Undead and Unreturnable

Chapter 8

I let him go ahead of me on the stairs, speaking of juvenile actions. I couldn't help it; he had the nicest butt. He favored faded blue jeans and big belts, shitkicker boots, and T-shirts. He looked like an ad for Wheaties.
We had barely gotten to the first landing when he whirled, grabbed my shoulders, and burst out, "Betsy, you can't!"
Startled, I grabbed his wrists. "What?"
"You can't marry him."
"That's why you're here?" I mean, liking me was something, but for heaven's sakes.
"You can't do it, Betsy." I was gently trying to loosen his fingers from my shoulders, but he clung like plastic wrap. "I know you, and it'll never work. You're good, and he's not. He's totally not. You can't marry him."
"Jon..." My God, was I going to have to break his fingers? "Personal bubble, Jon."
He let go. Whew. "Sorry."
"Jon, listen. I know Sinclair has done his share of-"
"Murderous disgusting blood-sucking deeds?"
"-uh-questionable errands, but he's not really that bad. I mean, Nostro was bad. Monique was bad. He's just trying to get along."
"Betsy, that's the dumbest thing I've ever heard. He is a bad man. If this was a western, he'd be the one wearing the black hat."
"Jon, you have no idea what bad really is," I said, as nicely as I could. "If you did, you'd know Sinclair wasn't it. The vampire world, like our world, isn't black and white... there's tons of gray areas. Sometimes you have to make a bad choice to do a good thing. He's done everything for me-he's been killed for me, and he's saved my life. I think he's saved my life. I mean, assuming I could even-never mind, we're getting off the subject."
"Betsy." Jon stuck his hands in his front pockets, past the wrist, and looked away. "Sometimes a guy will do things for a-for a pretty girl. I'm not saying I don't think he, uh, likes you."
"You're saying I'm too good for him."
"Well..."
"That's really nice." I meant it. It was the compliment of the month. It was the thing I would take out and reminisce about when I was an old lady. "But I know what I'm doing. And I love him. I bet that's the last thing you want to hear, but it's true. And how could I not get married to the guy I love?"
He winced and still wouldn't meet my eyes. "Maybe it's a trick."
"Like a vampire mojo thing? I only think I love him? I really only love his teeth and his dick?"
That did it; he glared at me, full in the eyes, and the blood rushed into his cheeks. "Don't talk like that. That's not what I-"
"Because, believe me, I resisted the dark side for as long as I could. Then I realized he really wasn't. Bad, I mean. Well, that bad." Did it sound like I was making excuses for him? I didn't mean to. It was just... difficult to put into words. How I felt about him. What he meant to me. Shit, I'd only admitted to myself that I loved him three months ago. "He just took a little getting used to."
"Betsy, I'm not saying I don't think it's a good match-although I don't."
Now I was confused. "So you are saying you don't think it's a good match? Right?"
He kept going, unfortunately. Full speed ahead, and damn the torpedoes. "I don't think he's a good man. For anybody."
"Oh, so if he was marrying, say, Tina, you would have come down here to warn her off, too?"
Stubborn silence.
"Jon, did you really come all the way from the valley to try to stop my wedding? Because you had months to do that, you know."
"Ani stopped by and she-we caught up on current events, I guess you could say. And-" He cut himself off, but I knew where he'd been going. And as soon as I heard you were getting married, 1 got in my dad's truck and left. Oh, boy. Poor Jon. Crushes were the absolute worst. I'd almost rather die again. It felt like dying again, when you heard the person you adored above all others had never, ever given you a thought like that, and probably never would.
"I'm getting married, Jon. On"-for an awful moment I couldn't remember the new date-"September 15. I'd love it if you could come. All the Bees are welcome."
He smiled. Well, his lips moved. We both pretended not to notice that his eyes had filled and he was sniffing like he'd instantly picked up a cold-or a cocaine habit. "That stupid name."
"Hey, you want to talk stupid? How about the Blade Warriors? I feel ridiculous even saying it to you. You're lucky I just use the first letter."
The Blade Warriors! Oh, boy. Like my life wasn't silly enough. This past summer a bunch of kids-yep, that's right, not one of them could legally drink-got together and started hunting down vampires. The scary part? They were weirdly successful. (Vampires were notoriously complacent.) The scarier part? I was able to talk them into not doing that anymore. The Bees (I tried not to use the stupid name) had scattered and gone their own way. And now one of them was back, almost literally in my lap.
"I don't know if I'll be able to come," he said, changing the subject... but not really.
"Well, either way. I'm just happy to have anyone there who has a pulse."
"Will there be a lot of vampires there?"
"Yes, and no. My wedding is not a research opportunity, get it? Throw rice and drink. No, you're too young to drink. Throw more rice. Have a Shirley Temple. Go crazy."
"So it's going to be a wedding wedding?"
"Sure."
He chewed on that one for a few seconds. "I've never heard of that before."
"Well, don't you start. Sinclair gives me enough grief."
He perked up. "Really? He doesn't like all the bells and whistles?"
"Oh, you know. He says because we're consorts there's no need for bouquet, maid of honor, best man toast, all that."
"Really?" I could see his dimples again. Odd, the things that depressed the boy and brought him back up. "You, uh, you need any help?"
"You mean planning? Or in general? Because the answer to both is, I dunno. September's a long way off."
"Well..." He looked around the foyer and then glanced down the stairs. "I don't have to be back right away..."
"Do you have a place to stay?"
"Not really. I was going to stop by the church, see if Father Markus could put me up for a few nights..."
"Is that supposed to be a hint? Because it sucks. Why don't you just shove me off the landing? It'd be more subtle."
He laughed. "Yeah, it was pretty lame. Can I crash here?"
"Of course you can. We've got more rooms than the Hilton." In my mind, I could already picture Sinclair's reaction. I probably wasn't going to get laid tonight, at the very least.
Well, tough shit. The kid had had a rotten enough day; I wasn't going to turn him out onto the street on top of all that.
"That's great. I'd-I'd really like to stay here." He glanced around the ancient staircase. "It looks interesting. Like something out of an old book."
"Yeah, interesting. Hope you like dust. But listen, we've got a feral killer vampire living in the basement, so don't go down there. Oh, and if you drink all the milk, you have to replace it."
"What?"
"I know, but see, we all like milk in our tea, and when we're out it's really-"
"Did you say feral killer vampire?"
"Right, right. But he's okay. Just stay out of the basement. I don't want you up to any of your old tricks."
"Anything else?"
"Yeah. Good to see you."
"Good to see you, too." He smiled at me like he meant what he was saying.
Damn dimples.