Hell On Heels

by peterman, robyn

“I don’t know. What do you think?” I felt my eyes go red with excitement.

  “I think we should look at this!” She whipped out a color chart and squealed.

  Blanche cleared her throat to get my attention and mimed shaving her face. Damn her, I was almost able to pretend that Janet was normal. Then Blanche had to go and ruin it by reminding me that Janet had more fake hair on her face than I had on my entire body. Well, screw her. Janet was my friend—she couldn’t help that she was a hairy destructive mess.

  While Janet and I bonded over paint colors, Carl and Myrtle got into three rather violent fights.

  “Carl.” I stopped him as he went to replace my window. “Why do you two hang out if you're just going to keep trying to kill each other?”

  Carl paused, contemplated, flipped me off and then started break dancing. I was beginning to think he was brain damaged.

  “Oh, for goodness sakes,” Janet piped up. Her mannerisms were so dainty for such a hairy gal. “Carl is a little. . .well, he’s just Carl. He’s a wonderful Demon, just not a good conversationalist.” She paused and waited for Carl to finish with his splits. That was how he ended all of his routines. As he wandered out of earshot Janet continued.

  “Actually,” she went on, "he’s very smart and kind. He smells good and he’s champion in the bedroom.”

  “Oh, Good Lucifer Almighty, no!” Blanche screamed as she slapped her hands over her ears. “That’s disgusting.” I was so glad that Janet couldn’t see or hear my non-corporeal imaginary friend, but I had to concur. Blanche vanished in a huff of disgust.

  “Oookay, Janet,” I said, deciding to use this as a teachable moment for my hairy buddy. “That is way too much information. That’s not really an image you want to create for others.”

  “You’re right,” she answered solemnly in her childlike voice. “No one should know that Carl is Superman in the sack. If anybody tried to steal my Carl away I’d tear their limbs off, decapitate them, shove a spike through their heart and burn them for the Hell of it.”

  She stopped for a moment, clearly considering what she just said. She was normally so sweet. I was positive she was going to yell “joking”, but no.

  “Actually I’d rip their limbs off first then burn them because they would be conscious for that and it would hurt.” She seemed pleased with the new order of torture. “Then after they’re dead I would decapitate them and run a spike through their heart to make absolutely sure they could never ever get a piece of Carl’s manmeat. That goes for you too, so don’t go getting any ideas.” She was dead serious.

  I was seriously unsure of why she was in my therapy group. That sounded pretty evil to me. I needed to reconsider the sweet thing. She was making it increasingly difficult to be friends. I could have possibly gotten past the fact that she glued on facial hair but this was a deal breaker. Janet the Fake Bearded Lady had succeeded where many had failed. She had rendered me speechless. Not to mention implanted visions in my head that would take years of therapy to erase. I really tried to speak, but my voice was gone.

  Janet giggled and braided the left side of her mustache. “I think mustard yellow paint would be lovely in your den.”

  I nodded, still in shock.

  “How about a mossy green in the bathroom, a candlelight yellow in the kitchen, and a warm peach in your bedroom?”

  I nodded again. She could have said she was going to paint my entire house crap-brown or lime green and I would have nodded.

  “Great!” She hopped up and hugged me, tickling my neck with her beard. It was not soft and silky. “It was soooo much fun talking to you. I’m going to go mix some paint, and if Carl’s in the van. . .” She giggled. “Well, you know.”

  Oh Holy Lucifer, unfortunately I did know. I watched in abject terror as Carl did lewd hip-hop moves all the way over to the van—followed by Janet, seductively twisting her gnarly beard with her stubby fingers.

  “Carl’s really got moves,” a wistful voice behind me said.

  I whipped around to find Myrtle watching Carl longingly as he and Janet raced to the van for their love fest.

  “Myrtle, if I were you I’d stay away from Carl,” I said as I tried to save her from a sure death.

  “Oh I know—Janet’s already beaten up twenty-two low level Demons and a zombie over Carl.”

  “I heard she would mutilate and kill anyone who even looked at Carl,” I casually informed Myrtle, fearing for her life. It was difficult to kill a Demon, but Janet’s recipe would definitely work.

