Page 43 of How to Stake a Vampire

Victoria and Constantia gurgled. The funeral director sucked in air, her hair uncoiling around her head like a spring. Samuel and Gregory swore. Barney’s eyes rounded. Pearl stared unblinkingly.

A stunned hush fell over the funeral parlor.

Didi, Gavin, and Detective Johnson started shouting in my ears.

I startled and reflexively gripped the edge of the casket. Unfortunately, I forgot to control my enhanced werewolf strength. The coffin cracked and began to tilt. I jumped back as it tipped over with a crash that could probably be heard three counties away, my heart pounding.

Lord Chudwell’s body bounced twice on the floor.

My stomach lurched when his perfectly coiffed head popped clean off on the third bounce and began rolling.

Bo pounced. “I’ll get it!”

“Nooo!” Victoria and I yelled in unison.

The head rebounded off Bo’s snout and struck Constantia’s leg.

The vampire screamed and kicked it.

Our aghast gazes followed as it formed a perfect arc through the air.

Lord Chudwell’s eyes snapped open mid-flight. He stared at us as his head spun comically across the parlor.

He landed amidst the vampire mourners with a fleshy thunk. More screaming ensued, the crowd scattering like startled pigeons in tuxedos, dignified composure all but abandoned. Bo took this as a challenge and bounded after the rolling head.

Victoria groaned and covered her face with her hands. “I can never show my face in society again.”

“Oh, come now, you’re exaggerating.” Pearl smirked, tail swishing lazily. “That Husky did not disappoint.”

Samuel and I dodged between the assembled vampires and went after Bo with grim determination, Barney on our heels.

The banshee funeral director started wailing, whether from distress or professional instinct I couldn’t tell and hardly cared at this point. The sound set off every car alarm in the parking lot and put my wolf’s teeth on edge.

“Are you getting this?” I heard Didi ask Gavin in a macabre tone tinged with delight over the shrill blaring.

“Every humiliating second,” the dragon newt confirmed.

Detective Johnson was trying hard not to laugh.

Bo finally secured Lord Chudwell’s head gingerly in his jaws and turned to face us, his tail wagging furiously.

His “I got the head!” came out “Gnf hrfff gnu haff!”

Lord Chudwell finally spoke.

“Excuse me, could someone please explain why I am currently staring at the back of a dog’s throat?” he asked in a dignified if muffled voice. He paused. “One who appears to have had sausage for breakfast.”

Barney reached Bo first and carefully extracted his friend’s drool-covered head from my dog’s mouth.

“Giles, you’re alive.” Relief colored his voice.

Lord Chudwell looked around. “Barely, by the looks of it,” he remarked with impressive aplomb. “Is this my funeral?”

“Master,” Betsy blubbered, rushing over. Quincy followed, chin wobbling alarmingly and the three Persian cats trailing elegantly in his wake.

“See?” Bella whispered with ghoulish pleasure to Coco and Truffles. “Totally doomed.”

Gregory stormed over. “What the hell is going on, Samuel?”