Date: 2019-09-15 14:03:12+00:00
Description: It's not nice to mess with Mother Nature. Really, it's not. This is simply not my week. Finding out I can't cook is appalling. My luncheon with the big-boned Immortal socialites went to Hell in a handbasket. I've been hoping to join the Fearsome Five and make it the Psycho Six. However, the chances of that happening now are looking slim. Of course, I could force my way in since I'm Mother freakin' Nature, but I want to be accepted for being me - and because I'm fabulous. It's bad enough my two sons, God and Satan, are driving me to crazy town while my best friend, Mr. Rogers, is riding in the
Rights: Copyright 2019 Robyn Peterman. All rights reserved.

A Fashionable Fiasco

Book Twelve of The Hot Damned Series

Robyn Peterman

Robyn Peterman

Copyright © 2019 by Robyn Peterman

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is coincidental.

This book contains content that may not be suitable for young readers 17 and under.

Cover by Rebecca Poole of dreams2media

Edited by MYST

Created with Vellum

Contents

Acknowledgments

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Note From The Author

Excerpt from: Beauty Loves the Beast

Prologue

1. Carter

Robyn’s Book List

About Robyn Peterman

Acknowledgments

Writing The Hot Damned Series is like coming home. All of these characters live inside me and talk constantly. LOL Mother Nature’s book has been a long time coming and it took me on a ride that made me laugh till I almost peed and then moved me until I ugly cried. I adore this book as much as I adore Mother Nature herself. My hope is that you enjoy reading it as much as I loved writing it.

Anyhoo, as always, I write the book, but it takes a whole lot of wonderful people to make the magic happen. I am a lucky girl because I have a lot of wonderful people in my life.

Rebecca, thank you for my beautiful cover. You are the bomb!

MYSTP, thank you. You saved me from some embarrassing mistakes. LOL

Donna McDonald and J.M Madden, thank you. You are the most brilliant critique partners in the world!

My Magic Wanda, you kick ass on a daily basis. I’d be screwed without you. Thank you.

Renee George, you rock so hard and will be my favorite Cookie until the end of time.

My beta readers—Wanda and Susan thank you. I adore you.

And to my readers… thank you. I do this for you.

Steve, Henry and Audrey, thank you. I love you and you make everything worth it.

Dedication

For Renee.

You saved my ass on this one.

I love you.

Chapter One

“Sweet Heaven and Hell in a jockstrap,” I shrieked in distress. My eyes grew wide at the horrifying situation unfolding in my glorious garden.

“Umm… that makes no sense, Gigi,” my granddaughter Astrid said, standing next to me and doing her damnedest not to laugh.

I was wildly grateful that Astrid had offered her assistance for the afternoon, but the calamity was no laughing matter. My half-Vampyre, half-Demon granddaughter was secretly my favorite, but if she so much as snorted she would lose a body part. Of course, it would grow back. I would never permanently harm someone I loved.

“What are you talking about?” I muttered, wondering if I closed my eyes for a moment, the catastrophe would disappear.

It didn’t.

“A place can’t wear a nut bucket, Gigi. Hence, Heaven and Hell can’t sport a ball basket. Now, a person can. You can say Sweet Satan in a sack jacket or even God in an over the butt nut hut. However, I’d avoid putting God in a dick bra… it just seems kind of wrong. Of course, Uncle Fucker wouldn’t be too pleased to be wedged into a cock sock either. But between Satan and God, I’d go for Uncle Fucker first. You feel me?” Astrid questioned, almost making me forget my own name.

Closing my eyes for thirty seconds, I quashed my desire to incinerate my beloved granddaughter. Of course, Astrid was impossible to kill as she was a True Immortal like myself, but it would be terrible form as her grandmother to try. Astrid was a wonderfully foul-mouthed pain in my perfect ass, but she was also correct. A place could not wear a jockstrap.

Nothing was going right this century. Nothing.

And that’s when the dry heaving started. Thankfully, not mine.

The forty-pound cake I’d slaved over for two days dropped from my hands and fell to the ground with a squishy thud. Pink gooey icing now covered my Prada stilettos. My stomach clenched in terror and it wasn’t because my shoes were ruined. Nope. I had thousands of pairs of shoes. What I didn’t have were snooty friends who drank tea while gossiping viciously in polite tones and I wanted some of those.

When the vomiting started, I was fairly sure my luncheon was a failure. This simply couldn’t be happening. I would never get invited into the exclusive Eternal Crème de la Crème Society now.

Five of the most important ladies in Immortal high society lay in a heap on the ground moaning and convulsing like they were dying, which was ridiculous since they were for the most part indestructible. The gals were known as the Fearsome Five. I was hoping to join and make it the Psycho Six. The chances of that happening now were looking grave. My guests were very unhappy. The gals represented a variety of species and were both feared and revered in the Immortal world. The hurl fest did not bode well for my reputation as the hostess with the most-est… or for me becoming a member of their exclusive posse.

“Dammit to Hell,” I muttered, wringing my hands and wondering what to do. Normally, I’d just throw a fit and cause an earthquake or a monsoon, but that probably wouldn’t go over too well at the moment.

I’d been trying to get into the elite club for centuries. Of course, I could have forced my way in since I was Mother freakin’ Nature, but I wanted to be accepted for being me. I was fabulous. I suppose the fact that I could incinerate all of them to ash with a flick of my pinky finger had been a deterrent in my getting a membership, but that wasn’t fair. It couldn’t be helped that I was the most beautiful and powerful being in the Universe.

“Big butts be pissy,” Studly, my favorite pet monkey, said as he dropped from the branch of a rainbow magnolia tree and landed on my shoulder.

“Hush,” I hissed and pinched his furry little leg. “They’re just big-boned.”

“Those are some really big bones,” Astrid muttered with a giggle and gave Studly a high five.

“Enough, you two,” I snapped. “It’s one thing for my luncheon to go to Hell in a handbasket. It’s entirely another for you to insult my guests for having an enormous, jiggling, bulbous derrieres.”

“Roger that,” Astrid replied with a grin. “I won’t say another word about enormous, jiggling, bulbous derrieres.”

“Astrid,” I reprimanded her. “That kind of language would not amuse Your Uncle God.”

“Gigi,” Astrid shot back with a barely disguised eye roll. “I was repeating your description.”

“Well, Hell’s bells. Did I really say that?” I asked, glancing over at Studly for confirmation. He never lied to me. Actually, Astrid never did either.

Studly nodded and snickered with delight. He was such a naughty monkey. However, I had no time to enjoy how mischievous my darling pet was. Something was terribly wrong if I couldn’t remember what I’d said two minutes ago. Not to mention five incredibly powerful Immortals were still writhing around like strippers in my flowerbed. This debacle would spread like a wildfire in the basement of Hell. It would take centuries to live this down.

Darndarndarn. My plan for Immortal domination of high society was going up in flames… or vomit as it were.

“My apologies, Astrid,” I said contritely.

Normally I would cause an explosion for being called out on being wrong. But something was amiss and I really hated when I detonated Nirvana and the Garden Palace. My flowers were quite lovely this season.

Astrid gave me an odd look that I had no time to decipher as my company was hurling.

The remnants of the beautiful buffet I’d prepared were strewn haphazardly across the sparkling and formerly pristine white tablecloths I’d chosen. My delicate floral china lay in broken pieces amongst the fragrant purple lilies and climbing peach-colored rose vines that surrounded the party area. It was a disaster.

“What is happening?” I demanded of a putrid green and very uppity Witch named Joan as she sprinted past me muttering something about me being evil and her needing a toilet.

Joan always had a slight green tint to her skin, but I’d never seen her quite as green as she was at the moment. Had my luncheon been attacked? That was preposterous. We were in Nirvana—my home territory. No one was shortsighted enough to enter my gardens and wreak havoc.

Plastering a smile on my face that I hoped didn’t appear as fake as it felt, I approached the flailing pile of overweight Immortal socialites and said a quick prayer to my son, God. I even added a silent plea to my other son, Satan. I needed all the help I could get. Rejection was not on my agenda today. I needed to get to the bottom of this travesty immediately.

“Ladies,” I called out in my outdoor voice they could hear me above the moaning. “Would anyone like some dessert before we vote me into your society? Not all of the cake was destroyed when I dropped it. I’m quite sure I could scrape some off the top that doesn’t have any dirt on it.”

“Vile woman,” a Vampyre named Hortense snarled, pointing a perfectly manicured finger at me. “Vile.”

“Poison,” the rather large Gnome called Fran hissed, clutching her pearls and trying not to heave. “You have poisoned us. On purpose.”

“I most certainly have not,” I snapped, completely insulted.

A change of subject was in order. I’d worked for a solid week to impress these large bottomed women so I could be a member of their club. To add insult to injury, Hortense the Vampyre’s razor-sharp fangs had popped out and Fran the Gnome had shrunk in size. That was an incredibly bad sign. Not that they could kill me, but these particular hoity-toity gals could do some serious damage. Even Satan was petrified of these women. It was actually one of the things I liked about the group. However, I wasn’t so fond of their ire when it was aimed at me.

Velma the Elf, done with emptying the contents of her stomach, straightened her lime-green Chanel sheath and narrowed her matching eyes at me. She too had shrunk in size and sounded like she’d swallowed a vat of helium. It was positively terrifying.

“I have never in my ten thousand years of existence attended a more appalling display of inadequacy by a hostess. This is unacceptable. You do not have the skills to be part of a select group like ours,” Velma squeaked in a pitch so high the crystal goblets filled with my homemade lemonade exploded. The yellowish liquid ate through the tablecloth like acid.

For a brief second, I wondered if I’d used too much lemon or sugar in my lemonade. Nah. I never used too much lemon. In fact, I was fairly sure I hadn’t used lemons at all.

Cathy the Fairy glared as she burped repeatedly and mopped her sweaty face with my sky-blue linen napkin. Her wings had appeared and flapped menacingly, blowing the rest of the buffet off the wrecked table.

“You can’t cook,” Fran gagged out as the contents of her stomach followed.

Closing my eyes, I counted to ten. Impulse control was not normally in my wheelhouse. Secretly, I was delighted that I hadn’t blasted Fran’s ass off with a bolt of lightning—although a derriere reduction would be a vast improvement.

My therapist had insisted I try to calm myself before I caused a natural disaster. It wasn’t working out so well. Since I paid the Demon exorbitant amounts of money to help me get a grip on my hair-trigger reactions, I figured I should at least try his suggestions.

“Say that again, Fran,” I ground out between clenched teeth as my wild red locks began to blow around my head while sparkling silver and rose-colored drops of rain began to leak from the darkening clouds in the sky.

“What should we have expected?” Joan the green Witch—or rather bitch—grunted as she rejoined the shit show. “She’s the mother of the Devil. She doesn’t belong with high-class ladies like us.”

Joan was the color of an emerald. Warts covered every inch of real estate on her pinched face. She looked diseased. Plus, she was wielding a fire wand. The old crone meant business.

Unfortunately, I did too. Unfortunate for them… not me.

“Oh shit,” Astrid muttered as she yanked Studly off my shoulder and dove for cover.

I would simply have to get a new therapist. The counting method sucked. I never should have taken Lucifer’s advice about a headshrinker.

“I can cook. I’m a brilliant cook. You all must have some kind of stomach bug,” I bellowed as hundreds of silver stripper poles burst from the ground, trapping my rude guests in sparkling prisons.

“We’re Immortal. We don’t get sick,” Joan grunted. She then pursed her green lips and raised her middle finger.

“That is not an excuse. You would be lucky to have me in your little club,” I shouted, extending my middle finger in response.

I was sorely tempted to bust a move or two on one of the poles and show off my sublime skills. But these women didn’t deserve to see me Wiggle and Flash into a Slinky Cat and then do my famous shoulder roll dismount. I’d never actually done those three moves successfully, but I was feeling lucky today.

With a wave of my hand, the ladies of the Crème de la Crème Society disappeared in a raging funnel cloud of glittering peach magic. Did they really think they could get away with saying I couldn’t cook? I was a world-renowned cook. Everyone knew of my prowess in the kitchen. Of all the ridiculous and insulting things they could have come up with, they had to pick that?

“Gigi?” Astrid whispered as she crawled out from underneath a bush and warily approached me.

“Yes, darling?”

“Where are the big-bottomed… I mean, big-boned ladies?”

“I sent the uncouth asses to Purgatory,” I explained with a shrug and a tight smile. “They’re lucky that they’re not frogs living in my pond right now. Although, Joan would have fit in with my toads sporting all those warts.”

Astrid glanced back at Studly, who was unfortunately flinging his poo. I’d been adamant about the monkeys not participating in that kind of pastime, but I was too tired to zap his hairy disobedient butt.

With a slight gag, Astrid turned her attention back to me. “Gigi, why don’t you go lay down and let me take care of this mess.”

Sighing and trying not to cry, I nodded. She was such a good girl.

“I think I will,” I said, kissing her cheek. “I suppose banging your grandfather cross-eyed and then getting a little shut-eye is would be wise.”

“Mmmkay,” Astrid replied with an eye roll and a giggle. “While that was TMI, I’d have to say I agree.”

There was a fine reason Astrid was my favorite. I could be myself with Astrid—something that was very rare in my unending existence.

Chapter Two

The sky turned an ominous inky purple. Twenty-foot waves crashed violently against the shiny stainless-steel appliances. The massive refrigerator groaned as it swayed and shuddered in the storm. An industrial-sized box of Betsy Cocker double chocolate deluxe fudgy cake mix fell from the top of the fridge and exploded, causing me to cough as I inhaled the sugary powder. An unfamiliar chill floated on the air and I willed my heartbeat to quiet so I wouldn’t be discovered.

Discovered by what? Or who?

That was the million-dollar question.

The refrigerator’s garishly made-up eyes fluttered shut and then popped open so fast I gasped. The expression of terror reminded me of something I couldn’t put my finger on. Granted, I was as old as the beginning of time, but I had an outstanding memory and a fabulous figure. Of course, I couldn’t put my finger on anything in the literal sense of the word since none of this was really happening… or was it?

A replica of my gorgeous pink frosted cake from the failed luncheon did a jazz run across a bed of nails while screaming obscenities. The confection had arms and legs and an ass that rivaled the rude society gals I’d sent to Purgatory.

If this wasn’t a dream, I was in tremendous trouble. Had I lost what was left of my mind?

Pink-eyed beasts with seven heads each circled above and tore jagged holes in the puffy purple clouds with their horns. I shivered involuntarily as drops of ice fell from the sky and exploded, covering a circus full of little people. Twenty of them were on fire, standing not even ten feet from me.

Now that was simply awful. I adored little people. Whoever was concocting this vision was a meanie. If someone was trying to get my attention… they had it.

Swirling tendrils of lavender smoke wound their way around my legs and held fast. I waved my hands to clear the air before the newly arrived fun mirrors crashed and splintered. This shit had to stop. I’d eaten nothing at my disastrous luncheon so that couldn’t be the problem.

“This ends now,” I muttered, moving slowly as not to wake myself from my slumber.

Realizing I could use my hands and still be immersed in the Hell I’d entered inside my dream, I quickly put out the flames consuming the little people and sent them away to safety—or relative safety considering I had no clue where I was.

Actually, I had no clue where I’d sent them either. I was just thankful they were gone and hopefully still flame-free.

Catching a glimpse of myself in one of the warped mirrors, I came as close to losing my debatably sane mind as I’d ever come. Detonating the bizarre room I was standing in seemed like an excellent idea. However, I was unsure if magic in my sleep would actually occur in real time as well. It wouldn’t do to blow up Nirvana. Plus, Bill was sleeping in our bed—wherever that was at the moment. For all I knew, I was still taking a nap next to the love of my Immortal life.

I’d done that gorgeous man until his eyes crossed. Yes, I was that good.

This was definitely a dream. I would never wear such unfashionable clothing. Never. No one messes with Mother Nature’s style. No. One.

“Who dressed me? This is unacceptable,” I hissed, glancing down in abject horror at the plain brown flannel nightgown with rows and rows of dull cream-colored ruffles. Of course, it didn’t help that I was covered in powdery cake mix either.

The nightwear belonged on a nun—not on the Goddess of Nature. I wore silk or nothing at all for the love of everything breathtakingly beautiful. Not flannel. Could this fashion catastrophe be compliments of my vomitous and irate luncheon guests? I was quite sure none of the Fearsome Five were Dream Walkers. Dream Walkers were the rarest of the rare. Plus, not one of the idiots would have dressed me in brown flannel. They might be violent, uppity, big-boned and rude, but they had outstanding taste.

“I will smite your sorry ass to Hell if you don’t show yourself. And I will enjoy it,” I threatened as I tried in vain to remove the offending material from my body.

“Hello, Gaia,” a disembodied voice whispered.

“Who are you?” I demanded. I glanced around the room and realized I was suddenly standing at the edge of a cliff that led to an abyss of darkness so evil I sucked in a cautious breath. “What do you want?”

“There are whispers that the end times are coming,” it said.

“That’s ridiculous,” I snapped, trying desperately to recognize the voice.

Was it male? Female? I couldn’t tell. All I knew was that I didn’t like whatever it was and it had abhorrent taste in sleepwear. Not to mention the end times would suck.

“Is it ridiculous?” the voice inquired silkily. “Are you quite sure?”

“Yesssss, I’m sure,” I lied through my teeth, wondering if this was just a dream or a dire warning. The airborne seven-headed beasts were not exactly a good omen.

A burst of laughter from whatever had decided to pay me a visit sent shivers skittering up my spine. However, I kept my stance causal and hoped to Hell and back that I could wake myself if needed. Maybe playing along and being polite would convince the entity to leave.

“Mmmkay, let’s just pretend you’re not full of shit. Is there something I should do to stop the end times?” I inquired. So much for being polite…

“You should learn how to cook.”

“I’m an outstanding chef,” I shouted. Where were people getting this false information?

“You can’t cook,” the voice purred.

Being nice was for the birds. The dancing cake, the appalling sleepwear, the refrigerator with eyes and the evil abyss were one thing. However, the faceless visitor had just crossed the line into Whoop-Ass-Ville.

“Take that back,” I snarled.

“Can’t take back the truth,” it informed me with glee.

It was positively evil and I was done. I considered waking myself up, but there was a message in this nightmare. It wasn’t about my culinary prowess—or at least, I didn’t think it was.

“State your business and be gone,” I snapped, letting my gaze stray to see if I could spot the owner of the voice.

Nothing. Crap.

“Your children are not getting along,” it whispered as the wind picked up and my feet involuntarily moved closer to the edge of the cliff.

“Your point? My children never get along.”

When your offspring were God and Satan, discord was a given. Was this thing a damned idiot? My boys had entirely different agendas. They would never be chummy.

“Fair enough,” the voice as it seemed to fade away.

Wait. Was that it? I already knew my boys weren’t overly fond of each other. “Umm… do you have anything else to add?” I asked wanting to get this over with so I could change my outfit. Itchy and ugly wasn’t my regular modus operandi.

“Bring them together. Children need their mother. They will help you find the perfect recipe. They will have the ingredients. Good versus evil must be served by one with a little pinch of nature.”

“Bring who together?” I demanded. “My boys?”

The damned voice stayed silent, which most likely meant I’d given the incorrect answer. Whatever. I’d try a different angle.

“There’s a dish called good versus evil? Is it sweet or savory? And by a pinch of nature are we talking vegetables or fruit?” I asked, confused and wishing I had a piece of paper to write this shit down. Cryptic nonsense made my trigger finger itchy. An earthquake would be a bad move right now, but I was tempted.

“Are you serious?” the voice questioned, annoyed. “That’s all you got from what I just said?”

“What was I supposed to get?” I inquired with an eye roll that almost gave me a headache.

“Umm… not that,” it replied, trying not to laugh. “There were a whole bunch of really good hints.”

“That I’m supposed to understand?” I hissed.

The entity was silent for a long moment. “Umm… well…”

“For the love of everything nightmare-ish. You suck at this,” I shouted.

“Fine,” the voice hissed. “The hints will reveal themselves in time. You happy now?”

“Not particularly. Repeat the warning,” I demanded.

“Bring them together. Children need their mother. They will help you find the perfect recipe. They will have the ingredients. Good versus evil must be served by one with a little pinch of nature.”

Mmmkay, maybe the thing wanted me to cook up a feast with God and Satan and make my boys serve it? Preposterous. What on earth did that have to do with the end times? Bringing God and Satan together and making them wear aprons would most likely cause the end times.

Was I being played by the nasty entity who had appalling taste in clothing?

“That’s a recipe for disaster,” I muttered, wondering how many double meanings might be in the bizarre directive.

“Kind of like your luncheon?”

Throwing my hands in the air, I stopped short and counted to thirteen instead of blowing up wherever the Hell I was. Maybe my therapist wasn’t as crappy as I’d thought. “Aren’t you quite the bitchy messenger?”

“Yes, well, one has to amuse oneself,” it replied with a chuckle.

“Whatever,” I grumbled, feeling the disrespectful entity begin to move away. I needed a bit more clarification before the spirit left. I hated cryptic messages. I liked my dire warnings to be spelled out in fine print—or blood if one enjoyed being dramatic. “So you say all I have to do to end the end times is have a dinner party with my boys?”

“Oh my Hell,” the thing sputtered. “Are you daft?”

I was so done. “You’re a fine one to talk. You set little people on fire. I would never set little people aflame,” I insisted, stomping my foot and causing the edge of abyss to crumble and slide into the unknown.

Whoops. It would be wildly embarrassing to get sucked into a crevasse of evil even if this was just a dream. Backing away, I lifted both hands skyward and extended my middle finger to whoever was annoying me to the point of violence.

“And are you sure they didn’t enjoy being on fire?”

“No one likes to be on fire,” I hissed, raising my birdie fingers higher, and then paused. “Well, my son enjoys a good inferno, but he’s insane.”

“Parts of the dream are of your own making.”

“And what exactly is that supposed to mean?” I demanded. Talking in circles pissed me off. Pissing me off caused catastrophic damage. This thing was treading on very thin ice.

“It means whatever you want it to mean, Gaia.”

Waving my middle fingers so the spirit was sure to see my rude salute, I counted to fifty and then blew up the refrigerator and all the funhouse mirrors. It felt wonderful and I was somewhat in control now. A little bit of destruction could go a long way indeed.

“At the risk of being uncouth,” I started.

“You’re already there,” the voice pointed out.

It was a reasonable observation. I really didn’t need to flip the thing off. It just felt nice and was far better than whipping up a volcano and letting it erupt.

“My bad,” I replied, retracting my birdie fingers. “So all I have to do is make my boys play nice and everything will be fine?”

“Umm…that’s somewhat simplistic, but it’s a start. Remember all I have told you. Go about business as usual.”

It took all I had not to detonate the area. “Would you like to be less cryptic?”

“I can’t.”

“You won’t,” I snapped, again glancing around and trying to find the owner of the voice.

“The end draws near and you may not be strong enough to withstand the storm. What you could lose might be priceless,” the voice purred softly.

“How much time do I have?” I demanded.

“A week.”

“Well, Hell on fire,” I snapped. “Is that negotiable?”

In a clap of thunder that I felt all the way to my toes and a blast of purple lightning, everything disappeared—including the horrid brown flannel. I stood alone and completely naked in what I could only describe as nothingness. No color. No movement. No life.

I smiled. The voice was wrong. It was wildly incorrect about its assumption concerning me.

“I am strong enough,” I whispered into the barren, sterile air. “For I am the storm, you mother fucker.”

“Sweet Hell on Sunday in a strapless bra,” I shouted as I jerked to a sitting position and tried to untangle my legs from the peach silk duvet.

“What’s wrong?” Bill shouted as he hopped out of the bed and prepared to kill whatever had alarmed me.

Bill was as gloriously naked as the day he was created. In his state of high alert, his eyes turned a sparkling bright green and tendrils of shimmering silver smoke wafted from his nose.

It was wildly arousing, but sadly I didn’t have time to indulge. My six-foot-four, dark-haired, amber-eyed mate was the most exquisite eye candy in the Universe. Every inch of my lover was pure muscle, but his mind and heart were far sexier than his body. My temptation was named Bill. However, temptation would have to wait. I had to think.

Most of the time when I indulged in deep thought, it ended in an avalanche, but that was a risk I would have to take.

“I had a dream,” I told him, looking down to make sure I wasn’t wearing brown flannel. Nope. I was naked—naked and fabulous. “Wasn’t a good dream though—more like a nightmarish vision. I even used the term that rhymes with brother trucker at the very end.”

“That’s highly unusual and quite out of character, my lover,” Bill said, crawling back into the bed and wrapping me in his strong arms.

I paused and considered how much to share. I still didn’t understand what it all meant and burdening my love could backfire. Bill tended to kill first and think later where I was concerned. Was the message meant for me alone? Would I disrupt destiny if I spoke of it?

Shit. Being in charge was indeed tiresome sometimes.

“Darling, as much as I love you in your true form, maybe you should revert back,” I suggested, playing with the light sprinkling of dark hair on his chest. “It’s very difficult to keep my train of thought while your ass is exposed.”

“Funny thing,” he said perplexed. “I tried when you passed out after the tenth orgasm and it didn’t take.”

“That’s odd,” I replied. Not the ten orgasms, of course. That was normal.

“Quite,” Bill agreed.

Normally, my lover looked like a Sprite—small in stature and incredibly squeezable. It was the façade he showed the world. His true form was our secret. As a Sprite, he was tremendously powerful. As the Enforcer, he was one of the deadliest forces of nature in the Immortal world with an insanely fine ass. As the ancient prophecy went, Bill would never stay in his Enforcer form until…

Well, crap. I couldn’t remember.

“Shit,” I shouted and grabbed him by the shoulders. “Do you know what this means?”

“Umm… that we can have sex again?” he inquired, yanking me down on top of him and his happy camper.

“Well, yes,” I said with a giggle as I writhed on top of his body that was the definitive orgasm machine. For a moment the sheer size of his camper made me forget that the world was coming to an end. “NO!”

“No?” Bill asked.

“Well, maybe three or four or five times, but we have to talk first.”

With a panty-melting smile and a kiss that made my toes curl, Bill lovingly tucked my wild red locks behind my ears and gently moved me off of his body. I felt the loss of his heat acutely.

Okay, okay, okay. My therapist said to think things out before freaking out or decapitating people—not that I would ever decapitate Bill. Even if I could, he was another True Immortal like myself and Astrid. Besides, he was far too good in the sack to even contemplate beheading.

“Well, before I get to the possible end times part, my luncheon didn’t exactly go well,” I admitted, letting my chin fall to my chest.

“Those vicious porcine women would be lucky to have you in their club,” Bill said, his eyes narrowing with displeasure.

“That’s what I told them,” I pouted. “They said I poisoned them.”

Bill was silent for about thirty-three seconds too long. I would swear he was trying not to laugh.

“Umm… did you have the event catered?” he asked carefully.

“Of course not,” I huffed indignantly. “I cooked.”

Again with the silence.

“What?” I demanded.

As my knee was dangerously close to his crotch, I watched as Bill searched for the words that wouldn’t cause me to neuter him. Thankfully, his pride and joy would grow back if I accidentally on purpose removed it. We’d discovered the nifty fact about a thousand years ago after a disagreement about clowns. He thought they were funny. I didn’t. He lost his joystick and I won the argument. The kicker was that it grew back bigger than it was originally. Being that his camper was already an extra-large, I really didn’t want to remove it again in case it came back-monster sized.

“Darling?” Bill said, rearranging his huge frame so he was lying on his stomach.

“Yes?”

After a tremendously long pause, Bill decided to change the subject. The way he pressed his lips together was a dead giveaway.

“Umm… tell me about the dream,” he said. “You say the end times are near?”

“That’s what it said,” I admitted.

“What who said?”

“I’m not sure.”

Snapping my fingers, I dressed Bill in a custom black Armani suit and myself in a black Prada sheath. Looking down, I gasped. We looked like we were going to a funeral. I never wore black. What the Hell was going on here?

“Tell me what happened,” Bill insisted, looking as alarmed as I was about the hue of the dress I’d chosen for myself.

So I did. I told him the entire bizarre dream leaving nothing out. When I finished, we both silently contemplated what on earth it could have meant.

“Hmmm,” he said, sucking his bottom lip into his mouth. “Quite confusing.”

“Right?” I said, delighted he thought the same thing I did. Although it would have been more helpful if it had made sense to him.

“Do you think it was the Antichrist?” Bill asked in a flat tone as silver smoke began to waft from his nose again.

“Well, shit. I never even considered that,” I said, turning away from Bill and blowing up the armoire. With that unwelcome news, I needed to blow off some steam. “I suppose it could have been since the end times were mentioned, but it doesn’t feel right.”

