Fashionably Dead

by Robyn Peterman

  “Everything has a price,” he hissed.

  Damn, he had really good hearing.

  Dixie shrunk down low and waited. I held my breath wishing I hadn’t chosen this particular room to explore.

  “You will drop the goody-goody act. You will be rude, promiscuous and scandalous. You will not be compassionate unless I am concerned and I expect you to flunk out of The Demon College just like all of your sisters did. Do you understand me?” he demanded.

  “I’m really sorry, Dad,” she sounded like a broken record—this was clearly a familiar conversation for them.

  “I am Satan,” he bellowed and the room vibrated. “I have a reputation to uphold. You are a Demon Princess, you have a Porsche, your own bungalow in the most exclusive zip code in Hell and certainly more money than anyone your age should have access to and yet you throw all this in my face? Why Dixie, why?” He wearily dropped down on the couch next to the girl and she put her arms around him.

  “I love you,” she whispered.

  The ghost of a smile touch his lips. “And I you.”

  He wrapped his arms around her and looked into her eyes. “Is it true that you donated one million dollars of my money to feed hungry humans on Earth?”

  “Yes,” she buried her face against his chest. “I did.”

  He heaved an enormous sigh, “I have to punish you, you know.”

  “I know.”

  He put his finger under her chin, forcing her to meet his eyes. “If I don’t punish you, all hell will break loose down here. No pun intended,” he grinned.

  “Daddy, that pun was totally intended,” she giggled.

  “That it was.” He stood up and ran his big hands through his hair and turned and mesmerizing gaze on her. “You are so like your mother.”

  “And that’s a bad thing?” she challenged.

  “It’s an interesting thing,” he conceded. His voice was melodic and hypnotizing.

  “Dad?”

  “Yes, Dixie?”

  “What’s my punishment?”

  He gave her a terribly evil and intoxicating smile. “I’ll have to think about it.” He turned and walked toward my hiding spot. Shit. Why did I have to be so freakin’ tall? Please walk by me. Please. He stopped a foot from where I hid. I held my new-found breath and prayed to everything and anything I could think of…including him.

  “Come out, Astrid. I’ve been expecting you.”

  Sweet baby Satan, this day couldn’t get any worse. Actually it probably could…

  Chapter 2

  Shitfire, hell and damnation. This was bad. Satan was expecting me? How was that even possible? And how did he know I was hiding behind curtain number two? Although he was Satan or Lucifer or Beelzebub or the Prince of Darkness or...

  “I prefer Satan. Lucifer is fine on Tuesdays and the Prince of Darkness will do in a pinch,” he said smoothly in his dark, rich voice.

  Son of a—I quickly slammed my brain doors shut and hoped I still had at least that ability. Test it, my filterless and quick to come up with horrific ideas brain told me. Fine…Satan is a douchebag who wears ladies underpants and picks his nose...Nothing. No reaction. Thank you Jesus and Buddah and Moses and Judas and whoever else was kind enough to be helping me out at the moment. Wait. I take back the Judas thing. Don’t want to pray to a dude who gets people crucified. Dumb, dumb, dumb. I idly wondered for a moment if Judas lived down here. Focus. Satan was on the other side of the curtain I was hiding behind and he’d requested the pleasure of my company. Fuck.

  I was southern and I had manners. If I could teach art to genital-obsessed seniors, I could converse with Satan. Right? Right. If he was expecting me, he was probably aware of my recent patricide and matricide…Would he be impressed or pissed? After all, my Father had been in charge of Hell. Wait. How was my stanky Father in charge down here if Satan existed? This made no sense. Were the Vampyres wrong? Was my Father a big fat hairy liar? Who in the hell did I kill an hour ago? Was he even my Father?

  “I’m waiting,” Satan informed me in a tone that got my feet moving quickly.

  “Hi,” I said as I burst from the curtains and shoved my hand out to shake his, acting like it was the most natural thing in the world to be eavesdropping on the King of Debauchery’s conversation from behind black brocade. “I’m Astrid and there was clearly some major fuc...mistake. I don’t live down here and I’m not dead. Well, actually I am dead, but not dead-dead. I’m undead and my undead, um…husband is going to be pissed. I’m a newlywed of sorts in a Vampyre undead way and I need to go home, your Honor of Darkness. Now.” I expelled a loud and long breath as I hadn’t inhaled through my insane diatribe.

  “Interesting,” he purred and watched me. He hadn’t taken my hand and I let it drop limply to my side. “So you’re the Chosen One.”

  “Apparently,” I snapped, annoyed that he didn’t have the decency to shake my hand. “And you’re the bad guy.”

  “Occasionally,” Satan laughed and all the air left my lungs. God, he was beautiful…and scary.

  “Cigarette?” he offered holding a pack of my favorite brand out to me.

  I was soooo tempted. I could breathe for God’s sake. Would one measly cigarette hurt me? Um, yes. Yes, it would. In my struggle with temptation, I’d all but forgotten I was pregnant. Would I have taken it if I didn’t have my little miracle inside of me? I’d like to think no, but I wasn’t too sure. Hell was going to be hell.

  “No, I quit,” I said looking away from my former vice.

  “Such a shame,” he replied watching me intently.

  It was if he could read me without diving into my mind. Shit. Time for a change of subject…“I thought my Dad was in charge down here.”

  “You do realize down is a misnomer,” he informed me. He was in my space and I itched to take a step back, but knew in my gut if I moved away I would lose a few points in whatever fucked up game we were playing.

  “I’m not following,” I said politely, very aware he avoided my statement.

  “My dear beautiful creature,” Satan said moving even closer. “It’s a misconception is that Hell is below and Heaven is above. What does that even mean? Nothing is up or down, that’s just mundane human mythology. Most likely the poor mortal fools made the mistake because Hell is occasionally called the Underworld. So very literal, those humans…Hell and Heaven are simply on different planes, accessible through Portals. Earth was modeled after a combination of the seasons, climates and terrains of Heaven and Hell. We all share the same moon, sun and stars.”

  “Interesting. So about my father…” I said, ungracefully changing the subject. Again. Although what he said was fascinating and I did want to know more I was in a bit of a time crunch. The faster I could get out of here the better. I was certain Satan already knew if he was going to kill me, so I had very little to lose. I wanted answers not a history lesson.

  “Yes,” he replied silkily. “Tragic ending.”

  “Who was he?” God, the Devil was more cryptic than the Vamps. “I thought he was in charge down here.”

  That stopped the Devil in his tracks. “Did he tell you that?” he demanded in a voice that made my stomach drop to my toes.

  “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 h
im 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 your 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 life time…a long one—like mine.”

  “Unacceptable,” he replied so quietly I wasn’t sure I heard him, but the if 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 racking 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.

  Chapter 3

  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…but on crack. Blooming tress 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.

  ***

  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

  “Forever,” the therapist wasped.

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

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

&nbs
p; “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 it’s 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 over charged.”

  “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.”