Fashionably Dead Down Under (3 page)

“Um, no . . . not exactly. I guess I just
assumed, or maybe my mom told me.” Under no circumstance would I
tell him the Vampyres believed my dead pappy, Abaddon, was the
leader of the Underworld.

“How rich,” he laughed, going from deadly
back to blindingly beautiful in the matter of a moment. “Your
father,” he spat derisively, “was definitely not in charge here. He
was my minion and managed a certain—how shall I put it—area of Hell
. . . but he was weak and stupid—unfit to rule.”

I stayed silent. The way he stared at me made
my skin heat. He was breathtaking, but I wasn’t pulled to him in a
sexual way. It was a power thing . . . I think.

“Daddy, you should tell her more,” Dixie said
quietly from across the room. I’d forgotten she was still here. Her
father’s presence was so large and overwhelming everything around
him disappeared.

“She’s on a need to know basis,” he informed
his daughter. “Welcome to Hell, Astrid. Say hello to your cousin
Dixie.”

“My cousin?” WTF? If she was my cousin then
he was my . . .

“Uncle,” Satan supplied as I quickly re-shut
the faulty doors in my mind. Damnit to hell, I was one walking
defect . . . nothing worked.

“That’s just awesome,” I gushed, inching my
way to the door, “but I have to go. It’s been kind of lovely
meeting you and I seriously hope we don’t have too many get
togethers and . . . ”

“Halt,” my uncle the fucking Devil
hissed.

I did.

“Don’t you think it only fair that you learn
about the other part of your heritage?” he half asked-half
insisted, turning his back on me.

“Um, no, that’s okay. I’ve seen enough in the
last couple of hours to last a lifetime . . . a long one—like
mine.”

“Unacceptable,” he replied so quietly I
wasn’t sure I heard him, but if the look on Dixie’s face was
anything to go by, things were about to get hinky. Shit. “You will
stay here until I deem it reasonable for you to leave. You will
immerse yourself in the Demon culture and you will get to know your
family.”

“There’s more than just the two of you?” I
asked, hoping there wasn’t.

“Oh yes, my lovely niece. Many more.”

“There will be people looking for me,” I
said, wracking my brain for any excuse to leave.

“That should be fun,” Satan grinned and I
almost fainted. His charm was addictive.

“The longer I’m here the better the chance
that there will be problems for you.”

“Trust me, my dear, there are already
problems . . . Plus, time runs differently here than it does on
your chosen plane,” he said and turned to leave.

“What the hell does that mean?” I demanded. I
had no clue if he knew I was pregnant, but if time was screwed down
here what did that mean for my baby?

“It means,” my uncle replied slowly while
staring me down, “that I determine how much time you miss on Earth.
A week here could equate with a minute in your world . . . or it
could equate to a year or ten. That, my dear, will be up to
you.”

“To me?”

“Yes, good behavior will be in you favor.
Remember that.”

With that he disappeared in a blast of black
glitter and smoke.

Son of a bitch, this day just kept getting
worse . . .

“Come with me,” my cousin Dixie said. “You’ll
stay at my place during your visit.”

I rolled my eyes at the use of the term visit
but didn’t correct her. There was something fragile and trusting
about Dixie. Honestly I kind of liked her, but more than that I was
hoping I could use her to get the hell out of . . . well, Hell.

Dixie’s bungalow was really freakin’ nice.
Gorgeous and graceful—very much like her. Actually, all of Hell was
lovely. It reminded me of Kentucky in the spring . . . on crack.
Blooming trees and roses and climbing blossoms everywhere.
Literally. The scented air calmed me with its familiarity and I
wondered how in the hell my father fit in here.

Dixie drove us from the Devil’s estate back
to her place in her Porsche. That’s right, a Porsche.

“Um, Dixie, did you know my dad?”

She paused and considered her answer. Her
body language was stiff and childlike. “Well, I’d met him, but he
lived in another area.”

“Another area? Like a different state?”

“Kind of,” she hedged. It was clear she had
no clue what she could tell me and what she couldn’t. This could
work to my advantage . . . use the naive cousin. Find out what I
need to know and get the hell out of Dodge.

“Look, I won’t tell anyone what you tell me.
I thought I was supposed to learn about my, um . . . heritage. How
exactly am I supposed to do that if no one answers my
questions?”

“Good point,” she agreed. “Listen, I have my
therapy group coming over for a session. How about we talk
afterwards?”

