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  “What can you say about a vampire whose loyalty can be bought by designer shoes? Can we say, outrageous?”

  —The Best Reviews

  Undead And Uneasy

  “A winner. Like sitting down to a cup of O negative with a friend, catching up with the goings-on in Betsy’s life is a real treat. Told with the irreverent humor Ms. Davidson’s fans have come to expect, Undead and Uneasy shows readers a new side to the vampire queen…This one goes on the keeper shelf, right beside all the other Undead titles!”

  —Fresh Fiction

  “Fans of Davidson’s reluctant vampire queen will be thrilled with the latest in the series, a tale filled with breezy dialogue, kick-ass action, and endearing characters.”

  —Booklist

  “Well done, Ms. Davidson. If you’re anything like me, be prepared to fall in love with the Undead all over again! I can’t wait for the next book!”

  —Romance Reviews Today

  “A must-read for Betsy Taylor fans. It is a fast paced novel that will keep the reader’s attention. We are hoping there will be another installment of this series soon with more of Sinclair, please!”

  —Loves Romances and More

  “A charming read whose creator never fails to make me smile…MaryJanice Davidson has the terrific ability to create characters that appeal, entertain, and endear themselves to readers. I always look forward to her latest romp and often find myself grinning ear to ear if not outright laughing. Undead and Uneasy is another wonderful installment in this creative series.”

  —A Romance Review

  “Davidson—and her full-throated humor—is in top form in this highly anticipated book…Although this book has a slightly more serious tone, that doesn’t stop the quips or the belly laughs from appearing regularly. When it comes to outlandish humor, Davidson reigns supreme!”

  —Romantic Times

  “Ms. Davidson has her own brand of wit and shocking surprises that make her vampire series one of a kind.”

  —Darque Reviews

  Undead and Unpopular

  “Terrific…starts off zany and never slows down.”

  —ParaNormal Romance Reviews

  “Think Sex and the City—only the city is Minneapolis and it’s filled with demons and vampires…[Davidson] lets the children of the night show their lighter side.”

  —Publishers Weekly

  “Bubbly fun for fans of the series.”

  —Booklist

  “Entertaining…A fast and fun read…Fans of this popular series will enjoy spending time with Betsy, Sinclair, and the multitude of fun and quirky characters who populate the undead world.”

  —Romance Reviews Today

  “Make sure you have enough breath to laugh a long time before you read this…This is simply fun, no two ways about it.”

  —The Eternal Night

  Undead and Unreturnable

  “Cheerily eerie ‘vamp lit’…a bawdy, laugh-out-loud treat!”

  —BookPage

  “No one does humorous romantic fantasy better than the incomparable MaryJanice Davidson…another wacky fun fantasy with a touch of mystery and a pinch of horror.”

  —The Best Reviews

  “There is never a dull moment in the life (or death!) of Betsy…A winner all the way around!”

  —The Road to Romance

  “Plenty of laugh out loud moments…I can’t wait for the next installment of Undead.”

  —A Romance Review

  “Betsy is in fine form…Each story is better than the one before, and this one is no exception. Hurry, Ms. Davidson, I’m already ready for the next one. A very good read.”

  —Fresh Fiction

  Undead and Unappreciated

  “The best vampire chick lit of the year…Davidson’s prose zings from wisecrack to wisecrack.”

  —Detroit Free Press

  “A lighthearted vampire pastiche…a treat.”

  —Omaha World-Herald

  Undead and Unemployed

  “One of the funniest, most satisfying series to come along lately. If you’re fans of Sookie Stackhouse and Anita Blake, don’t miss Betsy Taylor. She rocks.”

  —The Best Reviews

  “I don’t care what mood you are in, if you open this book you are practically guaranteed to laugh…top-notch humor and a fascinating perspective of the vampire world.”

  —ParaNormal Romance Reviews

  Undead and Unwed

  “Delightful, wicked fun!”

  —#1 New York Times bestselling author Christine Feehan

  “Chick lit meets vampire action in this creative, sophisticated, sexy, and wonderfully witty book.”

  —Catherine Spangler

  “Hilarious.”