“It talked about a recipe, children needing their mother and good versus evil being served as one. Yes?” Bill pressed as he stood up and began to pace our enormous suite in the Garden Palace.

“Umm, yes, I think so.”

“Darling?” Bill said, positioning himself behind a large dresser. “Can I be frank?”

“You can be whomever you want to be. However, I’m quite fond of the name Bill. You’re really not a Frank.”

Bill laughed and I giggled. I had no clue what I’d done to amuse him, but his laugh always undid me. I craved his delight as much as I craved his body.

“Fine,” Bill said with a grin. “I’ll stick with Bill. But I want to tell you something and I’d prefer to keep all of my body parts. Can we make that work, my lover?”

I considered his request. He was about to tell me something I didn’t want to hear. At least he was smart enough to warn me. Of course, when you’d been with someone since the beginning of time, you knew their quirks—or violent tendencies to be more accurate.

“As long as it’s not about clowns, I suppose I could comply—or at least try,” I said, sitting on my hands so I didn’t electrocute my best friend in the Universe.

“Lover, I think you should learn how to cook,” he said and then waved his hand and produced a reinforced see-through magical wall around himself as a precaution.

“Repeat,” I ground out as my hair began to fly around my head and peach glitter blew through the room, causing a windstorm.

“You can’t cook,” he said with a wince.

“Are you serious?” I shouted over the wind that was now at tornado levels.

“I’m afraid so,” he shouted back.

This was horrifying news. Granted I’d been told this before by almost everyone I knew, but I never believed it. Well, not until now.

The wind jerked to a halt and peach sparkles rained down covering our entire suite in glistening magic.

“I can’t cook?” I asked, as my eyes welled up with tears.

“Oh my love,” Bill said, swiping his hand through the air and disintegrating the wall he was hiding behind. “It’s okay. One can’t be good at everything.”

Taking me into his arms, he rocked me like a baby.

“But I love to cook,” I wailed as I used his sleeve as a hanky. “I love having dinner parties and I’m pretty sure I have to cook Lucifer and God dinner, have them serve it in aprons and convince them to be chummy to stop the end times from coming.”

“Shit,” Bill muttered with a slight shudder.

“We’re all going to die,” I blubbered. Maybe I did poison the lard-asses at the luncheon. Crappity crap. Did that mean I had to apologize? Heaven and Hell help us all if I had to say I was sorry to those uppity wenches.

“We are not going to die,” Bill insisted. “Where there’s a will there’s a way… hopefully. Is that all you have to do to stop the end times?”

“The voice was a somewhat cryptically assholey-ish, but it said, and I quote… Bring them together. Children need their mother. They will help you find the perfect recipe. They will have the ingredients. Good versus evil must be served by one with a little pinch of nature.”

“Fine,” Bill said, gently drying my eyes and kissing my nose. “This is a reach, but try this on for size. Recipes are in cookbooks. You simply need to get a cookbook—a very basic, uncomplicated cookbook. You will follow the directions and voila… no one will die.”

“You mean no one will die from my cooking?” I asked, confused.

“Umm… no. That’s not what I meant. I meant you will stop the end times by learning how to cook,” he explained, looking extremely doubtful.

“You sound ridiculous,” I told him with a small smile pulling at my lips.

“I agree. It’s utterly absurd. However, let’s start there and see where it leads us,” Bill said with a sexy smirk, removing his jacket and tossing it on the chair.

“The entity said the hints would reveal themselves with time,” I replied with a demure smile that dove him wild. Clapping my hands, I saved my lover a bit of time. We were both now gloriously naked again. “The idea of me learning how to cook is crazy.” Even crazier because I still wasn’t convinced that I couldn’t.

Bill began to stalk me like prey and my insides tingled. I still marveled at the fact that after all this time he was the only one who did it for me.

“No crazier than we are,” he said, scooping me into his arms and tossing me onto our bed.

“We’re having a dinner party to end the end times,” I announced as I pulled the man who had brought me pleasure for eternity down on the bed next to me and straddled him.

“That’s my girl,” he said, running his strong hands over my body and making me feel so incredibly loved and cherished.

“And I’ll do you one better than just a cookbook,” I told him, returning the favor and touching him in all the places he loved to be touched.

“How will you do that, my love?” he asked as he nibbled on my neck and sent happy shivers through my body.

“Since this is a dire situation, I shall procure a teacher. I have just the right person in mind.”

The plan felt solid. I was sure the exploding double chocolate deluxe fudgy cake mix in the dream was a hint. I was so clever it was delightful.

Bill pulled back and looked at me with such love and pride in his eyes, I teared up again.

“You amaze me,” he whispered reverently. “You’ve got this.”

“You know as well as I do, there will be far more to this shit show than just hosting a dinner party where good and evil come to terms with each other and no one dies from food poisoning. Not to mention getting Satan to wear an apron will be next to impossible. Existence is never easy.”

“Nothing worthwhile ever is,” Bill said, halting all verbal conversation with his insanely talented tongue.

It would be quite the shock to all if Bill couldn’t take his Sprite facade back on. Most believed the Enforcer to be a myth.

Bill the Sprite could live out eternity happily by my side. Bill the Enforcer might have a harder time. Anonymity was the key to his success in keeping the balance of good and evil in check. Concealing Bill would be tricky. However, it was far less tricky than me learning how to cook. Of course, secretly I already thought I could, but maybe I was wrong…

There was always a first time for everything.

As shocking as it still was to me, maybe I indeed lacked culinary skills.

But I had a plan. Actually, I had a few.

If the end times were truly coming, I was going to learn how to cook without sending people to the toilet. The fate of the Universe depended on it.

Shit.

But first I was going to get laid. Priorities were important. Plus, I had a week until the world ended.

Chapter Three

The lighting was simply dreadful. If I wasn’t so stunning, I would have turned and walked out the moment I’d entered. Fluorescent lighting was not pleasing to the eye and was frightful on the complexion. It was a damned good thing I was perfect even if I was slightly overdressed for the outing. I’d missed the memo that mom-jeans and a multi-colored boxy t-shirt were the uniform. My designer peach ball gown and stiletto heels did seem a bit over the top. But if anyone could pull it off, it was me.

“Something is horribly wrong,” I hissed, steering the wheeled metal contraption through a shit show of elderly humans and doing my best not to run one over. That would be mean, and God didn’t like mean.

Not that he’d bothered to show up and help me. He’d taken up softball and was impossible to get ahold of as of late. What was a mother to do? The good son blows me off and the not so good son shows up. Of course, the not so good son didn’t want to. It took threatening to pole dance at his next poker game in Hell to get him to the earthly plane. Getting the boys together was proving to be difficult already.

“Don’t make eye contact, mother,” Satan advised, expertly avoiding a large display of Twinkies.

“Why?” I asked, starting to perspire as I narrowly missed three ancient humans driving motorized scooters with baskets.

I never sweat. I shimmered. This was ridiculous.

“It’s Wednesday,” my son snapped with an enormous and rude eye roll.

I was incredibly tempted to blast his ill-mannered ass straight to Hell, but that would be counterproductive. The little shit lived in Hell. He would be delighted to be sent home to his Kingdom. I’d have to settle for ignoring him. The Devil hated to be ignored.

Grabbing a few boxes of Twinkies and putting them into my large Prada bag, I narrowed my eyes and headed for aisle three. She had to be there. From my research on the internet, I’d learned all of her products resided on the shelves in aisle three.

“Did you just steal those Twinkies?” Satan inquired with a wide smile.

“What are you talking about?” I demanded as my hands began to spark.

Satan backed up and stood a safe distance away. He was a smart boy. “You have to pay for items in a fucking grocery store, mother. You can’t just put them in your purse.”

“Are you serious?” I asked, shocked. I hadn’t seen that requirement on the internet. “I don’t have any money. Do you?”

With a curt nod and a naughty grin, my slippery-fingered son strolled up and down the aisle filled with humans and came back with ten wallets full of cash and credit cards. It was appalling. I watched the sneaky bastard the entire time and never saw him steal a thing. He was very good at being very bad. He was also otherworldly beautiful and charming which helped him get away with all sorts of dreadful things.

“Return those at once,” I snapped and put my Twinkies back on the shelf. “We aren’t here to buy anything. We’re here for a kidnapping.”

“What?” Satan asked with a delighted chuckle. “A kidnapping you say?”

Swatting him in the head and magically returning the wallets to their rightful owners, I sighed dramatically. “Yes. I’m here to abscond with Letty Hocker.”

Satan stared blankly. Dammit, that wasn’t her name. I had recently ordered all of her cookbooks—not that I’d used them yet, but I owned them. It was a good start.

“I meant Titsy Shocker,” I corrected myself.

“Am I supposed to know who that is?” Satan inquired with an eye roll that should have earned him another swat.

He lucked out due to my need to recall a specific name. I was pretty sure I’d messed up my idol’s name—again.

“Umm… Bitsy Clicker?” I tried.

Blank stare from the Devil.

“Boopsy Canker?” I tried again.

An enormous bellow of laughter from my boy—not a good sign. What was her name? I could see her in my mind. Nice red—if not somewhat dated blazer, pearls and a crisp white shirt. Her hair could use a little update, but I assumed since she spent all of her time in the kitchen coming up with new recipes, she didn’t have time for a stylish do. I could definitely help her out with that.

“We’re here on a Wednesday to kidnap someone called Boopsy Canker?” Satan inquired, pressing his fingers to the bridge of his nose.

“What does Wednesday have to do with anything?” I demanded as I considered grabbing one of the people in a shapeless blue coat and tossing them into my cart. They worked here. They should know where everything was supposed to be. This place was a warehouse of mass confusion. Humans were crazy.

“Wednesday is Senior Citizens Day,” Satan ground out. “How can you not know that?”

Slapping the insolent shit on the back of his head, I stopped the metal contraption I was pushing and glared. “Explain yourself,” I demanded.

Again, he rolled his eyes.

Again, I smacked him.

“On Wednesday all of the old human wrinklies come out of hiding and forage for food,” Satan explained with a huge put-upon sigh. “If you make eye contact, they ask for help. If you help a wrinkly, they smile. When they smile, it gives you a feeling of satisfaction well done. As this is something that appalls me, I don’t abide by helping human wrinklies. I’d suggest you follow my lead or we’ll be here all fucking day.”

“How do you know this?” I asked, fascinated. “Have you been grocery shopping before?”

“No,” he snapped. “I have not.”

“You have.”

“Not,” he growled, clearly asking to be smacked again.

Satan stomped his Armani clad foot and covertly blew up a large banana pyramid. All of the blue-coated workers ran to see what had happened and the wrinklies ducked for cover.

“Move it,” I hissed at my destructive son. “The coast is clear. We have to find Barbie Cracker at once.”

The Devil shook his head and groaned. “I thought you said we were looking for Boopsy Canker.”

“Noooo,” I hissed as I abandoned the wheeled metal contraption and bypassed a wrinkly that was definitely trying to make eye contact. If I had the time, I would have happily helped. As nutty as they were, I adored humans. However, with a week until the end of the world I needed to stick to business. “I said Cetty Bocker… I think.”

Dammit, I’d confused myself now. Her name didn’t matter. I knew what she looked like.

“I don’t have time for this,” Satan muttered as he jogged alongside me.

“Trust me,” I shot back. “You do have time for this.”

“And why is that, mother?” he inquired, stepping on a prone wrinkly who seemed to appear from out of thin air. The poor man was trying to stand up.

“Because I said so,” I snapped and gently helped the wrinkly to his feet.

“Thank you, beautiful girlie,” the ancient human said with a semi toothless grin and a wink.

“Why, aren’t you just the charmer?” I replied, preening for my appreciative and very over-the-hill audience of one. “Are you alright?”

“I am now. You’re my dream come true,” he replied, blushing from head to toe. “It’s my lucky day!”

I just adored the effect I had on humans. I didn’t believe in luck, but if the human wanted to subscribe to the notion, who was I to correct him?

“Darnedest thing,” he went on, scratching his head. “I was on my way to buy a Betsy Cocker cake mix and got beaned by a flying banana.”

“That’s it,” I shouted and grabbed an abandoned cart. “Betsy Cocker. She’s the one I’m after. Pick up the wrinkly and put him in the basket,” I instructed a shocked Satan. “He knows Betsy Cocker. He’s coming with us.”

“I will not carry a wrinkly,” Satan informed me in the same tone he’d used as a child when I’d insisted he eat broccoli.

“You don’t have to carry him,” I said with an eye roll. “My new friend… umm… do you have a name?”

“Jim Bob,” he replied, looking slightly terrified.

“My new friend Jim Bob knows Betsy Cocker—the woman we’re here to procure. We could save a tremendous about of time by abducting two people instead of spending the next hour looking for one. You feel me, son?”

“I have bingo at noon,” Jim Bob offered up weakly.

“Not to worry,” I told him and patted his bald head. “As soon as I take Betsy Cocker hostage, you’re free to go.”

“Thank you,” Jim Bob said, holding his arms out to Satan so he could be placed in the cart.

“For the love of everything evil,” Satan griped as he lifted Jim Bob up and dropped him into the cart. “This is not only ridiculous. It’s fucking embarrassing.”

“Cakehole. Shut it,” I advised my son as I headed for aisle three with Jim Bob pointing the way. “So is Jim your first name and Bob your surname?”

It wouldn’t hurt to be polite to the wrinkly. We had put him in a cart after all.

“Nope,” he said, hanging on for dear life as I sped down aisle two in my stilettos and headed for my victim… I mean, idol. “Jim Bob is my first name and Bob-Bob is my last name.”

Slightly strange, but if he was going to help me, I didn’t care what his name was.

“Jim Bob Bob-Bob?” Satan asked with a grunt of laughter as he sprinted alongside the cart.

“Yep,” Jim Bob Bob-Bob admitted with a squeal of terror as I narrowly missed flattening a female blue coat serving up free chips and salsa. “As the story goes, my pappy liked his moonshine and might have slurred a little when he told the doc my name.”

“Pish,” I said and then accidentally ran over the feet of another blue coat who was putting cans on a shelf. The screaming was a little much if you asked me, but humans were fragile. “Jim Bob Bob-Bob is a fine name. Left or right?”

“Left,” Jim Bob advised, white-knuckling the sides of the cart.

Taking a sharp left, Jim Bob almost flew out of the metal basket. He was being such a good sport for a human.

“Halfway down the aisle on the right,” Jim Bob yelled with relief, realizing the end of the ride from Hell was in sight. “There!”

“Where?” I demanded, skidding to a stop. “There’s no one here.”

The aisle was completely devoid of people—wrinkly or otherwise. Had Jim Bob been yanking my chain? Betsy Cocker was nowhere in sight.

“Right there,” Jim Bob said, pointing at a bunch of boxed cake mixes with my idol’s picture on them.

“Got it,” I said, yanking the boxes off the shelves and searching for my prey. Crawling into the shelving unit was awkward, but I was on a mission. “Damn, she really knows how to hide.”

“What the Hell?” Satan snapped, yanking me out of the shelves. “At the risk of sounding sane, what exactly are you doing?”

“I’m looking for Betsy Cocker,” I said, preparing to crawl back in and find the elusive woman. “I have to have her. It’s a matter of life and death—for everyone.”

“Umm… can I say something?” Jim Bob asked.

“Is it pertinent to me finding the sneaky baking bitch?” I inquired politely. It wasn’t Jim Bob’s fault that Betsy Cocker was playing hide and seek.

“Possibly.”

“Then have at it, Jim Bob Bob-Bob,” I told him as Satan walked about ten feet away and pretended he didn’t know us.

“Well, from what I’ve heard, Betsy Cocker is a crotchety old bitch who lives in seclusion and hates her adoring cake loving public. Horrible, vile, disgusting woman,” Jim Bob explained.

That was unacceptable. There were pictures of her smiling all over the internet. Crotchety old bitches didn’t smile. Horrible, vile, disgusting women didn’t bake delicious cakes and wear pearls. Jim Bob Bob-Bob was a very old human. Humans were known to become forgetful in their twilight years.

“I beg to differ, Jim Bob,” I replied as my fingers began to spark in annoyance and the floor began to tremble. “I found hundreds of smiling pictures of her on the internet and then found this address. It specifically said that Betsy Cocker could be located in aisle three. While she may have dreadful taste in blazers, she is not in seclusion. So clearly, you are WRONG.”

And that’s when I forgot to count to thirty. It truly wasn’t my fault. Jim Bob had made me second-guess myself. I hated being wrong. Plus, I wasn’t wrong. Maybe I’d written the address down incorrectly.

The jungle appeared as the floor opened and sprouted enormous trees, gorgeous plants and boulders. This caused a mass riot of wrinklies and blue coats. Thankfully, I was skilled enough to harm no one. However, the lions, tigers and baboons that came with the jungle were a little iffy. Snapping my fingers, I made sure all the wildlife that had shown up were vegetarian. The produce section was now under attack. It was far better than the wrinklies ending up as lunch. I would have felt just awful about that.

“My goodness,” Jim Bob squeaked with delight as a colorful parrot landed on his shoulder and eyed him warily. “Glorious.”

I cast a sideways glance at my new human wrinkly buddy. The parrot pecked Jim Bob’s bald head seven times and then flew away, leaving a dropping on his shoulder. That was odd. My parrots usually loved humans. Pecking a human in the head seven times was terribly rude. And Jim Bob’s reaction? Bizarre. Why wasn’t he terrified? A huge dose of unfathomable magic had just dropped into his local grocery store and crapped on his shoulder, yet he was enjoying it. Jim Bob Bob-Bob was a strange little human indeed.

“Jim Bob,” I said, eyeing him. “Why aren’t you screaming in terror?”

He smiled his toothless grin and shrugged. “I’m a lonely old widower and this is the most excitement I’ve seen in years.”

“Children?”

“Sadly, no. My Cora Bell Bob-Bob was never able to have them,” he said, shaking his head and giving me a sad smile. “But we had good times, Cora Bell and me. Miss her something awful. You married?”

“Why?” Satan inquired with a grunt of amusement. “You want to date her?”

Jim Bob gave Satan a stern look that actually silenced him. This wrinkly was indeed interesting.

“I’d be honored to have such a lovely gal on my arm for a stroll through the park… or grocery store… or jungle,” he told my son. “But I would never encroach on your territory—even if you are a rude one. Not to mention I’m too old for a hottie like your wife.”

Satan was grossed out and positively speechless. So was I. The mistake was hilarious and wildly incorrect. However, I could see how Jim Bob had made it. Immortals stopped aging around thirty. I was thousands of times older than my sweet toothless admirer, but that was not something I was about to share. The human mind could only understand so much without imploding.

“He’s not my husband,” I explained to Jim Bob as Satan gagged and began to systematically blow up the shelving that my jungle had left intact. “He’s my son. My very naughty son.”

“You should take that little devil over your knee and teach him some respect,” Jim Bob offered.

I froze as did Satan. My eyes narrowed and I gazed at Jim Bob Bob-Bob with a bit of alarm. Rarely in life were mistakes made. Fate didn’t like to play that way. Had I grabbed a wrinkly that was necessary to my cause? Or was I about to do something stupid?

Probably stupid…

“Repeat that, Jim Bob,” I said as Satan stopped blowing up what was left of the grocery store and joined me. We observed Jim Bob like he was a science experiment gone wrong.

“You should take that little devil over your knee and teach him some respect,” he repeated, looking a little worried.

“Engrossing choice of words, wrinkly,” Satan pointed out. “Exactly how old are you?”

“Kind of a rude question,” Jim Bob pointed out.

“Yes, I know. Thank you,” Satan replied much to Jim Bob’s confusion.

Something was amiss and my son would never get to the bottom of it without massive property damage or torture. I’d already destroyed the grocery store so I was good for at least an hour. Destruction or sex with Bill calmed me. Since an orgasm was off the table at the moment, destruction would have to do.

“Jim Bob,” I said, swatting off a baboon who was far too fascinated with my jewels—they just loved shiny things. “Tell me about your Cora Bell Bob-Bob please.”

Jim Bob’s smile grew wistful. “She was a real beauty, my Cora Bell. Her hair was as black as night and skin as pale as an albino—actually paler than an albino. She had a temper like a powder keg and never had much of an appetite. Our town was real dangerous when my Cora Bell was alive.”

Satan glanced over at me and raised a brow. I raised mine right back. Clearly, I’d gotten Betsy Cocker’s address incorrect, but might still be in the right place at the right time. I had no clue as to why, but following my gut had always paid off.

“Dangerous you say?” I pressed.

“Oh yes ma’am,” Jim Bob replied with a chuckle. “We were known as Love Bite City back then. People would wake up in the morning ‘round here with hickeys like you wouldn’t believe. It was something else.”

“I’m quite certain it was something else,” Satan muttered. “So how did your Cora Bell expire?”

Jim Bob shuddered and his chin fell to his chest. “It was just awful. It was after a night of drinking—well I was drinking. My gal couldn’t eat or drink due to her being an albino.”

“Albinos can’t eat or drink?” I asked, confused. I was going to look that up on the internet. Although the internet was kind of bullshit as it had given the wrong address for Betsy Cocker.

“For the love of everything illegal and immoral,” Satan snapped. “Let the wrinkly talk.”

“Fine,” I pouted. With a covert snap of my fingers, I turned the color of my son’s impeccably cut black Hugo Boss suit to hot pink.

Satan was appalled, but Jim Bob didn’t blink an eye. Hmm…

“Do go on, Jim Bob,” I said.

“Well, now, Cora Bell and I were getting all feisty like we usually did every third Saturday. My gal gave me a hickey to end all hickeys. Pretty sure I passed out from that black and blue necktie, if you know what I mean,” he said, waggling his eyebrows.

“I’m quite sure I don’t,” I replied, slightly appalled. How could an old human wrinkly who enjoyed getting tramp stamps on his neck be relevant to the world ending?

“I do,” Satan said.

“Of course, you do,” I said with an eye roll. “Keep talking, Jim Bob Bob-Bob.”

“Well, it was just a real nice night. Next morning, we were both a little groggy from all the fun. Cora Bell went outside to grab the newspaper and POOF. She just blew up like a tick full of blood on a hound.”

“Explain the poof,” Satan said flatly as his eyes glowed a menacing red.

Jim Bob gulped. The pink suit didn’t get him, but the Devil’s eyes certainly did. However, to be fair, the Devil’s eyes got everyone.

“Since she was an albino, she just blew right up in the sun,” Jim Bob whispered, watching Satan closely. “Turned to ash. Saved me a pretty penny not having to cremate her and all.”

“That’s certainly practical of you,” Satan said, moving into Jim Bob’s personal space. “Did it ever occur to you that your Cora Bell was as dead as a doornail the day you met her?”

“Lucifer,” I hissed. “Be careful.”

Revealing ourselves was not the smartest thing we could do. Although humans rarely believed us when we did. But Jim Bob Bob-Bob was different. I wasn’t sure if he was good different or bad different.

“Not to worry mother,” he replied, sounding every bit the ruler of Hell. “Mind wiping is delightful.”

“Won’t work,” Jim Bob told the Devil with a chuckle that wasn’t as cute as his earlier one.

“And why is that?” Satan inquired in a tone that made the hair on my neck stand up.

“Cause I already told you I have bingo at noon,” Jim Bob replied, nonplussed.

Checking his watch, he glanced up and smiled. Jim Bob’s eyes were now fathomless black pits of evil and I gasped. Satan growled and his beautiful body lit up in flames. The old wrinkly wasn’t shocked at all by my dastardly son’s appearance. The surprise in our expressions seemed to amuse the old man, whom I was now quite sure wasn’t human at all.

“Nice to meet you, Satan and Mother Nature. Good luck finding Betsy Cocker. I’m quite sure I’ll be seeing you soon,” Jim Bob said as he pulled a small white plastic horse from his pocket, held it high in the air and then snapped it in two. With a laugh that would give me nightmares for a few centuries, he disappeared in a cloud of putrid black and green smoke.

“What the Hell was that?” I shouted as I flapped my hands to clear the acrid vapor still lingering.

Satan was positively furious. Glittering black magic swirled through the grocery store, further freaking out the workers and remaining wrinklies. “The end times are near, mother,” he whispered, his eyes still glued to the cart that Jim Bob had been sitting in only seconds ago.

“How do you know?” I demanded, realizing my dream was most definitely a warning.

“That bastard Jim Bob Bob-Bob is not human,” he said in an emotionless tone.

“Clearly,” I replied, throwing my hands in the air. “Is he a Demon?”

“Nope,” my beautiful evil son replied, kicking the cart over and causing it to explode into thousands of tiny metal pieces.

“Then what is he? A Vampyre?”

“Nope.”

Stomping my foot and causing a mini earthquake, I got up in my beloved son’s face. “I do not have time for the guessing game,” I snapped. “If the end times are indeed coming, I have things to do. What is Jim Bob Bob-Bob?”

“Not what, mother. The question is who is Jim Bob Bob-Bob?” he said with a sigh of weariness that made me realize how old we both truly were.

“Fine,” I said calmly. “I’ll bite. Who is Jim Bob Bob-Bob?”

“The Antichrist. Jim Bob Bob-Bob is the fucking Antichrist,” Satan spat.

“Are you sure?” I demanded, feeling quite ill.

“Positive. Did you see his eyes?”

Nodding, I shuddered. “And the white plastic horse?”

“If I were to hazard a guess, I’d say he just broke the first seal,” Satan growled. “Granted the asshole wasn’t riding the white horse or wearing a crown and carrying a bow, but…”

“So he’s a cut-rate version of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse?” I asked, wishing Satan had left a few shelves intact for me to blow up.

“That or he’s fucking with us. You’ll have to excuse me, mother,” Satan said, gently kissing the top of my head. “I need to go to Hell and prepare my army. Will you speak with my brother of this?”

Nodding again so I didn’t cry, I hugged my boy. “We will meet in Nirvana in an hour. You will obey me.”

Closing his eyes and running his hands through his hair, he gave me a curt nod. “As you wish.”

“I love you,” I whispered as I kept my arms wrapped around his huge frame.

“And I you,” he said with a chuckle. “However, if you repeat it, I’ll deny it to my dying day, which might be sooner than anticipated.”

In a blast of black glitter, the Devil went back to Hell.

And me? I needed to find Betsy Cocker. Immediately.

And I had an idea how. It was a bad idea. But at this point, I was going to go with anything that was even slightly reasonable and mostly legal.

But first, I needed a meeting with both of my sons. Maybe I could bring Good and Evil together and call it a day. And maybe not. Nothing was ever easy.

Heaven and Hell help us all.

Chapter Four

“The Antichrist was at the grocery store,” Satan announced with his back turned rudely to his brother.

It was a rather bizarre statement and all the more alarming because it was accurate.

“Repeat,” God demanded, staring holes into the back of Lucifer’s head.

Inviting my children to the same plane much less in close proximity was tricky. I adored both of my boys equally and loved each from the bottom of my heart. However, if they burnt Nirvana to ash, I would kick both of their asses and give them a time out in Purgatory. Purgatory was far worse than Hell—beige, boring and the music was horrifying. Today they would get along. There was no alternative. I didn’t care how important they thought they were.

“Sorry,” Satan said with a smirk, cupping his hand to his ear. “I can’t hear you over that loud and wildly emasculating ensemble you’re wearing.”

This was not going well. Granted the Devil had a point. God was clad in what I could only describe as a sparkling white softball uniform. My angelic son was so otherworldly beautiful, he was able to pull off the sportswear—mostly. Of course, he was number one—he was God after all. But the twinkling lights outlining the numeral were a bit much even for me. And I was waaaaay over the top.

“If you’re waiting for me to care what you think, I certainly hope you brought a snack because it’s going to be a very long time,” God replied to Satan with a smile so beautiful I giggled.

“Always taking the good boy’s side,” Satan muttered with an eye roll.

“I’m taking no one’s side,” I said, planting my hands on my hips and giving them what I called the mom-ball—or evil eye if one needed a full explanation. “We have an issue and I need both of you to help me.”

God sighed and then grinned at his brother. “You really only annoy me when you breathe.”

Satan’s bellow of laughter made me release the breath I held. One never quite knew how a meeting between good and evil would pan out. Not that Satan was all evil or God was all good. Satan didn’t create evil. He simply punished it—and he was quite adept at doing so. The Devil seriously enjoyed pointing out that it was his brother who had given man free will—hence in a very roundabout and extremely gray way, God was responsible for evil.

Semantics.

The world would tilt off its axis if either one of them fell down on the job. There was no such thing as pure evil or pure good. Well… the Antichrist might fall into the pure evil section.

“Touché, brother,” Satan said, still smiling. “I came here hoping for a battle of wits, but even I wouldn’t attack someone who’s unarmed.”

“Point to Lucifer,” God said, chuckling. “However, you might want to save your breath to blow up your next paramour.”

