Undead and Uneasy Read Online Free PDF

told me nervously. Not to
    heaven, or wherever spirits vamoosed to. Her whole life she'd never been on a plane,
    never left the state of Minnesota. So she had decided to see the world, and why not? It
    wasn't like she needed a passport. And she knew she was welcome back here anytime.

    "—perhaps this is the Lord's way of telling us to get yearly driver's exams over the age of
    fifty—"

    I smoothed my black Versace suit and peeped down at my black Prada pumps. Both very
    sensible, very dignified, the former was a gift from Sinclair, the latter a Christmas present
    from Jessica four years ago. If you get the good stuff and take care of it, it'll last forever.

    Just thinking of Jessica made me want to cry— which made me feel like shit. I was sitting
    through a double funeral totally dry-eyed, but the thought of my cancer-riddled best friend
    was enough to make me sob. Thank goodness Marc, an MD for a Minneapolis emergency
    ward, was taking care of her.

    I mean,had been taking care of her. Once he made sure Jessica was squared away, Marc
    had disappeared, too. That was more alarming than anything else, funerals included: Marc
    Spangler did not have a life. He didn't date. He didn't sport fuck. His life was the hospital

    Create PDF files without this message by purchasing novaPDF printer ( http://www.novapdf.com ) and hanging around vampires.

    I'd been calling his cell for days and kept getting voice mail or, worse, no signal at all. It
    was like he'd gone to Mars.

    "—the comfort of many years of mutual love and affection—"

    Oh, fucking blow me. Mutual credit lines and many years of the Ant seducing my dad and
    then begging for a fur coat. He'd married her for lust, and she'd married him for his money
    And on and on and on, and never mind the cost to my mother's heart, or soul, and never
    mind that it had taken Mom the better part of a decade to pick up the pieces.

    And thinking about the good Dr. Taylor (doctorate in history, specialty: the Civil War;
    subspecialty: the Battle at Antietam), my mom wasn't here, either. I knew she and my dad
    hadn't been on good terms for years, and I knew she cordially loathed the Ant (and believe
    me, the feeling was sooo mutual), but I thought she might come so I'd have a hand to
    hold.

    Her reply to an invitation to the funeral was to quirk a white eyebrow and throw some
    Kehlog Albren my way: " 'Sometimes the best of friends can't attend each other's funerals.'
    And your father and I were not the best of friends, dear, to say the least."

    In other words:Nuts to you, sugar bear.

    But she was helping in her own way, taking care of Babyjon. I'd go see them after. Only
    Babyjon's sweet powder smell and toothless (well, semitoothless; he had three by now),
    drooly smile could cheer me up right now.

    I sighed, thinking of the empty mansion waiting for me. Even my cat, Giselle, had gone on
    walkabout. Normally I didn't care. Or notice. But it was scary staying in the big place by

    Create PDF files without this message by purchasing novaPDF printer ( http://www.novapdf.com ) myself. I wished Sinclair would come home. I wished I wasn't still so mad at him I
    wouldn't call him. Most of all, I wished—

    "The interment will be at Carlson Memorial Cemetery," the minister was saying. "For
    those of you who wish to follow the deceased, please put on your headlights."

    —that this was over.

    I stood and smoothed my black dress, checked my black pumps and matching hose.
    Perfect, from head to toe. I looked exactly like a smartly dressed, yet grief-stricken,
    daughter. I wasn't going to follow my dead lather to Carlson Memorial, though, and never
    mind appearances. My headstone was there, too.

    I followed the mourners out, thinking I was the last, only to stop and wheel around at a
    whispered, "Your Majesty?"

    I recognized her at once. Any vampire would. I was even supposed to be afraid of her
    (every vampire was). Except I wasn't. "Donot , do not blow my cover," I hissed