Fashionably Flawed

by Robyn Peterman

And on that cryptic and quite amusing note, they disappeared.

  More trouble than I bargained for? My mother may have thought she’d put fear in me but she’d done the exact opposite. I lived for trouble.

  With an evil little smile of anticipation, I clapped my hands and repaired enough of my office so it was usable. My staff would take care of the rest later. Unfortunately for them, they were well used to my mother’s visits.

  All sorts of trouble was brewing.

  It was turning into very fine day.

  Chapter Three

  “Repeat,” I demanded, pressing the bridge of my nose while holding my temper—and laughter—with effort.

  “I’m going by Dino now, my liege,” the formerly named Skuolonu explained as he bowed deeply before me.

  Three of my finest Demon warriors stood in front of the desk in my still slightly demolished office to apprise me of a disturbance on Earth. I stared at them silently as each lowered his eyes in deference to me—or more likely fear. I tried so hard to let them find themselves creatively. Happy Demons—a relative term—were more productive Demons. However, this changing names game was going to grind my nerves quickly.

  But then again, when one lived for thousands of years, it was difficult to begrudge them some amusement. I was fortunate. I went by many names—Lucifer, Satan, Beelzebub, Prince of Darkness, Divine Asshole, Uncle Fucker…

  Sighing, I leaned back in my chair and eyed the deadly idiots. “And the rest of you? Have you changed your names as well?”

  “Yes, your excellency,” the one I’d forever known as Bealsahm informed me in his harsh voice that I’d always found strangely calming. “I’d like to be called Darby.”

  “Seriously?” I asked. Who in the Hell would choose Darby?

  He nodded as Gamunoch stepped forward. “And I now answer to Dagwood.”

  “And is there a reason you’re all choosing D names?” I inquired expecting them to tell me they were pulling my leg.

  “Coincidence,” Darby said without a trace of humor in his tone.

  They were clearly not pulling my leg. For such stoic and vicious killers, they’d certainly chosen some appallingly wimpy names.

  “Coincidence?” I repeated slowly, still searching for the joke.

  “Absolutely,” Dino confirmed. “We thought the names had a nice ring with Demon tagged onto the end… as a surname, since we don’t actually have one… as you know.”

  “Also far easier to pronounce than our old names, therefore easier to get laid,” Dagwood added with a thumbs up.

  The correlation escaped me and there was no joke to be found. Squinting my eyes at them, I wondered if I’d chosen the correct right hand men. They were never going to get laid or instill fear with names like that. They were much better off with their former names. Far be it from me to point that out. The names were ridiculous—Dino Demon, Dagwood Demon and Darby Demon. Of course they were handsome men—all Demons were beautiful in their human form. It made it far easier to get away with all sorts of unsavory things if one was pretty.

  The Demons from nightmares existed as well and it was part of my job to control them. Living forever did things to the mind and spirit. Eventually, most of my kind went bad—another relative term—at some point. The otherworldly beauty faded quickly once a Demon descended too far into the darkness. Sadly, destroying them had become easy over the years. I had very little feeling about it at all.

  “What do you think?” Darby inquired as his eyes went red with excitement.

  “Of what?” I asked, not following.

  “Our names,” Dino supplied as excited as the others.

  “I think that I shall reserve my opinion for the time being. However, did any of you consider the name Dick? Seems to me that one gets straight to the point if getting laid is the reasoning behind this strange new hobby,” I replied, not wanting to break their alarmingly strange creative leanings.

  Nodding collectively they gave each other dirty looks.

  “We all wanted Dick,” Darby hissed, glaring at Dino. “We fought for it.”

  Oh there were so many ways to reply to that one…

  “But since Darby lost his leg, right arm and left hand in that minor altercation, we decided none of us could be Dick,” Dagwood, ever the peacemaker, volunteered with a wide grin. “Even though Dino is a dick.”

  “At least I have a dick,” Dino snarled and went at Dagwood with his fangs bared.

