Hell On Heels

by Robyn Peterman

  “Pretty much,” Blanche said. A grin replaced the open mouthed reaction to the Cliffs Notes version of my family history. “The pod part is kind of off, but whatever.” She pulled me up and away from the decimated bluebells and wrapped her silver arms around me. “Are you going to be okay?” She held me tight.

  “I don’t really have a choice, do I?”

  “No,” she agreed. “You really don’t.”

  “Do you know what the most screwed up part of all of this is?” I pulled out of her embrace and ran my hands through my hair. “The fun hasn’t even begun yet. I’m supposed to find a freakin’ sword and kill a buttload of Rogue Demons and restore or find the Balance of Chaos.” I started to laugh.

  “When you put it like that, dating your cousin doesn’t sound that bad, you know?”

  “I know. I really do know. I need to shower and change.” I sighed as I looked down at my torn and bloody clothes. “And then we’ll drive Steve back to Miss Evelyn. Keep an eye on Steve while I change. I wouldn’t be surprised if Myrtle starts feeling the need to take scissors and dye to her.”

  ***

  I’d be hard pressed to imagine the rest of the United States was as beautiful as Eden, Kentucky. It had a magic that made me feel calm--lush fields, wildly colorful gardens, thoroughbred horse farms and old Southern mansions. Perfect. I really wanted to see other parts of the country, especially New York, the Grand Canyon and Disney World, but that would have to wait until I kicked ass and took no prisoners here.

  Blanche tried to con me into letting her drive, but allowing your invisible friend to drive your car could cause all sorts of unwanted attention in town. She begged and pleaded. In the end I compromised, mostly so she would shut up. I let her drive the country roads till we were about a mile out of town. She was a horrible driver—even Steve whimpered in terror.

  A party was in full swing when we pulled up in front of the Happy Hacienda Senior Citizens Home. Around twenty really old people wearing brightly colored leis and hula skirts over their housecoats and slippers mingled on the front lawn. Some were eating from the trays of food piled high on a buffet table decorated with tiki statues, twinkle lights and fake palm trees. Hawaiian music blasted from a speaker. Several gals were doing a geriatric hula, and two of the women were dancing in their wheelchairs.

  I watched from the car in rapt fascination. I’d never seen so many old people in my life. I’d never seen old people at all till I came to Earth. Demons stopped aging anywhere between twenty and thirty. It had never seemed unusual that my father could pass for my brother, or that his own father looked like his brother. That was my normal. This was not. These people were bizarrely happy to be so close to death.

  The concept of dying was foreign to me. Of course I’d considered it more often lately because running from Elijah earlier had scared a healthy dose of desire to live into me. My own mortality hadn’t occurred to me in Hell and I wondered as I watched the aged bodies of these smiling people how often they thought about dying.

  Steve nuzzled my neck with her big wet nose. “Okay girl.” I scratched between her ears and wondered if I was confusing her by calling her Steve. “Let’s go find Miss Evelyn.”

  As we walked through the throngs of eighty year old hula dancers, a cute little old lady in a pale peach robe and matching slippers grabbed my arm. Her skin felt papery and fragile but her grip was strong.

  “Hey darlin’, let’s dance.” Her laugh was infectious and she swung her terry cloth covered hips in a circular motion, reminiscent of a really bad stripper.

  I giggled at her dancing but was drawn to the lines around her eyes. They crinkled when she smiled, yet her watery blue eyes sparkled. I froze and realized those were laugh lines. I’d never seen them before. I wanted to touch them, but I knew that would be rude. She wore her lifetime of joy and sorrow proudly on her face. She was beautiful. Every line etched in her skin was a story.

  “Come on, sweetie pie,” she urged, doing moves that would make Carl proud. “Dance with me.”

  “Okay,” I muttered, rocking back and forth feeling like an ass. Blanche stood beside me and laughed. Nobody was going to make her dance. Nobody could see her.

  “I like chicken,” my little dance partner yelled above the music. “Do you like chicken?”

  “Um. . .yes.” Was she senile?

  “I’m gonna sit down, sugar puss. Would you get me some chicken?” She took my hand and we wound our way over to a bench. “I’m not as young as I look.” She grinned and eased herself down with a grunt.

