Fashionably Dead Down Under (5 page)

“Do you consider yourself evil?” Dixie
inquired.

“Absolutely not,” I shot back.

“But you committed murder.”

Wow, harsh, but correct . . . “It was self
defense. Me or them.”

“I didn’t realize the Ten Commandments had a
self defense clause.”

“Okay, fine. I suck. I’m evil. Next question,
did you . . . ”

“It’s about balance, Astrid,” Dixie cut me
off. “You can’t have good without evil or you wouldn’t even know
what good meant. One cannot exist with out the other. Satan and
God. Heaven and Hell. It creates a balance.”

“But your father creates death and hatred,” I
countered, trying to remember what I’d learned in Sunday School a
million years ago. Fuck. I couldn’t remember anything.

“Nope. My father punishes those that choose
to do evil. God, your uncle and mine, gave man free will. Man has a
choice and his choice determines his afterlife. This little ditty
was a huge mistake on God’s part and my father takes great pleasure
in his brother’s faux pas.”

“How is free will a mistake?” She was crazy
and had clearly drunk the Kool-Aid. “And did you say God was our
uncle?” WTF?

“Yep, I did. And personally I don’t think it
was a mistake at all, but God is pissed that so many have chosen
the
wrong
path. His words, not mine, but it’s too late.
What’s done is done.”

“So God’s mad that humans suck and Satan is
happy he gets to punish them.”

“That’s a little simplistic, but kind of
accurate.” She nodded her head and went on. “Technically, Demons
are forbidden to create or cause true evil—we’re only allowed to
siphon off the energy from evil caused by humans. But Demons, like
humans, also have free will. While mild violence, deceit, stealing,
promiscuity and cheating are standardly overlooked, acts of terror,
mutilation or hobbies resulting in the death of others are strictly
forbidden. Trust me, there are plenty of Demons residing in the
Basement of Hell. It can be difficult and tricky to control
something that thrives on evil, yet isn’t supposed to commit
it.”

“Hell has a basement?” I asked, trying to
absorb the massive amount of info she’d just spit out.

“That’s your question after what I just told
you?”

“Yep.”

“Ooookay,” Dixie laughed. “Yes. Hell has a
basement.”

“And nine other levels?”

“Um, no. Dante was completely wrong.”

“You’re kidding me,” I gasped. Was everything
I knew about Hell a fairy tale?

“Dante will be here on Thursday. It’s poker
night. You can grill him then. He’s been pissed for ages. He went
ballistic when he found out the actual layout.”

“So much of what you just said was screwed on
so many levels.”

“Nine?”

“Touché,” I laughed. “Dante lives in Hell?
And he plays poker?”

“No and yes. Dante resides in Heaven, but
comes over every Thursday to play poker with my dad.”

“God lets people out to play poker?” This was
too much for even me to believe and I was a Vampyre. A myth . .
.

“Free will, Cousin. God has no say if his
residents want to vacation in Hell.”

“Does that work both ways?” I asked, still
amazed that Satan played poker with Dante.

“Absolutely not. God doesn’t let evil touch
his doorstep.” Dixie sniffed with disdain.

“Who else plays poker with your dad?”

“It depends. Most of the time Hemingway
comes. Occasionally Marilyn Monroe, Elvis, Picasso and Mother
Teresa.”

“Back the fuck up. Mother Teresa plays poker
with the Devil?”

“Why wouldn’t she? My dad is charming and
throws a great party. Besides, she’s always trying to reform him.”
Dixie giggled and shook her head. “Oh, and one time Nixon
came.”

“How’d that work out?”

“Dad says he cheats.”

“Of course he does,” I muttered, wondering if
she was just pulling all of this out of her ass and fucking with me
. . .

“With all that being said, it would be a
grave mistake to assume Demons are goody goodies. They’re not . . .
alright, I kind of am, but I’m a freak here.”

“I have no issue with freaks. I ride that
train too,” I told her.

“Here’s the bottom line. I’ve been raised to
be grateful to evildoers, because without them Demons wouldn’t
exist. We derive our power and magic from the chaos and evil of
humans. So while we don’t necessarily cause it, we thrive on it or
feed on it, so to speak. Don’t forget that our Uncle God dealt out
the free will thing, not my dad. And now to combat his error in
judgment, God and his army of Angels keep trying to end evil so my
dad and his people, including me . . . and you, will cease to
exist. No offense, but God really screwed himself by letting men
and women choose their own paths. If he wanted everyone to be good,
he should have come up with a better plan. Daddy thinks that
particular subject is hilarious.”