“Enough,” I snapped, trying not to grin. I did love it when they got along—along being a relative word. As long as no lightning bolts or fire were thrown, we were good. “Fate would not be pleased with that kind of talk. You know your brother is mated to her now. Be nice.”

“My apologies,” God said to Satan with sincerity.

It took everything Satan had not to rudely retort. His body language was a dead giveaway as his hands were clenched at his sides and his eyes blazed red. Lucifer had found real love and Hell hadn’t even frozen over. It was miraculous. God knew it as well as I did. However, since we were here to discuss the end times, Satan kept his behavior in check. Plus, it was difficult to be rude to God when he was lovingly sincere—even the Devil was susceptible to his brother’s charm.

“My Elle goes by Luck—not Fate. Granted, determining and safeguarding fate is her job, the name is tainted by the last one who held the position,” Satan said tightly.

“Understatement,” God agreed.

As of now, the original Fate was being held in stasis in Heaven—a punishment more severe than death. She had gotten power-hungry and so evil there was no other choice. She had denied that Fate was three entities and had almost destroyed her own race of Sirens in the process of trying to take over the world.

Payback was a bitch and in her case it sucked. Thankfully, she was out of the picture permanently. Elle and her mother, Sadie, now took turns as the keepers of fate.

“So back to business,” I said, offering my boys some coffee and cookies I’d whipped up in preparation of having them both to my palace in Nirvana.

“Thank you, but I’m full—ate before I came,” God said, turning a little green.

“Not in the mood to be poisoned today,” Satan chimed in, not bothering to be as tactful as his well-mannered brother.

“That’s impolite,” I hissed and placed the tray I was carrying on an ancient stump covered in velvety soft moss, purple posies and yellow buttercups. “I used a recipe this time instead of winging it. I’m eighty-seven percent sure I used coffee beans instead of lima beans today and the cookies should be fine.”

“Have you tried one?” Satan inquired with a raised brow as a grin pulled at his beautiful lips.

Shit. He had me there. I hadn’t. After my luncheon and Bill’s observation about my cooking skills, I was hesitant to taste my culinary creations. Bill had offered to try it, but I could tell he was terrified and gave him a pass.

“Umm… actually, I haven’t tried them,” I said, tentatively picking up a cookie and raising it to my lips.

“Nope,” God yelled, diving forward like he was sliding into second base and removing the sugary treat from my hand.

Wait… had I even used sugar?

“No time for a bout of food poisoning, mother,” God said kindly, kissing the top of my head—or as kindly as he could while insulting my baking prowess. “So back to the grocery store.”

Satan rolled his eyes and began to pace. “I already told you the fucking Antichrist was at the grocery store.”

God too began to pace. “Highly unusual,” he said tightly. “The end times are not scheduled for any date in the near future.”

“Then what the Hell was the Antichrist doing shopping for cake mix?” Satan demanded.

“Are you certain it was the Antichrist?” God asked, squinting his eyes at his brother. “You’ve been known to be a bit untruthful in the past.”

Satan lifted both of his middle fingers and winked at God. “I truly wish I had more hands so I could flip you off properly. And while I delight in falsehood, I’m not mistaken.”

God grinned and shrugged. “The village called. They would like their idiot back. You should probably go.”

Again, Satan laughed. Again, I let myself breathe. Being the mother of two very strong-willed boys who could end existence was trying at times—like now.

“You know, someone wasted a perfectly good asshole when they put teeth in your mouth,” Satan told his brother and then yawned. “Please keep spouting nonsense. I only yawn when I’m fascinated.”

“If I threw a stick, you’d leave. Right?” God inquired, sitting down on a tree swing and enjoying himself.

Satan, clearly enjoying himself as well, leaned against a towering redwood and chuckled. “Sorry. I didn’t get that. I don’t speak asshole.”

“While this is amusing and delights me,” I pointed out with a giggle, “we do have the end of the world to discuss.”

“The end times are not on the schedule,” God repeated, confused.

“Wait,” I shouted with excitement as I levitated and alarmed both of my sons. The wind picked up and flowers bloomed all over the place. “Are you saying that if the end times are not on the schedule that they can’t occur?”

“Correct,” God confirmed.

“Then why was the Antichrist at the grocery store?” Satan pressed.

“Just because the end times are not imminent, doesn’t mean massive and deadly damage can’t occur if the Antichrist is up to no good,” God said.

“And is the bastard ever up to good?” Satan rolled his eyes and waited for God to field the question.

“Umm… no,” God replied. “Never up to good. However, as strange as it is that the abomination was in the grocery store, it begs the question of what exactly were you two doing in a grocery store?”

“Ask your mother,” Satan said, glancing over at me with a raised brow.

“She’s your mother too,” God reminded him.

“Today she can be your mother.”

God shook his head and sighed dramatically. He took the longest pause ever. He was famous for his pauses and this one did not disappoint. It was magnificent. However, I enjoyed his loaded silences far more when they weren’t aimed at me.

“Mother, what were you doing at a grocery store?”

How to answer… “Well, I was looking for Bitsy Clicker,” I said sheepishly, wondering if Satan was going to out my real reason.

God raised his brow in confusion and waited.

“I meant Boopsy Cruiser,” I amended quickly and then banged my head on a tree creating a smallish avalanche. “No. Not Boopsy Cruiser. I was searching for Betty Cornholer.”

Dammit, God could tell I was lying. Occasionally, it was a bummer to have the best son in the Universe. Satan was of no assistance at all. The little shit was laughing at me.

“Fine,” I said, stomping my food and causing a tornado to whip through Nirvana. If we kept going at this rate, I didn’t have to worry about my boys destroying Nirvana. I would do fine all by myself. “I was at the grocery store to kidnap Boopsy Canker.”

Satan’s grin was so wide I wanted to smack it off his handsome face. “Don’t you mean Barbie Cracker, mother?”

“NO,” I shouted, feeling horrible that God was now aware I was taking humans hostage. “It’s Boobie Croaker.”

I paused and thought for a moment. Boobie Croaker was definitely not her name.

“Mother,” God said gently. “Tell me what you have done.”

“Will you forgive me?” I asked.

“Of course,” he said with a wink. “Forgiveness is divine—like me.”

Satan gagged. “I could eat a bowl of alphabet soup and crap out a less conceited statement than that one.”

“You should talk to a proctologist about that,” God shot back and then turned his attention to me. “Go on, mother.”

“Mmmkay,” I said, screwing up my courage to confess that I wasn’t perfect—even though I was. “I invited the Crème de la Crème Society for a luncheon and it went a bit left of center.”

God paled as did Satan at the mention of the big-boned Immortal society ladies. They scared the pants off of everyone.

“How left of center?” God asked with a small shudder. “And how does this relate to you and Lucifer going to the grocery store to collect hostages?”

“I’m getting there,” I promised. “Soon it will all be clear.”

“As mud?” Satan questioned.

“Cakehole. Close it or I’ll make you sample the cookies,” I snapped.

Satan chuckled and made the international zip the lip motion. Clearly, my cookies were an outstanding weapon.

“I want to join their club,” I admitted. “Soooo, I invited them for a luncheon and I cooked for them.”

“Oh shit,” God whispered.

“Did you just swear?” Satan demanded with a delighted grin.

“When the situation merits it, I do. So, the answer is yes,” God replied.

“For the first time ever, I agree with you,” Satan said, patting his brother on the back.

I was pleased that they had come together. I was not pleased it was at my expense. However, throwing a fit would be counterproductive. Even though the end times weren’t on the schedule—and who knew there was a schedule—bad things were definitely brewing.

With a wave of my hand, I covered both boys in flowering vines. They looked ridiculous. Extricating themselves would take a few minutes and could finish my story in peace—or at the very least without being insulted again.

“Anyhoo,” I went on. “They said I poisoned them. I would love to call bullshit on that, but now I’m not so sure. And even if I did, they’re Immortal and will live through it.”

“They’re mean enough to live through almost anything,” Satan pointed out as he removed daisies from his dark hair. “Why exactly do you want to be a part of this group?”

“Because I wasn’t invited,” I told him.

He nodded and emptied the roses from his pockets. “Makes sense to me.”

“Not to me,” God said, trying to pull the lilies from his softball cleats. “Still don’t understand how this relates to the grocery store.”

“Trust me, it does,” I said, sitting down in a bed of ferns. “I decided that maybe there was an off chance that I couldn’t actually cook and might need some assistance.”

Both of my children wisely kept their traps shut.

“I went on the internet and looked up the cooking goddess Benny Castrator.”

“You mean Betsy Cocker?” God inquired with a wince.

“YES! Thank you. Betsy Cocker. I found her address on the internet and went to kidnap her so I could learn to cook without having to watch my guests sprint to the toilet during my parties,” I explained to a seriously confused God and Satan. “I was going to forcibly bring her to Nirvana to teach me how to cook.”

“Sounds reasonable,” Satan acknowledged.

“Not,” God added.

“So that’s why we were in the grocery store. Betsy wasn’t there so I must have written the address down incorrectly, but in the end, I believe we were supposed to be there since Jim Bob Bob-Bob was there.”

“I’m sorry. Who?” God asked, perplexed.

“The Antichrist—Jim Bob Bob-Bob,” I replied.

God shook his head and his sparkling blue eyes narrowed. “That is not the Antichrist.”

“I beg to differ,” Satan ground out through clenched teeth. “It was the Antichrist. I saw his eyes.”

“It’s his son,” God growled. “This is why I wasn’t alerted. I have no jurisdiction over the spawn of the abomination.”

“Do I?” Satan inquired.

“Did you have a dream?” God asked in all seriousness.

Satan pressed the bridge of his nose and let his head fall back on his shoulders. “I thought you were supposed to be the smarter one. However, light travels faster than sound, which might be why you appear bright until you speak. What in the HELL does a dream have to do with any of this?”

God eyed Satan and ran his hands through his thick blond hair in annoyance. It took a lot to perturb God, but Satan was gifted in that department.

“Occasionally it’s wiser to keep your mouth shut and give the impression that you’re a dolt rather than open it and remove all doubt,” God chided his brother. “The one chosen to deal with the spawn of the Antichrist will get a warning in a dream. The Antichrist pops up every ten thousand years or so. He’s not due to cause any destruction for another eight thousand years. However, his son has his own agenda. That is why I inquired.”

“Whoops, my bad,” Satan said with a shrug.

“Shit,” I shouted, causing a flock of a hundred parrots to appear.

“Literally,” Satan groused as he ducked the flying turd producers.

With a wave of his hand, God subdued my frantic pets. They settled themselves quietly and peacefully in the trees.

“Nice move,” Satan said. “I would have blown them up.”

“I thought about it,” God admitted with a small grin as he wiped the poop from his shoulder.

“So, let me get this straight,” I said, ignoring the banter between my boys. “If someone gets a warning about the end times in a dream, they are the one charged with solving the issue?”

Both of my children glanced over at me with interest and alarm.

“Umm… did you have a dream, Mother?” God asked, concerned.

Nodding, I hopped up from the bed of ferns and began to pace my garden. I was so lost in thought that I didn’t realize that every step I took produced mounds of flowers in my wake. It wasn’t until I couldn’t find my sons in the flora and fauna I realized what was happening.

“Are you still here?” I called out, worried.

“Still here,” God answered, buried somewhere in my garden. “You might want to tamp back the magic a bit, mother.”

“Or I can set Nirvana ablaze,” Satan called out. “I would love to start a fire right now.”

“Nope,” I yelled as the flowering vines climbed higher. It was lovely but not very conducive to a family get together. With a clap of my hands, the riotous blossoms receded. “Sorry boys, I got a little distracted.”

“Clearly,” Satan said. “I’ll be pulling petals out of my ass for weeks.”

“That will be easier than pulling your head out of your ass,” God pointed out.

“Hilarious story,” Satan hissed. “Which chapter is it in where you shut your fucking mouth?”

Tension was riding high—much higher than my vines had crawled. I could taste it.

“One shot,” I instructed with an exasperated sigh. “You each get one shot at each other and then we shall play nice. You feel me?”

“Seriously?” God asked with a grin.

“Fantastic,” Satan added, rubbing his hands together with glee.

“No killing blows,” I said. “Not that either of you can die. Nothing aimed at the face or the testicles and weenie area.”

“You did not just say testicles and weenie,” Satan mumbled, shaking his head in horror.

“Should I say nuts and pecker instead?”

“Umm… no,” God said, biting back a laugh. “Let’s move forward.”

“Yes. Let’s,” Satan said. “Do you prefer fire or lava, brother?”

“Fire,” God said. “Lightning or locust?”

“Lightning,” Satan affirmed.

“On your mark. Get Set. GO!” I shouted as they proceeded to blast each other with blows that would have killed even the strongest Immortal.

They were laughing like idiots as they tried to dodge shots from each other. It was strangely heartwarming to hear them shrieking like little boys while watching them try to set the other ablaze.

“Ouch,” God yelled as a fireball landed on his shoulder, sending his pristine white softball uniform up in flames.

“Son of a bitch,” Satan yelled with a grunt of laughter as God retaliated with a bolt of lightning that singed his Gucci suit beyond recognition. “You suck.”

“You suck,” God yelled back with joy.

“You suck more,” Satan said with a wide grin, preparing to toss an enormous fireball.

“ENOUGH,” I bellowed, loud enough to be heard above the crackling flames. “I said one shot. You two have taken at least ten apiece.”

“Fourteen,” God admitted sheepishly.

“Fifteen,” Satan said as he blasted God one last time.

“You cheated,” God grunted as he snapped his fingers and doused the flames that engulfed him.

“Your point?” Satan asked with a naughty grin.

God laughed so hard that Satan joined him. Goodness, I wished every day could be like today. Well, not exactly like today. Today minus the son of the Antichrist and all of the destruction. It made my heart sing to see my boys together and laughing.

“No point,” God said, still laughing. “A simple observation.”

“Are we done?” I asked, smiling as I waved my hand and tidied up my children’s singed clothes. It wouldn’t do to have my grown sons running around the garden naked.

Both boys nodded and Nirvana magically reverted back to its former glorious beauty.

God sobered quickly and took my hand in his. “You had a warning dream?”

“I did.”

“The one who has the dream is the one to outwit the Antichrist—or rather his son in this instance,” God explained.

Satan’s eyes widened and his head dropped to his hands. I was certain I heard him laugh. Double shitshit.

“It’s not funny,” I hissed and whacked him in the head.

“Call me crazy,” Satan began.

“Crazy,” God volunteered.

Satan’s eyes narrowed and I was fairly sure he was about to zap his brother even though set your bother on fire time was over. As pure and sweet as God was, he was big on retaliation where his brother was concerned.

“You set yourself up for that one,” I told Satan.

“Actually, I did. Point to the do-gooder,” Satan conceded. “However, my point—before I was so childishly interrupted—is that fate makes no mistakes. If the warning was sent to you, it is your mission to take.”

“What do you two think of aprons?” I asked.

“Have you finally lost your mind?” Satan demanded as God simply stared at me perplexed.

“Possibly. Never mind about the aprons. Where is Elle right now?” I asked as the wheels in my brain began to turn.

“With her mother teaching the Sirens that it’s a no-no to eat your paramours after sex,” Satan replied. “Do I need to call her back?”

“No,” I replied firmly. “Not yet.”

“Not sure that calling her back is prudent,” God said. “Fate—or Luck—must go where the winds of change take her.”

“Tis true,” Satan said. “I’ve racked up many miles following my mate around.”

“When did you last see her?” I questioned, trying to figure out if my hunch was correct.

“A few days ago,” Satan said, eyeing me with curiosity. “Why?”

“No reason,” I lied. “I’m tired—going to take a nap. You boys are dismissed.”

“What?” God asked, confused by my abrupt behavior. “I thought you needed our help.”

Pursing my lips and wanting to throw a tantrum, I counted to twenty and held myself in check. I was definitely going to continue sessions with my Demon therapist. The counting thing wasn’t so bad.

“Keep your cell phones on, boys,” I advised as I raised my hands high. “I’ll call you if I need you.”

With a slash of my hands through the air, I sent both of my bewildered and beloved sons back to their respective Kingdoms. Peach glitter rained down from the same sky that was shared by Heaven, Hell and Earth alike. Heaven was not above just as Hell was not below. That was a myth. We were all simply on different planes.

The sparkling enchantment tickled my skin as it danced through Nirvana. Normally I would sit and enjoy my magic, but not now.

I needed to talk to Bill and then it was time to take a nap.

Hopefully, I had a date with Fate… or Luck, as she liked to be called.

Chapter Five

“That son of a bitch, Jim Bob Bob-Bob snapped a damn plastic horse in half,” I ground out, clenching and unclenching my fists to release the anxiety building inside of me. The need to do some destruction was intense. I was on the verge of turning every piece of furniture in the Garden Palace into a flowering bush. That would be awful as there would be no place to sit. However, it would be far better to turn the Palace into a greenhouse than to blow it up, which was my other option.

“Mmmkay,” Bill said with a perplexed smile. “Is that supposed to mean something to me?”

“Well, shit,” I said with an eye roll aimed at myself. “My bad. I was so busy trying to bake cookies for the boys that wouldn’t poison them, I forgot to tell you something rather large earlier. When Satan and I were trying to kidnap Betty Cookware at the grocery store we ran into the son of the Antichrist.”

Bill’s smile left his beautiful face and his eyes narrowed. “Rather large is a bit of an understatement, lover.”

“Yessss, I know,” I agreed, giving up on trying to control myself.

With a wiggle of my nose and a wave of my hand, I incinerated the massive flat screen TV. I considered blowing up the bed, but I was hoping to put it to use. I was in serious need of some orgasmic tension relief or the Universe would be in more peril than it already was at the moment.

“Here’s the thing though, it’s his son, not the actual Antichrist, which is good… I think. God said the end times aren’t on the schedule for at least another eight thousand years, so… umm… we might be okay here.”

“God has a schedule?” Bill asked, squinting at me.

“Apparently.” I threw my hands up in frustration and accidentally blew up the crystal chandelier. “Damn. I liked that one,” I muttered. “Anyhoo, yes. God has a schedule. I find it incredibly rude of him to have kept this a secret for eternity. And Jim Bob Bob-Bob—the ancient asshole with missing teeth—is the son of the Antichrist. Oooohhh, and whoever has the dream has to solve the issue—which means me. This is sucktastic news, but shit happens. Also, I let God and Satan beat the Hell out of each other. A good time was had by all.”

“Umm… okay,” Bill said, running his hands through his hair. “They’re both still breathing?”

“Yes. No decapitation—just fire and lightning.”

“Sorry I missed that,” Bill muttered as he began to pace. His face went expressionless and his eyes blazed an eerie green. “However, let’s go back a bit, lover. You say this Jim Bob Bob-Bob—the son of the Antichrist—snapped a white horse in two?”

“Yes. First off, the slimy little bastard told me that Bootie Cougar was a shut-in and a bitch. Then he pulled a tiny white plastic horse out of his pocket and broke it. Satan believes it was the first seal of the Apocalypse,” I told him, hoping he would tell me that the Devil was wildly incorrect.

“Pestilence,” Bill whispered as silver smoke wafted out of his nose and his power instantly filled the room, making it difficult to breathe.

“You think that Jim Bob Bob-Bob has set a fatal plague in motion?”

“Only time will tell,” he said, shaking his head in disgust.

My lover seemed to be a million miles away from me as he stood motionless and closed his eyes. Bill often got lost in thought. Normally, I found it endearing. Today, I found it terrifying. However, I didn’t believe in bitching without solutions. I had a plan. A half-assed plan. But a plan was a plan.

“I’m going to draw out the Dream Walker and get it to tell me more… or kick its ass,” I said, snapping my lover out of his trance.

“Not sure that’s a good idea,” Bill said, taking my hand in his and leading us to our bed.

Being so close made my heart skip a beat. He was still in what one could call his more attractive form, but I loved him no matter what form he took. The outer layer was simply that—a shell. His inner beauty was so bright I often had to shield my eyes.

I occasionally wondered if Bill was prettier than me… No. That was silly. I was Mother Nature—the most beautiful being in the Universe. I won on the outside, but I was quite certain Bill had me beat on what counted most. Even after all the years we’d existed, I still had to pinch myself as a reminder he was mine.

“I don’t have a better idea at the moment. Do you my love?” I asked, laying my head on his chest and sighing.

Shaking his head slowly, he wrapped his strong arms around me and held me tight. “I might, but explain yours.”

“Look, there aren’t many Dream Walkers powerful enough to enter my dreams so I’ve narrowed it down to the two I’m aware of,” I said, lightly tracing his kissable lips with my fingers. “I would bet all of the Chanel in my closet that it’s not my great-grandson Samuel, which means it must be Fate… or Luck… or Elle… or whatever she’s going by now.”

Samuel was an anomaly and one of my favorite beings in the Universe. He was the son of Astrid and her mate Ethan, the Vampyre Prince of the North American Dominion. My Samuel was a True Immortal like myself. He was also a Dream Walker which was very, very rare.

There were thirteen True Immortals. The list had been very recently amended when it was discovered that Fate—or rather Elle, Sadie—her mother, and the original Fate were all part of our very select group. The three Fates encompassed exactly what one would assume they were the guardians of… Fate. I represented Emotion. My sons were quite obvious. God encompassed Good while Satan rounded the balance out as Evil.

My wonderfully foul-mouthed granddaughter, Astrid, was Compassion. Satan’s not so evil daughter Dixie represented Balance. Dixie was a delight—good grades, stellar morals. Her lack of typical Demon qualities drove Satan nuts, but she was his favorite child by far. Dixie’s mate Hayden was the Angel of Death and symbolized Death. While his brother, Elijah was the Angel of Light and stood for Life.

Lucy, the Shifter and daughter of the original Adam and Eve, was Temptation and the obsession of Elijah even though she still wouldn’t give the Angel that time of day.

And Wisdom… Wisdom was mine in every sense of the word. My Bill was Wisdom and he wore it beautifully.

However, the one more powerful than the rest was still but a mere child… or he used to be. It an unkind trick of the former Fate, Samuel had advanced in years from a toddler to a young man. It was a horrifying moment as we thought he had been completely destroyed. Thankfully that was not the case. Yet he lost his childhood in the blink of an eye. Samuel was destined for greatness that even I couldn’t imagine. He was Utopia—a combination of all the True Immortals.

And because of my love for him and his for me, I knew he was not walking through my dreams and dressing me in brown flannel. He adored his Gigi too much to make her look like Hell on a bad day.

Elle… or Luck as she was going by now was another story. Elle was as slippery as Satan. She lied like a rug and her beauty was legendary. She was the perfect fit for my devious son and loved him as much as he loved her. Slightly violent, but it worked for them. I was just happy he’d finally settled down.

It was definitely Elle walking in my dreams and warning me. I just needed to call her ass out and get more info. Sadly, she couldn’t reveal the future. The future wasn’t set due to the pesky notion of free will. However, I was an excellent negotiator—mostly because I scared the Hell out of everyone.

Whatever worked was my motto.

“If it’s not Elle in your dream, it could be someone who bears you ill will,” Bill said, sliding the strap of my Prada dress over my shoulder. “I can’t get to you in a dream and getting trapped in a dream state is a fate worse than death itself.”

“But you can stay with me while I sleep,” I pointed out logically, tangling my fingers in his hair and pulling his lips to mine. “If you feel something is off, you can wake me.”

“Possibly.” Bill considered my plan as he continued to undress me. Quickies weren’t our norm, but I needed him right now as much as he needed me. “The Dream Walker told you we have a week?”

“Yes. I tried to negotiate, but the entity disappeared.”

“A week can feel like an eternity or a mere moment in time. Right now, I choose eternity. Let’s get you relaxed for your nap. Show me the sky, lover,” Bill whispered in my ear, sending chills of delight through my body.

“Your wish will always be my command,” I told him truthfully as I shed my dress and helped him disrobe. Bill was correct. A few hours together would not bring on the end times if that was indeed what was coming. A few stolen moments together would make both of us stronger.

The beauty of his naked body stole my breath. It was all I could do not to jump him and have my naughty way with him over and over, but my lover had something very special in mind. Something that was as glorious and unique as he was.

With a snap of my fingers, the roof of our Garden Palace disappeared. Our ceiling was now a symphony of puffy white clouds tumbling across the blue sky without a care in the world. The sheer beauty brought tears to my eyes.

“What do you see, Gaia?” Bill asked, staring at the sky.

“Perfection,” I answered as the clouds continued to dance and morph from shape to shape.

“I see an Angel and Demon hand in hand,” he said softly. “I see a winged monster on a beach as waves of fire crash behind him.”

“I see a woman in a business suit wrestling with five large ladies,” I said with a giggle. “And a strange cloaked man in the distance.”

“Shall we take a closer look?” he inquired with a twinkle in his eyes.

Sighing with pure happiness and contentment, I took his hand in mine and nodded. “I would love to bounce through the clouds with you.”

Bill laughed and feigned offense. “I don’t bounce. I glide,” he informed with a wide grin.

“Whoops. My bad. I’d love to glide through the clouds with you. Better?”

“Much,” he replied and rolled off the bed with the grace of a jungle cat.

A naked, human looking jungle cat with an incredible ass.

Bill’s glorious wings expanded with a whoosh. A gust of pure white glitter dust mixed with shimmering black specks that popped and crackled with powerful magic floated on the air. His wings were six feet of gleaming white gold on one side and six feet of sparkling onyx on the other. Bill’s naked skin was hot to the touch and a wonderful feeling of anticipation skittered down my spine.

“Climb aboard, lover. We’re going to play in the clouds,” he said with a grin that made my girlie parts tingle and my naughty mind run amuck with possibilities.

“Just play?” I inquired seductively as I wrapped my arms around his neck and my legs around his waist.

“Many definitions of the word play, beautiful girl,” he replied as his lips grazed my neck.

“I like your style, lover.”

“I thought you would.”

Bill took several running steps across our expansive bedroom and we were airborne.

I shrieked with delight as we glided high into the blue sky and I felt his body shake with laughter. I was equally as capable of flying as Bill was, but it was more fun to let someone else do the heavy lifting every now and then… not that I was heavy. I was perfect. Plus, I didn’t have wings like my lover did. Wings were all kinds of sexy.

“Go higher,” I insisted as the clouds whipped by. Sliding around his body, I settled myself on his back and took in the glorious view. His wings sparkled in the sun and I raised my head so the wind whipped through my wild red curls. The feeling of freedom was liberating. For a brief moment, I was able to let the fate of the world become a vague memory.

We soared higher and higher as if we were chasing the sun. My tummy danced like I was on an enormous rollercoaster. The wind roared around us and the gilded feathers of Bill’s wings released streams of sparkling golden and onyx enchantment. The grounds of Nirvana below looked like a fairy tale bathed in tiny colorful flowers.

“I love you,” I called out over the wind.

“And I you,” Bill replied.

The beat of his wings was reminiscent of a serene metronome. I let one of my hands loose and ran it through his hair.

“None of that, lover—or at least not yet. Crashing is not on the agenda.”

“My bad.” I giggled and wrapped my arms back around his neck.

The peace I felt was not new to me. However, I only lived this kind of tranquility with the love of my Immortal life. Bill was my reason for living. We soared so high the clouds were our only traffic. My lover rolled and dipped, flying to extreme heights then diving down and almost touching the ground. I held tight and laughed like a child. I adored the way his body felt under mine. All of his hard pressed against all of my soft was divine. It was beautifully sinful—just like my Angel-Demon himself—he was one of a kind and never to be replicated in this lifetime or any other. There was only one Enforcer ever created.

“Pick a cloud, lover,” Bill said, hovering in the air and waiting for my choice.

“That one.” I pointed to a puffy white cloud that reminded me of a thick downy comforter floating in the sky and held up by magic.

With a wave of his hand, the cloud was no longer simply a mass of condensed water vapor floating in the atmosphere. It was now a place to play.

“Excellent choice,” Bill said, as he flipped upside down and let me gently fall to our celestial bed.

“I shall call this particular cloud, Cloud Nine,” I announced as Bill dropped from the sky and joined me.

“Hmmm,” he said as his eyes hooded and his lust for me was unmistakable. “I was thinking we could call this one Cloud Sixty-Nine.”

My laugh echoed through the Universe and the clouds around us jiggled and bounced with delight. When Mother Nature was happy the cosmos was blissful. And I was very happy indeed.

“Open to me, lover. Let me give you the world,” Bill whispered as his strong body covered mine and his hands and mouth seemed to be everywhere at once.

“With pleasure,” I replied, giving myself to the one person who truly made me feel alive.

I was ready for him before he’d even touched me. His voice alone was all the foreplay I needed. Although his foreplay skills were very good.

