Fashionably Fooled

by peterman, robyn

  “Aunt Flo isn’t a real person?” I asked, displeased that I had no one to torture.

  “Umm… no. It’s spelled F L O W, not F L O.”

  “I see,” I said, pacing my office while keeping half an eye on Elle’s door. “Let me get this straight, you’re saying Elle might be having her lady time right now, and that’s what’s causing her to want to behead me for looking at her muffin?”

  “Something like that,” Astrid said. “It stands to reason since Elle’s a Siren, she might be a little more violent than a human on the rag. I mean, in the old days Sirens ate dudes after they banged them.”

  “Quite an interesting theory,” I said, thinking the information through and ignoring the way it had been presented. Even the thought of Elle with another man made me homicidal.

  Astrid had come up with a reasonable explanation. My lover had been insanely irrational and obsessively hungry—or hangry—for anything sweet she could get her hands on. She’d had the head chef in Hell bake her several dozen cookies, six pies and four sheet cakes only yesterday. She’d gone through all of it within an hour. It was appallingly impressive. She’d also stabbed me with a fork when she accused me of cheating during Monopoly. She was correct. I always cheated. However, my Siren cheated as well. That being said, I thought a fork to the palm that pinned my hand to the game table was slightly harsh for hiding money under the board, but now her behavior made sense.

  “How does this sound?” I suggested, pulling a plan out of my ass. “I will tell her I’m aware that she is menstruating and hangry. I will explain to her that her absurd and vicious behavior—while unacceptable—is understandable. I shall forgive her for trying to decapitate me and stabbing me with a fork,” I announced, getting into it. Occasionally, I astounded myself with my own brilliance. “I will inform her that eating enough for twenty male Demons in one sitting—while shocking—is no big deal. I will assure her that I still find her sexually attractive and will happily settle for blow jobs during her time of the month. Although, I’m all for sex during the curse.”

  “You’re gonna die,” Astrid choked out on a horrified laugh. “You are a dead Demon walking.”

  “What was wrong with that?” I demanded. Women were so fucking hard to understand. The truth did not set you free. I was apparently an idiot to think that anything but falsehoods were acceptable.

  “Everything. Everything was wrong with that,” she informed me. “You’re gonna keep your trap shut—hard but doable when the future of your salami is on the line. You’re gonna supply Elle with lots of muffins and cookies. If she wants to stab you for cheating, beat her to it and stab yourself. You feel me, Uncle Fucker?”

  “You’re sure about this information?” I asked warily. The thought of having to regrow my exceptional family jewels was extremely unappealing.

  “Positive,” Astrid said.

  “Fine,” I said. “I will follow your bizarre directives, but if I lose either one of my heads—and I’m speaking in the literal sense—I will blame you and make you pay.”

  “Whatever… and gross. You’ve just placed an image in my brain that I’m going to need therapy to remove,” Astrid said with a disgusted eye roll. “And I’m not throwing you a birthday party. You don’t even have a birthday.”

  “I prefer womb eviction day,” I told her. “And I most certainly do have a special day. I pried the date out of my questionably sane mother.”

  “She can remember that far back?” Astrid asked.

  “Do you value your life?”

  “True Immortal here,” she said with a wink. “I’m unkillable just like you.”

  “I do have a date, but I’m keeping the information private at the moment so no one can steal it,” I said.

  “Kinda hard to plan a party if I don’t know when it is?” she pointed out.

  “Excellent. I was sure you’d accept the challenge,” I said.

  “Did Elle punch you in the head?” Astrid asked.

  “As a matter of fact, yes,” I replied. “Right before she tried to decapitate me with the cake knife, she gave me a warning right hook. I thought it was considerate.”

  “I’ve got nothing,” Astrid said with another eye roll. “You guys have a warped idea of affection.”

  “Your point?”

  “No point. An observation,” she replied.

  “You should leave now,” I told her. “It’s almost noon, and Elle is a hellion at lunchtime as of late. Get to work on my party. I shall send you an invitation list and the menu.”

