Accidentally Dead
Page 1
PRAISE FOR
THE NOVELS OF DAKOTA CASSIDY
“Serious, laugh-out-loud humor with heart, the kind of love story that leaves you rooting for the heroine, sighing for the hero, and looking for your own significant other at the same time.”
—Kate Douglas
“Dakota Cassidy is going on my must-read list!”
—Joyfully Reviewed
“If you’re looking for some steamy romance with something that will have you smiling, you have to read [Dakota Cassidy].”
—The Best Reviews
“Ditsy and daring…pure escapist fun.”
—Romance Reviews Today
Berkley Sensation titles by Dakota Cassidy
KISS & HELL
MY WAY TO HELL
THE ACCIDENTAL WEREWOLF
ACCIDENTALLY DEAD
THE ACCIDENTAL HUMAN
ACCIDENTALLY DEMONIC
ACCIDENTALLY
DEAD
DAKOTA CASSIDY
BERKLEY SENSATION, NEW YORK
THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP
Published by the Penguin Group
Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
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Penguin Group (Canada), 90 Eglinton Avenue East, Suite 700, Toronto, Ontario M4P 2Y3, Canada
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Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England
This book is an original publication of The Berkley Publishing Group.
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.
Copyright © 2008 by Dakota Cassidy
Cover art by Katie Wood
Cover design by Diana Kolsky
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.
BERKLEY SENSATION is a registered trademark of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
The “B” design is a trademark belonging to Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
First edition: July 2008
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Cassidy, Dakota.
Accidentally dead / Dakota Cassidy.— 1st ed.
p. cm.
ISBN: 978-1-4406-2958-7
1. Dental assistants—Fiction. 2. Werewolves—Fiction. 3. Vampires— Fiction. I. Title.
PS3603.A8685A66 2008
813’.6—dc22 2008009077
Version_3
The words themselves just won’t ever have enough meaning, but I’m gonna give it a hella try anyway.
To Kira Stone, Renee George, Michelle Hoppe, Vicky Burkland, Sheri Fogarty, Diane Whiteside, Michele Bardsley, and Erin. Whether it’s motherly advice, a read through, the cold, hard truth, or just a shoulder, you all rock the Casbah!
My editor, Cindy Hwang, who gets not just my newbie-ness, but my zaniness.
My mother and my sons, Cameron and Travis. Thanks for not voting me off the island when we’re playing Survivor and dinner consists of one granola bar we all have to share, because I’m on deadline and haven’t shopped. I love ya, like even more than my collection of shoes.
Jessica Growette, my publicist, who’s like God in a tiny Tasmanian devil–like package. She makes stuff so easy on me. You rule, chica!
My agent, Deidre Knight. I’m of the school of thought that everyone should have a Deidre Knight. There truly isn’t a funnier, smarter, more supportive agent out there, and I’m mad grateful to her for just letting me write while she handles everything else. She rules all things agent-like.
My good friend Laura back in da hood in Jersey—No freakin’ way are we gonna let a little thing like this slow us down, baby. We got lots of livin’ left to do!
But most especially for Ter, who will never know what her friendship means to me. A phone call, a shoulder, an ear—directions to the bathroom—the path that leads me there—you’re all things GPS, baby, and übercool.
Last, but never least, Rob, who knows what it is to lose me to the zone, doesn’t care if I look like a bag lady when I do it, and at the end of the day, tells me he loves me no matter what. Soul mates do exist—who’da thunk?
Dakota
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Kudos to Wikipedia, an online user-based encyclopedia. I spent a great deal of time there, gathering different perspectives on vampire folklore, reading about vampire television shows and movies, too. And please, forgive the artistic license I take when my characters make mention of it—it truly was fun to read the information online users collected and took so much time and effort to record. Also thanks to www.oldandsold.com and www.madametalbot.com, for information about the clothing worn for the time period described in the book and more vampire folklore.
Table of Contents
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
Chapter 18
Epilogue
About the Author
CHAPTER
1
“Marty?”
“Nina?”
“I need to talk to you, and I need to talk to you now.”
“Do you have any idea what time it is?”
“I know. It’s late, and believe me, I wouldn’t be calling you at midnight out there in the great beyond if it wasn’t like a real 911.”
“Okay, so talk,” Marty said, yawning so loudly it sounded like the howl of the Santa Ana winds to Nina.
“You know that fucking werewolf thing?”
“Yes, Nina. What about the fucking werewolf thing? I know it still seems unbelievable. It is what it is. So do we have to have ‘the talk’ again? We’ve only been over it a hundred times since it happened.”
Nina rolled her eyes and literally bit her tongue. It wasn’t like she wanted to go over it again any more than Marty did. However, had she never experienced what she had with Marty Andrews, now Marty Flaherty, she wouldn’t have the kind of simpatico she did with this particularly sensitive issue.
Marty—once her regional independent color supervisor at the prestigious Bobbie-Sue Cosmetics—self-proclaimed color wheel of life freak—find your aura and be the best you can be diva—was a werewolf.