  —The Best Reviews

  Titles by MaryJanice Davidson

  Undead and Unwed

  Undead and Unemployed

  Undead and Unappreciated

  Undead and Unreturnable

  Undead and Unpopular

  Undead and Uneasy

  Undead and Unworthy

  Undead and Unwelcome

  Derik’s Bane

  Sleeping with the Fishes

  Swimming Without a Net

  Fish out of Water

  Anthologies

  Cravings

  (with Laurell K. Hamilton, Rebecca York, Eileen Wilks)

  Bite

  (with Laurell K. Hamilton, Charlaine Harris, Angela Knight, Vickie Taylor)

  Kick Ass

  (with Maggie Shayne, Angela Knight, Jacey Ford)

  Men at Work

  (with Janelle Denison, Nina Bangs)

  Dead and Loving It

  Surf’s Up

  (with Janelle Denison, Nina Bangs)

  Mysteria

  (with P. C. Cast, Gena Showalter, Susan Grant)

  Over the Moon

  (with Angela Knight, Virginia Kantra, Sunny)

  Demon’s Delight

  (with Emma Holly, Vickie Taylor, Catherine Spangler)

  Dead Over Heels

  Mysteria Lane

  (with P. C. Cast, Gena Showalter, Susan Grant)

  Titles by MaryJanice Davidson and Anthony Alongi

  Jennifer Scales and the Ancient Furnace

  Jennifer Scales and the Messenger of Light

  The Silver Moon Elm: A Jennifer Scales Novel

  Seraph of Sorrow: A Jennifer Scales Novel

  The Incredible Misadventures of Boo and the Boy Blunder

  MaryJanice Davidson

  B

  BERKLEY SENSATION, NEW YORK

  THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP

  Published by the Penguin Group

  Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, USA

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  Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

  Previo
usly published in the anthology Kick Ass, published by Berkley Sensation Books.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

  THE INCREDIBLE MISADVENTURES OF BOO AND THE BOY BLUNDER

  A Berkley Sensation Book / published by arrangement with the author

  Copyright © 2005 by MaryJanice Davidson.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

  For information, address: The Berkley Publishing Group,

  a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

  ISBN: 978-1-101-14765-8

  BERKLEY® SENSATION

  Berkley Sensation Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group,

  a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

  BERKLEY® SENSATION and the “B” design are trademarks of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  For Jessica Growette,

  who takes time away from her job

  and family to help my books do well.

  Acknowledgments

  Thanks as always to Cindy Hwang, for asking, and to my husband, for doing.

  Author’s Note

  There are vampire hunters, and there are albinos, but usually they aren’t one and the same.

  “Friends are such a mixed blessing.”

  —Berkeley Breathed

  CONTENTS

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  PROLOGUE

  Although she hadn’t been in his bar for five months and eighteen days, Jim knew her the minute she walked in. He would have known her anywhere, any place.

  She looked exactly the same, though she had been coming to Doule’s, on and off, for ten years.

  Shoulder-length white hair. Not blond…white. Skin like milk. Eyes so pale a blue she looked blind…or like she had seen too much, and it had burned away all the trivialities in her.

  Full mouth, long neck, and real long legs…he was six foot three and only had a couple of inches on her. High tits, firm and not too big. She was dressed in dark colors—she always dressed that way, as if to emphasize her striking coloring. Black jeans, a black T-shirt, black boots. Shit-kicker boots.

  She sat down at the bar—though it was Friday night, a seat had instantly emptied for her—and nodded at him. He nodded back and had her drink—a Black Russian—in front of her a few seconds later.

  She grunted her thanks and bent to her reading material. She was reading the obituary section of the Minneapolis Star Tribune. He had never seen her read anything else, although they were in Boston.

  It was just one more mystery about her. He didn’t know her real name—everyone called her Ghost. But never to her face. He didn’t know where she lived, but he suspected the Twin Cities; when she occasionally spoke, she didn’t drop her r’s and sounded, to his born-and-bred Weymouth ears, a little flat. He didn’t know how old she was—her face was perfectly unlined; she could have been twenty-five or fifty-five.

  He’d never seen her driver’s license; it wasn’t that kind of bar. If you were tough enough to get through the door, you could drink whatever the hell you wanted. And if you wanted to pay cash and leave without a receipt, that was fine, too.

  He knew she was mesmerizing, stunning. And tough.

  Her job

  (bounty hunter?)

  took her to the area several times a year. Once

  (FBI profiler?)

  she’d come in without her jacket, wearing a black tank, and he’d noticed the muscle definition in her arms.

  (traveling lumberjack?)

  Sleek and pale and hard, like marble.

  He knew she drank Black Russians and never had more than two an evening. He knew she occasionally carried a Beretta in a shoulder holster and her purse was full of spare clips. She always tipped 20 percent, and she never showed up two nights in a row.

