"This was such a fun read! I love the world that the authors have created! The characters are fascinating, with great personalities and even funnier banter. There were a couple of times I almost spit out my coffee!

I loved this book. It was fast paced and I could not put it down! I can't wait to see what happens next!"

-Amazon Reviewer

Feeding your dead husband to a Hydra on the Jersey Shore should be like a solitary experience. But here at last is the upside to discovering my husband is—er, was—a polygamist. I’ve got his two other wives, Helena and Crystal, here to help me.

I know, so far as silver linings go, it’s a stretch. But my life in the course of a day went from Pinterest perfect to darkest timeline—so I think it’s okay.

“Darkest timeline,” I whisper under my breath and then start to laugh, a little bit hysterically.

“Pull it together!” Helena snaps. “We still have to get him in the water.”

Right. I heave up my end of our shared dead husband. Helena and Crystal each take one of his shoulders, leaving me with the feet.

“On three,” Helena orders with authority, like she disposes of dead bodies all the time. “One, two…THREE!”

As one we fling Bert into the brackish water. He hits it with a splash and disappears, then floats back up to the top, bobbing face down.

Somehow I’m left holding one of his shoes. “Oh,” I say stupidly, recognizing it as a pair I bought him for his last birthday. He likes the ones with the memory foam soles because he’s on his feet a lot.

Helena snatches it from my hands and tosses it into the water. “No keepsakes. No evidence,” she says, like it's her personal mantra. Maybe it is.

“It’s just a shoe…” I say.

“Haven’t you ever seen CSI?” Crystal asks me. “The other half of the pair is on his dead body. Use your head, before you lose it.”

“We’re not going to take any chances here,” Helena snaps. She’d taken all of his things out of his pockets, thinking ahead. I admire her, but she also unnerves me with her calm, quiet strength.

We stand watching our husband’s floating corpse. It’s a dark night; the full moon keeps disappearing behind the clouds.

“How long will it take the Hydra…” I trail off.

“Nico said not long, and that we can’t miss it,” Helena answers tersely. Nico is her private eye (who happens to have only one eye) who gave us the idea of disposing of Bert’s body this way. He says the mob has kept this particular Hydra well fed for years and he knows the routine.

We stand silently. Waiting and awkward in the way of strangers.

Crystal breaks the silence. “I’ve been meaning to tell you, Maddie, I just love your dress.” Her eyes shine at me with warmth and sincerity.

I gulp and look back at Helena, realizing that I prefer her cold hard stare. It makes me feel less bad about hating her.

“Thanks,” I say to Crystal. Looking down at the dress, I gather the dirty, blood-spattered skirt in my hands.

“Today was mine and Bert’s vow renewal ceremony.” With those words my throat thickens and tears cloud my vision.

Bert ended up being a no-show at the ceremony. It’s not the first time he missed an event, but never one of this magnitude. Even though I thought he’d gotten caught up on a business trip, I still couldn’t help but feel hurt and betrayed. Yet I also had known that he would be full of profuse apologies, extravagant forgive me gifts, and promises to make it up to me.

At least that’s how it had always gone in the past. Instead, I found out what true hurt and betrayal feels like.

A rough sob bursts out of me, bending me in half so that I have to press my fists to my thighs to stay standing. Suddenly a hand grips my face, pulling me upright again.

It’s Helena. “Save the breakdown for later. When we are not standing at the spot where we have just disposed of our husband’s body.” She releases me and I quickly take a step back.

“Ow…” I rub my face. “That wasn’t necessary.”

“Don’t lose your shit and I won’t have to manhandle you,” she tells me.

“We can’t all be an ice queen,” I retort. We glare at each other.

“Um, girls...I think it’s happening,” Crystal tells us.

We scramble back from the shore as the hulking beast comes near, the dark waters spreading in a V-shape as the massive back breaks the surface, approaching Bert’s dead body. A few sickening bites and my husband is gone. There’s something poetic about Bert’s three wives watching him be devoured by a three-headed Hydra. The beast lifts its heads above water, eyes us, then gives us a nod. Kind of like, thanks for the snack! It lets out a belch and then with a gigantic splash, disappears back beneath the water.

