She was correct, and I didn’t quite fit in. I never had and Hell knows I tried. I slid my tray quickly past the lunch lady and avoided the rank-looking stew.
"The commissary sucks," Stella lamented as she tried not to gag at the aroma rising from her tray. "I should have gone to college on Earth."
"Agree." I nodded as I made my way through the crowd to a table.
The Demon College looked more like a high school than a college—lockers and all. The commissary looked like a freakin’ high school lunchroom because up until a couple of years ago it had been. Most Demons, if they chose to pursue a higher degree, went to Harvard, MIT, Princeton, Yale, or Northwestern on Earth. From what I understood Angels tended to prefer the party schools. Since my father decreed I wasn’t ready to go to Earth four years ago, he created the Demon College—where my old high school formerly stood. While the education was top notch, the accommodations left a lot to be desired.
“Holy Hell, your boyfriend is staring at you,” Stella whispered gleefully.
“He’s not my boyfriend,” I hissed.
“Does he know that?” Stella’s smile broadened as she enjoyed my discomfort.
Glancing around the commissary, I spotted the person I dreamt about on a nightly basis and I debated my next move. Did I stay or did I go? Being near my secret fantasy made me stupid. I’d far rather be mysterious than idiotic. He made me feel hot, cold and tingly at the same time and I’d barely uttered a word to him all year. Go. I would go—just put my tray down and be out of the commissary in a minute flat—or I could dematerialize…but then I could end up anywhere. I didn’t quite have the hang of dematerializing to places I was actually trying to go. Last week I tried to travel to the mall and ended up in my father’s chambers while he was getting busy with his pregnant consort Amanda. Bleach couldn’t remove that one from my brain.
"I'm out of here," I muttered as I started walking. Speeding up my pace, I hightailed it to the tray drop praying to every deity I could think of that I didn’t run into the man of my dreams. In all of my inexperience I was liable to either drool or bodily throw myself at him.
“He’s still watching you,” Stella whispered as she followed close on my heels.
I rolled my eyes. “He’s not watching me.”
“Wrong,” she trilled happily.
“Stella, hush. Someone will hear you.” She was my best friend, and if I didn’t love her so much I would take great pleasure in killing her.
“Oh please.” She waggled her eyebrows and made smooching noises. Pretending I didn’t know her was impossible and I seriously considered dematerializing, but a healthy fear of seeing my father’s naked ass stopped me.
“He is totally gone on you,” she informed anyone within hearing distance—which was everyone—as she chased me. “And you are so gone. . .watch out,” Stella yelped.
I stopped short to avoid running into Vincent van Gogh, my art teacher. Dressed in a purple velvet cape and a frighteningly poofy hat, he was weaving his way toward the open bar. It was Hell, after all, where mixing alcohol and academia was the norm. Van Gogh had a very close relationship with his absinthe. When the great master died he had the choice between Heaven and Hell. He chose Hell, much to my Uncle God’s disgust. Van Gogh, while brilliant and extremely funny when he wasn’t morbidly depressed, was clearly intoxicated. Did no one notice or care about these things besides me? Much was overlooked in Hell, but drunk was drunk.
In an attempt to avoid body-slamming the great artist I veered left and unfortunately Stella had the same idea. She slammed into my back, covering what used to be my brand new hot pink Juicy sweat suit in rank beef stew.
“Shit,” she moaned as she tried to remove the potatoes, carrots and meat from my hair and the inside of my hood.
I froze and closed my eyes. As a child I used to think if I couldn't see anybody then they couldn't see me. It didn't work when I was five and I was fairly sure it wouldn't start working at twenty-one, but one could always hope. I also used to think that there were actual people in the TV.
“Hey Dixie.” An insanely sexy voice broke into my invisibility fantasy.
I pried open one eye, and much to my great horror and delight stood the object of my desire in the flesh. The most beautiful man I’d ever seen—Hayden Black.
“You okay?” he asked.
My stomach flipped, my tongue became sandpaper and I felt lightheaded. I shakily tucked my hair behind my ear in a move that I knew looked good on me and came back with a fistful of beef stew. “I’m great,” I lied. The heat crept up my neck and settled squarely on my cheeks. Holy Hell, could it get any worse?
“I’m going to skip the rest of the day and go cliff diving south of town. You want to come?” He smiled a lazy smile that made my breath hitch and all my unused lady parts tingle.
