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Ant had not liked it
    at all when her spoiled bimbo stepdaughter returned from the dead, and tried to pull her
    husband’s attention back to his second family with the age-old trick: she’d gotten pregnant
    to jazz up her marriage. Michael was still talking. Jeannie and Derik were still pacing.
    Sinclair’s face was serene and composed, but he kept glancing at me and I knew he knew I
    wasn’t paying attention. Well, who could right now? Besides, Sinclair would give me the

    Create PDF files without this message by purchasing novaPDF printer ( http://www.novapdf.com ) scoop on anything I needed to know when we were alone. Meanwhile I, the Daphne of the
    Undead, had a mystery to solve. I carefully nudged the car seat with the toe of my left
    shoe, forcing it farther away from the desk and toward the middle of the floor. Again,
    Derik veered. He didn’t look down. He didn’t frown at the baby, or at me. He just kept
    giving the sleeping BabyJon a wide berth. And it looked like Jeannie hadn’t noticed the
    phenomenon, which didn’t surprise me. She’d just lost a family member; her mind was
    definitely on other things. Hmmmm. “—know when the service will be,” Michael was
    saying. I was instantly diverted. Ah ha! Now we would find out the secret of werewolf
    funeral rituals. Did they burn the body on a pyre? Loft it into the ocean? Cremate it and
    scatter the ashes over sacred moss? Bury her while in wolf form with some yowling ritual
    under the yellow glow of a full moon? Preserve her in spice-soaked cocoon wrappings
    underground, like mummies? Everyone was staring at me, and I would have died if I
    hadn’t already. I hate when I think I’m thinking something only to find out I’ve been
    saying it out loud. “Pyres?” Michael asked. “Yowling ritual?” “Oh, fuck me twice,” Derik
    said, throwing his hands in the air. “Did you really think we were going to bury Antonia in
    the woods like she was a dog treat?” “Well, how’m I supposed to know what you’re
    going to do?” I snapped back as I leaned over and pulled BabyJon’s car seat closer.
    “That’s why we’re here . To do things your way. Ow!” Sinclair had kicked me none too
    gently in the ankle. I glared at him, then returned my attention to Derik. “Sorry. Muscle
    spasm.” “Mummies,” Derik was muttering. “Funeral pyres. Burial at sea? Antonia was
    Presbyterian, mo rons.” How anticlimactic. “You may call me whatever you wish,” my
    husband was saying in a voice more smoke than sound. “But do not insult my wife and
    queen.” “Well, which is it?” Jeannie asked. I heard the clinking rattle of more ice as she
    filled her glass with something. Her tone was okay; she didn’t sound mean or anything.
    Sort of half-teasing/half-curious. “Are you here wearing your wife hat or your queen hat?”
    Huh. Hope they had a few hours to kill, because it was a long story.

Chapter 10
    Dear Future-Self Dude, Fifteen minutes ago I nearly experienced the heartbreak of fecal
    incontinence. I was in the kitchen, staring glumly at the near-bare refrigerator shelves
    and wondering if I had time to swing by Cub Foods before my shift started. Living with
    vampires and the Antichrist isn’t the constant fun and games you must imagine. To begin,
    I don’t technically live with Laura; she’s a student at the U of M and has a place of her
    own in Dinkytown (That’s what we called the small batch of apartment buildings and
    restaurants near the U of M. After I gave this some thought, it made perfect sense that
    the Antichrist lived in Dinkytown. She was probably right down the block from a
    Cinnabon chain, too. As Jim Gaffigan said, “Tell me that place isn’t run by Satan.”).
    Anyway, Laura has her own place and I imagine she eats most of her meals there. And
    since she’s alive, she buys food. Which she keeps in her fridge. Our fridge, nearly big
    enough to use in a restaurant, is not so lucky. Today its contents revealed four bottles