Free Undead and Unpopular by MaryJanice Davidson Page B

autobiography' approach, the author poses the clever conceit of suggesting herself queen of the mythical undead. One of the fall's brightest!"
     
    "Somebody wrote a book about you?" Jessica asked, staring at the catalog spread. "Wow!"
     
    "Not wow. The opposite of wow."
What would that be
, I asked myself wildly.
It's not like you can just spell it backward and hope that works. Maybe invert it
—
owo? As in, "owo is me"
?
     
    "Majesties. I don't question your judgment—"
     
    "But you're going to."
     
    Marjorie looked as anxious as I'd ever seen her. "How could you let this happen?"
     
    "It was—"
A favor for a friend
, I started to say, but Sinclair stepped on that in a hurry.
     
    "Can the book be pulled?"
     
    "It's not
our
book," she pointed out, sounding pissed. "You may as well ask if the new Stephen King can be pulled—we had nothing to do with it."
     
    "
Can
the new Stephen King be pulled?" Marc joked. He was an "old-school" King snob—nothing good since
Pet Sematary
, he once claimed. I kept buying them, though. Letting go of King was like letting go of your favorite greasy spoon hangout. You don't. They're still open, so you keep going, out of pure love and memory of the good old days.
     
    I looked at the spread again. Dark blue cover, silver lettering. "The first true tale from the undead trenches." Sure.
     
    I knew who had written it: Jon Delk, formerly of the vampire-hunting Blade Warriors, current hot author. Not that he knew it—thanks to a bit of quick memory wiping.
     
    Of course, the source
behind
the author had been me.
     
    A few months ago, Jon had come by to talk me out of marrying Sinclair. A college student by day and ferocious vampire hunter by night, he'd sworn off the stake a few months ago. Meeting me had made him see a whole new side to vampires, I gathered. These days he and the rest of his little Cub Scout den from hell asked questions first and staked later.
     
    Grateful for Delk's change of heart, I'd told him my story, which he used for a college paper. Then the manuscript disappeared, and Sinclair made Jon forget he'd written it. Problem solved. Right?
     
    A fresh new take on the vampire tale from someone who's actually been there
, according to
Publishers Weekly
.
     
    "Jon's gonna be pissed," I said, shaking my head.
     
    "Only if we tell him."
     
    "Of course we're gonna tell him! We can't not tell him. That would be—"
     
    "The feelings of the infant who wrote this are the least of your problems," Marjorie pointed out sharply. "I can assure you, the vampire community will not be happy about this. We have spent a millennium in hiding; you've been in power for about a year, and now—"
     
    "
Charming anti-Anne Rice tale from a vampire with real world problems
!" Marc read helpfully.
     
    "We need to deal with this now," Sinclair said quickly. "If we cannot stop the book's publication—"
     
    "What's the spin?" I asked.
     
    "Do you even need any?" Jessica asked. She looked a little like a cornered mouse when we all stared at her, then spoke up again. "Nobody's going to think there are
really
vampires running around. I mean, look at this ad. If you were reading it, would your first thought be,
oh my gosh, this is real, cover the kids in garlic and sprinkle the doorstep with holy water
? No way. It's obvious that it's a fiction book pretending to be nonfiction."
     
    "Except," Marc said, "it's nonfiction pretending to be fiction."
     
    "Right, but what live human being—other than the very few of us who already know—will realize that? Of course, if you try to get the book pulled, that really
will
get people interested. Who's trying to stop this book? Why? Are they a satanic cult? Do they worship vampire mythology?" She paused for dramatic effect. "Then: why do they act like vampires? Do they really think they are? And wow, why don't any of them have suntans?"
     
    Marjorie leaned forward and whispered in Sinclair's ear. He nodded.
     
    "What? What was that? Don't keep