  “I’d be happy to get you some chicken,” I told her.

  There were three kinds of chicken on the buffet table, so I piled a plate high with all of them. I glanced around for Miss Evelyn but couldn’t find her. I very carefully made my way back to my new friend. I held the plate high. . .walking through a group of hulaing seniors could be dangerous.

  “Thank you, sugar buns.” She took the plate gratefully. I was curious how many nicknames she had stored up in her brain. “Would you like some chicken, sweet cheeks?” She offered her plate to me.

  “No thanks."

  “Well, sit your pretty fanny down and talk to me for a minute. Not many younguns come around here much.”

  I watched her eat her chicken with gusto. She made happy little noises with each bite, reminding me of Astrid as she slurped on Gemma. I had no idea what to talk about, so I sat quietly and let her enjoy her chicken.

  “I like cheese too,” she informed me between bites.

  “Would you like me to get you some cheese?” I smiled, starting to understand her game.

  “Nope.” She grinned. “Maybe later. What’s your name, sweet potato? Mine’s Miss Sally.” She extended a chicken grease covered hand.

  I gingerly took it. “I’m Dixie.” I retrieved my hand and wiped it discreetly on my jeans.

  “Oooo, what a pretty name for a pretty girl. I used to know a sweet little thing named Dixie a long time ago.”

  “I suppose in the South Dixie's a common name,” I said as I took her now empty plate and tossed it in a nearby trashcan. Miss Sally could put back some food for being such a little thing. That plate had been full.

  “No,” she mused. “Not really. She was a darling little girl, like sunshine.”

  “Can I get you something else to eat? Some cheese?” I asked as I searched the crowd for Miss Evelyn. Steve sat curled at my feet.

  “No, thank you.” A tired look of sadness passed over her features. “She was such a happy little girl. I loved her.”

  “Who?” I asked, distracted by my search.

  “Little Dixie,” she replied, lost in thought. “She was a precious thing.”

  I gave her my full attention. She was lonely. The least I could do was listen to her. It was odd to hear about another Dixie. I’d never come across anyone with my name before. “Do you still see her?”

  “Oh heavens no,” she said. “She died. Saddest funeral I’ve ever been to.” She shook her head, her voice lost all of its spark. “Never found her little body. I don’t think her momma was ever the same after that.”

  “I’m sorry.” I didn’t know what to say. Clearly little Dixie’s death still affected Miss Sally to this day.

  “I like cake more than I like chicken,” she said slowly as a mischievous smile lit her eyes.

  I was grateful for the change of subject, but her abrupt emotional turnaround made me curious again about her mental state. “Would you like me to get you some cake?” I used her napkin to wipe some chicken grease from her chin.

  “You got me all figured out, sugar dumplin’.” She giggled. “But no, if I’m gonna have cake, I need to get my fanny up and get it myself. Give an old lady a hand.”

  She reached out and I gently pulled her to her feet. She took my face in her hands and kissed my nose.

  “Miss Sally?” I asked as she began her trek to the dessert table. “Do you know where I could find Miss Evelyn?”

  “The new gal?”

  �
��New?” I was surprised. For some reason I’d been under the impression Miss Evelyn was from here. It wasn’t anything she said. . .it was just what I’d assumed.

  “Oh yes, sugar pie, she moved here about two weeks ago with her nurse, Rhonda.” Miss Sally shook her head and chuckled. “That Rhonda can play some poker. She won nine dollars off me the other night and I cheat!” She chuckled with delight and slapped her thighs. “If they’re not out here they’ll be out back. Miss Evelyn kinda keeps to herself. Come back and see me, pretty little Dixie.”

  As she beelined to her cake, I thought about Grandpa’s cryptic advice. The old ones have wisdom. Learn to dance. . .was it the dance at the college? Was the dance with Miss Sally important? I looked around and scanned the area for Angels or Demons and sensed nothing. I’d be hard pressed to find any wisdom in Miss Sally’s diatribe about chicken and cheese and long lost little girls who shared my name, but I sure did like her.

