When my mom came back from what I prayed wasn't a passionate, sloppy, sizzling, wet good-bye embrace with my new mortal enemy, Clive Lively, I was pawing through her fridge.

"Well! That was . . . where do I start?"

Diet Pepsi? Ugh. Milk? She was down to less than a quarter gallon. Bottles of water? My mom had never been one to buy and tote her own clear fluids. Diet root beer? Maybe if someone stuck a gun in my ear.

"I know you've always had a flair for the dramatic, you terrible, terrible child, but that was bordering on felony assault." She stopped and frowned. "Mmmm. No, you didn't use a weapon. So just assault. Mmmm . . . no, it varies by state . . . What is Minnesota's stance on assault with intent but no weapon? I'll have to look it up."

Apple juice? Sure, if I wanted to drink something that looked like urine. Chai? No, I've never liked drinking something that tastes like Glade air freshener, no matter how much milk you dump in it.

"So, while I'm relieved you didn't produce a weapon, your behavior was still inappropriate and you will explain yourself."

Egg Beaters? What was I, stuck in a Rocky remake? I wasn't drinking raw eggs and running up and down a million steps for anybody. Ranch dressing? Oh, come on! This was getting sad.

"Nothing!" I slammed the fridge shut, then was startled when the thing rocked over a couple of inches. Stupid inhuman vamp strength brought on by the stress of watching my mom get pawed. If I could have gnashed my teeth without biting through my lip, I would have. "You've got a fridge full of nothing. The perfect end to a perfect day."

"Also, I'm fresh out of O negative," she replied, not in the least startled, tense, or afraid. If I'd picked up the fridge and threw it through the front door, I'd get a lecture on disturbing the neighbors. Vampires didn't scare my mom (she looooooved Sinclair, which, before I decided I loved him, too, was beyond irritating).

She stepped to the fridge, opened the freezer portion, then pulled out a gallon bucket covered with several layers of Saran wrap. She shoved it at me like she was passing a basketball in the final five seconds, then pulled open the nearest drawer, extracted a soup spoon, and handed that to me. "There. Before you go foaming, barking mad and chase Clive down like a dog after a car wheel."

"Clive is a stupid name," I managed, because my mouth was already crammed with Mom's booze-free strawberry daiquiri slush. The Saran wrap was still drifting to the floor. I dug harder into the bucket. "And that's just for starters."

"I'll tell you what's for starters." She jabbed a finger in my direction. "Your explanation. Speak!"

She herded me over to the blond wood table I'd eaten at since I'd grown out of my high chair. Her kitchen was sun-filled (during daylight hours), bright, and sparkling clean. I'd never had her knack for, or interest in, house cleaning. All the appliances beamed at me like chrome gnomes. I could smell fresh vegetables, Windex, and my mom's Jergens. Familiar smells; I could feel myself start to relax and calm down.

I swallowed, took another bite, swallowed again. "Okay. You know how you offered to take BabyJon for a few days?"

"Yes, and you're lucky your nonsense didn't wake him."

"He is, too. He's had enough trauma in his life without running into Clive. God knows how long it is going to take me to get over it. Anyway, right after that, I had to go to hell, literally hell, with Laura. She needed help learning how to use her powers, and I needed help figuring out how to read the Book of the Dead without going nuts."

Mom was nodding. I knew that, as a historian, there was only one thing she loved more than talking to Tina about the bad old days, 1861-1865, beginning with Confederate dumbasses firing on Fort Sumter on April 12 and ending April 14, 1865, when Lincoln was shot. Not April 9, when Lee and the rest of the Confederate dumbasses surrendered. Mom considered Lincoln's double tap at Ford's Theater to be the last of the bad old days.

Before you freak out and decide I'm a Civil War Rainman, I got all this stuff practically with mother's milk. Literally with mother's milk, now that I think about it, because she was working on her doctorate when I was in preschool, so the ABCs I learned were a little different from most four-year-olds'. A is for Antietam. B is for Buchanan (James). C is for Confederate States of America. D is for Davis (Jefferson). Like that. I should have realized the funny looks I got in preschool were just the beginning.