“I can’t,” I stammered. “I have a calculus exam. . .and I smell like beef stew, and I don’t have a swimsuit and I. . .”
“Another time then.” Hayden grinned and my heart skipped a beat. He reached out and ran his fingertips along my jaw line and his thumb across my lips. The shock of his touch jolted through my body and my knees buckled a little. “Another time.”
He stood for a moment and stared, then turned and left the commissary. I watched his perfect butt in his loose-fitted faded jeans walk away from me. I didn’t like him walking away from me—it felt wrong. What the Hell was that about? Why was I so drawn to him? I was leaving and those were the most words I’d said to him in a year. My hand automatically went to my still tingling lips, which I silently vowed to never wash again.
“Dude.” Stella bounced like a ball. “He just asked you out!”
“No he didn't. He asked me to skip class. You know I don’t skip.”
“You need to pull the steel rod out of your ass and loosen up,” she chastised as she futilely attempted to remove the beef stew from my hair.
“I've been telling her that for years,” my sister Sloth chimed in as she appeared in a burst of sliver glitter dust.
I rolled my eyes and smiled at my beautiful lazy sister. She was by far the nicest of the Seven Deadly Sins and I adored her. “What are you doing here? Is everything okay?” She never came to the Demon College. Academia gave her hives. Literally. Panic knotted in my stomach.
“Everything is fine,” she assured me. “Dad’s got his panties in a wad and he wants to see you. I've been sent to bring you to the Dark Palace.”
“But I have a calculus exam and I. . .” I began to explain my schedule but petered off, realizing it was useless.
“And?” She raised her eyebrows as she began to scratch the welts that had popped up on her arms.
“Fine,” I acquiesced quickly. As laidback as my sister was she got really grumpy and occasionally deadly when she was itchy. Furthermore, my dad waited for no one, certainly not his youngest daughter.
“You can’t see Dad or Grandma like that.” Sloth referred to my stew-splattered attire.
I paled considerably and clutched my sister for purchase. "Oh my Hell, Gigi is there?"
"Yep, and Dad is in a tizzy." She grinned evilly. "Let's get the unidentifiable lunch product off of you."
“That’s my fault,” Stella offered apologetically.
“No worries,” my sister told Stella as she affectionately squeezed her cheek. Sloth raised her arms and flung them towards me. In a flash my hair was clean and my hot pink sweat suit was gone, replaced by the requisite black my father expected us to wear.
I hugged Stella goodbye and wrapped my arms around my sister. Sloth moved her hands in a circular motion. The glitter engulfed us as my beautiful sister and I vanished in a cloud of magic.
***
My day was going from mortifyingly bad to really scary bad.
The Dark Palace, my father's main residence, was normally a gross display of wealth and questionable taste. At the moment it had been transformed into a wild garden that resembled a blooming jungle on crack as opposed to the lush manicured gardens that populated Hell.
I grasped my sister's hand in terror and peered through the vines and flowers. "Is she here?"
"I don't sense her yet, but she's definitely on her way. Her garden usually precedes her by about five minutes," Sloth mumbled as she disengaged her hand from mine. "Dixie, I love you, but I wasn't summoned by our certifiable granny. Do you mind if I go?"
"Um. . ."
"Great! Call me later," my traitorous sister said as she disappeared in a blast of glitter. So much for counting on a Sin. The smell of jasmine and lilies permeated the air. There was no trace whatsoever of the grand ballroom which was where I knew I stood. Mother Nature, aka my Grandma Gigi, had a very bad habit of destroying my dad's homes. My guess was that he had missed his weekly visit to Nirvana to kiss her butt and she was pissed, but that didn't explain why I had to be here.
"Dad," I called out in the largest whisper I dared.
"Over here," Satan said quietly.
I made my way toward my father's voice and found him hiding behind a large ivy covered rock. My stomach dropped to my toes. The most terrifying and powerful Demon alive was hiding from his mother. This was beyond bad.
"Um, Dad?"
"Dixie," he hissed and pulled me behind the rock with him. "Thank sweet Hades you're here."
"Why exactly am I here?" I asked as I peeked around the rock.
"Your grandmother is the definition of unstable insanity, and if I knew why she summoned us we wouldn't be hiding behind a rock," he answered logically.
