In life, one thing is certain: taxes. Death has many layers and all of them interest the IRS. I’m Ann Milton, a financial planner for the undead and supernaturally challenged. The love of my life is the vampire, Lance Cheron. I think he sat at the Round Table with King Arthur and they didn’t play bridge. He’s shy with details, but not with his passion. Our lives are complicated. First, by his age old enemy: a dried up hag after his money. If she’s Guinevere, I’ll croak. Second, by the activities of my roommate: she’s a hybrid predator and great cook. Underneath the hair, razor teeth, and talons, Colette is a real sweetie. Last, the roller coaster stock market: how to make money last until the next fiscal year and eternity. These challenges are nothing compared to my dream: a baby. Undead procreation is impossible. Or is it? Paging Dr. Merlin?
“Why did you call me?”
He is walking with me. How can a dead guy move so fast?
I’m about to open the door and flood the hall with sunlight. Is he dense? He’ll die. Wait a minute. He should be asleep. Instead he is standing there in faded blue jeans, a gray T-shirt, and beat up black biker boots. His wraparound sunglasses finish the drop undead gorgeous look.
I take a step, hand on the knob, and whip open the door. I feel the heat on my legs. He steps into the light with me. He puts his hand over mine and releases the knob. He swivels me around and closes the door. He takes off the sunglasses and flashes his angry eyes at me.
“Did you mean to fry me, my Angel? You believe in myths and old wives’ tales. Nothing stops a summoned vampire. I’ve seen every trick. I’m eternal. Unlike you.”
He thinks he has a right to be pissed. He has no idea. I haven’t had any sugar today. I’m ready to gouge out somebody’s eyes. I take a step into him and put my hands on my hips.
“What makes you think you can waltz into my house and threaten me? Go back to your little Parisian cupcake. I don’t want you here.”
I put my hand up and snap my fingers in his face. I’m that mad.