Undead and Unwelcome

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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

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) compared to what we did with Garrett’s body. “Look, Cooper, the important thing is now