Anyway, the only thing my mom liked more than grilling Tina ("What was General Lee really like?") was trying to figure out how to get the BOD (Book of the Dead) analyzed and read. It took me forever to talk her out of wanting to borrow the disgusting thing. I couldn't remember the last time I'd had to use my tried-and-true tactics of shrill hysteria and on-my-knees begging for such an extended period of time. Finally, more to shut me up than anything else, Mom gave in and abandoned the idea of borrowing it.

But she wondered about it a lot. When she found out I threw it into the Mississippi River, I thought she was going to hit me in the mouth. (Stupid thing came back, though, and dry as a bone. It always comes back. It's like a student loan officer. They just find you.)

"Risky . . . deals with the devil, don't you know. I don't recall a single instant when the devil was outsmarted."

"Sure you can. 'The Devil Went Down to Georgia.' " Greatest country song ever.

"All right. One instance, probably because the man in question was a musical prodigy. But I can understand why you risked it." Mom had grabbed a spoon of her own and sampled a bit of the daiquiri. "It tells you what will happen-or it could, if anyone could read it for a sustained amount of time. You might have been able to save Antonia."

Still might, I thought but didn't say. It was best to keep that to myself for now. Telling Mom about my hellish road trip after the fact was one thing. Telling her I was going again was something else.

"A thousand years old!" She looked as jazzed as I'd ever seen her. "My God, the things we could . . ."

"Quit it. Anyway, what happened was, we ended up in hell, like I said, and we also ended up in the past. Specifically, Tina's great-great-great-grandma's past, and then Sinclair's past, and then mine, and then . . ." I paused. Mom took my new (un)life pretty well. Amazingly well, all things considered. But I thought it'd be safer and nicer to leave out the future. I was either going to destroy the world (or help my sister destroy it), or not. Either way, I wanted to keep Mom out of it. "Anyway, when I got back, it turned out some things are different here now. I'm kind of stumbling around an alternate timeline."

Mom frowned, sucking on her spoon. "You mean . . . a parallel universe?"

"No, it's the same universe, I just remember it differently." Maybe. "Anyway, when I left, you weren't seeing anyone."

"Oh. Oh!" She actually rocked back in her chair as she grasped what I'd said. "So you've never heard me-oh, heavens, no wonder you committed assault or felony assault-I have to look it up-on my lawn. Oh, poor Clive!" She laughed, the heartless tart. "Poor Betsy!"

"Yeah, poor me." I tried to pull the bucket o' daiquiri away when she reached for more, and got a sharp rap on my knuckles with her spoon. "Ow! You know, I am the queen of the vampires. Some people are afraid of me."

"Then you should set an example for your toothy brethren by playing nicely. Well! Clive and I have been seeing each other for three months. You've heard all about him, but have never met him-the odd hours you keep, child. Yes? Yes. In fact, the four of us-your brother and Clive and you and I-were supposed to have dinner tomorrow night."

"Pass."

"What?"

She was gripping her spoon in an unfriendly way, so I clarified: "I have to find out what Laura's up to and also take Garrett to hell to find his dead girlfriend. And save Marc."

"Save Marc?" Mom's eyes went big. She'd met all my roommates. "Why?"

Dammit! This, this was how rattled I still was after meeting Clive. I'd planned on her not finding out about the future . . . which was a fine plan unless I forgot and mentioned the future. Jesus! I pitied, I really pitied the poor vampires who looked up to me as a role model, leader, and someone who can stick to a plan longer than sixty seconds.

"He becomes a seriously . . ." I paused, then used language I knew would get her attention, would prove how serious I was, language I never uttered lightly in this house. Believe it or not, I had been raised better than I turned out. "He's a fucked-up vampire in . . ." The future. My future. "What I mean is, the new timeline . . . there are things wrong with it." Oh boy, were there ever. "Look, it's a long story and I come off really bitchy in it. I'm trying to fix things . . . that's pretty much what it boils down to."

