by Eden Winters
Hell Is Where The Heart Is
Eden Winters
Copyright © 2017 by Eden Winters
Cover art by Cosmic Designz
Published by Rocky Ridge Books, Broomfield, CO
The original version of this story appeared in the “Butt Ninjas From Hell” anthology from Wilde City Press.
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
1
The door flew open without so much as a knock. Oh, Home and damnation! Didn’t anyone respect privacy anymore? Vik snapped his fingers, banishing his PlayStation and Black Veil Brides posters back to the ninth level of Hell where no self-respecting upper level demon dared go. While the sixth level ruler didn’t embrace the trappings of modern humanity like heads of other levels did, lately she’d learned a new human word: slacker—and wasn’t afraid to use it. After all, any son who’d reached the ripe old age of two centuries should be out of the parental cave by now.
A flickery little fire minion hopped up onto the coffee table and bowed low. He’d better not leave any ashes or scorch marks. The maid service would have Vik’s hide. “Your Royal Highness, Prince Noorvik Metlakatla Hoonah Emmonak, Master of the Sixth Level of…”
Yeah, yeah. Yadda, yadda. Vik wafted out a puff of smoke. A minion didn’t deserve a full-flame snort, and what the Home had Mother been thinking to hang a guy with so many barely-pronounceable names? Writing his name and phone number on matchboxes at bars gave his quarry too much time to get away.
“Can you call me Vik like everyone else?”
“But sire, I’m on official business, summoning you to a private audience with Her Supreme Highness, the Most Glorious Sovereign of the Sixth Level of Hades, Mistress of All Things Dark and Sinister, Anaktuvuk Iliamna—”
“Mom. Go ahead, say it. She’s my mom. The Big Fucking Deal of the Sixth Level.” The only level worth inhabiting, in his mother’s eyes. Lower levels fell to chaos and ignorance, and the denizens of the upper levels grew too snooty to tolerate. She carefully guarded her turf from outside influences. Big Fucking Deal, indeed.
The fire minion shaded from red to blue, his edges tinged with white. He dropped his already hissing voice to a lower susurrus. “Don’t let her hear you say that…”
Vik emitted another sigh, offering up a touch of flame through his nostrils. Pompous ass of a minion. Why couldn’t Mother simply install intercoms or hand out cell phones? Sometimes the temperatures reached a bit on the high side on the sixth level, but surely someone could figure out how to make a cell phone work in the netherworld. Oh yeah. Her Royal Badness was the biggest technology snob ever. With single-minded determination she kept her people in the Dark Ages, where men were men, demons were demons, and Grand Theft Auto were three words that had yet to be used together.
Ah, no use crying over old times. Old times. Hah! Back before the rulers of levels five and six had some kind of falling out, declared a silent war on each other, and sealed the passageways between the two domains. What glorious times Vik once had, entertaining himself on the fifth level. There was this one young prince named Diomede…He and Vik had gotten up to a lot of mischief behind the brimstone pile.
Yes, those were the days, spent with a handsome young demon prince with blue skin, yellow eyes, and an endless fascination for Vik’s body. Whatever happened to Prince Diomede? Diomede. Heh. Vik had certainly yelled his name enough in the past.
For fifty years or so Vik had tested the wards between the levels. The resulting scorch marks served as visible reminders of his failed attempts. Whoever sealed the doors didn’t mean for them to be breached.
Sigh. Diomede. Vik’s very own “Big Blue.” Where was he now? Did he ever think of Vik, or had he moved on, like Vik tried to do, burying himself in video games and the occasional hookup?
The messenger cleared what passed for a throat on a fire minion. Oh, yeah. Not alone. Vik stopped his hand midway up his thigh where it seemed to have wandered on its own while he’d recalled his exploits from years gone by. He’d save those memories for later and some privacy.
“So what brings you down here?”
The minion sucked in air, his little chest heaving. “As I was saying, The Mistress of All Things Dark and Sinister cordially requests your presence.”
“In other words, she screamed, ‘Get my slacker son’s ass down here—now!’”
