Fashionably Dead Down Under(6)

“Halt,” my uncle the fucking Devil hissed.
I did.
“Don’t you think it only fair that you learn about the other part of your heritage?” he half asked-half insisted, turning his back on me.
“Um, no, that’s okay. I’ve seen enough in the last couple of hours to last a lifetime . . . a long one—like mine.”
“Unacceptable,” he replied so quietly I wasn’t sure I heard him, but if the look on Dixie’s face was anything to go by, things were about to get hinky. Shit. “You will stay here until I deem it reasonable for you to leave. You will immerse yourself in the Demon culture and you will get to know your family.”
“There’s more than just the two of you?” I asked, hoping there wasn’t.
“Oh yes, my lovely niece. Many more.”
“There will be people looking for me,” I said, wracking my brain for any excuse to leave.
“That should be fun,” Satan grinned and I almost fainted. His charm was addictive.
“The longer I’m here the better the chance that there will be problems for you.”
“Trust me, my dear, there are already problems . . . Plus, time runs differently here than it does on your chosen plane,” he said and turned to leave.
“What the hell does that mean?” I demanded. I had no clue if he knew I was pregnant, but if time was screwed down here what did that mean for my baby?
“It means,” my uncle replied slowly while staring me down, “that I determine how much time you miss on Earth. A week here could equate with a minute in your world . . . or it could equate to a year or ten. That, my dear, will be up to you.”
“To me?”
“Yes, good behavior will be in you favor. Remember that.”
With that he disappeared in a blast of black glitter and smoke.
Son of a bitch, this day just kept getting worse . . .
“Come with me,” my cousin Dixie said. “You’ll stay at my place during your visit.”
I rolled my eyes at the use of the term visit but didn’t correct her. There was something fragile and trusting about Dixie. Honestly I kind of liked her, but more than that I was hoping I could use her to get the hell out of . . . well, Hell.

Chapter 3
Dixie’s bungalow was really freakin’ nice. Gorgeous and graceful—very much like her. Actually, all of Hell was lovely. It reminded me of Kentucky in the spring . . . on crack. Blooming trees and roses and climbing blossoms everywhere. Literally. The scented air calmed me with its familiarity and I wondered how in the hell my father fit in here.
Dixie drove us from the Devil’s estate back to her place in her Porsche. That’s right, a Porsche.
“Um, Dixie, did you know my dad?”
She paused and considered her answer. Her body language was stiff and childlike. “Well, I’d met him, but he lived in another area.”
“Another area? Like a different state?”
“Kind of,” she hedged. It was clear she had no clue what she could tell me and what she couldn’t. This could work to my advantage . . . use the naive cousin. Find out what I need to know and get the hell out of Dodge.
“Look, I won’t tell anyone what you tell me. I thought I was supposed to learn about my, um . . . heritage. How exactly am I supposed to do that if no one answers my questions?”
“Good point,” she agreed. “Listen, I have my therapy group coming over for a session. How about we talk afterwards?”
“Fine.” I caved. Maybe if I was agreeable I could make her like me and she would slip up and tell me how to find a portal . . . “Can I sit in on your session?”
She giggled and shook her beautiful head. “Yep, but stay over on the side of the room. It gets somewhat violent at times.”
“Noted.” Hell was weird and I was about to discover how right I was.
***
There were three in Dixie’s group besides her and the therapist, who was sporting a full body cast. WTF? They were as curious about me as I was about them. We all chatted a bit, then Dixie simply introduced me as her cousin. Nothing more. Nothing less. That was fine with me. I eyed the strange Demons and wondered if any of them would accept a bribe to get me to a portal.
Carl, Myrtle and Janet . . . I dubbed them the strong man, the bizarre little one and the bearded lady. Literally. Janet had a beard . . . Then there was the very angry therapist, who if she had a name I was not made aware of it. Again, fine by me. She was creepy and she smelled strange. I sat back in my corner and watched Hell’s version of The Jerry Springer Show unfold.#p#分页标题#e#
The tension in the room was palpable. I scanned Dixie’s living room for exits just in case this wonky little party of weird got out of hand. Carl, the Strong Man, rubbed his bald head the same way I rubbed my calf when it fell asleep. He rubbed so hard and fast, I was sure the skin was going to come off and his brain would fall out. I waited in anticipation and fear to hear what he had to say. I hadn’t heard him speak yet. He did a few bizarre dance moves when I’d asked him a question earlier. I’d bit down hard on the inside of my cheek so I didn’t laugh at him and I backed off. Janet, his bearded girlfriend, interpreted for him but no more. The therapist, sporting a bad attitude and a thin reedy voice, was very clear. Carl had to speak for himself.