By the way, Betsy, you didn't run into Mom in the future, did you? Nice of you to finally realize.

I shoved that away. Mom not being in the middle of that winter wasteland a thousand years from now didn't mean shit, and now was not the time to freak out. About that, anyway. "Listen, just . . . if Marc ever comes here alone, don't let him in and keep your cross on." Mom had several. She had been collecting and wearing them as accessories long before Madonna made it trendy in the 1980s. "At all times have a cross on, okay? And don't let him in unless he's with Sinclair or me or . . . Sinclair or me. Unless we've talked to you."

I couldn't think of any reason the human Marc, our Marc, would come here alone. And I didn't have to think of a reason for the Marc Thing to show. He was crazier and scarier than a thousand Garretts. We couldn't even predict the weather, never mind the advance plans of psychos.

"Just protect yourself, and if you think you can't, or you run into trouble, or even if you can't sleep because you've got the creeps, call me. Or don't even take time to do that, just hop in your car and come over. Err on the side of caution, got it? There's tons of room at the mansion. What's another roommate?"

Mom snorted. She knew that while I liked/loved my roomies, I had preferred living alone.

"I've got no idea what happens next," I fretted. The bucket was nearly empty. Vampires were immune to brain freeze. No wonder people were scared of us. "Which pisses me off, because that's why I went to hell in the first place. So I could know what happens next!"

"Think that one over, Betsy. There's a reason Cassandra was both blessed and cursed by Apollo."

"Duh. Everyone knows that."

She ignored my bluff. "Cassandra was a princess so beautiful, the sun god Apollo gave her the ability to see the future."

"And I'm sure, given how the gods liked to run things, especially male gods, that there were zero strings to that 'gift.' She certainly wasn't expected to put out."

My mother smiled. "Cassandra was afraid, of both him and what he wanted to give her, and refused his advances. So he . . ."

"Turned her into a swan and had sex with her!"

"No, that's Leda and Zeus. What's the matter with you? Do you not have a good grasp of Greek mythology in the new timeline? Because the old you-"

"Oh, that's flattering. The old me. Great."

"Sorry. The other you from the other timeline knew all sorts of Greek myths."

"So do I!" I did, dammit. This, this was how rattled I still was. Curse you, Clive! May you be audited twice a year until the end of time. "Look, just run it down for me, okay? I'm on a schedule."

She wrinkled her nose at me. "Very well. Apollo let her keep his gift, but he fixed it so although she would know the future, no one would believe her until it was too late."

Ohhhhh. That Cassandra. Right. "What a lovely story. It wasn't depressing or anything. Thank you so much for sharing it with me."

"My point, wretched child, is that I think what Apollo did was a good thing. I don't think we should know too much about the future in general, never mind all the details of our own."

"Yeah, well, you're not the only one."

"Really?" Mom looked as surprised as I'd seen in a while. "That's curious, I always thought your husband would have-"

"I was thinking of Laura."

"Yes, I was going to ask you about that. How did she like hell?"

"A lot," I said glumly. "She's got wings in hell. Big pretty brown wings. And the first half dozen times she actually made a real effort to use her powers, instead of hiding from them, she did things I think only God should be able to do. What's she going to be like when she gets good at all that scary stuff?"

"Perhaps you should check the book."

"Can't. Laura took it and hid it."

"She did what?" Mom squawked.

I had to grin. That had been my exact reaction. "Yep. And she won't give it back. She said there are things I shouldn't know, and if there was trouble ahead, she was powerful enough to handle it, and if she wasn't, her mother was. Like I want Satan involved any further in my life! Or hers, frankly."

"Hmmm. That's very curious, isn't it?"

"Curious psychotic, curious maddening, curious I should make a citizen's arrest . . . what?"

"During your field trip to the netherworld, she understood you would have a new ability on your return, yes?"

"Sure."

"You finish your gallivanting through time. She helps you go home, then goes . . . where?"

"She can only teleport to different times and places from hell. She can get into hell, and then go somewhere else. But she can't teleport from, say, your living room to my kitchen. Hell's like . . . like the bus stop where she buys the ticket she needs to go where she needs."

