Fashionably Dead and Loving It: Hot Damned Book 14

by Peterman , Robyn

  “Are Zombies real?” I asked with a shudder.

  “Unfortunately, yes,” Satan said, narrowing his eyes at the jerky movements coming from the chair. “However, killing them is rather difficult.”

  “How difficult?” I asked as black glitter covered my arms, and my fingers began to spit purple flame.

  Satan shrugged. His gaze was glued to the chair. “Depends on how they were created. Whatever species created them is the one that can destroy them.”

  “Mmkay, that doesn’t help much,” I said. “How can you tell?”

  “Trial and error,” he replied.

  “That’s a shitty answer.”

  “I couldn’t agree more,” my uncle said. “Why do you think there’s a Zombie in your chair?”

  “A dream,” I told him.

  “Tell me,” he instructed as fire began to lick at his large frame.

  I wasn’t fazed by the fact that the Devil was ablaze. It was normal for him. However, it only happened in times of danger. That part unsettled me.

  “I was naked in fifteen-inch Prada heels,” I explained quickly. “It was a hot shitshow. Nana was there—and yes, I know she’s for real dead. However, she gave me an enormous fan to cover my privates and shoved me out onto a stage in an auditorium filled with pompous bloodsuckers. I told a few jokes and got heckled. Martha and Jane were there, and so was Lizard. You were sitting on Ethan’s lap, and Mother Nature fell from the ceiling and tore off her leg. She fed thousands of Vampyres a cake she’d baked, and my ass was glued to the throne. Then the place was filled with Zombies who tried to eat me.”

  “Does Prada actually make fifteen-inch heels?” he inquired, confused. “That sounds a little iffy.”

  My head whipped to him and my eyes narrowed to slits. “Is that all you have to say?” I snapped. “Out of that entire shitshow of a dream, that’s what stands out to you?”

  Satan chucked, still on fire. “Of course not, I was just curious. Did you get eaten?”

  “Umm… no.”

  “That’s a good sign,” he replied. “Dreams—or rather, your dreams—have foretold the future in the past.”

  He was correct. And that sucked big butts.

  “Maybe it means Nana is coming back,” I said, reaching for the only positive part of my nightmare.

  “Possibly,” he agreed. “You could check in with God on that one. However, I don’t think that’s the important part of the dream.”

  I rolled my eyes. “So, you have the hots for Ethan?”

  “No,” Satan replied with a grin. “I find Elle far more appealing than your fanged mate, even though she’s royally pissed at me right now. However, Ethan does have a lovely array of office supplies.”

  Again, I rolled my eyes. “Do you have any idea what the dream means?”

  “I do not, Astrid. However, that’s not a Zombie under the cushion.”

  My body relaxed and my fingers stopped shooting flames. As bad as Satan could be, he didn’t lie in battle. Plus, his body fire abated—a very good sign.

  “What is it?”

  “Who is it would be more accurate,” Satan shot back as he crossed the room and pulled the cushion off the chair.

  “Mommmmy,” four tiny Baby Demons screeched as they pummeled each other with delight.

  “Oh my Hell,” I choked out, leaning against the wall in relief—relief that they weren’t Zombies and massive relief that I hadn’t blown up the chair. I adored my little monsters. “You scared me to death.”

  “Silly Mommmmy!” Abe squealed as he sucker-punched Ross. “You already dead!”

  “He has a point,” Satan said, watching the smackdown with amusement. “You little bastards are vicious.”

  “Tank youuuuuu,” Beyonce said with a curtsey right before Rachel decked her with a left hook that drew blood. Beyonce grunted with joy and scissor kicked Rachel, sending her to the floor with a thud.

  I’d discovered my tiny monsters on my ceiling shortly after being turned. They were my three-inch-tall bundles of love. They were perfect, and they were tremendous dancers—albeit a bit on the violent side. I’d named them Honest Abe, Beyonce, Ross and Rachel, due to their uncanny resemblances to their historical counterparts. I loved them and they loved me. They also adored my son with a passion. I was surprised they hadn’t followed Samuel to Zanthia. They rarely left his side.