  “Enough,” Darby bellowed and tackled both his fellow Demons to the ground while brandishing an impressively large dagger. “We all have dicks. No one is a dick. And no one can have the name Dick. Am I clear? Cause if I’m not, I’d be happy to remove both of your dicks, you stupid Dicks.”

  “How about this?” I suggested sarcastically. “Why don’t each of you take the middle name Dick? Darby Dick Demon. Dagwood Dick Demon. Dino Dick Demon. And then you can all be dicks.”

  They were silent as they pondered my proposal. Of course they were supposed to laugh, since it had been a fucking joke, but I always seemed to forget how literal most of my Demons were.

  “I was kidding, boys,” I said with an eye roll and a put upon sigh.

  “I don’t know,” Darby said thoughtfully. “I kind of like it. The monogram would be outstanding.”

  “Sounds kind of gay—you know like we’re dick Demons,” Dino pointed out.

  “But I am gay,” Darby reminded him.

  “I’ll pop anything so it doesn’t bother me,” Dagwood announced.

  “Settled,” Darby grunted with delight. “Henceforth, we shall be known as the triple D’s. The Devil’s Dick Demons.”

  I was almost rendered mute by this bizarre exchange. The conversation had definitely taken a woefully wrong turn somewhere. Unsure how I would be able to address my deadliest Dick Demons with a straight face, I simply shrugged and gave up. As long as they obeyed me without question, their names were of little consequence.

  “All right then, umm… Darby. Report on the disturbance.”

  “Can you use my full name, sire?” he inquired.

  “No. No I can’t,” I replied as my fingers began to shoot red jagged sparks. “It’s taking all I have to address you as Darby.”

  “Roger that, my liege.”

  Darby, Dagwood and Dino eyed each other cautiously. After an entertaining and frantic moment of silent communication, the most vicious of the three stepped forward. I believe it was Dagwood… or Dino… or Dick. Whatever.

  “There’s a woman selling souls on Earth,” he began.

  “Well, that’s certainly a big fucking no-no. Is she a Demon?” I inquired.

  Full-blooded Demons were permitted to roam the Earth. Keeping an eye on them was trying at times, but we needed chaos to survive and the humans were full of it. I wanted to get to the bottom of this soul seller quickly. I couldn’t shake the unsettling looming darkness that was beginning to consume me.

  “Umm… no. We’re not exactly sure what she is. However, her rack is truly outstanding,” Darby said, joining his comrade.

  “You like dick,” Dino snapped. “What do you know about racks?”

  “I know a good rack when I see one, dick face,” Darby shot back with a vicious right jab to Dino’s jaw.

  It was an outstanding punch and the blood sprayed everywhere. However, I didn’t have the time to enjoy a fistfight. I had things to do.

  Expelling a long sigh, I placed my hands on my desk in full view of my men. This was a sign that I was doing my best not to smite them where they stood. Half answers, vague hints, the name Dick, and arguing about the quality of racks of soul sellers displeased me. Greatly.

  “How old are you?” I asked Darby in the most polite tone I could muster.

  “Five thousand,” he replied uneasily, keeping his eyes glued to my hands.

  “And you?” I inquired of Dagwood.

  “Eight thousand and twelve.”

  “And you, Dino?” I questioned with a raised brow that made all three of them back away.


  Astrid was gravely mistaken. My eyebrow move still worked beautifully.

  “Seven thousand five hundred,” Dino whispered.

  “Interesting. So explain to me how three Demons with over twenty thousand years of debauchery between them can’t tell the species of a woman selling souls?” I bellowed. “I don’t pay you to be indecisive. I pay you to know what the Hell you’re doing.”

  The bravest or the stupidest of the three went to his knees and raised his eyes to mine. “We’ve never seen anything like her before. We sent twenty of our best to access the situation and end it, but they came back broken men. They’re all in a coma-like states and have been quarantined to the infirmary in Purgatory.”

  “Why Purgatory?” I questioned their judgment.

  “If they wake up violent, it’s so damned beige and boring there we figured it would lull them back to sleep. That shitty elevator music alone is enough to put most into a coma,” Dino explained the odd course of action.

