Underdead with a Vengeance

Praise for the Underdead Books

Kept me on the edge of my seat anxious to find out more. I was thoroughly engaged from beginning to end. This is a great story to curl up with on a rainy day.

~~Coffee Time Romance

Hilariously funny...a page-turner extraordinaire

~~MyShelf

UNDERDEAD is certainly not your typical vampire story, it’s better . . . I guarantee UNDERDEAD will have you laughing out loud, while keeping you in suspense right up until the end.

~~ Two Lips Reviews

Light-hearted mystery with a touch of the paranormal and a hint of romance is a recipe for a just about perfect read.

~~ HuntressReviews

People of any age and from every walk of life will enjoy this intelligently written, humorous take of a normal girl’s entry into the paranormal.

~~ Grunion Gazzette

. . . a witty, funny read with more than enough mystery, intrigue and romantic tension to keep you reading till the last page . . . I thoroughly enjoyed this book . . . keep them coming Liz!

~~ Kindle Nation

Underdead with a Vengeance

by

Liz Jasper

Copyright © 2013 Liz Jasper

All Rights Reserved

Cover Kimberly Van Meter

Copy Editor Martha Trachtenberg

Proofreading Editor Shona McCarthy

Smashwords Edition

This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the authors’ imagination and used fictitiously

DEDICATION

For Dad . . . reading vampire mysteries alongside The Wall Street Journal and New York Times builds character and puts hair on your chest.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I want to thank first and foremost Veronica Valli for adding her humor and genius to the process; your help was invaluable. Thanks to my Sisty Ugler for letting me talk nonstop about plot issues on long uphill (sisterly love) hikes when I was stuck, and always having a perfect, simple solution by the time we got to the top. And thank you both also for being my early readers and for the same hilarious text about Jo having a boyfriend. This book wouldn't be as good or as fun without your help; ditto the writing of it.

I am blessed with friends and family who support my typing away in the pockets of time at lunch, after work and on weekends, and who encourage by giving me the gift of that time. Thanks for feeding me, forgiving me for occasionally being anti-social, and understanding why I've forgotten to flip the load—again. Thanks to the SuperTuesdays, Mary Buckham, and Cindy Sample for unwavering writerly kinship over the years and for years to come.

Thanks to the Underdead fans, especially for the lovely fan mail, reviews and comments. And, yes, even for the nagging generous encouragement to get the next book done.

Thank you Mom for always being happy to do things like read the first two books again in record time to double-check an obscure fact and for having a great time doing it. And thanks Dad for that moment when you dug into the allegorical aspect of Jo's journey to satisfy your curiosity and thought it was cool. This one is for you.

CHAPTER ONE

I teach earth science to eighth-graders at a ritzy private school in Long Beach, California. Seriously, think about that. I teach long units on rocks and glaciers to twelve- and thirteen-year-olds. I don't know what you were excited about when you were twelve or thirteen, but let me assure you, it wasn’t plate tectonics.

If the stuff I confiscated was any guide, they cared about vampires, werewolves, and zombies. Which meant that all I had to do to be the most fascinating teacher in the history of Bayshore Prep was tell my deepest, darkest secret.

"Guess what, class. Vampires really do exist. There’s a whole bunch of them here in Long Beach. How do I know? The head vamp sank his fangs into me over a year ago. His name is Will and, yes, girls, he’s hotter than any man has a right to be.

No, I’m not a vampire—yet. He didn’t quite manage to turn me. But I’m slowly turning into one. My whole sudden-onset sun allergy story? Total fabrication. That annoying fuzzy mirror in the girls’ bathroom on this hall? I smear hand cream on it every morning so that when I have to go, no one in there can tell that my reflection is the only one that’s blurry. It’s like I’m a paranormal science experiment. Isn’t that exciting?"

I’d give it two or three hours tops before their parents had me locked up in a mental institution or came after me with torches and pitchforks, crosses and silver bullets. Hard to say how it would go down with parents who paid more for middle school than others did for the nearby state university.

It was Monday night of the President’s Day holiday weekend. My eyes slid guiltily to my To Grade pile, now waist high (which was saying something, as I’m five foot ten in my socks). I wedged myself more firmly into the cushions of my ugly-but-comfortable secondhand couch and turned up the volume on Malcolm in the Middle to drown out the nagging inner voice that knew exactly how many ungraded labs were sitting on my coffee table (163), how long it had been since I vacuumed (six weeks), and the last time I’d had a salad (five days).

And how long I’d been a murderess (sixty-two). If I really had killed Will. I still wasn’t sure if he was dead or alive.