  Chapter 27

  Miss Evelyn stood very still on the steps of the wraparound porch of the senior center and watched our approach. A happy smile played on her lips and her violet eyes danced. For a brief moment I could swear she was a young woman—a blindingly beautiful young woman. I blinked my eyes and she was old again. It must have been the angle of the sun or my recently acquired concussion. Blanche grabbed my hand.

  “She’s so pretty it’s weird,” she muttered.

  “I know."

  She was tall and regal. Her long grey hair hung loose and blew gently in the breeze. She looked like a Grecian goddess even in her lavender housedress and slippers.

  “Hello girls.” She smiled warmly. “I’m so glad you came back.”

  “We found Steve, I mean Lucky,” I stammered.

  “You know,” she mused. “I think Steve is a very fitting name for my wolf. From now on she shall be known as Steve.”

  Steve woofed in dismay. My eyes shot to Miss Evelyn’s in wonder. “Did she understand you?”

  “Animals are much smarter than you think. Oftentimes far superior to their human counterparts.” Steve’s tail wagged in approval. “Would you young ladies like to come to my home for some tea?”

  “Yes,” Blanche and I replied in unison.

  “Very good.” Miss Evelyn laughed. “Follow me.”

  Rhonda appeared out of nowhere and put out her big beefy arm to steady Miss Evelyn as she walked. Steve followed at Rhonda's heels and Blanche and I brought up the rear. We were an odd little group. My heart pounded rapidly in anticipation of spending time with Miss Evelyn. What was with that?

  “Do you like tea?” Blanche whispered.

  “Hate it,” I muttered. “And where in the Hell did Rhonda come from?”

  “No clue, it’s like she poofed out of thin air,” Blanche marveled.

  “Is that possible?”

  “They’re too old to be immortals, so no,” she replied.

  “About the tea,” I said as I grabbed Blanche so we separated ourselves from them by a few paces. “Just drink it and be polite.”

  “Fine, but if I hurl it’s your fault.”

  ***

  Miss Evelyn’s home was a bungalow in back of the senior center. There were about fifteen charming little places all in a circle facing an elaborate flower garden with a large fountain in the middle. Her home smelled of gardenias, just like she did. Although it didn’t look like my bungalow in Hell, it had the same rose, chocolate and cream color palette. I was immediately comfortable.

  “How do you take your tea?” Miss Evelyn asked.

  “Mostly milk, about eight sugars and a minuscule splash of tea,” Blanche replied with utmost sincerity.

  I groaned and gave her the evil eye as Miss Evelyn turned away to hide her grin. Blanche shrugged her shoulders helplessly.

  “Whatever’s easiest for you would be fine,” I said politely, hoping to counterbalance Blanche's gross request.

  Miss Evelyn pressed her lips together in amusement. “How about lemonade instead?”

  “Yes!” Blanche shouted in relief.

  “That would be lovely,” I cut in before Blanche went into a dissertation on our hatred of tea. We were never going to be asked back at this rate.

  “Four lemonades coming right up,” Rhonda said.

  “Wait. Four?” Blanche gasped. “You can see me?”

  “Only from the front,” she informed my dumbstruck friend, her eyes twinkling. “Oh my stars, sorry for walking through you the other day. Your back was to me.” She winked and left the room, going to what I assumed was the kitchen.

  “I’ll help you with that, dear,” Miss Evelyn told her as she followed Rhonda out of the room.

  “How in the Hell are they human?” Blanche quietly hissed at me.

  “I don’t know, but they are. I think,” I said, bewildered and unnerved. “I can sense a Demon and now that I’ve been around Elijah, I can sense an Angel. They’re neither.”

  “What else could they be?” Blanche sounded freaked out, which did nothing for my state of mind.

  “You’re supposed to know this stuff.” My eyes narrowed in disgust. “You’re the direction book, for Satan’s sake.”

  “I’m your fate, dumbass. I do not have all the answers,” she huffed. She crossed her arms over her chest and pouted. “Do you think we’re in danger?”

  “No, we’re safe here. Eden is neutral and even if it wasn’t, Miss Evelyn would never harm us.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Very sure.” I knew I was right. I could feel it in my gut. I knew it the same way I knew Elijah would never hurt me.

  “Something is burning.” Blanche sniffed the air and pointed toward the kitchen.

