Fashionably Forever After

by Robyn Peterman

  Slamming my hands down on my desk, a few protractors took flight and decapitated several of Mother Nature’s birds. I shrugged and smiled. As they had been poised to shit on my turn of the century armoire, it was only fitting. I wanted to blow up the entire Dark Palace, but that would be counterproductive. While I enjoyed destruction tremendously, I wasn’t fond of blowing up my home.

  “Well, that was uncalled for,” Mother Nature snapped.

  “It was an accident,” I replied smoothly. Ironically it was sort of an accident—however, accident or not it was fortuitous.

  “There are no accidents, Lucifer,” my mother replied cryptically.

  “Touché,” I replied flatly.

  “Alrighty then,” my father said, patting my mother’s hand lovingly or more likely holding it so she didn’t zap me. “Son, while decapitation and movie deals sound, umm… fun, Astrid and Tiara are correct. You’re not being yourself. We love you and insist on helping you.”

  With an exasperated sigh, I banged my head on my desk avoiding the protractors. Killing more birds would surely bite me in the ass. “I’m the fucking Devil—the Fallen Angel—the baddest of the bad guys. I do not need or want help from anyone. You people are insane.”

  “Sweetie, you simply punish the evildoers. I’ve told you this a million times,” Mother Nature explained as if I didn’t know what the Hell I did. “You didn’t create evil, you simply penalize those who choose that path. Anyhoo, from what I understand, you’re not even doing that lately. Hence the interception.”

  “Intervention,” Astrid corrected her.

  “Whatever. Lucifer needs to pull up his big boy panties and quit wallowing. It’s not becoming.”

  “First of all, I go commando,” I told my mother. “And secondly, I’m not wallowing. I’m scheming, which is entirely different.”

  “That’s my boy,” my father said with a thumbs up of approval. “What do we have planned?”

  “We have nothing planned,” I replied curtly.

  “Well, I do,” Mother Nature announced as her remaining birds squawked around her in excitement. “I’ve decided to play myself in the movie version of your autobiography slash romance. No one can play me except me. I’ll be brilliant—probably win a Grammy.”

  “An Oscar,” Astrid corrected her.

  “That too,” she said, clasping her hands together in delight and probably mentally composing her acceptance speech.

  “Umm, no,” I said with the smallest shudder I could get away with. “You’re barely in the book and that’s an appalling idea.”

  With a hiss of displeasure, Mother Nature stomped her Chanel clad foot and a jungle of epic proportions erupted from the marble floor. Trees, a babbling fucking brook and about twenty monkeys now defiled my office.

  “Look what you made me do, Lucifer,” my mother snapped. “I let you get away with the birds because I’m in a forgiving mood—and I’m fairly certain they were about to relieve themselves on your furniture, but you’ve gone too far this time. Keep going and you’ll have a new volcano in Hell.”

  “Not a problem,” I snapped back. “I can throw the monkeys into it.”

  “Mmmkay,” Astrid said quickly before the spat could escalate to a bloodbath. “While this is a… umm, really healthy family discussion all, it’s also a motherhumpin’ shit show waiting to happen. And PS Uncle Fucker, you’re not the only person who’s busy. I’m missing afternoon nookie with Ethan while my baby naps to be here to kick your sorry ass. So let me just lay this shit out for you. You need to get off your butt, quit being weird, and go after Elle. I don’t believe for one ball-eating second that you’re going to let that shifty, beautiful, violent woman slip through your fingers. You’re far too much of a greedy bastard to let that happen.”

  “Thank you,” I said. Had to acknowledge a compliment when one could.

  “Welcome,” Astrid said.

  “I agree with Astrid,” Mother Nature chimed in. “Elle’s such a lovely, uncontrollable, conniving, duplicitous gal. She’s just perfect for you.”

  “Again. Thank you,” I replied. “However, Elle is not my problem. She left me and that’s that.”

  “Liar, liar, Armani pants on blazing fucking fire,” Astrid informed me with a wide grin. “Dude, normally you’re an outstandingly shameless deceiver, but you’re sucking the big one at the moment,” Astrid informed me with a wide grin.

  “Yep,” Tiara agreed. “Sucking huge gaping wads of ass.”

