Home > A Fashionably Dead Christmas (Hot Damned #5)(9)

A Fashionably Dead Christmas (Hot Damned #5)(9)
Author: Robyn Peterman

Satan slowly removed his hands from his crotch and nodded. “Yes, I believe we are. Now back to me and my issues. And please do not call my behemoth man package a wiener ever again.”

I was speechless. Never in my life had I heard the term behemoth man package. The unfortunate visual was therapy inducing, not to mention gross. Ethan covered a muffled laugh with a coughing fit. It was a pathetic cover considering Vampyres didn’t really ever have to cough. Thankfully Satan was too self-absorbed to even notice.

“It’s not fair. I want a birthday,” he insisted and stomped his foot like Samuel did when he didn’t get his way.

My tiny and wildly unstable grandmother marched up to her six feet six certifiable son and slapped him on the chest. “Listen you little shit, calendars hadn’t been invented when you and your brother were born. I am getting bored with your petty whining over this.”

“But God says his birthday is in June,” Satan accused. “You are a horrible mother to know one son’s birthday and not the other. And for this very reason, I shall permanently wipe June off the calendar year.”

“Whoa, I call bullshit,” I said. “My birthday is in June. You leave June the Hell alone.”

“Fine,” Mother Nature yelled at the Devil. “Your birthday is in April.”

“April what?” he demanded.

“It’s… April first,” she answered and then glanced quickly at her shoes.

Ethan had a second coughing fit and I seriously wanted to join him. I hadn’t missed my grandmother’s evil smirk, but Satan sure had. Mother Nature had just given the Devil April Fool’s Day as his birthday. Clearly the victorious grin on his face proved he had no clue he’d been duped.

“Wonderful. I declare April first to be a world wide holiday,” my Uncle said grandly.

The Devil was obviously on a roll now. I adjusted my underpants weenie and sat back down to enjoy the show.

“It will completely eclipse Christmas,” he went on. “There will be singing and fornication, and… ”

“Flying monkeys shooting out of everyone’s asses?” I proposed.

“Not sure that would make me very popular—and sounds rather unpleasant—but if it’s the new thing, I shall decree it,” he announced.

“Hell’s Bells,” Mother Nature sniped. “This is making me gassy. I’m done with this subject. How did your meeting go?”

“What meeting?” I asked. I really needed to find the baboon and get rid of it, but I knew my son was safe with Venus. And my curiosity was piqued. Or maybe I needed the distraction to keep from screaming the walls down around me.

“My meeting with that talented fuckwad, Steve Perry,” Satan supplied with a displeased grunt.

“Steve Perry’s not dead.” At least I didn’t think he was…

“Well, he almost was today,” my uncle muttered under his breath. “I made that bastard famous and this is how he thanks me?”

“Excuse me, Mr. Liar Liar Pants on Fire?” Mother Nature challenged with an eye roll and an un-ladylike grunt.

“I did—you know I did,” Satan insisted. “I made sure all the other bands at the time produced crap… and I might have cooked the poll numbers a teeny tiny bit.”

“And?” she prompted.

“Well, I might have induced a few influenzas, created strife amongst several popular bands, twisted a couple vocal chords, encouraged some unsavory addictions… ”

Mother Nature cleared her throat loudly, slapped her hands onto her hips, and gave her son a glare that made me want to hide.

“Fine,” he huffed. “I gave forty-two bands the crabs so Journey had very little to no competition. Is that what you wanted me to say?” he yelled at his mother.

“Oh my Hell, that is just wrong and horrible,” I said with a disgusted groan.

I was pretty sure Ethan had a coughing fit for real this time.

“Yes. Of course it was. And your point would be?” Satan asked, completely stymied as to why anything he did would be wrong.

“Nothing. Forget it,” I said as I pressed my temples.

I tried to remember if I’d been wasted when I decided inviting my family for the holiday was a good idea. The only problem with that theory was that it was next to impossible for a Vamp to tie one on. Not to mention, I was a young Vampyre and could only drink blood. I had a few hundred years before I could tolerate any other kind of liquid—alcohol or not.

“So it went poorly then?” Mother Nature asked her boy.

“Yesssssss,” Satan whined with an unhappy shake of his head. “Getting the band back together is apparently not going to happen.”

My gaze bounced between my grandmother and my uncle. “Because I enjoy asking questions I don’t want the answers to, why in the Hell are you trying to get the band back together?”

My Uncle stared at me like I’d grown two heads.

“Because I want them to play at a ceremony I’m attending… ” he started explaining and then stopped abruptly. Slapping his hand over his mouth, his eyes grew wide with something I couldn’t put my finger on.

“What kind of ceremony? Where do you want them to play? In Hell?”

I giggled. My Uncle’s Journey obsession bordered on stalking.

“Um… not exactly,” he hedged. “It’s a surprise.”

“Please don’t tell me you’re trying to join the band,” I said as Ethan’s fourth coughing fit ensued.

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