Titles by MaryJanice Davidson
UNDEAD AND UNWED
UNDEAD AND UNEMPLOYED
UNDEAD AND UNAPPRECIATED
UNDEAD AND UNRETURNABLE
UNDEAD AND UNPOPULAR
UNDEAD AND UNEASY
UNDEAD AND UNWORTHY
UNDEAD AND UNWELCOME
UNDEAD AND UNFINISHED
UNDEAD AND UNDERMINED
UNDEAD AND UNSTABLE
UNDEAD AND UNSURE
UNDEAD AND UNWARY
UNDEAD AND UNFORGIVEN
UNDEAD AND DONE
DERIK’S BANE
WOLF AT THE DOOR
SLEEPING WITH THE FISHES
SWIMMING WITHOUT A NET
FISH OUT OF WATER
DEJA WHO
Titles by MaryJanice Davidson and Anthony Alongi
JENNIFER SCALES AND THE ANCIENT FURNACE
JENNIFER SCALES AND THE MESSENGER OF LIGHT
THE SILVER MOON ELM: A JENNIFER SCALES NOVEL
SERAPH OF SORROW: A JENNIFER SCALES NOVEL
RISE OF THE POISON MOON: A JENNIFER SCALES NOVEL
EVANGELINA: A JENNIFER SCALES NOVEL
Anthologies
CRAVINGS
(with Laurell K. Hamilton, Rebecca York, Eileen Wilks)
BITE
(with Laurell K. Hamilton, Charlaine Harris, Angela Knight, Vickie Taylor)
KICK ASS
(with Maggie Shayne, Angela Knight, Jacey Ford)
MEN AT WORK
(with Janelle Denison, Nina Bangs)
DEAD AND LOVING IT
SURF’S UP
(with Janelle Denison, Nina Bangs)
MYSTERIA
(with P. C. Cast, Gena Showalter, Susan Grant)
OVER THE MOON
(with Angela Knight, Virginia Kantra, Sunny)
DEMON’S DELIGHT
(with Emma Holly, Vickie Taylor, Catherine Spangler)
DEAD OVER HEELS
MYSTERIA LANE
(with P. C. Cast, Gena Showalter, Susan Grant)
MYSTERIA NIGHTS
(includes Mysteria and Mysteria Lane, with P. C. Cast, Susan Grant, Gena Showalter)
UNDERWATER LOVE
(includes Sleeping with the Fishes, Swimming Without a Net, and Fish out of Water)
DYING FOR YOU
UNDEAD AND UNDERWATER
BERKLEY
An imprint of Penguin Random House LLC
375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014
Copyright © 2016 by MaryJanice Davidson
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BERKLEY is a registered trademark and the B colophon is a trademark of Penguin Random House LLC.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: Davidson, MaryJanice, author.
Title: Undead and done / MaryJanice Davidson.
Description: First edition. | New York : Berkley, 2016. | Series: Undead/Queen Betsy ; 15
Identifiers: LCCN 2016025586 (print) | LCCN 2016025763 (ebook) | ISBN 9780425282946 (hardback) | ISBN 9780698407251 (ebook)
Subjects: LCSH: Taylor, Betsy (Fictitious character)—Fiction. | Vampires—Fiction. | Hell—Fiction. | BISAC: FICTION / Romance / Paranormal. | FICTION / Fantasy / Paranormal.
Classification: LCC PS3604.A949 U44 2016 (print) | LCC PS3604.A949 (ebook) | DDC 813/.6—dc23
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2016025586
First Edition: October 2016
Cover design by Lesley Worrell and Katie Anderson
Cover illustration by Craig White
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
While the author has made every effort to provide accurate telephone numbers, Internet addresses, and other contact information at the time of publication, neither the publisher nor the author assumes any responsibility for errors, or for changes that occur after publication. Further, the publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.
Version_1
For Ethan and Cindy, who helped me go from the trailer park to the bestseller list. I know I’ve said this before, but hey—it bears repeating: you’re the greatest!
Contents
TITLES BY MARYJANICE DAVIDSON
TITLE PAGE
COPYRIGHT
DEDICATION
AUTHOR’S NOTE
EPIGRAPHS
PROLOGUE
’NOTHER PROLOGUE (MY BOOK, MY RULES)
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
CHAPTER FORTY
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
EPILOGUE
’NOTHER EPILOGUE
Author’s Note
Well, here we are! The final book in the Undead series. When I started Undead and Unwed, I was neck-deep in an SDJ (stupid day job), working fifty hours a week while trying to write after the kids were in bed. Or during my lunch break. Or when I was supposed to be transcribing my boss’s notes. (I wasn’t a very good employee.)
Fast-forward: writing is my SDJ, which is really a WDJ (wonderful day job), and I’ve written a whole bunch of books and, even better, sold a bunch, too. And, since I work for myself, these days I’m a slightly less terrible employee. (My boss is the worst, though.)
