Fashionably Dead Down Under (Hot Damned Series, Book 2)

by Robyn Peterman

  Sucking in a huge breath, I nodded. "I trust you, Dad, and I love you too."

  "Come here," he said.

  I slid into his strong embrace and wished I could stay forever, but that was not how life went. If he said my powers would come, they would come. If he said I was ready… Hell, I just hoped he was right.

  Chapter Three

  I go to group therapy.

  When you live in Hell and you’re not considered to be evil enough, you have to do therapy.

  I have to do therapy with a group of others who have an evil deficiency.

  That group destroyed my cute bungalow yesterday.

  They were insane misfits and I'd grown to love them in the same way one loves a puppy who chews up your couch and eats your walls. Prone to destruction, we’d been banned from meeting anywhere but privately. I’d spent every afternoon at three-thirty for the last year watching them destroy meeting rooms, offices, classrooms, convenience stores… you name it, they could trash it. The convenience store wasn’t actually a session. We’d gone for Slurpees after a grueling hour of therapy and they thought the Demon at the cash register looked at them funny. It was bad. Our newest therapist—we'd had many—had threatened repeatedly to quit unless we started doing at home meetings. Hence my ruined house. And hence their solution.

  I should re-name my group The Wrecking Balls. Janet the formerly Bearded Lady, Carl the Strong Man, and Myrtle the… I’m not really sure how to explain her. I like her a lot, but she was difficult to describe. Basically she was a tiny Goth girl with more hair in her face than Cousin It. They were all quite funny but bordered on homicidal.

  Today they arrived in a big van loaded with tools, wood, a window and paint to repair my bungalow in Hell. Yesterday’s therapy session had turned violent when a debate over The X Factor versus The Voice ensued. Our therapist had been hospitalized for blunt head trauma from a toaster. Myrtle was one tuff cookie and psychotic to boot. She clearly thought the therapist was out of line when she commented on Simon's man boobs, hence the beating, followed by the destruction of my home. As much as I found my group amusing, their ability to trash every place we met was starting to ride my last nerve. Not to mention my horror that they were coming to Earth with me and posing as my family.

  A furniture truck arrived soon after they descended on my home, loaded with brand new furniture to replace what they had demolished. The new stuff wasn't nearly as nice as my old furniture that they’d destroyed. When I tried to kindly explain this to the Strong Man aka Carl he just shrugged and began doing the Moonwalk. Normally he flipped people off, but he liked me. He was fond of flipping people off. It seemed to give him joy. He moonwalked for about thirty-two counts and then slid very slowly into the splits, arms raised above his bald head.

  I stared at him in silence. I was definitely going to have a word with my dad about this group posing as my family on Earth. These people were C-R-A-Z-Y. It didn’t help that Carl was wearing something akin to a mauve wrestling uniform with black socks and brown earth shoes. I had no idea how to respond to his performance. Was I supposed to clap or was I supposed to challenge him by busting out my own moves? In the end I nodded at him, he nodded back and I walked away. Quickly.

  The furniture delivery guy, Wolf Boy, the hairiest Demon I’d ever seen, lined up all the new furniture on my lawn. I'd have to say Demons were a very attractive race. My therapy group and their friends were an anomaly. Wolf Boy then explained as he shed all over said furniture that he’d be back in a couple of hours to put it in my house.

  After winking at me lasciviously, he meandered over to Myrtle and copped a feel of her butt. This earned him a bone crunching solid right hook to the face. She knocked his nose clear up into his forehead. God, that had to hurt. Amazingly undeterred by this painful rejection, I watched in shock as he then palmed her boob. Ya’d think he would have learned his lesson…

  Myrtle easily picked him up even though Wolf Boy was twice her size and threw him to the ground. She then viciously crunched his testicles with the large hard heel of her combat boot. My dad would love that move. It made me bend over in sympathy for Wolf Boy even though our plumbing was entirely different.

  Wolf Boy lay crumbled on the ground moaning for a long time. With his nose where his forehead should be and his testicles lodged somewhere near his chest I didn’t blame him. All the others worked around him as if he wasn’t there.

