“You freely admit you have daughters?” Astrid pressed.
Where she was going with this was anyone’s guess. My niece had a habit of talking in circles—usually confounding circles.
“Yes. Your point?”
“Demon DNA and Siren DNA is close to human DNA,” Astrid stated with the beginnings of a smile on her lips.
I nodded curtly. She was up to no good, but if she had any kind of information that might help, I was willing to listen. Of course, if she didn’t, I’d be sure to visit her home and profanely enhance her decor on a much more regular basis.
“Get to the point,” I said, glancing over at the door to Elle’s closet where she’d barricaded herself after the muffin episode.
“Girls get periods,” Astrid said with an eye roll as I blanched in terror. “They can get hungry and irritable during the visit from Aunt Flow. The medical term is hangry.”
“Aunt Flo isn’t a real person?” I asked, displeased that I had no one to torture.
“Umm… no. It’s spelled F L O W, not F L O.”
“I see,” I said, pacing my office while keeping half an eye on Elle’s door. “Let me get this straight, you’re saying Elle might be having her lady time right now, and that’s what’s causing her to want to behead me for looking at her muffin?”
“Something like that,” Astrid said. “It stands to reason since Elle’s a Siren, she might be a little more violent than a human on the rag. I mean, in the old days Sirens ate dudes after they banged them.”
“Quite an interesting theory,” I said, thinking the information through and ignoring the way it had been presented. Even the thought of Elle with another man made me homicidal.
Astrid had come up with a reasonable explanation. My lover had been insanely irrational and obsessively hungry—or hangry—for anything sweet she could get her hands on. She’d had the head chef in Hell bake her several dozen cookies, six pies and four sheet cakes only yesterday. She’d gone through all of it within an hour. It was appallingly impressive. She’d also stabbed me with a fork when she accused me of cheating during Monopoly. She was correct. I always cheated. However, my Siren cheated as well. That being said, I thought a fork to the palm that pinned my hand to the game table was slightly harsh for hiding money under the board, but now her behavior made sense.
“How does this sound?” I suggested, pulling a plan out of my ass. “I will tell her I’m aware that she is menstruating and hangry. I will explain to her that her absurd and vicious behavior—while unacceptable—is understandable. I shall forgive her for trying to decapitate me and stabbing me with a fork,” I announced, getting into it. Occasionally, I astounded myself with my own brilliance. “I will inform her that eating enough for twenty male Demons in one sitting—while shocking—is no big deal. I will assure her that I still find her sexually attractive and will happily settle for blow jobs during her time of the month. Although, I’m all for sex during the curse.”
“You’re gonna die,” Astrid choked out on a horrified laugh. “You are a dead Demon walking.”
“What was wrong with that?” I demanded. Women were so fucking hard to understand. The truth did not set you free. I was apparently an idiot to think that anything but falsehoods were acceptable.
“Everything. Everything was wrong with that,” she informed me. “You’re gonna keep your trap shut—hard but doable when the future of your salami is on the line. You’re gonna supply Elle with lots of muffins and cookies. If she wants to stab you for cheating, beat her to it and stab yourself. You feel me, Uncle Fucker?”
“You’re sure about this information?” I asked warily. The thought of having to regrow my exceptional family jewels was extremely unappealing.
“Positive,” Astrid said.
“Fine,” I said. “I will follow your bizarre directives, but if I lose either one of my heads—and I’m speaking in the literal sense—I will blame you and make you pay.”
“Whatever… and gross. You’ve just placed an image in my brain that I’m going to need therapy to remove,” Astrid said with a disgusted eye roll. “And I’m not throwing you a birthday party. You don’t even have a birthday.”
“I prefer womb eviction day,” I told her. “And I most certainly do have a special day. I pried the date out of my questionably sane mother.”