She was such a damned delight.
Chapter Two
“Have you thought this through?” my father asked in a concerned tone, pacing my massive office in Hell.
His small feet padded back and forth on the priceless Persian rug and I sighed in annoyance.
My appalling need to hug the small man irked me to no end. He was a Sprite—very rare and unfortunately squishy. My daughters, The Seven Deadly Sins had sent him into traction with their adoration multiple times over the centuries. While he was a good sport about it, he had to want to deck their asses occasionally. Hell knows I certainly did.
“I’m extremely tired of being second guessed on my decisions,” I said flatly, playing with anything I could find on my desk.
“You want to hug me,” my father stated with a smirk.
“No, I do not want to hug you, Bill. That would connote affection and I feel nothing,” I replied.
“You know you want to,” he said, moving closer. “And when did you start calling me Bill?”
“Today,” I replied, gripping the edge of my desk so tightly my knuckles went white. “If you come one step closer, I will hug you and I assure you that won’t end well.”
“Come now, Lucifer,” my father said with an impish little grin on his face as he ventured dangerously closer. “Even the Devil needs some love.”
“Goddamn it,” I bellowed, knocking a few irreplaceable Ming vases off my desk. “You will owe me for this. Is the door locked?”
Nodding and chuckling, my father wrapped his small arms around me and rested his head on my shoulder. This would not have worked if I’d been standing. I was well over six feet tall and Bill came up to my hip.
Growling with displeasure, I fought the need to hug him back. It simply wouldn’t do. Getting soft did not go well with my reputation or my sanity. My favorite daughter Dixie and Astrid’s son Samuel were the only ones to whom I showed true affection.
“I won’t tell,” my father whispered as I gave up and rested my head atop his.
“I’ll smite your ass if you do,” I threatened quietly, closing my eyes and enjoying the moment.
“Doesn’t this feel nice?” Bill asked.
“No, it does not,” I lied. “Emotion makes one weak. I don’t do weak.”
Bill tsk’d good-naturedly and backed away, taking a seat in front of my desk. I felt his absence acutely, but ignored it. His cat who caught the canary smile made me grind my teeth, but he was correct. It had felt nice. He knew it. I knew it. There was no need to discuss it. Ever.
“For being older than dirt, you still have much to learn, son.”
Rolling my neck to shake off any sign of vulnerability, I shot my father a stern glance. “And you, old man, need to remember your place,” I snapped.
Nice was not in my wheelhouse. The sooner Bill accepted this—the better off we’d be. Of course secretly, I hoped he’d never give up on me. Hell, he’d been pulling the same lovey dovey ridiculousness for thousands of years. It was doubtful he’d change his ways. And it was doubtful I’d change mine.
An impasse that satisfied us both.
“So as I was saying,” my father went on. “This autobiography of yours is causing quite the ruckus in Heaven with your brother.”
“Shall I phone him and tell him to fuck off?”
“Umm… no,” Bill said with a barely disguised laugh he tried unsuccessfully to cover with a cough.
Bill was my father, not God’s, and it pleased me that I had someone on my side in my eternity-long feud with my do-gooder brother.
“As interesting as that conversation might be,” Bill continued. “I don’t think that would go over too well with your mother. She’s prone to destruction when annoyed.”
“Why is it that everyone in this family blows up countries? Why can’t it be something smaller occasionally?” I grumbled.
“Well, you know your mother…”
And as if on cue, flowering trees exploded out of the black marble floor and a flock of colorful wild birds darted around my office, crapping on all of my priceless antiques. Boulders dropped from the sky through the now decimated roof of the Dark Palace and a troop of monkeys appeared in the massive trees. Having my mother show up was always Hell on the architecture.
“Did you invite her?” I hissed, wanting to hide behind my desk from the bane of my existence. Of course, she’d find me easily, and since I’d avoided my weekly call for the past several years, I decided staying put was the wiser way to go.