  “While that was somewhat thought out, I want them put in the Sub-Basement and confined. If they wake up sexually aroused—as Demons are wont to do after battle—that could cause problems in Purgatory. I have no time to deal with that right now. God has as much jurisdiction over Purgatory as I do and a surprise orgy is not something I see going over well,” I instructed with an evil little grin and a shrug.

  Hell was divided into levels. Not Dante’s version of levels, of course—my version. That arrogant bastard was unhappily surprised he hadn’t gotten it right. Such a stupid man. He thought he could best me and lost his soul. Too bad, so sad.

  Purgatory was Purgatory—bland, beige and boring. I hardly ever visited.

  The Basement was one of my favorites. The lowest level had crude stone walls and uneven rock floors illuminated by enormous iron torches. The odor was exactly what most would think Hell would smell like—absolutely putrid. The Basement housed the worst of the worst souls and there was no way out. A huge wall of gorgeous fire and lava blasted out of a crevasse in the floor that was ten feet wide and spanned the entirety of the area which was the length of approximately fifty football fields. The Soul Lights of those damned to Hell darted in and out of the flames screaming in agony and paying for sins so vile they even gave me pause.

  The Sub-Basement was for lesser evil souls. There was an exquisite inferno there as well, but not quite as hot. The unlucky bastards that resided there weren’t quite wicked enough for the Basement, but not quite good enough for Purgatory.

  The Rehab room was a place I liked to ignore. I was forced into providing an area where souls had the choice to do penance so they could one day leave Hell and ascend to Purgatory… then possibly to Heaven. It was a rare occurrence for this to happen, but on the unlikely occasion it did, my brother gloated and sent flowers. To be fair, I sent him poison ivy every time an Angel fell.

  However, the loveliest part of Hell was the Main Floor. The Main Floor was as big as the continental United States but far more beautiful. The Dark Palace was in the northeast corner in an area about the size of Washington DC—green and lush with more exotic plants and flowers than Earth twenty times over. All of my Demons lived on the Main Floor and I kept track of every single one.

  One didn’t become a Demon. One was born a Demon and one would die a Demon. There was no way around our fate. It was also a misnomer to label a Demon as evil. We were by no stretch of the imagination good, but we didn’t cause evil even though we thrived on it. God created free will. Man was inherently naughty—and could be very, very bad. This was very, very good for my people and kept me in business.

  “This woman, did she try to kill our men?” I asked, far more interested now than I was moments ago. Any woman who could best twenty of my Demons was a woman I wanted to know.

  “There was no sign of injury other than higher than normal body temperature,” Darby confirmed carefully. “We were able to debrief two before they fell into unconsciousness and they were euphorically happy and very sexually aroused.”

  “So you’re telling me they got laid by a mystery soul seller and are now in a vegetative state? Little far-fetched, Darby,” I said flatly.

  Darby cleared his throat uncomfortably and stepped back with a deep bow.

  “No sign of sexual intercourse,” Dagwood said with a confused shrug. “If I were to guess, I’d have to say we have a rogue Siren on our hands.”

  Now my interest was piqued. It was a possibility, but a very slim one. Sirens had been extinct for thousands of years. I would have known if any were left.

  “Not likely,” I said, standing up and rounding my desk. “Where was this woman last seen?”

  “Earth,” Dino volunteered.

  “A little more specific would be helpful,” I said, again pressing the bridge of my nose. “Earth is large. Do you feel me, Dino?”

  “Sorry sire,” Dino said with a curt nod of embarrassment. “Chicago. She’s posing as a photographer.”

  “What do you mean posing?” I snapped in exasperation. “Does she take pictures?”

  The Demons nodded.

  “Does she have a studio? A fucking camera?”

  Again they nodded. I really needed to find better help.

  “And does this dangerous woman have a name?”

  “Adrielle Rinoa—goes by Elle.”

  “Never heard of her,” I mused aloud. “And we’re quite positive she’s not a Demon?”

  “Quite,” Dagwood replied. “Shall we send another unit after her?”

  “No. We shall not,” I said, speaking as I formed a plan in my head. “Does anyone know where Fate is residing at the moment?”

