Undead and Uneasy

Chapter 33

“Wow.”

“I know,” I sniffed.

“Wow.”

“I know.”

“Why didn't you—never mind. I know why you didn't say anything.” She propped her chin in her palm and stared past me. “This stinks to high heaven.”

“Yeah. I don't know what to do.”

“Well, he's not dead.” She said this with such authority that I instantly cheered up. “No chance. No chance.”

“Why? He's not immortal.”

“Why? Because he's Sink-​Lair, that's why! You think he's easy to kill? You think you wouldn't know if your king was dead? He's stuck somewhere. Some asshole snatched him, and you've gotta figure out who.”

“That's what I've been trying to do.”

“Yeah, so you said. It's not the werewolves, it's not Delk. It's not Laura. It's—what did you say Nick told you? To go back to the beginning?”

“Yeah.”

“So when did things start to get weird?”

I thought about it. I took my time, and Jessica let me. It wasn't the fight we'd had over the wedding announcements. Sinclair and I fought all the time. What was the first really weird thing to—

“The double funeral,” I said at last. “That's when I realized things were mondo-​bizarro. It was like one day everything was the way it's been the last couple of years, and the next, I was alone. You were sick. Dad and the Ant were dead. Tina was in Europe. Marc had disappeared. Laura and Mom blew off the funeral. Antonia and Garrett had vamoosed.”

“You think your dad and the Ant weren't killed by accident?”

“Who'd want to get rid of them? I've been so busy I haven't had time to feel sad. If someone was trying to hurt me, that's not really the way to do it. I guess that makes me a bad daughter, but—”

“But your dad was a pud,” Jessica said bluntly, “and that's the end of it.”

“I'm wondering if there might be some answers in the Book of the—”

“You stay away from that thing,” she ordered. “You going psycho-​bitch isn't going to help anything.”

I sighed and slumped back. “I suppose.”

“Tina called it right. This whole thing reeks like last week's sushi. I wish you would have told me earlier.”

“You've got more important things to worry about.”

“Oh, what's more important than my best friend?” she asked irritably.

“Your life,” I replied. “Focus on getting better.”

“Well, today was the last day of chemo. So I ought to be able to come to the wedding without heaving all over my suit. If I have to be dragged in on a stretcher and propped up like Hannibal Lecter, I'll be there,” she vowed.

“Revolting,” I said. “Yet comforting.”