“Bill,” I cried out as I writhed beneath his talented hands. “Umm… since the world might be ending or something horrible like that. We should probably make this a quickie.”

“Not a problem, lover,” he replied and slashed his hand through the air.

I gasped as I sat up and shivered at the peculiar feeling. My lover had been hiding something from me. Time had stopped. The Universe stopped spinning on its axis and there was an eerily beautiful quiet. The clouds no longer bounced and the wind ceased to dance. It was strangely disconcerting to me as I thrived on living things, but Bill was horny. And when Bill was horny, I was horny. It really did make perfect sense and solved a multitude of issues.

Hopefully, a few hours of time missed wouldn’t be noticed by anyone. All clouds had silver linings and Bill was mine.

“This is certainly a new trick,” I said, raising a brow at my grinning lover.

“Desperate times call for creative measures,” Bill replied, meeting my level stare with one of his own. However, he couldn’t hide his grin no matter how hard he tried.

“Will this affect anything in a detrimental way?” I asked, hoping like Hell he’d say no.

“For an hour or two it will be all right,” he promised, cupping my cheek in his hand. “I need you.”

“I always need you,” I replied, placing my hand over his. “However, we can’t make a habit of stopping time to do the nasty.”

“What if the nasty includes six orgasms?” he queried with a wink.

I had to think about that one… “Well, fine then. As long as you make me pass out, I suppose it’s fine.”

“Just fine?”

I giggled and pulled him back on top of me. “Better than fine. Perfect.”

“Love me. Now,” Bill demanded as his beautiful otherworldly body became one with mine.

The lightning that usually struck when we made love was absent. All signs of life were absent except for the breath from our lips and the erotic moans from deep within. My need for him clearly outweighed my common sense and my common sense was debatable even on a good day. There was a catastrophe on the horizon, but right now, I needed Bill. I needed his heavy body atop mine telling me with actions that I belonged to him and he to me.

Plus, a good orgasm or five before I dealt with Elle was a smart move. The more relaxed I was the less chance there was of me causing a tsunami.

Bill knew exactly what he was doing in every sense of the word.

My better half made love like he’d invented it—and maybe he had. But the keyword was love. I loved my insanely powerful Angel-Demon unconditionally even if he had a few tricks up his sleeve I was unaware of.

And I always would.

The sky turned an ominous inky purple. Twenty-foot waves crashed violently against the shiny stainless-steel appliances. The massive refrigerator groaned as it swayed and shuddered in the storm. An industrial-sized box of Betsy Cocker double chocolate deluxe fudgy cake mix fell from the top of the fridge and exploded causing, me to cough as I inhaled the sugary powder. An unfamiliar chill floated on the air and I rolled my eyes.

Holy Hell on fire in a heat wave. Seriously? Was I going to have to go through this crap every time I fell asleep? I was unsure if the scene was pulled from my imagination, or Elle’s… or Heaven forbid an adversary I was unaware of. If I had to guess, I would have to go with mine.

Fine. I would play the game, but this time I would change the rules. It was more fun that way. If this was truly coming from my subconscious, then it was my prerogative to spice it up so to speak. I’d just had six outstanding orgasms and was in a very good mood. It was time to outwit Fate.

Or at least try.

The refrigerator’s garishly made-up eyes fluttered shut. Before they could pop back open, I snapped my fingers and removed the horrid makeup. Instead of the expression of terror I was expecting, the appliance winked at me and grinned. It was far more attractive without the sky-blue eye shadow. Sky-blue had been out of style since the seventies.

An exact replica of my gorgeous pink frosted cake from the failed luncheon did a jazz run across a bed of nails while screaming obscenities. That was simply insulting. I was highly aware now that I’d been mistaken for centuries about my cooking prowess. However, I did secretly harbor a few doubts about the news. I didn’t need it thrown in my face. The confection had arms and legs and an ass that rivaled the rude society gals I’d sent to Purgatory.

Speaking of large butts, Purgatory was my next stop after I woke up. Although, my plans were dependent upon Fate—pun very much intended.

With a clap of my hands, my cake calmed itself and its ass shrunk in size. The bed of nails was gone and the confection now sat atop an ornate golden cake stand. It might be inedible, but it was quite appealing to the eye. Pretty pictures could belie what was underneath.

Pink-eyed beasts with seven heads each circled above and tore jagged holes in the puffy purple clouds with their horns. With a wiggle of my nose, the beasts went docile, landed on the enormous kitchen appliances and fell asleep. They did not come from my imagination. The beasts had entered my dream at Elle’s request. I was sure of it. They harkened back to the prophecy of the end times from Revelations. At least I think it was Revelations. God’s book was soooo long and I’d read it centuries ago. Of course, Satan’s book was a web of lies, but definitely amusing. I’d used a little voodoo to secure a part in the film of Lucifer’s life. I was fabulous—slightly over the top, but then again, I was known for that. My pole-dancing scene was award-worthy.

I shivered involuntarily as drops of ice fell from the sky and exploded, covering a circus full of little people. Twenty of them were on fire, standing not even ten feet from me.

Okay. That was it. This shit had to stop.

“Elle, darling, you must stop setting little people on fire. It’s not nice,” I shouted, waving my hand, dousing the flames and sending them away.

Where? Again, no clue. But I was quite certain they would be grateful even if they were only a figment of my imagination.

“How did you know it was me?” Elle asked, appearing in a blast of glistening purple enchantment.

Elle aka Fate aka Luck was one of the most gorgeous beings in existence. Not prettier than me, but no one was prettier than me. She was a Siren, as was her mother and the original Fate—a species that we had all believed extinct until very recently. Her body glowed with some kind of mystical internal light. It was breathtaking. Elle’s lavender, gold-rimmed eyes sparkled and her little half-smirk was firmly in place. The Keeper of Fate was a delightfully snarky pain in the ass and she was perfect for my son. She and Satan were a force to be reckoned with and I was going to reckon with her today. There was no choice.

Elle tucked her thick honey blonde hair behind her ear and sat down on a shimmering purple chair that appeared as she bent her knees to sit.

I shook my head and smiled. All the purple in my original dream should have clued me in to the fact that it was indeed Elle who walked in my dream.

“Cat got your tongue, Gaia?” Elle inquired, crossing her legs and making herself comfortable. “I repeat. How did you know it was me?”

“Because Samuel would never dress me in brown flannel,” I replied, quickly glancing down to make sure she wasn’t having fun at my fashion expense. Again.

Thankfully she wasn’t. Payback was a bitch and now that I knew who I was dealing with, I was aware of exactly who needed to be paid back if necessary. I was still clad in a lovely pink Prada number with matching heels.

Narrowing my eyes at my daughter-in-law, I glanced around. “There is someone else here.”

Elle stood and scanned the strange room we occupied and then shrugged. “No. It’s just the two of us.”

The uneasy feeling that someone else was present was fuzzy and wavered in and out. Maybe it was the lingering effect of the little people I’d just sent away. Or possibly I’d missed one. Pacing the area, I looked high and low for a tiny flaming person and found no one. Whatever. Dreams were not an exact science. Equating the conscious with the unconscious was a waste of time. And time was something I didn’t have in large quantities at the moment.

“The end times are not coming,” I informed Elle with a raised brow. “God said it’s not on the schedule.”

“God has a schedule?” Elle asked, genuinely surprised.

“He does indeed,” I informed her. “And God does NOT lie.”

Elle was quiet for a long moment, clearly mulling over the bizarre news.

“Is this schedule written in pencil or pen,” she asked.

“How should I know?” I answered and rolled my eyes. “I’ve only recently heard there even was a schedule.”

“It’s important to know if God uses a pencil or a pen,” she replied, doing an even more impressive eye roll than mine.

“Why?”

“Pencil can be erased and amended. Pen cannot.”

Shit. I had no clue how to answer. The lack of clarity in the situation and my lack of necessary information made me want to blow something to smithereens.

“One, two, three, four,” I counted as I flopped down to the ground and sat on my hands.

“What are you doing?”

“Following my therapist’s suggestion,” I snapped, wanting to wallop both her and my therapist right now. “If I count, I don’t cause mass destruction.”

“Does it work?”

Squeezing my eyes shut, I detonated the line of fun mirrors. They were unnecessary. Even though my outfit was not hideous brown flannel, the image the mirrors created was not flattering. I had entirely too much going on right now to look like Hell even if it was just an illusion.

“Nope, not working today,” I said with a grin. “However, occasionally it does work. Darby is a decent therapist, even if he is a bit odd in his methodology.”

“Darby the Dick Demon?” Elle asked, biting back a laugh.

“Darby the what?” I demanded.

“Dick Demon,” Elle said, not bothering to hide her amusement. “He and several others in Hell have taken Dick as a middle name and Demon as a surname. They believe it will help them get laid.”

I digested this information and tried not to laugh. I tried very hard. I failed. Shaking my head, I sighed dramatically. It was looking like I was going to have to council my therapist. The name was horrifying, not to mention wildly embarrassing. I was certain Satan was appalled.

“Whatever,” I said, still smiling. “We’re not here to talk about my violent tendencies or my idiot therapist.”

“And why are we here?” Elle inquired, watching me closely.

“You control fate,” I shot back. “Don’t you already know?”

“I’m a messenger,” she replied smoothly and without emotion. “I don’t determine fate. I simply watch over it.”

“You’re doing a shitty job.”

“Says who?”

“Says me,” I snapped. “Only the Antichrist can cause the end times. Not Jim Bob Bob-Bob.”

Elle sat quietly and observed me. Several times her lips began to move, but she stopped herself from speaking. I wanted to zap her bald. However, rules were rules. Even Mother Nature couldn’t mess with Fate. The consequences could be devastating. Plus, Satan might be put out if I de-haired his love.

With another sigh—more put upon than my earlier one—I stood and approached the caretaker of destiny.

“Jim Bob Bob-Bob snapped a plastic white horse in two,” I said, watching her closely. “Did that represent the first Horseman of the Apocalypse?”

Elle’s eyes only widened infinitesimally, but I saw it. And I didn’t like it one bit. I didn’t expect an answer and she didn’t disappoint.

“Tell me what you can,” I said. “I’ll figure out the rest.”

“I’ve already done so,” Elle said, sadly. “Bring them together. Children need their mother. They will help you find the perfect recipe. They will have the ingredients. Good versus evil must be served by one with a little pinch of nature.”

“They will be appalled to have to don aprons,” I muttered as I began to pace and tried to dissect the warning.

“What?” Elle asked, unsuccessfully stifling another laugh.

“Nothing,” I hissed. “I’ve already brought the boys together and they got along for the most part.”

Elle nodded but refused to comment. Dammit.

“So I’m guessing that wasn’t enough? Or I brought the wrong people together?”

Again, Luck said nothing.

I wasn’t winning. Losing wasn’t on the agenda. The stakes were too high.

“Can you tell me anything?” I demanded.

“Keep on the same track. Do what you would normally do. Pay close attention to what is happening around you. The clues are not just in the words I speak. They can be hidden in the details and pictures,” Elle instructed. “Fate has a way of finding everyone, whether they want to be found or not. And remember a mother’s love is more powerful than any magic in the Universe. And a little glue never huts anything.”

With a barely disguised eye roll, I nodded curtly. “Got it. Do you happen to have a cell phone that will work in a dream state?”

“I do.”

Elle handed me an enchanted cell phone encrusted in purple diamonds.

“Thank you,” I replied and slowly dialed a number I knew by heart. “God, darling. It’s mommy. I have a quick question for you. Is your schedule written in pencil or pen?”

I waited for his reply. Elle’s eyes never left mine for even a brief second. She never even blinked.

“I see,” I said, as my heart plummeted in my chest. “No. No reason. Just curious. We’ll speak soon. Love you to the moon and back, Snookums.”

As I hung up, Elle approached me and touched my shoulder. My body shuddered as an electrical shock rocked my delicate frame and threw me to the ground.

“Was that necessary?” I inquired, ready to swat her in the head and send her flying into next year.

“Yes,” she said, pulling her hand back. “I’ve given you a little bit of me. When you need it, it will find you.”

I paused and with massive effort, nodded my head in gratitude. Not throwing tantrums sucked tremendously. I knew what Elle was waiting for. The spiteful part of me wanted to withhold information, but the smart part would never do such a thing. I’d lived forever for a reason.

“The schedule is in pencil,” I told her.

“Shit,” she replied and let her chin drop to her chest.

A truer sentiment had never been uttered.

“You can find me in your dreams, Gaia. I will tell you as much as I’m allowed to,” Elle promised before she disappeared in a blast of lavender glitter.

The schedule could be changed. The end times could very well be in the near future. The son of the Antichrist might be acting on the wishes of his sire. And the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse might be paying us a visit. Shitshitshit.

And I was supposed to go about business as usual? Unbelievable.

Next stop. Purgatory.

Chapter Six

Mr. Rogers was a hot freakin’ mess.

“Sweet Saint Bartholomew,” Mr. Rogers whisper-hissed as he grabbed the hem of my dress and yanked me behind the bush he was hiding under. “Speak softly—very, very, very, very softly,” he warned.

“Is Purgatory under attack?” I whispered as my eyes widened in shock. Purgatory was off-limits as far as battles went. However, I was quite certain the spawn of the Antichrist didn’t play by the rules. Although, a battle in Purgatory wasn’t a half-bad plan. It was so beige and boring that it put most to sleep. Even the bush we were hiding under was beige.

Fred nodded. His eyes were wild and he shook with terror. “Our only hope is Saint Bartholomew now.”

“Who exactly is Saint Bartholomew?” I asked, never able to keep all the robe-wearing martyrs straight.

“The one you pray to for lost causes,” Fred explained, pulling a tiny statue of a bearded man in a dress from his pocket and shoving it into my hands. “Start praying.”

Fred Rogers, a beloved citizen of Heaven and the caretaker of Purgatory looked like he hadn’t slept in a month. His light blue cardigan was inside out and sported a large hole in the elbow. His pants were wrinkled. On his right foot was a loafer and on his left was an untied canvas sneaker. And his hair… normally slicked back and nicely sprayed into a somewhat dated style was sticking straight up on his head.

Shit.

“Are you sure?” I asked, peeking out from behind the bush. Had Jim Bob Bob-Bob really come to Purgatory?

“I’m sure, Gaia,” Fred said with a shudder. “They’re dreadful.”

“They?” I asked in a slight panic. Did the Antichrist have more than one spawn? If my fate had indeed found me already, it was working seriously fast. I thought I had a damn week.

Double shit.

“Fred darling, I need you to be a bit more specific please,” I insisted, scooting to the far side of the bush to put a little distance between us. The poor man looked like he was about to blow.

I never underestimated Mr. Rogers. Many did, but not me. Fred was a favorite of God and quite tight with Satan. He took the Immortal Party Bus to Hell for Satan’s weekly poker game and always won—without cheating. Mr. Rogers was so trustworthy he was the one chosen by both God and Satan to protect the Sword of Death—the only instrument that could end the life of a True Immortal. Of course, the True Immortal had to choose to die and have a broken heart to boot, but the Sword of Death was the key piece.

Plus, Mr. Rogers knew his way around a pole. We’d been pole dancing together for the past two years. He had a wicked Back Hook Spin and his Banana Splits were to die for. If he wasn’t the nicest man on the planet, I’d be jealous.

“Five of them,” he mumbled, dazed. “Five heinous monsters.”

“Five?” I choked out. This was far worse than I’d thought. Elle was going to get an earful from me if the world didn’t end in the next ten minutes. It wouldn’t have killed her to let me know there were five damned Antichrist spawns running loose.

“Is Jim Bob Bob-Bob with them?”

“Not unless he’s had a sex change,” Fred told me.

“Interesting,” I said, mulling over the horrifying possibilities. “When I came upon the rotten fruit of the Antichrist’s loins at the grocery store while trying to abscond with Booby Canker he was a man. Do you think they can take different forms?”

Fred gaped at me in complete confusion for so long I thought my lipstick might be smeared. “What are you talking about?” he whispered, shaking his head.

“What are you talking about?” I countered, now as confused as Mr. Rogers.

“I asked you first,” Fred snapped.

Fred never snapped at anyone. Whatever was happening here in Purgatory was bad—very bad.

“I outrank you,” I pointed out. “You have to answer my question first.”

“What was your question?” he demanded, pulling twenty more mini-Bartholomews out of his pocket and lining them up like toy soldiers.

It was alarmingly bizarre.

“I have no idea what my question was now. Your Barbarellas distracted me,” I said with an eye roll.

“Bartholomews,” he corrected me.

“Whoops. My bad.”

“And who is Booby Canker?” he asked, pulling more pint-sized plastic saints from his pockets.

“I didn’t say Booby Canker,” I hissed. “I said Boopsy Cracker.”

“I stand corrected. So sorry,” Fred apologized politely. “Who is Boopsy Cracker?”

“She’s a very famous chef,” I explained, throwing my hands up and incinerating half of the bush we were using for cover.

Mr. Rogers squeaked like a girl and dove for another bush, taking the batch of Bartholomews and me along with him. “Stay low,” he advised. “They’re pissed and dangerous.”

“Did they give names?” I asked, beginning to adopt Fred’s terror. I could possibly take on one spawn of the Antichrist and survive, but five? That was incredibly iffy. Bill would be furious with me if I bit the dust.

Mr. Rogers nodded and looked as if he wanted to hurl. I really liked my pink Prada dress, so I scooted a few inches away.

“Hortense, Fran, Joan, Cathy and Velma,” he choked out and began to quickly dig a hole to bury himself in.

Triple shitshitshit.

There was an upside to this news and a downside. The upside being that the spawn of the Antichrist wasn’t in Purgatory and as far as I knew there was only one. The downside… I was going to have to admit what I’d done. Fred was never going to pole dance with me again.

Dammit. I should have sent the rude, bulbous bitches straight to Hell.

“Umm… I have a confession to make,” I said, standing up and trying to pull Fred to his feet. As he was almost buried up to his neck in beige sand, it was impossible. Although, his position was to my advantage if Fred wanted to chase me down and try to decapitate me for sending the Fearsome Five to his neck of the woods. I’d have an excellent running start since he was encased in sand.

“Gaia,” Fred begged. “Stay low. I’m certain they eat people for lunch.”

“You love me—right Fred?” I asked with one of my brightest smiles and a slight head tilt to the left. It was my sweet and innocent pose.

“In a platonic way, yes,” Fred said. “And that is exactly why I want you to bury yourself alive.”

“Hang on a sec,” I told him. “If I did something very, very naughty, would you still love me?”

“Of course, I would. Platonically, that is,” he said frantically. “Hide, Gaia, I can’t love you like a brother if they eat you.”

“They won’t eat me.”

“Of course, they’ll eat you. You look very tasty in that pink frock, in a very chaste and nonsexual way.”

“Why thank you,” I said and did a little spin. “However, I’m quite positive they won’t eat me… or you… or anyone. Well, Hortense might take as sip since she’s a Vampyre, but as far as I know, she’s never killed anyone during snack time.”

“Mother Nature,” Fred ground out between clenched teeth as his eyes narrowed dangerously at me.

Crap. We were being formal now. Not good. Fred wiggled for a good three minutes until his arms popped out of the sand. A bright blue box magically appeared in front of him. It was far too small to be the Sword of Death. My dancing buddy might be angry, but he didn’t want to behead me. It was the little things that counted.

“Spit it out, Mother Nature,” Mr. Rogers said tightly.

“So… umm… I kind of sort of sent the gals to Purgatory because they said I’d poisoned them with my cooking, which is preposterous. Well, when they said it, it was definitely preposterous. Since the unfortunate luncheon, I’ve discovered I can’t cook. Of course, that’s why I was trying to kidnap Bossy Cocksucker. Unfortunately, the spawn of the Antichrist was at the grocery store and all Hell is breaking loose. Soooo… instead of turning the horrid women into toads, I sent their sorry asses to Purgatory. I didn’t really think the whole plan through,” I said, sheepishly.

Fred’s eye roll was worthy of an Academy Award. He was so perturbed that his face turned bright red. His lips moved, but nothing came out.

Again. Shitshitshit.

Yanking a puppet from the box, Mr. Rogers slapped King Friday onto his left hand and Lady Elaine Fairchilde onto his right. It was almost as terrifying as my disastrous luncheon. My buddy was clearly not speaking to me. However, his puppets were very chatty.

“Those abominations are your friends?” Lady Elaine shrieked.

Lady Elaine could scare the bejesus out of anyone when she was being nice. When she was pissed, it struck terror in the soul. However, I was wildly impressed at how little Fred’s mouth moved when he made his puppets talk. I wanted to compliment him, but the timing was off.

“Umm… not exactly friends. More like somewhat friendly acquaintances—or frenemies,” I explained. “Tell you what, how about I escort them out of Purgatory and we call it a day?”

“Unacceptable,” King Friday sputtered as Fred moved his hand spastically to demonstrate the royal puppet’s ire. King Friday looked like he was having a seizure. “Penance must be paid.”

He was correct. The Fearsome Five hadn’t even been in Purgatory forty-eight hours and Fred looked like Hell. Not to mention, he was talking to me through hand puppets.

“A solid gold stripper pole?” I offered.

“Go on,” King Friday said, only slightly seizing at this point.

Clearly, Fred still wasn’t speaking to me. I needed to up the ante.

“Mmmkay—a solid gold stripper pole, a state-of-the-art puppet theatre and as many Saint Bubba statues as you want.”

“Saint Bartholomew,” Lady Elaine Fairchilde snapped.

“Right. Bartholomew,” I amended. “Oh, and I can send Studly down for a sleepover.”

“I like Studly,” Fred said, placing King Friday and Lady Elaine back in the box. “He’s a lovely monkey. X the Owl is quite fond of him.”

“So, you’re not mad at me?” I asked.

“Oh, I’m quite irate with you, Gaia. However, I still love you. Being angry doesn’t make love disappear. In fact, I wouldn’t be so angry if I didn’t love you so much, in a platonic way, that is.”

“Of course,” I said with so much relief in my voice, Fred graced me with a small smile.

“I would like those heinous women out of Purgatory immediately. And the flaming little people are causing issue as well.”

“Well, dammit,” I said. “I was sure I doused the little suckers. And their presence here is an accident. I promise. I sent them away, but had no clue where I sent them.”

“Happens to the best of us, dear,” Fred said as he dug himself out of the hidey-hole. “Let’s just send them somewhere else. Purgatory is a serene place and I’d like to keep it that way.”

I was tempted to add it was boring and the crappy elevator music was mind-numbing, but I’d already worn out my welcome. Mostly, I was happy that Fred still loved me, in a platonic way. It would be difficult to find another pole dancing partner with his outstanding skills.

“Will do,” I assured my buddy as I stepped out from behind the bush and gasped. I considered transporting away, but that would be very weenie of me. I wasn’t a weenie. I was Mother freakin’ Nature. Shit needed to get done? I was your girl. Plus, I was responsible for this particular shit.

“Holy blazing midgets,” I shouted as I sprinted toward a gaggle of flaming little people. “I was sure I put you little bastards out in my dream. I am so sorry.”

Clapping my hands, the ground trembled violently. Accidentally, I created a freakin’ mountain. I decided to pretend I’d meant to do that. Whatever. Purgatory was so flat and unattractive a mountain was a nice change of scenery. On purpose, I created a monsoon that engulfed the menagerie of ignited wee people. They were now floating in an enormous lake at the base of a beige mountain… and drowning.

This was clearly not my day.

“I’ll save you,” I bellowed as I dove into the impromptu lake and fished them out of what could potentially be their watery grave. Tossing the spitting and hissing ungrateful little assholes to the sandy shore, I dove back under and searched for more. After drop kicking a few to dry land who tried to bite me, I was done.

Thankfully, I counted twenty pissed off peewees stomping around the sand and cursing like my granddaughter Astrid. She would be amused with the tiny shits. I was not.

And that’s when I got beaned in the head with a stiletto. At least it was a Jimmy Choo. If I was going to be impaled by footwear, it should be expensive footwear.

“What are you doing?” Fran shrieked from the edge of the lake with her other shoe poised above her head.

“Throw it and you will eat it. And trust me… it won’t go down smoothly,” I snapped as I stomped out of the lake. “And for your information, Fran, I was saving the little people. Apparently, they can’t swim.”

“Of course, they can’t swim. They’re Mini Fire Gnomes,” Fran grunted, raised her shoe again then lowered it as my wet curls began to blow wildly around my head and my fingers began to spark ominously.

The Fearsome Five were simply awful—violent, mean and rotund. Granted, they had style, but they were heinous. However, I still wanted to be in their club. Incinerating one of them was probably a bad plan. But if Fran threw another shoe, her ass would be ash.

“It would certainly be a shame if you went up in flames, Fran,” I said with a smile on my face that didn’t reach my eyes.

I snapped my fingers and winked at the gals. The horrid elevator music in Purgatory stopped. The light, stale wind that always blew through the beige landscape ceased. Even the profane fiery mini freaks went mute. You could hear a pin drop.

I was fabulous and quite scary when I chose to be.

“Well… you, umm… shouldn’t submerge Mini Fire Gnomes in water,” Fran sputtered, backing away. “You could have… you know… killed them.”

“My apologies to the flaming midgets,” I said, waving at them as all twenty flipped me off. Whatever. I suppose I’d be pissed too if I were them—and thank my son God I wasn’t.

Fate had been correct. She hadn’t set the little people on fire. That was their normal—a very strange normal if you asked me. But no one had asked me—or told me. If I’d known, I never would have doused the angry little bastards… three times. With so many species of Immortals running around today, I simply couldn’t keep them all straight.

Getting back to business, I approached the Fearsome Five and giggled with delight when they flinched as I drew near. “You five ladies—and I use the term loosely—made Mr. Rogers—the nicest man in the Universe—bury himself alive,” I hissed as peach glitter danced with menace around me. “God really likes Mr. Rogers a lot. And Satan? Satan adores him. This bodes poorly for you seeing tomorrow. You feel me? What do you have to say for yourselves?”

Joan stepped forward—kind of. It would be more accurate to say she was shoved forward by her traitorous posse. Her green-tinted skin was on display and her horrible attitude was firmly in place. “While we might—and I’m not saying we do—owe Mr. Rogers an apology, you owe us one, Gaia,” she said, narrowing her eyes at me as an impressively unattractive wart popped out on her nose.

Joan had such big balls. She really was quite spectacular. And unfortunately, the Witch was correct. I did owe them an apology of sorts. I was just unsure if I could apologize without causing a natural disaster that would make Purgatory a thing of the past.

“Fine,” I snapped, trying to conjure up the calming voice of my embarrassingly named therapist in my mind. I was going to have to chat with Darby Dick Demon. It wasn’t respectable for Mother Nature to be seeing a headshrinker with a name like that. “You well-dressed shrews will apologize to Fred first. Then and only then will I attempt to express regret. However, I would suggest taking cover when I do so. It could get messy.”

Exchanging alarmed glances, the five turned to the bush where Fred was still hiding and ate humble pie.

Velma the Elf cleared her throat and shrunk in size. This was not the best of signs, but I wouldn’t electrocute her unless necessary. I was prepared to smite the helium-voiced hellion if she so much as looked cross-eyed as my dear Mr. Rogers.

“I’m sorry my friends are such heinous, disgusting, revolting, vile, deplorable wenches,” she squeaked and then giggled. “Goodness, it feels lovely to say that out loud.”

“Thank you for your unusual expression of regret,” Fred called out from behind the bush.

“What kind of apology was that?” Cathy the sweaty Fairy demanded as she swatted Velma in the back of the head and sent her flying. “My turn. Even though none of this is my fault, I would like to seriously apologize for the appalling behavior of my bitches.”

“Umm… okay,” Fred replied, still completely obscured by the beige bush.

“For the love of everything ridiculous,” Hortense grumbled as she kicked Cathy in the ass so hard, she landed on top of the prone Velma. “That was a dreadful mea culpa. Watch and learn. Mr. Rogers, I would like to extend my deepest condolences to you for having to live in Purgatory. I didn’t mean to gnaw a hole in your sweater, but things happen. If you would send me the bill, I will happily replace the unattractive outerwear.”

“No worries,” Fred said. “I have thousands.”

“Very well then,” Hortense said, stepping back into the line and falling over Velma and Cathy.

Fran the Gnome—not a Mini Fire Gnome, thank the Heavens—stepped forward clutching her pearls nervously. “Normally, I would blame Velma for anything that goes wrong. However, today I’ve decided that Hortense shall shoulder the blame for everything. You’re welcome and I think Lady Elaine Fairchilde needs a nose job—just a suggestion,” Fran said and then curtsied.

These women were far worse than I was with apologies. I was perfect for their club.

Fred was silent after that one. I didn’t blame him.