“I bet he does,” I mumbled and wondered how
to broach the what-does-a-portal-look-like subject without seeming
too obvious.

“There’s a ton more for me to tell you, but
we only have a couple of hours before we have to go and not to be
rude, but you need a shower. You hair is kind of wild and there’s
soot all over your face and you’ve got some dried blood on
you.”

“Um, you waited till after your therapy
session to tell me I looked like a homeless person?” I snapped.

“No, I did that on purpose. You look
dangerous and crazy with all that hair and blood. I thought it
might throw our bitchy therapist off her game . . . and it did.”
Dixie grinned and gave me a thumbs up.

I couldn’t bite back my grin. Dixie wasn’t
quite as nice as I thought and I was glad. “Fine. Show me to your
bathroom and I’ll get spiffied up for your evil shindig.”

“Wait till you see your hair,” she giggled
and led me deeper into her home.

“That won’t happen,” I told her as I examined
her house. It was awesome—all done in earthy colors with bold
slashes of chocolate brown and dusty rose woven in. “I’m a Vamp. No
reflection.”

“Oh, that’s too bad,” she said. “The red
streaks in your hair rock.”

“What red streaks? I don’t have red
streaks.”

“Um . . . you totally have red streaks.”

“Son of a bitch,” I muttered, running my
hands through the tangled mess. “Is that some kind of Demon
gift?”

“Don’t know, but I sure wish I had them.”

Her bathroom was huge and better than any
bathroom I’d ever been in. On one side were floor to ceiling
mirrors and Dixie was right—I was a fucking mess. I mean I was
still hot in that Vampyre undead way, but I was covered in dried
blood and my clothes were torn. But my hair . . . holy Hell. My
hair was its usual dark brown, but there were blood red streaks
running through it. She was right—it was hot, but it shouldn’t be
there.

Wait. WTF? I could see myself?

I grabbed the counter for purchase and heaved
in a huge unsteady breath—another thing I shouldn’t be able to do.
My body shook as I peered at myself. The self I hadn’t seen since
before I died. What did this mean? Was I still a Vamp? Had I become
a Demon? Fuckityfuck, I needed to get back home soon before all of
this was irreversible.

“Are you okay?” Dixie asked, running over to
me and easing my quivering body to the floor.

“I can see myself,” I whispered. “This is not
good.”

“Okay,” she said and sat down next to me.
“What can I do?”

“Help me get out of here.”

“Oh, Astrid, I can’t,” she said with
remorse.

“Then just get away from me,” I hissed and
put my hands over my eyes and my head between my knees. Anger
boiled inside me and black glitter covered my fingers and traveled
up my arms. Coating them like sparkling black sleeves. It was
beautiful in a macabre way. I felt the dark power weave its way
through my body and settle next to my dormant Vampyre power.

“Oh shit, Astrid,” Dixie gasped and backed
away quickly. “Be careful. You could blow us to Kingdom Come with
that much magic.”

“What are you talking about?”

“What do you mean what am I talking
about?”

“Oh my God,” I shouted. “If I ask a question,
it means I don’t know the answer. I don’t talk just to listen to my
own voice. So just spit it out, Cousin.”

“You have dark magic,” she said reverently.
“And you have tons. I’ve never seen sleeves like that. Ever. Not
even on my dad.”

“How in the fucking hell do I make them go
away?” I demanded, terrified that I would blow us up without even
meaning to. I had no idea how I had this magic, what to do with it
or how dangerous I was.

“Think good thoughts,” she insisted
frantically. “Think of people you love. Now.”

I closed my tired eyes and willed Ethan to
appear. I reached for him and he gently ran his hands over my
stomach. Our child. Our baby that shouldn’t be, but was—against all
odds and reason. I let my mind wander to my nana who was in Heaven
and then I floated to my dearest friends, Gemma, Venus, The Kev and
Pam . . . and the tension left my body. The sleeves disappeared. I
was calm . . . I was okay.

