Undead and Uneasy Read Online Free Page A

lovely ceremony." (Have I mentioned that the
    devil's daughter was raised by ministers?)

    "There's the cake," I continued.

    "What, a cake the size of a Lamborghini?" Cathie .asked.

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    "Gown, bridesmaids' gowns, reception, food—"

    "That you can't eat!" Marc groaned.

    "Honeymoon expenses, liquor for the open bar, caterers, waiters, waitresses—"

    "A church to buy from the Catholics."

    The others were used to my one-sided conversations with Cathie, but Marc was still
    shaking his head in that 'women are fucknuts' way that all males mastered by age three.

    "None of these are working," I told the attendants. I wasn't referring to the dresses, either.
    "And my friend is tired. I think we'll have to try another time."

    "I'm fine," Jessica rasped.

    "Shut up," Marc said.

    "You don't look exactly well," Laura fretted.

    "Aren't you supposed to go back to the hospital soon?

    "Shut up, white girl."

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    "If I ever said 'shut up, black girl,' you would land on me like the wrath of the devil
    herself" Laura paused. "And I ought to know."

    "Stay out of my shit, white girl."

    "If you're ill, you should be in the hospital."

    "Cancer isn't contagious, white girl."

    "It's very selfish of you to give Betsy something else to worry about right now."

    "Who's talking to you, white girl? Not her. Not me. Don't you have a soup kitchen to toil
    in? Or a planet to take over?"

    Laura gasped. I groaned. Jessica was in an ugly mood, but that was no reason to bring up
    The Thing We Didn't Talk About: namely, that the devil's daughter was fated to take over
    the world.

    Before the debate could rage further, the attendant cut in. "But your wedding is only a few
    months away. That doesn't leave us much—"

    "Cram it," I snapped, noticing the gray pallor under Jessica's normally shining skin.
    "Laura, you're right. We're out of here."

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    But all that stuff at the bridal shop happened months ago, and I was only thinking of my
    friends because I was all alone. Worse: all alone at a double funeral.

    My father and his wife were dead.

    I had no idea how to feel about that. I'd never liked the Ant—my stepmother—a brassy,
    gauche woman who lied like fish sucked water, a woman who had shoved my mother out
    of her marriage and shattered my conception of happily ever after at age thirteen.

    And my father had never had a clue what to do with me. Caught between the daily wars
    waged between the Ant and me, and my mom and the Ant, and the Ant and him ("Send
    heraway , dear, and do it right now "), he stayed out of it altogether. He loved me, but he
    was weak. He'd always been weak. And my coming back from the dead horrified him.

    And she had never loved me, or even liked me.

    But that was all right, because I had never liked her, either. My return from the dead
    hadn't improved our relationship one bit. In fact, the only thing that had accomplished that
    trick was the birth of my half brother, Babyjon, who was mercifully absent from the
    funeral.

    Everybody was absent. Jessica was in the hospital undergoing chemo, and her boyfriend,
    Detective Nick Berry, only left her side to eat and occasionally arrest a bad guy.

    In a horrifying coincidence, the funeral was taking place where my own funeral had been.
    Would have, except I'd come back from the dead and gotten the hell out of there. I was

    Create PDF files without this message by purchasing novaPDF printer ( http://www.novapdf.com ) not at all pleased to find myself back, either.

    When I'd died, more than a year ago, I'd gotten a look at the embalming room but hadn't
    exactly lingered to sightsee. Thus, I—we—were sitting in a room I'd never seen. Sober
    dark walls, lots of plush folding chairs,