  “And the date?” Astrid pressed in a voice dripping with sarcasm.

  “All in good time,” I said with a grin.

  “Dude, you have to give me a ballpark date or I’m not doing it,” Astrid said, standing up, slapping her hands on her hips and eyeing me with annoyance. “And where are we having this surprise-not surprise party?”

  “You’re planning it,” I said, waving my hand dismissively. “Find someplace that will hold about a hundred thousand and will get outstanding press coverage.”

  “Human press coverage?” she asked, confused. “You’re going to out yourself on national television that you’re the freakin’ Devil and it’s your birthday? Pretty sure that’s a no-no.”

  Damnit to Hell, Astrid had a point. Jesus had actually lived as a human before he snagged Christmas as his own. I was known to the human world as Blade Inferno, the highest-paid romance author in the Universe—not Satan, the Harbinger of Evil. I suppose I could create the massive holiday for my nom de plume, but that would defeat the purpose. The entire point was to beat my nephew Jesus’ celebration and piss off my brother God. The bastard had won poker night for three months straight without cheating. Even Mr. Rogers was put out by God’s fucking insane windfall, and Fred was the nicest son-of-a-bitch in the Universe. If I didn’t use my real identity, the plan was moot.

  “This is a conundrum,” I muttered as I made a mental pro and con list. The con side was winning. Under normal circumstances that would be lovely, but not this time.

  “I have a safer idea,” Astrid offered. “No press. We just invite other wacked out Immortal freaks like us, and we limit it to a hundred.”

  “A thousand,” I countered. “And it shall take place at your abode.”

  “Five hundred,” she shot back. “And the party will be in Hell.”

  “Fine,” I snapped. “It shall be a black-tie event and everyone has to bring expensive presents—preferably stolen.”

  “Well, that’s certainly going to look awesome on an invitation.”

  “Yes, I agree,” I replied.

  “I was being sarcastic, jackhole.”

  “My bad.”

  “I should say so,” Astrid said with an exasperated grunt. “I can’t believe I’m actually going to do this. And PS… I don’t owe your sorry ass. I’m going to do this because I luuurve you.”

  “Are you trying to give me hives?” I demanded as my fingers began to spark with the need to blow something to smithereens. It was embarrassing how many thought it was fine to overshare their nauseating feelings of affection with me. Of course, secretly, I enjoyed it, but my reputation had to be upheld or all Hell would break loose. Literally.

  “I am,” Astrid replied with a laugh. “Is it working?”

  “It is,” I said flatly, putting a bit more distance between us. It would end badly if Astrid tried to hug me. Even I knew it would be incredibly rude to remove a body part while blackmailing my niece into throwing me a party. “Just be ready for the soiree at the beginning of April. I expect it to be a party that will make everyone forget Christmas exists. And since my restraining order is still in place, you will speak with Steve Perry about performing at the event.”

  “No can do,” Astrid said, shaking her head. “You kidnapped him. There is no way he’s gonna sing at your womb eviction celebration.”

  “For the love of everything illegal,” I shouted. “I did not kidnap the greatest living singer on the planet. The Seven Deadly Sins kidnapped h
im as my Christmas gift. It was the nicest thing those out of control wenches ever did for me.”

  Astrid rolled her eyes and shrugged. “Semantics. Although, I do agree that they’re completely out of control. You were involved by association. Steve Perry isn’t really fond of you.”

  “And that’s a problem?” I asked, not following. “I’m not a real well-liked individual. I’m Satan for fuck’s sake. If I was well-liked it would defeat the purpose.”

  “I’ll see what I can do,” Astrid conceded rudely. “I make no promises on that one.”

  “You will succeed,” I said flatly. “I don’t like the word no unless I’m using it.”

  Astrid raised her middle finger. “You’re kind of a dick.”

  “Thank you,” I replied.

  “Wasn’t a compliment, Uncle Fucker.”

  “Semantics,” I replied, throwing the word back at her. “And if you really must know, my birthday is April 1st.”

