Fashionably Dead and Loving It (Hot Damned #14) - Robyn Peterman Page 0,7
I said, wincing. Talking to them was like bashing my head repeatedly into a brick wall on purpose. However, I was relieved that they didn’t have any Prada hidden in their closets.
“Well, now, speaking of valuing life…” Martha said, tsking at me. “You’re gonna regret eatin’ that big time, Knockers LeMelons. Dead men can’t eat.”
“Neither can dead hookers,” Jane added, pointing her bony finger at me. “Meaning you.”
“Got that,” I said with an eye roll.
The two old Vampyres were the banes of my existence. However, they’d saved my son’s life and I was in their debt for eternity.
I was also the True Immortal who embodied Compassion.
Sometimes it sucked to be compassionate.
True Immortals were unkillable unless we chose to die by the Sword of Death. There were thirteen of us. I represented Compassion. My uncles, God and Satan, embodied Good and Evil, respectively. Mother Nature was Emotion and Bill—Satan’s father, my grandfather and Mother Nature’s mate—was Wisdom. My Demon cousin Dixie manifested Balance and her mate, Hayden—the Angel of Death—represented Death. The Angel of Light, Elijah, epitomized Life. And the woman he pined for, Lucy—the daughter of the original Eve—was Temptation. The three Fates, including Satan’s mate Elle and her mother Sadie, personified Fate.
And that left Samuel. My son was Utopia, the most powerful of all the True Immortals. He was a combination of all of our gifts. His future terrified me. Keeping him safe as he matured into who he was to become was paramount to both Ethan and me. While I knew there would come a day when my child would have to spread his wings, I hoped it wasn’t anytime soon. He was truly my miracle.
Martha and Jane, on the other hand, were not miracles. While I would never voluntarily admit it, I did love the old bats even though beheading them sounded like a fine plan most of the time… like now, for example.
“Why are you here?” I demanded, narrowing my eyes at them. “You’re supposed to be in Hell.”
“Oh, you know, regular Underworld bullshit,” Jane said, sitting down at the vanity and pawing through my nail polish. “Elle said Satan wasn’t stepping up enough with the baby, so she gave us the week off.” She pointed at my head. “Nice crown, Gazongas McHoullihan.”
“Thank you,” I replied. A compliment was a compliment no matter what the idiot chose to call me.
“Yep, Elle is not happy with Mr. Evil Bitable Buns,” Martha said, adjusting her elastic top as one of her floppy torpedoes fell out of it. “She’s gonna make the Devil change diapers. Told him if he didn’t, she was cuttin’ him off.”
I grinned. The visual was kind of delightful. To call Satan a handful was an understatement. My uncle was a self-absorbed jackhole. However, I did adore him. I couldn’t help it. As evil as he was, he was also a really good guy. The Devil, and Demons in general, didn’t create evil, they simply thrived on it. Satan was the first to blame his brother God for mankind’s evil ways. It was a stretch, but with my Uncle God giving humans free will, they had the choice between good and evil. It delighted Satan to no end how many went down the wrong path.
Telling Uncle Fucker I loved him was one of my favorite things to do. It was so much fun to watch him throw a shit fit.
“That’s right. Elle means business—electrocuted that sexy piece of ass six times when he bitched like a little girl about his gag reflex gettin’ triggered by poopy diapers,” Jane added. “Dastardly Smackable-booty is gonna get a purple pecker unless he gets with the plan.”
“Should be interesting,” I said, flopping down on one the overstuffed chairs in my closet. My closet in the Cressida House was bigger than my first apartment.
Looking at Martha and Jane, I shook my head. I remembered the day I’d had them turned with sickening clarity. It was the very same day I’d ended the life of my sorry excuse of a vile mother and even sorrier excuse of a Demon father.
I felt no remorse for ending the lives of two people so viciously evil. My parents defined the word. I suppose there might still be a small part of me that wished my mother had loved me, but it was a waste of time to pine for the impossible. Instead, I made sure that my son knew how much I loved him every single day.