“Yes,” he agreed. “Thank you for that. He always was a problem child.”
“You’re not mad?”
“Absolutely not. Now, his mother may be a bit put out . . . ”
“And his mother is?” I asked, hoping he was also Satan’s half brother.
Grandpa glanced around and then mouthed “Mother Nature.”
Fuck.
“I suppose that meeting will turn out just peachy,” I muttered, praying that day never came.
“We’ll try and avoid that at all costs,” he said. “How are you controlling yourself around me? Dixie is the only one who doesn’t cause me bodily harm.”
“No clue,” I answered. “I would like to squish you, but maybe if you stay over there I’ll be able to abstain. And why in the hell didn’t my fireworks show hurt you? You should be dead.”
“Yes, yes.” Grandpa’s eyes sparkled with joy.
“So?”
“So,” he continued gleefully, “on any other Demon that would have worked, but not on me. In fact,” he pondered seriously, “I believe there are only several beings in the entire universe that your power will not work on.”
“And they would be?” I asked.
“Oh yes, of course,” he giggled. “What’s the difference in a True Immortal and an immortal?” he asked, eyeing my sandwich.
“Is this a test?” I moaned.
“Of sorts,” he replied, picking up my PB&J and examining it.
“I have no idea.” Was he going to steal my sandwich before I had a chance to see if I could eat it? I think he was . . . I watched him stare lovingly at my late night snack and I rolled my eyes.
“A True Immortal can’t die. Did you know that?” he asked.
“Why do you answer my questions with questions?”
“Because it’s fun,” he grinned and sniffed my sandwich. “True Immortals can die—they just can’t be killed.”
I pushed my hair out of my face and groaned. “Like that makes any sense.”
“It makes perfect sense, my love. A True Immortal can only die if they choose to.”
I pondered that as I grabbed a spoon and scooped some peanut butter out of the jar. I’d given up on getting my sandwich back. “Why would a True Immortal want to die?”
“It’s quite simple,” Grandpa replied, “a broken heart.”
“You’re joking,” I laughed... He didn’t.
“No, Little One, I wouldn’t joke about that.”
“Wait.” I swallowed a big glob of peanut butter and almost threw up. A big no on the eating, not to mention it tasted like dust. “You just get a broken heart and drop dead?”
“Sweet Baby Satan,” he threw back his head and let out a great peal of laughter, “it’s a bit more complicated than that. It’s a three part finale. One, your heart must be truly broken. Two, you must choose to die and three, The Sword of Death must be plunged into your heart.”
“Holy crap.” I was still choking on my peanut butter. Grandpa slapped me on the back and I went flying. For being such a little guy, he had one hell of an arm. “I’ve never heard that before. Hell, I thought my father was in charge down here.”
“Did he tell you that?” Grandpa asked, totally offended.
“No, I just kind of assumed.”
“Never assume, dear, that makes an ass out of you and me.”
He was definitely my grandpa.
“Anyhoo, the Sword thing is a secret. That’s not information we want getting out,” he replied. “In the wrong hands that could be a real problem.”
“Right.” Why couldn’t I have a normal family? “All of that sounds awful.”
“Oh yes,” he agreed, “but if you think that’s bad, there’s something even worse.” He took a dramatic pause and pressed what used to be my sandwich to his chest. “The Sword of Death is missing.”
Without asking, I somehow knew that was part of the reason I was here. “Do we have any idea who might have it?”
“We have an educated guess.” He flattened the PB&J into a pancake. What in the Hell was he doing? His sandwich etiquette was gross.
“Shall I guess?” I asked. He tilted his head and watched me. “My guess,” I inhaled deeply, “is that it’s a Demon and that I’m here to find the fucking Sword because I can off people and apparently you can’t.”
“Correct,” he smiled ruefully. “You are correct, but enough about depressing things—let’s get back to your history lesson.”
I didn’t stop him. I knew this was all connected. I just didn’t know how, and if Grandpa was as vague as the rest of the immortals in my life, he was only going to tell me part of it. I would have to figure the rest out for myself. Cryptic Demons sucked.
“So, where was I?” he inquired, carefully tearing his PB&J pancake into four equal squares.
“Broken hearts, Sword of Death missing, have to want to die, sandwich stealing...”
His mouth quirked with humor. “Yes, yes, of course.” He petted his flattened sandwich pieces with affection, “there are only seven acknowledged True Immortals right now, but more exist.”
“Is that important?” I tried to figure out the significance, but I couldn’t.
“Oh, yes,” he chuckled. I waited for more, but none was forthcoming.