“No, son, I didn’t. I believe your hair brained autobiography prompted this visit,” my father yelled over the wind that had whipped up with the entrance of the unwelcome jungle—and my mother.
In a cloud of peach and gold glittering dust she appeared—all red hair, porcelain skin, dressed to the nines, and as batshit insane as ever.
“Hello, Lucifer,” my mother trilled as she delicately stepped over a disgusting pile of parrot droppings. “I just thought I’d stop by and kick your ass.”
“It’s nice to see you too, Mother,” I said, trying extremely hard to sound civil.
Which, apparently I failed, if the expression on my father’s face was anything to go by.
“Do you really have to make such a goddamned catastrophic entrance, Mother?” I inquired, swatting at a monkey that was trying to steal the items I’d recently stolen from Astrid’s mate.
“No, and stop taking your brother’s name in vain. It’s rude,” she replied with a giggle that sounded like tinkling bells. “Anyhoo, knocking is boring. I prefer to make a splash. Come give your mommy a kiss.”
“What is it with you people?” I ground out through clenched teeth. “I’m the fucking Prince of Darkness. I don’t do…. pleasantries.”
Her raised brow was terrifying. I needed to copy that.
Standing up and giving her an eye roll that I knew would piss her off, I gave her a brief air kiss and backed off quickly. My mother, aka Mother Nature, was prone to electrocution when displeased. Not that it would kill me. Nothing would kill me except the Sword of Death and that was locked safely away.
“To what do we owe this alarming visit?” I inquired.
Mother Nature settled herself on my father’s lap and laid a kiss on his lips that was wildly inappropriate in my presence. If it had been anyone other than my parents, I would have enjoyed the lewd public display of affection. However, I didn’t care how many thousands of years old a person was… no one wanted to see their parents tangle tongues.
“We do have guest rooms in the Dark Palace,” I said, cutting into their appalling foreplay. “I don’t have the time or the stomach to view this.”
“Too bad, so sad,” Mother Nature sang as she obscenely kissed my father once again.
Hopping off his lap and straightening her haute couture pink gossamer gown, she didn’t waste any time getting down to business. Her eyes narrowed dangerously as menacing little peach and purple sparks formed a halo around her head. With her red hair blowing in a breeze I was certain she’d manufactured for effect, she pointed a meticulously manicured nail at me.
“You are in trouble, young man,” she snapped.
“I’d hardly call me young, Mother,” I replied with a grin that made her narrowed eyes become slits. “And my being in trouble is nothing new. So if that’s all you’ve got, we’re done here.”
“You can’t write an autobiography, you little shit. It’s unheard of and we live quietly amongst the humans.”
“Again, I beg to differ with your opinion. I’d hardly call the lives of the immortals quiet. And why is it that God can write a fucking book and I can’t?” I shot back, leaning back in my chair and waiting for her to play favorites in favor of my brother—again.
My mother was the only one in the Universe that could get away with calling me a little shit and live to speak of it. The only reason I let it go was because I’d heard her call God the same thing. I knew the bastard phoned her on a regular basis. It chafed my ass that my brother had racked
up more brownie points with our certifiable matriarch than I had. God was the ultimate kiss ass and I was the ultimate bad boy.
“God didn’t write a tell all,” Mother Nature said, confused.
“Lucifer’s referring to the bible,” my father explained, fondly patting her bottom.
“Oh for the love of everything good, evil, and somewhere in between,” my mother groused and stamped her tiny Jimmy Choo clad foot causing a small tremble in Hell. “God wrote a history book.”
“And I did as well,” I said, defending my life story. “At least my book wasn’t passed down by word of mouth for hundreds of years and then written in a dead language only to be translated innumerable times and interpreted by halfwits. Mine is straight from the guilty bastard’s mouth.”
“Little harsh on your brother there—not to mention yourself,” Bill muttered.
“Yes, well the truth hurts,” I informed him, doing my best imitation of my mother’s raised brow. “This is why lies are so much more fun.”
