Hell On Heels

by peterman, robyn

  “Why did it happen?” I still maintained a death grip on my bed.

  “Your magic came in, and it’s just a guess, but did you get angry?” she asked.

  “She told me she’d fry my ass and she’s pissed at Satan,” Janet trilled gleefully.

  "And the told me the'd rip a map of Hell into my chetht hair," Carl added with pride.

  “Ewwwwww. Well, there you go,” Myrtle told me as she hopped off my bed and headed for my door.

  “Wait just one minute, little secret keeper,” I shouted. “How do I control this?”

  “First of all, it's Keeper of Secrets, and if you wanna know what to do read the book.” She raised her eyebrows at me.

  “What book?” What the Hell was she talking about?

  “The silver one your grandpa gave you,” she replied, grinning evilly.

  “The one with the heartbeat?” I moaned and hoped I was wrong.

  “The one and only.”

  “It freaks me out that an inanimate object has a heart beat."

  “How do you know it’s inanimate?” she challenged. Myrtle pulled the silver tome with the bizarre heartbeat out of my suitcase and tossed it onto my bed. “Start reading." With that my bizzaro little family left me alone in my room with the leather bound freak show.

  “Great,” I muttered as I gingerly picked up the book and quite possibly my fate. “Just freakin’ great.”

  Chapter 16

  “You have got to be kidding me,” I shouted as I shook my head in disgust and looked at the blank pages of my little silver book with the pulse. “What kind of joke is this?” I muttered as I tossed the empty book on my bed.

  Either Grandpa was screwing with my head and playing a really mean prank or the book was alive and very unhappy with me. It was so angry it deleted itself. If I was a gambling gal, I’d lay my money on the book being pissed. It sensed my ambivalence.

  I took a deep breath and glanced around to make sure no one was here. “Um, book. . .bookie, friend. Sorry for, you know, not believing.” I rolled my eyes at how ridiculous I sounded and ran my hand gently over the cover, trying to reassure the little book of my change of heart. It purred.

  “Holy shit.” I quickly yanked my hand away and it growled. This was so not happening. I’d had a little too much crazy lately. I didn’t have the patience or the time for some pissed off pile of paper. “You know what?” I glared at the book. “I don’t need you. I’m going to find a portal and go to Hell. Some other idiot can come up here and kill the psycho Rogue Demons and find the dumbass Balance of Chaos.” I had no use for a two-ounce instruction manual with a bad attitude.

  “And you know what else?” I was on a roll. “You can take this Black Magic crap and shove it up your ass or. . .pages. I don't ever want to get stuck on a ceiling with sparkler fingers and hellacious hair again.” I gave the book a hostile stare and turned my back on it.

  What in the Hell was I doing? I was yelling at a book. I was stuck in a foreign world, yelling at a growling book. I was utterly alone in a strange, albeit pretty, new land and I’d become a gravity-deprived freaky electrical conduit. This sucked.

  I stomped over to my window and laid my hot forehead against the cool pane. The picturesque landscape calmed my frayed nerves. Dad was right. Eden, Kentucky was gorgeous—rolling hills, graceful weeping willows, and white horse rail fencing as far as my eyes could see. Thoroughbred horses dotted the lush green fields and ponds glistened in the late day sun. It looked like paradise. Bizarrely enough, it felt vaguely familiar to me. I’d never been anywhere but Hell as far as I could remember but Eden, Kentucky made me feel safe and happy.

  Maybe I’d stay a week or two, but first I needed to make nice with my book.

  I slowly peeled myself away from the serene landscape and turned to embrace my destiny. It was gone.

  “Damn it to Hell,” I screeched as I sprinted to my bed and felt around for the book. “Oh no, no, no,” I muttered, frantically looking under the pillows and behind the headboard. “I didn’t know the stinkin’ thing had legs.”

  I searched under my bed. Nothing. I ran over to my closet and tore through my clothes. Nothing. Could the stupid book fly?

  “Where are you?” I yelled.

  Nothing.