We each react in our own way.

I sink to my knees, emotionally blown. Helena smacks her hands together, like she’s cleaning them of the whole situation. Crystal takes a step backward and mutters, “I do not claim any negative energy from this experience.”

We’re all so different. How could Bert truly love all three of us?

“So what exactly are we to each other?” I ask.

“Sister wives!” Crystal offers.

“Bigamy Bitches,” Helena counters. “Actually, strike that from the record. We’re nothing to each other. The one thing that connects us is currently being digested.”

“But we saw his ghost,” Crystal says in a tiny voice.

“For only a minute,” I cut in. “And then he disappeared. He probably went into the light.”

Helena snorts. “Only if the light leads to hell.” She scrubs a hand over her face. “Speaking of hell, what the hell time is it?”

“Time for a drink!” Crystal says. “It is definitely a double apple schnapps night.”

Helena and I stare at Crystal. You’d think she was half of our age, but we’re all over forty.

“Fine,” Helena says at last. “I could drink.”

“Yaaassss,” Crystal looks at me. “You in?”

“Why the heck not,” I say. I’m not a huge drinker, but finding out that your husband is married to two other women, and then having to dispose of his body with those women, is an occasion for drinking.

It’s not like we killed him or anything. Although he would’ve deserved it. That’s the reason why Helena insisted that going through the authorities would be a bad move.

“Look at the situation,” she said. “No one will believe we didn’t kill him. I can’t believe we didn’t kill him.”

She had a really good point. And I can’t take even the chance of me going to jail. I agreed, as did Crystal. Instead of calling 911, Helena called Nico, her personal private eye. Luckily, he and his girlfriend showed up right away.

Nico, I quickly discovered, was a handsome, but also dangerous-looking, werewolf with an eyepatch. I would not like to get on his bad side. I can imagine that getting on his good side must be interesting…I’m tempted to take his girlfriend aside and advise her to ‘lock that down’, but after tonight I have a lot less faith in the bonds of marriage. The girlfriend, Paige, doesn’t really look like the type to appreciate unsolicited advice anyway. Unlike Nico, she’s just a normal human, but projects a ‘mess with me at your own peril’ type of vibe.

They immediately took charge. Nico separated us and then one by one asked us to explain what happened. Meanwhile, Paige pulled some sort of bone out of her back pocket, explaining to us that it was a magical talisman that gave her the ability to communicate with animals.

“I’ve had an interesting life,” she said, offhandedly, and started talking to the birds in the rafters of the warehouse where everything went down. I guess between Nico comparing our stories and whatever Paige learned from the birds—they believed we were telling the truth.

And the truth was this—we’d each come to this warehouse on the seedy end of town to save our husbands who had been kidnapped and held for ransom.

My husband of twenty-five years, Bert.

Helena’s beloved Robert.

And finally Crystal who just this weekend had married her Bobby.

It was only when we showed up that we realized there was only one husband. And he’d married all three of us.

Helena, the high-powered lawyer.

Crystal, a woo-woo hippie type.

And me, plain old Maddie, the high school sweetheart.

Each of us had gotten the same message. Bert, Robert, Bobby was in trouble. He’d been kidnapped and was being held for ransom. The people holding Bert wanted an antique that he had split into three parts and given to each of us. He gave me the hefty bronze globe. Crystal was given a huge ring of metal that fit around the globe and had all the zodiac signs etched around the circle. Helena had the base, a large golden sun.

Armed with these objects, we went to rescue our husband from his kidnappers. In the moments that followed things went a little crazy. When put together, the three artifacts became one, called the talentum dei—an object that can give its wielder the power of a god—which had been part of Bert’s plan, apparently.

But the talentum dei didn’t choose him.

It chose us. The wives.

I remember a bright red light and being lifted off my feet. It felt like I was in the eye of a hurricane. Crystal and Helena were each floating as well. Crystal was surrounded in a geyser of water and Helena in a cyclone of sand and dirt. For a moment, its power filled the three of us. For whatever reason, we were able to withstand it. But Bert did not. He was struck instantly dead when he tried to touch the talentum. When we crashed back to the soggy wharf I realized the kidnappers and Bert were dead, but we...we were alive.