  “You’re shitting me,” Astrid said with wide eyes and a belly laugh. “Mother Nature told you your birthday was April 1st?”

  “I shit you not,” I growled, wondering what the Hell was so funny. For a brief moment, I debated if I’d chosen the wrong family member to blackmail into planning my soiree.

  A massive blast of thunder reverberated through the Dark Palace. Priceless stolen art fell from the walls and crashed to the marble floor. I cringed as the original Mona Lisa tore clean in half. It had taken me half a century to successfully procure the piece. No matter, da Vinci enjoyed the occasional poker game in Hell even though he resided in Heaven. I’d simply cheat at cards, get him drunk, and coerce him into painting me a new Mona Lisa.

  A series of Hell rocking explosions followed, shaking the foundations of the Underworld. Of course, the term Underworld wasn’t exactly accurate as Heaven, Hell and Earth were all on the same plane. Right now, geography was an absurd concept to be pondering considering Hell was about to be wiped off the Immortal map.

  There was no time to figure out why Astrid thought April 1st was a joke. Life and limb were at risk. Not my life per se, but definitely my limbs. I’d have to suss out why my birth date was humorous another time. It would be terribly embarrassing to have my niece witness my beheading.

  “What the Hell is happening?” Astrid shouted as her fangs dropped, she began to glow, and her hair blew around her head.

  All signs pointed to mass destruction. Astrid was ferocious in battle and I didn’t need her battling with Fate over blueberry breakfast bread.

  “Leave now,” I shouted over the continuous explosions.

  “I’m not leaving you,” she yelled back. “You need me.”

  “I’m fucking Satan,” I roared. “I need no one.”

  Despite the fact that all Hell was breaking loose, Astrid laughed. “What have I told you about that line? You seriously need a new catchphrase unless you can bang yourself.”

  I’d walked right into that one. Again. “OUT. NOW.”

  “I can’t die, you idiot,” Astrid reminded me. “I’m staying.”

  “There are many things worse than death,” I shot back.

  “Like what?” she demanded, snapping her fingers and arming herself with swords and throwing stars.

  “Like a blueberry muffin shoved up your undead ass by Fate.”

  Astrid’s horrified expression would have amused me to no end if I hadn't been deadly serious.

  “I’m out of here,” she said as she disappeared in a cloud of glittering gold and red mist.

  She was a smart girl.

  Me? I was staying in my own personal Hell.

  Smart? Absolutely not.

  Chapter Two

  “Holy Hell,” I shouted as I expertly ducked a machete aimed at my head. “Was it something I said?”

  Most people would be electrocuted for far less.

  Elle stayed silent as she stared daggers at me, scooped up the platter of chocolate croissants from the table and retreated back to her enormous closet—to eat them… I assumed. However, far be it from me to assume anything where my mate was concerned. Everything I assumed lately made an ass out of me.

  Even though I was quite certain I was going to have to regrow an appendage, I was still wildly attracted to the breathtaking woman who had stolen my evil black heart. I was insane, but that was a given considering my mother was the craziest woman in the Universe. I’d clearly inherited the stark raving mad gene from Mother Nature while my brother God had not. The unfairness of Immortal life never failed to boggle my mind.

  Knocking tentatively on the closet door, I prepared myself for electrocution. “Darling, would you like to talk about what’s bothering you without dismembering me? I can’t help if I’m not aware of what’s going on.”

  “I don’t know what’s wrong,” Elle pouted from the other side of the door. “Every time I look at your face, I want to remove it.”

  That wouldn't end well. My face was gorgeous. “Did I do something to upset you?”

  There was a long silence as she thought. “I think it’s that you’re breathing,” she eventually shared.

  Again, not encouraging.

  My stomach dropped, but I pressed on. “Do you regret our mating?”

  “No. I love you.”

  “But you feel the need to decapitate me?” I inquired, getting more confused by the second.

  “Yes.”

  “Would it help if I stabbed myself?” I asked, remembering Astrid’s advice.

  “That would be nice,” Elle replied. “I think it would cheer me up.”

