Fashionably Dead (38 page)

“Nothing,” I told him truthfully.

“Ahh, I thought you might say that,” he chuckled. “There must be something. The Prince is angry, and rightly so, due to my daughter’s abhorrent behavior toward you. He will want a penance paid. I do believe it would be better if you chose that penance rather than him.”

“You’re right,” I said, worried about what Ethan would do on his own. “I suppose if I had to choose something—I would choose for Cathy to like me.” I watched her as I spoke. She looked up quickly and almost knocked heads with Heathcliff. She was so surprised that I giggled, and miracle of all miracles, she did too. “It’s what I’ve always wanted even before I knew we were blood related.”

“Oh my sweet child, blood related is such a clinical term,” Sir James chuckled and caressed my cheek. “We are family.”

He folded me into his arms. It felt like heaven. Heathcliff stood and joined the embrace followed very slowly and very tentatively by Cathy. It was a beginning. A good beginning.

Chapter 34

I knew he would be angry with me if I left, but I was angry with him. I’d been stuck in his suite for three days. It was a very nice suite, but stuck is stuck. No one would let me do anything. At first it was lovely, but now I was going batshit crazy. I was not the kind of person who did boredom well. I may be disorganized and somewhat directionless, but I was not lazy. Besides, I felt great. I was getting claustrophobic and that bastard had been avoiding me. Yesterday he muttered some lame excuse about it being too difficult to be near me because he wanted me so badly and was afraid of hurting me. Utter bullshit. I knew why he was running scared. He’d had some kind of past relationship with Pam and they’d rekindled it.

I couldn’t believe they’d do that to me. Actually, I didn’t believe they’d do that to me. There was no way. I knew I was being ridiculous, but I didn’t care. There was something between them, but it didn’t seem sexual. I was sure he was avoiding me because Pam made him promise not to say anything and he knew I’d wheedle it out of him. I was just pissy and bored and horny and lonely. It was a bad combination. Bad.

To make matters worse, the King seemed to be losing it. Ever since I’d come out of the coma, he’d been wandering around the compound looking for someone. He muttered constantly to himself and had a hard time focusing. Princess Lelia and Princess Raquel kept him under constant watch. They were worried. Ethan seemed worried too. Hell, everyone was worried around here. Ethan had a nifty way of handling it. He avoided his father as well as me.

I missed my baby Demons, my shampoo, my pillow, my sweat pants and my sparkly Converse. Never in my life did I think I’d complain about wearing Prada twenty-four seven. A fine lesson in ‘beware of what you wish for’. I wanted to be sloppy and comfy. I was jonesing for my old faded sweatshirts and my lime green Converse with some tight black Hard Tail sweats and a scrunchy.

Happily for me, tons of sweet little baby Demons lived on the ceilings of the Cressida House. They sang and danced and beat the snot out of each other to entertain me, but they weren’t my babies. I needed Rachel, Ross, Beyonce and Honest Abe. I missed them terribly and they were probably worried sick about me. I needed to go home, even if it was just for a little while. Maybe I could just disappear for a couple of hours.

I ran around the suite and tried to find my shoes. As much as I missed my tennis shoes, the silver Prada platforms I’d been wearing were
hot
. Where in the hell were they? I crawled under the bed and searched.

“Astrid?” a child called.

“Shit,” I yelped, nailing my head on the bedframe. Damn, was I bleeding? What was it with me and bedframes? Moreover, what the hell was it with people not knocking before they entered a room?

“Oh my God, are you okay?” she asked.

“I’m fine,” I snapped, ready to rip the kid a new one. “I’d be a hell of a lot better if you could get some manners and knock on the . . . ” Oh dear God, it was Paris.

I quickly switched my tone before she started rolling around on the floor and freaking out. We needed to do something about that. “I’m fine, sweetie,” I tried to convince a mortified Paris. “What do you need?” I attempted to hide the gash on my forehead.

“Are you bleeding?” she whimpered.

“Nope,” I lied.

“Yes you are!” She dropped to a squat.

