Excerpt of Further Confessions of a Slightly Neurotic Hitwoman by JB Lynn

You just know it's going to be a bad day when you're stuck at a red light and Doomsday is breathing down your neck.

In this particular instance Doomsday happens to be a seventy–pound Doberman pinscher. Instead of having the voice of doom, she sounds an awful lot like an air–headed, bimbo–y blonde. "Way that! Way that!"

Did I mention that Doomsday has really lousy grammar?

"Not that way," Severus Snape drawled from the front passenger seat. Okay, not really Snape, but God ... zilla, a talking brown anole lizard with an attitude to match his namesake.

Have you followed all this so far? The superior talking lizard is in the front passenger seat, the breathy Doberman is in the back, and I, Maggie Lee, am in the driver's seat, even though it doesn't feel as though I'm in control of this wild ride we're on.

I know this whole thing sounds crazy. I know animals can't talk, but ever since I was in a terrible car accident a month ago, I can understand them. Of course I haven't mentioned this little side effect to anyone, because I'm afraid they'll lock up my crazy ass in the nuthouse (hell, with my luck, they'd probably make me room with my mom, who's a long–term resident), and I've just got too much to do to let that happen.

Which brings me to why God and Doomsday were arguing about which direction we were headed. I needed to kill someone at a wedding.

It's a toss–up which I hate more: killing people or weddings.

Unfortunately, I'm getting pretty good at both.