  I sat down on the front steps of my bungalow and watched in horror as my therapy group turned my beautiful little house into a bad home-improvement project. I felt a cool wind on my face and I closed my eyes and smiled. The air shimmered around me and out of nowhere Blanche magically appeared on my front lawn. She stepped over Wolf Boy and made herself comfortable on my new and highly unattractive couch. She happily held one-sided conversations with a bunch of Demons that didn’t even know she was there… because she was invisible. Blanche was mine and I was the only one who could see her. Although I’d told my dad and sisters about her, none of them believed me. Stella was the only one who was convinced of her existence. Stella loved hearing about Blanche’s adventures and Blanche loved Stella. It pissed her off to no end that Stella couldn’t see her. She would curse a blue streak trying to figure out a way to become corporeal for Stella. If I could behave a little more like Blanche, my dad would be so happy. However, every time I tried to copy her I either ended up with hives or laughing uncontrollably.

  “Excuse me, Dixie,” said Janet with the voice of a shy ten year old girl. Poor Janet was wearing a fake beard and mustache. Up until a few months ago her beard and stache had been real, but our former therapist had them permanently removed as punishment. Janet had been devastated. She'd been sporting her beard for hundreds of years and clearly felt naked without it. Her mate, Carl, loved her both hairy and hairless and had bought her an impressive array of beards. Focusing on her eyes instead of her lopsided facial hair was difficult, but she was sweet. “Would Your Highness like the walls the same color as before or do you want something new and fresh and not so dated?”

  I was fairly sure I was just insulted by a child locked in a hairy adult’s body, but I decided it was in my best interest to let that baby go. My hairy female friend was going to help me redecorate.

  “I don’t know. What do you think?” I felt my eyes go red with excitement.

  “I think we should look at this!” She whipped out a color chart and squealed.

  Blanche cleared her throat to get my attention and mimed shaving her face. Damn her, I was almost able to pretend that Janet was normal. Then Blanche had to go and ruin it by reminding me that Janet had more fake hair on her face than I had on my entire body. Well, screw her. Janet was my friend—she couldn’t help that she was a hairy destructive mess.

  While Janet and I bonded over paint colors, Carl and Myrtle got into three rather violent fights.

  “Carl.” I stopped him as he went to replace my window. “Why do you two hang out if you're just going to keep trying to kill each other?”

  Carl paused, contemplated, flipped me off and then started break dancing. I was beginning to think he was brain damaged.

  “Oh, for goodness sakes,” Janet piped up. Her mannerisms were so dainty for such a hairy gal. “Carl is a little… well, he’s just Carl. He’s a wonderful Demon, just not a good conversationalist.” She paused and waited for Carl to finish with his splits. That was how he ended all of his routines. As he wandered out of earshot Janet continued.

  “Actually,” she went on, "he’s very smart and kind. He smells good and he’s champion in the bedroom.”

  “Oh, Good Lucifer Almighty, no!” Blanche screamed as she slapped her hands over her ears. “That’s disgusting.” I was so glad that Janet couldn’t see or hear my non-corporeal imaginary friend, but I had to concur. Blanche vanished in a huff of disgust.

  “Oookay, Janet,” I said, deciding to use this as a teachable moment for my hairy buddy. “That is way too much information. That’s not really an image you want to
create for others.”

  “You’re right,” she answered solemnly in her childlike voice. “No one should know that Carl is Superman in the sack. If anybody tried to steal my Carl away I’d tear their limbs off, decapitate them, shove a spike through their heart and burn them for the Hell of it.”

  She stopped for a moment, clearly considering what she just said. She was normally so sweet. I was positive she was going to yell “joking”, but no.

  “Actually I’d rip their limbs off first then burn them because they would be conscious for that and it would hurt.” She seemed pleased with the new order of torture. “Then after they’re dead I would decapitate them and run a spike through their heart to make absolutely sure they could never ever get a piece of Carl’s manmeat. That goes for you too, so don’t go getting any ideas.” She was dead serious.