“Fine.” I caved. Maybe if I was agreeable I
could make her like me and she would slip up and tell me how to
find a portal . . . “Can I sit in on your session?”

She giggled and shook her beautiful head.
“Yep, but stay over on the side of the room. It gets somewhat
violent at times.”

“Noted.” Hell was weird and I was about to
discover how right I was.

***

There were three in Dixie’s group besides her
and the therapist, who was sporting a full body cast. WTF? They
were as curious about me as I was about them. We all chatted a bit,
then Dixie simply introduced me as her cousin. Nothing more.
Nothing less. That was fine with me. I eyed the strange Demons and
wondered if any of them would accept a bribe to get me to a
portal.

Carl, Myrtle and Janet . . . I dubbed them
the strong man, the bizarre little one and the bearded lady.
Literally. Janet had a beard . . . Then there was the very angry
therapist, who if she had a name I was not made aware of it. Again,
fine by me. She was creepy and she smelled strange. I sat back in
my corner and watched Hell’s version of The Jerry Springer Show
unfold.

The tension in the room was palpable. I
scanned Dixie’s living room for exits just in case this wonky
little party of weird got out of hand. Carl, the Strong Man, rubbed
his bald head the same way I rubbed my calf when it fell asleep. He
rubbed so hard and fast, I was sure the skin was going to come off
and his brain would fall out. I waited in anticipation and fear to
hear what he had to say. I hadn’t heard him speak yet. He did a few
bizarre dance moves when I’d asked him a question earlier. I’d bit
down hard on the inside of my cheek so I didn’t laugh at him and I
backed off. Janet, his bearded girlfriend, interpreted for him but
no more. The therapist, sporting a bad attitude and a thin reedy
voice, was very clear. Carl had to speak for himself.

I wondered if this wrinkle would cause a
violent episode. I kind of hoped it would. A small zap of something
warm shot through my body at my destructive little thought. I
dismissed it and continued to watch the scene play out. Janet
squeezed Carl’s hand and smiled.

“I enjoy uthing my metal detector at family
functionth. Preferably not my family. I made forty-nine dollarth
and theventy-two thenth in jutht under nine hourth at a family
reunion latht Augutht.” Carl smiled. He actually had beautiful
teeth and cute dimples, but the lisp . . . Hoo baby, now I knew why
he preferred to communicate through interpretive dance. On Earth he
could have had speech therapy, but in Hell I’m sure he got the crap
beat out of him.

“All right then, Carl,” the therapist
snapped, “have you ever considered just stealing the money from the
purses and wallets of the party guests? Or perhaps holding them at
gunpoint and demanding their money and jewelry?”

“Um . . . no,” Carl muttered, “I can’t thay
that hath ever occurred to me.” He scratched his bald head in
confusion.

As far I could sense, Carl didn’t have magic
or power. Hmmm.

I watched the therapist jot down notes and
make disapproving tsking sounds. She avoided looking at me at all.
Acted as if I didn’t exist. Interesting. She clearly didn’t want me
here. Maybe she was the one to bribe . . .

“Janet,” the therapist smiled nastily through
her bandages, “you have a waxing and electrolysis appointment after
this session.”

“But I like my hair,” Janet stammered. Her
stubby little fingers instinctively went to her face to protect her
beard and stache. Was she going to cry?

“Yes, but you’ve had over three hundred years
to become evil and you have not succeeded. Your hair,” the smelly,
bitchy counselor sneered in disgust, “seems to be your most prized
possession, so it will be taken from you.” She smiled. She really
was a bitch.

“Forever?” Janet whispered. Her little body
trembled and Carl draped a big muscley arm around her, pulling her
close.

“Forever,” the therapist wasped.

“I am so glad I busted your ass with the
coffee table,” Myrtle muttered under her breath.

“What was that, Myrtle?” the therapist
hissed.

“Nothing.” Myrtle smiled and gave me a covert
thumbs up. Again I had to chomp down on my cheek to keep from
laughing.

I found myself happy that Myrtle had nailed
the therapist with a coffee table of all things. Myrtle was my kind
of girl. My guess was that it had been quite an entertaining show.
A burst of magic rushed through my body as the violent thought
manifested itself in my brain.

Glancing down at my fingers I noticed a black
glitter coating them. WTF? Was this Demon voodoo magic? I quickly
rubbed it off and tried to focus on the meeting. Satan had sent me
with Dixie for a reason. There must be something in all this
strangeness I was supposed to learn . . .