  Myrtle laughed. “She wouldn’t really kill anyone—she’s too sweet for that. Plus, I don’t want Carl that way. I want to dance like he does.”

  Weird didn’t even begin to describe that statement so I backtracked to something even weirder. “Did you just say zombie?”

  “Yeah,” Myrtle said, “and you think we’re disgusting and gross.”

  "I don't think you're disgusting or gross."

  Myrtle peeked out from behind her hair and stared at me. She took a long pause and simply said, “Maybe you don't, but everyone else does. We’re the freak Demons—we’re not beautiful like the rest of you.” With that she picked up a hammer, stepped on instead of over Wolf Boy, and went back into my house.

  Carl, Janet and Myrtle weren’t freaks, they were just alarming looking semi-violent Demons who had the same problems that I did. Well, some of the same problems. My father would kill me if he found out how much compassion I felt for others, including my violent and bizarre little therapy group. Truth be told, I liked my therapy group and I did fit in with them. Why was life so damn complicated? Myrtle was a person, no matter how stinkin’ weird she was or looked. She had feelings—they all did. I turned just in time to see the van roll over onto its side due to the disgusting and illicit activities within. Well, some of them did.

  Chapter 4

  My commissary disappearing act with my sister Sloth the other day had caused quite the stir. I was going for a low profile today. Being Satan’s daughter made it kind of difficult to blend in, but I tried. It was a little strange when underclassmen bowed to you, insisted on giving you their lunch money and offered to carry you. Not my books. Me. I shoved stuff into my messy locker and swore for the millionth time I’d clean it out.

  “He’s going to the library.” Stella ran up and knocked me into my locker, causing an avalanche of the entire contents to come falling out.

  I glared at her. “Stella, look at what you’ve done.”

  “I did you a favor,” she retorted, grinning from ear to ear. “Now you don’t have to clean it. Did you hear what I said?” she panted, out of breath from her sprint down the hallway and her flying leap into me and my locker.

  “No. I was busy getting nailed in the head by my History of Mortals textbook,” I sarcastically explained as I began to pick up the mess on the floor.

  “I said he’s going to the library,” she repeated impatiently.

  “Who’s going to the library?”

  “Your boyfriend,” she yelled eagerly.

  “Be quiet.” I rolled my eyes. “He’s not my boyfriend. I’ve barely ever talked to him.”

  “That’s about to change.” She yanked me up by the arm and shoved me into the middle of the hallway. “Okay, Dixie,” she screeched at alarming decibels. “You go to the library like you said you were going to. You know, go to the library and. . .um. . .study. Okay? In the library, like you said.”

  Everyone in the hallway stopped what they were doing to watch our exchange. I had never wanted to die so much in my entire life. And every bone in my body sensed that Hayden Black was standing right behind me.

  “So you’re going to the library, Dixie?” Hayden chuckled, circling me until his entire beautiful self was standing in front of me.

  “Um. . .well,” I started, flustered and mortified.

  “Yes,” Stella shouted. “Dixie is definitely going to the library. She just said ‘Stella I’m going to study in the library’. That’s exactly what she just said. Just now.
”

  We had entered the realm of shitty sitcom. “Stella,” I hissed through clenched teeth.

  “Yes?”

  “You can stop shouting now.”

  “Oh, right.” She laughed, clearly unashamed of her appalling behavior. “My bad.”

  “Well, it just so happens I’m going to the library too.” He winked conspiratorially at Stella. “Can I walk with you?”

  He turned his green gaze on me and waited for my answer. The speech part of my brain ceased to function. All I could do was stare at him like an idiot.

  “Yes,” Stella chimed in and gave me a push. “She’d love to walk with you and maybe even sit at the same table, regain her power of speech and exchange a few words.”

  Stella was evil. I gave her a look that would have scared most Demons to death. I was Satan’s daughter after all. She just stuck her tongue out at me and giggled. She was going to pay later.

  “Shall we?” Hayden asked.

  “Um. . .sure,” I stammered and started walking toward the library.

