Flashback Friday: Undead and Unwed by MaryJanice Davidson

Flashback Friday is a weekly tradition started on Bookshelf Fantasies. It's focus is on showcasing a book from at least 5 years ago that holds a special place in your heart and on your shelf.

The year was 2004. It was the of year of a tsunamis in India and the Statue of Liberty reopening. The Lord of the Rings: Return of the King took the Oscar for best picture and Jude Law was People's Sexiest Man Alive. Usher, Alicia Keys and OutKast were all chart toppers for the year.

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This book was originally published by Berkley  in March of 2004. But has been translated into many languages and even was reprinted in 2011.

From the back of the book:

It's been a helluva week for Betsy Taylor. First, she loses her job. Then, to top things off, she's killed in a car accident. But what really bites (besides waking up in the morgue dressed in a pink suit and cheap shoes courtesy of her stepmother) is that she can't seem to stay dead. Every night she rises, with a horrible craving for blood. She's not taking too well to a liquid diet.

Worst of all, 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 -- a badly dressed Bela Lugosi wannabe, natch. Frankly, Betsy couldn't care less about vamp politics, but they have a powerful weapon of persuasion: designer shoes. How can any self-respecting girl say no?

But a collection of Ferragamos isn't the only temptation for Betsy. It's just a lot safer than the scrumptious Sinclair -- a seductive bloodsucker whose sexy gaze seems as dangerous as a stake through the heart ...

When I first came across this series, I was looking for other MaryJanice Davidson books to read. I had read some of her stuff in a Secret's anthology and then read Thief of Hearts, and was totally digging her snarky, wise cracking heroines. So when I saw this book, it looked like an absolute hoot.  And I was so right.  Elizabeth, call me Betsy, Taylor is a self-centered, shoe obsessed blonde who I couldn't help but adore. She doesn't take herself or anyone seriously and she says those all those things that the rest of us think, but never actually say. Most people would jump at the chance for a seriously hunky husband and to rule for a thousand years as Queen of the Vampires, but not Betsy. There are currently 13 books in the series and numerous novellas and tie ins to two of her other series, and I have read almost all of them.

"Thank you thank you thank you!" Justine's mom was in my arms, reeking of fear and Dune perfume. She was clutching me with not-inconsiderable strength and babbling into my hair. I wriggled, trying to extricate myself without hurting her. "Ohmygod I thought they were going to rape me kill me hurt Justine kill Justine thank you thank you thank you!"

"Err...that's fine, Miss—uh, miss. Leggo now, there's a nice hysteric."

She let go of me, still babbling, staggered a few feet away, knelt, and started picking up the items that had fallen from her purse. I instantly wanted to grab her back.

Something about her—the blood, the—she had scraped herself, or one of the men had cut her, and she was bleeding, the blood was flowing beneath her shirt, on the inside of her upper arm, and it trickled steadily and suddenly I was so thirsty I couldn't breathe.

Justine was staring up at me. Her tears had dried, making her cheeks shine in the moonlight. She looked very, very thoughtful. And about five years older than she'd looked five minutes ago. She pointed. "Doesn't that hurt like crazy?"

I looked down, then jerked the knife out of my side. Very little blood. "No. Thanks. Uh...don't be scared. Anymore, I mean."

"Why'd you ask them to kill you?"

Normally I wouldn't share unpleasant confidences with a strange child, but what could I say? It had been one of those nights. Plus, she had pointed out the knife sticking out of my ribs; I felt obliged to give her an honest answer. "I'm a zombie," I explained, except I was having trouble talking, all of a sudden. "I'm trying to thtay dead."

"You're not a zombie." She pointed at my mouth. "You're a vampire. A good one, so that's all right," she added.

My hand came up so quickly I actually bit myself. I felt the sharp tips of new fangs, fangs that had come out when I'd smelled her mother's blood, fangs that seemed to be taking up half my mouth.

"A vampire? How ith that pothible? I died in a car ackthident, for God'th thake! Aw, thon of a bith!"

"Are you going to suck our blood?" Justine asked curiously.

"Blood maketh me throw up. Even the thight of it—ugh."

"Not anymore, I bet," she said. This was the most level-headed first-grader I'd ever met. I was tempted to make her my evil sidekick. "It's okay. You can if you want to. You saved us. My mom," she said, her tone dropping; it was low, confidential, "was really scared."

She's not the only one, sugar...and by the way, I bet you'd taste like electricity, all that youth and energy coursing through your bloodstream.

I clapped both hands over my mouth and started backing away. "Run," I said, but I didn't have to bother; Justine's mama had finished gathering up her things, taken one look at my new dentition, picked up her daughter, and run in the opposite direction.

"There'th a gath thtathion at the end of this block!" I yelled after her. "You can call triple A!" I stuck my fingers in my mouth. My lisp was going away, and so were my fangs. "And what were you thinking, having your daughter out at four o'clock in the morning?" I shouted after her, freshly annoyed. "Dope!"

People think because Minneapolis was in the Midwest, rapes and murders and burglaries didn't happen there. They do, just not as often as, say, in Washington D.C. I'd bet a thousand bucks the car that had broken down on them was a rental.

Well, the mystery was solved. I was a vampire. How, I had no idea. Car accident victims did not rise from the dead. So I'd always thought, anyway.

It'a been a helluva week for Betsy Taylor. First, she loses her job. Then, to top things off, she's killed in a car accident. But what really bites (besides waking up in the morgue dressed in a pink suit and cheap shoes courtesy of her stepmother) is that she can't seem to stay dead. Every night she rises with a horrible craving for blood. She's not taking too well to a liquid diet.

Worst of all, 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 - a badly dressed Bela Lugosi wannabe, natch. Frankly, Betsy couldn't care less about vamp politics, but they have a powerful weapon of persuasion: designer shoes. How can any self-respecting girl say no? But a collection of Ferragamos isn't the only temptation for Betsy. It's just a lot safer than the scrumptious Sinclair - a seductive bloodsucker whose sexy gaze seems as dangerous as a stake through the heart...

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