“Janet.” I could tell she was close to crying. “Is there a chance you could grow them back?”
“No.” Averting her eyes and trying to hide her tears, she mumbled, “That horrid therapist had the hair removal Demons put a cease and desist spell on my follicles.”
“That’s, well that’s. . .I don’t even know what that is,” I stuttered and tried to make sense of that one. I pondered why or who would create a spell like that. “I’m really sorry, Janet.”
I gathered her little body in my arms, the same body that had just evilly bounced me off of my bed, and I hugged her while she cried. Tremors shook her and I held her tighter. I wanted to kick that therapist’s ass. I wouldn’t mind taking a pass at that bitch with a coffee table leg. The more I thought about that smarmy hag, the angrier I got. Yep. I was becoming more Demon with each passing second.
My hands began to tingle. Oh Hell, I knew what was coming. Small red sparks started to fly from my fingertips. I gently disengaged Janet. I had no desire to light the hair she had left on fire. I took a deep cleansing breath and clapped my hands.
It stopped.
Damn if Myrtle wasn’t the smartest girl in the world. I grinned and wiggled my non-flaming fingers.
“Did you see me?” I blurted. I sounded like a five year old on her birthday, but I didn’t care.
“You controlled it,” Janet yelled, her hair issues forgotten. “I’m so proud of you.”
“Me too.” I grinned. “I’m ready to go downstairs and hand you your ass.”
“You sure?” she challenged gleefully.
“So sure,” I replied.
***
Being sure does not guarantee success, not by a long shot. Just ask my bruised and aching body. Fight training was ugly and painful. My pride was the only thing that had kept me from giving up. I’d never admit it, but Janet was right. They were kicking my ass. The training room was state of the art. Leave it to the Devil. . .Who in the Hell would have guessed the basement of a graceful Southern manor housed a torture chamber? Oops, I meant a large gym, with every conceivable machine and weapon known to man. There was a large, mat-covered open area for martial arts training and Jazzersize.
Carl was addicted
. The walls were covered with weapons: swords, daggers, throwing stars, guns, grenades, bombs. . .You name it, we had it.
There was also an area for knife throwing. I was sure I’d spend many hours there, certainly after I’d nailed Carl in the neck with a nice-sized dagger. Thank Satan we’re immortal. I was aiming at the wall. Carl just pulled it out of his jugular and kept on going, not even commenting on the unavoidable fact that he was bleeding profusely. I thought for sure I’d killed him. I even threw up a little bit in my mouth I was so upset, but Carl was fine. He wasn’t even mad at me.
That’s when Carl decided it was time to spar. He wasn’t as sweet as I thought. Pay back for an almost decapitation was a bitch, and that son of a bitch punched as hard as a freight train. If I didn’t have Black Magic I’d be so dead. After the third punch to my head,
which probably caused brain damage
, I understood why my dad sent Carl up to Earth with me. Carl the Destroyer was an apt name for him.
“Okay,” Carl explained, sweating up a rather unattractive storm. “When thomebody runth at you to kill you, you have to fight back.”
“I know, but Janet and Myrtle aren’t really going to kill me,” I patiently explained to Carl for the fifth time. “I don’t want to hurt them.” I referred to the still open knife wound on Carl’s neck. I heard Myrtle snort.
“You might want to shut your cakehole,” I politely told Myrtle. “Or I’ll shut it for you.”
“As if,” she snapped.
Carl thought we should all take a break. I’d like to think it was because he was worried about what I would do to Myrtle, but even I couldn’t live in that dream world. Carl helped me stretch out, which was something I'd never ask him to do again. I was certain my arms had been dislocated and my legs would need amputation. I moaned and tried to kick Carl in the head.
“You are such a wussy,” Myrtle laughed.
That was about all I could take. I took my leg back from Carl, shoved him out of my way and gave Myrtle the evil eye. I’d been knocked around and beaten up for over two hours. I could take getting whaled on, but getting laughed at? Not so much.
“Get your skinny asscrack over here,” I yelled. I mentally ran through all the moves Carl had taught me. I was a quick study and I was strong, but more than that. . .I was pissed. I was sick of getting busted on. I was ready to do some busting of my own.
A rush of energy and heat blasted through me as I sized up Myrtle. She looked smug and unconcerned. Not smart.
“Bring it,” I shouted.
She did. She gleefully put me into a chokehold.
