Stolen bluntly from Rachel Caine’s blog:

Need to catch up on the Rosie Hughes Project?

In a nutshell, Rosie Hughes, vampire, has been forced to relocate and change her career, and now she’s a major distributor of Suzy Q cosmetics in Florida — a pink lady, living in the land that just about invented pastel.

Well, someone has to sell sunblock to the undead, now, don’t they? IT MIGHT AS WELL BE HER. As Rosie has opened up her markets (mainly through cheerfully illegal use of her vampire-based persuasion techniques), she’s made enemies, namely, the other Suzy Q reps. They’re taking it hard. And they’re not taking it lying down. In fact, they’ve hired the famed Max Hunter to put an end to Rosie’s reign of pink terror.

But, will even Max be able to stop the horror?

Chapter 1 - C.T. Adams
Chapter 2 - Cathy Clamp (scroll down)
Chapter 3 - Brad Sinor
Chapter 4 - Sue Sinor
Chapter 5 - Rachel Caine
Chapter 6 - Jackie Kessler
Chapter 7 - C.T. Adams
Chapter 8 - Cathy Clamp (scroll down)
Chapter 9 - Brad Sinor
Chapter 10 - Sue Sinor
Chapter 11 - Rachel Caine

***

The Slayer sighed, thinking: You know your day is really looking bad when a vampire commands another vampire not to eat you.

Sure, she was totally grateful. The last thing she wanted was to be stuck between someone’s fangs. But it sort of ruined the mood to be pseudo-rescued by one’s arch enemy. Rescuing, almost by definition, should be done by a hero. Preferably a handsome one. A hero whom the Slayer would then rescue in return–totally about the equal rights thing–and then they’d ride off together on his Harley in a fanfare of music. Roll credits.

Except the hero of the moment had run away like a girly girl.

“I swear,” the evil vampire ho shouted, “she never lets me have any fun!”

The Slayer tore her eyes away from the front door–shut and locked and no way was she getting out, not with the lurking creature of darkness clamped onto her arm like the leech she was–and glared at her vampire captor. Who, the Slayer noticed, was frowning, and patting at her forehead.

“Hey,” the Slayer said. “Evil thing. If you’re going to smack yourself, do it with a sledgehammer.”

“Quiet.” She kept going with the patting. And now the Slayer saw streaks of makeup on the vampire’s hands. “Damn it. I knew the sunblock was melting. But the foundation? Inexcusable!” Still holding the Slayer’s arm, she marched down a hallway, muttering as she stomped in her Oh My God high heels.

“Hey!” the Slayer squawked. “Where are you taking me?”

“To the bedroom.”

“Um.” The Slayer paused. This was so not covered in any of the Buffy Role Model Club meetings. What to do when a vampire–a girl vampire, at that–wanted to seduce you? “You realize that I’m jailbait, right?”

“Little girl, you’re at least three hundred years too young for me. And I have a boyfriend.” The vampire stalked into a bedroom–with walls and sheets and everything so pink it looked like a cotton-candy factory vomited all over the place–and hurled the Slayer onto the bed. “You’re going to help me.”

The Slayer was positive that helping a vampire was nowhere in the Handbook.* “What makes you think I’d help you?”

“If you don’t, I’ll kill you.”

“Big Sis said you couldn’t eat me.”

“Who said anything about eating?”

“Right,” the Slayer said. “What do you need?”

***

The problem with being a vampire is that you don’t cast any reflection. Which is pure hell when you sell cosmetics. The Slayer reflected on this as she powdered the vampire’s face.

“Not too heavy,” the vamp warned.

“Safe to say, the Goths have nothing to worry about.” The Slayer picked up the blusher and set to work on bringing out the monster’s cheeks–which, she had to admit, were rather striking.

“Not allowed to feed,” the vampire whined. “No minions to do my bidding. Not even one teensy thrall. My unlife is unfair.”

“If it helps,” the Slayer said, “I’m here under duress.”

“That’s sweet of you. But you’re not minion material. I can’t enthrall you if you’re to apply my cosmetics. Hypnotized minions make lousy makeup artists.”

“Yeah, that can be tough. Eyes next?”

“Indeed. The black liner.”

“You know that the blue would offset the redness, right?”

“So would drinking your blood.”

“Black it is.” The Slayer picked up the eyeliner pencil and set to work defining the vampire’s eyes. The creature didn’t notice that the Slayer still held the blusher brush in her left hand. “Look up so I can get the bottom rim.”

As soon as the vamp was looking up toward Heaven, the Slayer rammed the pointed end of the wooden blusher brush in the center of the creature’s chest. The monster gasped and then poofed into ash.

“Death by makeover,” the Slayer said to no one in particular.

She brushed Ancient Vampire off her outfit, snatched a couple tubes of lipstick (the “Almost Innocent” color looked totally kissable), and then marched out of the bedroom. She was about to find the maid to see if she could free her from the Big Sis Vampire’s thrall when the so-called hero came charging through the front door.

“Mary Ssss! You’re okay!”

“No thanks to you, Chicken Little. And the name is Mary Beth. Not Mary Ssss.” She frowned at him. “What’s that in your hand?”

“This?” He grinned hugely. “This is the remote control detonator to the bomb I covertly planted in Rosie’s limo.” He pressed the button. From somewhere outside, there was a kaboom-like sound.

The Slayer said, “And…where’s the vampire?”

“Auditioning for Ash Wednesday.”

She frowned at him. “Really? That’s…you know, that’s really bad.”

“Yeah,” he admitted. “My witty banter needs work. How do you feel about arson?”

“I…like it?”

“Good girl. Come on. We have a vampire lair to torch.”

***

Is Rosie dead? Find out in the next chapter, on Monday! All yours, Cie!

*Unless the vampire had a soul, or was secretly trying to save the world.