Undead and Unappreciated

by MaryJanice Davidson

  “That sounds wonderful.” Yep, she had definitely cheered up. I felt a little better. It was bad enough that my dad knew I was dead and ignored me. What must it be like for her?

  For that matter, what must it be like to outlive your whole family? Not that it was Andrea’s problem yet, but it would be. It was Tina’s and Sinclair’s right now, and had been for years. Someday it would be mine. Mom, Dad, the Ant, Jessica, Marc…all gone. Laura, too? I didn’t know. With her fiendish powers and low cholesterol, she could live for five hundred years.

  I shook it off. “So we’ll see you tomorrow, then. Say hi to Daniel for me.”

  “I will. Good night, Majesty.”

  I hung up and hit the Stop button on the DVD player. Yikes! The wedding! Time to go shopping before I forgot about it again.

  Chapter 33

  Satan appeared to me while I was sipping a medium Orange Julius and flipping through that month’s Real Simple. There was a small sitting area near the Orange Julius stand (technically, it was Cinnabon’s property) and I was relaxing and pondering where to go next—Nordstrom or GapBaby.

  I’d found a black cashmere dress to go with my purple pumps, but I was still watching out for the perfect accessory. And there was the gestating baby to consider; it wasn’t a minute too soon to try to counteract the Ant’s tacky taste.

  Suddenly, there she was, sitting across from me. The devil. Satan. The lord of lies. And it wasn’t any big shock—I’d known it would be coming. And I instantly knew who she was. Some things you just know, the way you just know you shouldn’t wear true black mascara because it makes your eyes look small and squinty.

  The devil, in case you ever wanted to know, is a woman in her late forties. Today, she was wearing a dark gray suit that buttoned up the front and looked almost military, black panty hose, and plain black pumps. Her hair was a rich chocolate brown, with steaks of silver at the temples, and done up in an elegant bun. Her eyes were very black. Her ears weren’t pierced; in fact, the devil wore no jewelry at all.

  She studied me from across the table for a few moments. Finally she said, “You are the vampire queen.”

  It wasn’t a question, so I guessed she wasn’t taking a poll. I wiped my mouth. “Uh…yeah.”

  “Elizabeth Taylor.”

  “Yes.” From pure force of habit, I checked out her shoes again…then looked one more time. What I had first taken for plain black pumps were in fact Roger Vivier comma heels. Vivier customized footwear for celebrities; his shoes were literally one of a kind. Queen Elizabeth had worn a pair to her coronation. I was looking at hand-tooled shoes with garnets in the heels.

  Circa 1962. Only sixteen pairs were made.

  They were the holy grail of footgear.

  “Wh—where did you get those?”

  The devil gave me a wintry smile. “Would you like them?”

  Yes! No. Would I sell my soul for shoes? Of course not. The very idea was absurd. And the gleam of the garnets didn’t call to me, the very idea of selling my teeny little soul wasn’t a bargain at any…no!

  “And you are half sibling to my daughter, Favored of the Morning Star?”

  “What? Oh, you mean Laura? Right, that’s what the Book called her. I guess ‘Spawn of Satan’ didn’t have as nice a ring to it.”

  The devil had a superb poker face. “The Book. You shouldn’t have tried to destroy it.”

  Tried to? One thing at a time. “Yeah, well, it didn’t go with anything else in the library.”

  “That sort of thing could be considered blasphemy. Consider the average Catholic’s reaction if the Pope threw a first-edition Bible into the Mississippi River. Now consider the message you just sent to your servants.”

  “They aren’t my servants.”

  “Wait.”

  “Look, can we get back on topic? You were asking about Laura? Thanks so much for helping us at Scratch, by the way.”

  “I’m more of a watcher than a doer,” Satan admitted. “Besides, I knew the two of you would prevail. In fact, the two of you combined are virtually unstoppable. Virtually.”

  “Yeah, yeah.”