  Flicking my fingers, I shot a breeze of glitter magic at them. They ate it up. Literally. The Baby Demons swallowed it then ran around the suite screaming and laughing like little drunks. At least they weren’t beating the crap out of each other anymore.

  “Excuse me,” I shouted over the hysterics. “Is there a reason you were hiding in my chair?”

  I got no answer other than unintelligible gibberish.

  “I’d hazard a guess you gave them too much glitter magic,” Satan said, wincing as the high-pitched screams began to shatter the windowpanes.

  “Crapballs,” I muttered as I plucked them up and put them in my closet. While we could still hear them, it was far better than having to worry about being impaled by shards of glass. And with all the energy they were expending they’d pass out shortly. “Okay, where were we?”

  Satan scrubbed his hand over his beautiful, unshaven face and shrugged. “Actually, I have no fucking clue.”

  Grinning, I put the cushion back and flopped down on the chair. “I remember. I think you’re scared.”

  Satan eyed me and made a face. “I am the Devil. I’m scared of nothing.”

  “Blah blah, blah,” I said. “You’re so full of shit.”

  Uncle Fucker looked like he wanted to decapitate me, but instead of acting on an impulse that wouldn’t kill me—only piss me off—he sat back down and pouted.

  “Look,” I said, running my hands through my hair and sighing. “I have company that I’m not happy about arriving after midnight. Ethan is kicking undead ass on the West Coast, and I thought there were Zombies inside my chair. If you’re gonna be a dick, I’m not helping you. You feel me?”

  “Fine,” Satan grumbled. “He likes Elle better than me.”

  “Who? Luke?” I asked, swallowing back my amusement with enormous effort.

  “Yessssss. Luke,” he hissed. “I think it might be her boobs. I’m not sure. Elle insists that he loves me. However, Elle lies as much as I do. When I pick Luke up, all he does is puke or crap on me. It’s appalling. I’ve taught the Prince of Hell profanities. I’ve offered him a massive bank account. I have shown him my instruments of torture and introduced him to horror classics. And still… he likes her better.” Satan paled and closed his eyes. His voice dropped to a horrified whisper. “At one point, I considered conjuring up a pair of boobs for myself. The thought was fleeting, but it was there. Loving something more than myself, something that doesn’t like me, has fucked with my narcissism.”

  “Luke is not a something, he’s a someone.”

  The Devil picked up a shard of glass and examined his reflection. With a grunt of disgust, he dropped it to the floor and crunched it under his tennis shoe. “I know,” he said. “And I also know Luke doesn’t like me. He rarely shits on Elle.”

  “So, you’ve decided what?” I asked.

  The Devil stood up and tucked his shirt into his pants. “I’ve decided to let Elle raise him. I had no hand in raising my other children and they turned out fine.”

  I wrinkled my nose. “Define fine.”

  “Well, one of them did,” he said, defensively.

  I watched him pace the room having an internal war with himself.

  “You have eight daughters and only Dixie turned out fine,” I reminded him.

  “Your point?”

  This was tedious, but he was truly at a loss. “You raised Dixie yourself. The rest of them are murdering asshats.”

  Satan opened his mouth, but not a word came out.

  Point for me.

  “What did you do with Dixie?” I asked.

  “I played dolls with her and dressed up like a pri
ncess—I looked gorgeous as Sleeping Beauty, by the way. I drank pretend tea and punished her for good grades,” he said, as his brain worked a mile a minute. “I also let her do my makeup. It was horrifying and quite undignified, but it made her happy.”

  “Mmkay, most of that was good,” I said, grabbing my laptop. “Luke is a little young for that right now. Come sit with me.”

  Pulling up a toy site, I began filling the cart with puppets, storybooks, soft stacking blocks and some adorable stuffed bugs. Satan watched with rapt attention.

  “So, I give this stuff to Luke to bribe him to like me?” he asked in all seriousness.

  “For the love of everything stupid,” I groused. “Luke is six months old. You can’t bribe a baby. They see right through that shit.”

  “That was a joke, right?” Satan inquired, perplexed.

  “Umm, no,” I said with a laugh. “We’re ordering this stuff so you can play with him. You’re going to read him stories and sing him songs. You’re going to sit your Armani-clad ass on the ground and build soft block towers with your son while you sing to him.”