I shoved that thought back into the deal with later part of my brain, which was like a junk drawer that was crammed too full, so the I’m a bad teacher worry immediately resurfaced. That one was real enough. If I didn’t start focusing fully on my job I was going to lose it, which meant I was going to lose my apartment.

And then I’d be worse than homeless. My parents live twenty minutes away and would insist I move back in with them. I could see it now, their faces composed in that peculiar parental combination of pity, love, and eagerness at having a lackey who was in no position to argue about taking out the trash. The idea of avoiding that was extremely motivating.

I was seriously thinking about picking up the red pen on my coffee table when the doorbell rang.

Right then I would have welcomed Frankenstein, the Mummy, and an angry pack of wolves rather than sit alone another minute with my thoughts, but an even better distraction was coming my way: I was expecting dinner. And for once the guy was early.

After a brief, frantic hunt, I located the remote and turned down Malcolm. Just a minute, I hollered at the door.

I scrabbled for cash in the mess on the coffee table and didn’t find any. I looked helplessly for inspiration at the growing pile of takeout burger boxes and glittering Twix wrappers on my beige apartment-special carpet.

Disgusting, said the inner voice.

Shut up.

You can’t live like this forever, it insisted. You’ll either die of malnutrition or run out of money eating delivery. You can’t keep ignoring what you did to Will. Or what he did to you. My fingers crept toward the spot on my neck where he’d bitten me twice now. When I realized what I was doing, I yanked them away.

Who is it? I hollered at the door.

A muffled masculine voice responded, Pizza delivery.

What? I’d ordered a burger. Damn. Wrong apartment! I shouted at the door. I sat back heavily on the couch, earning myself a dirty look and a hiss from Fluffy, who had been curled up asleep atop the couch’s backrest.

Fluffy was my Aunt Bertha’s very fat, very spoiled cat. Her roommate status was supposed to have been temporary, a month last fall while Aunt Bertha took some sort of life-fulfilling dream cruise to the Orient. Bertha had been so very saddened by her time apart from dear Fluffy that she had extended her trip. To go to Russia. For Christmas. It was almost the end of February and she wasn’t back yet. I’d long since lost track of where she was.

The delivery guy leaned on the doorbell.

Not the brightest bulb. Oh, for Pete’s— I got back up. Fluffy hopped down from her perch and tried to herd me away from the front door.

Ow! Stop it, you stupid cat. I’m not going to the kitchen, and I’m not feeding you any more wet food. If you’re still hungry, you’ll have to make do with kibble like other, less spoiled cats.

She didn’t trot off to the kitchen. She stood between me and the door and glared at me. I tried to step over her fat, furry body but she moved at the last second and tried to trip me.

Knock it off, Fluffy! What’s gotten into you? I picked her up and moved her aside.

She hissed. It was a rhetorical question, I told her. Great. Now I was talking to the cat like she was a real roommate.

I flipped open the tiny peephole door. Stop ringing my bell, I said. I didn’t order pizza. Try one of the neighbors.

I started to close the peephole when the dark shadow that was the delivery guy said, "Jo? Wait. It’s me. Davy? I, um, bring you delivery all the time? We’re having a special on pizza and we had extra and I thought you might want some." He spoke the words so fast they jumbled together. I didn’t know what the heck he was talking about but, unfortunately, I did remember him.

He was the poor lovestruck schmuck who’d had a blast of my vampire allure before I’d learned to control it. Every time he brought me delivery, he asked me out.

I needed to end this, once and for all. I flicked on the outside light, undid the dead bolt, and opened my door.

Look, Davy, I don’t want pizza. You need to stop coming here. I— I realized I wasn’t talking to a scrawny, zit-faced teenager. Standing on the walkway was a chiseled hunk of manhood. He had short, dark hair and wore a V-neck shirt that clung so tightly to his well-muscled body he must have shoehorned himself into it. He looked vaguely familiar.

Dear God, how many delivery guys had I allured?

Fluffy nipped my ankles. Ouch! Seriously, you little beast. What is with you? The guy on my porch furrowed his brow in confusion. No, not you— Recognition dawned. That combination of hotness and stupidity—anywhere near me—could only mean one thing. Vampire.

And now, after radio silence from all things undead since I’d shoved a stake into Will’s gorgeous chest, I had one of his minions standing at my front door.

I told myself I was perfectly safe so long as I stayed firmly on my side of the doorjamb and didn’t invite him in, but I didn’t believe it. All I could think was that the thing I’d been dreading was finally going to happen. The vampires were going to get me for what I’d done to Will. In seconds I was going to be lying dead in my apartment. Suddenly I wished I had vacuumed.

