"You're such a douchewanker—I wouldn't say anything to harm her. I love her," Gigi shot back angrily.
"Then I think it best you leave," he said in a voice that made the hair on my neck stand up. However, his mother just giggled.
"Have her powers come in?"
"No, but they will," he snapped and advanced on his mother. "You will stay out of this. Do you understand me?"
"It's not nice to backtalk Mother Nature," she hissed.
"I thought it was fool," my father replied dryly.
"Whatever. I'm late for a marathon pole dancing exhibition, otherwise I'd smite your ass for being rude."
"You've done quite enough. Dixie, say goodbye to your grandmother. Now."
I scurried forward and embraced my slightly unhinged grandma. She hugged me tight and whispered in my ear, "Your father is an assmonkey. Don't worry about a thing. I will see you on Earth. I promise."
With that she disappeared, taking her jungle with her—almost. The roof of the palace was missing and I was quite sure that was not an accident.
"Son of a bitch," Satan yelled and stomped around, throwing a fit. "It had better not rain before I can get a new roof or I will send ten thousand giant goats to Nirvana to eat your gardens, you heinous woman."
"Um, Dad?"
"Yes, Dixie?" he answered as he reined in his tantrum with difficulty.
"What kind of danger am I in?"
"At this exact moment, none. But tomorrow is a new day."
"Is that supposed to help? Because it doesn't," I replied as I frantically began to pick at my woefully under-manicured fingernails.
"Dixie, look at me."
I did. He was magnetic and scary and beautiful and mine. I knew I would do anything for my father.
"I am sending you away from danger. You have a mission, but you are capable and ready. It's not for public knowledge because it fucks with my reputation, but I love you. I will kill for you and I would die for you. Now, your sisters? Not so sure, but I would not send you directly into the firing squad. You have to trust me."
Sucking in a huge breath, I nodded. "I trust you, Dad, and I love you too."
"Come here," he said.
I slid into his strong embrace and wished I could stay forever, but that was not how life went. If he said my powers would come, they would come. If he said I was ready. . .Hell, I just hoped he was right.
Chapter 3
I go to group therapy.
When you live in Hell and you’re not considered to be evil enough, you have to do therapy.
I have to do therapy with a group of others who have an evil deficiency.
That group destroyed my cute bungalow yesterday.
They were insane misfits and I'd grown to love them in the same way one loves a puppy who chews up your couch and eats your walls. Prone to destruction, we’d been banned from meeting anywhere but privately. I’d spent every afternoon at three-thirty for the last year watching them destroy meeting rooms, offices, classrooms, convenience stores. . .you name it, they could trash it. The convenience store wasn’t actually a session. We’d gone for Slurpees after a grueling hour of therapy and they thought the Demon at the cash register looked at them funny. It was bad. Our newest therapist—we'd had many—had threatened repeatedly to quit unless we started doing at home meetings. Hence my ruined house. And hence their solution.
I should re-name my group The Wrecking Balls. Janet the formerly Bearded Lady, Carl the Strong Man, and Myrtle the. . .I’m not really sure how to explain her. I like her a lot, but she was difficult to describe. Basically she was a tiny Goth girl with more hair in her face than Cousin It. They were all quite funny but bordered on homicidal.
Today they arrived in a big van loaded with tools, wood, a window and paint to repair my bungalow in Hell. Yesterday’s therapy session had turned violent when a debate over The X Factor versus The Voice ensued. Our therapist had been hospitalized for blunt head trauma from a toaster. Myrtle was one tuff cookie and psychotic to boot. She clearly thought the therapist was out of line when she commented on Simon's man boobs, hence the beating, followed by the destruction of my home. As much as I found my group amusing, their ability to trash every place we met was starting to ride my last nerve. Not to mention my horror that they were coming to Earth with me and posing as my family.
A furniture truck arrived soon after they descended on my home, loaded with brand new furniture to replace what they had demolished. The new stuff wasn't nearly as nice as my old furniture that they’d destroyed. When I tried to kindly explain this to the Strong Man aka Carl he just shrugged and began doing the Moonwalk. Normally he flipped people off, but he liked me. He was fond of flipping people off. It seemed to give him joy. He moonwalked for about thirty-two counts and then slid very slowly into the splits, arms raised above his bald head.
I stared at him in silence. I was definitely going to have a word with my dad about this group posing as my family on Earth. These people were C-R-A-Z-Y. It didn’t help that Carl was wearing something akin to a mauve wrestling uniform with black socks and brown earth shoes. I had no idea how to respond to his performance. Was I supposed to clap or was I supposed to challenge him by busting out my own moves? In the end I nodded at him, he nodded back and I walked away. Quickly.
The furniture delivery guy, Wolf Boy, the hairiest Demon I’d ever seen, lined up all the new furniture on my lawn. I'd have to say Demons were a very attractive race. My therapy group and their friends were an anomaly. Wolf Boy then explained as he shed all over said furniture that he’d be back in a couple of hours to put it in my house.