“Wow,” Paige said, when she had heard our whole story. “And I thought my ex was a piece of work.”

“He is a piece of work,” Nico replied in a low growl. With one arm he reached out and snagged Paige, pulling her tight against his side.

Watching them, my heart gave a little squeeze of pain. The two of them were clearly in love. They didn’t need to say anything—anyone with eyes could see it.

I’d once thought that Bert and I were that type of couple too. But I’d been wrong about a lot of things.

“Here’s what I think,” Nico said, breaking into my thoughts. “Leave the kidnappers here and let the cops sort out what happened to them. Take the talentum, split it up again and hide it as best as you can. As for…” Nico’s gaze landed on Bert’s body slumped on the dirty cement floor.

“Bert,” I say at the same moment that Crystal says, “Bobby” and Helena says, “Shitbag.”

“Right…him,” Nico says. “If you want to get rid of him, I got an idea. But you’ll have to take care of it yourselves. Body disposal is not in my job description.”

“It’s true,” Paige adds. “He gets pissy when you ask him to take care of a body. I once had a dead vamp on my porch that was left as a gift from VSK…that’s the vampire serial killer, you probably remember he was in the news quite a bit.” We all nodded. “I called Nico and he sniffs the body a few times—”

“I did more than sniff him,” Nico interrupts.

“Right, but you definitely got his scent, because you went on and on about it—”

“I’m a werewolf! We’re known for our incredible noses. It’s like having access to a whole separate world that everyone else is blind to. And it’s also why you can’t just switch laundry detergents without telling me—”

“It was on sale—”

“There are some things you don’t buy on sale.”

“Hey!” Helena snaps. “If I’m paying by the hour, this fight needs to happen on your own time.”

Paige and Nico exchange chagrined glances.

“Sorry,” she says.

“Don’t worry,” Crystal breaks in. “You guys are such a cute couple. My Bobby and I are the same…” She trails off and her face loses color as she realizes. “Oh.”

I understand where she’s coming from. Even with Bert’s body in front of us, it didn’t feel quite real that he was dead. And now, even after listening to a monster consume him, it still feels like someone else’s nightmare.  

“This place,” Helena tells us, her finger pointing to a high-end establishment.

“Umm, isn’t this a private club?” I ask. When we talked about drinks I was thinking more along the lines of grabbing a few bottles of Two Buck Chuck. 

“Yes, it is,” Helena replies. “And I’m a member.”

Crystal shrugs when I look her way, so I follow the two of them inside. Overhead a giant chandelier glisten, and plush booths set along dark paneled walls make it clear that this is a nice place. I’m worried about cost, but Helena leads us to a bar, pulls out her platinum credit card, and orders a bottle of five-hundred-dollar whiskey like she would ask for a rum and coke.

I can’t believe it.

“Bring it to our table,” Helena orders and then turning on her heel, strides toward an empty booth in a dark corner. When the bottle arrives, Helena pours. I’m not really a whiskey drinker. I prefer a nice wine spritzer but I’m not about to mention that to either of them.

Bringing the drink to my nose, I give an experimental sniff. The fumes bring tears to my eyes and singe my nose hairs.

Helena raises her glass. “A toast!” she declares, her teeth bared in what I think is meant to be a smile. “This is the one my father loved and that Robert and I then made our own…” She hesitates and has to swallow as a telltale wetness enters her eyes. “Here’s to you and yours. And to mine and ours. And if mine and ours ever come across your and yours, I hope you and yours will do as much for mine and ours, as mine and ours have done for you and yours.”

Without waiting for Crystal and me to clink her glass, Helena tips her back and drains it. I take a tiny sip and immediately start coughing as it burns the whole way down.

“I like that,” Crystal says, after taking a drink of her own whiskey. “But we’re kinda the you and yours to each other, but also the mine and ours. I mean, we’re all tangled up now.”

She’s right. I realize. Bert’s bigamy affects more than just the three of us at this table.