“He does have an interesting point,” Mother Nature said to my father before looking back at me. “But do not tell your brother I said that. I’ll deny it and set off an earthquake in Hell that will make the Valdivia quake look like a burp.”
“So noted.”
“So you’re telling me your book is full of lies?” she questioned, petting a monkey that had dropped from a tree and landed on her shoulder.
“Not exactly,” I hedged. As much as I enjoyed stretching the truth till it popped, it wasn’t good form to lie to Mother Nature. “However, all the names have been changed for protection.”
“Protection of the innocent?” she inquired.
My harsh laugh echoed though the destroyed room and I slammed my hands down on my desk causing both my parents to sit up and pay attention. “For my protection. I could care less about the innocent. That’s God’s territory. I just punish the evil ones.”
“Tut, tut,” she chided, pointing at me again. “You make yourself sound like such a bad person, darling.”
With an exasperated sigh, I banged my head on my desk. “I am a bad person, Mother. I’m the fucking Devil—the Fallen Angel—the baddest of the bad guys.”
“Sweetie, you simply punish the evil doers,” she explained as if I didn’t know what the Hell I did. “You didn’t create evil, you simply penalize those who choose that path.”
“Semantics, Mother. I enjoy it and I do it well. However, while we’re on the subject… it was that sanctimonious shit up above that gave man free will. I’d like to go on record saying that evil is technically his fault.”
“Little bit of a stretch there,” my father muttered.
“Not at all,” I replied with a shrug.
We all sat in uncomfortable silence for a moment and digested my theory—uncomfortable for them. I was quite fine with my assessment.
“He’s actually a really, really, really good boy,” my mother commented as my traitor of a father nodded in agreement.
“Fine,” I snapped and crushed my new stolen calculator with my fist. Damn it, I liked that calculator. “God’s good. I’m bad. I wrote my autobiography to clear up some misconceptions and you all can go fuck yourselves. Anything else?”
“Your brother has requested to read the tome before it goes out into the world,” Mother informed me.
“Why? So he can make sure I depicted him in a glowing light? Like I was able to approve his description of me in the bible?” I shouted. “The answer is no. You can tell him he can shove his self-righteous bullshit up his pious ass. He’s barely in the book at all anyway, Gaia.”
The silence was long and awkward—exactly the way I liked them.
“How about this?” my mother suggested with an eye roll that I almost congratulated her on. “We tell your brother it’s going out as fiction and you’ll use a pen name. You do realize as nice as your brother is, he’s awfully good at causing epic floods. And when did you start calling me by my first name?”
“Today,” Bill offered, patting her hand so she wouldn’t use it to electrocute me.
“You may tell my brother anything you’d like to tell him. I don’t care,” I said, waving my hand and repairing the calculator. “And I had planned to use a pen name. No one is going to buy a book by Satan.”
“Fine point. Well made,” my father said with a nod.
“I didn’t ask for your opinion.”
“My bad,” he replied with a grin.
My mother blew out an exasperated and overly dramatic sigh. This of course caused a minor tornado that blew down several of the trees she’d brought with her. “Why are you doing this, Lucifer? Do you need money?”
“That is an utterly ridiculous question.” I stood to signal our somewhat hostile meeting was over. “I’ve stolen more money than I know what to do with. I’m simply bored and the book amuses me.”
“Can’t you find a hobby that won’t reveal us?” she countered in a whiny tone, not one to give in easily. Ever. “You do realize if humans think the actual Devil wrote it, the sale of Ouija boards will go up exponentially. You’ll be summoned constantly.”
“Which will give me something to do on Friday nights,” I shot back thinking I should buy some stock in Ouija boards.
“Would you like to know what I think?” she inquired silkily in a tone that made me want to either hide or throw something at her.
My family was annoying and certifiable—all of them. Normally, I would accept that as a badge of honor except when I had to deal with them. Today I had no time for this. Something evil and dark was brewing that needed my attention and it would take a few hours to repair the damage to my office.
