I was supposed to stay buried.Marigold toxin in my veins, three days of dirt in my lungs, and a neat little hole in the world where David used to breathe-that was the plan the zealots wrote for me.Too bad they forgot enhanced vampires don't follow scripts.Now I'm walking barefoot out of my own grave, a nightshade opal burning at my throat and a engagement ring cutting grooves in my thumb.The back-road diner whispers gossip.The ghost of our house reeks of solvent and lies.Every boot-print across the Savannah points to one truth: somebody sold my quiet life for spare change and a sermon.So here's the new agenda, signed in blood and smoke: Track the muscle who dragged my body.Unmask the mind who measured the dose.Burn their futures the way they burned mine.I'm Marla Damme-librarian was my stage name, monster is my maiden name-and I'm done pretending the cage fits.If the Order of Hyla wants a reckoning, I'll teach them how loud a resurrection can scream.