"No no no no no no no!" Only just in time did I leap from my seat and jump in front of the cringing Stephanie, who had shoved herself so far back she had nearly disappeared into the couch.
Tina slammed into me hard enough to make me stagger - she'd launched herself the moment Sinclair got "kill" out of his mouth. Like she'd been ready the whole time. Like she was waiting for it.
"Bad, Tina! Down!"
"Elizabeth, do not - "
"Keep her away from me!" Stephanie squealed, scrambling off the couch.
I managed to grab Tina by the shoulders and hold her at arm's length. At least she wasn't trying to kick me. "You guys, you guys! We are not killing her, she came in peace, and she's leaving the same way."
"Like hell," Tina managed through gritted teeth.
"Don't listen to her! You can go. Good-bye, Stephanie. I'm sorry about what happened to you."
"Do not," Tina snarled, "apologize. To that thing."
Meanwhile Stephanie was halfway out the door. "Thankyouforseeingmegoodbye."
I let go of Tina, and we all listened to the rapidly retreating footfalls.
"Soft," was my husband's verdict. "Much too soft. Even now. Hmm."
"And you're too hard," I shot back with my own judgment. That's right - two could play the judge-and-jury game! "And too stupid. And don't be siccing Tina on people, like she's your own personal pit bull!"
"But I am," she replied at the exact moment Sinclair said, "But she is."
" 'Kill her,' my God! Haven't you ever heard of a flag of truce? These Fiends are growing. Maybe they can grow emotions beyond hate and fear. Maybe they can become... like Garrett. Like us. Why is that so hard for you two to see?"
They'd flinched when I'd broken the commandment, but now they were both giving me that look.
"There will come a time when you will regret having let her leave," my bloodthirsty psycho husband said.
Tina was shaking her head. "You should have let me kill her, Majesty. If for no other reason than the audacity she showed in coming here, soliciting an apology, and giving nothing in return! Not even an offer to try to lift a finger to stop the others."
"She'll remember I was nice to her."
"Mercy," Sinclair lectured, "is a poor weapon."
I stared at him. Sometimes - many times - I didn't know him. At all. "It's the only one I'm using right now."
"You don't have to use a weapon at all," Tina pointed out. "I would take care of these problems for you."
I think what finally made me snap was seeing Tina degrade herself - describe herself as nothing but a deadly vessel, when I knew she was so much more. Or maybe I was just pissed at my fucking arrogant husband.
"The only problem I have," I hissed, "is a couple of subjects who don't think I have what it takes to be queen! Perhaps if they'd sit down, shut up, and listen to her, they'd learn something!"
Yuck, did I just refer to myself in the third person? Even weirder, Tina looked embarrassed beyond belief, and quickly sat down. Sinclair also sat down, much more slowly, with an odd expression on his face - a cross between outrage and pride.
Well. Now what?
"So." I started to pace. "Let's figure this out. Where are the Fiends staying during the day?"
"I would be more interested in how and where they are feeding," Sinclair said. "I would ask Detective Berry to look for any unusual homicides, but he is not our friend at the moment. His loyalty is solely with Jessica. Perhaps another source can help us."
"He'd look for vampire attacks in two seconds, regardless of how he feels about you, me, and Tina."
I was about to elaborate, when the front door was slammed open and an all-too-familiar voice greeted us with, "What the hell is going on? I leave this shitheap for three days, and the fuckin' Fiends are loose, my boyfriend's practically catatonic, and the smelliest bitch I've ever fuckin' seen practically ran me down on the porch! Not to mention I nearly got into a fender bender with the devil who looks like Miss Fuckin' February! Jesus fucking Christ, what the hell is going on?"
Antonia the werewolf was home.
"Oh, gosh, Antonia, you know you shouldn't talk like that."
As well as the devil's daughter.