  “Dixie.” Hayden’s silky voice stopped me.

  “Yes?”

  “Do you want to bring some work with you?” His eyes twinkled.

  I looked down at my empty hands and for the second time in a matter of minutes I wished I was dead. “Yes,” I replied in a very businesslike manner. I made my way back to my locker, squatted down and picked up the first two things my fingers touched. “Okay.” I smiled, having no idea what was in my hands. “I’m ready.”

  “Great.” He grinned. “I was born ready.”

  ***

  Sitting across from each other in the Demon Magic section of the library, I stared at my fingernails while Hayden stared at me.

  “Dixie,” he said softly. “Look at me.”

  “I can’t.” I continued my love affair with my fingernails. “I get stupid when I look at you.”

  “I find that extremely flattering and very sexy,” he said.

  My eyes shot to his and my stomach dropped to my toes. “No, you don’t.”

  “I do.” He captured my chin in his hands and forced my gaze to stay on his. “It’s not every day that the most gorgeous girl I’ve ever seen in my life gets all flustered around someone like me.”

  “Are you kidding me?” I gasped. “Someone like you? You're the most. . .” I slapped my hand over my mouth before I permanently destroyed any vestige of cool I might own by telling him I loved him and that I had memorized every single thing he’d worn to class—down to sock color—for the last three semesters.

  “I’m the most what?” he asked quietly.

  Change the subject, change the subject. “So why don’t you have a girlfriend?” Help me Cousin Jesus, did I just say that?

  His grin was lopsided and the hottest thing I’d ever seen. “Haven’t found the right girl yet.”

  “Oh.” I was usually more eloquent.

  “I’m working on changing my status.” He let go of my chin and took my hands in his. I felt a tingle run through my fingers and all the way up my arms. Not only was I physically attracted to this guy, apparently I was chemically attracted too. “Do you have a boyfriend?”

  “No.” I was caught in his web and couldn’t get away if my life depended on it. “I’m working on changing my status too,” I whispered. Was I flirting? Oh my Hell, I was. My sisters would be so proud.

  His eyes flashed red with desire and his smile broadened in approval. “Am I in the competition?”

  “Do you want to be?” I lowered my eyes and watched his thumb caress my knuckles. His hands were beautiful and strong, slightly calloused and very gentle.

  “More than you’ll ever know,” he replied with such seriousness my eyes shot back up to his and my insides did a triple lutz.

  Whoa Betty, I needed to slow down or I was going to tackle him to the ground and see if his lips were as soft and tasted as good as they looked. My entire body thumped like a heartbeat and the need to lean into him was overwhelming. I disengaged my hands from his and tried to regain some composure. His smirk made me think he could read every thought in my head.

  “I’d like to take you to dinner,” he said, watching me closely.

  Stella was going to freak. “But you don’t even know me.” I really wished the idiotic dumbass in my brain would stop talking.

  “We could remedy that,” Hayden leaned in.

  Hades, he smelled yummy.

  “How?”

  “Well. . .” He took my hands again. "We could ask each other questions.”

  Damn, I was hoping he would say we could play tonsil hockey.

  “What’s your favorite color?” he asked, drawing me back in.

  “Green,” I quickly replied. The heat crawled up my neck as I realized I’d chosen the color of his eyes.

  “Why’s that?” He tilted his head, very aware of my reasoning. I couldn’t speak. “Mine is gold,” he offered. His emerald green eyes bored into my gold.

  “Is it hot in here?” I gasped as I pulled my hands back and put them in my lap.

  “Nope.” He grinned, quite pleased with himself. “Tell me what you like.”

  “Well. . .” I needed some noncombustible territory here. I wasn't about to tell him I liked the way he filled out his jeans or that his mouth was beautiful and the way his muscular arms looked in his long sleeve t-shirt was making me weak. Nope, not going there. I decided to tell him about the real me. Which would probably end with him walking away in boredom, but. . . “I like animals, especially strays. I love to run. I adore my family and I read constantly.” I knew my tone was defensive, but I couldn’t help it. I waited for him to glaze over and fall asleep.

