Fashionably Dead Down Under(4)

“I said I was sorry, Dad. I’ll try harder to fail next time.”
One question answered . . .
“Where did I go wrong?” he lamented. I watched him pace. His presence filled the room completely, leaving little space for anyone or anything else. His very expensive black leather pants and black silk shirt matched his hair perfectly. It was clear the girl loved him and was upset with his displeasure.
He threw his hands up in disgust, “I’ve given you everything, and this is how you repay me?”
“Didn’t realize there was a price,” she muttered quietly.
“Everything has a price,” he hissed.
Damn, he had really good hearing.
Dixie shrunk down low and waited. I held my breath, wishing I hadn’t chosen this particular room to explore.
“You will drop the goody-goody act. You will be rude, promiscuous and scandalous. You will not be compassionate unless I am concerned and I expect you to flunk out of the Demon College just like all of your sisters did. Do you understand me?” he demanded.
“I’m really sorry, Dad.” She sounded like a broken record—this was clearly a familiar conversation for them.
“I am Satan,” he bellowed and the room vibrated. “I have a reputation to uphold. You are a Demon Princess, you have a Porsche, your own bungalow in the most exclusive zip code in Hell and certainly more money than anyone your age should have access to and yet you throw all this in my face? Why Dixie, why?” He wearily dropped down on the couch next to the girl and she put her arms around him.
“I love you,” she whispered.
A ghost of a smile touched his lips. “And I you.” He wrapped his arms around her and looked into her eyes. “Is it true that you donated one million dollars of my money to feed hungry humans on Earth?”
“Yes,” she said and buried her face against his chest. “I did.”
He heaved an enormous sigh, “I have to punish you, you know.”
“I know.”
He put his finger under her chin, forcing her to meet his eyes. “If I don’t punish you, all hell will break loose down here. No pun intended,” he grinned.
“Daddy, that pun was totally intended,” she giggled.
“That it was.” He stood up and ran his big hands through his hair and turned his mesmerizing gaze on her. “You are so like your mother.”
“And that’s a bad thing?” she challenged.
“It’s an . . . interesting thing,” he conceded. His voice was melodic and hypnotizing.
“Dad?”
“Yes, Dixie?”
“What’s my punishment?”
He gave her a terribly evil and intoxicating smile. “I’ll have to think about it.” He turned and walked toward my hiding spot. Shit. Why did I have to be so freakin’ tall? Please walk by me. Please. He stopped a foot from where I hid. I held my new found breath and prayed to everything and anything I could think of . . . including him.
“Come out, Astrid. I’ve been expecting you.”
Sweet baby Satan, this day couldn’t get any worse. Actually, it probably could . . .

Chapter 2
Shitfire, hell and damnation. This was bad. Satan was expecting me? How was that even possible? And how did he know I was hiding behind curtain number two? Although he was Satan or Lucifer or Beelzebub or the Prince of Darkness or...
“I prefer Satan. Lucifer is fine on Tuesdays and the Prince of Darkness will do in a pinch,” he said smoothly in his dark, rich voice.
Son of a... I quickly slammed my brain doors shut and hoped I still had at least that ability. Test it, my filterless and quick to come up with horrific ideas brain told me. Fine . . . Satan is a douchebag who wears ladies underpants and picks his nose... Nothing. No reaction. Thank you Jesus and Buddha and Moses and Judas and whoever else was kind enough to be helping me out at the moment. Wait. I take back the Judas thing. Don’t want to pray to a dude who gets people crucified. Dumb, dumb, dumb. I idly wondered for a moment if Judas lived down here. Focus. Satan was on the other side of the curtain I was hiding behind and he’d requested the pleasure of my company. Fuck.
I was Southern and I had manners. If I could teach art to genitalia obsessed seniors, I could converse with Satan. Right? Right. If he was expecting me, he was probably aware of my recent patricide and matricide . . . Would he be impressed or pissed? After all, my father had been in charge of Hell. Wait. How was my stanky father in charge down here if Satan existed? This made no sense. Were the Vampyres wrong? Was my father a big fat hairy liar? Who in the hell did I kill an hour ago? Was he even my father?#p#分页标题#e#
“I’m waiting,” Satan informed me in a tone that got my feet moving quickly.