What doesn’t kill me makes me stronger, and hungrier, and a whole lot weirder. The ring on my finger was supposed to be a promise to spend our lives together. But my fiancé decided that wasn’t what he wanted. So he buried me alive. To my fiancé’s dismay, I’m not dead, or at least mostly not. I’m starting over. I’ll do things differently this time. I’m forty-three and finally ready to live my life for myself, shedding the shackles of what I’m “supposed” to do. Except something unexpected is happening to me—something strange. Danger is coming, but I’ll be ready. I’m done allowing someone else to dictate what I do with my life. It’s never too late to take control.

A month ago, I thought magic only existed in storybooks. But reality is stranger than fiction. Just ask the bear in my kitchen or the corpse bird who keeps talking to me. I’m a middle-aged magical timebomb with no idea how many people I’ll take down with me when I explode. The bite on my shoulder should have turned me into a zombie a month ago. There is no cure. Acceptance means death, but I intend to live. I’ll slap some paste on my wound, pick up some antibiotics, and figure out a way to keep my animal shelter from shutting down. Everything’s totally under control….

I was living my best life, at midlife—monster-hunting, magic-wielding, fashion-slaying. Then I died. Seventy years later, I’m back, a phoenix risen from the ashes—literally. But the world isn’t the same as it used to be. My worst enemy, Silas Huxley, has stolen my place at the top. The scalawag is infuriatingly gorgeous. He’s also flat-out infuriating. Now I’m expected to be his partner. Instead, I’ll take him down. Midlife means reevaluating. This is not a crisis. It’s an opportunity. Like I did from my grave, I’ll rise. I’ll kick this opportunity, and Silas, in the face.