“Dad, I know what will cheer you up. Why don"t you go back to Hell and torture a few of the demons who are bad-mouthing you, and show them you"re still boss? Start a few eternal fires, make a grand speech about everyone bowing to the king of Hades or facing the flames of perdition.”
“You"re just trying to get rid of me,” he sulked, although I could see my words had perked him up a bit.
“Yes and no. I have to open the bar in, like, twenty minutes; so yes, I am trying to get you to leave, but,” I said, throwing my arms around him and hugging him tight, “I love you, and I don"t like to see you like this.”
“I don"t know why, but I"m attached to you, too,” Satan said grumpily, hugging me back. I cherished moments like that; they tended to be few and far between. “Try to be bad,” he said, before popping out of sight.
The smell of brimstone--the predominant perfume of Hell, and my dad"s calling card--hung in the air, the hard-to-wash miasma clinging to my sweater. Great, now I needed to change again.
Hurrying because I was now definitely running late, I changed my yellow crew-neck t-shirt to a tight, pink, scoop-necked one. I tucked it into my skin-tight white jeans; then I yanked on my pink ankle boots with furry cuffs, because everyone knows: no matter how fabulous or not the clothes are, it"s all about the footwear. I grabbed my keys and white lambs-wool jacket, and hightailed it out the door.
As soon as I exited the building, the wind caught at my hair, which I"d stupidly left hanging down. The long, silken length of it plastered across my face, and I could only see in patches.
With no time to go back and tie it up, I squinted as best as I could and cursed–some of it pretty colorful, considering the people I knew–and trudged off to work. I"d like to blame my hair for slamming into the broad back of the man who seemed to suddenly appear in front of me, but truth be told, I"d been woolgathering again.
Of course, I didn"t intend to take the blame. “Ow, watch where you"re standing,” I yelled, stumbling backwards and teetering over the edge of the curb. I would have probably fallen on my ass, had the rock I"d run into not grabbed me by the arms and yanked me steady.
“You should watch where you"re walking,” said a gravelly tone that made goose bumps rise on every part of my body.
I wanted to see his face, to see if he could possibly be as sexy as his voice suggested, but the damned hair in my face just refused to get out of the way. I only managed to get an impression of height and width. By the time I"d managed to grab my hair and yank it to the side, the stranger had disappeared. I looked ahead of me, behind me, and even across the street; but the humans stumbling along didn"t seem right. For one, they seemed too ordinary. The man I"d hit had felt like something more. I"d sensed power coiled inside of him, an energy my own power reacted to.
He must have been new in town, because I knew I"d never met him before; and not to sound conceited, but anyone with supernatural abilities--be they good or evil--ended up in my bar at some point. Speaking of which, I was late!
Walking quickly, I made the remaining six blocks in under fifteen minutes, arriving just as Charon popped out of a dimensional door inside the alcove that protected my front door.
“Don"t you have to ferry people across the river?” I asked my most faithful client. A long standing joke between us.
“I"m thirsty,” he said, his face hidden in the depths of the voluminous cloak he always wore.
“Besides, they"re dead, they can wait. After all, they have all of eternity left.” Charon chuckled evilly.
“Oh, give it up,” I said. I punched him in the arm before unlocking the door to the bar. “You and I both know you"re about as evil as a fly.”
“I"ve known some pretty evil flies in my time,” he said, dead pan. Then he chuckled normally.
“Actually, I took the night off. My wife says I need to slow down, so I"ve got my son working the boat today. Here"s hoping he doesn"t drop the oar this time and strand the souls in the middle of the Styx again.”
“He didn"t?” I breathed, in shock. Talk about a major faux pas.
“I"m afraid he did,” said Charon, shaking his head. “I love my son, but, I have to say, he"s not the sharpest blade. I acted preemptively this time though; I tethered the oar to the boat.”
I laughed, and let my longtime friend–who also happened to be Dad"s best friend–into the bar.
He kept me company while I fired on the lights and prepped the bar for the evening crowd.
Thursday nights usually got quite the crowd, but with Survivor: Burn in Hell premiering that night on the Damned channel, I knew we"d be missing a few familiar faces. I had it taping myself, on my DVR. I never missed a season. It just reminded me of how much I really needed to invest in a flat screen; another thing on my lengthy „to do" list for when I made some money. I refused to borrow money from Dad, because he always tried to tie it up in strings. I intended to keep my soul–if I had one--thank you very much.