  “Journey songs?” he asked as his eyes lit up at the possibility of sharing his favorite band with his child. “I could procure Steve Perry to sing to Luke.”

  I smacked the Devil upside the back of his head. “You will not kidnap Steve Perry… again.”

  Satan rubbed his head and put a little distance between us. “I didn’t kidnap the greatest singer in the Universe. My daughters did as a gift to me. It was the nicest thing those ungrateful shits ever did.”

  “Right,” I said with an eye roll. “No kidnapping. Anyone. Plus, Steve Perry still has a restraining order against you. And you’re missing the freaking point entirely. You are supposed to sing to him. Not hire someone to do it. You have to bond with Luke.”

  “So, are you implying that giving him money, teaching him to swear and showing him my torture chamber doesn’t count?” he asked, trying to wrap his idiot head around the new rules.

  “I’m not implying anything,” I said, holding out my hand. “I’m telling you what to do. There’s a difference.”

  Satan stared at my extended hand in confusion. “You want to hold hands?” he asked with a shudder. “I’m not good with the touchy-feely stuff.”

  “I do not want to hold your damn hand,” I snapped, trying not to giggle. “Give me your wallet. You’re paying for this crap.”

  Satan reached into the breast pocket of his spit-up-covered suit and handed me his wallet.

  “What the actual fuck?” I muttered as over fifty credit cards spilled out. “Are any of these legal?”

  “All of them,” he replied with a naughty smirk. “However, I suppose you should choose one that has my name on it if that’s what you were asking.”

  Uncle Fucker was a piece of work. “Do you have a real name to use or am I looking for one that says The Devil?” I asked as I examined the pile.

  “Find one that says Lucifer Stunning Darkstar.”

  “Are you serious?” I laughed as I found a few with the ridiculous name on them. “I guess you don’t actually have a last name per se, but the Stunning part is a little much.”

  He shrugged and grinned. “The truth is the truth. Check God’s credit cards next time you see him. The jackass is incredibly full of himself.”

  “Pot, kettle, black,” I pointed out. “And you can’t just say that and leave me hanging.”

  “Do you swear you won’t say I told you?” Satan inquired with a wicked grin.

  I nodded and grinned right back at him. “Is it worse than yours?”

  “Much.”

  “Let me guess,” I said. “Umm… Lord Resplendent Almighty?”

  Satan appeared intrigued, snapped his fingers and produced a notepad and a pen. “No, but that’s fabulous. I’m stealing it.”

  “Have at it,” I told him. “Tell me. I don’t want to guess again and give you more ideas.”

  “As you wish,” he said, shaking his head with pity. “God calls himself Bob Smith.”

  I eyed the idiot and wanted to zap him. God wasn’t a grandiose ass basket like his brother. Of course, God would have chosen something simple and discreet.

  “Alrighty then,” I said, punching in the credit card number after tossing a few more interactive toys into the cart. “Here’s the deal. You’re going back to Hell. You are going to love and kiss and hug your son. Constantly. You will have story time and you will not be jealous of Elle’s boobs. Ethan was never jealous that I could feed Samuel. He marveled at the miracle of a woman’s body. It was hot, and he got laid often because he made me feel like a goddess.”

  “Interesting,” Satan said, taking more notes. “Very interesting indeed.”

  “And you will change diapers all the time—poopy and pee pee,” I instructed. “I’d highly recommend using an extra diaper as a pee pee shield when you change Luke unless you’re into golden showers. You will burp your son after he eats to give Elle a break. You will treat Elle like the goddess that she is and everyone that you love will love you right back.”

  “You’re sure about this?” he asked, looking a bit doubtful.

  “Positive. Also, foot massages and drawing bubble baths with candles burning is nice.”

  “Got it,” he said. “Is that for Luke or Elle?”

  “Umm… Elle.”

  “Roger that. Anything else?”

  I shook my head and took the notebook from his hands. “I know you get itchy talking about feelings, but you love Elle and you love Luke. All you have to do is show them. Follow your instincts. Blow raspberries on his little belly after bath time. Make silly faces and sing ‘Lovin’, Touchin’, Squeezin’ as he falls asleep in your arms.”