  “It smells like it,” I agreed. “But it smells good.”

  The scent reminded me of a bonfire of sugar or a mountain of slightly burnt cookies. It was definitely coming from the kitchen.

  “They’re going to come back in here, grind us up and turn us into baked goods,” Blanche informed me solemnly.

  “You so did not just use the term baked goods,” I groaned.

  “I did.” She smirked. “And I’m serious.”

  “Sweet Baby Satan, you’ve been reading too many fairytales.”

  “Possibly, but this place is weird.”

  “Yep.” I nodded. “But I like it.”

  Miss Evelyn and Rhonda came back carrying a tray of lemonade and cookies. Blanche eyed the baked goods and raised her eyebrows as high as they would go. It was all I could do not to laugh. Rhonda put the tray down and I swear there was a tendril of lavender smoke floating out of her nose. I blinked and it was gone. Now I was seeing things—first, Miss Evelyn as a young woman and now Rhonda as a smoke snorting cookie dealer. Great. I needed a good night’s sleep. Today had simply been too much.

  “So, what have you ladies been up to?” Miss Evelyn asked as she served the lemonade.

  “Nothing,” I muttered as I took a huge gulp of my drink and hoped she couldn’t tell I was lying. How on Earth could I possibly explain being chased by what I thought was a killer Angel and healing from wounds that would kill a mortal ten times over?

  “Same ‘ole, same ‘ole,” Blanche added, quickly shoving two cookies into her mouth.

  Miss Evelyn sat back on her loveseat and watched us, clearly amused by our pathetic attempts at deflection. “Hmm, sounds kind of boring.”

  “It is,” Blanche agreed as she tried to swallow and talk at the same time. “Totally boring. Nice bracelet,” she added, steering the conversation toward the delicate piece of jewelry on Miss Evelyn’s arm.

  It wasn't just a nice bracelet. It was a beautiful bracelet. There were three burnished gold strips woven together like braid and set in breathtaking pink diamonds. An intricate scroll covered the bands that I assumed was decorative, but on closer inspection I realized they were words. Words of a language I didn’t know. . .how odd. Miss Evelyn was one big mystery after another.

  I leaned forward pretending to examine the bracelet, but really trying to cov
er up the pieces of chewed cookie that had flown out of Blanche’s face when she spoke with her mouth full.

  There were definitely words on the jewelry, and I definitely didn’t understand them. I glanced up and caught Miss Evelyn’s eye. She winked and put her hand back in her lap, effectively hiding the unfamiliar language from me.

  “So,” Miss Evelyn turned the tables back on us while graciously ignoring Blanche’s cookie crumb explosion. “Tell me about yourselves, girls.”

  Damn, I was a bad liar, but Blanche was worse. I decided to take the reins.

  “Well, we just moved here a couple of weeks ago,” I said as I tried to figure out how to bypass the particulars.

  “From a tropical area,” Blanche volunteered.

  “Yes. . .um, very tropical,” I cut her off before she announced we were from Hell and Miss Evelyn asked us to leave. Rhonda sat quietly and watched. I kept stealing glimpses at her to see if any more smoke floated out of her nose. Nothing. I was losing it for sure.

  “What do your parents do?” Miss Evelyn inquired as she kindly reloaded Blanche’s baked goods plate.

  I almost choked.

  “Well, you know. . .um, my dad runs kind of. . .well, I guess you could say, um. . .a corporation of sorts. And my mom—I don’t know my mom,” I mumbled, wondering why in the Hell I told her that.

  “Oh, I’m sorry.” She took my hand and gave it a squeeze. “I’m sure she would be quite proud of you if she knew you.”

  “Well, maybe.” I shrugged my shoulders. “She didn’t want me.”

  “Did your father tell you that?” Miss Evelyn asked sharply. Rhonda huffed and rearranged all the cookies on the tray. It was getting a little bizarre here.

  “No,” I quickly replied. I’d clearly hit a sore spot with the ladies. Maybe they’d been abandoned too. And my dad never said she didn’t want me. He just never said anything. Period. “No,” I repeated. “He never talked about her.”

  She shook her head sadly. “That’s too bad.”