Born on the wrong side of the Mississippi and raised by gypsies, she enjoyed a carefree childhood of travel and misadventure. At the age of 12 a freak storm whisked her away to the far-off land of Kansas, where she was dropped upon and brutally killed one unsuspecting farm house. After years battling zombie insurance agents and head-hunting mortgage lenders, Anti returned to her New Orleans roots. Her ramshackle West Bank compound is a dark lair of voodoo, rum, and cat-herding closely guarded by the dreaded Flying Monkeys.

She likes knitting, long skates in the park, and sassing the refs.