  “This is brilliant,” Satan said, swiping the notebook back and writing down all of my advice. “Should I hold off on the horror films and swearing until he’s one?”

  “Let’s up that to fifteen,” I suggested. “You don’t want his first word to be shit.”

  “Fine point. Well made.”

  We both stared at each other for a long moment. Satan finally smiled. I smiled right back.

  “I’d say thank you, but it gives me hives,” he said, reaching out and touching my cheek with fondness.

  “I’d say fuck you, but that would be rude,” I shot back, putting my hand over his.

  “Astrid, I shall be sending you a gift,” Satan announced as he waved his hands and sparkling black magic surrounded him.

  “Please don’t,” I insisted. His idea of a gift was not good. “I’m happy to help you because I love you.”

  “I get no respect,” he groaned, but his eyes held a twinkle. “And I don’t care if you don’t want a gift. You will be getting one just cause.”

  And on that cryptic note, he disappeared in a blast of enchanted glitter.

  Things were looking mighty scary. Martha and Jane were bringing me a sphincter and Satan was sending me… Hell, I didn’t know what Uncle Fucker was sending. As long as it had nothing to do with a poop shoot, it had to be better than what the old bats were after.

  Chapter Four

  “Mommmmy,” four little voices called out from the closet.

  “Crap,” I muttered as I quickly went to retrieve my little monsters. Visions of shredded designer clothes filled my head, and I wanted to kick my own butt for putting my violent tiny Demons in the closet. “If you guys ate my shoes, we’re gonna have some problems,”

  “No eat Mommmmy’s shoes,” Abe screamed as I opened the door and was bombarded with wet kisses.

  “Thank Uncle God,” I said as I pulled Abe off of my left boob.

  Abe had a bit of an unhealthy breast obsession. My Baby Demons had a few unsavory habits. They loved strip clubs and eating bad Demons. The latter had come in handy when my father was trying to kill me. However, the visual was one that a million years of therapy would never erase. The physical ability of something so small being able to ingest something so huge was mind-boggling. I refused to gi
ve it much thought due to the fact it brought on nightmares.

  “Why didn’t you little turds go to Zanthia with Samuel?” I asked as I walked back into the suite and gently placed them on my dresser. “You love Zanthia.”

  “Just cause,” Beyonce announced as she doused herself in perfume.

  The answer was incomplete. Something was off. Beyonce tended to talk in cryptic riddles. I rarely ignored what she said. Not to mention, just cause were the last two words Satan had spoken. Strange.

  “Mmkay.” Just cause could mean they didn’t go to Zanthia just because they didn’t want to. Or it could mean just cause like in all the crime dramas I loved to watch. Or it could be a dang video game. Getting a straight answer out of my Baby Demons was tricky. “Could you be a little more specific?”

  “Noooooooo, Mommmmy!” Rachel squealed as she opened up a tube of lipstick and ate it. “Yuuuucky.”

  “That goes on your lips, not in your tummy,” I told her as I took the tube away. “Umm… did any of you happen to go to law school?”

  I was going to have to work my way into a straight answer about just cause.

  “Pole dancing school,” Ross announced as he shimmied across my dresser, only to be drop-kicked by Abe to the floor.

  “Yessssssss, hump the pole school,” Rachel screamed with a face covered in bright pink lipstick. “Me wanna work at Big Sean’s Booby Barn!”

  “Well, there’s something to aspire to,” I said with a giggle.

  “Me wanna be a fireman,” Abe said as he burst into flames while laughing like a loon.

  Since they spent most of their time with my son, I hadn’t had the horrifying pleasure of hanging out with my monsters lately. They were so cute it was incredibly easy to forget how destructive they were.

  “No fires,” I said, wiggling my finger and dousing Abe. “Uncle Fucker already blew up an ottoman. I’d like to keep my dresser intact. You feel me?”

  “Me would like to feel Mommmmy,” Abe announced with a wicked little grin, reaching for my boobs.

  “Nope.” I shook my head and raised a brow. “My knockers are off-limits.” I still didn’t have an answer to the just cause issue. “Do you guys play video games?” I tried another avenue.