Undead and Unwelcome
Page 1
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Acknowledgements
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Titles by MaryJanice Davidson
UNDEAD AND UNWED
UNDEAD AND UNEMPLOYED
UNDEAD AND UNAPPRECIATED
UNDEAD AND UNRETURNABLE
UNDEAD AND UNPOPULAR
UNDEAD AND UNEASY
UNDEAD AND UNWORTHY
UNDEAD AND UNWELCOME
DERIK’S BANE
SLEEPING WITH THE FISHES
SWIMMING WITHOUT A NET
FISH OUT OF WATER
Anthologies
CRAVINGS
(with Laurell K. Hamilton, Rebecca York, Eileen Wilks)
BITE
(with Laurell K. Hamilton, Charlaine Harris, Angela Knight,
Vickie Taylor)
KICK ASS
(with Maggie Shayne, Angela Knight, Jacey Ford)
MEN AT WORK
(with Janelle Denison, Nina Bangs)
DEAD AND LOVING IT
SURF’S UP
(with Janelle Denison, Nina Bangs)
MYSTERIA
(with P. C. Cast, Gena Showalter, Susan Grant)
OVER THE MOON
(with Angela Knight, Virginia Kantra, Sunny)
DEMON’S DELIGHT
(with Emma Holly, Vickie Taylor, Catherine Spangler)
DEAD OVER HEELS
MYSTERIA LANE
(with P. C. Cast, Gena Showalter, Susan Grant)
* * *
Titles by MaryJanice Davidson and Anthony Alongi
JENNIFER SCALES AND THE ANCIENT FURNACE
JENNIFER SCALES AND THE MESSENGER OF LIGHT
THE SILVER MOON ELM: A JENNIFER SCALES NOVEL
SERAPH OF SORROW: A JENNIFER SCALES NOVEL
THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP
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This book is an original publication of The Berkley Publishing Group.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.
Copyright © 2009 by MaryJanice Alongi.
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Davidson, MaryJanice.
Undead and unwelcome / MaryJanice Davidson.
p. cm.
eISBN : 978-1-101-05836-7
1. Taylor, Betsy (Fictitious character)—Fiction. 2. Vampires—Fiction. 3. Werewolves—Fiction. I. Title.
PS3604.A949U5283 2009
813’.6—dc22
2009005851
http://us.penguingroup.com
Acknowledgments
For my mother-in-law, Elinor Alongi, who will slow down on her own terms, thank you. And, as for the rest of you idiots, after you’ve squeezed out four babies and raised them practically on your own and then buried your husband, if you want to pick the Thanksgiving menu, then by God, you’re gonna pick it!
And for my sister-in-law, Julie Kathryn Gottlieb, who will run her house as she pleases, who struggled mightily to bring her dear son, Sam, into this world, who works for a multinational corporation while shopping, cooking, cleaning, and worrying about her widowed mother, and who, if she wants to change the Thanksgiving menu at the last minute, then by God, she’s gonna change it!
I try to imagine my life with dull in-laws and I just—I just . . . I lock up. Tilt. Overload. Can’t be done. Boring in-laws? What do they do? Just get along and be nice all the time? And never funny? N-never? Never funny? They just . . . I dunno . . . treat each other with a certain kind dignity and respect? Respect? Yeesh, I actually threw up in my mouth a little bit at the thought.
Boring relatives. Seems like a curse, don’t it?
I am not cursed.
Two thousand eight was a mondo-busy year. And a difficult year in many ways—deaths in the family were the worst of it, and only the beginning. But the show must go on, and with the help of many people, the show did.
Given that I have the long-term memory of a salamander, I’m not going to try to name them all. There are too many, and I’ve mentioned many of them before and embarrassed the majority. To them, and everyone else, thank you, thank you, a thousand times thank you.
You’ve all helped me turn daydreams into fictional characters, helped me create whole worlds. These characters, to my surprise, have helped my readers get through difficult times. Which is something I never imagined
my scribbling could ever do. But readers have brought Betsy books to their chemo treatments. To counseling sessions. And, most horrifying of all, to family reunions.
That would be fine on its own, but they’ve also helped me use my work to help people who end up in jams . . . something that’s happened to all of us at least once.