I have no idea how this happened.
I’m not kidding. No clue. I’ve always written because I’ve always wanted to. I never gave it much thought beyond that. It’s been my great good fortune to stumble across talented people who are great at their jobs, who love b
ooks as much if not more than I do, who thought I had a voice worth hearing and wanted to help me punish share it with the world.
Although I’m most known for the Undead series, after fifteen books it’s time to take a break from that universe and explore new ones. I never wanted to be the writer who kept churning out books to pay for the pool house and, in the process, lost all regard for her characters.
That’s not to say I’ll never, ever write about Betsy and the gang. I foresee characters from the Undead universe showing up now and again in various novellas. I couldn’t keep that bitch away even if I wanted to.
A few things worth noting . . .
The Mall of America is actually pretty great. (As I’m writing this, I’m about to leave to sign stock at the Barnes and Noble store, suck down a bowl of ramen at Masu Sushi & Robata, and maybe grab a Cinnabon, because my self-control is in shreds.) I don’t think it’s Hell on earth, except on Black Friday. And Blue Tuesday. It was just the best way for me to grasp an infinite space and make it relatable. If anything, Hell’s more like Coachella or Comic Con . . . it’s not as terrible as you feared, but you still can’t leave until they let you go.
Everything Betsy says about InStyle magazine is true. Everything.
There really is a KARE 11 news channel, and as of this writing, Diana Pierce really anchors there. Wait, that doesn’t sound right. Diana Pierce is an anchor there? That’s probably better. Anyway, I’ve been on KARE 11 a few times, and they always invite me back regardless of their instincts. I always thought if Betsy had to do an interview, she’d go with a local she liked. So for the final book in the series, I couldn’t resist pairing a real person with a fictional character.
For those of you whose Greek mythology is rusty (and I put myself on that list), the Augean stables were one of the twelve labors of Hercules. Once upon a time, the strongest alpha male on the planet went crazy and killed his kids and his wife (the Disney movie left that part out, though casting James Woods as Hades was inspired). So to make up for it (as if anything could), King Eurystheus set Hercules twelve unbelievably difficult tasks. Like, Wait, you’re auditing my audit? difficult.
One of these was mucking out the Augean stables, a job that wasn’t just supposed to be almost impossible, but also humiliating—Hercules was the son of Zeus, king of the gods. Herc probably thought “stable boy” was never going to show up on his résumé. The horses weren’t just healthy; they were immortal and never got sick. They sure did shit a lot, though, in the manner of healthy mammals everywhere.
Well, “dung scooper” did end up on his résumé. Along with lion tamer, hydra decapitator, hind stealer, boar grabber, snake wrangler, man-eating-bird catcher, bull rustler, mare catcher,* belt stealer, cattle herder, apple grabber, and three-headed-dog catcher.
Long story short, Hercules forced a river to flow through the Augean stables, doing all the dirty work for him, which was ruled as cheating, but that part isn’t relevant to this book.
Oh, and the reason he went insane and killed his family in the first place? His stepmother made him insane. As in, it wasn’t his fault at all. As in, Hera was an asshat! Why is the moral of most Greek myths “Family is the worst”?
The Saint Paul Hotel really exists and so does the fabulous Ordway Suite. For the purpose of this book, I gave it three bedrooms instead of two. If you get the chance, and can handle a second mortgage, it’s well worth checking out. Parlor that seats eight, a kitchen, two bathrooms, amazing king-sized beds, a stocked wet bar, robes that feel like warm, fuzzy clouds, dark glossy wood all over the place . . . it’s like a penthouse suite decorated by George Washington’s mom. The whole place just stinks of class. If you get the chance, check out the magnificence: www.saintpaulhotel.com/accommodations/ordway_suite/.
Bacon cookies exist! You can get the recipe here: www.myrecipes.com/recipe/bacon-cookies.
The Little Bighorn Battlefield National Monument is worth seeing. I’m an amateur Civil War buff so I’m into it, but the place is fascinating if you’re into what happened in the years after the war, or learning what too much pride can cost you, or how indigenous people shouldn’t be fucked with, or if you just like to look at amazing countryside: www.nps.gov/libi/index.htm.
Port-a-cribs are wonderful. That is all.
There is some discussion of suicide in chapter twenty-three, when a character in Hell recalls how she killed herself. If you think this might be a trigger, please avoid. Also if you think vampires, zombies, grumpy mermaids, reminiscing about decapitation, betrayal, explosions, incontinent puppies, and far, far too much profanity might be a trigger, avoid chapters one, two, th— You know what? Just put the book back on the shelf.