  This was the devil. The devil! The worst creature in the whole universe. The reason people killed their husbands and ran over little kids in the road and drank too much and did drugs and raped and murdered and lied and cheated and stole. So I admit I was a bit cautious, even if the devil did look weirdly like Lena Olin.

  “He still loves you, you know.”

  “Yep, I sure do know.”

  “In case you were having doubts. It seems to me that it’s been a rough couple of weeks for you, so I’ll set you straight on that, at least: He will always love you.”

  “Yes, I know.”

  (Later, Jessica would ask me, “Who was she talking about?” and I would tell her, “God. She was talking about God.” This weirded out the vampires, but Jess thought it was very fine. As for me, I’d always known the truth. Yeah, it had been a bad couple of weeks, but I’d never doubted that.)

  She sniffed. “It’s too bad. My daughter has the same problem. You could have been formidable. She still will be.”

  “I wouldn’t bet the farm on that one.”

  “I love to bet.” She studied me, her blue eyes narrowing. Er, hadn’t they been brown a minute ago? “Definitely a shame. You might have been someone to contend with. You still could be, if you jettison a few silly ideas.”

  “Oh, I don’t mind,” I assured the devil. “That was never, you know, a career goal or anything.”

  “Humph.” The devil narrowed her hazel eyes. “Your stepmother was the perfect vessel for me.”

  “Oh, I’m sure,” I said truthfully.

  “And your father is a fool.”

  Okay, now I was starting to get a little annoyed. What’d I ever do to the devil? Besides not be completely and foully evil all the time? And not sell my soul for her shoes? Which I hadn’t entirely ruled out yet. “Are we going to talk about anything I haven’t figured out for myself? Because I was sort of hoping this would be an interesting conversation. I mean, you do have a reputation.”

  The devil smirked. “Wretched child.”

  “Look, it’s kind of weirding me out to be talking to you here.”

  “I have been here many times.”

  “Ooooh, wow, a commentary on our grasping culture and how the mall culture is secretly the root of all evil! I’d never pick up on that. I’ve seen freight trains that were more subtle.”

  The devil glared. “I was just making an observation.”

  “Yeah, well, make another one.”

  “You’re one step up from being a moron.”

  “I’m rubber and you’re glue,” I told Satan, “and everything that bounces off me sticks to you.”

  She narrowed her green eyes and looked like she might come over the table at me. After a long moment, she said, “Look after my Laura, if you please.”

  “Well, sure.”

  “I have big plans for her.”

  “Okay. That’s not humongously creepy or anything.”

  She crossed her leg and pointed her toe up, giving me a look at the sole of her shoe. Totally unmarked. Oh, God. They were in perfect shape.

  “Last chance,” the devil said.

  “Get thee behind me, Lena Olin.”

  She disappeared in a puff of smoke that smelled like rotten eggs. No, really. She did. And I went back to Real Simple. It was either that or have hysterics in the food court, and I did have some pride left.

  Chapter 34

  Exhausted from shopping and my Orange Julius with Satan, I staggered into my room and saw the large box sitting on the end of my bed. It was a plain brown cardboard box, so I honestly didn’t think anything of it. It was boot-sized, so I figured Jess had picked me up a pair of winter boots to kick around in while she was out and about.

  I flipped off the top of the box…and nearly fell into the box. There, nestled in crisp white tissue paper, were Kate Spade’s Mondrian boots, way out of my reach at fiv
e hundred bucks. A dream in buttery black and red leather, with an inch and a half heel, they looked sleek and cool just sitting there. I could practically hear them telling me “Vrooom, vrooom!”

  “Oooh, oooh,” I gurgled, totally beyond coherent speech. Me likey! I snatched them up—tissue paper and box and all—to my chest. “Ooooh!”

  Instantly rejuvenated, I whipped around to dart out and show them to—well, anybody—and there was Sinclair standing in the doorway, smiling. His dark eyes sparkled and he said, “Since you seduced me, it seemed only fair that I seduce you.”

  “Oh, baby!” I cried, and danced across the room to give him a kiss.