The bottom line? I’ve done nothing for you. Any of you. I write books because I get off on it; other people enjoying the work never entered my teeny, tiny mind. But you’ve sure helped me.
And that, I won’t forget.
—MaryJanice Davidson
December 2008
Author’s Note
I have never once spotted a werewolf on Cape Cod. But there are a lot of Wyndhams on Cape Cod. Draw your own conclusions.
Also, young werewolves really aren’t at all like pre-adolescent humans. Don’t let the cherubic faces fool you. It’s a mistake you likely won’t get to make twice.
Finally, Zyr vodka does exist, but not in the flavors Marc notes in his freezer. And thank goodness.
The Story So Far
Betsy (“Please don’t call me Elizabeth”) Taylor was run over by a Pontiac Aztec almost three years ago. She woke up as the Queen of the Vampires and in dazzling succession (in no particular order), she bit her friend Nick Berry; moved from a suburb to a mansion in St. Paul; solved various murders; lost her father and stepmother; became her half brother’s guardian; continued to avoid the room housing the Book of the Dead; cured her best friend’s cancer; visited her alcoholic grandfather (twice); solved a number of kidnappings; realized her husband, King Eric Sinclair, could read her thoughts (she could always read his); found out the Fiends had been up to no good (Fiend: [noun] a vampire given only [dead] animal blood; a vampire who quickly goes feral).
Also, Antonia, a werewolf from Cape Cod, took a bullet in the brain for Betsy, saving her life. The stories about bullets not hurting vampires are not true; plug enough lead into brain matter and that particular denizen of the undead will never get up again. Finally, Garrett, Antonia’s lover, killed himself the instant he realized she was dead.
It’s been a tough couple of years.
“Unwelcome: ill-favored, inadmissible, objectionable, unacceptable, unwanted.”
—ROGETS II: THE NEW THESAURUS,
THIRD EDITION, 1995
“Someone who is persona non grata is a foreigner officially unwelcome in another country. We use both terms in extended senses, mainly about people unwelcome or welcome in any figurative sense.”
—THE COLUMBIA GUIDE TO
STANDARD AMERICAN ENGLISH
Preview
He stared through the lens so hard he nearly gave himself a migraine. He looked away, then back, then away again.
The star remained. Hanging like a diamond against black velvet, it glowed and beckoned.
After some minutes of this, maybe an hour, he finally lunged for his cell phone and stabbed in a phone number he had memorized over fifteen years ago.
It rang three times before a groggy voice answered, “Do you know what time it is?”
“I know exactly what time it is.” He took a deep breath and pressed a hand against his chest. If he wasn’t careful, he’d overexcite himself right into a coronary. “It’s the time we’ve been praying for.”
A short silence, followed by, “I’m getting up. I’ll call the others.”
“You do that.” He hung up and went back to staring at the star. He couldn’t look away. It called him.
Soon it would call them all.
Chapter 1
So, if I’m reading this correctly, you’re a vampire now. Not a secretary.”
“Not an administrative assistant,” I corrected automatically. I mean, jeez! I knew Cooper was old and creaky, but what century did he think we were living in? (Or in my case, dying in and then reliving?)
“The important bit,” Cooper went on, “is about the vampire.”
“Well, yeah.”
“And how you’re the queen of them.”
I sighed and flopped into an airplane seat. I examined the toes of my navy blue Cole Haan Penny Air Loafers . . . not a scratch so far. “I guess some people would consider that an important point. The queen thing.”
“It’s bulleted and boldfaced. Also, the date of your death is in italics, along with how you don’t have to urinate anymore.”
“My pee or the lack thereof is nobody’s business!” I gnashed my teeth and added, “Give me that.”
I snatched the memo away from Cooper so quickly, he didn’t see my hand move until his wrinkly fingers were clutching air. This startled him into a gasp, which we then both pretended I hadn’t heard. That, I was learning, was vampire etiquette. Or, that is, vampire etiquette when dealing with humans. I’d finally figured it out after three years of being undead.
There should be a class, you know. Vampire Etiquette When Dealing with Humans 101. In another fifty years, I could teach the stupid thing.
I scanned the memo, my eyes bulging so much they felt like they were trying to leap from my skull. Cooper hadn’t been kidding. Jessica had sent him a memo detailing my bodily functions. Two pages!