“Do you have kids?” I ask suddenly. “Do my kids have half-siblings they’ve never met?”

“I have a daughter,” Helena says. “She’s fifteen.”

“Ollie’s also fifteen!” I exclaim, momentarily excited. Then I realize that she and I were pregnant at the same time. Bert was rubbing her belly and then coming home to rub mine. I mean, I know he did worse with her than rub bellies, but dreaming about our baby to come always felt so special and intimate. “I also have an older boy, and a twin boy and girl,” I add.

“Wow, that’s a brood,” Crystal says.

Helena is seething. “I can’t believe the bastard…” she says under her breath. “Four secret kids.” I’m guessing she’s thinking about belly rubbing too.

I look at Crystal, who knocks back her whiskey and lets out a long breath. “And you?”

“Me, oh no,” she says. “I don’t have any kids. It never interested me. I thought Bobby was great because we both didn’t want kids…”

I can’t decide which is worse, the child he has with Helena or the fact that he denied having any children to Crystal. Somehow the latter makes me even more mad. I didn’t really have a chance to decide if I was interested in having kids or not. It just happened.

“I can’t tell my kids he’s dead,” I say. “We’d have to have a funeral.”

“We’ve already decided, divorced, not dead,” Helena says. “If Bert is missing, we’ll once again be suspects. The best thing to do is pretend he’s alive, quietly divorce him, and then have him move away.”

“He can’t just drop out of my kids’ lives without a word!” I protest.

“We’ll figure it out,” Helena says, downing another glass of whiskey. “I don’t want my daughter to need years of therapy because of Robert any more than you do.”

“We’re all gonna shneed therapy,” Crystal slurs. “And aura cleansings.”

“Oh please, he lied to you for a few months,” Helena isn’t slurring, but I notice she keeps blinking at Crystal like she can’t quite keep her in focus. “He lied to me for years.”

“And I guess I’m the biggest moron of all,” I jump in, staring down at my empty glass and wondering how it got that way. “I thought I was the only woman for him...I thought that we were each other’s everything.” I actually start to cry then. Because the truth is, I miss him already. I miss the Bert I thought I’d married. I refill my glass of whiskey, drain it, and then take another. I don’t know why I thought this stuff tasted bad. It’s yummy once you get used to the bite.

“Look, I’ll figure out a way to sort it all out,” Helena announces. “Get us all divorced. Who knows how he even did it, or if his marriage to discount wiccan barbie over here is even valid.”

“I have the paper,” Crystal tells us. “Do you think I can just return the receipt and get ush divorced?”

“That’s not how a marriage license works,” Helena tells her. Her tone adds a silent, idiot.

“Hey, I may not have kids or a years-long relationship with Bobby, but he’s the man I married. And I loved him.” Her face goes dark. “I was his wife, too.”

“Look, his body is disposed of,” Helena’s voice remains confident despite her body listing to the side. “As long as we can keep the sham going for our kids, it will be fine. We’ll just have him fade out and eventually, poof. He’ll be gone.”

“How are we going to trick the kids?” I ask, because this is the part that really worries me. They would be devastated to learn their father was dead, but I think it would be even more hurtful if he just disappeared and never contacted them again.

Helena eyes me. “Magic.”

Despite years of selling objects with magic qualities, I’ve never been tempted to use them myself. It's always felt like playing with fire.

And now we’ve all been burnt.

“Do you guys feel any different?” I ask. We’d experienced something, that’s for sure. And it was full of raw power. But now I just feel like normal me. Tired and sad.

“You mean from what happened with the talentum?” Crystal asks as she pours the last bit of whiskey, splitting it between our three glasses.

“Something happened,” Helena says waving her hand erratically as if trying to wipe away what happened at the wharf. “Each of us bled on the talentum, which probably set it off, and we had that odd flying moment, but we probably needed to chant or perform an invocation to seal the deal. But we didn’t, so it shouldn’t be binding. The contract is null and void.”

Crystal squints at Helena. “That’s not quite how magic works, but I think you’re right. If it was permanent we’d know by now.”