"How poetic."

"You're the worst mother in the history of mothers."

"No, Medea has that distinction. And Diane Downs." Mom was a true crime fan; she thought Ann Rule pretty much invented the genre. "So am I to guess you don't know where she went once she dropped you off?"

"I made a few guesses, but I didn't know for sure."

"But some time later you called her, asked her to come over, yes?"

"Yeah." I was having trouble seeing where Mom was going. I knew all this, and now she knew all this, but what was the point of the rehash?

"Something happened between the trip back from hell and her visit to your home. Suddenly she doesn't think you should have the book, much less read it. That's what I call curious."

"So you're saying . . ." Uh. Nope. I still hadn't gotten there.

My mother took pity on her dunce cap-eligible daughter. "She found out something. Or was told something. And whatever it was, it had a radical effect on her attitude toward the book."

It took me a minute to catch on, but when I got it, it was like my brain suddenly gained weight.

"Holy shit!" I almost screamed. I was so shocked I didn't feel mom's spoon rap my knuckles again.

"Please." Wap! "A little decorum."

"The devil must have told her!" I held up my hand when Mom started to speak. "No, she didn't find outanything. The devil told her something big-time juicy, and then Laura . . . ohhhh, that bitch. Oh my God. Mom, you're brilliant."

"No, just logical."

"I gotta go. I gotta go ten minutes ago."

"You be careful."

"I'm trying. Sinclair's sticking pretty close. Except for right now, but that's my fault, not his." Sinclair. Nuts. I looked at my watch. "I said I'd be back in an hour, and throwing Clive across the lawn took up valuable time that I could have used eating more bucket booze. Gotta go, gotta go."

I stood. We wrestled for the nearly empty bucket for a moment, then I let her have it. There were just a few scrapings on the bottom left, anyway. "Remember what I said. Wear a cross, all the time. No outings with Marc. And Mom . . . keep the shotgun loaded and in your room when you're sleeping." My mom taught me how to hunt when I was a kid; she was one of the best shots in the state. She was to a twelve gauge what a gourmet chef was to shallots. "All the time, until I figure out what's going to happen. Or someone figures it out for me." That tended to work pretty well for me. No complaints.

"And you mind me, Elizabeth. I can't think of a single myth or movie where someone found out their future and didn't regret it. Laura may have the right idea."

"Traitor."

One thing about my mom . . . she was unflappable to the extreme. When I came back from the dead she was so overjoyed she didn't give a tin shit about the details. When I explained I was a vampire, she was happy because it meant I'd never die a mundane, preventable death (like, say, getting run over by a Pontiac Aztek).

Now I'd told her about visiting hell and the past, and that she should watch out for a man she liked and trusted, and explained a priceless artifact was in the hands of the Antichrist, and that I'd be doing my best to confront the devil as soon as possible. And all she had to say about all of that was the Dr. Taylor equivalent of watch your ass and keep me posted, good-bye.

"Want to peek on the baby before you go?"

I was way too tempted. "I better not. I'm already so tempted to bundle him up and take him back with me." I was tempted to tell her BabyJon grew up to be a fine man, maybe even some kind of superhero since he was running around a thousand years from now. And again, I held back. It wasn't lost on me that Mom had mentioned more than once that it wasn't cool to know the future. She was making her stance on it clear to me, without coming out and saying it in so many words. "Give him a squeeze for me."

Mom smiled as she rose up and I bent down-she was a curly-haired shrimp-and she kissed me on the cheek. "That's part of parenting. When you do what's best for someone else instead of what you want."

"In that case, parenting blows."

She snorted. "Tell me." Then she waved. She waved until I'd pulled out, backed up, popped it back into drive, and was all the way down the street; she waved until I couldn't see her in the rearview anymore.

It was weird. I hadn't done anything, and I hadn't been able to give her any useful answers. In fact, I'd be having nightmares about Clive and the porch clinch for years to come. Still, I felt a lot better.

I guess even vampire queens needed their moms now and again.