The minion’s flames shaded to green. “Something to that effect.”
Ah, Home. No hope for it now. When the BFD called, Vik came trotting. He passed by a mirror on his way out the door for a fang and zipper check, and added a bit more eyeliner to highlight his glowing golden eyes. Maybe the sexy new lieutenant would be in attendance tonight. Vik would love to get his mitts on Lt. Sex-on-Legs. That is, as long as his mother didn’t find out.
Two centuries were a long time to stay in the closet, but somehow Vik managed. Mostly because his mother, the workaholic, was too busy wreaking havoc on humankind to pry into his personal life. She had underlings for spying on her son, and they could usually be bought off with movie tickets and a day pass to the surface—another transgression to hide from Mother.
The residents of level six were an easy lot, with a voracious appetite for human vices. Vik had even dodged a scandal of epic proportions with a pack of chewing gum once, given to a very dense fire minion. Too bad it melted in the little cretin’s mouth. Gobs of greenish goo oozed from a ball of rainbow-colored flames. Took a month to clean up the mess.
“Ah-hem,” the current fire minion said. “We mustn’t keep her waiting. You know how she can be.”
Yes, Vik did. Last time he pissed her off the resulting earthquake formed a new island off the coast of Pakistan.
He closed his apartment door on the conjured image of a Manhattan high-rise, for as long as the illusion lasted. It’d take another decade or so to learn long-distance glamour maintenance, or how to maintain the façade while sleeping. One more reason to kick out his one-night stands before they actually spent the night and quite literally woke up in Hell.
From the semblance of a big city to the very real caverns of Hades: outside his front door the scent of brimstone overrode his patchouli incense and the rough stone walls were hot to the touch, hinting at his true location. He’d love to extend his glamour to the rest of the immediate area, but the re-creation of a human city would tip his mother off about his continued surface exploring. Plus, he pretty much sucked at glamour.
He followed the fire minion, taking care to step clear of the trail of live sparks the servant shed like cat fur. What did Mother want this time? Vik had been on his best behavior since his last foray to the surface, when he’d made tabloid headlines by getting caught in a photographer’s lens and ending up on the cover of a tabloid. “Demons Exist!” the headline blared. Bah. It wasn’t even a good likeness. Still, it’d cost him a huge portion of his DVD collection to arrange the cover up. Greedy little minions.
The closer they came to headquarters, the livelier the minion bounced. He hopped into a broad chamber, lit by strategically placed flames. Crystal stalagmites rose from the floor of the cavern, their inner fire cast flickering light along the wall. Her Supreme Highness, the Big Fucking Deal of the Sixth Level—although the unofficial title wasn’t used to her face—reclined on her stone throne. No way could a hunk of carved brimstone be comfortable. The gorgeous lieutenant was nowhere in sight, just two ugly bodyguards who could pass for trolls. A handful of hangers-on mingled at the far end of the chamber, bearing silent testament to his mot
her’s foul mood.
“Hello, Mot—”
Fire shot from her eyes and landed close enough to warm Vik’s cloven hooves. Oh, shit. She was in a temper and he’d forgotten protocol again. No familiarity until after acknowledging her rank. One must keep up appearances, she’d admonished him often enough.
“Hello, Your Highness.”
“Better.” A touch of fang peeked out from her blood-red lips, a nearly affectionate look. The Terror of the Sixth Level stood her full eight human feet, swaths of crimson silk twitching around her form like living things. Gold horn-wraps glittered on her head—the mark of her rank. Vik preferred earrings. “How are you, my darling?”
The touch of her lips singed Vik’s cheek, judging by the burn. A warning, nothing more, a reminder of his place in the cosmos—and hers. The burn would heal in under a minute. Oh shit. Soon she’d say something Vik didn’t want to hear.