  All three Demons shuddered at the mention of Fate. I shuddered as well, but internally. Never good to show your army any fear—or hatred. It weakened authority. Going to Fate was a calculated risk, but she owed me. The bitch would owe me till the end of time. I knew it and she knew it. I’d very rarely called in favors from her over the centuries. Her price was usually too steep, but time was of the essence. This Elle woman needed to be taken care of and then I needed to find the source of the darkness that was haunting me.

  “Vegas. Fate’s in Vegas,” Dino informed me.

  “Of course she is,” I replied with an eye roll. “At one of my casinos?”

  Since I owned most of them—albeit as a silent partner—there was a fine chance she was in one of my establishments. That would work to my advantage as I could watch what the Hell she was up to over the video feed before I cornered her.

  “No, my Prince. She’s at the Royal Castleton Northeast.”

  “Never heard of it. Is it near the Bellagio?”

  “Not exactly,” Dino said with a chuckle.

  “No matter. Order one of my limos up and have it ready in an hour. We’ll transport to Vegas but then we’ll move around like the humans do—less conspicuous. You three will come with me, but get several units in Hell ready to go. Once I find this Elle woman, I might need a hand with something else.”

  “May I be so bold as to ask you what you’re referring to?” Dagwood asked.

  The question was legitimate. It was protocol to know what we were sending our Demons into. However, I had no idea what was brewing. All I knew was that it was dark and it had the ability to consume me. And if something happened to me, the end of the world was quite near.

  “You may,” I replied slowly. The truth was I had no damned clue, but that simply wouldn’t do. “You’ll know when you need to.”

  “Very well, my liege,” Dagwood said with a respectful nod. “We will alert the troops regardless. They will be available at your command.”

  “Get yourselves ready boys,” I said dryly. “We’re going to Vegas to see what fate has in store.”

  The play on words amused me, but the reality of meeting with someone I despised turned my stomach. So be it. Fate could be kind occasionally. However, occasionally rarely happened when I was involved.

  Chapter Four

  “Mmmkay, so correct me if I�
�m wrong,” Astrid growled as she shoved Dino to the side, crawled over him and got up in my face. “Not only have I been writing your eye bleeding and gas inducing autobiography for the past month, which has really screwed with my sex life by the way. It’s seriously hard to be horny when burned into my brain are images of The Prince of Darkness himself, humping toothless, blind, albino, banshee witches. You feel me, Uncle Fucker? And now I’m sitting in a white stretch Hummer outside of a skeevy casino in Vegas with the Devil and three Demons who have identical middle names glorifying their skin flutes. And it’s three o’fucking clock in the morning.”

  “It’s Dick, not skin flute,” Darby offered weakly from the driver’s seat.

  Practically every Demon in Hell was terrified of my profane and insanely powerful niece—emphasis on the insane part. And if I were being honest—which was never —I’d have to admit the wild child even unnerved me at times. I was counting on Astrid throwing Fate off her nefarious game.

  “That’s what I said, Dick,” Astrid snapped at Darby.

  “Umm… actually,” Dagwood corrected her in a whisper. “You said skin flute.”

  “My bad,” Astrid said as her hands and arms began to spark ominously. “I meant pork sword—teeny tiny eeny weeny pork sword. Better?”

  Silence ensued. Hell on fire, Astrid was a delight.

  “They weren’t toothless,” I said with a grin.

  “Who wasn’t toothless, for the love of Cousin Jesus in a thong,” Astrid shouted so loudly I was certain the entire Strip could hear her.

  “The banshee witches. They all had full sets of teeth. I would never bed someone missing their pearly whites.”

  “Well, that’s certainly a fucking relief. The image is so much less offensive now,” she said in a tone dripping with so much sarcasm I almost applauded. “So this shit had better be good. I was freakin’ sleeping next to the love of my undead life and then I was all of a sudden I was here. Spill it, Uncle Fucker, or I’m gone.”

  “I need a favor,” I said easily.

  “And what do I get in return?” Astrid shot back with narrowed eyes and the beginnings of a devious little smile pulling at her lips.