Oh shit, I didn’t have time for this. I needed to get out of here. “Paris, if you roll around on the floor, I will kick your ass. Do you understand me?”

“Yes,” she said, “but your head . . . ”

“Will heal. I’m a Vampyre. Now, what I need,” I explained, “is for you to crawl under the bed and get my shoes. I’m too big.”

“Done.” She got happy again. It didn’t take much. “Oh,” she yelled from under the bed, “I’m supposed to tell you that Brad Pitt called. The skanky one,” she clarified as if I wouldn’t know. “He said it was no problem to reschedule your mother’s memorial for tomorrow night.” She got out from under the bed and held my pretty shoes out to me. “And that he and Angelina got a big kick out of your accent.”

“Dude, you’re still yelling,” I winced.

“Oh, sorry.”

I ran my hands through my hair and took my shoes from her. “For God’s sake, I didn’t even call him,” I muttered.

“Then who did?” she asked.

“Hell if I know,” I sighed. “Maybe Gemma, but she doesn’t have an accent. Anyway, Brad and Angelina know her.” This whole Brad thing made my stomach queasy. Vampyres were not supposed to get queasy. I had a sick feeling that my mother was screwing with me. How in the hell could that be? I saw her get eaten for God’s sake. Pretty hard to mistake your mother getting eaten by Demons while your grotesque Demon King daddy stood by and watched.

“Would you like me to . . . ?” Paris stopped, embarrassed.

“Would I like you to what?” Hell, I wanted to get out of here. I loved Paris, but I wanted to leave and I couldn’t disappear with her in the room. As loyal as she was to me, she was far more so to Ethan. She’d tattle on me so fast.

“Would you like me to go with you to the memorial tomorrow night?” She resembled a beaten dog, ready to be rejected.

“Of course I would.” I looked at my beautiful and bizarre little Vampyre friend and I realized I did want her there. I wanted all of my Vampyre friends and family there. I knew that they all wouldn’t be able to come because many had to be on patrol. More Rogues kept showing up and wreaking havoc. I was itching to get out and patrol again. I asked Samuel and Venus if the new Rogues resembled me, but every time I even started talking shop they changed the subject. They spouted some bullshit about me needing rest . . . blah, blah, blah.

“Yes, Paris, I want you to come. That would make me happy.”

“Okay, great.” She smiled like I’d given her one hundred million dollars. It made me sick to think of the way I’d treated her initially. I’d dismissed her because she was a freak. God certainly has a way of kicking you in the ass with irony. Who was the bigger freak now? Let me think. Hmm . . . that would have to be me.

“Wait a minute little missy, shouldn’t you be teaching my art class now?” I raised my eyebrows giving her an imitation of my scary Ethan look.

“Whoops,” she laughed and started for the door. Clearly I lacked authority if my replacement thinks my scary look is funny and going to work is optional.

“Paris, wait,” I said. She turned back at the doorway of the suite. “Have Martha and Jane been causing trouble?” I asked.

“Every day.”

“Holy shit, are you okay?” I gasped, imagining all the hateful things they could have said. “I’ll kill them if they hurt you.”

Paris looked absolutely delighted by my violent protective streak. “Oh no, Astrid, they’re fine. I like them.”

“Good God, you do?” I was shocked. How could anyone like those hateful old cows? God bless them.

“Yep, they’re not so bad. Plus their conservative Republican rants amuse me.”

“You’re a better woman than me,” I grinned. Paris giggled, hugged me and left.

I pondered Paris’ affection for the old ladies for a moment and decided very little made sense to me anymore. I pulled my pretty platforms on and flung my arms out, spraying the room with Glitter Magic, and disappeared.

***

Their little bodies wiggled like excited puppies. They yipped, squealed, licked and kissed me. I tickled their fat Demon bellies and fed them breeze after breeze of Glitter Magic. They all chattered at once in their little high-pitched Munchkin voices. Oh my God, I loved them.

After about fifteen minutes of utter ballistic chaos, they wore themselves out. They were lying in a panting heap on my bed. My small cozy bed in my small cozy house. I was so happy to be home, even if it was for a short while. I gathered their now calm little Demon bodies to my chest and cuddled them.