Like Vik, her eyes were gold, with vertical slits, her skin glowed a healthy, unblemished red. He’d definitely gotten his looks from his mother, even if having a human father meant he’d never achieved his mother’s height. He’d only managed six feet six, with shoulders wide enough to get caught in some of the narrower corridors. His father had been an accountant—but a truly evil accountant, who’d impressed Mom so much she’d brought him home and granted him immortality. In her words, “I’m not raising this little demon all by myself!”
While Dad might not have been demon born, he’d earned his place in Hell by orchestrating financial crises throughout time: the fall of the Roman Empire, the Dutch Tulip Mania, the Mississippi Bubble, the Great Crash of 1929, and more recently, the housing meltdown of 2008, and the United States budget deficit. It kept climbing and climbing…
Currently he spent his days sequestered away from the rest of the world, playing fast and loose with the American economy. He’d even ventured into politics! That US election. Wow! What a guy!
Oh, wait. Yeah. Mom asked a question. “I’m fine.”
The hand she placed on his arm didn’t bode well, especially not when she dug her talons into his shoulder to hold him in place. “Noorvik, it’s time for you to settle down. I long to hear the tippity-tap of tiny hooves.”
Oh, Home! Not this again. “But, Mom, I’m still young. I’m not ready yet.”
The talons tightened. “If I waited for you to be ready nothing would ever happen. So humor your mother, dear. I’ve put the wheels into motion. Kiana?”
A demure looking female demon glided through the door, her footsteps so light she appeared to float. Her shimmery silver dress clung to her ample curves. She’d used some kind of cosmetic to fade her skin color to a deep rose hue, and she’d filed her horns down to barely-visible nubs. Ha! Fads! Last century magenta skin had been all the rage, and horns sharpened to dagger points. They might grow back—in a decade or so. She’d also dyed her hair from red to brown, worn in a slightly familiar style, bringing to mind someone Vik had seen on TV. Snoopy? No, that was a dog. Snook-ums? From Rhode Island Shore? Hmm…
But… “Kiana?” He recalled pigtails and braces on a twig of a demoness.
Kiana fluttered her fingers. “Hi, Vik. Nice to see you remember me.”
Vik remembered her all right. She could drink a vial of ink back in preschool and sign her name when she belched. Impressive.
“Oh good, you two know each other,” his mother cooed.
Both Vik and Kiana did double-takes. Cooing didn’t really work for the Mistress of All Things Dark and Sinister.
To Vik she hissed, “What do you think? She’s the prettiest mate I could find for you.”
“Mate?” Vik didn’t sweat often, but beads popped out on his forehead, right between the horns.
His mother’s smile fell. “You don’t like her?”
Kiana’s strained smile grew wider and she took a quick step back. Ah, so she didn’t care for this little arrangement either. Good. Vik could use that.
“No offense, Mom, Kiana, but she’s a little too…” Soft? Lacking a dick? How could he possibly tell his mother he wanted a male? Or fourteen. And to be honest, he’d even take a human male, like the ones in his rock posters. If only Andy Sixx came in blue… the guy really had Vik going once with that Fallen Angels video. Had him totally convinced the entire band hailed from level two. Damned special effects.
“Voluptuous?” Kiana ventured.
Vik flashed a smile and a silent “thanks.” “Yeah, that’s it. Voluptukiss, voluperous. Oh, home. What she said.”
“Oh.” His mother’s pout hit Vik right in the heart he wasn’t supposed to have. The midwife called it a birth defect. “That will be all, Kiana.”
Kiana winked at Vik and backed from the hall. Oh yeah, he owed her big time. One bullet dodged. And from the look of horror she had for a moment, any moment now she’d be slamming down tequila shots.
Vik could sure handle a few right now.
“If that’s all, Mother, I’ll just…”
His mother curled her lips in her most ominous smile, exposing two-inch fangs. “Am I not your mother? Do I not know you? I have just the female in mind. Tazlina? Come forth.”
Two fire minions opened the far door, and in strode a seven-foot warrior princess, complete with bulging muscles peeking out from beneath her chain-mail-but-barely-there attire. Her horns rivaled Vik’s for length. Not a bit of cosmetic dulled her skin. Did she have a brother?
