Home > A Fashionably Dead Christmas (Hot Damned #5)(11)

A Fashionably Dead Christmas (Hot Damned #5)(11)
Author: Robyn Peterman

Satan, Mother Nature, Ethan and I stood in the entryway with mouths agape. Not a peep came from any of them about my inappropriate language in front of my child.

Clearly we were all on the same page for once.

The room was decimated. Furniture was broken. Shredded clothing lay in piles on the floor.

Toys were beheaded and dismembered and the bedding hung from the light fixtures on the ceiling.

My son sat in the middle of the chaos cradled by a baboon who was clearly besotted with my child. Samuel’s chubby cheeks were covered in primate spit and he was giggling like he was drunk.

Knowing my son’s immortal life wasn’t in danger was a relief. However, the clusterfuck that was his play area was another story.

“What the fuck?” Samuel squealed as the baboon grunted and rocked.

“Garuumph flafla googoobaba,” the hairy animal yelled, and then grunted out what I hoped was laughter.

“I am so sorry,” a frazzled looking Venus apologized as she crawled out from beneath a mountain of ruined toys. “It all happened so fast I couldn’t stop it.”

My beautiful friend, who was one of the deadliest Vampyres I knew, was dazed and confused.

“Are you okay, Venus?” I asked as I helped her to her feet.

Her gorgeous dark black skin actually looked pale and her wild curly hair stood on end. Venus was a freakin’ mess.

“Um… as far as I know—yes. I was fairly certain you didn’t want me to kill the baboon, so I simply tried to run interference. Not sure I did a good job,” she whispered as she took in the room with a wince.

“Samuel’s alive and unharmed. You performed as well as anyone could have. Why don’t you go take a shower, drink some blood, and pass out,” I suggested.

“Okay. I’ll take you up on that one,” Venus replied with a weak grin as she practically sprinted from the room. “Oh, and Blobbityflonk is quite friendly, just destructive.”

“Got it,” I muttered as I advanced on my baby and his new friend.

“Oweeeeeeeeeeeeee,” a small voice shrieked from underfoot as I navigated my way across the room.

“Right. I should have known,” I snapped.

I reached down and yanked my four Baby Demons out from underneath a pile of ripped up Superhero underoos.

“Did you guys have anything to do with this shit show?” I demanded as I plopped them on top of what used to be Samuel’s big boy bed.

“Mooooomeeeeey,” Beyonce shouted. “Me love the babooooooon. He so funny!”

The other three nodded their little heads spastically in agreement.

My Baby Demons were tiny menaces, but I adored them. Beyonce, Honest Abe, Rachel and Ross stood about three inches tall. I found them on my ceiling when I’d just been turned and had adopted them as my own. On days like today, I regretted the decision immensely. They were named because of their uncanny resemblance to their historical counterparts.

They were ugly little suckers who didn’t poop or bite. However, they did eat. They ate bad Demons and occasionally car salesmen.

“The baboon has to go. The four of you do enough damage without adding a hairy six foot beast to the mix,” I stated firmly.

And that’s when the crying started.

Initially it was just the Baby Demons. Along with the tears, they began slapping themselves and each other as they tumbled off the remains of the bed and into a pile of what looked disturbingly like baboon poop.

Samuel started next. Huge tears rolled down his cheeks as he silently pled with me not to get rid of his new beloved pet from Hell—or the zoo to be more accurate.

Third and most alarming, the baboon let her rip. Enormous tears and sobbing that made me slap my hands over my ears ensued from him.

The waterworks in the room almost rivaled the monsoon from my closet, but not quite.

“Enough,” I shouted over the opera of sorrow. “Turn off the tears. If I get wet again, my dress will shrink more. Santa will be in danger of seeing my ass—not to mention the rest of my unstable family.”

“Can me smack your ass?” Abe inquired politely.

“No, you cannot,” I snapped as I put some distance between me and the little Demon bastards. I was certain they were covered in baboon crap and I had nothing else to wear. I refused to smell like primate poop. Not happening.

“Samuel,” I reasoned as I gingerly removed my baby from the wailing baboon’s furry arms. “Your new friend seems… um… lovely… but this is not a good place to keep a baboon. Grandma Gigi was planning all along to let him live with her and you can visit him whenever you want.”

“I was?” Mother Nature asked in surprise.

“Yes,” I hissed through my smile, as I shot her a look that made even Satan drop his gaze. “You were.”

“Oh, right,” she agreed quickly. “He can live with my monkeys in the guest house. There’s a pool and a wonderful Jacuzzi, and a banana grove right outside.”

Samuel considered this new wrinkle seriously for a moment before he nodded sadly. “Okay, Mommy. But he can stay for Christmas, right?”

I nodded numbly and mentally kicked my own ass hard for giving in so easily. If the baboon could do this much damage in the space of an hour or so, there was no telling what he could fuck up in twenty-four. But I had given my child my word.

“Yes, he can stay for Christmas. Do you think he might like a nice cage to hang out in?” I suggested cautiously.

“Grauhumph pookityflabe moomoo,” the baboon grunted and patted delicately at his tear stained face.

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