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Informationen zum Autor MaryJanice Davidson is the New York Times bestselling author of the Undead novels featuring Betsy Taylor; Derik's Bane , and the new young adult novels featuring Jennifer Scales, written with her husband, Anthony Alongi, among other titles. Klappentext First Betsy Taylor loses her job, then she's killed in a car accident. But what really bites is that she can't seem to stay dead. And now her new friends have the ridiculous idea that Betsy is the prophesied vampire queen, and they want her help in overthrowing the most obnoxious power-hungry vampire in five centuries.Chapter 1 The day I died started out bad and got worse in a hurry. I hit my snooze alarm a few too many times and was late for work. Who wouldn’t hit the snooze to get another nine minutes of sleep? No one, that’s who. Subsequently, I almost always oversleep. Stupid snooze button. I didn’t have time for breakfast. Instead, I gobbled a pair of chocolate Pop Tarts while waiting for the bus. Mmmm…chocolate. My mom would have approved (who do you think got me hooked on the darned things?), but a nutritionist would have smacked me upside the head with her calorie counter. The bus was, of course, late. You gotta love the Minnesota Transit system. Six buses for a population area of a quarter million. When they weren’t late, they were early?I’d lost count of the number of times I’d stepped outside only to see my bus disappearing down the street. Schedule? What schedule? When the bus, late again, finally did lumber into sight, I climbed on and sat down…in gum. At a nine A.M. meeting (to which I arrived at 9:20), I found out the recession (the one the economists have been denying for years) had hit me right between the eyes: I had been laid off. Not unexpected?the last time good old Hamilton & Sons had been profitable I’d been in high school?but it hurt, just the same. Losing a job is the worst. You know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that somebody doesn’t want you. Doesn’t matter if the reasons are personal, financial, or practical. They just don’t want you. Hamilton & Son, realizing about a year too late that they had to slash costs, decided administrative layoffs were the way to go as opposed to, say, cutting the six figure salaries of senior management. The clerks and secretaries had been deemed expendable. But vengeance would be ours. Without us, those twits couldn’t even send a fax, much less run the company. With this cheerful thought, I cleaned out my desk, ignored the way my coworkers were avoiding looking at me, and scuttled home. I consoled myself by stopping at the Dairy Queen for a blueberry milkshake. Signs of spring: robins, new grass, and Dairy Queen opening for the season. As I walked through my front door, still slurping, I saw my answering machine light winking at me like a small black dragon. The message was from my stepmonster, and from the racket in the background, she was calling from her salon: “Your father and I won’t be able to make it to your party tonight…I’m on new medication and I?we?just can’t. Sorry.” Sure you are, jerk. “Have fun without us.” No problem. “Maybe you’ll meet someone tonight.” Translation: Maybe some poor slob will marry you. My stepmonster had, from day one, related to me in only one way: as a rival for her new husband’s affections. Worse, she never hesitated to play the depression card to get out of something that was important to me. This ceased bothering me about a week after I met her, so I suppose it was just as well. I went into the kitchen to feed my cat, and that’s when I noticed she’d run away again. Always looking for adventure, my Giselle (although it’s more like I’m her Betsy). I looked at the clock. My, my. Not even noon. Time to do the laundry and gouge out my eyes, and the day would be complete. Happy birthday to me. As it turned out, we had a freak April snowstorm, and my party was postponed. Just as well…I did...
