“True Immortal here,” she said with a wink. “I’m unkillable just like you.”
“I do have a date, but I’m keeping the information private at the moment so no one can steal it,” I said.
“Kinda hard to plan a party if I don’t know when it is?” she pointed out.
“Excellent. I was sure you’d accept the challenge,” I said.
“Did Elle punch you in the head?” Astrid asked.
“As a matter of fact, yes,” I replied. “Right before she tried to decapitate me with the cake knife, she gave me a warning right hook. I thought it was considerate.”
“I’ve got nothing,” Astrid said with another eye roll. “You guys have a warped idea of affection.”
“Your point?”
“No point. An observation,” she replied.
“You should leave now,” I told her. “It’s almost noon, and Elle is a hellion at lunchtime as of late. Get to work on my party. I shall send you an invitation list and the menu.”
“And the date?” Astrid pressed in a voice dripping with sarcasm.
“All in good time,” I said with a grin.
“Dude, you have to give me a ballpark date or I’m not doing it,” Astrid said, standing up, slapping her hands on her hips and eyeing me with annoyance. “And where are we having this surprise-not surprise party?”
“You’re planning it,” I said, waving my hand dismissively. “Find someplace that will hold about a hundred thousand and will get outstanding press coverage.”
“Human press coverage?” she asked, confused. “You’re going to out yourself on national television that you’re the freakin’ Devil and it’s your birthday? Pretty sure that’s a no-no.”
Damnit to Hell, Astrid had a point. Jesus had actually lived as a human before he snagged Christmas as his own. I was known to the human world as Blade Inferno, the highest-paid romance author in the Universe—not Satan, the Harbinger of Evil. I suppose I could create the massive holiday for my nom de plume, but that would defeat the purpose. The entire point was to beat my nephew Jesus’ celebration and piss off my brother God. The bastard had won poker night for three months straight without cheating. Even Mr. Rogers was put out by God’s fucking insane windfall, and Fred was the nicest son-of-a-bitch in the Universe. If I didn’t use my real identity, the plan was moot.
“This is a conundrum,” I muttered as I made a mental pro and con list. The con side was winning. Under normal circumstances that would be lovely, but not this time.
“I have a safer idea,” Astrid offered. “No press. We just invite other wacked out Immortal freaks like us, and we limit it to a hundred.”
“A thousand,” I countered. “And it shall take place at your abode.”
“Five hundred,” she shot back. “And the party will be in Hell.”
“Fine,” I snapped. “It shall be a black-tie event and everyone has to bring expensive presents—preferably stolen.”
“Well, that’s certainly going to look awesome on an invitation.”
“Yes, I agree,” I replied.
“I was being sarcastic, jackhole.”
“My bad.”
“I should say so,” Astrid said with an exasperated grunt. “I can’t believe I’m actually going to do this. And PS… I don’t owe your sorry ass. I’m going to do this because I luuurve you.”
“Are you trying to give me hives?” I demanded as my fingers began to spark with the need to blow something to smithereens. It was embarrassing how many thought it was fine to overshare their nauseating feelings of affection with me. Of course, secretly, I enjoyed it, but my reputation had to be upheld or all Hell would break loose. Literally.
“I am,” Astrid replied with a laugh. “Is it working?”
“It is,” I said flatly, putting a bit more distance between us. It would end badly if Astrid tried to hug me. Even I knew it would be incredibly rude to remove a body part while blackmailing my niece into throwing me a party. “Just be ready for the soiree at the beginning of April. I expect it to be a party that will make everyone forget Christmas exists. And since my restraining order is still in place, you will speak with Steve Perry about performing at the event.”
“No can do,” Astrid said, shaking her head. “You kidnapped him. There is no way he’s gonna sing at your womb eviction celebration.”
“For the love of everything illegal,” I shouted. “I did not kidnap the greatest living singer on the planet. The Seven Deadly Sins kidnapped him as my Christmas gift. It was the nicest thing those out of control wenches ever did for me.”