  “Okay.” I was going to have to eat it. “I’m really sorry. I treated you like an ordinary book and that wasn’t very—well, you know, um—nice of me. So, ahhh. . .” Was this actually happening? “Clearly you’re special. I’ve just never been acquainted with a living book, so I was a big gaping butt.”

  I heard something giggle. I quickly scanned the room. I couldn’t gauge where the sound came from, but it seemed to enjoy my verbal self-abuse.

  “That’s right, I was a total loser jackass jerk-ass.” The giggle got louder. I still couldn’t locate its origin so I continued. “I am a colossal raging asshat assmonkey and I beg your forgiveness.” Now I was giggling and the book started laughing.

  Something changed—quickly and violently. An invisible pressure pushed me down on my bed. My room got hazy and blurry. The magic in the air was thick and it was getting harder and harder to breathe. I should have been terrified but I wasn’t. I was excited. Clearly I’d lost it. My inner Demon was emerging more and more every day.

  The book materialized and began to spin. The faster it spun, the bigger it got. A cascade of silver liquid flew from the pages and sprayed my room, making everything glow. I looked down at my t-shirt and jeans and gasped. They were covered in millions of teeny tiny lights—and I thought I was electric before. . .

  The force from the magic in the room held me immobile. I could feel my heart beat in my throat and although I couldn’t move, my body trembled. I was both hot and cold. It was difficult to focus, but I knew something important was about to happen. Whether I survived it or not, remained to be seen.

  The book’s binding shredded itself with a high-pitched squeal and pages flew everywhere. The liquid changed into a fine silver dust and began to swirl like the funnel of a tornado. A woman’s arm popped out of the funnel. I screamed. Then another arm. Then a foot. Then it laughed. The laugh sounded familiar. . .

  The pages danced violently around my room, obscuring my view of the morphing glitter-dust funnel. Being Lucifer's daughter, I’d seen a lot of hoo-doo, but this was nuts.

  “Who are you?” I called out. There was no way in Hades the magic tornado could hear me. The wind from the flying pages alone was deafening. I’d just have to wait it out.

  As quickly as it started, it ended. My room was eerily quiet, and as far as I could tell I was still alive. I sat up slowly, halfway expecting to see body parts and book pages strewn around the room. But no. I could never have imagined what I saw. It made no sense and at the same time it made all the sense in the world.

  “Dixie,” she said as she waited for my reaction. She looked exactly the same except her skin was silver.

  “Blanche?” I whispered. “Who are you?”

  “Not who,” she whispered back. “The question should be what am I?”

  “Okay, I’ll bite.” I wasn’t sure I wanted the answer, but she looked pretty determined to tell me. “What the Hell are you?”

  “I am what I have always been,” she replied.

  “And that would be?” Enough with the cryptic bullshit.

  “What do you think I am?” she asked.

  “I thought you were my imaginary friend, but now I’m not so sure.”

  “Oh, I’m still your friend.” She walked toward me and I backed away. Hurt flashed in her eyes, but she quickly recovered. “Don’t be afraid.”

  “Okay.” I was still uneasy. It wasn’t every day you found out your invisible friend was possibly a book, had silver skin and moonlighted as a tornado. “Are you a book or a person?”

  “Neither.”

  She was beautiful in an alarmingly spooky way. We still looked alike, aside from her ice blue eyes and her silver skin, but she was slightly transparent. I couldn’t see completely throug
h her but I saw shadows. I wondered if her skin was going to stay silver.

  “Yes, it will.” She was very matter of fact.

  “What will?”

  “My skin will stay silver.” She sighed wearily. “It’s my natural color.”

  Holy crap, did I say that out loud? I’d swear I just thought it. I was truly going crazy now.

  “You’re not crazy.”

  “You’re inside my head,” I accused her as I slid off my bed to put some more distance between us. Did I even know her? I began to pace. I always thought more clearly when I moved.

  “Of course I’m inside your head,” Blanche laughed. “I’ve always been inside your head.”

  “Do you even exist?” I yelled. Confused didn’t even begin to define how I felt. “Are you me?” I whispered.

  “You’re getting warmer.” She was excited. “Guess again.”

