"Mary Janice Davidson - Betsy 01 - Undead And Unwed" - читать интересную книгу автора (Davidson Mary Janice)

тАЬOr the rules donтАЩt apply to me,тАЭ I pointed out, but even as I said it I realized how arrogant and
ridiculous that was. GodтАЩs rules applied to each and every person on the planetтАжexcept Betsy Taylor!
ShiтАжyeah. тАЬSo youтАЩre saying I should stop with the attempts at self-immolation?тАЭ

тАЬAt once.тАЭ He was still touching his ring, and his voice was stronger now, less dreamy. тАЬYou said
yourself you helped that woman and her little girl, and you havenтАЩt bitten anybody. YouтАЩre clearly in
possession of your soul.тАЭ He hesitated, then plunged. тАЬA parishioner of mine works for aтАФa nice place in
downtown Minneapolis. Could I give you her card, and could you call her? If you donтАЩt have a car IтАЩll be
glad to driveтАФтАЭ
 тАЬIтАЩll be glad to take the card,тАЭ I said, then added the lie: тАЬIтАЩll call her this morning.тАЭ

The minister and IтАФheтАЩd told me his name but I had forgotten itтАФparted on good terms, and when I
left he was shaking the janitor awake.

I headed home. The minister had thought I was a nutjob, but that didnтАЩt negate his advice. My old life
was over, but I was beginning to see that maybeтАжmaybe I could make a new one. I was a heartless
denizen of the ravenous undead, but there were ways and ways, and I didnтАЩt have to be a lamprey on
legs if I didnтАЩt want to. For one thing, there were at least six blood banks in this city.

And God still loved me. So, apparently, did the janitor and the minister, but that was a worry for
another time. It seemed pretty obvious to me now, and I wondered why it hadnтАЩt occurred to me earlier
tonight: when you try to kill yourself nine or ten different ways, and none of them work, obviously youтАЩre
meant to be around for a while. Incredibly, IтАЩd been given a second chance. I had no plans to waste it.

My house looked exactly the same on the outside, but as soon as I walked inтАФsome boob had left the
door unlocked (oh, wait, that was me)тАФI saw a real mess. Quite a few of my things had been packed
into boxes, which were stacked haphazardly all over my living room. I smelled my stepmotherтАЩs perfume
(Lauren, and she used too much of it) on the air and had a horrible thought.

I rushed to my bedroom and flung open the closet door. My clothes were there, and so were my Stride
Rites and the cheap flats IтАЩd bought for casual days at the office. But my babies, the Manolo Blahniks,
Pradas, Ferragamos, Guccis, and FendisтАжall gone.

My stepmother had told the mortician to dress me in one of her old suits, slapped a pair of her used
knockoffs on my feet, then headed to my house and grabbed my good shoes for herself.

While I was still processing this information, I heard a tentativemaiow and looked up in time to see
Giselle peeking at me from the doorway. I smiled and took a step toward her, only to see her puff up to
twice her size and run away so quickly she hit the far wall, bounced off, and kept going.

I sat down on my bed and cried.

*****



CryingтАЩs okay while it lasts, but you can only do it for so long. And itтАЩs weird to do it when you
apparently canтАЩt make tears anymore (did this mean I wouldnтАЩt pee or sweat, either?). Anyway,
eventually youтАЩre done, and you have to figure out what to do next.