“I missed you guys so much,” I cooed.

I realized Honest Abe was playing with my boob. That just wasn’t working for me. I plucked him off my girls, set him up on my shoulder and told him “No, no.”

I supposed I’d have to rethink his sexuality. Maybe he was more bisexual than homosexual. Wait—why in the hell was I concerned about Honest Abe’s sexual preference? I had more important questions for my Demons. I’d been curious about a couple of things for a while and today was as good a day as any to get some answers.

“Um . . . Beyonce . . . ” I started with her, figuring she’d be the most forthright. “What exactly do you guys eat?”

“Pizza,” she informed me.

“Really?” I was so surprised.

“No,” she screamed and began to laugh hysterically. Rachel, Ross and Honest Abe followed suit. They were laughing so hard I thought they’d throw up.

What in the hell was so funny? I tried again. “Oookay, clearly it’s not pizza.” I gave them the eyeball and they calmed down. “Do you drink blood?”

“Sometimes,” Honest Abe said, inching back towards my boob. I plucked him back up and put him on my head.

I tried to grab Rachel, but she ran behind my knee. I settled for Ross. “Ross, do you eat animals?”

“Nooooo, Mommy, Ross no eat animals,” he giggled. “Ross looooves animals. No eat. No eat.”

Dear God please let the answer to this next one be no.
“Do you eat people?”
Please God, no. Please God, no.

“No, Mommy,” Ross guffawed. “People too chewy!” He was laughing so hard he stopped breathing and started to turn purple. I smacked him on his little Demon back. He sputtered, coughed and thanked me. Unfortunately from his answer, I assumed he’d tried a person or two in his time. They were being vague about their culinary preferences. I needed a new approach.

“What if I guess?” I challenged them. They jumped up and down, grinning and clapping their hands. I took that as a go. “Okay, if you don’t eat animals or pizza or . . . um . . . .people,
thank you Jesus,
do you eat vegetables?”

“No,” they chorused.

“Fruit?” I asked.

“No.”

“Potato chips?”

“No,” they screamed, laughing.

“Meat?”

“Yessssss,” my babies hissed.

“Wait, if you don’t eat animals or people, what kind of meat do you eat?” I was confused and alarmed. What other kind of meat was there? “Do you mean fish?”

“No! Meat, meat, meat,” they chanted and ran all over my bed, slapping each other and giggling. Honest Abe kept getting dangerously close to my boobs and I kept flicking him away. He thought that was hilarious and kept trying.

“Good God, Honest Abe. You cannot play with my breasts. That’s not appropriate. Do you understand?” I had him by the scruff of the neck. “What’s gotten into you?”

He looked sheepish. “Me go to Big Sean’s Booby Bungalow when Mommy was gone. Me love boobies!” he shouted with glee.

“Boobies, boobies, boobies,” they all sang and kept rolling around on my bed.

Holy shit, my babies were going to strip clubs?
I was gone for a week or two and they turned to pornography? Absolutely unacceptable. They weren’t old enough to . . . wait a second.

“How old are you?” I demanded.

“Ninety-two,” Honest Abe grinned.

“Me eighty-seven,” Beyonce yelled.

“Me sixty-eight,” Rachel piped in.

“Me fifteen thousand and three,” Ross volunteered.
What?
I was speechless. He was older than Jesus. Literally. “Just joking, Mommy! Me seventy!” He was delighted with his little Velcro self.

“Fine,” I muttered, “I guess you guys are old enough to go to a titty bar, but I don’t like it. I find them offensive to women and totally skeevy. I’d prefer you do something more constructive with your free time.”

I was going to use this as a teachable moment. Big Sean’s Booby Bungalow? I’d never even heard of that one. The only two I knew of were out on the highway, Bare Assets and The Bowling Green Bush Company. I do have to admit that Big Sean came up with the best name.

“Don’t be mad, Mommy. We eat there,” Rachel informed me.

“You eat strippers?” I gasped. “I thought people were too chewy.”

“Not strippers Mommy, we eat the bad things that love strippers,” Beyonce chimed in.