One of the minions nearly put out his own flames with drool.
His mother relaxed her grip on Vik’s arm. “Isn’t she magnificent? Why, look at those legs. She could crack walnuts with those thighs!”
The scary vision known as Tazlina slapped her thighs together. The resulting clap rivaled thunder. Vik’s nuts tried to climb inside his body for protection.
“Mom, I hate to say this, but being able to crack nuts with her thighs isn’t the kind of thing a man wants.”
“It’s not?” Disappointment pulled the corners of his mother’s mouth down.
For the first time Vik noticed the tiny lines around her mouth and eyes. She wasn’t getting any younger, and she wanted granddemons. While he wasn’t opposed to adopting a little imp or two, he’d no desire to make one himself. But how could he get out of this situation without being banished from the realm? He loved his life. He played video games all day, ordered Hell’s equivalent of room service, and left his clothes on the floor, only to return in the evening to a clean apartment. When he got bored he paid a visit to Las Vegas, a place sinful enough to sport twenty-seven different portals to the netherworld. For all its “anything goes” reputation, the Sixth Level of Hell, a veritable haven of wickedness, lacked gay bars, and princes and princesses were expected to carry on family lines.
Maybe… “I kind of have someone in mind,” Vik blurted before thinking things through. Yeah, buy her off with a story of unrequited love. Get her sympathies up for her poor little half-human offspring.
“Oh really?” The sparkle returned to his mother’s eyes a second before they turned to hardened flint—literally. “Not just anyone is good enough for my little boy, you know. She must be as beautiful and resourceful as Kiana, and as able to defend herself, you, and your young, as Tazlina.”
Oh good. Vik could easily drag out his search for centuries. “Sure, Mom, no problem.” Vik’s steadily building stress began to subside.
“And, you have one earth day to make a match, or I’ll do it for you.” She released her grip and folded her arms across her chest. Vik knew the gesture well. There’d be no moving her once she made up her mind.
Oh, Home!
It wasn’t as if Vik didn’t long for a mate, for he’d one day rule the sixth level—no easy task for a single guy. But taking a mate meant accepting full responsibility for his station as heir. Due to the heart he shouldn’t have, torturing lost souls for all eternity wasn’t high up on his list of things he wanted to do with his life.
He set down the shot glass and put the bottle of tequila to his lips.
He tossed the now empty bottle to the floor and stomped around his apartment. What could he do? A visit to the surface, that’s what he needed—he always did his best thinking up there. But how could he visit the surface again after the whole tabloid nightmare?
He logged onto the top-secret Internet connection (top secret to no one but his mother) and tapped into one of his favorite sites: Howler—for demon on demon action. A cute little goth twink’s picture popped up the moment he logged on. A goth twink 3,000-year-old demon, hiding out in the human world.
“How’s it going, Big Red?” A tag claimed the guy to be HOTDMN27, not to be confused with HOTDMN1 to 26, or 28 through 997,416. His surface name was Ralph.
Vik wasn’t the only half-human in the realm. “Not so good,” Vik typed back. “Mom wants me to get married.”
“Bummer. Didn’t you tell her you like cock?”
“And have her incinerate any possible dates? Not good for my love life.”
“You never know until you tell her.”
“Uh-huh. And why haven’t you been home in 2,000 years?”
“That’s different,” the fake twink replied. “You don’t have my parents.”
No, Vik didn’t. And if he did, he’d be hiding too. “So, I gotta choose someone better than who my mother wants for me, or somehow manage to convince her to give me more time.”
“No problem, pal. You don’t have to find someone better, you only have to convince her they’re better.”
“And how do I do that?”
“Come on up, and I’ll help.”
“I don’t look like you. I might be spotted again.” Ralph’s naturally brownish tones easily blended with the heavy fake tans often found in Vegas.
“Dude, where we’re going, you’ll fit right in. We’ll find someone to take your mind off your troubles while we figure things out. Who knows? We might even find a guy so awesome even your mother will accept you having a male mate.”
