“Can you absorb evil and anger around you?”
“I did at the party. That’s how I popped Amanda’s lips.”
“Which by the way was awesome.” Dixie grinned and I joined her.
“Thank you. Dixie, have you ever heard the walls talk?”
“Are you making fun of me because I have an imaginary friend—who, by the way, isn’t imaginary?” she huffed.
“No.” I decided to ignore the imaginary friend thing. “The walls were talking when I first got to Hell at your dad’s.”
“That’s odd. I’ve never heard that.”
“Must have imagined it,” I said, knowing full well that I hadn’t.
“Well, I’ll listen harder next time I go to the Dark Palace. That’s really kind of neat. Anyway, I’m going to bed. The second door on the left is your bedroom. Do you need anything? You haven’t really eaten anything,” she said, worrying her lip. “Do you need to bite me or something?”
“Or something,” I muttered, wondering how long I could go without blood. I was unsure what Demon blood would do to me and wasn’t willing to chance it and find out. “No, I’m fine . . . for now.”
“Okay.” She hesitated and picked at her nails. “I know you don’t want to be here and I know you’ll be leaving soon, but I’m really glad to know you.”
Realizing she was expecting an answer, I surprised myself. “I’m glad to know you too. Maybe this was worth it somehow.”
She gave me a small smile and left. I was happy to know her, not necessarily the rest of the bunch, but it was kind of interesting to learn about my fucked up family tree. God, wait till Ethan found out I was the niece of the Devil himself. That would be fun.
Chapter 9
My bedroom was lovely. Cool blues and whites mixed with dusty rose. The furniture looked Amish—beautiful and well built, but that was it as far as sparse went. The bed was soft, squishy and inviting. The walls were covered in a faded striped fabric instead of paper and the ceiling was tin. A dresser, desk, chair and vanity with a mirror finished off the suite. It smelled wonderful—like clean sheets and summer breezes. Before I got used to Hell being so lovely, I probably needed to visit the other levels.
I glanced up at the tin ceiling and looked for my Baby Demons. They weren’t there.
“Abe, Beyonce, Rachel, Ross?” I whispered. Nothing. Where had they gone? Did they know their way around Hell? Why hadn’t I thought to ask them that? I’d bet they knew what a portal looked like. Shit. Where were they?
“Guys, I need you.” Nothing. They’d always come before. Crap, did something happen to them? If I’d remembered that they were in my pocket when I was unceremoniously dragged to Hell, I’d have tossed them out. I’d never forgive myself if something happened to them . . .
Catching a glimpse of myself in the mirror, I turned away. Looking at myself seemed to make me more Demon than Vampyre and I didn’t want that. Ever. Although I hadn’t tried eating food yet, I was curious. I knew liquid was out, but I wondered if I’d be able to taste solid food. I’d been jonesing for peanut butter and jelly since I’d been turned.
Only one way to find out.
Dixie’s kitchen was awesome. After a short search I found bread, peanut butter and jelly. I rounded up a knife and a plate and I was ready for my experiment. Holding the most perfectly made peanut butter and jelly sandwich in my hand, I froze.
“Astrid,” an eerie voice that sounded exactly like the one from the palace whispered.
I whipped around, quickly grabbing the first weapon I laid my hands on. A butter knife... A butter knife? Crap, couldn’t I do better than a freakin’ butter knife? Where in the hell were my Vamp powers?
“Who’s there?” I demanded. My stomach clenched. I clutched my pathetically dull blade, dropped low and waited to do battle with my killer.
It laughed.
You have got to be kidding me. I was so not in the mood for this. Far too many people, and I use that word lightly, had laughed and given me crap lately and I was done.
“Who are you?” I spat. Fear began to seep away, slowly replaced by anger. “Show yourself, asshole.”
My temper flared and my hands began to tingle. Good. The freaky gloves had shown up. I wasn’t exactly sure how to use them, but they were better than nothing. I didn’t feel like dying tonight.
“Feisty,” the disembodied voice hissed.
“I’ll show you feisty, you butthole.”
Damnit, butthole sounded kind of junior high. Asshole was way better—or fucker. I didn’t want whatever invisible freak show that was in the kitchen to know I was basically power free at the moment. Butthole kind of put me in the league of ‘I won’t really kill you because I’m too nice.’ Not good, not good. Maybe if I call him an asshole again, or maybe shithat... Sweet Baby Beelzebub...shut up. I needed to turn off the inner monologue and focus or I was going to end up so dead.
I scanned the kitchen, but my intruder was invisible or just hidden very well. I felt an energy but it was all over the place. I was unable to locate the source. This was new. Did the glitter gloves make me aware of energies?
“I said,” I ground out through clenched teeth, “show yourself and I mean it.”
“And what will you do if I don’t?” the voice whispered ominously.
My fingers were tingling and sparks began to fly. Shit, shit, shit.