“You are all imbeciles,” Joan snapped. She walked over to the bush and yanked Mr. Rogers from his hiding place. “Mr. Rogers, our behavior was awful. All of us are to blame. I will apologize for each and every one of us. If there is any way to make this right we will happily do so.”

“We will?” Velma squeaked from the bottom of the big-assed Immortal socialite pile.

“Yes, we will,” Joan hissed as she produced her wand and swung it toward her posse.

They were all now wearing polyester housecoats. It was debilitating for them. They rolled around on the ground like they were on fire. Joan had some very smooth moves.

“So, Mr. Rogers,” she continued calmly as if her peeps weren’t having seizures three feet from where she stood. “What can we do to make this up to you?”

“Umm… leave?” Fred suggested so politely it didn’t even sound rude.

“As you wish,” Joan said, nodding in respect. With another wave of her wand, her cohorts were impeccably dressed again. “As soon as Gaia has apologized, we will be departing.”

Shit. It was my turn. It wasn’t as if I had a hard act to follow. They sucked at saying they were sorry—well, not Joan, but the rest of them certainly did.

“Okay,” I muttered with an eye roll hoping we all survived the next few minutes.

Inhaling deeply and exhaling slowly, I braced myself to let it rip. I was going to improvise—or rather pull it out of my ass. There was a fifty-fifty chance everyone would live.

“A deal is a deal. I’ve had time to think about what I’ve done and I realize that whatever you need me to realize to justify what you require for your power trip is acceptable. In the future, I will do my best to hide how much you irritate me, especially since I still want to be a member of your club.”

I took the blank stares as a compliment or possibly jealousy. My apology far exceeded theirs and I was just getting started. “Basically, I would like to apologize for making the mistake you believe I made. Mistakes happen. I’m sure you are aware of this every time you look in the mirror. I say we just forget anything ever happened until the day I need to hold something over your heads in the name of blackmail.”

“Is that it?” Velma asked with her eyes squinted in confusion.

“There’s more,” I said.

“Seriously?” Cathy asked, looking more bewildered than Velma.

“Quite,” I replied. “I’d like to go on record wishing you gals a speedy recovery from your embarrassing overreaction to a teeny tiny case of food poisoning. And in conclusion, I’d like to say it’s very difficult for me to pretend to be wrong, but I’m willing to do so because I need a favor. Amen and thank you for your time.”

There was a full five minutes of silence in appreciation for the best and most sincere apology ever spoken. I was quite proud of myself even though I couldn’t follow much of what I’d just said. It didn’t matter. Clearly, they had understood and were in awe of me. Plus, no one died and I called that a win.

“Was that even an apology?” Hortense muttered, perplexed.

Joan laughed and shook her head. “Of a sort,” she said. “Gaia, after that word vomit, I would like to extend a junior membership to you from the Eternal Crème de la Crème Society. It has become quite clear that you are as unhinged as the rest of us.”

Jumping up and down, I squealed with delight and caused a small earthquake. “Can we be the Psycho Six?”

“Heaven and Hell help us all,” Fred muttered as he went back and hid behind the bush.

“Not quite yet,” Joan said. “You have to serve your apprenticeship.”

“I will pass with flying colors,” I promised, still giddy.

“You require a favor, Gaia?” Joan pressed.

My giddiness disappeared as quickly as it had arrived. Ugly reality reared its head. Pacing the bland landscape, I wondered how much to reveal. Well heck, we could all be dust by the end of the week. I may as well lay it out on the table.

“This might sound unbelievable,” I began.

“We’re Immortal. We’re hanging out in Purgatory. There are miniature Gnomes on fire about twenty feet from us spouting profanities that I’ve never even heard,” Joan pointed out. “We will believe you.”

I really liked Joan a lot.

“Mmmkay. Here it goes—the end times may be near and I need to learn to cook to stop them,” I explained. “The only reasonable solution to the dilemma is to kidnap Bootsie Cockrocker and have her teach me. I tried to find her at the grocery store, but she wasn’t there. I’m certain I wrote the wrong address down from the internet. However, it was fortuitous that the spawn of the Antichrist was shopping for cake mixes and I ran into him. The ancient shit-ass might have begun the Apocalypse—not sure about that yet—which would suck tremendously. That, coupled with the warning dream that implied I have to solve the shit show before we all die in a few days, has really screwed up my week. Also, if any of you own masculine looking aprons, I need to borrow them. It’s going to be tricky to force my boys to wear one of mine since they’re all frilly.”

“I have a few blue denim aprons,” Hortense volunteered. “They’re trimmed in pom-poms, but I wouldn’t call them frilly. The pom-poms are yellow—a unisex color so your boys should be fine. You’re welcome to borrow them, Gaia.”

“Wonderful,” I replied. “Full disclosure—Satan is apt to incinerate his. Is that acceptable?”

Hortense nodded. “I’m not in my pom-pom phase anymore. I’m more into fringe and faux fur at the moment. No worries.”

“Wait. Who is the Bootsie Cockrocker?” Velma demanded, snapping her fingers and producing a laptop computer. “I am excellent on the interwebs. I can hack into any web-hole as long as there’s enough internet juice.”

Interesting. I’d never heard of this internet juice. Maybe that was why I had the wrong address for Becky Custer. I’d have to find out where to procure this internet juice and which hole on the computer to pour it into.

“My bad. I meant Boopsy Canker,” I corrected myself.

“Can’t find a Boopsy Canker,” Velma muttered as she typed away on her keyboard so fast I couldn’t even see her fingers.

“Try Bossy Cocksucker,” Fred yelled from behind the bush.

“On it,” Velma said, typing even faster. “Nothing.”

Joan looked over Velma’s shoulder and wrinkled her warty nose in thought. “Are you sure you have the name right, Gaia?”

“Umm… no,” I admitted. “I’m not.”

I hated being wrong, but desperate times called for unheard of confessions.

“Tell us a little about this person,” Hortense suggested, pulling a piece of string from her pocket and flossing her fangs. “Maybe we can figure it out together. Working as a team can result in true excellence or loss of limb.”

“Wonderful idea,” I replied with enthusiasm. If this was what having friends was like, I was all in. Hortense’s manners were a little iffy, but her Chanel pantsuit was stunning. “She’s a famous chef. Wears a dated red blazer and pearls. She must be loaded since there had to be hundreds of her cake mixes at the grocery store.”

“Ohhhhh, I know who you’re talking about,” Cathy said, pressing her temples as her wings popped out and began to flutter in excitement. “Umm… I think her name is Bobbie Cooter.”

“Nope,” Velma said, staring at the screen of her laptop. “Not finding a chef named Bobbie Cooter.”

“Try Bulky Custard,” Fran suggested.

“Nope. No chef named Bulky Custard either,” Velma said.

“Hulky Buttard?” Fran tried again.

“Are you serious?” Velma snapped. “Hulky Buttard isn’t even a name. I mean, it’s a fine description of what you look like right now, but it’s definitely not a name.”

“Watch your mouth, Elf,” Fran warned. “That computer would look fantastic shoved in it.”

Gracious, these gals were fun. I hoped my apprenticeship wasn’t too long since we might not be alive next week.

“Give Bitchy Clapper a try,” Joan said, still peering over Velma’s shoulder.

“Nada,” Velma said, defeated.

“For the love of all that is culinary,” Fred griped as he popped up from behind the bush. “Not only are you women violent, but you are also sadly undereducated in cooking excellence. Try Betsy Cocker,” he instructed and then quickly went back into hiding.

“That’s it,” I shouted as the earth trembled beneath our feet. “That’s her name.”

“Got it!” Velma yelled. “Tons of pictures of her. She looks like she’s fond of plastic surgery as her look changes often. But it’s clearly the same woman. The outfit is the constant.”

“Is there an address?” I asked, joining Joan and studying the screen.

“Yep,” Velma squealed as a grin spread across her lips. Her squeaky voice almost popped my eardrum. “Says right here that she’s starring in a television commercial—two o’clock in Chicago. You need an appointment and a headshot to get in and you’re supposed to be in the union. Sides will be provided.”

“Like potato salad?” Cathy asked. “I love potato salad.”

“It says sides,” Velma said checking her screen. “I take that to mean more than one. However, Hortense is probably shit out of luck since humans don’t usually serve blood bags as side dishes.”

“I always get the shaft at human gatherings,” Hortense lamented.

“Ladies, this is no time to be talking about food. We have a kidnapping to plan to halt the end times. Do any of you have headshots?” I questioned.

“No, but I always carry a Polaroid camera in my Gucci bag,” Hortense announced, scooping it out and displaying it with pride.

“Why on earth do you carry a camera?” Joan asked. “You’re a Vampyre. You don’t even show up in pictures.”

“One can always hope,” Hortense replied, starting to sniffle as bright red tears ran down her puffy cheeks.

Vampyres cried blood. It was very inconvenient for them if they were wearing white. Thankfully Hortense was wearing black.

“Darling,” I said, putting my arm around her. “Don’t worry your fangy bulbous head about a thing. I will draw a picture of you for your headshot and you can be the photographer for the rest of us.”

“You would do that for me?” Hortense asked with the beginnings of a smile.

“Of course,” I replied. “I’m a junior member of the Eternal Crème de la Crème Society now. That’s what friends are for.”

“Can you draw?” Cathy inquired skeptically.

My eye roll was huge and I counted to thirty before answering. “I color with my monkey Studly all the time. I stay in the lines far better than he does. Does that answer your question?” I demanded.

“Umm… yes,” Cathy said with wide eyes and a grunt of what I assumed was admiration. However, it might have been laughter.

Whatever. We would all have headshots shortly.

“What’s a union?” Velma asked.

“Not a clue, therefore we don’t have to worry about that part,” Fran said with great confidence.

I agreed wholeheartedly.

“You also don’t have an appointment,” came Fred’s muffled voice from behind the bush.

All the girls laughed—including me.

“We’re the Psycho Six. We don’t need an appointment,” I said.

After a quick round of headshots and a drawing by me that left everyone completely speechless with jealously and utmost respect for my art skills, we were ready.

Well… almost.

“Umm… Fred?” I called out since he was still hiding under the bush. “Do you love me?”

“Platonically,” he answered. “What do you want, Gaia?”

“Would it be horribly inconvenient if I left the tiny foul-mouthed fire assholes here for a bit?”

Fred was silent. I was certain he’d shoved Lady Elaine Fairchilde back onto his hand and was about to rip me a new rear end. But I had a plan. I always had a plan. Not all of them were good or even well thought out, but the main point was that I had one.

“I’ll let you choreograph our next pole dancing routine,” I bargained.

“The next ten,” he shot back.

Shit. That was steep. I loved being in charge… of everything. I’d already apologized today. Wasn’t that enough? Apparently not.

“Fine,” I grumbled. “The next ten, but I design the costumes.”

“Fifteen. You can design the costumes as long as my posterior and codpiece are covered. Say yes, and we have a deal,” Fred said.

The bush went silent. I held my breath and waited to see what I would say. Even I never knew what would come out of my mouth. My new friends held their breath too. I took about twenty minutes to mull over the proposition. Fran, Velma, Joan and Cathy turned blue and passed out. Hortense and I were the only ones left standing. As a Vamp, she didn’t need to breathe and I was Mother Nature. I was perfect.

“Deal,” I mumbled.

“Can’t hear you,” Fred yelled gleefully.

“Deal,” I shouted as my posse regained consciousness. “I’ll be back for the cursing infernos after I save the world from the end times. Just don’t douse the little shits with water. I might need them.”

“Got it,” Fred answered, sounded quite smug.

“Are we ready to kidnap Betsy Cocker?” Joan asked with a naughty little smirk.

“Born ready!” we yelled in unison.

Having friends was lovely. The Psycho Six were on a mission—dressed to the nines and scarier than Hell on a bad day.

What could possibly go wrong?

Chapter Seven

Hell’s Bells, there had to be at least twenty of them—all in red blazers with a string of pearls around their necks. What kind of tomfoolery was happening here? All twenty Bonnie Cookers were pacing, holding sheets of paper in their hands and talking to themselves—very odd indeed.

The room we were in was small, musty and sparsely furnished. I would think Betsy Cocker would have demanded classier accommodations. I certainly would have. When I figured out which one was the real Becky and took her hostage, she would have far superior lodgings. The Garden Palace in Nirvana was enormous. Boopsy could have an entire wing.

“Which one is the real Booby Cornholer?” I whispered to my posse.

“How many times were you dropped on your head as a child?” Velma demanded, shaking her head.

“I was never a child,” I hissed, effectively shutting them up for a minute and twenty-two seconds.

“What do you mean?” Cathy asked. “Everyone was a child at one time… even Fran.”

“Shut it or I’ll remove it,” Fran growled at Cathy. “Gaia, you had to have been a child. And you most definitely were dropped on your head multiple times, darling.”

“I was created, you assmonkey. And the only time I land on my head is when my pole dancing dismounts go awry,” I admitted even though I didn’t want to. I knew now that I was a dreadful cook, but I was a champion pole dancer no matter how many times I’d landed on my head… or my ass.

“I don’t see any sides,” Joan said, scanning the room full of Bumpy Cougars. “I was hoping for pickles at the very least.”

“Pickles give you the farts,” Hortense reminded Joan.

“Hush,” I snapped. “Classy women do not fart. They poof silently, and it smells like roses. Am I clear?”

“As mud,” Hortense retorted with a chuckle. “Joan clearly isn’t aware of that rule.”

“Hortense, my solid silver wand would look fetching lodged in your heart,” Joan informed her as three new warts popped out on her forehead.

As amusing as it would be to see a smackdown between my new BFF’s, we simply didn’t have time. I would definitely put my money on Joan though. The Witch was not right in the head. It was one of her qualities that I enjoyed the most.

Fran smacked herself in the forehead and chuckled. “For the love of everything thespian,” she muttered. “Sides aren’t food. They’re the dialogue pages those women are reading.”

“How do you know this?” I demanded. “Are you a lesbian?”

Fran rolled her eyes and flipped me off. “I took an acting class a hundred years ago. Now that I see them, I remember what sides are.”

“So, you’re a lesbian?” I asked, wildly confused. I had no issue with homosexuality at all. My granddaughter Tiara was a fabulous lesbian. I’d just never heard of a lesbian Gnome.

“For your information,” Fran growled. “I said thespian. Not lesbian. However, yes. I am gay.”

“That’s wonderful,” I told her.

“Thank you,” Fran said.

“Welcome,” I replied and then looked around the room at the potential clusterhump. “How do we figure out which one to abscond with?” I asked.

“Just ask them,” Cathy said.

“Ask them what?” I queried.

Cathy pursed her lips and closed her eyes for a moment. If there weren’t humans here, I would have electrocuted her. “Ask them which is the real one.”

I was pleased that I hadn’t blasted her. Her suggestion was logical and brilliant. I didn’t know how I hadn’t thought of it myself.

“Excuse me ladies,” I said as they all paused and glanced up from their papers—or rather their sides if I was using the lesbian term. “Which one of you is the real Bitsy Clicker?”

A room full of blank faces stared back at me. Were they all deaf? The internet hadn’t mentioned anything about Blazie Cockblocker being hard of hearing. Crap. My sign language was rusty.

“Betsy Cocker,” Fran hissed in my ear.

“Whoops! My bad,” I said to the crowd. “I meant which one of you is Betsy Cocker?

Every single one of them raised their hand and smiled.

“Well, now what do we do?” I asked, under my breath.

“We take them all,” Hortense whispered, waving and smiling back at the group of Betsy Cockers.

“All of them?” I was shocked. It was tricky to abscond with one human without my son God finding out. Twenty was a shit show waiting to happen.

“The Vampyre is correct,” Joan said. “If you need to learn to cook to avoid the end times, we take no risks. Betsy Cocker is our only hope… and it’s still a long shot. We take all of them.”

So, we did.

We kidnapped twenty Betsy Cockers. One of them had to be the real deal. If that turned out to be false, we were royally screwed.

“Gaia, what have you done?” Bill asked, pressing his fingers to the bridge of his nose.

“They all said they were Bossy Cocksucker, so I kidnapped all of them,” I explained in my defense. “Actually, it was Hortense’s idea and Joan approved so I did it.”

“And if Hortense and Joan jumped off a bridge would you do that too?”

“Is that a trick question?” I inquired.

“Umm… no,” Bill said, scrubbing his hand over his mouth to hide what I hoped was a smile.

“Then the answer is yes. I love jumping off bridges. It makes my tummy tingle,” I replied.

Bill shook his head and tried again.

“My love, there are twenty women in red blazers and pearls tied to chairs and gagged in the garden.”

“That was Fran’s idea,” I said quickly. “She said that we would never find the real Bonnie Cooter if they were able to plot against us.”

“I see,” Bill said with a wince. “And where exactly are your friends now?”

“They’ll be back shortly. Everyone went home to get a few changes of clothes. I’ve invited them to stay in the Garden Palace until the crisis is over,” I told him bouncing on my toes. “And they asked me to join their club!”

“The Fearsome Five will be staying at our home?” Bill choked out, paling considerably.

“It’s the Psycho Six now,” I told him and then paused. What the Hell was I thinking? My new friends were simply dreadful. I adored them, but more from a slight distance than up close. Shit. They could destroy my palace in five minutes flat. “What if we put up tents and made them sleep outside?”

“I don’t see that going over particularly well,” Bill said and then sighed. “Lover, do you need these women? Do you feel they’re instrumental in stopping the evil headed our way?”

I thought about Elle’s message. There seemed to be no reference to the powerful and rotund gals, but I couldn’t shake the feeling they were somehow necessary. Plus, Velma and her internet juice helped find Booty Clacker.

Nodding slowly, I walked to Bill and wrapped my arms around his waist. He was so tall I had to look up to gaze into his gorgeous eyes. “Yes. I don’t know why yet, but I’m sure I need them.”

“Very well,” he said in a resigned tone as he lifted me into his arms. “We shall host your friends. However, I can’t promise not to remove a few appendages if they misbehave.”

“Not to worry,” I assured him as I snapped my fingers, levitated both of us and moved us toward our bed. “I expect to have to electrocute them repeatedly.”

“As long as we’re on the same page, I’m good,” he said, waving his hand and breaking my enchantment causing us to tumble onto the bed. “I take it you’re waiting for your friends to come back before you interrogate your hostages?”

“Absolutely,” I replied with a giggle as I straddled my man. “Have you tried to take your Sprite form again?”

Bill shook his head. “I’ve had no luck yet. Would you be upset if I stayed like this for the rest of eternity?” he inquired.

“Lover, I don’t care what you look like on the outside,” I told him, meaning every word. “As long as you are you, I will love you until we cease to exist. Plus, your ass is truly a work of art in this form.”

That’s when I paused. I was shocked that I hadn’t noticed it when I’d arrived home. My beautiful lover’s dark hair was streaked with shimmering strands of white. My stomach clenched as I ran my hands through his hair.

“What happened to you?” I asked, feeling strangely like I was losing a part of me. Which of course was silly. Bill was probably trying out a new look. Odd, but possible.

“Nothing. I’m fine,” he said, kissing the tip of my nose. “However, I’d still advise that the boys are kept in the dark.”

I placed my hands on either side of his beautiful face and lightly kissed his lips. “Have you ever considered that the reason you can’t go back to your Sprite form is because it’s time for God and Satan to know the truth?”

He was quiet for a long moment as he considered the possibility. “Interesting thought,” Bill said. “If the opportunity arises so be it. However, I’m not sure this week is the best time to tell them that an unknown force has always worked in the background of their decision making.”

“Since you are the True Immortal who wields Wisdom and have been guiding them since the beginning of time, I will heed your wishes,” I promised. “Would they recognize who you truly were if they saw you?”

“Possibly,” Bill answered. “I’m more of a presence in their conscience than a flesh and bones entity.”

“Like Jiminy Cricket?” I teased.

Bill shook his head and tried not to grin. He failed. “Yes, exactly like Jiminy Cricket except I’m far more attractive and have two eyes instead of five,” he said.

“Crickets have five eyes?” I asked, shocked.

“Indeed, they do.”

I’d have to look that one up on the internet…

“Ohhhhh Bill, I’ve discovered the most wonderful thing. Did you know you can pour internet juice into the holes of your computer and it will tell the truth more accurately?”

“Umm… no,” he said. “And while I find that highly amusing and alarming, I’d suggest you refrain from trying that unless you’d like to get electrocuted.”

“Seriously?”

“Quite,” Bill said. “Do you recall the time you put metal in the microwave?”

“Which time?”

“Umm… any of the numerous times.”

“Okay,” I said. “Yes. I remember.”

“What happened?”

I had to think about that for a moment… and then I cringed. “The microwave blew up,” I whispered.

“Correct. Internet juice will do something very similar to your computer.”

I wasn’t entirely sure I believed him, but Bill didn’t lie to me. He occasionally stretched the truth a bit so I wouldn’t crack a hole in the Universe, but he never outright lied.

“Soooo, Jiminy Cricket with two eyes instead of five, the boys are very smart. Eventually, they will put it together,” I pointed out.

“I don’t doubt it,” Bill said, tangling his hands in my hair and pulling me down so our lips touched. “I adore you,” he whispered against my mouth.

“And I you,” I whispered back.

“Well, well, well, isn’t this cozy,” a very familiar and furious voice snapped from the arched doorway of our bedroom suite. “Quite sure my father would be delighted to find out his mate is CHEATING on him,” Satan roared as the Garden Palace trembled with his ire. “This adds another fucking century onto my therapy, mother.”

“Who do you think you are, young man?” I snapped, ready to electrocute him for interrupting my nookie time.

“I’m fucking Satan,” he snapped back as black glitter swirled around him.

“Darling,” I replied with a grin and an eye roll. “You know you can’t do yourself. You should really get a new line.”

Satan let out a string of profanities that would have gotten his mouth washed out with soap if the situation wasn’t so bizarre. I suppose it was time for Satan to know the truth.

“Mother, if you could move to the left a bit, it would be helpful,” Satan snarled.

“Why is that?” I asked as I felt Bill chuckle next to me.

“Because I would hate to incinerate you when I blast your gigolo to the Basement of Hell for a round or ten of torture.”

“You’re being quite rude,” I told him.

“If you think this is rude, just wait,” he muttered as flames began to flicker around his head and shimmering black sparks shot from his fingertips.

I sighed dramatically as Bill nodded his head to me. “If you’d let me explain,” I started.

“Nope. You’ve explained quite enough with your disgusting display of adultery. I never took you for a lowly two-timer,” Satan growled and glared menacingly.

“Out,” I shouted as a small earthquake shook the Garden Palace. Hopping off of Bill, I slapped my hands on my hips and gave my son a scowl that meant business.

“No can do,” Satan said, making himself comfortable in on a peach silk divan. “While normally I condone and applaud adultery, this feels incredibly icky.”

“Did you just say icky?” I asked, trying not to laugh. As evil as my darling son was, the handsome shit had morals—and he loved his father even though he would loathe to admit it. Actions spoke much louder than words in the Devil’s case. Of course, pointing that out would cause an inferno in Nirvana.

Satan raised a brow, snapped his fingers and set my rug on fire. “Yesssss, I said icky. I never say things like icky. However, this is icky,” he shouted, pointing at the bed.

With a wiggle of my nose, I electrocuted him. “I liked that rug,” I said as he slapped at the lapel of his Armani jacket to put the fire out. “I am your mother. You are not the boss of me. You will leave my bedroom and I will meet you in the garden.”

The ass didn’t deserve an explanation with his ridiculous and destructive behavior.

“Nope,” Satan said and set the bed on fire with a wave of his hand. “The sleazy bastard in your bed of sin is leaving. The motherfucker can leave of his own free will or I can help him out—and I would truly love to help him out.”

“You just made a very rude pun, little mister,” I snapped, clapping my hands and dousing the fire while zapping my son in the ass at the same time. I was wonderful at multitasking.

“Son of a bitch,” Satan grunted, hopping around the room and slapping his ass. “Was that necessary, mother?”

“It was,” I confirmed. “Never in eternity have I crawled up your ass about your paramours.”

“Are you kidding me?” he shouted. “You’ve been up my ass for millions of years.

“He has a point,” Bill said.

“Don’t believe I was talking to you, man-hooking home-wrecker,” Satan snarled, narrowing his eyes at the man he thought I was cheating with. “Do not take my side.”

“My apologies,” Bill’s replied, biting back a grin. It clearly delighted him to hear his son defending him even if his son had no clue he was doing so.

The Devil paused and glared at the man in confusion. “Do I know you? I feel like I know you.”

“This could all be very easily explained if you would stop destroying my suite,” I told him.

Satan rolled his eyes and stomped his foot like a toddler. Every single priceless painting on the wall blew up and turned to ash.

“You are in trouble, little mister shithead,” I shouted, as my magic began to swirl around me and flowers began to burst from the polished hardwood floors.

“I. Don’t. Care,” Satan bellowed, waved his hands and set flame to all my flowers. “You are setting a horrible example for your children.”

“Do you even hear yourself? You adore sin and you’re millions of years old. I’d hardly call you a child even though you’re doing a fine imitation of one,” I told him, trying not to giggle.

I failed. Of course, this pissed my boy off even more.

“While this is normally true,” he ground out through clenched teeth. “It’s not true right now, Mother.”

“So, you can change the rules to suit your newfound morality?” I demanded, beginning to enjoy myself even though it would take hours to restore the damage.

“I’m fucking Satan,” he bellowed, causing the floor to buckle and plaster to rain down from the ceiling. “I can do whatever I want.”

I was done. I could no longer hold back my hysterics. Falling back on top of the man I was cheating on his father with, I laughed until I cried.

“Darling,” I choked out through my laughter. “Again, your line conjures up horrifying images. Unless you’ve become a contortionist, you need to rethink who you’re boinking.”

“For the love of everything dastardly,” Satan grunted. “This is not about me—for once. I’m appalled by your morally repugnant behavior. Do you see what you are doing to me?” he roared. “I have never in my life been appalled by morally repugnant behavior. You are killing my reputation.”

“If you weren’t such a shit and could shut your trap for twenty-two seconds, this could have been explained. However, since you’ve decided to be an assmonkey, you lose.” My hair began to blow around my head and my fingers began to spark. “You will leave my bedroom and go to the garden at once. Am I clear?” I said so quietly that the Devil blanched.

“Fine,” Satan hissed. “Round one to Mother Nature. However, I’m calling God and telling on you.”

“Are you five years old?” I asked, looking up at the ceiling so he wouldn’t detect my amusement.

“Hardly,” Satan snapped. “I stopped counting my age millions of years ago.”

“Out,” I repeated. “Or do you need some help?”

Satan rolled his eyes and disappeared in a cloud of black glitter.

“Well, that was fun,” I said, turning to Bill and giggling.

Bill sat up and grinned. “It was. I’m mentally debating the merits of revealing myself. Not sure if Satan having a meltdown because you’re cheating on me is going to be less dramatic than when he realizes you’re not. Plus, we still have to deal with Jim Bob Bob-Bob.”

Sitting down on the edge of the bed, I considered what Bill had said. A small shiver skittered down my spine. I was missing a puzzle piece here.

“What do you mean we?” I asked. “I had the dream. I have to deal with the spawn of the Antichrist—not you.”

Bill stood and grabbed his clothes. His movement wasn’t odd, but his timing was interesting.

“We are a team, Gaia. What affects you, affects me,” he said, tucking his shirt into his pants and then turning to walk to the closet. “I will never let you come to harm. Ever.”

If I had the time, I would grill him, but the clock was ticking and I wasn’t sure what information I was after. “Since the beginning of time you have been able to seamlessly go from façade to façade,” I pointed out. “I have to think there’s a reason you can’t do it now.”

Bill shrugged and gave me a lopsided smile that my heart skip a beat. “Time will tell,” he said softly. “Everything happens for a reason.”

I sighed. “One would hope, but I suppose I could ask Elle,” I suggested. “Not that she would tell me. She’s more cryptic than the old Fate. Also, I’m not sure how the egos of the two most powerful True Immortals would survive knowing Wisdom is stronger than both Good and Evil.”

“Any idiot can know,” Bill said thoughtfully. “The question is, will they understand?”

“I believe the question is, will they tolerate it?” I pointed out

“Actually, tolerance or rather Compassion is equally as formidable as Wisdom,” Bill stated.

I glanced up in surprise. My darling granddaughter was the guardian of Compassion. Her mouth might be foul but her sense of right and wrong was firmly entrenched. “Does Astrid know how truly powerful she is?” I asked.

Bill was quiet for a long moment. I could tell he was thinking. It was all kinds of hot, but nookie was not on the agenda right now. Satan was busy tattling on me to God for something I hadn’t done. There were twenty Bootsy Cooters tied up in the garden and the rest of the Psycho Six were headed back to Nirvana. Of course, that was nothing compared to the fact I still had no real clue or solid plan to stop Jim Bob Bob-Bob from whatever dastardly plan he had up his sleeves, possibly including bringing about the end times.

