Fashionably Dead Down Under(95)

The crowd’s chatter grew and the yelling began. I would have assumed it would be the Demons that would be the rudest, but the Angels held their own.
“Prove it,” an Angel yelled.
“Why should we believe you?” a Demon shouted. “You invited a filthy Vampyre to Hell.”
Alrighty then. A chorus of “yeah” and “purebloods rule” and “kill the Vampyre” assaulted my ears.
What in the hell was happening here? Clearly I hadn’t gotten out much in Hell. I had no idea I was so popular . . . And why in the fuck was I on a stage with Satan and God? I tried to slink away. I didn’t want my presence to cause a brawl. As I stepped back a strong hand grasped my arm and the chance for escape was gone. It was God. He pulled me between himself and Satan and held me fast.
“Do you see the good or the bad in people?” he asked me quietly. Satan shot him an annoyed look, but God ignored him.
“What are you talking about?” I asked, bewildered.
“Just answer the question.” His grip on my arm tightened and I realized Satan and Dixie and Grandpa were right. There is no such thing as pure good or pure evil. Period. Everything is gray and it’s all in the interpretation.
“I see both,” I told him. “Everyone has both.”
“Everyone?” He raised his eyebrow and waited. His beauty was distracting, but I’d grown tired of all the beautiful without the substance to back it up. God may be full of substance, but in this moment he was after something that apparently I could provide.
“Yes.” I looked him in the eye so he would know I was including him too. “Everyone.”
He threw back his head and laughed. He reminded me so much of his brother in that moment, I laughed with him. He nodded to Satan and Satan winked at me.
“You may know of the Sword of Death,” God called out.
“It’s a myth,” someone yelled.
“Doesn’t exist.”
“It’s a joke,” another chimed in.
“Oh no,” God chided the audience. “It most certainly exists.”
I shot Satan a glance. Did God not know it was missing? How in the world could Satan look so freakin’ calm? This was a clusterfuck waiting to happen . . . Was he about to spring it on God in front of everyone? For real?
“Fred Rogers,” Satan said. “Step forward.”
The crowd parted as a shimmering dust exploded gently in the back of the room. God released my arm and I felt whispers curl around my body clinging to me and embracing me with a power that humbled me. It also froze me to the spot I was standing in. In a panic I looked to both God and Satan. They had put some sort of beguilement on me and I was planted—unable to run. The need to run was overwhelming, but the mechanics to do so had been taken away.
Mister Rogers walked forward. He held a sword in his hands and a halo glowed around his head. He smiled at me and I gasped. The magic coming from the Sword was so pure and so strong no one could look right at it.
“Mister Rogers stole the fucking Sword of Death?” I gasped.
“Oh no, neighbor. I am the keeper of the Sword. I live in the Den of Iniquity and I guard it with my goodness and light,” my childhood idol said.
“Are you going to tell me Mr. McFeely lives there too?” I snapped sarcastically.
“No, no.” He chuckled and shook his head. “Mr. McFeely is still on Earth, but when he ascends he will be in charge of the postal service in Heaven.”
I was struck speechless.
“You bastard,” Wrath yelled from her cage.
“You tricked me, you son of a bitch,” Greed screeched.#p#分页标题#e#
Mister Rogers just smiled at them and waved. A very sick feeling settled in the pit of my stomach. The Sword had never been missing. This was a game. A horrific game played at my expense. Satan was in on it and from the looks of things God was too. I was going to die. The filthy half Vampyre half Demon was going to die. Grandpa had clearly been in on it too. He had lured Ethan from the room. I was going to die alone for the sins of my father. I closed my eyes and realized I had no one to pray to. Maybe this was my purpose . . . to atone for the sins of my father. Tears rolled down my cheeks.
“I’m sorry, my little baby.” I touched my hand to my stomach. “I’m so sorry.”
“Give the Sword to Compassion,” God commanded.
Who in the fuck was Compassion? Was somebody new going to hop up here and chop my head off?
Mister Rogers stood in front of me and held out the Sword. Confusion didn’t begin to cover what I felt. What kind of warped game were they all playing?
“It’s you, Astrid,” Ethan said. “You’re Compassion. Take the Sword.”