  “I’m schizophrenic and you’re a weird violent weather pattern?” I moaned as I ran my hands through my hair and continued to move restlessly around my room. I was feeling the need to burst out of my skin.

  “Cold.” She laid down on my bed and rolled her eyes at my stupidity.

  “How about a little help here,” I snapped.

  “I’m not allowed to.” She hesitated, torn by the desire to reveal what she was. She stayed quiet and pouted. She was unhappy with the rules of the game.

  “Let me get this straight. . .You’re inside my head. You’re a what, not a who and I have to guess because it’s against the rules for you to tell me.”

  “You got it.”

  “What will happen if you tell me?” I mean, how bad could it be? Surely no one would know.

  “We’d both turn to dust,” she replied.

  That was bad.

  “Look, if there was any way I could tell you I would. I don’t like these rules either, but I have no desire to test them to see if they’re accurate,” she huffed.

  “This sucks,” I said as I sat down next to her. I was no longer afraid. “Can anybody else see you?”

  “Nope.”

  “How come Stella could see you?”

  “I’m not sure.” Blanche was thoughtful. “Maybe because she loves you so much and knows you so well. Or maybe because she’s young and not yet jaded.”

  We sat in silence. I stared at the ceiling and let my mind go blank. Blanche took my hand in hers. Light currents of power traveled from her hand to mine. It was strangely comforting. We lay quietly for a few more minutes. I began to try to piece the puzzle together.

  The book was here to guide me—to teach me how to control my Black Magic, or so I thought. Blanche said I was getting warm when I asked her if she was me. She could read my thoughts as if they were hers. She was not a who, she was a what. That one threw me a little. She’d always been with me, but did I create her or did someone else put her in my life? She had always believed in me and given me the strength to make decisions, right or wrong. She never made my decisions for me, nor did she guide me. She was always there for the results. She wasn't my Guardian Angel. Demons didn’t have Angels.

  “Sweet Baby Satan, are you my conscience?” I gasped.

  “You’re so close.” The tension in her body was palpable. I needed to guess correctly before she imploded.

  I sat up and searched her face, and I knew. “You’re my fate.”

  Her smile spread slowly and lit up her entire face. “Bingo.”

  Chapter 17

  “Good morning, sunshine,” Janet sang as she whipped up my window shades, temporarily blinding me.

  "Get out," I grumbled.

  "Why, aren't we a nasty Nellie this morning." She hummed as she poked at me.

  “What time is it?’ I groaned, throwing my pillow at her.

  “Time to get up, sleepyhead!” She got a running start, tore across my room and took a flying leap onto my bed, successfully bouncing me out of my cozy nest and onto the cold hard floor.

  “What in the Hell is wrong with you?” I hissed as I pulled my comforter off the bed and curled into a small ball.

  She leaned her head over the side of my bed and got in my face. “You have fight training with Carl.” She grinned and yanked my comforter off of me.

  “Holy Hades, you suck,” I moaned as I attempted to crawl under my bed just to get away from her and her upside down face. I was still exhausted from the night before with Blanche. We stayed up most of the night talking. As usual, when she decided we were finished she left. She disappeared and gave me no indication as to when I’d see her again. The rest of my sleepless night was consumed reliving the best night of my life with Hayden. Suffice it to say coherent thought escaped me at the moment.

  Janet grabbed my foot and pulled before I could disappear to the relative safety of underneath my bed. Damn her.

  “Carl’s going to teach you some moves, then you’ll practice with Myrtle and me.” She straightened out my bed and muttered, “We’re going to kick your ass.”

  Now she had my attention. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”

  “Carl’s going to teach you some moves.”

  “Uh huh.” I narrowed my eyes at her. “And the other part?”

  “Oh.” Janet smiled sweetly. “I said we’re going to kick your ass.”

  “You’re sure about that?”

  “Yep,” she quipped and felt for her missing beard and stache. Her elation died. She deflated like a popped balloon.

  “Janet.” I could tell she was close to crying. “Is there a chance you could grow them back?”

  “No.” Averting her eyes and trying to hide her tears, she mumbled, “That horrid therapist had the hair removal Demons put a cease and desist spell on my follicles.”

