“I’ll blow up the entire house and burn your sorry ass alive.” No clue if I could actually do it, but bluffing worked occasionally...
“There are a few problems with that plan,” it said quite matter-of-factly.
Was the voice critiquing my methods or offering advice? Could this get any weirder?
“Oh yeah, what?” I countered with way more confidence than I was feeling.
“Well, for starters,” the voice said, “you have no idea if fire would even kill me, but there’s a fine chance you’d kill yourself and your cousin Dixie in an explosion like that.”
Damnity damnit, the voice was right. Wait a minute. “Why in the Hell would you care if I killed myself or my cousin?”
“Because I love you.”
“Okay, eeewww. Are you some kind of disgusting pervert weirdo stalker who loves the people he kills?”
I quickly rescanned the room. Why couldn’t I find him? I inched toward the archway next to the foyer which led to the living room which in turn led to Dixie’s room. Maybe she would know what to do.
“Don’t. Move,” the voice bellowed.
I’d had just about enough of being the victim. It was time to go Clint Eastwood on the monster in my cousin’s kitchen. I didn’t care what it was, it had to go. Now. I dropped the useless butter knife, closed my eyes, raised my flame throwing fingers and began to chant. I was chanting in a language I’d never heard, although it was distantly familiar. The words flowed freely from my body and it felt wonderful, powerful, dark and fucked up.
With my eyes closed I was able to locate the source. The melodic chant gave me a different kind of sight. Not being able to see with my eyes heightened every other sense I had. I was able to see everything around me with a clarity that was as alarming as it was accurate. My creepy killer was cloaked in invisibility and stood about three feet away. I couldn’t tell what he looked like, but I knew where he was. That was all I needed.
I pointed my fingers at the energy and a fireworks show exploded from my hands. I hit my intruder. I didn’t want to kill him. I wanted to question him before I destroyed him. And if I was perfectly honest with myself, I wasn’t sure I could kill him. I had no clue what he was.
“Very good!” the voice yelled.
Why in the Hell was the voice happy? I blasted it with some kind of Demon magic. I mean that shit had to hurt. Right? Come to think of it, why in the Hell did the voice all of a sudden sound familiar to me? It sounded like the Sprite I met at my mother’s funeral. What was a Sprite doing in Hell?
I gritted my teeth and waited for him to show himself. “Materialize. Now.”
He did. My annoyance increased with the smug satisfaction on his face. It was that little Sprite shit. I was going to kill him. “Did you think that was a good joke? Because I didn’t.”
“Darling Astrid, you were wonderful!” He clapped his adorable little Oompa Loompa hands and grinned from ear to ear.
As cute as he was I was not about to let him off easily. “Clearly you know my name, but I’m at a loss about yours.”
“I’m your grandpa.”
“What? You’re a Sprite.” He was so full of shit.
“I’m a Demon Sprite and I’m most definitely your grandpa.” He grinned with delight and held his arms out for a hug.
“Nope. No bonding until you answer some questions, little man.”
“I prefer Grandpa, but I’ve answered to much worse.”
My Grandpa was the cutest man alive. I pressed my fists into my sides so I wouldn’t start squeezing him. It didn’t surprise me that he spent a lot of time in traction because the Deadly Sins had squeezed and loved on him too hard. I had a horrific compulsion to grab him and cuddle him. I knew my jaw had clenched and my lips had pursed. The same way they would if I saw an adorable puppy or a super cute baby. I had to bite my tongue so I wouldn’t start spouting baby gibberish to him.
“You want to hug me to your bosom and shower me with kisses,” Grandpa informed me smugly.
“Ewwww,” I groaned, “do not say bosom. That’s disgusting.”
“You have a mouth like a sailor and you’re offended by bosom?” he asked with a twinkle in his eye.
“No. Just when you imply that I’m going to connect you to mine. It sounds wrong—like illegal wrong.”
“I do see your point,” he agreed. “But I meant nothing of the sort.”
“Good to know.” I rolled my eyes and stared at the little man who called himself my grandpa. “Was that you in the bedroom of the Dark Palace?”
“Yes!” He was positively gleeful. “I wanted to show myself, but it wasn’t the right time.”
“So wait, you’re Satan’s dad and God’s dad?”
“Oh no dear, Satan and God share the same mother. They’re half brothers.”
“And their mother is?”
Grandpa glanced around the room in terror. “Mother Nature,” he whispered.
“Right.” I laughed and rolled my eyes.
“For the love of everything evil,” he moaned and shuddered, “don’t do that. If she’s hears or sees you, we’re all screwed.”
“For real?” His fear was rubbing off a bit. Although I was having a hard time believing Mother Nature was real.
“Yes, my dear. Let’s leave that subject for now, shall we?”
“Ooookay, um . . . I killed your other son.” I figured just getting it out on the table was for the best.