Fashionably Dead Down Under(68)

“Did you talk to her?” he asked Ethan.
“Only at the end. She threatened to smite me.” He shuddered at the memory.
Satan sighed in relief. “She threatens me with that all the time.”
I blew out a frustrated sigh and slapped my hands down on the table. “Look, I’m tired of the bullshit and I want to go home. Gigi stopped time on Earth for me and there is no chance of Ethan dying. You, on the other hand, are in deep doodoo. Your mother is lonely and pissed. It would behoove you to visit her once in a while. You might curb her deadly tantrums if you showed a little respect or at the very least kissed her ass on a monthly basis. I’d recommend you get your pansy ass over to Nirvana. However, I wouldn’t go this week because like I said, I believe she and Gramps are going to be busy.”
“Did you just call me a pansy ass and use the term doodoo?” Satan inquired looking flabbergasted.
I thought for a moment about lying, but decided that wouldn’t really work. “Yes, I did.”
“Would you promise to call God a pansy ass when he comes for lunch at the end of the week?”
“Will that help my case?” I asked.
“Yes, it would,” he answered with a huge smile pulling at his lips. “It would make me very happy indeed.”
Grinning, I shook my head. I was dealing with two year olds who could destroy the world. Who fucking knew? “Fine. I’ll call God a pansy ass. Now I want to go home. Today.”
“No can do, pretty one,” Satan said, digging back into his pancakes with gusto. Clearly my agreeing to call his brother a pansy ass brought his appetite back.
“Should I call Gigi?” I asked politely.
“No,” both Satan and Ethan yelled at the same time.
I shot the evil eye at my mate. I’d been bluffing and he was screwing me up.
“Sorry,” he muttered and went back to his coffee.
“Listen, Uncle,” I said with saccharine sweetness. “I’m pregnant and you’re eating pancakes. This does not work for me. I would like to tear your head off right now, so start talking or I’m calling my grandma.”
To say the Devil looked taken aback would be an understatement. “Fine. You win . . . this round. I have a little problem. The Sword of Death has gone missing and I need it back.”
“Yes, and?” I said, knowing where we were going.
“I can’t actually kill anyone to get it back and I need someone who can to find it and destroy the traitor who took it,” he stated logically as if I’d understand and agree.
“So basically you want an assassin to go do your dirty work when you all were dumb enough to leave the damn thing in the Den of Iniquity.”
“Yes, that sounds about right,” he agreed, speared a piece of pineapple and ate it. It was good he was eating pineapple. I was allergic to pineapple. If he’d eaten bacon I would have used a little magic voodoo and sewn his lips shut. Glancing around the table I realized there was no bacon or sausage or eggs in sight. He was a lucky man.
“That is a tempting offer, but I’ll have to pass. I’m not a hired killer and neither is my mate.”
“I beg to differ. You killed fifty Demons yesterday and seem quite fine today,” he said, watching me with curiosity.
Looking down at my hands, I wanted to cry. Ethan tensed beside me and the room filled with his heavy-duty magic. I squeezed his hand to let him know I could handle it. There was no getting around the fact that I had created the magic that destroyed those men . . . I looked my uncle in the eye and let my tears fall without shame. “That was not for money. That was for honor.”
“Yes, I believe it was.” Satan nodded and stood. Pacing back and forth he ran his hands through his hair.
“Ethan, I want to go.”
“Listen to what he has to say. I have a feeling it’s far more complicated that just finding a sword,” Ethan answered.
“Nothing down here is what it seems.”
“As is with most of life.” He gave me a brief smile and took my hand in his.
“Are you two done?” Satan demanded impatiently.
“For the moment,” Ethan said smoothly.
“There’s a balance. Good and evil. The lines are constantly crossed and blurred. The Sword was created to destroy what can no longer distinguish the difference,” Satan said.
“Its purpose is to kill a True Immortal?” I asked.
“True Immortal?” Ethan asked.
“There are seven True Immortals; myself, the pansy ass God, Mother Nature, The Angels of Light and Death, my father and the Woman. We cannot be killed by conventional means. We can either choose death and then use the Sword, or the Sword of Death can be plunged through our hearts three times and we would cease to be.”