“I told ya, you didn’t do anything wrong,” Clyde said. “I just thought you should meet with these nice folks and the four of us can work something out that’ll protect everyone.”
Gayla looked at Shamira. “She’ll keep looking. I can tell that about people. Some just want a quick yes or no about the person who’s passed on, but your sister . . . she’s the kind that NEEDS to know. She needs closure.”
“That’s her,” Shamira muttered. “She’s a bulldog when she gets her mind to something. And she called ME stubborn.”
“You are,” Clara pointed out.
“I am . . . don’t you start.”
The four of them spent twenty minutes or so formulating plans, only to have each one scuttled by the fact that Gayla couldn’t lie, and too many of the stories crossed that line.
“Wait,” Shamira said, “can’t you just say that you made contact and that you were told that I want her to leave it be?”
“You think that’ll work? Make her stop looking?”
“Maybe . . . oh who am I kidding? I just can’t believe she’d even think of doing something like this.”
“I’ve only been at this a few years,” Gayla replied, “but sometimes it’s the cynics that have the hardest time lettin’ go.”
“Another thing that you and your sister have in common,” Clara muttered. “Ouch!” Shamira had returned the favor from earlier.
Clyde’s phone started to beep at him. He rolled his eyes and flipped it open. His eyes went from “rolled” to “wide open” in a hurry. “Ladies, we have a problem.” He got to his feet and headed to the door, but he got there just a second too late as Samantha Kingsley busted through the front door.
“What did you find out?” she blurted . It was a small room, and there wasn’t anyplace for anyone to hide. Shamira had stood up to watch Clyde head for the door. Her eyes met those of her sister. “Shamira?” the older sister murmured.
Shamira’s heart filled her throat. She had convinced herself that she would never see her family again outside a set of binoculars. She debated briefly denying being Shamira, but it wouldn’t have worked. Samantha hurled herself across the room and wrapped herself around her sister’s frame, tears in her eyes. Shamira could hear her sister’s heart beating rapidly. She hugged Samantha back.
“I’m so sorry,” she whispered.
Clyde, Clara, and Gayla all stepped back, looking at each other and shrugging. No one had any idea what to do. They all stood by and watched as Samantha Kingsley, born Samantha Carswell, stepped back and punched her sister dead in the face. She gripped her hand in pain while Shamira barely registered shock.
“You’re like fucking concrete,” Samantha murmured, tears flowing as she hugged her sister again. “How could you? How could you pretend to be dead? Do you have any idea what I . . . what we’ve all been going through?” The stunningly beautiful blond girl stepped back, placing her hands on Shamira’s face, staring at her as if to make sure she hadn’t made a mistake. “Did you get in with the mob or something? Why did you do this? And why are you here?”
“Tell her,” Clara said from behind her. The Native American’s voice was compassionate and low. “Tell her the truth.”
“Who is she?” Samantha asked. “Tell me what?”
“Samantha . . . I didn’t pretend to be dead. I died.”
Samantha stepped back. “You’re a ghost? I thought you couldn’t touch ghosts.”
“That’s not entirely true,” Gayla said, then shrunk under Clyde’s disapproving glare. “And that isn’t particularly important right now.”
“Mr. Pritchard?” Samantha said, noticing Clyde. “What are you doing here?”
“That’s . . . a long story,” he muttered, trying not to meet her gaze. “Yer sister will fill ya in.”
Samantha looked back at Shamira. “What’s going on? Are you in trouble?”
“Sort of,” Shamira said. “Listen, as I said, I did actually die. But the people I tried to save . . . well, one of them gave me a gift before I died. Thought I was worth ‘saving’ I guess.”
“What are you talking about?”
Shamira closed her eyes and pointed her face to the ground. When her face came up, her eyes were almost all pupils, and she had her fangs extended. “There are other things out there than ghosts,” she said.
Samantha fainted, but her sister caught her before she hit the ground.
Two hours later, after Samantha had recovered, Shamira explained everything. Well, she left out little things like her new-and-improved sex life, but she covered all the bases in regards to dying and becoming a vampire.
“And you . . . are a werewolf,” she asked of Clyde, who had found the entire process so far quite entertaining. “How can that be? You have cats!”
Clara looked over at Clyde and snickered. Clyde blushed.
“They’re my kids’,” he explained.
Samantha scrunched her eyebrows. “No, your kids have dogs, except Tommy who has the chinchilla. I’m talking about your cats . . . Buttercup and Tootsie, right? Two longhairs?”
Clara stifled a full-blown laugh.
“Don’t say a word,” Clyde growled.
“Listen, can I . . . can I talk to Shamira alone?” Samantha asked.
“Let’s take a walk,” the muscular woman replied.
“Won’t you burst into flames?”
“Only if you try to light me on fire again.”
