Free Undead and Done by MaryJanice Davidson Page A

doesn’t have any influence down here. You haven’t even seen him since your mom beat him up.”
    â€œShe did not beat him up!” By now I’d gotten up off my chair and was standing in the doorway. “She gave his ear a twist, which under the circumstances was excellent. She
did
catch him sneaking into our home, remember?”
    â€œOn a scoop! That’s what journalists do!”
    â€œNot to be mean, but I’m not sure a weirdo with a ghost blog qualifies as a journalist.”
    â€œHe is
not
a weir— Um, he is too a journalist!” He rounded on the Ant and Cathie. “And why are you two so interested? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you work together for a
good
cause. Why’s my famously arid love life so interesting all of a sudden?”
    â€œIt’s a bet,” I explained.
    â€œSo? Why does—whoa.” I could see he got it right away; like I said, bets in Hell were major.
    â€œSo there you go. Serious business is afoot. Anyway, Cathie thinks you’re hiding from what’s-his-toes—”
    â€œWill Mason.”
    â€œRight. She thinks you’re too chicken to date him, which is why you’re in Hell instead of trying to get some among the living. But Antonia is betting it’s just a coincidence, that it was just a scheduling conflict and of
course
you’re not hiding from dating. Or sex.”
    â€œThat brings up a new one,” Cathie said. “Can you even have sex? Do you . . .” She made a vague gesture toward Marc’s crotch, horrifying every single one of us. “I mean, can you get an erec—”
    â€œMarc, if you answer that question I am going to
freak out
,” I warned, and the Ant nodded so hard her hair almost wiggled. “And I’ve got no time for a freak-out today. The earliest I can lose my shit is Friday. And even Friday’s pretty crowded.”
    â€œThat’s what this is about?” Marc had an odd look on his face, as if anger and amusement and horror and glee all got together and his expression was the result. “My emotional state is something to bet on?”
    â€œDamned straight.”
    â€œSorry, Marc, but everything here is something to bet on.You know why.” We all did. The worst thing about Hell wasn’t the unrelenting torture some had to tolerate. It wasn’t separation from life or loved ones. It wasn’t knowing your life was over. It wasn’t knowing you were trapped in the worst place humanity could think up.
    It was the boredom. Even waterboarding got dull after a few decades when you couldn’t really drown.
    â€œSo which is it?”
    â€œIt’s neither. We were supposed to . . . but Will had something come up fast so he texted to reschedule.”
    â€œAnd there it is,” I commented as Cathie and Ant looked crushed. “The definition of an anticlimax, right before your eyes.”
    Marc snorted. “Sorry one of you couldn’t profit off my social life. Or the lack of one.”
    From Cathie: “Boo.”
    The Ant: “Oh, fine.”
    Me: “Guys? So, work time? We can work now? Guys?”
    Marc gallantly presented his elbow, and I let him lead me back to the worst chair ever. Behind me, almost too low to hear (and definitely too low for Marc), I heard Cathie mutter, “Still on, right? Might take a couple of days to figure.”
    â€œDamned right we’re still on,” my stepmother hissed back. “I’m not tolerating the next century with knots in my neck.”
    Oh, goody. This could only end perfectly for all involved. Nothing to worry about. Also, whoever won would be gracious in victory and whoever lost would accept the consequences like an adult and oh my God, I couldn’t even finish that thought without snickering.
    Was I too late to get in on this?

CHAPTER
    SEVEN
    â€œOkay, so, Jennifer Palmer. First candidate for parole. She’s been