Lutefisk is a traditional Nordic dish, and we got screwed. You know what other countries’ traditional dishes are? Lasagna. Baklava. Fish and chips. Crêpes. Astonishing and delicious things designed solely to nourish and make you happy. Meanwhile, lutefisk is dried fish soaked in cold water, then lye (which, yes, is a poison), after which it’s soaked in water again to make it edible. Because, a reminder: it was soaked in poison.
You know what isn’t soaked in poison as a preparatory step to consumption? Lasagna. Fish and chips. Baklava.
I have eaten lutefisk.
Once.
If you’re ever in Boston, put the Faneuil Hall Marketplace on your “Must See and Drool Over” list. It’s the best food court ever, where you can buy a bagel and half a dozen raw oysters and sushi and pizza and a frappe and cookies and a salad, all to go, in the same place. This place is a miracle.
Smoothie Nation is not a thing. But it damned well should be. Fortunately, blackberry Creamsicle smoothies are a thing. Pinterest, is there anything you can’t do?
And that was the October week when they grew up overnight, and were never so young anymore.
SOMETHING WICKED THIS WAY COMES,
RAY BRADBURY
Who is the liar but he who denies that Jesus is the Christ? This is the antichrist, he who denies the Father and the Son.
1 JOHN 2:22 ESV
One Betsy . . . to rule them all.
NO ONE EVER
Let no one deceive you in any way. For that day will not come, unless the rebellion comes first, and the man of lawlessness is revealed, the son of destruction, who opposes and exalts himself against every so-called god or object worship, so that he takes his seat in the temple of God, proclaiming himself to be God.
2 THESSALONIANS 2:3–4 ESV
I just want to focus on my salad.
MARTHA STEWART
He shall speak words against the Most High, and shall wear out the saints of the Most High, and shall think to change the times and the law; and they shall be given into his hand for a time, times, and half a time.
DANIEL 7:25 ESV
PROLOGUE
The guards finally took a break, and by lunchtime most of the skin on his torso had grown back. He sat down in the food court and contemplated his burger, cooked just the way he liked it (well-done, with a pucklike texture), with most of the bread scooped from the bun (not that he had to worry about hatefuldelicious carbs anymore), sweet potato fries with a sprinkle of sea salt, a dish of flan for dessert, and to wash it down, a tall glass of sweet iced tea, no lemon, with a shot of cream.
It was perfect.
He hated it.
He ate it anyway. While he chewed and sipped, he looked around the food court, still amazed at all the changes that had happened in such a short time. The place hadn’t always looked like the Mall of America, and the devil hadn’t always been a vampire. He was pretty sure. Time was funny here.
In fact, the devil was dead, killed in combat by the vampire queen, who then took over Hell and started running it by—he still couldn’t believe it; no one could believe it—committee.
Hell had always been gigantic, so its transformation into a mall made weirdnormal sense. Some poor idiots had thought—and worse, sa
id, and that was always a bad idea; someone was always listening—how bad could a mall be? They soon learned. An enormous mall where the stores never had things in your size and the food court only served things you hated or screwed up the food you loved and all the best rides in the amusement park were closed and it was always Black Friday was Hell indeed. The new devil, the vampireangel devil, was reluctantly, instantly admired for the depth of her cunning. Suddenly it didn’t seem so impossibly strange that Betsy
(betsy????? what????)
had killed the Morningstar.
Except the devil wasn’t dead; she’d only been hiding, had taken another form and had hidden in plain sight.* But the vampire queen had somehow known, and hurt her, and yelled at her, and banished her in front of everyone. He hadn’t been in the food court at the time—Thursday the guards drowned him in sweet tea—but he saw it all like he’d been sitting ten feet away. The guards, too. Everyone saw. Hell had trembled, teetered . . . and was slowly settling back. Or at least settling down.
So! The terriblewonderful vampire queen was in charge. Meet the new boss, perhaps not the same as the old boss. Maybe he had a chance. At last, one chance. Because she was letting some of them off. And she was letting some of them leave. At least, that was the rumor. And in Hell, rumors had more power than they ever had in life.
So! Why wait? People could get a second chance; there were people in Hell who simply . . . weren’t there anymore. It wasn’t like there were going-away parties, but still: people who had been here a long, long time suddenly weren’t. And there didn’t seem to be any pattern. Men, women, and children had left. Catholics and Muslims and agnostics had left. Killers and thieves, blasphemers and telemarketers—they could leave. Anyone could leave. You just had to meet with the new devil, talk to her. Explain things. She didn’t tell everyone yes . . . but she didn’t tell everyone no. She was terriblewonderful that way.
And . . . hadn’t he paid and paid? From birth to death and now beyond, he’d suffered. Where was his fresh start?
But speculating was one thing. Making it happen was tricky. He was leery of approaching the new one on his own—everyone was. HeavenHell knew the old devil didn’t encourage fraternizing. But the word was if you got the ear of a committee member