I took a deep breath and followed Dixie inside. My pace was slow, but I felt like I was walking to the guillotine.
A very well put together woman clad head to toe in designer Chanel made a beeline for us.
“Dang it,” Dixie moaned. “That’s Daddy’s new consort. What is her name?” Dixie’s fingers flew back into her mouth. “It’s something like Sandra or Miranda or . . . crap, I’m sure it ends in an A.”
“Hello Dixie,” the consort ending in A said while ignoring me completely. She was dressed to the nines and she was short. Even with her four inches heels, she was still a good deal shorter than both me and my cousin, but then again, we were on the tall side. I had a tough time seeing what Lucifer saw in this gal. I would assume he could have his pick of anyone. She was definitely pretty in a blonde Barbie doll kind of way. She did have big boobs and a nice backside, but she was a mean Demon. My Baby Demons would definitely find her appetizing . . . Note to self: leave Babies at Dixie’s while in Hell. This one, whatever her name was, seemed smart. Mean and smart. Well, not so much smart as sly and greedy. She eyed my ears with great interest.
“Those are lovely earrings,” she purred, addressing me and the rocks in my ears that could feed a small country. She made a lovely face as if I either smelled bad or she was in serious pain.
“Yep.” I grinned, then sniffed the air around her and gagged.
She pressed her overly enhanced lips together and decided to ignore me again. Fine with me. She rolled her eyes and stared daggers at Dixie.
“Oh, right,” Dixie stammered. “This is my cousin Astrid. Astrid this is, um . . . this is . . . ”
“Amanda,” she hissed. “My name is Amanda.”
“I knew that.” Dixie smiled at her. “And I have to agree with you, Astrid’s earrings are lovely. They’re a present from my dad.”
“My, my, my,” Amanda choked out. “Such a lovely gift for one so distantly related . . . and a Vampyre to boot.”
Dixie shifted uncomfortably back and forth on her stilettos, but I’d had enough of the icky Amanda. I flashed her some fang and smacked my lips together hungrily. She was gone in a heartbeat.
“That was awesome.” Dixie giggled and hugged me tight. “I can’t stand her. I hope Daddy doesn’t keep that one around for long. I preferred Kitty, the last consort. She was as dumb as a box of hair, but she was a great cook and she smelled like honeysuckle.”
I really had nothing to add to that.
“Hey Dixie. Hey Astrid.” Myrtle, the bizarre little gal from the therapy session, ran up to us and slapped me on the back with such force I almost hit the deck. Holy Hell, she was strong.
“Sorry,” she muttered and grinned sheepishly. She wore a black tracksuit with black Pumas on her skinny little body. Her hair was pulled away from her face. She had a pretty face. I hadn’t noticed that earlier. “This place gives me the heebees,” she said. “No offense, Dixie. I know it’s your dad’s crib and all, but damn.”
“None taken.” She laughed and hugged Myrtle. “Thank you.”
“For what?” Myrtle was confused.
“For being you.”
“Oh, okay,” she said. “Hey, do I...um, look alright?” she asked. Her face turned blotchy red in embarrassment.
“You look great,” I told her. Dixie nodded in agreement. “I didn’t realize how pretty you were until tonight with your hair away from your face.”
“Oh.” Myrtle was speechless. She looked like a fragile little girl and I felt an overwhelming need to protect her. Great . . . now I wanted to protect Demons? Home. Soon.
“Hey, um...” she continued, abruptly changing the subject, “is there a john around here? I’ve gotta take a leak.”
“Yes,” my cousin said, trying not to laugh. I sucked my bottom lip into my mouth to keep from giggling. Myrtle really was quite disgusting. “Go down that hall and you’ll find several johns.”
“Thanks.” The little Demon wandered off with a spring in her step and a new air of confidence about her.
Dixie took my hand and we made our way through the foyer. The foyer of the palace was tremendous. A huge curved marble staircase dominated the enormous space. The ceilings were three stories high with violent religious frescos painted on them.
“Oh my God.” I was shocked at how many works of art I recognized. “The paintings. Are they copies?”
“Nope. Real,” Dixie told me. “Quite a few famous artists have spent time in Hell. Some because they deserved it and others came for a visit out of curiosity. A couple of the visitors have chosen to stay on the main floor in Hell much to our Uncle God’s dismay. Apparently unless you’re burning in the Basement, Hell is a lot more fun than Heaven.”
“Huh,” I said, still shocked by the sheer amount of priceless art everywhere. “What the hell is hanging in the museums on Earth?”
“Forgeries.”
I thought the Vampyres were opulent . . . they had nothing on Satan. Thick burgundy red brocade curtains rained down from the windows that were at least thirty feet high. The curtains boasted heavy golden fringe and masterpieces dotted the creamy ivory walls. A mix of my favorites—van Gogh, Goya, Basquiat, Botacelli. And to my utter amazement—Da Vinci’s Mona Lisa. Clearly the one I’d seen in the Louvre was a fake. Much to my chagrin, I realized I was not so discretely grooving to Lovin’, Touchin’, Squeezin’ . . . WTF?