  “Your language is appalling,” I told my niece.

  “Thank you,” she said with a small curtsey.

  Biting back my grin with effort, I considered the merit of having them help. I’d searched for three weeks and had come up empty-handed. Time was of the essence and I wasn’t winning. I hated not winning.

  “I say you find that bee-otch Fate and let her know what’s what.” Tiara added her two cents.

  Fate was in a tremendous amount to trouble. She’d tried to kill the woman I wanted and was clearly losing her debatably sane mind. Not a good thing for the future of mankind—or Immortals.

  “That heinous piece of work has gone missing,” Mother Nature pointed out, tasting the goopy icing and then gagging. “Everything is a damned mess right now. If she falls down on the job like Satan is doing, we’re all pretty much screwed. I would assume she’s after Elle and her mother, Sadie.”

  “Never assume,” I growled. The thought of Fate getting to what I wanted before I did was unacceptable. “Makes an ass out of you and me.”

  “Well, at least we have lovely asses,” she observed aloud.

  “Umm, right,” Astrid said with an eye roll that should have made her cross-eyed. “I’d like to point out that you’ve said thank you twice, Uncle Fucker. This is not fucking good—at all. It gives me gas which is impossible since I’m dead. Last time we were all potentially in a douche canoe without a paddle, you said to go on about our regular business and Fate would find us. So that’s what we’re going to do.”

  “Still not following the we’re part,” I shot back.

  “We’re going to Los Angeles with you for your movie negotiation. You’ll fuck it up like usual if left to your own devices. You need us and we’re going to be right there for you,” she announced with her eyes narrowed as if daring me to contradict her.

  “Your confidence in me is wildly underwhelming,” I shot back dryly.

  She did have a point though. Going about the usual business was the most logical thing to do… and dealing with humans made me a bit stabby. Perhaps I could use a buffer.

  “Yep,” Astrid said with a wide grin and sparkling eyes. “I’m good like that. I was blackmailed into writing that piece of crap so I think it only fitting that I should be there when the abomination becomes a movie.”

  “Tell me what you really think,” I replied drolly. Her horrid attitude did my soul good.

  “We leave tomorrow,” Astrid said, ignoring my comment and plowing forward. “I need to go get laid by my sexy mate and you need to get your shit together. Is everyone in?”

  “I’m in. Wouldn’t want miss Uncle Fucker aka Blade Inferno, the highest paid romance author in the world, and his big debut in the City of Angels,” Tiara said with a grin.

  “I’m in, but not physically,” Mother Nature said cryptically. “I’m going to do a little investigating of my own. You will call me if I’m needed.”

  “I’ll stay with Gaia,” my father said, taking my mother’s hand lovingly in his. “Less property damage that way.”

  “Good plan,” Astrid said, pacing the jungle and swatting a few randy monkeys away. “We’ll meet at the studio in Los Angeles at nine AM sharp tomorrow. And if you don’t show up, Uncle Fucker, there will be Hell to pay—pun intended.”

  “Apparently I have no choice,” I replied dryly, knowing full well that I did. I was the fucking Devil. I never did anything I didn’t want to do. However, I’d play along for the time being.

  “Nope. No choice,” she said with a knowing win
k. “Right now I’m the boss of you.”

  “Hell, Heaven, and everything in between help us all,” Tiara said with a giggle.

  I couldn’t have agreed more. However, I was getting nowhere on my own—which was shockingly appalling to me. Maybe my certifiable relations could get the ball rolling.

  Time was ticking and my happiness was at stake.

  Chapter Two

  The crowd parted in respect and fear as I entered the establishment. It did wonders for my bruised ego. Male Demons dropped to their knees and the females lowered their eyes in deference. Normally seeing my people grovel before me gave me a rush—tonight it left me cold.

  After the intercourse slash intercom slash interception slash fucking intervention with my relations, I was in a foul mood. Not to mention, my office was still a fucking jungle…

  Of all the bars in Hell, this was my favorite—dark, dangerous, smoky, teeming with criminals and full of unabashed lust. On any given day this was where I would go to relieve my own needs, but that wasn’t working for me lately. At all. What I needed was a Siren named Adrielle Rinoa and she was hiding from me. Unacceptable.