I sigh and settle my head, which feels oddly heavy, into my hand. This at least is a relief. “You know,” Helena says into the sudden pause. “You could be pregnant,” she stabs a finger in Crystal’s direction.

“What?” Crystal asks, horrified.

“Don’t tell me that you didn’t have sex on your dirty weekend,” Helena accuses.

“It was my fortieth birthday celebration,” she clarifies.

“It’s your birthday today?” I ask.

“Not anymore, it’s after midnight.”

“How romantic,” Helena mocks. “But my point is still valid. You probably had tons of sex and now you have a late life bun in the oven, you geriatric homewrecker.”

I giggle, even though I’m older than Crystal.

“You wrecked Maddie’s home first,” Crystal fires back. “And what’s been in my vagina is none of your business,” she says, reddening. “But I’m not a dumb kid who would accidentally become pregnant. Give me some credit.”

That feels like an insult to me, but I know she doesn’t mean it that way. “Whatever. It’s not like sex with Bert was earth-shaking,” I say with a laugh. I’m feeling warm and floaty and this booth is so cushy I might just lie down right here.

Both women stare at me, eyebrows raised. “You two must know,” I say, thinking we’d all have the same story. “Sex with Bert is just...okay. We mostly stick to missionary and it often feels a bit...rote. Or like a chore no different than doing the dishes or folding socks.” I titter, hoping they’ll join in.

I thought the other wives would back me up, but instead I see the shock and pity in Helena and Crystal’s eyes. I close my heavy eyes, not wanting to look at it.

In an overly loud whisper, I hear Crystal say to Helena, “I probably ssshouldn’t tell her that sex with Bobby was more than just earth-shaking, we had a spiritual connection.”

“No,” Helena answers. “And you shouldn’t tell me either.” Then as if she can’t help herself she adds, “and there’s no way you had better sex with Robert than I did. I have never been more sexually compatible with another person in my life.”

“Bobby and I—HIC—were gonna take a trip to a clothing—HIC—optional—HIC—resort,” Crystal replies in between a bout of hiccups. “He said—HIC—I made him feel—HIC—free.” 

Helena slams her hand down on the table, a competitive light making her eyes burn in a rather scary way. “There’s no way Robert and you had what he and I did.”

“We had tantric sex!” Crystal cries out loud enough for the entire room to hear him.

Not to be outdone, Helena begins to list her own sexual exploits. “We once emptied out a sex shop! Costumes! Toys! Bondage ropes! A sex swing! And it wasn’t just a bunch of gag gifts we stuffed in a drawer. There’s a whole room in my basement. I hired a handyman to install the sex swing. And we used it! A LOT!”

I’m pretty sure everyone left in this place is staring at us, but I am keeping my eyes determinedly squeezed closed. I don’t know why I can still hear them, though. All at once it’s too much for me.

“ENOUGH!” I say, slamming my hands on the table. I stare at the two women who seemed to have multiplied while my eyes were shut. There are now at least three of each of them.

“This is not a competition! And if it was, I’d win, because Bert and I were married for twenty-five freaking years! And we were happy!” I fumble in my purse for my phone and with clumsy fingers eventually manage to turn it on and open it to my Instagram page. “LOOK!” I demand. “This is our lives. No filter!” I pause and then admit, “Well, some filters, but that doesn’t mean it wasn’t real.” I gulp, hearing my own words. A sob bubbles up and escapes. More quickly follow.

Crystal silently hands me a tissue.

She and Helena stare back at me helplessly.

“Was it real? Was any of it?” I ask. There’s not really anything else to say after that and we decide to call it a night.

I take a rideshare home after we agree to stay in touch about what do with our totally dead—but pretending he’s not—husband. So for now we’re “friends” in the same way my gynecologist who follows my Instagram account is: it’s weird and a little uncomfortable, but I can live with it.

The whole way home I try not to think about Crystal’s tantric sex flex and Helena’s pleasure room in her basement. But it goes round and round in my head until I have to ask the driver to pull over so I can puke onto the side of the road.

After that all I want to do once I get home is fall into bed and forget this night ever happened. I climb the steps up to my room, while my head swims. I take a second, grateful that Ollie is at his grandparents’ house. Tonight Bert and I were supposed to go to a hotel after the vow renewal. I would be so ashamed to have Ollie see me this way.