  He supposed he had a crush on her, a fragile one. It was a crush that wouldn’t hold up under reality. She was probably in pharmaceutical sales and got the muscles working out in a health club like a gerbil on a wheel.

  She was probably a perfectly ordinary person. The regulars let her through because she had a stony beauty, not because she was tough. And she probably read a Minnesota paper because she had a boyfriend there, or something boring like that.

  He didn’t especially care. He enjoyed seeing her the few times a year, and wondering. He’d never ask, she’d never tell, and things worked fine.

  CHAPTER

  1

  Boo Miller had just settled on her favorite stool in her favorite bar in her favorite city when she saw the tourist come in.

  Tourist. When you hung out in places like Doule’s, a tourist was defined simply as someone who did not belong. Doule’s was a place for disgraced cops, con men (and women), thieves, parolees, and telemarketers. Not clean-cut boys slumming before going back to the Financial District first thing Monday.

  That was okay. He wasn’t just a tourist now; he was bait. It would make her job a helluva lot easier. And she had to give the boy toy snaps for even getting out of his car in this neighborhood, never mind coming inside.

  “Excuse me,” he was saying to Jim, the barkeep. Jim was typical of his clientele: Instead of a barbed wire tattoo around his biceps, he wore actual barbed wire. His nose had been broken at least twice, and he kept a twelve-gauge shotgun beneath the bar. Everyone knew it was there (well, everyone but the boy toy), and everyone knew Jim wouldn’t hesitate to use it. Slugs would bring down a grown man just as easily as they’d take a ten-point buck. That’s why everyone got along so well.

  “What?” Jim asked, no inflection in the word at all.

  “My cell’s dead, and I’ve got a flat…do you mind if I use your phone?”

  Boo shook her head without looking up.

  “Pay phone’s out back,” Jim said.

  “Oh.” The bait seemed a little surprised, then resigned. “Well, okay. Sorry to bother you.” Boy toy practically tiptoed through the filth on the floor (a stimulating combination of flat beer, piss, and mop water), and headed toward the back.

  And the vampire got up to follow him.

  Boo knew he’d do it. He couldn’t help it, any more than a starving dog couldn’t help stuffing itself and then puking. Bad neighborhood, clean-cut victim, a back ally behind a bar where the patrons wouldn’t ask questions, or even look up—the boy toy might as well have written his blood type on his forehead.

  After a minute, she went out after them.

  CHAPTER

  2

  It wasn’t the worst night of Eddie Batley’s life (his father’s funeral still held the top spot), but it was close. First, his supervisor had busted him on all the surfing. The IT department had ratted him out, buncha spying brown-shirts. “Jawhol, Human Resources! Vee haff caught zee spy!” He was amazed that they had nothing better to do…then remembered they really didn’t. Making sure nobody had any fun at work was literally what they were paid for.

  Then he’d had to
work late, to make up for the time spent surfing. Then he’d left his cell phone in the car but hadn’t plugged it in, so the battery conked out. Then he’d headed over to his ex-girlfriend’s place to put in a cameo for her engagement party, had stupidly taken a shortcut, and blown a tire in quite possibly the worst neighborhood in the state.

  His own fault…in Boston, it was prudent to stick to the path. Shortcuts were a bad idea, especially in a town where to create streets they’d simply paved the cow paths and called it good.

  Now he was being mugged. Mugged! He felt like Comic Book Guy in The Simpsons: Worst. Episode. Ever!

  Eddie wasn’t especially big, and he wasn’t especially strong—he led a sedentary life. But the mugger had muscles on muscles, because Eddie actually felt his feet leave the ground as the mugger pulled him close. Kissing close, as a matter of fact. As a further matter of fact, Eddie didn’t swing that way. As a final matter of fact, the mugger wasn’t going anywhere near his wallet. He was—uh—was he—

  “Ow!” Eddie yelled. Worst mugging ever! The guy had bitten him on the neck, like some kind of—of—

  Then the mugger dropped him, and just when Eddie was ready to ask him what the hell he thought he was doing, the mugger fell down dead with a big stick poking through his shirt.

  That’s when Eddie saw the mongo-babe who’d been in the bar earlier. She was standing right behind where the mugger had been. He’d never heard her come up behind them.

  “What the hell is going on?” he yelled.

  “Go home,” mongo-babe said, poking the mugger with the toe of her boot.