“You suck, you freakin’ assclown,” I grunted.
“Holy Hell! Assclown? You can't do better than assclown?” she barked. “You are the wussiest Demon ever born. There’s no way you’re Lucifer’s daughter!” She forcefully threw me to the mat. As she was about to body slam me, I quickly rolled to my left, hopped up and gave her a roundhouse kick to the head. She staggered back and grinned like an idiot.
Hmm, this was actually getting fun.
“Oh,” I informed all of them. “I am definitely Lucifer’s daughter.” Without even thinking I raised my hands and froze them. Wow, that was cool. I wondered what else I could do. Blanche hadn’t taught me anything about Black Magic yet, so I figured trial and error would be my teacher today. I grinned evilly at my cute little frozen pseudo-family. The shock on their faces was priceless. I smirked and considered my options.
I slowly rotated my right wrist and my little frozen family began to spin—and spin and spin. The faster I moved my hand the faster they spun through the air. They were on an invisible vomit-inducing carnival ride from the Basement of Hell. Their shrieks were music to my ears and aching muscles. Not Lucifer’s daughter, my ass.
As Carl’s pallor turned green I backed up. Using my left hand I made little flicking motions, moving the trio closer together. Not touching, but close enough that they all could enjoy what was about to come out of Carl.
“Dixie,” Myrtle screamed. “You win. We lose.”
“Hades help us.” Janet moaned as she started to turn the same shade as Carl.
I did feel kind of bad, but not
that
bad. I grabbed my phone with my left hand as my right continued to rotate and I set the timer for five minutes. That should probably do it.
“STOOOOOPPPPP,” Myrtle shrieked as she clearly saw the impending bile storm headed her way. Carl and Janet whimpered in agony.
Now I felt
that
bad. So much for being a heartless Demon. . .
I lowered my hands and they all dropped to the ground with resounding thuds. I was too nice for this crap. I went to my dizzy group and tried to help them to their feet. Too little, too late. Payback was a bitch. . .and so was getting thrown up on.
Chapter 18
“I just blasted you with a volt of electricity and magic that should have killed you,” I coldly informed one of my favorite people in the world. “You cannot sneak up on me anymore. Grandma Gigi will fry my ass if I off you.”
“Yes, yes, she would.” Grandpa’s eyes sparkled with joy. Curls of smoke streamed from his singed clothing. “But you can't!”
“Can't what?”
“Can't kill me,” he continued gleefully as he patted out a small fire on his crotch. “On any other Demon or Angel that would have worked, but not on me. In fact,” he pondered seriously, “I believe there are only several beings in the entire universe that your power will not work on.”
“And they would be?” I asked as I grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge and poured it over his head.
“Thank you,” he giggled.
"No prob. Answer my question."
"Your magic kills anything except a True Immortal."
I ransacked my brain for the list of True Immortals. Grandpa waited patiently. All I had wanted was a damn midnight snack. How did scrounging for Janet's Rice Krispie treats turn into a history lesson with a smoldering grandparent?
“A True Immortal can’t die—I already knew that. I just forgot.” I watched him stare lovingly at my snack and I sighed. “Do you want one?"
"Of course. I've been eating Mother Nature's cooking for weeks. I need something edible."
I cut him a huge wedge of Rice Krispie treat, slid into a chair at the kitchen table and attacked my own.
"Are you going to go back to my lesson?"
“I believe it was your turn. However, part of what you said was wrong.” He grinned and began separating the treat—Krispie by Krispie. “True Immortals can die—they just can’t be killed.”
I tamped back my desire to slap him and then hug him. “Like that makes any sense.”
“It makes perfect sense, my love. A True Immortal can only die if they choose to.”
"Oh my Hell, are you going to eat that or just play with it?"
"Both. A True Immortal can die of a broken heart."
“For real?"
“For real. You know if you press on the individual Krispies it's a little like popping bubble wrap.”
I dislodged a few Krispies to see if he was right. He was.
“Wait,” I said as I cut two more pieces to eat since we were obviously going to play with our first round. “You just get a broken heart and poof, you're dead?”
“Mother Nature's bosom, that's satisfying,” he shouted as he pounded his little fist into a large wad of Krispies. “Of course not—it’s a three part finale. One, your heart must be truly broken. Two, you must choose to die and three, the Sword of Death must be plunged into your heart.”
