Dead Over Heels by MaryJanice Davidson Read Free Book Online Page B

me!” I yelled as Sinclair shoved the stairwell door open and started pounding up the stairs. I followed him, fishing out my phone.
    “8888888888888888888888!” Jess texted.
    “That’s our floor,” I muttered. What with the window fixers and the crazy vampires, it was gonna get mighty crowded up there. “What the—eighth floor!” I called up to my husband, who was already a flight ahead of me. I heard the door slam open again and knew Nick was doing his best to back us up, though he was four floors away.
    In a few more seconds, we were in our hallway and Bernie was holding the squalling toddler and kicking at our door. “Let me in , you idiot!” she was screaming, while the kid wailed and wriggled.
    Sinclair wrenched a lamp fixture off the wall and flung it straight at Bernie’s head. It landed dead on; she shrieked, clutched her head, and forgot all about the kid, who she dropped.
    I ran as fast as I could, slid on my knees the last couple of feet (argh, rug burn!), and just caught him before he hit the carpet. I knew the room next to us was unoccupied—at least, I’d never heard anyone in there the entire time we’d been at the Grange—so I bounded to my feet, kicked that door open, tossed the kid into the middle of the king-sized bed, and shut the door with one hand while texting Jess, “Kid in 810 SAFE!”
    I emerged just in time to get knocked sprawling as Bernie and Sinclair fought. She was on him like a cat, clawing and biting and shrieking, and he was slamming his back against the wall, trying to shake her loose.
    “Oh no you don’t !” I yelled, and seized two handfuls of her gorgeous hair. Then I yanked. Hard.
    She yowled (I just couldn’t get the cat metaphors out of my head) and twisted with frightening speed and agility, and then her little hands were around my throat and I jerked my head back just in time to avoid her slashing fangs. God, she was fast! Those kids never had a chance. Frankly, the outcome of this fight was in doubt, and I was three feet taller.
    I wrenched her hands off and threw her—hard—into the wall. Plaster cracked and dust fell everywhere. Nobody was breathing, so nobody cared.
    She sprang at me again, and again I batted her away like a fly—barely. And still she came at me, so this time I hit her with a closed fist. I could feel the bones in her face break, and still she wouldn’t quit.
    Meanwhile, I could hear Sinclair frantically searching rooms—I was betting for a wooden chair leg.
    “Bernie, just stop !” Wincing—I couldn’t believe I was beating up a child—I hit her again. This time her nose broke, and black blood trickled down to her lips.
    “I can’t! You have to kill me. Why would I stop?”
    Because I can’t bear to hurt you. Because even though you’re a monster, you look like an angel. Because somebody, a long time ago, really hurt you, and I want to make that up to you.
    One of her little fists got past me and all of a sudden there was a ringing in my left ear. I shook it off and heard the stairwell door open, heard Nick run past us to the room where the toddler was still crying. Thank God. Thank God.
    I caught her next fist in mid fly and broke her wrist. She screamed and tried to kick me. So I did what any asshole would do; I let go of her wrist, grabbed her by the ears, and twisted.
    She fell to the carpet, all the fight out of her. But the awful thing was, she was looking up at me and trying to smile. Looking up at me, with her head twisted halfway around. I’d broken her neck, but she was still alive.
    “I guess . . . I guess you really are the queen.”
    I dropped to my knees beside her. “Bernie, I’m so sorry. I-I-It wouldn’t have been my choice to kill you. If only you weren’t so fucking bloodthirsty!”
    “It’s all right,” she said faintly. “It was bound to happen eventually. I just didn’t think a blond fashionista would do it.”
    “Well, uh, thank you.”
    “I lied.”
    “Which time?”
    She reached for me