By accident.
She was a raw b
eef–eating, bay-at-the-moon, hairy-assed werewolf. If anyone could give her advice about what to do right now, it was her former color wheel coach, now friend-turned-lupine, Marty.
“Did you hear me, Nina? We’ve gone over this a hundred ti—”
“How about we shoot for one hundred and one?”
“What are you talking about? God, Nina. It’s definitely not like you to beat around the bush. You have such a lovely, direct nature. You know the one where you just say whatever’s on your mind, with as many cuss words as you can cram into a sentence, and forget that people around you might find your potty mouth offensive? What’s the holdup? Did someone yank your tongue out of your head?”
“I need you to listen to me, Marty, and I need you to listen closely.”
“Color me listening.”
“I’m a vampire.”
A snort of derisive laughter, brittle and scathing with a little “poor Nina” thrown in for good measure, crackled in her earpiece. “Sweetie? Are you feeling the green-eyed monster biting your ass? I know the whole werewolf thing caught you off guard, and I understand that, but you don’t have to make up crazy stories to get my attention. I’m always here for you—even if I do live in Buffalo and you up and dumped Wanda and me for Hackensack. Really, this kind of attention seeking is typical of separation anxiety. You miss us. We miss you too, honey.” Marty took a breath, gathering her therapist-like steam.
“Maybe we’ll plan a girl’s weekend, huh? Like borrow Keegan’s little plane and hit a tropical locale. Oh! I know—Cancún. God, this time of year would be perfect. I’ll even shut my mouth if you want to Speedo chase. I promise—no matter how disgusting it gets. We’ll bring nothing but our bathing suits and sit by the ocean while we drink those pink drinks with umbrellas in them. They’re sooo festive. So stop all this silly talk about vampires and such and come to Buffalo. If you pack a—”
Nina’s hand clenched the phone. Cheerist, Marty, God love her, could be such a rambling pain in the derriere if given just an inch. “Marty! Shut the hell up and listen to me. Listen to me carefully. This has shit to do with your werewolf-ism and jealousy and men in Speedos.” Nina fought a shudder over the mental image that brought to mind. “I am not jealous. Who could possibly be jealous of that tail of yours?”
When Marty had been turned into a werewolf, for a while there, she’d had a lot of trouble shifting fully, as she’d called it. The only time she had even a bit of success was when she was angry. When she was PO’d, a small, nubby tail would pop out on her ass, and the first time Nina had seen it, it had left her speechless.
A rare occurrence indeed.
Though Marty’s shifting issues had cleared up, her embarrassment because of it hadn’t, and Nina often used that to her own advantage.
Just because she could. Which was probably meaner than shit, but leverage with Marty was leverage.
Marty’s gasp was crisp, hurting Nina’s sensitive ears. It sounded like a thousand dentist drills screeching in her head. “Don’t you dare, Nina Blackman! Do not even remind me of the struggles I’ve endured over being bitten by a werewolf. The utter humiliation I suffered because I couldn’t fully shift was just atrocious. Don’t even go there, you potty mouth! I will not be subjugated and ridiculed by you—”
God, if Marty could do anything well, it was yak—at full speed, with nary a pause for breath. Yeah, okay, it had been an accident. They’d been walking Marty’s maniacal, overprotective, teacup poodle, Muffin, near an alleyway in the city after a particularly disappointing Bobbie-Sue meeting. Wherein humiliation reigned supreme for her and Wanda Schwartz, Marty’s other recruit, because they sucked big man-hooters when it came to selling lip gloss.
On that crazy night, Marty’d been reaming them a new one over their supposed lack of motivation to sell, sell, sell, when they’d spied what they’d thought was nothing more than a big beast of a dog. Muffin, being the whack job she was, took him on like she was David and he was Goliath. In the melee of Marty trying to dislodge Muff from the beast’s jaws of death, it had bitten her. Only this beast wasn’t just a beast. He was a half human, half werewolf named Keegan Flaherty, and he’d infected Marty with his lycanthropic-ness.
Nina had seen the result of it herself.
That’s how she knew what was going on, and nobody was going to tell her differently.
“Nina? Are you there? You listen to me, Miss Potty Mouth. I won’t have you mocking me because I was challenged—”
“Marrtyyyyyy! Would you shut the fuck up and listen to me? For once in your life, quit blabbing and listen. I’m in need here, and you’re not helping.”
Marty’s intake of breath was sharp. “I know what this is…Is it that you need a deposit in your emotional bank again? Is your cry-for-attention account empty?”
“Marty, save the happy place speech. That’s a made-up place that crazy people like you claim exists, so they don’t sound crazy while they pretend nothing’s wrong. I have some news for you—there is no happy place, Marty. It’s all made up in your head, and you and all of your breathing techniques and guru crap is just that—crap. So scee-rew the happy place and your bank of hippie-schmippie love child bullshit and listen very closely to me. I’m—a—vampire.”
Yep. Yep, she was.