And Bill had just blown me away by suggesting my granddaughter was as powerful as he was.

Occasionally being me sucked—like today, for instance.

“Astrid has no clue,” Bill said. “I’d like her to be here. Compassion might be what is needed.”

“Why?” I asked. “I don’t want anything to happen to her.”

“She’s a True Immortal, lover,” he reminded me. “Astrid can’t die.”

“There are many fates worse than death,” I said flatly, feeling the weight of the world bearing down on my lovely shoulders. “You really think she should be here?”

Bill nodded. “I do.”

“Then here she shall be.”

I just hoped to Heaven and Hell we weren’t making a huge mistake. There was little to no room for error. But Bill was Wisdom and wise he was. If he believed that Wisdom and Compassion could tame Good and Evil, I believed him.

Shit was about to get complicated.

Chapter Eight

The garden was a shit show—literally. My new friends were interrogating the Boobies while Satan was hiding from the women under a massive rose bush on the far side of the garden talking on his cell phone. My evil son was such a weenie. Although, even I had to admit the gals were truly terrifying.

Thankfully, God hadn’t arrived yet. I was hoping to get rid of the extra Betty Cruisers before my heavenly son realized how many humans I’d kidnapped. I couldn’t think of a valid excuse that he would buy. Of course, Satan didn’t give a shit if I’d kidnapped a hundred Bossy Cooters because he was a shit himself.

A flock of teal and orange parrots were squawking and crapping all over the place. Studly was trying desperately to run interference. However, with all the poop flying, poor little Studly felt the need to fling his own poo in solidarity with the parrots. I was quite certain things couldn’t have gotten worse until my darling monkey nailed Fran with some feces. The screaming was going to give me a migraine.

“What is going on here?” I shouted as I ducked the flying poop.

All twenty Bossy Cockblockers—still tied to their chairs—were bent forward and running in circles while shrieking in terror. It was actually impressive that they could do that.

And my new posse? My posse was horrifying. Inviting them here was definitely a mistake. Joan was sporting so many warts that her eyes were difficult to make out. Hortense was flashing fang and the hostages weren’t taking that well. Both Fran and Velma had shrunk to a size so small I was concerned they would get trampled by the crazed Boopsie Coopers. And Cathy’s wings were set on high-speed, creating a wind that I was sure was going to blow Nirvana right off the map.

“None of the hostages will come clean. All the idiots claim to be Betsy Cocker,” Joan grunted. “We’re going scare it out of them.”

With a wave of my hand, I froze everyone. It was necessary. Although it was wildly unflattering for my new BFFs. Joan was in an unladylike squat. The wind that Cathy had created had blown Fran and Velma’s skirts over their heads and both of them were wearing Spanx. It really didn’t help. I considered telling them they should get a refund, but that would cause an explosion of massive proportions. Thankfully, Hortense and Cathy were clad in Armani pantsuits. I would need eye bleach if I had to see their grundies.

“The Boobies are humans,” I snapped. “You’re going to scare them to death. Not a good plan, ladies—and I use the term very, very, very loosely.”

“Shit, she’s right,” Velma said in a pitch so high that I heard Satan moan in agony.

Served him right for being so rude. However, since I was fairly sure I’d just burst an eardrum, I wiggled my fingers and sealed Velma’s mouth shut. I’d hate to have an ear bleed and ruin my Prada. So far, I’d successfully avoided the poo. Blood was a bitch to remove and I adored my frock.

“Umm, Gigi?” Astrid questioned, appearing right next to me in a gorgeous blast of silver and black magic. “I thought you sent the big-boned gals to Purgatory.”

“Darling,” I cried out in relief, pulling her into a hug. “They let me join their club, so I invited them over. Don’t call them big-boned,” I whispered in her ear. “They’re quite violent without being insulted. You feel me?”

“I feel you,” Astrid whispered back. “Why is Uncle Fucker under a bush?”

“Pay him no mind,” I told her. “He’s being a jackass. Why are you here? I haven’t sent for you yet.”

“Grandpa summoned me,” she explained with a tiny smirk.

I went mute—highly unusual for me. Had Bill been able to take on his Sprite form back on? I was so confused I was tempted to cause a natural disaster. However, my new buddies were destructive enough without me adding to the mess. Note to self… make another therapy appointment. I needed something stronger than counting. With more restraint than I knew I had, I decided to use my words instead of my magic.

“So… umm, Grandpa called you… like on the phone?” I asked, trying to gauge how to proceed.

Astrid raised her brow and grinned. “Nope, he transported to the Cressida House and filled me in a bit,” she replied, tilting her head and waiting for my reaction.

For the first time in a very long time, I was unsure what to say. “And you… well, you… umm…”

“I what?” Astrid inquired with amusement dancing in her golden eyes.

Pursing my lips and trying not to smile at her impertinence, I went for it. My Astrid was delightfully disrespectful and she had outstanding fashion sense. Her red Stella McCartney mini dress was stunning. “You recognized Bill?”

Astrid rolled her eyes and laughed. “Yep.”

“How?” I asked.

“Gigi, I would recognize him anywhere just like I would recognize anyone I love. Outer shells can be deceptive. I can always see what’s inside.”

“Well, Hell’s bells, Bill was right,” I muttered, staring at the child in wonder. Compassion was very powerful indeed. My idiot son hadn’t recognized his father and had known him for millions of years. Yet Astrid, who’d only been Immortal for a small blip of time had seen through the façade.

“Right about what?” she asked, wincing at the scene in front of us.

“Nothing,” I said quickly. “I might need a little help.”

“Understatement of the century,” Astrid shot back. “What exactly are you trying to accomplish here?”

“Mmmkay, I’ll make this short,” I said, pulling her out of earshot of my guests that were here by invite and those that were here by illegal activity. “The spawn of the Antichrist was at the grocery store while I was there trying to abscond with Bessy Cocksock. Needless to say, Bessy wasn’t there because computers lie. However, I believe it was quite fortuitous that I ran into the evil asshole offspring of the Antichrist. Ohhhhh, and PS… there’s something called internet juice that will make your computer tell the truth. Just don’t pour it in the holes or the laptop will blow up. Anyhoo, I had a dream that Elle was Dream Walking in, which means I have to solve the shit show according to God and Satan. Of course, Satan lies, but God doesn’t, as you know. Apparently, I’m the one that has to stop the end times, even though God says they’re not on the schedule—which is written in pencil, not pen. So, after my new friends made Mr. Rogers have a nervous breakdown in Purgatory, we figured out how to find Barbie Cockblocker to teach me how to cook.”

I was sure I heard Astrid mutter what the fuck, but I couldn’t be bothered to admonish her. Actually, I agreed with her. But there was still more to share.

“I believe I can end the end times by learning how to cook and making God and Satan wear somewhat masculine aprons to serve the meal. Hence, this is why I’ve kidnapped a bunch of women who claim to be Bonnie Cooter. I plan to find the real one, learn to cook and voila! Problem solved—I think.”

“I am so fucking confused,” Astrid said. “How does you learning to cook and having a dinner party end the end times?”

“That is a fine question, darling,” I conceded. “However, since Fate is being a cryptic bitch and I only have a week before the world possibly ends, I’m winging it. And I should probably add that Jim Bob Bob-Bob may have broken the first seal of the Apocalypse by snapping a white plastic horse in half.”

“Who the Hell is Jim Bob Bob-Bob?” Astrid asked, looking at me askance.

I didn’t blame her. It was a lot to take in. “He’s the son of the Antichrist.”

“Got it,” she said, shaking her head.

“Can you help me?” I asked. It was odd to ask for assistance, but Astrid was different from the rest. She was very aware of my faults—not that I had any. Yet she never mentioned them… not that I had any.

“No clue if I can help, but if we’re winging it, I can give it a shot,” Astrid said, paling a bit. “So, your friends—for lack of a better term—are trying to kill off the humans you kidnapped?”

“Nonononono. I know it looks bad, but I’m ninety-three percent sure that execution is not in the plan,” I explained, shooting a glare at my new club members. “They’re trying to ascertain which one is the real Bopsy Cucumber.”

“By giving them heart attacks?” Astrid pressed.

“Umm… possibly,” I said with a small wince. “Can you fix this?”

“Will you electrocute your psycho buddies if they get up in my face?” she inquired. “It would be really bad form if I offed your new friends.”

“Absolutely,” I told her. My granddaughter was so thoughtful. “I’d love to have an excuse to shock the shit out of them.”

“I’m in then,” Astrid said with a laugh.

With a wave of her manicured hand, Astrid released all of the Beckys and seated them comfortably on chairs. They were now arranged in a neat semi-circle. The metal chairs had been replaced with over-stuffed shabby chic floral armchairs that looked lovely in my garden. I’d have to ask Astrid if I could keep them.

Gone were the ropes and gags. The poop residue disappeared and my parrots flew in beautiful formations around Astrid’s head. It was a stunning picture. My undead Vampyre-Demon granddaughter was a force to behold. Studly hopped onto her shoulder and kissed her cheek. I was unsure if she’d plugged the parrot’s bottoms, or if they simply adored Astrid and refused to take a dump on her.

“Tie them back up!” Fran shrieked. “We can’t torture the truth out of them if they can make a run for it.”

“Gigi?” Astrid turned to me and rolled her eyes.

“On it,” I replied and blasted Fran with a bolt that singed the hair off the right side of her head.

“Nice,” Astrid complimented me.

“Thank you,” I replied with a wink and then turned to the gals. “Astrid is in charge now. If anyone has an issue with that, speak now so I can electrocute you.”

“Umm… I’m good,” Joan said, placing herself strategically behind a Bonnie Corkscrew.

Joan was the smartest of the crew. I would never electrocute someone I’d kidnapped. I only shocked the living daylights out of my invited guests. The rest of the big-boned gals simply nodded and piled in next to Joan.

“Hello, ladies,” Astrid said warmly.

“Hello!” Hortense squealed with a spastic wave and a curtsy of respect. Astrid was the Vampyre Princess of the North American Dominion and Hortense was technically one of her subjects.

“Umm, hi,” Astrid said to Hortense with a small smile. “I wasn’t actually talking to you. I was talking to the humans. You might want to close your cakehole.”

“Whoops, my bad, my liege,” Hortense blubbered, making the international zip the lip signal.

It would have worked out wonderfully if her fangs hadn’t been out. Since they were, Hortense was now bleeding profusely from the mouth. What was I thinking to want to be part of their group? They were a hot mess.

Thankfully, Velma and Fran had grown back to normal size and handed Hortense a wad of napkins to stem the flow. It was a complete bummer that they were my good yellow linen napkins, but it was best not to traumatize the Bettys any more than we already had. The mindwipe alone was going to be massive.

“So, ladies,” Astrid continued. “I believe we can solve this fucking clusterhump quickly and get you back to… umm… where exactly were you when this happened?”

One of the Bonnies politely raised her hand.

“Yes?” Astrid said, pointing at her.

The woman nervously pulled on her pearls and adjusted her dated red blazer. “We were all at an audition to be in a Betsy Cocker commercial in Chicago.”

Astrid sighed and her chin dropped to her chest. I wasn’t sure if she was trying not to laugh or swear. I was starting to feel a bit dumb but decided to blame it on Velma for not getting all the information before the mass kidnapping. Clearly, she didn’t use enough internet juice.

“Holy shit. Seriously?” Astrid asked, glancing over at me and my posse in shock.

None of us made eye contact with Astrid. The ground was all of a sudden very interesting.

Astrid groaned and turned her attention back to the Bumpies. “Do you gals happen to have your driver’s licenses?”

Nodding, all twenty reached for their purses that had miraculously made the trip to Nirvana in one piece. A few had a little parrot poo on them, but that could be solved. I would send each victim home with a brand-new Chanel bag. The thought made me feel much better about my faux pas… actually Velma’s faux pas. I didn’t make faux pas.

“Who can mindwipe without hurting or further traumatizing these women?” Astrid demanded.

Not one of the Psycho Six raised their hands.

Shit. I wasn’t even sure I could do it at this point. I was on electrocution mode. It would be risky to mindwipe a human right now.

“Well, that’s fanfuckingtastic,” Astrid muttered. “Uncle Fucker?”

“No,” Satan called out from under his bush.

“You owe me,” Astrid snapped.

“I already paid you back,” he grumbled.

“You’re lying,” Astrid shot back.

“Your point?” Satan asked.

“Get your sorry ass out here right now,” she commanded.

“And if I don’t?” Satan inquired.

Astrid’s grin grew wide. “If you don’t, I will send Martha and Jane on an extended trip to Hell. I will make it very clear to them that they are to entertain you 24-7 for the entire six months they are there. Does that work for you?”

“You are a heinous child,” Satan said, trying to hide his grin as he approached the group.

It was indeed rare for a being to be unafraid of the Devil. Astrid wasn’t the least bit intimidated by her uncle. Satan adored her disrespect even if he ended up losing to her once in a great while. Not to mention, Martha and Jane were terrifying to most. Astrid had them turned into Vampyres as they lay dying at her feet a few years ago. Something I was sure she regretted on a daily basis. They stayed ancient and were partial to wearing sequined boob tubes, spandex shorts, black socks and sandals. They were tone-deaf, violent and foul-mouthed. They would drive Satan to drink. Heavily.

“I’ll take that as a compliment coming from you, jackhole,” Astrid told her uncle. “When I give you the go-ahead, please mindwipe each one and send them home. Got it?”

“You’ll owe me,” Satan countered.

“For the love of everything idiotic,” Astrid groused. “I will owe you nothing. However, if you promise to make the mindwipe and the transport as gentle as possible, you may have a favor.”

Satan rubbed his hands together and grinned. “I want to give everyone in your ridiculous nativity scene a boner next Christmas.”

“You did not just say you want to give the Virgin Mary a boner,” I snapped at my wildly inappropriate son.

“He did,” Astrid said with a laugh. “Fine. They’ll match my nutcrackers that you already defiled. However, no boner on my baby Jesus. And that’s non-negotiable.”

“Deal,” Satan replied. “God’s on his way, so I say we get this shit show on the road or my duplicitous mother will have some extra explaining to do.”

“Not following,” Astrid said, confused.

“Oh, you will,” Satan said, shooting me a nasty look. “Soon all shall be revealed.”

“Whatever,” Astrid said. “Ladies, show me your driver’s license please.”

“What the Hell is a driver’s license?” Velma squeaked, causing everyone to slap their hands over their ears.

Dammit, the mouth seal hadn’t held. With a snap of my fingers, I quickly electrocuted Velma. Honestly, I was having fun.

“Just don’t speak,” I told her. “Astrid has Vampyre hearing. She needs to concentrate—not bleed.”

Velma gave me a weak thumbs up and slapped out the fire on her ass.

One by one, Astrid excused each Belinda Cockring. Satan then wiped their minds and sent them home. It was terrifying. Well, not the mindwipe and transport. Satan kept his word and was careful with each and every human. The fact that there was only one left and she might not be the real Bitty Clickbait was tremendously bad news for the world staying intact. I was running out of time here.

“No fucking way,” Satan shouted as he got behind Astrid and peeked out at the last hostage.

“Yes, fucking way… Boss,” the woman replied, lifting her middle finger to the Devil.

“For the love of everything certifiably and irrevocably insane—meaning you. You DO NOT work for me,” Satan hissed, running his hands through this hair and beginning to glow menacingly. “I don’t know who told you that you did.”

“I’m the Grim freakin’ Reaper, shit-goblin,” she contradicted the King of Hell. “Of course, I work for you. Who else would I work for?”

Satan threw his hands in the air and blew up all my flowering bushes within a hundred feet. “I don’t know how many times I’m going to have to explain this to you, Betsy… but there is no fucking Grim Reaper. It’s a myth.”

“Her name is Betsy?” I questioned, only to be shushed by Astrid.

I didn’t like it, but I was smart enough to know Astrid was correct. Whatever was playing out here needed to play out. I would have the nut-job reveal her surname shortly. Well, unless Satan incinerated her for calling him a shit-goblin.

“And just so you know,” Betsy the Grim Reaper went on as if this was the complaint office in Hell. “I hate this job. It’s not for me. I can’t kill anything. And the pay sucks ass.”

“Fucking Hell,” Satan muttered and pushed Astrid aside. “If there was a Grim Reaper—which there is not—you wouldn’t kill people. You would bring them to Hell.”

“Seriously?” she asked perplexed.

Satan inhaled slowly through his nose and blew the breath out just as slowly from his lips. My boy was literally sparking he was so furious. “Yes. Seriously. However, since the job doesn’t exist, this little exchange is moot,” he ground out through clenched teeth.

The Grim Reaper rolled her eyes and slapped herself in the head. “It would have been nice to have been given a job description instead of stumbling upon a black cape back in the day and figuring it out for myself, ass-pastry—never should have gone to that fucking Halloween store. I’ve been killing off the human’s appliances and automobiles since I couldn’t bring myself to off the humans for real. I’ve spent several hundred years blowing up refrigerators and vacuum cleaners. I feel fucking awful right now.”

“I’d really like to detonate this one,” Satan told Astrid. “She’s been a thorn in my ass for centuries.”

“Umm, nope,” Astrid said and turned her attention to the whackjob. “What exactly are you?”

“I’m the Grim Reaper,” she grunted. “Are you deaf, fuck-knuckle?”

“Pleeeease let me incinerate her,” Satan begged.

“I’m getting there,” Astrid muttered and then pulled herself back together. “May I call you Betsy?” she inquired.

“Call me whatever you want. I wanna be reassigned. This Grim Reaper job sucks dick,” Betsy said and plopped down into an armchair.

“Right,” Astrid said, gingerly taking the seat next to her. “I get that you think you’re the Grim Reaper, but I was referring to your species. What species are you?”

“Can you legally ask that question in a job interview, twat-truck?” Betsy asked, narrowing her eyes at Astrid.

“Duuuuude,” Astrid ground out as her hair began to blow around her head and rainbow-colored blasts of magic danced around her. “You are grinding my last nerve here. I’m trying to save your idiot ass from ending up a pile of goo. You feel me? Answer the fucking question, or I’ll save Satan the bother of blowing your rude ass up.”

“Will she really do it?” Joan whispered in my ear.

My posse had joined me and we watched the surreal scene unfold.

“No,” I whispered back. “She’s too compassionate. However, I wouldn’t put it past her to do some real damage.”

“She’s stylish and violent,” Cathy pointed out. “She might be right for the Eternal Crème de la Crème Society.”

I wanted to roll my eyes and electrocute every one of the bulbous wenches. It had taken me centuries to be invited into the club. However, with Astrid in there, we could really smackdown and rule the roost.

“You’ll have to ask her,” I whispered. “She’s quite busy, but who knows?”

“I don’t understand the question,” Betsy snapped. She then pulled a hooded black robe out of her oversized purse and threw it at Astrid.

“Now can I off her?” Satan asked again.

Violence was very close at hand. Normally, I would agree with using brute force on such an unsavory individual, but not right now. Too much was at stake.

“Tell me your last name, Reaper,” I demanded, stepping in before Astrid or Satan could eliminate her and effectively end the world in doing so. It was a gut feeling, but it was all I had to go on at the moment.

“Cocker,” the woman said.

“You’re Betsy Cocker?” I asked, shocked.

I mean, she was wearing the right get-up. Her unfashionable hairstyle was brown and she had on the requisite pearls, purse and red lipstick. However, she was awful. Maybe Jim Bob Bob-Bob was correct in his description of the nasty woman.

“I’m Betsy Cocker the Grim Reaper, you butt-wanker,” she announced. “Whatcha gonna do about it?”

It took all I had not to turn her insolent ass into a toad, but today wasn’t normal. At all.

“Can you cook?” I asked, clasping my hands together so I didn’t accidentally on purpose decapitate her.

“Mother, what are you doing?” Satan asked, getting alarmed.

“I’m giving the impertinent foul-mouthed little shit-for-brains a new job,” I told him. “She’s now my problem. Not yours.”

“Fine,” Satan said with a laugh. “Good luck with that.”

“I don’t believe in luck. I believe in Fate. And I do believe it just dropped into my garden,” I said, eyeing Betsy Cocker with distaste.

“God’s here,” Satan said, with a sneer. “Time to go to confession, mother.”

With a clap of my hands, I electrocuted my son. As he swore and hopped around the garden to put out the flames, I addressed my posse. “Take Betsy to the kitchen and prepare her to teach me to cook. Do not—under any circumstances—kill her. I don’t care how ill-mannered she is. Just keep her alive and have her show us what we will need. Am I clear?”

“You are,” Joan said with a curt nod. “We won’t kill her. However, I can’t guarantee that she’ll have all of her body parts.”

“Fair enough,” I said. “Just don’t remove her arms or her head. I need those.”

“Will do, Gaia,” Hortense said, as she grabbed a surprised Betsy Cocker by the scruff of her blazer and yanked her toward the Garden Palace kitchen.

“What’s the pay for this gig, you massive elbow fart?” Betsy demanded as she was being dragged away.

“Are you sure about this?” Astrid asked, scrunching her nose. “She’s pretty damned awful.”

“I’m not sure at all,” I admitted. “However, with time running short, I have no choice.”

“Umm… God doesn’t look real happy,” Astrid mumbled as she watched him float down into the garden with a scowl on his Angelic face. “Should I leave?”

“Oh no, darling,” I said with a giggle. “If you’d like to see Satan have his ass handed to him, then you must stay.”

Astrid’s grin was wide. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Smart girl,” I said, patting her on the head. “Let the fun begin.”

Chapter Nine

“If this turns out to be a false alarm, I get to kick your ass with no retaliation,” God informed Satan, still scowling. “I’m a very busy deity. It’s the ninth inning. Bases are loaded. The Angels are tied with the Saints and I was up to bat. This is some incredibly bad timing, Lucifer.”

God was in all his glory. His completely rhinestoned softball uniform was so sparkly, I had to conjure up some sunglasses to look at him directly. With his normal heavenly glow plus the glittering uniform, one could easily go blind.

“Oh, everything I told you is quite true,” Satan replied, sounding every bit the leader of Hell… until he took in his brother’s ensemble. “What the Hell are you wearing? Did you rob the dressing room of a fucking drag show?”

“Pie hole. Zip it,” God snapped. “Remember when I asked for your opinion? Me neither. I do believe you called me, brother. Go ahead and tell me everything you know. I have a spare ten seconds.”

Oh crap. This could get rather ugly. There was no time to let them incinerate each other again. The clock was ticking and time was running out.

“God, God, God… if you’re going to be a smartass, you need to be smart,” Satan said with a grin and an eye roll. “Not just an ass—and a very sparkly one at that.”

“Keep rolling your eyes, Lucifer. Perhaps you’ll find a brain somewhere in the back of your head,” God shot back.

“Ohhhhh, brutal,” Astrid said with a giggle.

“Hello, my lovely niece,” God said, bestowing Astrid with an adoring smile.

Astrid threw her arms around God and squeezed him tight. “You’ve got some game, dude.”

“Thank you, child,” God replied with a chuckle. “However, I also have a game to get back to. Satan, state your case and let’s get on with it.”

“Mother’s banging a home-wrecker who’s not my father,” Satan announced.

“Mother?” God asked, surprised. “Is this true?”

“Of course, it’s true,” Satan bellowed before I could get a word in. “Do you think I lie?”

“Umm… is that a trick question?” God asked, not even trying to bite back his laugh.

Satan’s put-upon sigh would have been delightful if he hadn’t stomped his foot like a two-year-old and created a huge crater in my garden. “Fine point. Well made. However, it’s the truth this time.”

“Really?” I inquired, eyeing my son with amusement.

“You are about to get in enormous trouble for being incredibly icky, morally repugnant and loose in the morals department, Mother,” Satan accused me and then smacked himself in the head sending himself flying across the garden. “Hell on a fucking Monday, I sound like I changed teams and went to the good side. This is unacceptable.”

“Mom?” God questioned, trying not to smile as Satan began to electrocute himself on purpose.

“No worries, darling,” I told him. “It’s not true.”

“None of it?” God asked, perplexed.

“Nothing bad,” I promised. “However, there is a story to be told.”

“Sorry, I’m late,” Bill said as he strode out into the garden.

Satan was appalled. Astrid stared at her fingernails and tried not to laugh. And God? God squinted at Bill and then approached him warily. The hint of a smile on God’s face was enough to let me know he recognized who he saw.

“I should have known,” God said softly as he touched Bill’s face and gazed at him with joyous wonder. “Since the beginning of time it was your wisdom playing in the background. You truly exist.”

“I do,” Bill said.

God bowed his head in respect. “Thank you,” he whispered reverently as Satan pitched a hellacious fit in the background.

“You are most welcome,” Bill replied, touching his forehead to God’s.

“Smite his ass,” Satan hissed as he took a break from lighting himself on fire to partake in the action. “That’s the home-wrecker she banged.”

“Do not speak about your mother like that,” Bill said, staring daggers at a now seriously confused Satan.

Satan tilted his head to the left and narrowed his eyes at the person speaking to him… like a father.

“You’re quite sure you want me to destroy this man?” God asked Satan with a tiny smirk.

“Yesssssss,” Satan answered with a monster eye roll. “It would look better if you did it since you’re against banging multiple partners and I’m not… well, usually I’m not. My rep could take a huge hit if I did it. But…”

“But what?” God asked with a raised brow.

“Who are you?” Satan demanded of Bill, shoving his hands into his pockets and glaring. “Or better yet—what are you?”

“You don’t recognize him?” God asked gleefully. “Of course, I’d be delighted to explain it to you, but then again, I can’t understand it for you.”

Satan flipped his brother off and took a few more steps toward Bill. Bill smiled and waited.

“If you’d like to get a good punch in, you should come a bit closer,” Bill suggested, as Satan struggled to keep his fisted hands in his pockets.

“Am I being played?” Satan demanded.

“If you are, it’s your own fault for not listening, little mister,” I told him, taking my place next to Bill.

Satan slowly circled Bill and eyed him from every angle. The Devil was literally smoldering he was thinking so hard. The ground trembled beneath our feet and trees began to uproot. If my idiot offspring didn’t figure it out soon, Nirvana would be a freakin’ disaster.

“I’ll give you three guesses,” Bill said, taking a step toward his son.

Satan stood his ground, but I could tell it took all he had not to hug Bill. In Bill’s Sprite form, he was the cuddliest being in the Universe. He was constantly smothered by hugs, even by Satan, who didn’t like to hug anyone.

“You son of a bitch,” Satan muttered as he threw his head back and laughed. “My father is the goddamned Enforcer?”

“Guilty,” Bill said with a smile as he held his arms out to his son.

“Do we really have to take my name in vain?” God complained. “I’m standing right here.”

“My bad… not,” Satan muttered to God as he narrowed his eyes at Bill. “So, is this your idea of a joke, Dad?”

“Hardly,” I snapped, exhausted by Satan’s disrespect. “If you hadn’t thrown a huge shit fit when you so rudely barged into our room and set everything on fire, we would have told you. However, since you were such a shit-goblin, we didn’t.”

“For the love of everything unholy,” Satan shouted. “You did not just call me a shit-goblin.”

“She did and you deserved it,” Astrid commented and moved in to hug her grandfather. “Is this your new look?”

“It’s one of them,” Bill said, cryptically.

“Explain the white streaks in your hair,” God said, also going in for a hug.

“I would think someone in drag wouldn’t have the balls to insult someone’s hair color,” Satan drawled.

“Are you always such an idiot or do you simply show off when I’m around?” God shot back.

“Sorry, I didn’t get that,” Satan said. “I don’t speak bullshit.”

“Enough,” Bill admonished the boys. “I am as I’m supposed to be. Period.”

“Am I the only one who didn’t recognize you?” Satan griped as he stomped around and tried to shake off the need to hug his father.

“Looks that way,” God said with a chuckle, still eyeing Bill’s hair with concern. “However, since you lied, Brother… I do believe I get to kick your ass with no retaliation.”

The words that came from the Devil’s mouth were horrifying… horrifyingly funny, disgusting and alarmingly appropriate for my son.

“Fine. Kick my ass, brother. You won. I lost. Again.”

God pursed his lips in thought. “Actually, I believe I’ll take my retribution in a different form.”

“That’s cheating,” Satan accused.

“Your point?” God shot back.

“Touché. Name your desire.”

God was positively giddy. I grinned and waited to see what he would do.

“Mother, I have a favor to ask of you,” God requested.

“Ask and you shall receive,” I replied.

“I’m gonna puke,” Satan mumbled.

“Could you make it rain in Heaven for a few hours? I’d hate to have to forfeit the game to the Saints. I was about to make celestial softball history. A rain delay will ensure that I get to stick around for a bit and watch my brother pay penance. It would be a win-win.”