  “That’s, well that’s. . .I don’t even know what that is,” I stuttered and tried to make sense of that one. I pondered why or who would create a spell like that. “I’m really sorry, Janet.”

  I gathered her little body in my arms, the same body that had just evilly bounced me off of my bed, and I hugged her while she cried. Tremors shook her and I held her tighter. I wanted to kick that therapist’s ass. I wouldn’t mind taking a pass at that bitch with a coffee table leg. The more I thought about that smarmy hag, the angrier I got. Yep. I was becoming more Demon with each passing second.

  My hands began to tingle. Oh Hell, I knew what was coming. Small red sparks started to fly from my fingertips. I gently disengaged Janet. I had no desire to light the hair she had left on fire. I took a deep cleansing breath and clapped my hands.

  It stopped.

  Damn if Myrtle wasn’t the smartest girl in the world. I grinned and wiggled my non-flaming fingers.

  “Did you see me?” I blurted. I sounded like a five year old on her birthday, but I didn’t care.

  “You controlled it,” Janet yelled, her hair issues forgotten. “I’m so proud of you.”

  “Me too.” I grinned. “I’m ready to go downstairs and hand you your ass.”

  “You sure?” she challenged gleefully.

  “So sure,” I replied.

  ***

  Being sure does not guarantee success, not by a long shot. Just ask my bruised and aching body. Fight training was ugly and painful. My pride was the only thing that had kept me from giving up. I’d never admit it, but Janet was right. They were kicking my ass. The training room was state of the art. Leave it to the Devil. . .Who in the Hell would have guessed the basement of a graceful Southern manor housed a torture chamber? Oops, I meant a large gym, with every conceivable machine and weapon known to man. There was a large, mat-covered open area for martial arts training and Jazzersize. Carl was addicted. The walls were covered with weapons: swords, daggers, throwing stars, guns, grenades, bombs. . .You name it, we had it.

  There was also an area for knife throwing. I was sure I’d spend many hours there, certainly after I’d nailed Carl in the neck with a nice-sized dagger. Thank Satan we’re immortal. I was aiming at the wall. Carl just pulled it out of his jugular and kept on going, not even com
menting on the unavoidable fact that he was bleeding profusely. I thought for sure I’d killed him. I even threw up a little bit in my mouth I was so upset, but Carl was fine. He wasn’t even mad at me.

  That’s when Carl decided it was time to spar. He wasn’t as sweet as I thought. Pay back for an almost decapitation was a bitch, and that son of a bitch punched as hard as a freight train. If I didn’t have Black Magic I’d be so dead. After the third punch to my head, which probably caused brain damage, I understood why my dad sent Carl up to Earth with me. Carl the Destroyer was an apt name for him.

  “Okay,” Carl explained, sweating up a rather unattractive storm. “When thomebody runth at you to kill you, you have to fight back.”

  “I know, but Janet and Myrtle aren’t really going to kill me,” I patiently explained to Carl for the fifth time. “I don’t want to hurt them.” I referred to the still open knife wound on Carl’s neck. I heard Myrtle snort.

  “You might want to shut your cakehole,” I politely told Myrtle. “Or I’ll shut it for you.”

  “As if,” she snapped.

  Carl thought we should all take a break. I’d like to think it was because he was worried about what I would do to Myrtle, but even I couldn’t live in that dream world. Carl helped me stretch out, which was something I'd never ask him to do again. I was certain my arms had been dislocated and my legs would need amputation. I moaned and tried to kick Carl in the head.

  “You are such a wussy,” Myrtle laughed.

  That was about all I could take. I took my leg back from Carl, shoved him out of my way and gave Myrtle the evil eye. I’d been knocked around and beaten up for over two hours. I could take getting whaled on, but getting laughed at? Not so much.

  “Get your skinny asscrack over here,” I yelled. I mentally ran through all the moves Carl had taught me. I was a quick study and I was strong, but more than that. . .I was pissed. I was sick of getting busted on. I was ready to do some busting of my own.

  A rush of energy and heat blasted through me as I sized up Myrtle. She looked smug and unconcerned. Not smart.