  Shit. The things a man did to keep his woman happy. Although, Astrid had just earned a few points.

  “Wonderful. I’d be delighted to stab myself for you, lover,” I lied through my teeth. “Would you like to come out of the closet so you can watch me impale myself on a sword.”

  “Can I eat the chocolate croissants first?” she called out.

  “Of course. Just let me know when you’re ready to observe me skewer myself,” I said, trying to keep my tone conversational and light even though I was speaking of goring a body part for her.

  “Thank you, Lucifer. I love you.”

  She certainly had a strange way of showing it, but then again, we were a strange couple.

  * * *

  “Where in the Hell are my Demon Generals?” I snapped as I scanned the meeting room in annoyance.

  My office doubled as the war room in the Dark Palace. Normally, the strategically placed turn of the century instruments of torture and the obscene statues calmed me. Today? Not so much. Deadly mischief was afoot. I’d received an alarming letter and I needed to eliminate the sender immediately.

  Ten of my top warriors were seated at the onyx marble table looking tremendously uncomfortable. The breakfast food from earlier had been removed—or rather eaten—by Elle. Aunt Flow’s visit had made my lover extremely hangry. As Elle was barricaded in the closet, I went on with my necessary business and hoped to Hell and back she would stay put for at least a half an hour. There were at least four dozen chocolate croissants on the platter.

  The Demons at the meeting trembled and refused to make eye contact. I was aware that all had just lived through a series of vicious explosions and earthquakes, but this was ridiculous. Striking fear in my subjects was necessary and delightful. However, these particular Demons were chosen due to their lack of a fear gene. Their state of agitation wasn’t expected or welcome.

  Apparently, word of my womb eviction day had spread, and someone wanted to stop it and end me. That was unacceptable. I couldn’t even blame Astrid for sharing the news as the letter had arrived via a four-headed vulture yesterday right after Elle had eaten a vat of nacho cheese without the chips.

  Closing my eyes and pinching the bridge of my nose, I sighed dramatically.

  The terror in the room increased.

  “I believe I called a meeting,” I ground out through clenched teeth as I noticed a bit of chocolate on the sleeve of my custom Armani suit. I was half tem
pted to lick it off. However, that wasn’t exactly dignified, and I was still somewhat terrified of my mate’s new and unhealthy obsession with sweets. I’d sworn off anything with sugar in it for the foreseeable future.

  As the world’s greatest lover, one would think I understood women—especially my woman. One would be wrong.

  My plate was rather full at the moment, and I didn’t have time for anyone to disobey, dissent, or spread the news that I’d licked my suit. My sanity had been sorely tested already this morning due to my almost decapitation over blueberry breakfast bread. I’d also promised to stab myself. My life, or lack thereof, was precarious right now.

  I was the damned leader of the Damned. This was not working for me.

  “For shit and giggles,” I began as the Demons squirmed in their seats. “Would anyone like to share why Darby, Dino, and Dagwood are absent?”

  It still irked me that my three top Demon Generals had chosen new monikers. What was so wrong with Skuolonu, Bealsahm and Gamunoch? I was fortunate. I went by many names—Lucifer, Satan, Beelzebub, Prince of Darkness, Divine Asshole and occasionally Uncle Fucker… I tried so hard to let the Demons find themselves creatively. Happy Demons—a relative term—were more productive. However, this changing of names game had frayed my last nerve… not to mention they were late.

  But then again, when one lived for thousands of years, it was difficult to begrudge them some amusement—although, not the tardy part. As far as everyone was concerned, I was the only one allowed to be fashionably late in Hell.

  Expelling another a long sigh, I placed my hands on the table in full view of my men. This was a sign that I was doing my best not to smite them where they sat. I wanted answers, and I wanted them now.

  “Speak,” I growled.

  “They are presently in the infirmary,” one of the men whispered with a hint of a smile on his lips.

  “Should I inquire as to why?” I asked.

  “No Sire, you should not,” the Demon replied, bowing his head in respect or possibly hiding his mirth.

  “Because?” I pressed.