I slammed the door shut. My mind raced in horrible circles, taking in everything and understanding nothing. Why was he here? Why now?

Hold on. My thoughts screeched to a halt and I yanked the door open again and took another look at my would-be murderer. You don’t even have a pizza box. For some reason, that infuriated me. Two long months of hiding out, wondering what payback the vampires had in store for me and I get . . . this? Wasn't I at least worth the effort of having a fake pizza box?

"I have something for you. Why don’t you come out and see."

I—what’s your name?

He was startled enough by the question that he told me. Billy.

Hi, Billy. Go home. Leave me alone. I slammed and bolted the door, slumped against it, and slid down to the floor on boneless legs.

For two long months I’d been expecting retribution.

And they send one incompetent vampire?

As if in answer, I heard the sound of dozens of feet moving across the roof of the apartment building across the alley.

Dread weighted my limbs as I made myself get back to my feet. I flicked off the light and moved to the window. The footfalls stopped and there was an odd silence like the collective holding of breath. Slowly I pushed aside a corner of the blind and peered out across the way.

My gaze was drawn as if magnetized to the darkest corner of the roof. My chest got tight when what was waiting in the darkness stepped into view.

Boom-shiska-boom-shiska-boom.

Tight pants. Big hair. Cleavage.

Natasha.

She was gorgeous, deadly, and mean as a snake. To be honest, I had always been more scared of her than Will.

The moon caught her face clearly. Her lovely features were sharp with fury and judgment.

I had never quite understood what her relationship with Will was—past girlfriend, current love interest, the other half of an open relationship, undead power couple—but there was clearly history. I didn’t overestimate my importance to her. I was like a disgusting insect Will had brought home one day, something she wanted to stamp out to get her world back in order. It was my very smallness in the scheme of things that made her so angry.

Her eyes suddenly fastened on me where I stood half-hidden at the window. I dropped the blinds and backed up a pace.

She didn’t say a word but she didn’t have to. Her message was perfectly clear. I am going to kill you for what you did to Will. And I will enjoy it.

I tried to swallow but couldn’t; a petrifying combination of guilt and fear tightened my throat and made my heart hammer against my rib cage.

Of one thing I was certain. Will wouldn’t have sent his minions after me like this. He held his principles too dearly to be that weak. He would do it himself.

He doesn’t know they are here, I told myself, but I didn’t believe it for a second. He always knew where they were.

Maybe he is busy with other vampire things. I snorted with derision. There would have to be vampire Armageddon on the horizon for Will to farm out retribution for someone who had tried to take his life.

Will had to be dead.

I muffled a hiccoughing sob and forced myself not to fall apart. Making myself move, I reflexively checked that I’d locked the door, and that all the windows were secure. I wasn’t ready to die. Especially this way.

I had cranked the last mini blind tightly closed when my hand stilled on the cord. I listened. There it was again, up over my head, a faint, methodical creaking. Oh God. They were on the roof. Dozens of them. I could feel them the way a web-bound moth felt the vibrations of the hungry spider's approaching feet.

Suddenly they were at my windows. My blinds were tightly drawn but I could see them through the gaps, hanging off the sides of the building. They screeched their fingernails across the glass, whispering for me to come outside.

Then all the lights in my apartment went out.

CHAPTER TWO

I ran to my room and shut the door, though it didn’t make a difference. They were everywhere around me. On the roof. At the door. Clinging to the windows over the alley. I found the stake I kept in my bedside table and a flashlight with dead batteries. The stake didn’t make me feel better. I needed a dozen more and arms to hold them. I took a step forward to protect the front door and stopped, equally sure the back windows needed more watching. I was turning faster and faster in circles of indecision when the bedroom door popped open. My heart gave a deafening bang and my breath seized in my chest. Fluffy raced through the gap and collided with my legs, knocking me back flat on top of the bed.

I was still alive a moment later. The vampires hadn’t breached. Whoever taught you to silently open doors with your bodyweight should be shot, I told her when I got my breath back.

She sat on my chest, pinning me to the bed. I put my arms around her and for once she permitted the closeness, responding to my hot tears on her fur with a low rumbling purr.

I spent the night in my room, awake and clutching the stake. Just before dawn, the nightmarish whispering silence began to fill with the comforting sounds of car doors banging, dogs barking, and the early birds heading to work. I stayed huddled under the covers until the sun had fully risen over the horizon and I could believe they were truly gone. The only thing that finally got me out of bed, dressed, and heading for work was the miserable notion of spending more time staring at the four walls of my bedroom.