“My pleasure.” I waved my hands. A bolt of lightning and crash of thunder rumbled through the Universe. In the far, far distance rain began to fall over Heaven in torrents. “Done.”

God nodded his thanks and then turned his attention to his brother. “Hug your father.”

“No.”

“Hug him. That’s what I want,” God insisted. “Now.”

“This is absurd,” Satan snapped, throwing his hands in the air. “I don’t hug people. And I most certainly don’t hug people in public. It would gut my reputation. How about if I just… umm… well… spewed out a bullshit apology? Something like—sorry for whatever you think I did wrong even though I didn’t do anything?”

“I accept,” I said with a giggle.

“I accept as well,” Bill added.

“I didn’t apologize,” Satan countered quickly.

“Actually, you did,” Astrid informed him with a laugh. “For you to even consider it is the same as doing it in your case.”

“Does everyone fucking hate me?” Satan bellowed as he set the lovely floral over-stuffed chairs aflame. “This is appalling.”

“Hug. Your. Father,” God commanded.

“You will pay for this,” Satan growled as he warily approached a still grinning Bill.

“I will be quite happy to do so,” God told him, pulling out his cell phone.

With a snap of his fingers, Satan blew up God’s cell phone. The Devil went in for the quickest hug in the history of hugs. And if I wasn’t mistaken—and I wasn’t—he enjoyed it.

Satan then turned around and punched his brother in the nose. “Is everyone happy now?” Satan snarled, putting a safe distance between himself and his father, so he didn’t accidentally go in for a second hug.

“Yep,” God answered, wiping the blood from his nose and giving the Devil a quick uppercut that sent him flying. “Now that we’ve taken care of that piece of business, how about you get me up to speed here? Bill, why are you in this form?”

Bill sighed and shrugged. “I seem to be stuck. Never before have I not been able to shift back and forth seamlessly. I’m not sure why.”

Satan, pulling his shit together and letting his ego take a rest, joined the conversation. “So, you can’t take back your Sprite form?”

Bill shook his head.

“Then there’s a reason,” Astrid said logically. “It has to have something to do with the end times.”

“The end times are not on the schedule,” God reminded everyone.

“The schedule is in pencil,” I whispered, feeling ill. Something was so wrong, but I wasn’t sure what exactly it was. “Pencil can be erased and changed.”

“The spawn of the Antichrist broke the first seal,” Satan said with a grunt of disgust.

“Impossible,” God insisted. “Pestilence has not occurred. There is no fatal epidemic consuming mankind. I would know.”

“Would you?” Satan asked cryptically. “You didn’t think the end times were on the fucking schedule.”

God was silent for a long moment and then his head snapped to Bill in surprise. “No,” he whispered in shock.

“HOLY SHIT ON FIRE! She made a run for it,” Hortense screamed at the top of her lungs as my posse of big-boned, violent buddies came tearing out into the garden like they were being chased by the Devil, which was ridiculous since he was standing right next to me. “The Grim Reaper has gone rogue!”

“What?” I yelled and caused an earthquake in my distress. What else could go horribly wrong right now?

“Not to worry,” Velma squealed in a pitch so high I was certain we’d all gone deaf for a brief moment. “I shoved a homing device up Betsy Cocker’s rude ass when she wasn’t looking.”

“How in the Hell do you shove something up someone’s ass when they’re not looking?” I demanded, wanting to belt Velma in the head. “People know when something is shoved up their ass. And we can test that theory because I’m about to shove a tree up your ass.”

“Finally, something fun to see,” Satan said with relief.

“Zip it,” I growled.

“Velma went teeny tiny,” Joan explained as her green-tinted skin grew greener by the second. “She can crawl undetected into any hole if she’s small enough.”

“Okay, that’s fucking gross,” Astrid said with a gag.

“I’m going to have to agree with that,” God muttered, backing away from the harried, violent gals.

“Run for your Immortal Life,” Satan whispered to his brother in terror as he grabbed God by the collar of his sparkly uniform and yanked him behind a large boulder. “They eat souls.”

“Only on Tuesdays,” Cathy cackled as she watched two of the most powerful beings in existence hide from them. “Oh—and the Grim Reaper says she can’t cook.”

“Are you shitting me?” I demanded. “She’s Bossy Cocksucker. She has to be able to cook.”

“Betsy Cocker,” God corrected me, popping out from behind the bolder with a wince on his handsome face.

“That’s what I said.”

“My bad,” God whispered and ducked back down next to his brother.

“Not to worry. We can find Betsy Cocker and we’ll make her cook. She got seriously pissed off when we told her the end times were coming,” Fran explained, arming herself to the teeth and scaring the Hell out of everyone. “With the device in her asshole and no legs for at least a half-hour, she can’t get far. Cathy, grab the damn laptop. We can track her ass on it.”

“Literally,” Astrid said with another gag.

“Why did you tell her the end times were coming?” I asked with an eye roll.

“We had no choice,” Joan said. “I’d already ripped off both of her legs and we had to have something to threaten her with.”

“Makes sense,” I agreed, happy they hadn’t removed her head. “Do we have enough internet juice to find her?” I questioned as my hair began to blow around my head and peach and golden crystals began to rain down violently over Nirvana.

It made the torrent of rain over Heaven look like child’s play.

“What’s internet juice?” Astrid questioned, confused.

“Don’t ask,” Bill advised.

Hortense grabbed the laptop and threw it at Velma. As Velma went to work, the rest of the lard asses continued to arm themselves. It was positively fabulous—wands, brooms, swords, potions, throwing stars, daggers and a tank.

“A tank?” I muttered aloud.

“A tank,” Bill confirmed with a sigh. “Your friends are insane. You certainly know how to pick them.”

“Thank you,” I replied with a small giggle and a helpless shrug. “They’re horrible, but I’m keeping them.”

“She’s in Kentucky at a grocery store,” Velma grunted as she continued to type away.

“Third and Lime Street?” I asked, feeling clammy.

“Yep,” Joan said, looking over Velma’s shoulder. “You know it?”

“Know it well,” I said as the wind picked up and everyone had to hold on to something so they didn’t blow away. It was the very warehouse of mass confusion I’d visited with Satan. Coincidences like that did not happen.

Shit.

“Tamp it back, Gigi,” Astrid yelled over the roar of the cyclone I’d created.

“Right,” I muttered and counted to seventeen.

Slowly the wind resided. My gals looked like they’d been through the dryer cycle on high. Whatever, I still looked fabulous.

“God and Satan, go home and ready your armies,” I commanded. “Astrid, you will notify the other True Immortals. And Bill…”

Bill’s gorgeous dark hair had gone whiter. It was all connected. I wasn’t sure how, but my main goal was to keep him safe. He was my world. Without him, I had no reason to exist.

“Bill,” I said, swallowing back the tears that threatened to fall. “You shall stay here and wait for my return… please.”

The silence in the garden was not golden. It was loud and wrong.

“We’re a team, my love,” Bill said, cupping my chin and forcing my eyes to meet his. “We have each other’s backs. Always.”

“And we will keep it that way,” I whispered, my eyes pleading with his. “You will stay here.”

“As you wish,” he said without emotion.

My stomach clenched. I needed Bill as much as he needed me, but my gut said to go this one alone. Winging it was seeming less appealing and more dangerous with each breath I took. Losing wasn’t an option, but I still had no clue what was truly happening. Fate had said to go about business as usual. Nothing was usual about this. Nothing. The weight of the world was almost debilitating.

“Are we taking the tank?” Hortense asked.

“No, we are not taking a tank to the grocery store,” I snapped. “Have any of you ever been in a grocery store?”

“Never,” Joan admitted. “I’m quite excited.”

“Don’t be,” Satan yelled from behind the bolder. “Just don’t make eye contact with a wrinkly.”

“That’s going to be the least of our problems,” I muttered as I raised my arms to the sky in preparation to transport the Psycho Six. “I just hope we find Boppy Wanker before Jim Bob Bob-Bob does or vice versa.”

“You think the Grim Reaper is going after the spawn of the Antichrist?” Fran sputtered.

“There is no fucking Grim Reaper,” Satan snapped. “It’s a fucking myth.”

“Can it, shit-goblin,” I hissed at my son. “I have no clue what Bonnie Hocker is up to, but I don’t believe in coincidence.”

“You can’t let her destroy the spawn of the Antichrist,” God said, running his hands through his hair in distress. “That will bring on the end times for certain.”

“Well, there’s some great fucking news,” Satan grumbled.

“It’s solvable,” I said, hoping by saying it, it would be true. “Becca Focker has a device in her ass. We have a computer, internet juice and fabulous outfits. There is no way we can lose. We have three days left and I’m going to fix this shit. Now.”

“You go, Gigi girl,” Astrid said, giving me a thumbs up.

Taking a small selfish moment, I pressed my lips to my lover’s and breathed him in. Bill’s strong arms wrapped me in a tight embrace and he moved his lips to my ear.

“I believe in you and I love you with everything I am. Do what you have to do, lover. And I will do the same.”

Nodding and pulling away, I sucked it up and turned to my little army of insanity.

“You ready to find a legless Belinda Cocksmacker?” I shouted.

“Damn tootin’ we are,” Hortense yelled. “Grocery store—here come the Psycho Six.”

May Heaven and Hell help us all.

For real.

Chapter Ten

“What exactly are we supposed to do with these?” Joan asked, eyeing the wheeled contraption with confusion.

“Roll it through the grocery store and pretend that you’re shopping for food items. Act human and don’t kill anyone. Keep your eyes open for Bunky Casper. Run her over if you have to just don’t decapitate her. She might be a lousy cook and a foul-mouthed idiot, but we need her,” I instructed tersely. “And stay away from the people in blue coats. They’re armed with cheese, crackers and nachos. We have no time for a snack right now. You feel me?”

“Roger that,” Cathy said, picking up a paper flyer and examining it. “Ohhhhh! They’re having a sale on almond milk. I love almond milk.”

“Call me crazy,” Hortense muttered as she opted for a wheeled scooter rather than a metal cart, “but I’m going to say they call it almond milk because no one can say nut juice without laughing.”

Hortense’s observation was brilliant, but I had no time to appreciate my clever comrade’s remark. We had an ass device to track.

“Follow me,” I instructed.

The grocery store was packed with humans. The lighting was still appalling and the music was worse. Movement was going to be tricky without running over shoppers.

“I can’t push the metal basket and find a beeping asshole at the same time,” Velma complained as her voice got higher pitched in her distress.

“Put Velma in the damn cart,” I told Joan.

“Seriously?” Joan asked.

“Very,” I replied, glancing around wildly. “We need to split up. Hortense, Fran and Cathy go the fruit section over on the left side of the store and create a disturbance—a big one. We need to empty this cavernous shit show. It’s bad enough that we’re hunting a legless dumbass with a homing device in her backend, we don’t need to harm any humans in the process.”

“On it,” Hortense said as she pulled Cathy and Fran onto the scooter and took off at two miles per hour.

“Umm… that was a mistake,” Joan said as she threw Velma into the cart and began to sprint.

“Why?” I questioned as I expertly avoided a human family and a pyramid of canned beans.

“Hortense, Fran and Cathy do best with specific instructions,” Joan explained as she maneuvered her cart like a drunk driver on a bender. “If you don’t specify, they like to disrobe.”

“You’re shitting me,” I said with a horrified laugh as I jerked my cart to a halt.

“I shit you not,” Joan replied and then paused mid-sprint. “Wait for it…”

The gasps came first, followed by terrified screaming. The screaming turned to hurling and then all Hell broke loose. The stampede of traumatized humans was epic. The cement floor of the massive building trembled as humans fled the establishment in droves.

“Take cover,” Joan shouted as at least three hundred people rushed for the exit.

Diving behind a mountain of Twinkies, I quickly unwrapped one and inhaled it as I watched the exodus unfold in abject horror. Images of a naked Cathy, Fran and Hortense flitted across my frontal lobe and I gagged on my stolen goodie. My son God would call that Karma. Satan would have just laughed.

“Coast is clear,” Joan grunted as she dug her way out of a plethora of baked goods.

“Found her,” Velma squealed, pointing at a blinking light on her computer. Her voice caused an entire shelf of pickle jars to explode. “Down the aisle ahead and to the right.”

We hadn’t even used magic yet and we’d practically decimated the grocery store in a matter of minutes. My posse was violently outstanding.

“Lose the cart,” I hissed as bizarre popping noises filled the air. “Stay low and follow me.”

Belly crawling over breakfast pastries and avoiding the glass from the broken pickle jars, we shimmied quietly toward aisle three. Hortense, Fran and Cathy met up with us at the cereal aisle. Thankfully, they were clothed. Seeing them in their birthday suits would have caused a natural disaster that I couldn’t have stopped.

“Just around the corner,” Velma whispered.

“That’s the aisle with her products,” I whispered back.

“Do you truly think she’s the real Betsy Cocker?” Joan asked.

“Don’t know. Don’t care,” I said. “There is a reason we found her. Fate makes no mistakes.”

“Betsy’s fucking nuts,” Fran whispered. “Do we really need her? I mean we could always go kidnap Gordon Ramsay. He’s far more pleasant than Betsy.”

“I’m partial to Bobby Flay,” Hortense chimed in. “I hear he’s hung like a horse.”

We all contemplated that in silence for a moment.

“I like that Paula Deen. She has nice big teeth,” Cathy announced, thankfully taking Bobby Flay’s package off the table.

I was tempted to ask Cathy why big teeth would be an asset, but I remembered that Bonnie Hooter was just around the corner.

“It has to be Boopsy Cooter,” I told them with an eye roll. “Her damned cake mix was in my dream that requires me to fix the shit show. Plus, if I had a choice—which I don’t—I’d go for Guy Fieri. I adore that red convertible. I would look fabulous driving around with the top down.”

“Hmm, I don’t know about that,” Cathy said. “Your hair would clash with the car.”

“Do you really want me to electrocute you?” I hissed.

“Umm… no,” she replied. “But I find it very polite that you asked.”

“Shhhhh,” Joan said. “Something is happening.”

“Arm yourselves, hags,” Hortense advised. “It’s gonna get ugly.

Truer words had not been uttered.

As we rounded the corner, we were attacked. By cake mix. Literally.

Mounds of sugary powder flew through the air, making it difficult to see. Pink and white frosting oozed from the shelves and hundreds of bottles of vegetable oil dribbled their contents to the ground turning the cement floor into an ice rink. It was like Candyland on crack.

Lemon curd mixed with molasses and peanut butter chips flew by my head in gooey chunks. I narrowly missed getting beaned by a can of pureed pumpkin.

“What in the ever-loving Hell?” I gasped out as I watched Joan go down under a ten-pound bag of powdered sugar that vaulted through the air like a ball out of a cannon.

“You listen to me, you little ass-knuckle,” Betsy screeched like a banshee as she marched-limped up and down the aisle throwing cake mixes, birthday candles and bags of chocolate chips with an insane vengeance. As her legs were still regenerating, her gait was a little odd. “I’ve been detonating appliances for thousands of years and I’m fucking sick of it. I finally got another job that I’m unqualified for and you are not going to fart on my parade.”

“Holy shit,” I gasped out. “She’s trying to kill the Antichrist with groceries.”

“That’s the Antichrist?” Hortense asked, squinting at Jim Bob Bob-Bob who had stockpiled multiple bags of flour for protection and was lobbing cans of condensed milk at the crazed Becky.

He was looking a little worse for the wear. The evil little shit didn’t appear quite as evil doused in sugar. However, the oddest thing was that he seemed terrified of Betina Cockrocker. Granted, Betina was terrifying, but…

“It’s the Antichrist’s spawn,” I corrected myself. Getting to my feet and briefly lamenting my ruined Prada ensemble, I entered the fray. Ducking a flying case of unicorn sprinkles, I flung a family-sized box of gluten-free muffin mix at Bootsie’s head. “Bunny Cocksucker and Jim Bob Bob-Bob, you will stop right now. Do you understand me? You do not want me to have a meltdown.”

“Seriously. You don’t,” Velma advised. “She’s fucking insane on a good day.”

“Thank you,” I told her. Having friends really was lovely.

“Welcome,” Velma replied.

My posse of big-boned, powdered sugar-covered idiots, jumped up and flanked me. Each held spatulas, malted milk powder and canned blueberries. We were armed and completely ridiculous. Busty narrowed her eyes at us and then rolled them.

“How did you find me, snot-boot?” she demanded.

“What did you just call me?” I ground out.

“Snot-boot,” Jim Bob volunteered as he lobbed an open box of brownie mix at Bunny.

“What does that even mean?” I shouted, throwing my hands in the air and blowing out the fluorescent lights above. The electrical explosion combined with the colorful dust floating in the air made the baking aisle look like a circus on acid. “If you want to insult someone properly, you really should make some sense. Something like jackhole or shit-head has more oomph.”

“Or douchecanoe,” Joan added, licking the icing off her fingers.

“I like bunghole,” Fran chimed in, ripping open a bag of butterscotch chips and going to town.

“Fine,” Betsy said. “How did you find me, llama-crackass?”

“That still sucked,” Hortense pointed out.

“You suck, dong-basket,” Betsy grunted as she hurled an enormous tub of lard at Hortense and nailed her right between the eyes.

“Big mistake, Betsy Cocker,” Hortense snarled as her fangs dropped and she grabbed a case of vanilla pudding. “Food fight!”

Hortense lobbed the case of pudding with Vampyre strength and sent Boobie tumbling into the sprinkle display. Colorful pieces of sugar flew like fireworks through the air as Bonnie screamed and grabbed ten family-sized bottles of chocolate syrup. Doing a very impressive move that was a cross between clogging and a seizure, Booty jumped on the bottles and gooey chocolate spurted through the air.

My Prada was toast. Shit just got serious.

“No killing blows,” I instructed as I wiggled my fingers and armed myself with aluminum cake tins and a jar of maraschino cherries. “We take them alive.”

“Roger that,” Velma squealed as she began throwing unbaked pie crusts like frisbees shot out of the bowels of Hell.

Jim Bob had amassed a pile of pecan halves, almonds and marshmallows. He used a gravy baster to shoot them at anyone in range. I wasn’t sure how much damage he thought he could do with marshmallows, but it wasn’t for lack of trying. The spawn of the Antichrist certainly wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed.

“I haven’t had this much fun in centuries,” Joan shouted as she cartwheeled and upended a six-foot tower of baking powder.

The cans exploded. White powder rained down and doused the area in causing everyone to cough up a lung. However, we were Immortal. Lungs weren’t a big deal.

“Time out,” I shouted over the choking. “Everyone freeze.”

With a wave of my hand I dissipated the powder. The baking aisle looked like a drug den that had been attacked by a tornado, but at least I could see more clearly.

Jim Bob eyed Bonnie with an expression I couldn’t decipher while Bonnie eyed him right back.

“Beluga,” I snapped, making an attempt to brush the offensive cornbread mix off my frock. I was sure I had rainbow sprinkles in my hair, but that was fine. I knew I could rock that look. “Would you like to explain yourself?”

“Nope,” she grunted.

“Jim Bob?” I pressed.

“Nope,” he replied sullenly.

“Mmmmkay,” I said with a smile that made everyone take a step back. My fingers sparked ominously and I levitated slightly off the floor. “Since neither of you two want to explain yourselves, I’ll simply explain what’s going to happen next. You feel me?”

“I feel you,” Fran said with a thumbs up.

“I wasn’t talking to you,” I said with an eye roll. “I was talking to Jim Bob and Bambi.”

“Whoops, my bad,” Fran apologized.

“Got bingo,” Jim Bob Bob-Bob announced, as he continued to glare at Beluga. “I’m out.”

“Not so fast,” I hissed as I tried to stop him with a spell.

It was futile. The spawn of the Antichrist was far more powerful than I’d thought.

Shit.

“Oh,” Jim Bob said with an ugly chuckle. “Before I go, let me leave you with a little parting gift.” Removing a red plastic horse from his pocket, he raised it high in the air and snapped it in two.

“The first one didn’t work,” I snarled as I pulled on my magic from deep within and tried to blast him with it. “The end times are not on the schedule, you crusty dung heap.”

“Nice one,” Betty said.

“Zip it, Bertha. You’re next,” I warned. “So, Jim Bob, I don’t know what little game you’re playing, but it won’t work.”

“You heard the ass-sniffer,” Becky snarled at Jim Bob. “The wanker has sons in high places. She knows shit. Her sons haven’t spent a lifetime trying to off her ass.”

Jim Bob’s roar of displeasure sent chills down my spine, but I held my ground and prepared again to try to electrocute his evil ass.

Again, I failed.

“Maybe it’s all a metaphor,” Jim Bob growled as his eyes went so black, I gasped. “Maybe the end is only the end for one. Think about it, Mother Nature. Seeds planted now could reap rewards in the end… times.”

Snapping my fingers and incinerating the six-foot display of Betsy Cocker Scalloped Potatoes, I willed myself to calm. It would have been more helpful to blow the warehouse sky high, but that would have been counterproductive. Even I knew that.

The vile piece of crap had just said something important. I was sure of it. It would be lovely if it wasn’t cryptic, but that wasn’t the way of the Immortals… which sucked. Hard.

“Be more specific,” I ground out through clenched teeth.

“And where would the fun in that be?” he shot back as he morphed from an old man into a heinous creature with black wings and an even blacker soul. “Don’t be so sure that the Horsemen aren’t doing their job.”

“What is it that you want?” I demanded. It was never smart to negotiate with evil, but I was running out of time. Killing him would be a very bad move since his demise would definitely bring on the end times for all.

Jim Bob Bob-Bob paused for only the briefest of moments as he considered my question. His black eyes looked so pained, I almost reached for the abomination. As fast as the expression was there, it disappeared. His laugh of disdain was oily and chilling.

“Figure it out… before it’s too late. See you soon, ladies. Eat shit, Mother,” he bellowed as putrid smoke engulfed him and he disappeared in a blast of dark magic.

“What a dick,” Becky muttered as she filled a bag with cake mixes that hadn’t been destroyed. “You bitches ready to go back?”

I was speechless. The rest of the Psycho Six were mute as well. We stared at Betsy Cocker as if she’d grown a new head.

“You banged the Antichrist?” I choked out, holding onto the remnants of the shelf for purchase.

“I was wasted,” she said with a shrug as she continued to fill her bag.

“Jim Bob Bob-Bob is your son?” I wheezed out as the little puzzle pieces in my head began to snap together—not all of them, but some.

“Biologically? Unfortunately, yes,” Boobie grumbled and stole more boxed meals. “That little fucker has tried to kill me since the day he was hatched.”

“You hatched him?” Cathy asked, wildly confused. “What exactly are you?”

“I was a human thousands of years ago until I downed a batch of shitty-ass wine and porked a loser,” Betina shouted. “That’s right. I’ll admit. I got McHammered and did the bone dance with a no good, low down ass-hanky. Yep, got hamsauced and got my hump on with an atrocious butt-napkin. Woke up the next morning knocked up by the dong-hole.”

“So, umm… boinking the Antichrist and giving birth to his son made you Immortal?” I asked, trying not to gag at Bonnie’s rather graphic and disgusting descriptions.

“You got that right, sister,” she said and then paused. “Anyhoo, how did you twat-whistles find me?”

“You have a homing device shoved up your ass,” I explained, not really concerned with my language considering with whom I was speaking. I was seriously tempted to wash Becky’s mouth out with soap.

“Smooth move,” Bossy said. “Thought I’d be back before you noticed I was gone.”

“Speaking of being gone, why did you come here?” I questioned, still digesting that Bonnie had boinked the Antichrist and Jim Bob Bob-Bob was her son.

“I figured the fart-goblin was up to no good when the fat-asses mentioned the end times after they removed my legs. The bunghole likes to hang out here so I paid him a little visit.”

“Who is she talking about? Who’s a fat-ass?” Joan hissed as she began to wart-out.

“I have no clue,” I lied through my teeth. I didn’t need my posse to smackdown on the Cooter at the moment. “So, you came to stop him?”

“Stop who?” Boopsie asked, confused.

“Umm… the fart-goblin,” I said with a wince, trying to speak her language so we could get the Hell out of here.

“Hell to the yes,” Bambi grunted. “I have a new fucking job and I’m not gonna let that underpants tread-mark mess it up. That dingleberry is constantly trying to get in his cocksocket’s good graces.”

“Cocksocket?” I questioned, pressing my fingers to the bridge of my nose unable to believe I’d just uttered the term cocksocket.

“His sperm donor,” Bunky explained with an eye roll. “Can we leave now?”

“Yes. Yes, we can,” I replied.

It was time for me to take a nap. I had a partial, half-assed plan simmering in my head. I just needed a little shut-eye and a date with Fate to confirm a few things.

“Hang on, ladies… and Buppy. It’s going to be a wild ride.”

With a wave of my hands, a glittering cyclone of peach magic scooped us up and took us home.

And the wild ride?

It was about to begin.

Chapter Eleven

The sky turned an ominous inky purple. Twenty-foot waves crashed violently against the shiny stainless-steel appliances. The massive refrigerator groaned as it swayed and shuddered in the storm. An industrial-sized box of Betsy Cocker double chocolate deluxe fudgy cake mix fell from the top of the fridge and exploded, causing me to cough as I inhaled the sugary powder. An unfamiliar chill floated on the air and I rolled my eyes.

As much as the dream was the same, it was different this time. Gone was the bizarre room with the crevasse of evil and flaming midgets. Everything now was beige—just as beige as Purgatory. I peeked around to see if Mr. Rogers was here. Sadly, he wasn’t. I could have used his platonic adoration at the moment.

There was a beige mountain in the distance. It was devoid of life—no trees, no flowers, no wildlife. A vast body of water hugged by a sandy beach was just a few steps away. It would have been alluring if there was some color. But there was none. Everything was the hue of pale coffee.

Whatever. I didn’t have the luxury of time to figure out why the world had gone colorless in my dream.

“I’m in a bit of a time crunch here,” I called out. “Can we skip this part?”

“That’s your call. Not mine,” Elle aka Fate said as she appeared in a sparkling cloud of purple glitter.

“Really?” I asked, surprised.

“Really,” she confirmed with a small smile. “This is your dream, Gaia.”

“Excellent,” I said, looking down to make sure my daughter-in-law hadn’t messed with my fashion.

She hadn’t. Elle was getting smarter. Payback from Mother Nature would suck tremendously.

I’d changed immediately once we’d returned to Nirvana. Sadly, my pink Prada dress was a thing of the past. The spurting chocolate sauce had killed it dead. However, the ethereal, peach, diaphanous gown I’d chosen to replace it with had made Joan turn green with envy. Granted, Joan was always a bit green.

Becky Cooter, while bitching and moaning incessantly, had gone immediately to the kitchen in the Garden Palace and lined up all of her stolen packaged meals in preparation for our first cooking lesson. She’d refused to use anything in my kitchen since nothing was labeled. Not to mention, I hadn’t replaced anything in centuries. After she’d tasted what she’d thought was a square of chocolate—which turned out to be ex-lax that sent her to the bathroom for an hour—she’d called me all sorts of unsavory names and demanded a raise.

Bill was nowhere to be found. It was unsettling and threw me off my game. But with only days left, I needed to forge ahead. Getting myself to sleep without an aerobic round of sex was difficult. Of course, my new BFF’s came up with an excellent alternative. They let me electrocute them repeatedly for fourteen minutes and twelve seconds. The sheer exhilaration of setting my posse on fire wore me out. Having friends was wonderful… for me. I was unsure if they would agree with that sentiment.

Whatever. I looked fabulous. I was asleep. And I was exactly where I needed to be.

“Betsy Cocker banged the Antichrist in a drunken stupor and produced a child,” I announced to Elle as she stared at me in silence. “I believe this is an important development—although wildly unappetizing and gross. Do you have anything to say about that?”

Elle sat silently and waited.

“I see,” I said with a pout, wanting to electrocute her. As agreeable as my posse was to being set ablaze, I was quite sure Elle would not feel the same. Fine. I’d just talk and watch her expressions.

Pacing the area, I couldn’t shake the feeling that someone else was here. Looking high and low, I found no evidence that we were being watched. Since I’d never had the displeasure of meeting the Antichrist, I was concerned that the bastard himself might be snooping around. However, the entity I felt waver in and out was not evil. It was quite naughty, but not bad. It didn’t alarm me at all… simply made me curious.

Shaking my head to clear it, I decided that if someone else was indeed present, he or she would reveal themselves as needed. The matter at hand was the most important piece of business right now. If the entirety of what was happening was indeed a metaphor as Jim Bob Bob-Bob had suggested, then I needed to figure that shit out.