  “Here you go, Boss,” Lizard grunted, pushing a tumbler of scotch across the pitted wooden surface of the bar.

  The rare and obscenely priced spirit was kept in stock just for me and only me. The burn of the amber liquid as it slid down my throat did little to dull the rage burning inside me. Lying, cheating and stealing wasn’t finding me what I wanted and I wasn’t a happy camper. Drinking certainly wouldn’t help, but vices were going to have to suffice for the time being.

  “Lizard, answer me this. What do you when your family is driving you crazy?” I asked.

  He stopped serving drinks and stared at me for so long I was ready to repeat my question. Many dead languages were spoken in Hell so for a moment I wondered if he’d understood. I spoke all of them naturally, but I couldn’t quite recall which tongue Lizard enjoyed conversing in.

  “Is that a trick question, sire?” he inquired warily, looking a little like he was ready to slit my throat.

  Clearly he spoke and understood English… Lizard was such a bizarre, vicious delight. He was a strange one as far as my Demons went. I wasn’t entirely sure he was a full Demon, but his tantrums were legendary enough that he’d secured his place in Hell. Rumor had it he actually was a lizard. In the six hundred years I’d known him though, I’d never witnessed Lizard morph into a reptile. However, it wouldn’t really alarm me much if he did. I enjoyed him—as a Demon… or reptile… or whatever the Hell he was. He stole from the bar on a regular basis which was to be expected and praised. Lizard was at least part Demon after all. However, he also rarely lied to me and was a truly interesting conversationalist. His wonderfully violent tendencies, along with his copious knowledge of useless trivia, were amusing.

  “Not a trick at all,” I replied with a shrug.

  “Hang on a sec, Boss,” he said holding up a callused finger and grabbing a bat from behind the bar. He effortlessly hopped over it and savagely nailed three Demons in the throes of a knife fight. “Not when I’m working, motherfuckers,” Lizard roared, picking up the downed Demons and punting them out of the bar.

  No one batted an eyelash. It was Hell. This was par for the course. I was just glad I had Lizard to deal with it this evening. Normally punishing bad behavior delighted me. Tonight? Not so much. I was a little off my game at the moment.

  Lizard’s grin was wide as he hopped back over the bar and stowed away his bat.

  “Are they alive?” I questioned.

  “Mostly,” he replied.

  Lizard poured me another then glared at me with raised brows. With a curt not and roll of my eyes I nodded back. The bartender’s disrespect was refreshing. Only those directly related to me were brave enough to test my limits. Lizard was either very brave or very stupid. Tonight I’d call his behavior brave. He’d caught me in a forgiving mood. Tomorrow it would be anyone’s guess.

  His grin widened and the bastard poured himself a healthy amount of my secret stash.

  “Well, my Lord of Darkness, when I get pissed off at my mom, I’m quite fond of setting her on fire, blowing up her house, and singing her Joan Baez folk tunes. I’m also enamored of baseball bats—lots of damage—great sound effects. And I truly enjoy the vibration up my arms when I nail a skull just right—nothing like it. I don’t use that one on my mom cause she hits harder than a motherfucker amped up on steroids and a truckload of those peanut butter-chocolate Girl Scout cookies—which by the way, are outstanding frozen. That old bat is a total fucking machine,” Lizard told me as if he was discussing the weather. “If that doesn’t work, torture is always a good go to. I’ve found dislodging fingernails with pliers to be relaxing and breaking femurs with sledgehammers calms my nerves.”

  While it was difficult to render me silent, Lizard had almost done it with that diatribe. I somewhat agreed with the part about his relaxation techniques except for the folk tunes. And I was definitely going to have to sample the frozen cookies. However, the Demon wasn’t following what I meant and I wasn’t in the mood to explain. As entertaining as Lizard was, I didn’t trust him completely. Hell, I trusted no one completely except my deranged family and even a few of them were iffy. Plus, an affinity for folk tunes was simply appalling.

  “Interesting,” I said absently as I swirled the ice cubes in my glass enjoying the sound of the frozen chunks of water hitting the crystal.

  “Shall I sing for you?” he asked in all seriousness.