  Chapter 35

  “Okay, so, to finish up…” I glanced back down at my notes. This wasn’t as hard as I’d thought it was going to be; there weren’t very many people there to worry about (which was both good and bad) and, frankly, I looked great. So did the bride, in a cream-colored sheath and a set of grayish pearls, bareheaded, with flawless makeup. Daniel was in a dark suit of some kind, but who cared? Weddings weren’t about the groom.

  Daniel hadn’t told his dad (for obvious reasons, but still, it was sad), planning to later explain his “elopement” with the new Mrs. Daniels, who had a horror of sunlight. Andrea’s family wasn’t there. My mom and my sister were, as were Marc and Jessica, Sinclair and Tina. George was enchanted with his new #6 crochet needle, and refused to come out of the basement.

  So I wasn’t especially nervous, but I wanted it to be nice. “I did some research on nondenominational weddings…obviously nondenominational…and I found this on the Web. Okay, it goes like this.

  “‘May the promises you make to one another be lived out to the end of your lives in an atmosphere of profoundest joy.’” I paused. Daniel and Andrea were positively google-eyed at each other, and Mom was sniffling like she always does at weddings.

  All part of my diabolical plan, so I went on. “I thought that would be good advice for anybody, regardless of special, uh, circumstances. So now we’ll do the vows, and then we’ll have punch. Do you, Daniel, choose to marry Andrea? To speak words that will join you with her as your wife for all the rest of the days of your life?”

  “I will.”

  “Do you, Andrea, choose to marry Daniel? To speak words that will join you with him as your husband for all the rest of the days of your life?”

  I paused again. That was the big question. Andrea had a long, long life ahead of her. And Daniel was no sheep. How would they make this work? Would she try to turn him into a vampire? Would he allow it?

  It was none of my business. Better to focus on the day and worry about that stuff later.

  “I will.”

  “Then by the power invested in me, by me, I now pronounce you husband and wife. Bite away.”

  They ignored me and kissed, but that was all right.

  “I have one more thing,” I said. “From Shakespeare. Don’t look so surprised, my search engine works. Anyway, as soon as I saw it I thought of you two, so I figured this would be a good place to mention it.” I didn’t mention it was from Romeo and Juliet; hopefully their romance would turn out better.

  “With love’s light wings did I o’erperch these walls,

  For stony limits cannot hold love out,

  And what love can do, that dares love attempt.”

  I finished and looked up from my notes.

  From across the room, Sinclair was smiling at me.

  * * *

  Turn the page for a special preview of

  MaryJanice Davidson’s next novel

  Undead and Unreturnable

  Coming in November from Berkley Sensation!

  * * *

  Chapter 1

  This is how my tombstone read:

  ELIZABETH ANNE TAYLOR

  APRIL 25, 1974–APRIL 25, 2004

  OUR SWEETHEART, ONLY RESTING

  “That’s just so depressing,” my best friend, Jessica Watkins, observed.

  “It’s weird.” My sister, Laura Goodman, was staring. “That is very, very weird.”

  “Our sweetheart, only resting?” I asked. “What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”

  “I think it’s nice,” my sister said, a little hesitantly. She looked like a dirty old man’s dream with her long, butter-scotch blonde hair, big blue eyes, and red pea coat. You know how minister’s kids will sometimes go wild when they finally get away from their parents? Laura was the devil’s daughter (no, really), so her way of rebelling was to be as nice and sweet as possible. A dastardly plan. “It’s a little different. Most of the people I know would have gone with a Bible verse, but your mama certainly didn’t have to.”

  “Given how things turned out,” Jess replied, running a hand over her skinned-back black hair, “It’s a little prophetic, don’t you think?” As usual when she put her hair up, she pulled it back so tightly, the arch of her eyebrows made her look constantly amazed.

  “I think standing in front of my own grave is the last place I want to be on the first day of December, is what I think.” Depressing and creepy. Must be the holidays.

  Jessica sighed again and rested her forehead on my shoulder. “Poor Betsy. I can’t get over it. You were so young!”