To: Samuel Cooper.
From: The Boss.
Re: Betsy, Vampirism, and Cargo.
Cargo? My gut churned.
And the part about me being the vampire queen was bulleted.
“I can’t believe she sent you a memo.”
“She always does. And I send ’em to her. Increasing fuel costs, licensing issues, route changes. You know how expensive fuel’s getting now that China’s buying all the oil? The E.M. ain’t cheap, you know.” The E.M.: Jessica’s private joke. It stood for Emancipated Minor.
“And she sends her memos to me to keep me in the loop, don’t you know. Seems this one’s a little late, though,” he muttered.
“ ‘Creepy speed and unnaturally grotesque super-strength’?” Aghast, I kept reading as other blechy phrases leaped out at me. “ ‘Still obsessed with shoes but married rich and can now actually afford the stupid things’? That scrawny traitor, I’m going to—agh! ‘Immortality hasn’t given her any interest in any topic she cannot refer to in the first person.’ Why, that—okay, I can’t really argue with that last one, but she didn’t have to highlight it. Look! It’s highlighted. ”
“So is ‘extreme narcissistic tendencies.’ In any case, I’m to fly you to Cape Cod, so you can meet with the King of the Werewolves and make sure he doesn’t sic his pack on you.”
“I think it’s pronounced Pack.”
Cooper heard the capital P and nodded. “Right. This Pack, they’re pretty ticked? Because of that little gal Antonia?”
I nibbled on the inside of my lip, distressed, as always, by any mention of Antonia. It had only been a week. It didn’t still sting, as much as feel like a lateral slice through the liver.
See, poor Antonia was making the trip with us—in the cargo hold, as all corpses flew. In a plain wooden coffin, the lethal bullet holes all over her skull still not filled in by an undertaker. My husband, Sinclair, and I had no idea what werewolf funeral customs entailed, so we’d given orders that her body simply be placed in a coffin and loaded onto Jessica’s private plane.
We didn’t even wash her beautiful, dear face.
But that was nothing compared to what we did with Garrett’s body.
“Look, Cooper, the important thing is now you know what you’re getting into. So if you can’t fly us out there, or if you think you—”
“Bite your tongue, miss. Or missus, I suppose. I’ve been flying for Jessica Wilson since she was seven years old, don’t you know, and we’ve had hairy days and we’ve had hairy days.”
“Cooper, I never, ever want to hear about your hair.”
He ignored me. It was just as well. “I’ve seen and heard things—never mind, that’s private family busi ness.”
“Oh, come on, we’re best friends. I mean, Jessica and me.” I didn’t know if Cooper had any friends. “There’s
no way you know stuff that I don’t—”
Cooper ruthlessly interrupted my shameless scrounging for gossip. “This doesn’t scare me.” He nodded at the memo, inadvertently crumpled in my fist. “But I surely wish Miss Jessica had told me earlier.”
He meant, of course, “Like, how about before I flew you and the vampire king to New York City for your honeymoon, dumbass?” But Cooper neither a) freaked out, nor b) quit. And thank God, because finding another private pilot at this hour would have been a bitch.
“You got a problem with the boss?” I asked. “Take it up with the boss. What I want to know is, are we still leaving at eight o’clock?” Because if we weren’t, I (and probably my husband) was going to be in big trouble with seventy-five thousand werewolves. I held my breath, remembered for the thousandth time I didn’t have to breathe anyway, and waited for his answer.
Chapter 2
Memos don’t slow down my flight check,” Cooper semi-scolded in his luscious Irish accent. I managed not to swoon with relief. Also, oooh, European accents, I could listen to them all day. Americans sounded like illiterate bumpkins by comparison. “Gunshots don’t slow down my flight check.”
“Don’t worry. Nobody’s packing.” On this flight.
“I could tell you stories about the carnage and body counts . . .” Cooper’s pale blue eyes went misty with nostalgia while I watched him nervously, then he seemed to shake himself. “But the government made me promise.”
“Well, hoo-ray for the government.”
Cooper had first worked for Jessica’s dad and, when her folks died (an ugly yet fitting death and a story for another time) and their assets transferred to her, he kept right on flying for her.