  “Are you interested in seeing tomorrow?” I inquired.

  Lizard gulped and nodded slowly. “I’m gonna take that as a no to the folk tunes.”

  “Smart man,” I said. Killing a man for singing Joan Baez was a bit rash, but then again I prided myself by being unpredictable and somewhat demented. It kept my people on their toes. “Anything going on in Hell I should know about?”

  “Nah,” he assured me. “Same old shit, but I gotta say I enjoyed the fuck out of your book. Funniest damned thing I’ve read in years.”

  Breathing in through my nose and expelling it slowly through my mouth, I reminded myself that I was fond—for lack of a better word—of the idiot behind the bar. However, if Lizard wasn’t the keeper of my scotch and one hell of a fiendish Demon, I might have smote him dead where he stood.

  My autobiography slash romance novel wasn’t supposed to be a fucking comedy. But then again, Lizard was an odd one and excellent with a bat. I’d let it go for now.

  “How so?” I asked in a tone so quiet he grew uncomfortable.

  “You going to throw me down into the Basement of Hell if I tell you?” he demanded, standing his ground.

  His cojones were impressive. The Basement of Hell was where the most evil burned for eternity. I enjoyed the Basement immensely.

  “Not today,” I replied smoothly. “However, I want to hear your truthful opinion.”

  Lizard eye-balled me for a long moment and then shrugged. “Fine. First off, I’d like to congratulate you on the pen name Blade Inferno—excellent—very masculine yet intimidating at the same time. However, the sheer amount of bullfighting in each chapter makes it a little hard to swallow,” he explained, leaning in to make his point. “I mean it was getting really interesting with you giving Nero some of his own evil medicine and then all of a sudden you guys were in Spain fighting bulls and drinking rum—and I know for a fact you like scotch, not rum. And the chapter where debased and naked participants in the orgy with the Elizabethan Court decided to attend a bullfight instead of fornicating threw me.”

  “Fucking Hemingway,” I muttered with a chuckle.

  Hemingway had been pissed that I’d demanded he edit my tome. However, the drunken, literary bastard owed me. He was one of my Tuesday night poker guests. Of course, Ernest lived in my brother’s neck of the woods, but found Hell to be far more appealing than Heaven. And who wouldn’t? He and a several others took a fieldtrip to the Underworld every Tuesday for a few friendly
high stakes games.

  He’d lost large and I made him edit. Listening to Lizard though, I was beginning to wonder if that had been a wise choice. My life was far from a comedy and I’d never attend a bullfight naked.

  “The part that had me on the floor was when… hang on a sec, Boss,” Lizard grumbled as he hopped the bar again and beat the daylights out of a few more misbehaving Demons.

  Satisfied that he’d ended a potential bloodbath, Lizard placed the dazed Demons on bar stools and served them all beers on the house. As violent as he was, he clearly had a bit of caretaker in him.

  Looking over my shoulder, it depressed me that I couldn’t even enjoy the bloody display. I was so off my game even violence didn’t cheer me up.

  “What did they do?” I asked as Lizard hopped back behind the bar.

  “Not sure. Just didn’t like the look of them,” he replied, wiping the blood off of his hands and onto his leather pants.

  Lizard was insane, but I tended to like those types.

  “So anyhoo,” Lizard went on. “All the sexy stuff was great, but I didn’t think the bullfights fit in during the foreplay, but if it worked for you, I figure I’m going to give it a shot too.”

  “Don’t,” I said.

  “Really?”

  “Really,” I replied with a laugh. “Ernest Hemingway is an ass.”

  Lizard ran his hand through his hair, making it stand on end. Not a real good look, but Lizard was not a real good looking Demon to start with. While most of my subjects were outstandingly easy on the eye, Lizard was a bit scaly and his eyes were a tad too close together. Maybe he was a lizard…

  “Not following you there, Boss. But if you say no bullfights during sex, I believe you. I also think you were underpaid,” he added as he slid a few more beers down the bar to bloody, inebriated Demons he’d just beaten the Hell out of.

  “Do you?” I asked.

  “Damn straight. Should have gotten a few million extra in my opinion. I would have netted you at least forty to fifty million more.”