I opened my eyes to see a flabbergasted Dixie
trembling in the corner of her bathroom.

“What?” I asked.

“What are you?” she asked so quietly I was
sure I misunderstood.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“What are you?” she repeated.

I glanced over at myself in the mirror,
shrugged my shoulders and laughed humorlessly. “I have no fucking
clue, but I’d like you to keep this little episode to yourself if
you wouldn’t mind.”

“Not a problem,” she said with a shaky smile.
“No one would believe me anyway.”

“Awesome. Now leave so I can shower and then
stare at myself. I haven’t seen myself in a while.”

“Will do,” she said, backing out of the
bathroom. “Will do.”

Clean as a whistle and confused as all get
out, I sat down in front of the mirror to inspect myself. I traced
my reflection and wondered if all Vamps could see themselves in
Hell or if I was so freaky I was the only one. I was yanked right
out of my pity party by voices. Female voices. Voices I didn’t
recognize. Had Dixie told my secret? Had they come to get me and
destroy me? Fuck.

“I refuse to accept Einstein’s Snot as my
cocktail name,” an angry voice shouted.

“That’s nothing,” another chimed in. “My
fucking cocktail name is Hobbit Nipple.”

“You are both imbeciles,” yet another
snapped. “Mine is the worst. I’m Rancid Orgasm.”

“But that’s actually fitting,” the first
voice squealed with glee.

What in Satan’s name was going on out there?
I heard something explode and Dixie scream. I yanked on the sweats
that my cousin had left for me and raced from the bathroom to the
living room where two very gorgeous women were slapping the fire
out of their hair while another supermodel-looking gal laughed
hysterically. Dixie stood in the middle, clearly furious with all
of them.

“This is exactly why I don’t invite you over
here,” she yelled and helped put the fire out on the gals sporting
the flames. She raised her hands and water shot from her
fingertips, soaking the last of the burning embers from their
heads.

“They started it,” the one who had clearly
caused the blaze whined.

“If the three of you weren’t addicted to
Facebook and playing those stupid name games there would be a lot
less fire in Hell,” Dixie snapped at the girls.

“I’m not addicted,” the dry one said,
pointing at the unhappy wet ones. “Those slutty cock knobs
are.”

“You have some nerve, you dicknose turd
waffle,” the wet one on the right screeched.

I watched in shock as the wet one on the left
frantically scrolled for something on her phone.

“Got it,” she said and read straight from her
phone. “You are a pie-eating fuck clown and a smelly crotch goblin.
Take that.”

“Help me, Satan,” Dixie muttered, removing
the phone from whom I surmised was one of her sisters. Which Deadly
Sins these were I had no clue . . .

“I’ll take that and do you one better, you
tone deaf rectum captain,” the dry one shot back.

“Enough,” Dixie ground out through clenched
teeth. “These are disgusting and you all sound like uneducated
idiots. I mean really—an insult creator on Facebook? For real? All
of you are at least a thousand years old.”

Wow, these chicks were ancient.

“And now that you’ve made asses of yourselves
in front of our cousin, let me introduce you.”

Three sets of eyes shot to me and examined me
so intensely I grew uncomfortable. Their fascination wasn’t
unexpected, but it was loaded. With what? I wasn’t sure . . .

“Astrid, these are some of my sisters. The
two wet ones are Lust and Greed and the dry one is Envy.”

I stood my ground and studied them with the
same razor sharp focus that they had leveled at me. I refused to be
the first to glance away. Everything here was a game and the price
for losing was high.

It was obvious the girls were related, but by
no means were they identical. Envy, the dry one, was a stunning
brunette with golden cat eyes and a very voluptuous body. Her bosom
practically spilled from her top and her curvy figure was one that
drove men to kill.

Greed was equally as gorgeous but different.
Her locks were auburn, but her eyes matched the others and her body
was sleeker and lankier than Envy’s. She had an air about her that
dared someone to cross her. I didn’t plan to put that theory to the
test. I’d just go with my gut on that one.

Lust . . . Lust was breathtaking, even
soaking wet. Her hair was dark and curly and her lashes defied
nature. She was tall and thin, yet curvy in all the right places.
Her appeal was immense and I would think she wasn’t often denied
anything . . . ever.

“She’s not all that,” Lust sniffed
disdainfully, eyeing me critically.