Read Online I'm Dreaming of an Undead Christmas by Molly Harper - Free Book Online
Authors: Molly Harper
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her desk, placidly filing her nails.
“Geraldine Dvorak?” I spat, slapping the index card onto the desk. “Really? The uncredited actress who played the role of Dracula’s bride in the original Bela Lugosi film?”
Given the way that nerve in Ophelia’s cheek was twitching, she hadn’t expected me to locate this information. “How did you find out? Did Jane somehow slip you the answer?”
“No. You told me I could use the resources in the workroom. That included my phone, which has an Internet browser. I harnessed the power of Google. You gave me an impossible task so I couldn’t get this job! I don’t know what I did to make you hate me, but that’s just low. And antifeminist . . . and mean!”
Ophelia sank back into her chair and crossed her arms over her chest in a gesture that was almost pouty. “No, I have given every applicant the same impossible task.” She sighed. “So far, you’re the first applicant to confirm that the vampire actually existed before declaring the search pointless. Also, you’re the first one I haven’t searched for a phone. I thought you kept it in your purse, like a normal person. And don’t presume to lecture me on the principles of feminism. Betty Friedan based her entire philosophy on something I once wrote on a cocktail napkin.”
“How old are you, exactly?” I asked.
“Do you really think that line of questioning is going to help you here?”
“Nope. So does this mean I have the job?”
Ophelia thought about it for a good long while before finally saying “Yes” in a tone so begrudging you’d think I’d asked her for a spare kidney. “It appears that we can’t find anyone more qualified than you to fill the position.”
How did she manage to make that sound like an insult and a compliment at the same time?
She sighed again. “Welcome to the team.”
“Your enthusiasm is overwhelming.”
Her answering smile was downright acidic. “Just wait until orientation.”
Vampires lack the enzymes to process solid food. Their new liquid diet is not a “crazy fad” or a rejection of your much-beloved green-bean casserole. Eating the casserole will make them projectile-vomit, which is a downer for any holiday meal.
—Not So Silent Night: Creating Happy and Stress-Free Holidays with Newly Undead Family Members
T his bonding activity could only end in tears and third-degree burns.
“Something is bubbling,” I told Iris from across the Jetsons’ kitchen, where she was shelling about five pounds of pecans on a polished-aluminum tabletop. It was as close as she wanted to get to the golden, rippling mixture of butter and sugar on the space-age stove that was eventually supposed to be toffee. I lifted the pot off the stove and tilted it toward Iris’s spot at the table.
“Was this how it looked when Mom did it?”
Iris shrugged. “I honestly couldn’t tell you.”
“Ack!” Tess shrieked, launching her petite frame across the kitchen. She’d actually donned her chef’s jacket, but I think it had more to do with protecting herself from molten sugar and knife-wielding amateurs than trying to lend dignity to this debacle. “Don’t do that! You spill that stuff on your floor, it will be like trying to clean up the unholy offspring of cotton candy and lava.”
“OK, then. Let’s not do that.” I gently put the pot back on the stove while Tess tried to explain the delicacy of the “soft ball” stage of candy versus the “hard ball” stage using an old spatula and a glass of water. It was all very confusing and made me sorry I hadn’t given Oompa Loompas more respect while watching Charlie and the Chocolate Factory .
Making candy was a terrifying business. But bending to Iris’s insane holiday agenda was one of the many ways I was attempting to soften the blow of telling my sister that I was about to dig myself even deeper into the world of vampires. Any doubts I’d had about taking the job had pretty much evaporated when I opened the
“Geraldine Dvorak?” I spat, slapping the index card onto the desk. “Really? The uncredited actress who played the role of Dracula’s bride in the original Bela Lugosi film?”
Given the way that nerve in Ophelia’s cheek was twitching, she hadn’t expected me to locate this information. “How did you find out? Did Jane somehow slip you the answer?”
“No. You told me I could use the resources in the workroom. That included my phone, which has an Internet browser. I harnessed the power of Google. You gave me an impossible task so I couldn’t get this job! I don’t know what I did to make you hate me, but that’s just low. And antifeminist . . . and mean!”
Ophelia sank back into her chair and crossed her arms over her chest in a gesture that was almost pouty. “No, I have given every applicant the same impossible task.” She sighed. “So far, you’re the first applicant to confirm that the vampire actually existed before declaring the search pointless. Also, you’re the first one I haven’t searched for a phone. I thought you kept it in your purse, like a normal person. And don’t presume to lecture me on the principles of feminism. Betty Friedan based her entire philosophy on something I once wrote on a cocktail napkin.”
“How old are you, exactly?” I asked.
“Do you really think that line of questioning is going to help you here?”
“Nope. So does this mean I have the job?”
Ophelia thought about it for a good long while before finally saying “Yes” in a tone so begrudging you’d think I’d asked her for a spare kidney. “It appears that we can’t find anyone more qualified than you to fill the position.”
How did she manage to make that sound like an insult and a compliment at the same time?
She sighed again. “Welcome to the team.”
“Your enthusiasm is overwhelming.”
Her answering smile was downright acidic. “Just wait until orientation.”
Vampires lack the enzymes to process solid food. Their new liquid diet is not a “crazy fad” or a rejection of your much-beloved green-bean casserole. Eating the casserole will make them projectile-vomit, which is a downer for any holiday meal.
—Not So Silent Night: Creating Happy and Stress-Free Holidays with Newly Undead Family Members
T his bonding activity could only end in tears and third-degree burns.
“Something is bubbling,” I told Iris from across the Jetsons’ kitchen, where she was shelling about five pounds of pecans on a polished-aluminum tabletop. It was as close as she wanted to get to the golden, rippling mixture of butter and sugar on the space-age stove that was eventually supposed to be toffee. I lifted the pot off the stove and tilted it toward Iris’s spot at the table.
“Was this how it looked when Mom did it?”
Iris shrugged. “I honestly couldn’t tell you.”
“Ack!” Tess shrieked, launching her petite frame across the kitchen. She’d actually donned her chef’s jacket, but I think it had more to do with protecting herself from molten sugar and knife-wielding amateurs than trying to lend dignity to this debacle. “Don’t do that! You spill that stuff on your floor, it will be like trying to clean up the unholy offspring of cotton candy and lava.”
“OK, then. Let’s not do that.” I gently put the pot back on the stove while Tess tried to explain the delicacy of the “soft ball” stage of candy versus the “hard ball” stage using an old spatula and a glass of water. It was all very confusing and made me sorry I hadn’t given Oompa Loompas more respect while watching Charlie and the Chocolate Factory .
Making candy was a terrifying business. But bending to Iris’s insane holiday agenda was one of the many ways I was attempting to soften the blow of telling my sister that I was about to dig myself even deeper into the world of vampires. Any doubts I’d had about taking the job had pretty much evaporated when I opened the
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