  I was seriously unsure of why she was in my therapy group. That sounded pretty evil to me. I needed to reconsider the sweet thing. She was making it increasingly difficult to be friends. I could have possibly gotten past the fact that she glued on facial hair but this was a deal breaker. Janet the Fake Bearded Lady had succeeded where many had failed. She had rendered me speechless. Not to mention implanted visions in my head that would take years of therapy to erase. I really tried to speak, but my voice was gone.

  Janet giggled and braided the left side of her mustache. “I think mustard yellow paint would be lovely in your den.”

  I nodded, still in shock.

  “How about a mossy green in the bathroom, a candlelight yellow in the kitchen, and a warm peach in your bedroom?”

  I nodded again. She could have said she was going to paint my entire house crap-brown or lime green and I would have nodded.

  “Great!” She hopped up and hugged me, tickling my neck with her beard. It was not soft and silky. “It was soooo much fun talking to you. I’m going to go mix some paint, and if Carl’s in the van… ” She giggled. “Well, you know.”

  Oh Holy Lucifer, unfortunately I did know. I watched in abject terror as Carl did lewd hip-hop moves all the way over to the van—followed by Janet, seductively twisting her gnarly beard with her stubby fingers.

  “Carl’s really got moves,” a wistful voice behind me said.

  I whipped around to find Myrtle watching Carl longingly as he and Janet raced to the van for their love fest.

  “Myrtle, if I were you I’d stay away from Carl,” I said as I tried to save her from a sure death.

  “Oh I know—Janet’s already beaten up twenty-two low level Demons and a zombie over Carl.”

  “I heard she would mutilate and kill anyone who even looked at Carl,” I casually informed Myrtle, fearing for her life. It was difficult to kill a Demon, but Janet’s recipe would definitely work.

  Myrtle laughed. “She wouldn’t really kill anyone—she’s too sweet for that. Plus, I don’t want Carl that way. I want to dance like he does.”

  Weird didn’t even begin to describe that statement so I backtracked to something even weirder. “Did you just say zombie?”

  “Yeah,” Myrtle said, “and you think we’re disgusting and gross.”

  "I don't think you're disgusting or gross."

  Myrtle peeked out from behind her hair and stared at me. She took a long pause and simply said, “Maybe you don't, but everyone else does. We’re the freak Demons—we’re not beautiful like the rest of you.” With that she picked up a hammer, stepped on instead of over Wolf Boy, and went back into my house.

  Carl, Janet and Myrtle weren’t freaks, they were just alarming looking semi-violent Demons who had the same problems that I did. Well, some of the same problems. My father would kill me if he found out how much compassion I felt for others, including my violent and bizarre little therapy group. Truth be told, I liked my therapy group and I did fit in with them. Why was life so damn complicated? Myrtle was a person, no matter how stinkin’ weird she was or looked. She had feelings—they all did. I turned just in time to see the van roll over onto its side due to the disgusting and illicit activities within. Well, some of them did.

  Chapter Four

  My commissary disappearing act with my sister Sloth the other day had caused quite the stir. I was going for a low profile today. Being Satan’s daughter made it kind of difficult to blend in, but I tried. It was a little strange when underclassmen bowed to you, insisted on giving you their lunch money and offered to carry you. Not my books. Me. I shoved stuff into my messy locker and swore for the millionth time I’d clean it out.

  “He’s going to the library.” Stella ran up and knocked me into my locker, causing an avalanche of the entire contents to come falling out.

  I glared at her. “Stella, look at what you’ve done.”

  “I did you a favor,” she retorted, grinning from ear to ear. “Now you don’t have to clean it. Did you hear what I said?” she panted, out of breath from her sprint down the hallway and her flying leap into me and my locker.

  “No. I was busy getting nailed in the head by my History of Mortals textbook,” I sarcastically explained as I began to pick up the mess on the floor.

  “I said he’s going to the library,” she repeated impatiently.

  “Who’s going to the library?”

  “Your boyfriend,” she yelled eagerly.