“They didn't exactly teach that in school."
“That’s not information we want getting out,” he replied. “In the wrong hands that could be a clusterfuck. And apparently the Sword has gone missing."
"Again? Mr. Rogers lost the damn Sword again?" I shouted as I grabbed the pan and punched the rest of the Krispies.
Why the Hell my father let Mr. Rogers guard the Sword was beyond me. Mr. Rogers was the former host of a mortal freakin’ children's show.
"It was never lost the first time," Grandpa reminded me. "That was a test for your cousin Astrid. Fred Rogers is a formidable warrior and is one of the few men I know who can pull off a cardigan sweater."
I bit back my retort about asking if it disappeared while he was changing his tennis shoes and I began to eat the crushed mess on the table.
“Oookay, that seems like a bit of a problem.”
“Oh yes,” he agreed and pilfered some of my snack.
I picked at the marshmallow goo on my hands and debated asking any more questions. Curiosity won out. “Do you know who stole it?”
“Possibly.” He leaned forward and licked the table. What in the Hell was he doing? His manners were disgusting. I wondered if he got away with this at my grandma's.
“You're not going to tell me."
“Correct,” he smiled ruefully. “You are correct. Do you have any milk?" I nodded and got him the jug. I didn't bother with a glass—he wouldn't use it anyway. "Let’s get back to your lesson.”
"Can I guess who stole it?"
"Of course, but if you listen closely the answers are always there."
I watched him gulp from the container and grinned. How did he make disgusting etiquette look cute? I waited for more. More would certainly come, it just might not make any sense.
“So, where was I?” he inquired as he wiped his mouth with the edge of the tablecloth.
“Let me see. . .Mr. Rogers is a sucky guard, True Immortals can bite it if a date goes bad and the freakin’ Sword of Death got ripped off."
His mouth quirked with humor, “Yes, yes, of course. How many True Immortals are there?"
"It's undefined."
"So very smart." He chuckled and brushed all the crumbs to the floor. "There are eight established Immortals at the moment, but there are more in our midst."
“Grandpa, I’m sure you're not telling me this for my health.”
“Actually, I am.”
We sat in silence while I waited for him to continue. It was clear I was going to be waiting a long time and I didn't want him licking any more surfaces.
“Fine. Satan, you, God, Angel of Death, Angel of Light, Mother Nature, Astrid and. . .” I paused. Who was the other one?
“So far, so good.”
“Oh. . .” I was stuck. Who in the Hell was the other True Immortal?
"I hear you did the nasty with the Angel of Death."
"I did not do the nasty," I snapped. Was nothing sacred?
“Touché, and you're a terrible liar.” He grinned and shrugged. “Your mother is a True Immortal.”
“My mother is alive?” My sex life was suddenly forgotten.
“As far as I know, my sweet. I’m sure I would have heard if she bit the big one. Although if you ask me, she may as well be dead considering how she’s neglected her duties and the mess she’s made.”
“Would you like to expound on that?” He was excellent at avoidance, but he was not avoiding this.
"Nope."
I deflated like a flat tire and sagged in my chair. My head fell to my hands and I gave in to the impulse that had been clawing at me for days. I cried. Hard.
“Oh my baby.” Grandpa took me into his little arms and rocked me in the same manner most Demons couldn’t resist rocking him. He gently wiped my tears, gasped and jerked his hand back.
“What?” I choked out, alarmed by his reaction.
“Your tears.” Grandpa looked at his burnt finger with amazement. “They burned me.”
“I’m so sorry.” I was so confused. I touched the residual tears on my face to see if they burned me.
Nothing.
“Don’t be sorry, lovey.” He smiled. “It’s not your fault. One who has the strength to cry is often the strongest of all. You’re more like your mother than I realized.”
“About that,” I started.
“Don’t ask,” he cut me off. “Because I can’t tell. I can get away with a lot, but not even I can go there.”
“What in the Hell is wrong with everybody? What could be so awful? Is she a farm animal or something?” Tired of this didn’t even begin to touch on the frustration with the
mom
subject, but I knew a closed door when I saw one. Furthermore, he was laughing too hard at my farm animal or something question to be of much use to me. “Fine,” I said, changing the subject, “what are you doing here? I thought all of you were forbidden to communicate with me for a month.” If that turned out to be false, Hayden, my own personal Angel of Death’s ass was grass.