Mark Henry_Amanda Feral 02 Read Online Free PDF

began.
    “Madame Gloria has a 92 percent accuracy, people. I won’t have y’all maligning her.”
    She had us there. The medium, or whatever, certainly predicted that we’d all be going on a trip, and as soon as we made an appearance at Goblin Bar, we’d be free of obligations. After all, Marithé would be perfectly capable of running the business in my absence. I guessed there was no avoiding my own issues.
    Ethel Ellen Frazier.
    I drained the pitcher and drank. The alcohol warmed my frame and I imagined the scene at my mother’s deathbed. She lying there, dried out like a mummy on display, crispy fingers beckoning me closer.
    Amanda
, she’d say.
You’ve come to beg for my forgiveness, haven’t you?
    Uh … nope. I’ve come to watch you croak.
    Mother would completely ignore this crack and respond with something like:
Ah. Sweet girl, go ahead and make your apologies. I’m open to them.
    Apologies my ass, bitch. It’s you that should be begging my forgiveness.
    Rest your mind, child. I forgive you.
    Can you hear me, old woman?
I’d yell.
    I forgive your neglectful ways, your whoring, your—
    I hate you.
    I know, baby. I love you, too. Doesn’t it feel good to tell each other, after all these years?
    Aaaaah!
I’d scream, right before I bashed her head in with her bedpan.
    I returned to the present. Ricardo and Marithé were vacating the booth, saying their goodbyes and wandering off through the crowded masses on the dance floor.
    “Yep,” I said.
    “What was that?” Wendy asked.
    The image of Ethel’s still corpse fresh in my mind, her normally smug face stretched into a grimace, I found myself beaming. 20 “Let’s go see Mom.”
    8 On that note, I hope women aren’t spreading their legs for under a hundred. It seems a shame to exploit yourself (and your poon) for less than the price of a Toki Doki Messenger Bag. Which are totally cute, right?
    9 Ricardo Amandine, mentor, cocktail-shaker and go-go boy— I mean go-to guy, of course (he’d kill me if I left that little joke in there).
    10 As a rule, downtrodden is not my favorite look.
    11 Not without a great beard by his side.
    12 That’s right, I have a little problem keeping my cars dentfree. What of it?
    13 Well, if you were dead yourself you’d notice. Are you? Dead, I mean?
    14 Empathy is not my strong suit.
    15 There’s no finer victory evidence.
    16 Fabulous zombie socialite. Gorgeous vision of death. Envy of all. Take your pick.
    17 That’s hood ornament #2 for those of you counting.
    18 Got your wheels turning? Straight rum on the rocks. 151, actually.
    19 A celebration of deformities … and song.
    20 Not that I was lost or anything. Oh … wait. I kind of was.

Chapter 3

Bitches: Trannies,
Werewolves, Otherwise
    The Goblin Bar marks a new era for supernatural clubbing. Ricardo Amandine has some real competition this time …
    —
Zombie-A-Go-Go
    First off.
    There was no valet at Goblin Bar. Do you have any idea how much I hate that? 21 We ended up parking across the street at a pay lot. Say it with me, “pay lot.” I had to park myself at a club opening, like regular people, and shell out funds to do it; that’s all kinds of wrong, no matter how you slice it. So you’ll forgive me for being irritable.
    The other thing.
    The Emerald City drizzle was plotting to ruin my new outfit, a tighter-than-tight, scoop-necked cashmeresweater in a pale blue that made my eyes glow like dying stars, over a tan wool pencil skirt that tapered at the knee with such severity that with every step my hips swiveled with burlesque-like abandon. The heels were suicide high, and almost embarrassingly expensive.
    Almost.
    Wendy had a bit more room in whatever it was she was wearing, some loose fitting smock that may have been the talk of New York and Paris, but looked like a cinched-up nightgown, and was thin enough, had she been alive and susceptible to cold nipple syndrome, that it would have been split open at the tits. She twisted around and collected