  “I love to read,” he offered quietly.

  “You do?” I was surprised.

  “Does that shock you?”

  “Well. . .” I bit my lip in embarrassment. Hot guys could read too.

  “Is it because I skip school, wear ripped jeans and go cliff diving that you think I’m illiterate?”

  “That’s not what I meant,” I sputtered. My cheeks burned. How many times could a person want to die in one afternoon?

  “Dixie, I’m teasing you,” he said gently.

  “Oh. . .okay.” He had to think I was such a dumbass.

  “I think you’re amazing and beautiful and sweet.” He walked around the table and sat right next to me. “I love to read. I collect first edition books. I have some that are thousands of years old.”

  That piqued my interest. “Like what?” I adored old books. My father’s den was loaded with them. I’d spent a great amount of my childhood curled up in his den reading till my head spun.

  “I have an original bound copy of The Beginning of Time.”

  “Holy Hell, I didn’t know that even existed.”

  “It does. I’d love to show it to you if you’d like.”

  “I’d like.” I smiled. “What’s your biggest fear?” I asked. Now that the door was open, I wanted to know a few things about him. He might be hot, but maybe I wouldn't like him. Maybe he was a jerk. . .

  “My biggest fear,” Hayden repeated as he ran his hands through his thick blond hair. “My biggest fear is being alone through all eternity.”

  Damn, that was deep. I was going to say spiders.

  “What’s something you dream about doing?” He changed the subject to something far lighter.

  I took a long pause while I considered my answer. The first thing that came to my mind was silly, but if he could be that honest, so could I. “Flying,” I answered shyly. I knew Demons couldn’t fly, but that’s what I dreamed of. “I’ve always wanted to be able to fly. Sometimes when I run and I feel the wind race around me and through me and in me I pretend I’m flying.”

  He was quiet for a moment, just watching. “Perfect,” he murmured softly. “Please, Dixie, let me take you to dinner tonight. I promise I’m a good guy and I like you a lot.”

  “Hayden, do you know who my father is?” I assumed he did, but maybe not.

&nbs
p; “Yes Dixie, I absolutely know who your father is.”

  “And that doesn’t. . .um, bother you?”

  “No, should it?”

  Was he crazy? Everyone was terrified of my dad. Wait. . .Didn't Satan tell me to start being promiscuous? Something I had no intention of doing, but a date. . .I could go on a date. I wanted to go on a date. I’d never ever been on a date. No one had been brave enough to ask me. I wanted to go on a date with Hayden, and against all odds he wanted to go on a date with me.

  “I’d love to go to dinner with you,” I blurted a little louder than I intended. I wanted to nail down my acceptance before he changed his mind.

  “I’ll pick you up at seven.” He looked so happy I started to giggle.

  “What should I wear?” I asked as my mind raced through my closet.

  He got up, gathered his books and whispered in my ear. “Flying clothes. Wear your flying clothes, Dixie.”

  Chapter 5

  “I’m afraid to ask, but what in the Hell happened to your house?” Stella wrinkled her nose and put her hands on her slim hips.

  We both looked around my bungalow in dismay. Only days ago it resembled a chic yet cozy high-end home of someone with excellent taste. Now it looked like a house decorated by someone on crack who’d gone to a yard sale.

  I shook my head and grimaced. “I didn’t realize how bad it was.”

  It was so bad it was almost funny. Almost. It would have been hilarious if I didn’t have to live in it.

  “It’s pretty damn awful.”

  “It’s a long story, but suffice it to say group therapy got a little violent,” I said.

  “How does that explain the butt-ugly furniture?” She sat on my scary new lavender and green tartan plaid couch and bounced up and down. “Hmm, it’s appalling, but at least it’s comfortable.” She moved to the floral chair.

  “Myrtle beat the crap out of the therapist over Simon Cowell's man boobs and then all Hell broke loose. They destroyed my house and everything in it, so they brought me new supplies. I hesitate to call it furniture.” I piled six outfits on my brand spankin’ new blonde pressboard dining room table. Stella was here to choose an ensemble for my date.