I paused. How to answer that . . . They were probably not hungry considering they’d eaten my very large and evil father not all that long ago. I was still coming to terms with the fact that my adorable little monsters ate bad Demons—more specifically, my father. Although I hadn’t watched, the sound of the cannibalization of my pappy would stay with me for eternity . . .
“Well, I’m gonna go with a no on that one,” I said and grimaced as I relived their last meal.
“We still full from eating your daddy,” Ross crowed as he yanked up his shirt and slapped his little round belly. “He was sooooo tasty. Taste like chicken.”
“Wow,” Dixie said. “That’s a bit unexpected, but, um . . . interesting and gross.”
“Yeah, well, at least you weren’t there,” I snapped.
The silence was deafening. Several times I started to explain, but decided against it. I didn’t owe Dixie or anyone in Hell an explanation for anything. The less everyone knew about me the better. I grabbed the pile of clothes and made a no-way pile and an oh-my-God-I-love-this pile. Ridiculously expensive clothing could take my mind off of almost anything. Almost.
“We no need to eat for weeks,” Abe said as he humped my ankle. “And I no think your daddy taste like chicken. He taste like stinky cheese.”
“Me say fish tacos,” Rachel chimed in.
Okay, ewwww. “Me say enough,” I said before they gave a play by play.
Dixie laid the sleeping Beyonce down on the couch and flipped through my “good” pile of eveningwear. Pulling out a drop dead Stella McCartney, she held it up to me. “Wear this. You’ll be stunning.”
“Look, I’m sorry if my manners are lacking, but I need to leave and going to a shindig at your daddy’s is not high on my priority list.”
“Astrid, Satan is fair and he is not demanding anything unusual of you. I think you should just play along until you can leave,” Dixie said as she rifled through some jewelry.
She was probably right. Was she as sweet and innocent as she appeared to be? She was the daughter of the Devil. How could she be so freakin’ nice?
“How old are you?”
She stopped and heaved a weary sigh. “I’m twenty.”
“Twenty plus what?” I asked. Did she think I was an idiot? Every immortal looked somewhere in their twenties.
“Twenty plus nothing.”
“Wow, you’re a baby.”
“Not much more so than you,” she replied and handed me a diamond necklace and earrings. “These will be pretty with the dress. What size shoe do you wear?”
“Seven. So you haven’t been alive very long.”
“Nope.”
“And there are more of you?” Stop being bitchy and learn something. Something helpful. Something that will help me get the hell out of Hell . . .
“No, there’s only one me, but I do have sisters. Seven of them.” She stared at me expectantly.
“What am I missing?” I asked. Was this a game show? Did I have to guess everything? I pinched the bridge of my nose to ward off the headache that was threatening.
“You don’t know?”
“No.” I rolled my eyes. “If I knew I wouldn’t ask.”
“Seven,” Rachel screamed, waking Beyonce from her slumber which led to a baby Demon smackdown of epic proportions.
Ignoring the violent wrestling match at my feet, I stared at my cousin. “I’m sick of cryptic. Just fucking tell me.”
“The Devil has seven daughters. I have seven sisters.”
“Actually he has eight,” I corrected her.
“True, but for thousands of years he had seven. I’m very new,” she said. “I wear a six and a half shoe. Do you think you can squeeze your feet into these?”#p#分页标题#e#
I was momentarily speechless as she held up the hottest Prada pumps I’d ever seen.
“Oh my God,” I gasped. “Are those this season?”
“They’re next season.” She grinned and handed them over.
“I’d consider cutting off some toes to fit into these babies.”
“That would be gross,” she giggled. “Did you figure out the seven yet?”
“I think so,” I said as I attempted to wedge my size seven foot into her size six and a half shoe. “But it’s so appallingly cliché it’s pathetic.”
“Then you got it right.”
“Your sisters are the Seven Deadly Sins?” I laughed and then groaned. My toes were on fire. “Shitfuckshitshit, these are way too tight.”
I felt like the ugly stepsister from Cinderella as I tried in vain to shove my foot into the slipper . . . no fucking go.
“Yes, they are. I can call Greed and see if she’ll loan you a pair. I’m pretty sure she wears a seven.”