“Is this a trick question?” I asked, knowing full well that I had no choice in the matter.
“I think you need to find a nice girl and settle down.”
Again with the awkward silence… except this time I was uncomfortable and pissed.
Waving my hand in a swift motion, I burnt all the trees to the ground in a flash of red lightening. I spared the monkeys, because I actually liked monkeys. However, a few of the birds might have gone up in flames. I didn’t take kindly to my abode being crapped on.
“I tried that once, Mother,” I growled. “It didn’t turn out well, now did it?”
Mother Nature stood, leaned forward and placed her hands on my desk. A rainbow of sparks glittered around her signifying an explosion was imminent. “You didn’t love her. You only wanted her because your brother did and the same goes for him. Eve was not meant for either of you.”
“She’s the mother of my child,” I ground out, annoyed because my mother had made some fine points that hit home.
“You have eight daughters by eight different women. You didn’t stay with any of them,” she reminded me as if I didn’t know that already.
“Your point?”
“My point is that a good—or in your case, evil —woman might keep you from writing autobiographies,” she announced, quite pleased with herself for solving my problem that I didn’t think I had.
“While this may be true, Eve was a decent woman who is now simply a husk of who she was,” I said flatly. “And I don’t do monogamy.”
Regret was something I didn’t enjoy. My mother was correct. What I’d thought was love was simply the need to best my brother and in the end we’d destroyed the first human woman created. My love always ended with collateral damage. The Devil didn’t get a happily ever after. On the rare occasions I’d tried, it had ended horribly.
“Eve will be fine—or a loose definition of fine. She’ll never be quite normal, but then again she was always one apple short of a bushel,” my mother said with a shrug of her slim shoulders and a delighted giggle at her pun. “She’ll go on and be useful at some point, but not as a mate to you or to God. Fate is a bitch and she has decreed that little nugget.”
“Is that all?” I yawned just because it was rude and sat back in my chair. “I have business to take care of.”
“I’m don
e,” my mother hissed as she clapped her hands and gestured to her monkeys to gather. “I will tell you this though… if you make me look bad in that book, I’ll move to Hell and terrorize you for all eternity. Am I clear?”
“Quite,” I replied with a laugh and a shudder. “I only mentioned you once.”
“Really?” she asked with another giggle. “What did you say?”
What I was about to tell her could go one of two ways—her being happy or Hell exploding. I was no idiot. I’d lie. “I spoke of your prowess in the kitchen and your love of pole dancing.”
My father’s eyes grew wide in terror. Mother Nature couldn’t cook to save her life. Pompeii had been buried in mountains of ash and lava because someone had insulted her cake at a horrifying family picnic. And the pole dancing? That was nightmare inducing.
“Wonderful,” she squealed and gifted us with a hip grind that made me throw up in my mouth a bit. “Did you use my name?”
“Absolutely not. I changed all the names so you couldn’t sue me.”
Mother Nature paused and took that in, playing with her red curls as her monkeys danced around her. “Wise choice, Lucifer,” she replied taking my father by the hand. “Bill, I need you in Nirvana. My dishwasher is broken.”
With a snap of his small fingers, my father produced a toolbox loaded with things I was quite sure he’d never used in his life. In his incredibly old age, the Sprite had taking to doing manual labor as a hobby. He’d destroyed more appliances in Heaven and Hell than could be counted on a thousand hands. However, no one really seemed to mind since the bastard was so damned charming. I even ignored the ten flat screen TVs he’d fixed in the Dark Palace. Things were replaceable. My overly affectionate father was not.
“Call me, darling,” Mother Nature said with her fabulously raised brow high as a pale peach glitter storm whipped up and surrounded my demented parents.
“Will do,” I replied with a wave.
“Liar,” she shot back with a wide grin. “Just remember, son of mine, this autobiography will get you into far more trouble than you bargained for.”
“I certainly hope so.”
Fashionably Flawed: Book Nine, The Hot Damned Series Page 2
