Undead 9, Undead and Unfinished - MaryJanice Davidson

MaryJanice Davidson- Undead 9, Undead and Unfinished

Prologue

Archived audio files of Elizabeth, the One, Queen of the Vampires, circa 2010

Okay, so, here are various yucky excerpts from the Book of the Dead. Gawd, I hate that thing.

“The Queene’s sister shalt be Belov’d of the Morningstar, and shalt take the Worlde.”

That’d be my sister, Laura. She’s a great kid—a college student at the U of M. Also, she’s the Antichrist.

“And the Queene shall noe the dead, all the dead, and neither shall they hide from her nor keep secrets from her.”

Yeah. That fun tidbit translated to, “Zombies will lurk in your basement, and ghosts will follow you around and bitch. Lots.”

“... and the Morningstar shalt appear before her own chylde, shalt help with the taking of the Worlde, and shalt appear before the Queene in all the raiments of the dark,”

This? I have no idea. Could be the end of the world, could be a visit from Boy Scouts selling wreaths. And it’s maddening, really maddening, because I can’t read too much of this fucking horrible tome from hell (probably literally from hell) in one sitting because I go crazy. Anyone who reads it for too long at a time goes crazy. Also? I can’t get rid of the damned thing.

It finds me. It always finds me, sometimes via the nefarious operators of the United Parcel Service. As Ferris Bueller put it, “How’s that for being born under a bad sign?”

“And the Queene shall noe the dead, and keep the dead,”

Yep, got that one figured out. I live with vampires and talk to them, and I’m having fabulous sex with one of them. Also we’re filing joint tax returns, a good trick for dead people.

As for keeping the dead—I have a zillion roommates, none of whom I asked to move in, in case anyone’s keeping track.

“And the Queene shalt noe a living chylde, and he shalt be hers by a living man.”

Score another one for the Book of the Dread. My half brother, BabyJon, is now my legal ward due to the recent grisly deaths of my father and stepmother. I had pretty much given up on the idea of being a mom—I no longer sweat, never mind menstruate—when BabyJon landed splat in the middle of my (undead) life.

What’s worse, that I can’t read the thing long enough to make sense of it, or that it’s always right?

“To challenge the Queene, thou shalt desecrate the symbole.”

At least this isn’t getting weird.

“The Queene hath dominion over all the dead, and they shalt take from her, as she takes from them, and she shalt noe them, and they her, for that is what it is to be Queene.”

Now it’s getting weird. See, um, one of my superscary evil vamp powers is that I can pull energy from other vampires, then boost it and slam it back into them. I only did it once. It sucked rocks, and nearly killed me (again).

Please God, I never have to do it again.

Do a lady a favor, okay, God?

“The Queene shalt see oceans of blood, and despair.”

Now, that one? That’s the one that really scares me.

Chapter 1

l would never have gone to hell in the first place if the Antichrist hadn’t been fluent in Tagalong. Talk about your perfect storm of paranormal weirdness ... and on Halloween, too.

Okay, so, I’ll back up. This whole mess started simply enough (they always, always do): Bloomingdale’s was having a shoe sale and for once, the retail time warp worked in my favor.

Okay, I’ll back up more. You know how stores are actually about four months ahead of the actual calendar? Like Halloween decorations on sale the day after Easter (pardon me while I embrace the horror)? Like that. So anyway, even though it was Halloween, they were having their spring shoe sale (because when there’s a foot of snow on the ground, everybody wants to buy sandals, right?). And the Antichrist asked if she could tag along, so I said okay.

I ... said ... okay! You’d think I hadn’t been paying attention the last four years. Okay, I haven’t been. Still, how could I not see the coming disaster? It shouldn’t have mattered that the Antichrist needed a new pair of sandals. I should have realized that an innocent quest for fine leather footwear would have ended up with me in hell and the Antichrist freaking out. Again.

Right. The Antichrist. I should probably explain that, too. My half sister, Laura, was fathered by my, uh, father. Dear Old Dad was banging away