distressing. Besides, there's not much to
do here. After the show you put on a few months ago, they're quite terrified of you."
I smirked and buffed my nails on my purple tank top. It was all the sweeter because it was
true: they'd seen me pray, and that had been enough for them.
"On the next flight? How are you gonna pull that off? Isn't it, like, a twenty-hour flight?
Some of it during daylight hours?"
"I'll travel the traditional way, of course. In a coffin in the cargo hold. Our people here will
forge a death certificate and other appropriate paperwork."
I shuddered and gave thanks, once again, that I was <¦ queen, and not a run-of-the-mill
vampire. Don't get me wrong; I'd prefer to be alive. But if I had to be dead . . . "Tina, that
sucks."
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"Recent circumstances are highly suspect. The king would not leave you for so
long —"
"It's only been a few days—"
"—nor would he ignore my messages. Something is wrong."
"He doesn't want to wear the navy blue tux I picked out?" I guessed.
"Majesty. This is serious."
I shrugged, forgetting she couldn't see me. "If you say so."
"Until I return, do not answer the door. You will not try to contact anyone who has gone
missing. You will not answer the phone unless the caller ID tells you it is me." Her
subservient tone was long gone; this was a general thinking fast and issuing orders. "Your
Majesty, do you understand me?"
"Uh, sure. Simmer."
"I will simmer," she hissed, "when I get a few heads on sticks. And the devil pity the rat fuck who gets i my way."
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"Yeesh."
"Heads. On. Sticks."
"I got it the first time."
On that happy note, she hung up.
Chapter 11
I broke one of the rules less than twenty-four hours liter. I blamed sleep deprivation.
Despite my efforts over the last three days, Babyjon still had the whole "stay awake at
nighttime" thing a little mixed up. (But then, so did I.)
Small wonder. The Ant, Satan rest her soul, had stuck him with night nannies all the time,
and they had encouraged him to sleep so they could goof off.
I groped for the bedside phone, forgetting to check the caller ID. "Mmph . . . lo?"
"—can—hear—"
For a change, I actually identified the crack In voice. "Marc! Where the hell are you?"
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"—can't—make—drop—"
"Are you hurt? Are you in trouble?"
"—trouble—fucked—death"
"Oh my God!" I screamed, instantly snapping all the way awake. I glanced at the bedside
clock; four-thirty in the afternoon. In his port-a-crib, Babyjon snored away. "Youare in
trouble! Can you get to a computer? Can you send me an e-mail? Why aren't you
answering my e-mails? Tell me where you are, and I'll come get you!" With a baby in tow ,
I neglected to add.
"—can't—worry—trouble—"
"Where are you?" I hollered.
"—dusk—dark—come—"
"I'll come, I'll come! Whereare you?"
' —see—stars—'
"Marc?"
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"—worried—"
"Marc?!" I was yelling into a dead line.
That was it. That wasit . I threw back the covers of my lonely bed, trying not to realize
that things were getting mighty fucking weird (and failing), and got dressed with amazing
speed.
I plucked a sleepy, wet, yawning Babyjon from his lib, changed him with vampiric speed
(he seemed surprised, yet amused), grabbed the diaper bag and some formula, and headed
for the bedroom door to beat feet for Minneapolis General, Oncology Ward. I was
breaking rule number two, and I didn't give a tin luck. Not for the rules of ordinary man
was I, the dreaded vampire queen. No indeed! I was—
My computer beeped. Rather, Sinclair's computer beeped
do here. After the show you put on a few months ago, they're quite terrified of you."
I smirked and buffed my nails on my purple tank top. It was all the sweeter because it was
true: they'd seen me pray, and that had been enough for them.
"On the next flight? How are you gonna pull that off? Isn't it, like, a twenty-hour flight?
Some of it during daylight hours?"
"I'll travel the traditional way, of course. In a coffin in the cargo hold. Our people here will
forge a death certificate and other appropriate paperwork."
I shuddered and gave thanks, once again, that I was <¦ queen, and not a run-of-the-mill
vampire. Don't get me wrong; I'd prefer to be alive. But if I had to be dead . . . "Tina, that
sucks."
Create PDF files without this message by purchasing novaPDF printer ( http://www.novapdf.com )
"Recent circumstances are highly suspect. The king would not leave you for so
long —"
"It's only been a few days—"
"—nor would he ignore my messages. Something is wrong."
"He doesn't want to wear the navy blue tux I picked out?" I guessed.
"Majesty. This is serious."
I shrugged, forgetting she couldn't see me. "If you say so."
"Until I return, do not answer the door. You will not try to contact anyone who has gone
missing. You will not answer the phone unless the caller ID tells you it is me." Her
subservient tone was long gone; this was a general thinking fast and issuing orders. "Your
Majesty, do you understand me?"
"Uh, sure. Simmer."
"I will simmer," she hissed, "when I get a few heads on sticks. And the devil pity the rat fuck who gets i my way."
Create PDF files without this message by purchasing novaPDF printer ( http://www.novapdf.com )
"Yeesh."
"Heads. On. Sticks."
"I got it the first time."
On that happy note, she hung up.
Chapter 11
I broke one of the rules less than twenty-four hours liter. I blamed sleep deprivation.
Despite my efforts over the last three days, Babyjon still had the whole "stay awake at
nighttime" thing a little mixed up. (But then, so did I.)
Small wonder. The Ant, Satan rest her soul, had stuck him with night nannies all the time,
and they had encouraged him to sleep so they could goof off.
I groped for the bedside phone, forgetting to check the caller ID. "Mmph . . . lo?"
"—can—hear—"
For a change, I actually identified the crack In voice. "Marc! Where the hell are you?"
Create PDF files without this message by purchasing novaPDF printer ( http://www.novapdf.com )
"—can't—make—drop—"
"Are you hurt? Are you in trouble?"
"—trouble—fucked—death"
"Oh my God!" I screamed, instantly snapping all the way awake. I glanced at the bedside
clock; four-thirty in the afternoon. In his port-a-crib, Babyjon snored away. "Youare in
trouble! Can you get to a computer? Can you send me an e-mail? Why aren't you
answering my e-mails? Tell me where you are, and I'll come get you!" With a baby in tow ,
I neglected to add.
"—can't—worry—trouble—"
"Where are you?" I hollered.
"—dusk—dark—come—"
"I'll come, I'll come! Whereare you?"
' —see—stars—'
"Marc?"
Create PDF files without this message by purchasing novaPDF printer ( http://www.novapdf.com )
"—worried—"
"Marc?!" I was yelling into a dead line.
That was it. That wasit . I threw back the covers of my lonely bed, trying not to realize
that things were getting mighty fucking weird (and failing), and got dressed with amazing
speed.
I plucked a sleepy, wet, yawning Babyjon from his lib, changed him with vampiric speed
(he seemed surprised, yet amused), grabbed the diaper bag and some formula, and headed
for the bedroom door to beat feet for Minneapolis General, Oncology Ward. I was
breaking rule number two, and I didn't give a tin luck. Not for the rules of ordinary man
was I, the dreaded vampire queen. No indeed! I was—
My computer beeped. Rather, Sinclair's computer beeped
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