Good morning! I said brightly as my students came into the classroom. They were oddly quiet, probably because I was so excited to be there with them. I was like an overeager aunt whose keen interest filled them with distaste. I toned it down a notch . . . and made a mental note to add that to my arsenal for when they got out of line.

By Milk Break, my sleepless night had caught up with me. I rewrapped myself in my sun protection garb and headed to the patio for coffee.

I don’t know what you did this weekend, but I wish I’d done it, Becky said, coming up to me as I waited in line at the coffee urn they put out for faculty. Becky was the high school chemistry teacher, in her late twenties, and one of my two best friends at Bayshore. She was a petite Korean with classic, delicate features, who dressed more like a punk rocker than a respected prep school faculty member. Anyone less brilliant would have been fired ages ago.

What? I asked, scanning the selection in the apple bin and trying to decide if I wanted one.

You look like crap. It must have been one helluva night. She shoved her stainless mug under the coffee spout, beating me out by a millisecond. She took a gulp. That’s better. Sorry, I’m dying here.

I turned to glare at Becky while my own mug filled and did a double take. Her spiky jet-black hair was usually bleached and dyed silver. Today it was a bright robin’s egg blue. What the hell? Did you get attacked by the Easter bunny or something?

I did a temporary navy dye on it for the spring fling fund-raiser for the playhouse and it didn’t wash out all the way. Remember? The event you blew off?

What did Jo blow off? Carol helped herself to coffee and joined us. With her free hand she pushed up her sensible gold-rimmed glasses from where they’d been sliding down on her long nose and gave me a frowning once-over.

Carol and Becky exchanged a look, which I ignored. They knew something had happened a couple of months ago, but I hadn’t told them about it and they hadn’t pressed. I wished I could tell them what was really going on, but I couldn’t bear to see them look at me like I was a crazy person or a freak; their friendship and normalcy were what kept me sane. More to the point, they were safer not knowing about vampires. The Undead ignored most humans, unless they had a reason to pay attention. I wasn’t going to put anyone on their radar if I could help it.

Becky said, "I was up late last night helping Dan with sets. They’re doing Grease in a few weeks." Dan was our hotty substitute drama teacher while our regular teacher was out on long-term maternity leave. Making herself the envy of all the girls in the school, Becky had eschewed her usual rock band boyfriend and started seeing Dan. It was still going strong and was the longest she’d ever dated anyone.

"Oh, Grease is one of my favorites, Carol said. She helped herself to a golden delicious apple. So what did you do this weekend?" she asked me, polishing it on the sleeve of her kelly green cardigan.

"Not much. Why are we talking about my weekend, anyway, when you went to Mexico?" The border was an easy three-hour drive from Long Beach.

Sunny. Warm. Lots of interesting bugs in the shower.

If you’ve ever wondered whether you’ve been teaching biology too long, you have, said Becky.

The smell of my coffee reminded me that I had come out to the terrace for a reason. I took a sip from the Have a Gneiss Day mug one of my students had given me last year.

God, this coffee is terrible, I said over the sound of the end of Milk Break bell. I refilled my mug and headed back to class.

***

By the time my prep period rolled around at the end of the day, I’d had a lot of coffee and had made a plan. I checked out at the front desk and bolted to my car.

I was tempted to bail on my plan and go home and hide under the bed, but I couldn’t. I had to be back for an after-school meeting. I drove inland to Home Depot. I got a big orange cart, raced to the lumber section, and was immediately foiled by the immensity of the selection. I stood there, not sure what to do and aware that the clock was ticking fast.

Need some help, Miss? A finger tapped my shoulder and I jumped. Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you.

I whipped around to face a guy, maybe eighteen, with red hair and freckles. Yes—I mean, I could really use some help. I’m in charge of, um, props for a play—I need to have some vampire stakes. Do you have something I can use? I frowned at a knee-high bin. These dowels would be good, but I don’t know how to make the tips pointy.

He thought about it a moment. We’ve got a machine that could probably take care of that. It can be a rough edge, right?

The rougher the better, I’d think.

How many do you need?

I was already rooting through the bins. I passed him an armful of dowels and then another. Can you do all these for me?

His eyes went wide and he grinned. Wow, this has gotta be some play. There’s what, three dozen six-inchers and another three dozen footers? Whaddya got going on, some mob scene where the villagers are going after the vampire?

Something like that.

You should get some flashlights. You can put some orange film on them and make them look like torches.

What a great idea. The flashlights, anyway. I needed to be better prepared, since the vampires had clued in to the fact that the main circuit breakers for my apartment were housed outside. I rolled the cart up and