Read Undead and Unwelcome for Free Online Page B

her
    shoulders in rippling waves—and big, dark eyes, what Tina called pansy eyes. Not only
    did Tina look too young to vote, she would probably get carded if she tried to buy
    cigarettes. And she dressed to play up her appearance in a never-ending variety of kicky
    plaid skirts, white button-downs, anklets, everything but a backpack full of high school
    textbooks. She looked like a walking, talking felony. One far older and smarter than any

    Create PDF files without this message by purchasing novaPDF printer ( http://www.novapdf.com ) would-be college boy who might try out a little date rape. Also, she was about as noisy as
    an unplugged television. If you don’t believe that, dude, you couldn’t feel my heart just
    now. “I apologize, Marc. I honestly don’t mean to frighten you.” This was true, and
    scary in its own way—I hated to think what she could do to my nervous system if she
    really put some thought into it. “We’re just two peas rattling around in a can ’round
    here, aren’t we?” She laughed a little and I noticed she had slipped again. Most of the
    time, Tina had the smooth, accent-free tones of a weather reporter. But occasionally a
    Southern accent would creep in. I loved it when that happened because she seemed less a
    smooth-voiced butler and more like a walking, talking, feeling person. Don’t
    misunderstand; I have no problem with the undead, although I was dying to learn all I
    could and trying to work up the nerve to ask Betsy if I could autopsy the next Big Bad she
    would inadvertently kill with a heretofore unknown superpower. Nope; no real problem
    with them, I just thought they should get back to their roots a bit more often. Besides,
    Tina made me nervous. And she knew she made me nervous. This was nothing I could
    discuss with Betsy, of course . . . my feelings were too vague and unformed and frankly,
    my best gal wasn’t what I would ever call a deep thinker. As Susan Sarandon said in the
    greatest movie in the history of cinema, Bull Durham , “The world is made for people who
    aren’t cursed with self-awareness.” The world was made, in other words, for people like
    Betsy. She had no time for “Hmm, Tina’s a quiet one, huh? Perhaps we should ponder
    what that signifies,” particularly during the fall when she had to update her collection of
    winter footgear. But it was there and I couldn’t deny it: Tina gave me the creeps. I knew
    she had been born the year the Civil War had begun. I knew she had been a vampire long
    before Sinclair. I knew she had made Sinclair, had remained by his side all the years
    since then, and was his capable assistant. And that was all I knew about her. And I only
    knew those things because Betsy had told me. In other words, that was all Betsy knew
    about her, too. And she was the queen, for the love of . . . Dude, there are all sorts of
    etiquette rules for living with vampires. There had to be; there was etiquette for
    everything. But it was hard to come up with a tactful way to ask, “So, how’d you get
    murdered, anyway?” And that was only one of the things I would love to learn. All this
    went through my head in about eleven seconds. Meanwhile, Tina was still lurking—well,
    standing—by the fridge. “Will you have a drink with me?” She opened the freezer and
    reached for the first row of bottles. I saw she had extracted mustard seed-flavored vodka
    and, thanks to years of seeing man’s inhumanity to man via the emergency room, I
    manfully concealed my shudder. “I have to get to work,” I said glumly. Curious, I waited
    a beat, but Tina did exactly what I anticipated. “Oh, that’s too bad, Marc. A pity you
    won’t have time to shop first.” Dude, if I had been Sinclair or Betsy, her answer would
    have been something like, “Oh most wondrous undead monarch, please give me, your
    humblest, lamest, most slovenly servant, your grocery list and I shall fill your fridge with
    any produce, meat by-products, Little Debbie snack