“Once! And you were the one who said, ‘Oh, a little more lighter fluid is all we need.’ It wasn’t my fault that Darin threw the match in at the same time I was spraying –”
“You were aiming at me!”
“I told you to back off.”
The two women walked outside, going over and sitting on the hood of Samantha’s car.
“So, you came all the way out here to talk Gayla into not letting me know about you? Why don’t you want me in your life anymore? Your family –”
“Samantha, my new life is going to be dangerous. More than my old one even. My boss basically convinced me that the magical world is like the mafia. Yeah there are rules, but those rules aren’t normal. Things that go bump in the night don’t play nice, and if they knew I still had ties to the mortal realm . . . to my family . . . they might come after you to get to me to get to my boss. I may not have asked for this, but I can do some good here. But it’ll be hard if I’m constantly worrying if some monster is standing outside your door, or watching John at soccer practice or Craig at daycare.” She took Samantha’s hand when her sister blanched. “I wanted to tell you. I actually visited the house after the funeral –”
“I knew it!” Samantha said, jumping to her feet, “I knew you were there!”
“Yeah. And I almost woke you up and screamed that I was still alive. Which, in retrospect, would’ve been a bad idea. Well, my boss helped me realize I could help by family for generations, but –”
“But you can’t talk to us anymore? Bullshit!”
“You going to put a quarter in the swear jar when you get home?” Shamira grinned. Her sister used to cuss like a sailor before the first child was born, then they initiated a “swear” jar that had paid for many a summer camp.
“Screw you! It only applies when I’m at home. Otherwise I could buy a car after being at the clinic for ten hours.”
“Anyway, my boss didn’t say that I couldn’t talk to you. He just pointed out the dangers in it. And c’mon, I’ve only been dead a few weeks. The learning curve here is a bitch.”
Samantha glanced over her. “Well, I must say being undead has improved your sense of fashion. Why didn’t you dress more like this when you were alive? Or is this some kind of payback for all the times I suggested something and you said –”
“– but I wouldn’t be caught dead in it. Hah hah. No, I . . . I can’t explain.”
“We spent a lot of time convincing her she was hot,” Clara said, making both sisters jump. “Then we made it mandatory dress code.”
“Put a bell on her!” Samantha said, holding her chest like she’d just had a heart attack.
“Hey,” Clara said, “she’s worse!” She was pointing at Shamira now. “Has she told you she can teleport using shadows?”
“You can?! No way!”
The next several minutes involved small demonstrations of Shamira’s power as she hid in the shadows somewhere and then appeared somewhere else. Samantha actually looked envious.
“I wish I was a vampire,” she muttered.
“Why? It’s a hell of a lot more work being dead than it’s supposed to be. Besides, you’ve got the husband, the great kids, a job you love –”
“And I’ve got my sister back.” She looked at Clara. “Since you’re here, maybe you can tell us how to stay in touch? Since I’m not giving my sister up again unless they kill her for real?”
“One, you have to promise not to tell anyone.”
“As if anyone would believe me,” Samantha said, scrunching her face and acting like she was talking to a small child.
“That’s her mommy voice,” Shamira explained.
“I’ll bet the kids behave,” Clara said, smiling brightly. “Easiest thing to do is buy rechargeable, no-plan cell phones. Only use them to call each other.”
“We can do that,” Shamira said. She felt better than she had since she died, as if a large part of her life had found its way home again. She picked Samantha up and gave her a (slightly) bone-crushing hug.
“Fuck, she’s got stronger?!”
“She’s actually as strong as a vampire a hundred years older than her. She’s going to be special,” Clara replied.
“She was already pretty damn special, even if she’d never admit it.”
Clara smiled, then looked at Shamira. “I think I like your sister. Hey, go tell Clyde what the deal is and see if he knows a good place to buy the phones. I’ll bet he does.”
As Shamira wandered into the building, Samantha took a deep breath. “She’s really still here,” she whispered.
“She really is,” Clara said, sitting down next to her. “You two are really close aren’t you?”
“Yeah. I helped her with her broken hearts . . . I wasn’t allowed to marry Patrick until she approved of him, though he always made her a little nervous. There were so many stupid people that didn’t appreciate her, so she always turned to me. I just didn’t realize until I thought I’d lost her that I always turned to her too.”
“She’s amazing,” Clara replied. “She’s a good cop, and so far she’s been a good friend. She told us about Jimmy –”
“Surprises me. She keeps that one close to her vest. I honestly thought she’d never allow herself to be happy again until she’d saved everyone on earth from everything after that. But she seems . . . happier now.” Samantha shot the strange woman next to her a meaningful look. “You will take care of her right? Don’t make me get my husband’s nine-iron and come down to Atlanta in the mini-van to kick someone’s ass.”