“Soooo, Janet,” the nasty shrink challenged,
“do you have any hobbies you’d like to share?”

Janet took a deep breath, regained control of
her shaky little body and got back up in the saddle. “I too enjoy
taking other peoples money, but I really enjoy working in
television. I spend all of my free time, plus some of the time I’m
supposed to be stoking the Hell Fires, following news trucks around
and appearing in the background of live news reports!”

“She’s been on TV at least forty-two times in
the last three months alone,” Myrtle gushed, giving Janet a high
five.

Did Hell have its own TV stations?

Janet, gaining confidence from the high five,
proudly shouted, “All of the local stations have taken restraining
orders out on me!”

“Interesting,” the mean ho-bag therapist
droned. “Have you ever attacked a reporter or shouted obscenities
on live television?”

Janet was crushed. “No. I haven’t.”

“I thought not,” Miss Meanie replied, writing
in her notebook. “I’d like to point out that Muffy the
Contortionist is no longer part of our group. She has graduated.
She blew up a Dairy Queen on Earth last night. Apparently she felt
she had been overcharged.”

“Lucifer’s Bouncing Balls, I hadn’t even
noticed her absence! Was anyone hurt?” Janet gasped and pulled on
her beard in distress.

“Unfortunately, no,” the icky therapist said,
“but we hope she makes better choices next time.” She took a pause,
giving each of the group the evil eye through her bandages while
still ignoring me as if I didn’t exist. “Myrtle, you’re next.”

Myrtle fidgeted in her chair. I figured she
had to be a couple of hundred years old like Janet, but she looked
like she was about fifteen. Most Demons, like Vampyres, stopped
aging somewhere between twenty and thirty, so it was difficult to
determine true age. I wasn’t sure why Myrtle looked so young.

“Um . . . well, I enjoy going to Earth and
playing dead in public places. When I’m surrounded by humans I take
perverse pleasure in jumping up and scaring the fucking shit out of
them as they wail in anguish over my perceived death.”

WTF? These Demons were nuts.

“Have you caused any heart attacks or strokes
doing this?” Miss Bitchy Shrink grilled Myrtle.


“No, I can’t say I have. A couple of them
have wet themselves,” she offered meekly.

“Anything else?”

“Ummm, sure.” I watched Myrtle wrack her
brain. “I do enjoy kidnapping people’s dogs and cats. I groom them
and dye their fur so they resemble wild animals. I then return them
to their rightful owners in the dead of the night. I derive huge
amounts of satisfaction watching our citizens walk their tigers,
skunks and panda bears around town.”

Everyone was speechless. That had to be one
of the weirdest things I’d ever heard.

“Do you ever eat any of the animals you
kidnap?” the therapist asked.

“No, I’m a vegetarian,” Myrtle informed the
group.

“A vegetarian Demon?” the bitch from hell
shrieked, her eyes turning blood red.

Myrtle cowered behind the chair she’d
formerly been sitting in. Janet started crying and braiding her
beard, Carl looked mighty uncomfortable and Dixie looked like she
wanted to do some damage. I suppose a veggie-Demon was an anomaly,
but this shrink was a hag.

“I’ve heard of that,” Dixie piped up,
ignoring the look of hatred from the therapist. She tried not to
fidget, but I could tell she was lying from a mile away. I was
actually enjoying myself. These people were fucking crazy. “Those
Demons get their protein from soybeans.” Dixie had a captive
audience so clearly she decided to elaborate. “I’ve heard of
Veggie-Demons destroying thousands of acres of soybean fields on
Earth just for an appetizer.” She had to have yanked that whopper
right out of her rear end.

Myrtle glanced over at Dixie gratefully. The
lovely therapist looked as if she wanted to nail my cousin’s ass to
the wall, but she didn’t dare. Dixie might have issues, but she was
the head honcho’s daughter. No one was stupid enough to fuck with
that . . . or were they?

“Sooo, Your Highness,” the bandaged skank
began, “let’s go over your list of problems...or should I say
virtues. Shall we?” She laughed wickedly. “You’re a straight A
student, you remember birthdays, you clean your room, people
describe you as kind, you pioneered the first Meals on Wheels in
Hell, you donated a million dollars to feed
humans
on Earth,
and you’re a virgin,” she sneered. “What do you have to say for
yourself?”