And thanks to me! Because without the awesomeness that is me, these books wouldn’t exist. So I’m pretty great, too. (I know...what a pill, right? Trust me, all writers think this. They just won’t admit it out loud, or even to themselves sometimes. But writers will look at their latest release and think, I did that. Damn! My mother was right: I’m pretty terrific. Oh, and hey, it’s great that all those readers bought copies of the books that wouldn’t exist without me. Yaaaay, me! And also, yaaaay, them!)
It’s possible I’m projecting on other writers. It’s possible that I’m the only one obnoxious enough to think like that.
Naw. But! In all seriousness, thank you for your kind attention. And if you buy the book, any of my books, thank you again. But if you want the turkey dinner, if the thought of cotton candy at 8:00 a.m. on an empty stomach is revolting, I totally understand, and would suggest you try or re-read: Gone with the Wind, The Stand, The Wives of Henry VIII by Antonia Fraser, Gone Girl, Bring Up The Bodies, A Dance of Dragons, or Easy Peasy French: Your French Phrase Book To Go!
That oughta get you where you want to go. To which I say, thanks to my handy French phrase book, Adios! Oh. Wait...I’m sure that’s not right. Where is that French phrase book...?
MaryJanice “I am not a monster!” Davidson
UNDEAD AND UNSTABLE excerpt
What sounded and smelled like a hundred black Lab puppies swarmed over me, barking shrill puppy barks and licking everything they could reach and suffocating me with their foul puppy breath.
My cardigan! My Etienne Aigners! If one of those mangy little monsters so much as thought about taking a chomp on my shoes . . . oooh, just picturing it made me feel like I was going insane.
And Sinclair had made this happen. The betrayal! He really screwed me after he didn’t screw me, the treacherous bastard.
“Get them off. Get them off! Argh, it feels like they’re crawling all over me! Is this what withdrawal is like? Oh, those poor drug addicts! Why are you just standing there, you rat bastard? Help!”
While I writhed in a sea of puppies, the King of the Vampires fell to his knees. His sinister plan had worked beautifully, and he was so delighted he gave in completely. For a guy who prided himself on keeping things under control, he was letting loose an awful lot this week.
“Stop it! You bum! Ack, get away . . .”
He’d collapsed to his knees and was holding his stomach while bellowing laughter. Every time he tried to get up and help me, he fell back down again. This only increased my puppy-induced fury.
A velvety black ear slipped into my mouth, probably because I was screeching threats at my husband, the puppies, the stars, the Antichrist for picking such a dreadful meeting place, and any bugs or telemarketers in the vicinity. I puffed it back out with a breath and struggled to sit up. Did I . . . was that? It was! My left shin was warm and wet. “Oh, Goddammit! That’s it. Gloves off. I’m gonna pull a Cruella de Vil and skin each of you. Starting with you!” I told Sinclair, and he finally stopped laughing.
“Now, darling,” he said reprovingly. “There is no need—”
“Don’t ‘darling’ me, butt monkey. You knew what would happen. You figured out what this place was, and you deliberately—get away!” I yelled at the puppies, and several of them scampered back toward the garage. Of course, several more ignored me and collapsed on their fat puppy butts, looking up at me with their puppy tongues hanging out of their puppy mouths. “Dogs and zombies. That’s what this Thanksgiving has for us, Sink Lair. Dogs and zombies.”
“Perhaps you might consider seeing if they bend to your will,” he suggested.
“Now, Elizabeth. You yourself said this sort of, uh, event . . .” The corner of his mouth twitched, but he managed to keep the grin off his face. If he’d still been human, his eyes would have watered with the effort. “This sort of thing did not happen to you in life. Perhaps you can control them in death.”
“I can’t even control my split ends, never mind the hounds of heck.”
He blinked. “I have no idea what that means. But as I said—”
“I wasn’t listening.”
“Perhaps you could dominate them.”
“I’m still not listening.”
“Oh, you’re here,” the Antichrist said. No doubt roused by my bitter screams of hatred, she’d come out of the house and was standing on the porch. She was pretty focused, too: she was looking straight at me, like Sinclair wasn’t there and, weirder, like thirty-some puppies weren’t, either. “Good. We’ve got to talk.”
“Boy, do we,” I said. “Also, do you know a good divorce attorney?”
Sinclair ignored me and was (ugh!) holding two of the black Lab puppies, which seemed delighted to be in his arms, judging from all the wriggling and licking. “They shall be mine,” he said, delighted, “and I shall name them Fur and Burr.”
“And the horror continues. Fur and Burr? Be serious. Uh . . . Laura . . . you wanna help us wrangle some of these dogs?” They were annoying, but that didn’t mean I wanted them to get lost or wander onto a highway and get squashed.
“Okay.” Laura came down the steps, crossed the driveway, and absently scooped up two more puppies. I’d rarely seen her look so solemn. And given that the Antichrist loved puppies, shelters, orphans, lemonade, babies, marshmallows, and the homeless, it was weird that she wasn’t going deep into cuddle mode. “But then we’ve got to talk.”
“That’s not all we’ve gotta do,” I muttered, aiming a kick at the vampire king, who easily dodged, and walked toward the house talking in a low voice to Fur and Burr.
About Undead and Unstable
Undead and UnstableUndead / Betsy 11
Berkley, June 5, 2012
Hardcover and eBook, 336 pages
“If you’re fans of Sookie Stackhouse and Anita Blake, don’t miss Betsy Taylor. She rocks” (The Best Reviews)—and she’s back once again as a vampire queen who finds herself an unlucky (but fashionable) passenger on the road to damnation…
Betsy’s heartbroken over her friend Marc’s death, but at least his sacrifice should change the future—her future—for the better. But it’s not as if Betsy’s next few hundred years will be perfect. After all, her half-sister Laura is the AntiChrist, Laura’s mother is Satan, and family gatherings will always be more than a little awkward.
What’s really bothering Betsy is that ever since she and Laura returned from visiting her mom in Hell, Laura’s been acting increasingly peculiar. Maybe it’s Laura’s new job offer: as Satan’s replacement down under. Unfortunately, the position comes at a damnable price: killing Betsy, her own flesh-and-blood.
Over Betsy’s dead body. And for that matter Marc’s, too, since he’s not quite as buried as everyone thought. Now a war has been waged—one that’s going to take sibling rivalry to a whole new level, and a dimension where only one sister can survive.
About MaryJanice Davidson
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