Wolfsbane and Mistletoe (Charlaine Harris) (Kitty Norville 2.50)

"I'm sorry, Phyllis. " Bob helped her up. "I wish there was something else I could do. "

A sad silence blanketed the room.

Then bad-boy rapper LL Cool J strutted into the basement, sans shirt. He took Phyllis's hand, gave her a deeply passio

nate kiss, and cupped her butt.

"Gonna take you back to the crib and make love to you all night, girl. But first we gonna stop by the bank, get your hundred million dollars. "

LL picked her up and carried her out.

"See you guys next week," Phyllis called after them.

"Someone push me over to Santa's lap," David said. "This coral wants a house in Hawaii. "

"What about all of these corpses?" Scott made a sweeping gesture with his hands. "The police are gonna have a field day. "

"I'll take care of it. " Bob rubbed his stomach. "I didn't have any of the donuts. "

"Little help here. " David wiggled in place.

Weston felt a tug on his hand. He stared into Irena's eyes.

"Want to, maybe, grab some coffee?" he asked.

"No. "

Weston died a little inside. Irena's nose twitched, showing him a brief glimpse of her inner cheetah.

"Instead of coffee, I want you to come to my place. I've got a leash and a king-size bed. "

God bless us, everyone, Weston thought as they walked hand in hand out the door.

AUTHOR'S NOTES

The Salvation Army is a wonderful organization with over 3. 5 million volunteers, and I'm pretty sure none of them are cough syrup- swilling psychotics.

The names used in this story are all names of characters from famous werewolf movies. Unless someone tries to sue me, in which case I made all of them up. LL Cool J also did a rocking version of "Who's Afraid of the Big Bad Wolf. "

While the modern Bible is missing many of its original passages, the Book of Bob isn't one of them. You're probably getting it confused with the lost Book of Fred.

Other than that, everything in this story is 100 percent true.

Chapter Eleven

The Star of David

Patricia Briggs

Patricia Briggs is the #1 New York Times bestselling author of the Mercy Thompson series as well as assorted other books. She lives in Montana with her husband and a menagerie of animals and kids in a house that resembles a zoo crossed with a library. The horses have to stay outside. And people wonder where the ideas for her stories come from.

"I checked them out myself," Myra snapped. "Have you ever just considered that your boy isn't the angel you thought he was?"

Stella took off her glasses and set them on her desk. "I think that we both need some perspective. Why don't you take the rest of the afternoon off. " Before I slap your stupid face. People like Devonte don't change that fast, not without good reason.

Myra opened her mouth, but after she got a look at Stella's face, she shut it again. Mutely she stalked to her desk and retrieved her coat and purse. She slammed the door behind her.

As soon as she was gone, Stella opened the folder and looked at the pictures of the crime scene again. They were duplicates, and doubtless Clive, her brother the detective, had broken a few rules when he sent them to her - not that breaking rules had ever bothered him, not when he was five and not as a grown man nearing fifty and old enough to know better.