encourage him to see you again in a social capacity, but not be too intimidating or force a false sense of intimacy."
I hitched up an imaginary belt. "That's a tall order, sheriff."
"Dinner anywhere decent is out. So is coming back here for a drink; this house definitely sends a message. Your idea of fast food is Red Lobster, so that lets out activities that are, ah, middle class. Which means…"
Jess waited. I waited. What the hell, I was curious. He could write a book. Nobody was good at dating. Everybody liked advice about it.
"Coffee and dessert at Nikola's ," he decided after a moment's thought. "The coffee is first-rate, the food is excellent, it won't be terribly expensive if you don't eat a full meal, and the biscotti is homemade."
" Oooooooh . Sinclair, you are
it
."
"Yes," he replied smugly.
"I am so scared right now," I said.
Chapter 14
Before I could take Sinclair aside and ream him out for… well, everything, and before I could take Jess aside and
get
the real scoop, the doorbell rang.
"Jessica, I would very much like to continue this conversation," he said, "but I must ask you to excuse us."
" Oooooh ," she replied. "Vampire biz, huh?" The evening must be one shock after another, because I hadn't heard this many ooooohs in… ever. "Who is it?"
"No one," he said calmly, "I wish you to meet." He inclined his head toward the door to the stairs. "If you please."
I didn't know what to say, and I could tell Jessica didn't, either. After an awkward couple of seconds, she shrugged and trotted out.
"Scream at me for that," he said, walking toward the front door, "later."
I was sort of terrified to see who it was, and as usual, my imagination ran away from me, because it was a perfectly nice-looking (beautiful, really) older woman. She looked like a librarian in her lilac blouse, gray skirt, sensible panty hose, and black pumps. They were leather and unscuffed .
She herself looked to be in her fifties, with black hair streaked with silver, and a handful of laugh lines in the corner of both eyes.
Her eyes.
There was something weird about her eyes. Sinclair had eyes like that, sometimes. When he was pissed at what was going on (read: other vampires trying to kill me), his eyes went like that. They were so black you couldn't see into them, like those sunglasses state troopers wear. You looked in and—it's hard to explain—you only saw yourself. Most times I could see his softer side, his love and worry for me, his amusement, the good stuff. And the times I couldn't see those things, I usually had my hands too full to worry about it.
I stared at her, a little scared, and she bowed and said something in (I think) rapid French.
Sinclair gave her a smile that looked 85 percent real. "Good evening, Marjorie."
"Your Majesties."
"It's good to see you again."
"And you, Sir."
Sinclair bent and kissed her hand, European style, but before anybody could kiss mine, I stuck it out to be shook. She did, smiling at me, and I almost dropped her hand. She was cold, which I expected, and I couldn't see anything in her eyes but me, which I did not.
An old one, I decided. A vampire who has seen absolutely everything—
everything
. And doesn't give a ripe shit anymore. About anything. I pitied them as much as I feared them. And I felt pretty sorry for them.
"It's nice to meet you," I lied.
She inclined her head. "Majesty. We have met before."
"No, we haven't." I'd never have forgotten those eyes. Not even Nostro had eyes like those. No, we hadn't met. And after today, I hoped we never would
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