“You’re really gonna do it?”

“Bet your ass.”

“It didn’t really cause any of your problems.”

“No,” I agreed, “but it’s dangerous. It’s just lying around in the library for anybody to pick up and read.”

“It’s irreplaceable.”

“So was the Nazi regime. Besides, I promised my mom I wouldn’t burn it.” We were standing on one of the big bridges connecting the suburbs with Minneapolis, and talking loudly to be heard over the hum of traffic. It was chilly—maybe forty degrees—but I was so hyped up I barely noticed. “So it’s gonna sleep with the fishes.”

I shoved, and the Book of the Dead went down and down (it was a high bridge), and then plopped into the Big Muddy.

“Huh,” Jessica said after a long moment of watching it sink out of sight with nary a bubble. “I guess I thought it would float on a bed of pure evil, or whatever.”

“It’s made out of skin, not Gore-Tex.” I brushed off my chilly hands. “Boy, was that a relief or what? I should have done that months ago.”

“Yep, that’s that.” Jessica zipped her coat higher. “Now what?”

“I don’t know, but it’s gonna be something, you know, take-chargish.”

“Oh, good.”

“And stay out of the basement.”

“I don’t think George would hurt me. Not on a full stomach, anyway.”

“All the same.”

“Don’t worry. One vampire attack a week is my limit.”

I hadn’t had much time to effect change in my life—I’d talked with Jessica for hours, then destroyed a priceless artifact, and that had pretty much burned up my night. But after sleeping through the next day, I rose around six ready to kick some passive-aggressive vampire ass. First stop: Scratch.

On the way out to my car, I thought about trying to find Eric and doing something embarrassing like telling him I loved him, but chickened out. Also, I wasn’t sure it would change anything. The last thing I could stand was being a burden—on anyone. If he didn’t feel the same way—or worse, if he once had but didn’t anymore—I wasn’t going to be all Scarlett O’Hara (“Where will I go? What shall I do?”) on him.

But at least I knew, now. It was sort of a relief to have it at the top of my mind, instead of lurking deep in my subconscious. But realizing—okay, admitting—I loved Eric Sinclair didn’t solve anything. Real life was messy, and loving him didn’t magically undo the old problems and make everything wonderful and perfect. In fact, it sort of made a few things worse.

If you took anything wrong in my life—“I’m upset Eric tricked me and made himself king” or “I’m upset Eric didn’t tell me about my sister and Satan”—and tacked on “and I love Eric Sinclair,” it made things messier.

Irony: loving Eric Sinclair and having it be another on a long list of problems. But now was the time for action! I was all done crying naked in the closet, thank you very much. I would be the mistress—queen, if you will—of my own destiny!

Starting with Scratch. I knew that place could make money; the vampires were sulking and not helping me. I needed to put a little fear of the queen into the undead. And I needed to have Margarita Mondays.

I drove around for what seemed like half an hour, looking for a parking ramp that wasn’t full, then finally gave up and parked in one of the handicap spaces just down the block. I felt a twinge of conscience but managed to squash it; being dead had to count as some sort of handicap. For the millionth time, I reminded myself to get a Manager Parking spot put out front.

I stormed through the door and stood in the nearly empty (groan…on a Friday night!) bar. “All right, listen up!” I began, only to be cut off by Klaus.

“Oh good, you’ve decided to drop by,” he snarked.

“Hey, hey. I’ve had other things going on.”

“Other things besides being the queen.”

“Well, yeah. I mean no! It’s all sort of wrapped up in…” I trailed off. Why was I explaining myself to this yutz? This was not part of the Take Charge plan. “Listen, things are going to be different from here on out.”

“You’re right about that,” a vampire I didn’t know piped up from her seat at the bar.

“Who’s talking to you?”

“The employees of Scratch are now officially on strike,” Klaus announced. He looked at his watch. “As of 6:59 p.m.”

“You’re what?”

“On strike.”

I was having trouble processing this. “You’re what?”

“We have formed a union,” he continued, “to demand proper working conditions.”

“And proper working conditions would be…?” I had a horrible suspicion what they were.

“We want sheep to be allowed here, we want to be able to drink blood on the dance floor—”

“And at the bar,” another vampire said. He was a pale brunette in a denim jacket, sitting next to the woman who’d spoken up earlier.

“Right, at the bar…” Slight Overbite was ticking the demands off on his long, spidery (yerrrrgggh) fingers. “And if a sheep becomes difficult, or a human wanders in, we want to be able to have a little fun.”

“Kill them,” I clarified.

“Right. Also, we want a dental plan.”

“Really?” I gasped.

“No.” He grinned, a wholly unpleasant image. “That last one was a joke.”

“This whole thing is a joke. You guys are seriously nuts if you think I’m going to allow any of that. In case you didn’t get the memo, we are, as of Nostro biting the big one, a friendlier vampire nation.”

“You’d pull our fangs,” he spat.

“I’d have you act decently!” We were nose to upturned nose. “What is it with you guys? You’re dead, so you have to be assholes?”

“We don’t have to be,” the woman at the bar admitted. “We just like to. You can’t change hundreds of years of mystic evolution.”

“Sure I can. That ‘we’re going to do it because we can’ crap doesn’t fly with me. Now: as for being on strike, you’re not on strike, you’re fired. I can get anybody to run this place. You don’t like the working conditions? Fuck off and die. Again.”

“This is your last chance to change your mind,” Denim Boy said. Like I was scared of anybody wearing a Tommy Hilfiger knockoff.

“No,” I said. “It’s yours.”

“You’re not leaving us with a lot of breathing room,” a new voice said. For a place I’d thought was practically deserted, there were a shitload of vampires suddenly around.

“Fortunately,” Klaus said, “we don’t need any.”

Another vampire came out from the back, dragging—uh-oh—Laura. He had a bunch of her perfect blond hair in his fist, right by her skull, and she had both hands on his and was stumbling, trying not to trip.

“Surprise,” she said, trying to smile.