It’s a struggle to get ready for bed but I know that I don’t want to wake up with crusty vomit breath and last night’s clothes, so I take the time to down some water and ibuprofen, brush my teeth, and pull on my favorite pair of flannel pajamas even if they aren’t really appropriate for a warm August night.

I slide beneath the covers on my side of the bed, trying my hardest not to think about how he’ll never again warm his side of the bed, when suddenly I hear him say,

“Babe, thank god you’re finally home.”

“AUUUGHHH!” I scream loud enough to wake the dead, or to scare the already woken dead because Bert screams right back at me.

“Ah, Maddie! You’ll give me a heart attack!”

“You can’t have a heart attack. You’re dead!” Just to make sure, I reach out to touch him. My hand goes right through.

He looks down sadly, watching as my fingers pass through his chest.

“Right, I keep forgetting,” he says with his usual charming shrug, the one I’ve always found irresistible. But not anymore.

“No,” I say, pointing a finger at him. “This time I am not forgiving you.”

“All right, but Maddie, let me explain.”

“Explain?” I laugh hysterically. “Okay, how about we start with this. Why did we have bad sex?”

“What?” Bert stares at me and I realize this is not the question he expected. Honestly, it wasn’t where I meant to start either, but for whatever reasons right now it feels like the most pressing.

“You heard. Now answer me.”

“Are you drunk?”

“You’re drunk!” I shout at him, totally more drunk than I’ve ever been before in my life. “And you’re a cheater and a liar. And also you’re dead.”

I go to the bathroom, needing another drink of water after that scream tore through my throat.

“Baby, you mean the most to me. That’s why I’m here.” I sip the cold water and let him continue. “Those women mean nothing to me.”

“And the child you have with Helena? The one who is only a few months older than Ollie?” I ask. He has no words to explain. “And…” I continue. “All the sex? Why didn’t you rock my world? I’ve only ever had sex with you, Bert,” I tell him. “I thought the way we did it was how it was. Sure, sometimes I wondered if there was more, but I never even thought of cheating. I was always ALWAYS loyal to you. Why wasn’t that enough?”

His answer, much like his performance in our marriage bed, is not satisfying. “Maddie, you’re beautiful, but you’re not…sexy. you’re the mother of my children, well, most of them. I just…don’t see you as a sexual being. You’re too buttoned up.”

“Helena is buttoned up and you did sex swing stuff with her!”

Bert winces. “She told you about that, huh?” And then as if he can’t help himself, he sighs. “Wish we could have had more time.”

I throw the glass at his head. It goes right through and shatters against the wall.

“Sorry, sorry. Maddie, I’m trying to be honest here. Helena is buttoned up in a way that makes you want to rip her shirt open and ruffle her feathers. You’re buttoned up in a way that makes me think of freshly baked cookies and hot cocoa. And you know I love freshly baked cookies with cocoa!”

“Love them, sure,” I snarl. “But you don’t want to—” The f word almost comes out of my mouth. But that’s not who I am. “You know what them,” I finally finish.

Bert smiles at me fondly. “This is what I’m talking about, Mads. You can’t even say the f word, much less do it. We made tender love and it was sweet every time. But to do anything else never even occurred to me. Even before the kids arrived, when we were basically just kids, you were always so mom-ish.”

And then he says the most hurtful words I’ll ever hear, “Most women are a cocktail in bed. Helena was Grey Goose Vodka, classy with a kick. Crystal was kombucha mixed with moonshine—homemade and a little crazy. But you, Maddie darling, you were a glass of warm milk on a cold night.”

The blood drains from my face and I almost barf. Maybe Bert’s right. Maybe I am just a sexless woman. The type of person you have sex with in the dark with your socks on.

I throw my glass at him, but it sails through his apparition and shatters on the bathroom wall. “Ef you Bert,” I tell him.

I march into the bedroom, wanting him to follow, wanting us to keep fighting. Wanting him to somehow say something that will comfort me. But there’s nothing Bert could say to ever make this okay.