Marty’s sigh was long, windy, and put upon. “Fine. Tell me all about your vampire-ness, Nina. I’m all ears.”
Nina rolled her dark eyes yet again, watching her fading reflection in the cracked mirror of her small apartment bathroom. It revealed a very fuzzy, distorted image—this couldn’t be good. She ran a hand over her teeth—the only thing she could define clearly in the mirror—just to be sure she wasn’t seeing things.
She hadn’t graduated dental hygienist school for nuthin’, and those incisors were definitely not in any textbook she’d ever been exposed to.
Nor was the way she could see into the apartments across the street, with eyesight to rival the Green Berets and all their super night vision goggles. She couldn’t just see into them; she could actually read the label on the can of creamed corn Mrs. Fedderman had on her worn, yellowed countertop. It had an oval, orange sticker on it marked “Can-Can Sale.” Mrs. Fedderman lived for a good Can-Can sale.
She could also see Mrs. Fedderman’s Chihuahua, Freddy.
Mean, little, ankle-biting motherfucker.
In fact, she couldn’t just see him, she could smell him. The lovely, luscious, coppery scent of his blood coursing through his wee little veins. It wafted to her nostrils like paradise on a breeze.
Her stomach growled like a caged, angry tiger.
Gripping the sink, Nina opened her mouth wider.
Jesus Christ.
She really had fangs. Big, white, elongated fangs.
“Nina?”
“Whaaaat?” she hissed, infuriated that Marty kept interrupting her misery. “God, Marty! Can’t you see I’m in crisis here?”
“No. I can’t see anything, Nina. We’re on the phone. Thus, your visual escapes me. So why don’t you verbally draw the picture for me?”
“Shit. Okay, here goes. I had my first patient today. Some dude with a last name I can’t pronounce. Hot. He was really hot. Anyway, he was having a chipped tooth filed. No big deal, and we only gave him a shot of anesthesia, but he got really, really weird like right away. Like all loopy. Some people react differently to anesthesia, so I didn’t give it a lot of thought.
“Anyway, I’m all prepping him for Dr. Berkenstein to come file him, and he’s mumbling some nonsensical crap that I don’t get. Next thing I know, he jerks and clamps down on my hand. Only for a second, but he pierced my glove. Drew a bit of blood—no big deal. Scared the bejesus out of me, and I have to admit I was a little woozy afterward, but when push came to shove, I was fine. Dr. Berkenstein said I should go home. I mean, he’s the boss, but it was my first day, and I didn’t want to look like a wuss. But he insisted. So I came home. I got home at two in the afternoon—yesterday, Marty. Yesterday. I don’t remember anything u
ntil I woke up today—just a little while ago—with these.” She pointed to her incisors, as if Marty could see them.
“Explain these. Nina.”
“Teeth, Marty. My teeth. I have freakin’ fangs!” she yelped into the phone. The realization was settling low in her belly. Like a worm burrowing under the earth, seeking shelter in the dirt.
“Fangs…”
“Did I not just say fangs. Marty? Yes, by fuck, I have goddamned fangs. Big, long, white fangs.”
“Have you been bingeing? I know you’re not prone to the lure of alcohol, but well, it’s been a difficult transition for you since you left Bobbie-Sue—”
Nina sucked in her cheeks to keep from telling Marty the truth about her Bobbie-Sue matter. It hadn’t been difficult at all for Nina to leave her friend’s cosmetic supervision. Though she’d come to really dig Marty, despite her bullshit girly crap, she’d hated trying to sell stupid units of eyeliner. She’d answered Marty’s ad for Bobbie-Sue Cosmetics in the local paper almost a year ago, after the degradation of applying at McDonald’s when she’d lost her stenographer job because of budget cuts.
In essence, desperation had made her consider trying to sell lip gloss and eyeliner for a living. She’d needed a job so badly then, she’d even been willing to take a shot at hawking makeup. Totally not her thing. She hated makeup.
Unfortunately, Nina could never adopt the proper Bobbie-Sue attitude, and instead of gaining clients, she’d been just shy of restraining orders and orange jumpsuits after being turned down time and again.
It’d been a relief to let go of color wheels and palettes of life and all the other shit Bobbie-Sue tried to sell you. Nina had sucked at door-to-door sales—even with Marty’s help, she’d failed miserably. Marty was a whiz at it, which was a good thing, seeing as she’d ended up owning a piece of Bobbie-Sue. Now Marty spun her color wheel at regular intervals with the kind of joy contestants took in spinning the Wheel of Fortune.
When they’d all found out Marty was an heir to Bobbie-Sue, Marty had offered Nina a job, but she’d declined. It probably would have been easier, but Nina couldn’t fathom a life filled with all that froufrou nonsense and crazy euphemisms about the colors of your life. She also didn’t take handouts. Marty knew she sucked big wankers at selling makeup, yet she’d offered her a job anyway, because as annoying and pushy as Marty was, she was good people. So Nina’d decided to take advantage of an unemployment program that helped to school and retrain you in a more marketable field.