  Laura smirked a little. “Like turning thirty wasn’t enough of a trauma. Poor Betsy.”

  “So young!”

  “Will you pull yourself together, please? I’m right here.” I stuck my hands into my coat pockets and sulked. “What is it, like ten below out? I’m freezing.”

  “You’re always freezing. Don’t bitch if you’re going to go outside without your gloves. And it’s thirty-five degrees, you big baby.”

  “Would you like my coat?” Laura said. “I don’t really feel the cold.”

  “Another one of your sinister powers,” Jessica said. “We’ll add it to the list with weapons made of hellfire and always being able to calculate a twenty-two percent tip. Now Bets, run this by me again…how’d your tombstone finally show up here?”

  I explained, hopefully for the last time. I had, of course, died in the spring. Rose in the early dawn hours the day of my funeral and gone on undead walkabout. Since my body was MIA, the funeral was canceled.

  But my mother, who had been in a huge fight with my dad and stepmom about what to spend on my marble tombstone, had rushed to order the thing. By the time it was finished, no funeral, no service, no burial. (My family knew the truth about what I was now, and so did Jessica. My other co-workers and friends had been told the funeral had been a joke, one in very poor taste.)

  So anyway, my tombstone had been in storage the last six months. (My stepmother had been pushing for plain, cheap granite, my initials, and my dates of death and birth; a penny saved is a penny earned, apparently. My dad, as he always did when my mom and Antonia were involved, stayed out of it.) After a few months, the funeral home had politely contacted my mother and asked what she’d like to do with my tombstone. Since mom had the plot and the stone paid for, she had them stick it in the dirt the two days’ ago, and mentioned it at lunch yesterday. You know how it goes: “Waiter, I’ll have the tomato soup with parmesan croutons, and by the way, honey, I had your tombstone set up in the cemetery yesterday.”

  Jessica and Laura had been morbidly curious to see it, and I’d tagged along. What the hell, it made for a break from wedding arrangements and Christmas cards.

  “Your mom,” Jessica commented, “is a model of scary efficiency.”

  Laura brightened. “Oh, Dr. Taylor is so nice.”

  “And just when I think your stepmother can’t get any lamer…no offense, Laura.” The Ant was technically Laura’s birth mother. It was a long story.

  “I’m not offended,” she replied cheerfully.

  “Have you two weirdos seen enough?”

  “Wait, wait.” Jessica plopped the bouquet of calla lilies on my grave. I nearly shrieked. I’d sort of assumed she’d picked those up for one of the eighty thousand tables in our house. Not for my grave. Ugh! “There we
go.”

  “Let’s bow our heads,” Laura suggested.

  “No way. You’re both fucking ill.”

  “Language,” my sister replied mildly.

  “We’re not praying over my grave. I’m massively creeped out just being here. That would be the final, ultimately too-weird step, ya weirdo.”

  “I’m not the one on a liquid diet, O vampire queen. Let’s book.”

  “Yeah,” I said, casting one more uneasy glance at my grave. “Let’s.”

  * * *

  Turn the page for a special preview of

  Jennifer Scales and

  the Ancient Furnace

  the first teen fantasy adventure by

  MaryJanice Davidson and Anthony Alongi

  Coming soon from Berkley Jam!

  * * *

  Chapter 1

  The Flip

  The Winoka Falcons were on the verge of their third straight Community Junior League Soccer Championship. In sudden-death overtime, the score was tied at 1–1 with the Northwater Shooting Stars. Jennifer Scales, the Falcons captain, dribbled the ball across midfield. Four of her teammates charged forward with her; only three exhausted defenders were keeping pace.

  Jennifer, who had turned fourteen the day before, wanted a win for her birthday present.

  As one of the Northwater defenders approached, she kicked the ball sharply to the left, into what could have been open field. It skimmed the grass and nestled squarely in the instep of her teammate, Susan Elmsmith. Jennifer grinned in delight at her friend’s sudden change in pace and direction. There were times she was sure the two of them could read each other’s mind.