"Dad, you're my rock and this is making me very nervous."
He considered me for a long moment and stood up. He was magnificent. He stood six feet six inches tall and has long raven black hair like mine. Our eyes were gold, although they turned ruby red when we got excited or angry. My skin was more peaches and cream in comparison to my dad’s beautiful pale mocha color.
"You're correct Dixie, I am your rock. She's so damned horrific I forget myself. Everything will be fine—I hope," he muttered.
His total lack of conviction was unsettling. I rose to my feet and waited. What the hell did she want with me? She'd shown me no attention at all in my twenty-one years in Hell.
"Don't look her in the eye and stand at least ten to twenty feet away from her," my dad instructed. "She's crazy and prone to blistering and deadly fits of rage."
"I heard that, you little shit," a glorious melodic voice shouted. "Just because you're the King of the Underworld doesn't mean I can't take you over my knee and tan your ass."
I gasped and held on to my father.
"Son of a bitchass motherhumping asshats—arghhhh!" she screeched as she fell ungracefully from the sky. It wasn't until that moment I realized the roof of the palace was gone. The musical voice did not match the language flying from her mouth or the otherworldly glamour she possessed.
The disheveled beauty got to her feet and glanced around impatiently. She wore a gown of sheer golden gossamer that floated around her magically. Her hair was a mass of fiery red curls and her skin was a pale porcelain, but it was her eyes. . . Her eyes were the clearest blue I'd ever seen and they sparkled. She was quite simply the most gorgeous crazy woman in the universe.
Her power filled the room. It was earthy with a dangerous sensual undertone to it. I would give anything to be back in the commissary covered in stinky beef stew. Anything.
"Satan, you little bastard," she snapped as the gentle breeze in the room shifted into a slightly menacing wind. "I know you're here. I want to see my granddaughter. Now."
"Mother," Satan bellowed joyously as he stepped out from behind the rock. "To what do I owe this pleasure?" He placed me firmly behind him and waited for her next move.
"Cut the shit. You were supposed to visit me and I made a cake," she yelled. "You didn't show up and I ate it. I ate the entire cake. Do you have any idea how many hours I had to pole dance to work off an entire cake?"
"Seven?" he guessed.
She froze, stared at him for a tense moment, and then threw her head back and laughed with delight. "You're right! I always knew you were smarter than your brother. He guessed three."
My father stood even taller, clearly pleased with himself that he'd bested his brother, God. Forget about my Grandma Gigi—my entire family was nuts.
"Mother, while it's alarmingly wonderful and highly destructive to see you," he said, gesturing to the wrecked ballroom, "why are you here and what do you want with Dixie?"
"I want to see her," she pouted and stamped her small foot.
"You've not wanted to see her for twenty-one years. I don't see. . ."
"You know exactly why I've ignored her, Satan," she said in a deadly quiet voice.
My father had no reply. He bowed his head and shook it. What was going on here? Something was wonky and I'd bet my embarrassing virginity that no one was going to enlighten me.
"I know she's behind you. Dixie, come out and greet me," Gigi demanded.
My father turned to me and his golden eyes burned into mine. "It's all right. She won't harm you. Go to her."
Sucking in a huge breath, I stepped out from behind my dad and warily approached my grandmother. My fear disappeared and was replaced by curiosity. . .the kind that was deadly to cats.
"Oh my," she giggled, completely disarming me. "You are exquisite. You look like your father, but you have so very much of her in you."
She caressed my face gently. I automatically leaned into her warm and delicate hand. My maternal upbringing had been virtually nonexistent—attention from a mother figure was addicting, no matter how insane she might be.
"Do you mean my mother?" I asked tentatively, hoping she didn't remove her hand. "Do you know her?"
"Well of course I do. She's a crazy irresponsible assbuckle. The next time I see her I will. . ."
"Mother," Satan roared.
"Well, she is," she shot back. "Anyhoo, I got a phone with cells. Would you like to see it?"
"Um. . ." I was hoping she would continue her tirade on my mother. It was the most information I'd ever heard.
"You mean a cell phone," my father corrected her.
"That's what I said." Her gaze narrowed dangerously and the wind in the room kicked up a few notches. Her fingers began to shoot little orange sparks, and I worried for the health and welfare of my dad and his home.