“Wiiiiillllllll youuuuu leaaaaaave the liiiiiiight oooooon?” the head in the middle asked hopefully. “Fraaaaaid of daaaaaark.”
“Um, sure,” I said as I retrieved the singed pillow from the couch and laid it on the coffee table. I gently turned the statue on its back so the three heads were resting on the ruined pillow. “Do you dudes eat?”
“Weeeeeee eat annnnnnnger,” Charles One, as I decided to call him, said on a sweet sigh as he snuggled into the pillow.
“Weeeeeeee full from all theeeeeee annnnnnngry Vaaampyyyyreees in heeeerrrre toniiiiight,” Charles Two assured me.
“Good to know,” I said, as I debated if I should kiss them goodnight. I was fairly sure they wouldn’t bite my face off, but…
Here went nothing.
I bent down and gave all three heads a little peck and quickly stood back up just in case. I knew my face would grow back if they took out a chunk, but I really didn’t have the time—especially with Mary-Harry-Larry-Scary vying for my man’s attention. I knew the skank didn’t have a chance even if I was missing half my head, but I was a gal who liked to look her best when my mate’s former conquests were visiting.
Charles’ happy giggling melted my heart. Tomorrow I would introduce the three-headed atrocity to the Baby Demons. I was certain that would lead to some massive home destruction, but things were just things. People—or Demons—were far more important than things.
I prayed that Ethan would see it the same way.
Chapter 8
“Who is Jeff and who is Charles?” Ethan asked as he ran his hands through his hair and attempted to untangle my very strange tale.
“Jeff is an Angel who is going to do our premarital counseling. Charles is the ugly three headed statue who is supposed to protect Samuel, but has been spying on us. Oh, and Satan took your desk,” I finished off somewhat lamely. Even I knew it was a lot to swallow.
The look of abject horror on my mate’s face—or maybe it was complete confusion—attested to this.
“Premarital counseling?” he asked, pressing the bridge of his nose.
“It’s a human-ish thing,” I mumbled, not making eye contact. “You talk with a minister or priest, or in our case, an Angel that’s been forced on us by God because his panties got in a wad due to the Devil getting dibs on our wedding before he did.”
Ethan stood as still as a statue for a long moment and tried to absorb my fucked-up run on sentence. If I were being honest—which I wasn’t because it would only make matters worse—I was trying to take it all in as well.
“Let’s start with something I can actually understand,” Ethan said slowly, clearly still processing. “Are the portals closed?”
“Yes and no,” I replied, glancing around the unfamiliar suite delighted to avoid the Jeff and Charles subject for a minute or two.
It was lovely, as were all of the guest suites in the Cressida House. This one was done in creams and navy—clean lines and huge dark cherry furniture. The bed was positively enormous and was calling my name. However, I needed to get through the pertinent information before I let my inner-hooker fly free.
“Define,” Ethan said, displeased. “How are they closed but not closed?”
“Satan said he closed them, but a few have been reopened. He’s got his Demon SWAT team on it, and if they can’t figure it out, he’s calling in the God Squad.”
With a shake of his head and a muttered curse Ethan sat down on the couch and crossed his arms over his chest. “The potential of a war breaking out between the God Squad and the Demon SWAT team is high. That’s an incredibly bad idea.”
“I didn’t suggest it, Satan did. I didn’t even know all that crap existed until tonight. Do you want me to summon Satan back here? Shit.” I shuddered. “He’s on a date right now with some woman named Esmeralda. There’s a slim but terrifying chance if I call him back he’ll bring her. She’s violent,” I explained to Ethan as I realized my own nookie plans were looking pretty dismal.
“I’m not even going to touch that one,” Ethan grumbled.
“Right,” I muttered trying to block out the image I’d just conjured up. “What should we do?”
“We wait,” Ethan stated pragmatically. “However, I want a heads up before the God Squad gets involved.”
“No worries. If we tell Charles, Satan will hear it,” I replied surprised to find myself somewhat relived that my uncle had planted a bug—or monster, as it were—in our house. It was way easier than summoning him and lessened the chances of losing more furniture considerably.
“Expound on Charles again please,” Ethan said as he stared at the ceiling.
Never a good sign.
“Well, um… he’s got three heads and an alarming voice. He’s afraid of the dark and he won’t bite your face off if you kiss him. And he’s sort of cute in a buttass ugly kind of way.”
“No, Astrid,” Ethan cut me off. “We are not keeping Charles. He’s Satan’s spy.”
“But he cried,” I reasoned, sounding like an idiot even to my own ears. “All three of his hideous heads sobbed and I felt bad.”
“Dear God,” Ethan groaned. “We already have a baboon.”
“And the Baby Demons,” I reminded him.
“Yes, and the Baby Demons,” he agreed with a wince.
“And Martha and Jane,” I whispered in a tiny voice wanting to get it all out on the table before I negotiated keeping Charles.