  “Be quiet.” I rolled my eyes. “He’s not my boyfriend. I’ve barely ever talked to him.”

  “That’s about to change.” She yanked me up by the arm and shoved me into the middle of the hallway. “Okay, Dixie,” she screeched at alarming decibels. “You go to the library like you said you were going to. You know, go to the library and… um… study. Okay? In the library, like you said.”

  Everyone in the hallway stopped what they were doing to watch our exchange. I had never wanted to die so much in my entire life. And every bone in my body sensed that Hayden Black was standing right behind me.

  “So you’re going to the library, Dixie?” Hayden chuckled, circling me until his entire beautiful self was standing in front of me.

  “Um… well,” I started, flustered and mortified.

  “Yes,” Stella shouted. “Dixie is definitely going to the library. She just said ‘Stella I’m going to study in the library’. That’s exactly what she just said. Just now.”

  We had entered the realm of shitty sitcom. “Stella,” I hissed through clenched teeth.

  “Yes?”

  “You can stop shouting now.”

  “Oh, right.” She laughed, clearly unashamed of her appalling behavior. “My bad.”

  “Well, it just so happens I’m going to the library too.” He winked conspiratorially at Stella. “Can I walk with you?”

  He turned his green gaze on me and waited for my answer. The speech part of my brain ceased to function. All I could do was stare at him like an idiot.

  “Yes,” Stella chimed in and gave me a push. “She’d love to walk with you and maybe even sit at the same table, regain her power of speech and exchange a few words.”

  Stella was evil. I gave her a look that would have scared most Demons to death. I was Satan’s daughter after all. She just stuck her tongue out at me and giggled. She was going to pay later.

  “Shall we?” Hayden asked.

  “Um… sure,” I stammered and started walking toward the library.

  “Dixie.” Hayden’s silky voice stopped me.

  “Yes?”

  “Do you want to bring some work with you?” His eyes twinkled.

  I looked down at my empty hands and for the second time in a matter of minutes I wished I was dead. “Yes,” I replied in a very businesslike manner. I made my way back to my locker, squatted down and picked up the first two things my fingers touched. “Okay.” I smiled, having no idea what was in my hands. “I’m ready.”

  “Great.” He grinned. “I was born ready.”

  Sitting across from each other in the Demon Magic section of the library, I stared at my fingernails while Hayden stared at me.

  “Dixie,” he said softly
. “Look at me.”

  “I can’t.” I continued my love affair with my fingernails. “I get stupid when I look at you.”

  “I find that extremely flattering and very sexy,” he said.

  My eyes shot to his and my stomach dropped to my toes. “No, you don’t.”

  “I do.” He captured my chin in his hands and forced my gaze to stay on his. “It’s not every day that the most gorgeous girl I’ve ever seen in my life gets all flustered around someone like me.”

  “Are you kidding me?” I gasped. “Someone like you? You're the most… ” I slapped my hand over my mouth before I permanently destroyed any vestige of cool I might own by telling him I loved him and that I had memorized every single thing he’d worn to class—down to sock color—for the last three semesters.

  “I’m the most what?” he asked quietly.

  Change the subject, change the subject. “So why don’t you have a girlfriend?” Help me Cousin Jesus, did I just say that?

  His grin was lopsided and the hottest thing I’d ever seen. “Haven’t found the right girl yet.”

  “Oh.” I was usually more eloquent.

  “I’m working on changing my status.” He let go of my chin and took my hands in his. I felt a tingle run through my fingers and all the way up my arms. Not only was I physically attracted to this guy, apparently I was chemically attracted too. “Do you have a boyfriend?”

  “No.” I was caught in his web and couldn’t get away if my life depended on it. “I’m working on changing my status too,” I whispered. Was I flirting? Oh my Hell, I was. My sisters would be so proud.

  His eyes flashed red with desire and his smile broadened in approval. “Am I in the competition?”

  “Do you want to be?” I lowered my eyes and watched his thumb caress my knuckles. His hands were beautiful and strong, slightly calloused and very gentle.