“Maybe this is all a metaphor,” I said, repeating the spawn of the Antichrist’s words. “Maybe the end is only the end for one. Seeds planted now could reap rewards in the end… times.”

Elle’s harsh intake of breath made my stomach clench. Clearly, I’d just hit the nail on the head. Instead of feeling victorious, I felt furious and helpless. I had no idea what the words meant.

Shit.

“You are brilliant,” Elle commented.

“Yes. I know. I’m also extremely good looking,” I replied. “However, can you rephrase my brilliance in your own words? I’d like to get another take on it.”

“You have no clue what it means,” Elle said with a sigh.

My eyes narrowed and I counted to thirty so I didn’t blow up the beige, boring dream state. While violence calmed me, it wasn’t always smart.

“I don’t,” I admitted, waving my hand and creating a settee covered in teal silk. I plopped down and admired the divan. A little color did this place some good.

“You do,” Elle insisted. “It’s all there. Find it, Gaia.”

Rolling my eyes and reclining on the luxurious divan, I sighed dramatically.

“For the love of everything wearing leggings,” I griped and closed my eyes. “Fine. I think ‘the recipe’ has nothing to do with me learning how to cook. The recipe will have directions, but it’s not for making food.”

I opened one eye and peeked over at Elle. She said nothing—as expected—but there was a glimmer of a smile on her lips. Sitting up, I continued.

“I’ve got this,” I muttered to myself. The scenario felt somewhat like a therapy session with Darby Dick Demon, but he actually had opinions and a far more attractive office than Elle was occupying. Not that I agreed with the horribly named Demon very often since I was perfect, but occasionally he was right.

“You do have this,” Elle encouraged me. “Talk it out.”

“Mmmkay… I shall start by telling you I’ve discovered internet juice. Apparently, if you pour it into a hole in your computer, the piece of shit will be more accurate.”

“Let me stop you,” Elle said, trying not to laugh. “As we are both aware, I’m not allowed to reveal the future. However, I’m going to go on record and tell you that’s a horrid idea.”

“Bill said the same thing,” I told her. “And speaking of Bill…”

“Yes?”

“Something is wrong,” I said hesitantly. “The white streaks in his hair. It means something. Doesn’t it?”

Again, with the silence.

Again, I wanted to electrocute her.

“Be that way,” I snapped and incinerated the settee I was sitting on. Hopping up so I didn’t set my frock on fire, I began to pace. “Everything that’s happening is connected. I brought Satan and God together, but that didn’t help.”

“Didn’t it?” Elle pressed, making me pause.

Well, crap. Maybe it did. The harmony in the air was far more pleasant since the boys were playing nice, or rather playing relatively nice. I was an excellent mother for letting them set each other ablaze. Slightly non-traditional, but I was good like that. Family was truly everything and as certifiably insane as my family was, I adored each and every one of them—even Satan.

Keep talking. Just keep talking. Just keep talking…

“Can we play hot and cold?” I asked.

“Hot and cold?”

“Yessssssss,” I said, getting excited. “If I say something right, then you say hot. If I say something wrong, you say cold. Studly loves this game. I hide his banana and then he walks around and tries to find it. If he gets close, I say ‘Studly you’re hot!’ If he walks in the wrong direction, I electrocute him.”

“Umm… that sounds awful,” Elle pointed out.

“It’s fine,” I assured her. “When I have to find the banana and I walk in the wrong direction, he flings his poo.”

“Interesting,” Elle said with a wince and a gag. “As long as there’s no poo flinging or electrocution, I think this might be a way to work around the rules.”

“Outstanding,” I said, delighted that we figured out an equitable form of cheating. “I’m not sure it’s my own children that I’m supposed to bring together.”

“Hot,” Elle nodded as her eyes lit with encouragement.

“Jim Bob Bob-Bob broke another plastic horse—a red one this time,” I went on. “I told the shit that the first one didn’t take. According to God—who doesn’t lie—there is no fatal epidemic running rampant in the human realm. However, Jim Bob Jackhole implied that I was wrong.”

Elle grew more uncomfortable with each word I spoke.

Dammit.

“Cold then hot,” she replied.

Not good. Not good at all.

“Soooo, if the plastic toys are indeed the Horsemen of the Apocalypse,” I continued. “Something is stopping it.”

“Or someone,” Elle blurted out and then slapped her hand over her mouth. “Shit. I wasn’t supposed to say that.”

“I won’t tell anyone that you did,” I promised. “Well, as long as you answer another question.”

“Are you blackmailing me, Mother Nature?” Elle asked as her eyes narrowed.

“Yes. Yes, I am,” I replied with a grin, feeling like I finally had the upper hand.

“You’re a terrible woman,” Elle said with a raised brow.

“Possibly,” I said with a giggle and a shrug. “But I’m ridiculously attractive.”

Fate simply rolled her eyes and shook her head.

“Speak,” I demanded as my hair began to blow around my head and sparks of peach glitter began to pop and dance around me. “Give me a hint. I’m very aware that everything happening and each person surrounding me is playing a part. However, we’re at intermission of the performance. There are only two ways for this shit show to end. It could be a tragedy or a comedy. Or at least a dramady with a happy ending. Or maybe a reality show. I just love The Bachelor. Don’t you?”

Elle’s chin fell to her chest and I realized I’d gone a little off topic.

“Bring them together. Children need their mother. They will help you find the perfect recipe. They will have the ingredients. Good versus evil must be served by one with a little pinch of nature,” Elle said.

“I’ve heard that one before,” I snapped.

“Have you?” Elle asked. “Hearing and understanding are two different things. To avoid the end, you must create a new beginning.”

A small smile began to pull at my lips. More puzzle pieces began to fit together. Could it be this easy? No. Probably not. It wasn’t Satan and God I was supposed to bring together at all. It was Boopsy Cocksucker and her asshole of a son. “Did you or did you not say a mother’s love was more powerful than anything in the Universe?”

As if my smile was contagious, Elle’s lips curled upward. “I do believe I did.”

“I’ve got it,” I announced.

“You’ve got part of it,” Elle warned. “Work fast and work with your eyes wide open. The ramifications of failure will affect you in ways you’re not prepared to handle.”

“Your attitude is screwing with my chi,” I snapped, all of a sudden feeling lost again.

Elle stood and began to float away. “That is not my intention, Gaia,” she said with a sad smile. “Keep on the same track. Do what you would normally do. Pay close attention to your surroundings and what is happening around you. The clues are not just in the words I speak. They can be hidden in the clouds and in your dreams,” Elle reminded me. “Fate has a way of finding everyone whether they want to be found or not. And remember a mother’s love is more powerful than any magic in the Universe. And a little glue never hurts anything.”

With that, Fate disappeared in a musical blast of lavender sparkles.

Glancing around one more time, I realized the entity I’d felt had left with Elle.

Odd…

However, a prior warning from Fate was stuck in my mind.

“The end draws near and you may not be strong enough to withstand the storm. What you could lose might be priceless.”

There were only several things in my life that were priceless. None of them were material.

And I refused to lose anything that was irreplaceable.

Chapter Twelve

The best way to bring a dysfunctional family together and stop the end times was with a home-cooked meal where no one died, at least I hoped it was. It was a long shot and the odds were iffy. However, desperate times called for unusual measures. I had a goal and I was going to accomplish it.

“What the Hell is going on here?” I gasped out as I entered my state-of-the-art kitchen.

Everyone was talking at the same time. Fingers were being pointed and my posse appeared positively gobsmacked. It took a mass electrocution to calm everyone down. The kitchen in the Garden Palace looked like it had been hit by a cyclone. Joan, Fran, Velma, Cathy and Hortense sat at the table in a state of shock. Fran and Velma were each the size of a coffee cup. Cathy was sweating like a lady of the evening at confession. Hortense had gone so pale I could almost see right through her. And Joan? Joan was one massive green wart. It was horrifying. Apparently, Busty Cornhole had regaled them with profane and unrepeatable Grim Reaper stories involving lube and donuts while I’d been sleeping.

“Nope, not gonna do it,” Becky informed me with her middle finger raised high.

“Listen to me, you little snot-nosed, foul-mouthed idiot,” I shouted as I grabbed a boxed meal and shook it in her face. “We are going to cook up a feast of scalloped potatoes, brownies, strawberry cupcakes with lemon icing, chocolate chip cookies without nuts because God has a peanut allergy, blueberry muffins, banana bread—again without nuts—and double chocolate deluxe fudgy cake with pink icing, rainbow sprinkles and purple candles. We are then going to have a dinner party with your jackass son.”

“That meal is a little heavy on the carbs,” Fran pointed out.

Without even glancing over, I electrocuted her. I didn’t have time for backtalk right now.

“What part of nope don’t you understand, elbow-fart?” Bonnie grunted.

“That doesn’t even make sense. An elbow can’t fart,” I hissed.

“Wrong,” Bahookey countered, sticking her elbow in her mouth and blowing a rude raspberry.

Her contortionist skills were impressive, but she was so appalling I wasn’t about to give her a compliment. Although, with her moves she would probably be excellent on the pole.

“Anyhoo,” Buttha went on as if shoving your elbow in your mouth was normal behavior. “I can’t cook. I burn water.”

“But you’re Bossy Cocksucker,” I shouted. “You’re a world-famous chef. You have boxed meals with your picture on them and cookbooks. I have all of them. Granted, I’ve never used one, but I own them which counts.”

“Hate to tell you this,” Bucky said with a rude snort. “But there is no Betsy Cocker. It’s a fake woman made up by marketing dorks to sell shit to idiots.”

“But isn’t your name Benny Cornholer?” I asked, confused.

“Betsy Cocker,” she corrected me. “And yes, that’s my name.”

“That’s what I said,” I snapped. I didn’t like her tone of voice or the lies she spewed. I didn’t have the patience for a curveball at this point. “You have the pearls, the dated red blazer and the horrible hair-do. You are most certainly Booby Cooter.”

“She’s telling the truth,” Velma squeaked. “I looked it up on the interwebs. Betsy Cocker isn’t a real person. She’s the brainchild of an advertising campaign.”

This could not be happening. “Did you use enough internet juice?” I demanded.

“Of course, I did,” Velma replied, wildly insulted.

This gave me pause. I really wanted to know which hole she’d poured it in. Her laptop was in one solid piece and she was sporting all the hair on her head. Maybe Bill and Elle were mistaken about the ramifications of pouring liquid into electronics.

“Shit,” I yelled and blew up the stove with a flick of my fingers. I figured we didn’t need the stove for baking boxed crap. “Nothing is going right. We have only days before… umm… I don’t even know what. Shit is not going my way. This is unacceptable.”

Stomping my foot, a jungle exploded from the pitted cherry hardwood floors. Elvis, my ape with intimacy issues, ended up smack dab in the middle of the kitchen table. Seeing the women, he freaked out and began screaming. Beluga was hung up in a tree and the rest of the Psycho Six had crawled under the table just in case Elvis was a poo slinger like Studly.

“Gaia,” Joan bellowed. “Stop that right now. You are not alone in this. We can help you if you let us.”

“Unless the ape throws poo,” Hortense said. “If I get nailed by ape shit, I’m out of here.”

“I second that,” Velma said.

“Third,” Cathy added.

“Fourth,” Joan agreed.

“Fifth,” Fran joined in.

All the players were here for a reason. I wasn’t exactly doing stellar on my own which I would never admit since I was perfect. But maybe… just maybe…

“Fine,” I grumbled and sent Elvis away with a wiggle of my nose. He was definitely a poo slinger.

The jungle disappeared and Becky fell from the sky with a loud crash. She was knocked out cold. Whatever. She couldn’t cook and she was disgusting. Checking her to make sure she was still breathing—which she was—I settled myself at the table and let my head fall to the wood with a thud.

“It safe to come out now,” I told my friends. “No poo shall be flung.”

Slowly the big-boned gals emerged from under the table and seated themselves. Thankfully, Velma and Fran were full-sized again. Cathy was still a bit moist, but she wasn’t dripping. Hortense was pale, but she was solid. It had been alarming to see her innards. Joan was only a partial wart now. If I stared just slightly to the left of her, it would look like I was making eye contact and I wouldn’t gag.

“What we need is a plan,” Hortense announced.

“You’re right,” I admitted. “Winging it isn’t working.”

“Tell us what’s happening, Gaia,” Joan said. “We don’t know who to maim unless we know what’s going on.”

“A shitty plan is far better than no plan at all,” Velma pointed out.

Velma was correct. I came up with shitty plans on a regular basis and I was still alive.

“Okay,” I said, feeling better. “Fate told me to bring them together. They will help me find the perfect recipe. They will have the ingredients. And that good versus evil must be served by one with a little pinch of nature.”

“Fate’s a cryptic bee-otch” Hortense muttered with her brow wrinkled in thought.

“Go on, Gaia,” Joan said as she whacked Hortense in the back of the head.

“Umm… well, I thought she meant bring God and Satan together, but now I believe she meant Bunky and her spawn. Fate said that a mother’s love is more powerful than any magic in the Universe. And that a little glue never hurts anything.”

“Tequila is up there too,” Fran pointed out only to receive a right hook from Joan.

“Call me nuts,” Joan started.

“Nuts,” Cathy obliged her.

“For the love of everything that shouldn’t have a mouth,” Joan grunted as she whipped out her wand and blasted Cathy bald. “I think we should be worried about the little shit at the grocery store snapping horses. I mean, Bill looks bad.”

My stomach clenched and I almost blew the Palace to Kingdom Come. I knew God might get upset if chunks of my abode ended up in his territory, so I sucked it up. Although, the flames and sparks flying from my fingertips were uncontrollable.

“What are you talking about?” I roared as Joan, ducked for cover.

“The Enforcer is the final defense against the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse,” Joan shouted above the sound of the crackling flames.

“Explain yourself,” I demanded. “NOW.”

“The Enforcer shall absorb the Pestilence, War, Famine and Death so that armies of Heaven and Hell can fight the Antichrist,” Joan explained from under the table.

“How do you know this?” I pressed, feeling ill.

“Honestly, I’m so old I can’t remember,” Joan replied.

There was a reason everyone was here I reminded myself. I was not perfect. I did not know everything. This pissed me off greatly, but if I didn’t admit it, no one would be the wiser.

“It’s true,” Fran confirmed wearily. “I recall hearing it millions of years ago as well.”

This was why Bill was stuck in his Enforcer form. He knew… and he didn’t tell me. The man that made me whole knew I would destroy the spawn of the Antichrist and end the world to save him. My lover had told me to do what I had to do and he would do what he had to do.

And God had seen it. It explained the shock on my son’s face before Bahookey Cockblock had made a run for it.

Son. Of. A. Bitch.

This was my issue to solve because I had the dream. The fate of the world might not be hanging in balance, but the fate of my world most definitely was.

With a wave of my hand, the ceiling of the Garden Palace flew off. The ground rumbled and thorny vines exploded from the walls and floor. It was making sense. And the sense was terrifying. Fate’s words came back to me. “The end draws near and you may not be strong enough to withstand the storm. What you could lose might be priceless.”

Losing Bill would end me. The Sword of Death would be welcome relief.

“Find the spawn of the Antichrist before he snaps another horse,” I commanded. “He hangs out at the grocery store. Start there.”

“On it,” Hortense grunted. “What do we do with him when we find him?”

“Kill him. He’s an asshole,” Bonnie muttered as she came to. “He can’t cause the end times without his worthless small-peckered pappy. But the end times aren’t on the schedule for millions of years. I don’t know where in the Hell he got the horses.”

“How does everyone know about this schedule but me?” I hissed.

“I didn’t know there was a schedule,” Velma volunteered.

That calmed me a bit. I hated being left out. However, I had no time to think about myself right now. Being unselfish was new to me and slightly disconcerting, but it felt right.

“Who’s been to Hell?” I asked as I began to pace.

“I’d love to go to Hell,” Cathy volunteered. “Never been, but I hear it’s quite nice this time of year.”

Cathy was insane, but I considered that a plus. I nodded curtly and continued to hand out assignments. “Excellent. You will find Darby Dick Demon.”

“I’m sorry,” Cathy said, wrinkling her nose. “Who?”

Shaking my head, I groaned. “I know. The name is awful. However, he’s an excellent therapist. Get him and tell him I need him. If he requires payment, tell him he can have my silver Prada strapless gown he’s been admiring for the last decade. However, try to pawn off my lavender Diane von Furstenberg first. I don’t like that one as much.”

“Seriously?” Cathy asked, confused.

“Very. I look far better in silver than purple.”

“She has a point,” Velma agreed.

“Thank you,” I told her.

“Welcome.”

“I need God and Satan,” I continued.

“They’re terrified of us,” Joan pointed out.

“All the better,” I muttered as my eyes narrowed in fury. “They will both be grounded for centuries for not telling me that Bill was taking on the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse on his own.”

“It’s to gain points with his slimy salami,” Becky mumbled, still prone on the floor.

“What are you talking about?” I hissed as she tried to crawl away from me in fear.

Stepping on her red blazer, I leaned down and got in her face. I expected her to hurl profanities. However, she simply looked broken.

“If Jim Bob Loser-hole makes the Enforcer use his power now, the Enforcer will be useless when the true end times arrive,” she said without a shred of emotion in her voice. “The seeds Jim Bob Slob-Nob plants now will reap rewards in the end times. The Antichrist will win. The little worthless ass-sniffer is trying to gain points with his cocksocket of a sperm donor.”

“And what will become of the Enforcer?” I questioned, ignoring the language used to deliver the message since the meaning was very clear. I felt like I was floating above my own head. My voice seemed to belong to someone else.

“He will perish after the fourth horse is snapped,” Bonnie whispered. “He will be gone.”

I couldn’t help it. I didn’t care if God got annoyed. At least I had the wherewithal to protect the women in my kitchen. But my Palace? My Palace was gone. The cyclone that ripped it from its foundation was so violent, even I was shocked. My heart was being torn from my chest and my fury knew no bounds. The end of this story was unacceptable. I would not survive this ending.

So, I was just going to rewrite the play.

“Cathy, go get Darby Dick Demon. Hortense and Fran? Find that smarmy bastard, Jim Bob Bob-Bob. I don’t care if you have to tear every limb from his body. Just get him. Velma, find Satan and God. And Joan, you are in charge of Bunky. If she makes a run for it again, turn her into a toad and shove her in your purse. You all feel me?”

“Where are we meeting?” Joan asked as she waved her wand and bound Beluga in enchanted chains.

My smile came slowly, but it grew full. Elle said the clues were all around me—in the clouds and in my dreams. My last dream was the clue I needed. Mr. Rogers would shit a brick, but it couldn’t be helped. I’d let him choreograph our pole routines for eternity if all ended well. I no longer needed to be in charge of everything. My realization that I was slightly imperfect rankled, but it was also freeing.

“Take them to Purgatory. That is where the dinner will take place. I’ll meet you there shortly.”

I needed to find my reason for existence or I no longer wanted to exist.

Chapter Thirteen

My posse was gone.

My palace was gone.

But my balls were intact.

And I was going to use them.

Glancing up at the clouds in the bright blue sky, I sucked my bottom lip into my mouth and tried not to scream. There was no time for a pity party. I could pout and throw fits later. And trust me. I had some grand plans in that department.

With a swift downward slash of my arm, I launched myself into the sky. The wind blew through my hair and my gown fluttered like gossamer peach wings. I flew higher and higher. I could feel him in my bones and in my heart. Bill could hide, but I would always find him. He held a piece of me in his soul.

“Where are you?” I shouted into the vast Universe, sending the puffy white clouds tumbling into a tizzy. Even the sun trembled at the tone of my voice. “I feel you. Show yourself.”

Slowly the clouds obeyed and parted. My reason for existence appeared hovering over the very same cloud we’d make love on just days ago. His glorious wings were tattered and broken. His hair was silver white and his eyes were blood red. My breath caught in my throat and an icy feeling of dread chilled my blood. I was so angry with him that I didn’t know what to do.

I watched in horror as Pestilence and War tore through his strong body. The sun became an eerie red ball of fire in the sky and the clouds darkened and wept. Blood poured forth from Bill’s diseased body and his roars of agony shredded my breaking heart. I was aware I was seeing an illusion, but that made it no less real. The pain my lover experienced was very real.

His once large frame grew thin and racked with plague as he continued to absorb the deadly magic from the first and second broken seals of the Apocalypse. His body convulsed as if it was being shot at and torn apart by weapons of mass destruction. His screams of anguish would live on in my dreams for eternity.

I would take the pain away in a heartbeat if I could. However, that wasn’t the way it worked in the Immortal world. Unsure if I could reverse what had already happened, I knew in my heart that I could prevent the rest from destroying him. There simply was no other choice. I didn’t give a damn if his hair stayed white and his eyes red—he was still my beautiful lover.

As quickly as it started, it stopped. Bill’s body regenerated, but the inner despair and desolation remained. He slumped forward and gasped for air as his body was given a reprieve. A lesser Immortal could not have survived what I’d just seen. But Bill was one of the most powerful and pure beings in the Universe. Tearing him apart was unheard of. He stiffened as he felt my presence and slowly glanced up.

The tears rolled unchecked down my cheeks. I could taste the salty drops as they slid over my lips and down my neck. Rain fell from the sky, crying with me for the injustice I’d just witnessed.

“Gaia,” Bill said with a sad smile pulling at his beautiful full lips.

He held his arms out to me and I flew willingly into them. It was the only place I wanted to be.

“Why?” I whispered as I plastered my face against his chest that still trembled from the abuse he’d just endured.

“Because it’s my destiny,” Bill answered, holding me so tight it was almost painful.

“I’m your destiny,” I told him.

Bill floated down to our cloud and gently laid me on it. Settling in close, he kept his body aligned to mine. “You are my love. Your love is the reason I can fulfill my destiny.”

“If you leave me, I will follow you,” I told him, meaning every word. “I will not live in a world that you are not in.”

Taking my chin in his hand and raising my eyes to his, Bill’s expression became stern. “You will go on. There is no other choice, lover. God and Satan can survive without me as their conscience as long as they have a mother who loves them and will keep them in line. Wisdom comes with age and experience. The boys have both.”

“I can’t survive without you,” I whispered as I ran my hands through his snowy white hair.

“You can,” Bill insisted, enjoying my touch. “You will. You will take my place when the end times truly arrive.”

Counting to twenty-seven, I reined in my desire to detonate the Universe. As good as it would feel, I would not let the Antichrist win without a fight. It was not time for the world to end. It wasn’t on the damned schedule. And it most definitely was not time for Bill to end.

“Stop time,” I begged. “Just for a bit. We need to talk.”

Bill sighed and closed his blood-red eyes. “As you wish, lover.”

With a wave of his hand, the Universe stopped spinning. The clouds froze and all noise ceased. It was eerie, yet somehow perfect. My main comfort was that Bill wouldn’t suffer if time couldn’t march forward. I knew it was wrong, but I didn’t care. My only concern right now was for the man I adored.

“I can stop this,” I told him, clinging to him desperately.

“You can’t,” Bill replied wearily. “It has begun. I’m an abomination. I’m disease and war.”

“You are not,” I hissed and went nose to nose with him. “You are Wisdom. You are defending humankind. You are not what you embody right now. The world owes you its existence. Wisdom is not your only virtue, my love. I would add selfless bravery, warrior and conqueror to that list.”

“You think far too highly of me,” Bill said with a tired chuckle, pressing his forehead to mine.

“I see what’s within,” I told him, trying to keep my voice light. “The outside is quite fetching, but the inside glows with a beauty that shall never be rivaled… even by me.”

“Flattery will get you everywhere,” he said.

“That’s what I was hoping for,” I replied with a wink.

With a wiggle of my nose, I undressed us both. The feeling of his naked body against mine was heavenly. Reaching deep inside I sent a surge of powerful enchanted healing and strength into his exhausted body.

“Don’t, Gaia,” Bill whispered against my lips. “Keep what is yours. You will need it.”

“What’s mine is yours, Bill. That will never change.”

“It will have to, my love,” he said with sorrow as he tangled his hands in my hair and gently pressed his lips to mine.

“We shall see about that,” I muttered as I wrapped my legs around him and made my intentions very clear. “I need you.”

“I always need you,” he replied softly. “Always.”

Our lovemaking was desperate and furious. Raking my nails against his back, I arched and gave myself to him in a way I never had. Bill made love to me as if it was the last time. My eyes filled with tears as he moved with a speed that brought me to heights I never knew existed.

“You will not leave me,” I cried out as I writhed against him.

There was no possible way to get close enough without crawling inside of him. If I could have, I would have. I knew what would happen once time began to move forward again. I wanted his love. I wanted his pain. I wanted his heart. I wanted his soul. I wanted everything that he was.

And I wanted it forever.

My body tightened like a vise around his. Sparks of peach and gold exploded around us. The crystals rained down from the sky and bathed us in their magic. I held on and met each thrust with abandon and love. Our connection was unbreakable and we wouldn’t have noticed if the world did indeed end around us.

“I love you,” Bill said as the movement of his body sent mine into an orgasmic tailspin.

“I love you,” I cried out as vibrant color ripped across my vision. “Forever.”

The orgasm that tore through me left me limp but still wanting more. I would never get enough of my beautiful lover. Bill’s shout of ecstasy almost replaced his cries of anguish in my mind, but those would sadly remain.

We lay in silence and held each other. It was equally as beautiful as making love. The simplicity of just being was magical.

“Let me ask you a question,” I said, tracing his kiss-swollen lips with my finger.

“Is it a trick question?” Bill inquired, pulling me closer.

“Depends,” I replied easily.

Bill was quiet for a long moment. He stared like he was trying to memorize me. His red eyes didn’t scare me at all. They simply strengthened my resolve.

“Go ahead, my love. Ask your question.”

Sitting up, so I didn’t miss even the smallest nuance in his expression, I took his hands in mine. “If the tables were turned and it was me taking on the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse. What would you do?”

Bill sighed and let his chin drop. “That’s a trick question.”

“Possibly,” I admitted. “However, I want your answer.”

“You know my answer,” Bill said with a raised brow.

“I do,” I said as a small smile pulled at my lips. “You would fight for me till the very end.”

Bill inhaled slowly and then let the air escape just as slowly. “I would.”

“Do you trust me?” I asked.

With a nod and another sigh, Bill smiled. “With my life, lover.”

“Then come with me,” I insisted. “I can’t do this alone. I just found out I’m not perfect.”

Bill’s laugh went all through me and I wanted to burst with pride. I wasn’t sure exactly what was so funny, but I didn’t care. Making Bill laugh was the most powerful magic there was right now.

Everything would be alright.

It had to be.

Chapter Fourteen

“Let me get this straight,” Mr. Rogers said as he ran his hands through his hair in a panic causing it to stand straight up on his head. He paced the beige sand erratically and continued to yank on his hair. “You’ve invited the Antichrist and Belinda Cockgrabber to Purgatory for a dinner party and they might try to kill each other?”

“Actually, it’s the son of the Antichrist and Beulah Cocksmacker. And yes, they will definitely try to kill each other. The good news is that I’ve summoned Darby Dick Demon as well. He’s an excellent therapist and not extremely violent as far as Demons go. There’s a seventy-sixty percent chance that we can make it work without bloodshed. However, I’m ninety-two percent sure that I will have to electrocute everyone. So, I’d say there’s a forty-eighty percent chance that we might have to rebuild Purgatory. I shall take full responsibility for any damage or total mass annihilation. If it comes to that, both my monkey, Study, and my ape with intimacy issues, Elvis, are wonderful civil engineers,” I told him, hoping he didn’t go for the puppets. We didn’t have time for that right now. Direct communication was prudent. Besides, Lady Elaine Fairchilde was frightening.

“Ohhhhh, Gaia,” Fred said, wringing his hands and shaking his head. “Those numbers make no sense.”

“I’m not good at math,” I admitted, feeling empowered by revealing my faults. “Do you have a calculator? I could try for better odds.”

“Are you serious?” Fred asked, yanking a clump of hair from the top of his head.

“Fred, you love me, right?” I asked.

“Platonically, yes,” he replied, glancing over at Bill out of respect.

Fred’s eyes grew huge when they landed on Bill and he gasped. Forgetting I was here altogether, he slowly approached Bill.

“No, no, no,” Fred whispered as tears filled his eyes.

“I’m afraid so, old friend,” Bill said with a regretful smile.

“But it’s not on the schedule,” Fred said, swiping at his tears.

“The schedule is written in pencil,” Bill said. “It can be erased and amended.”

Fred nodded as a sob racked his slim frame. “I need to touch you. May I?” he choked out.

Bill took a step back and eyed Fred with concern. “Will it hurt you?”

After a few minutes, Fred pulled himself together and stopped crying. A serene calm came over him. His smile was angelic and his laugh was musical and warm. “Where there is no pain, there is no gain, dear friend. My gifts are unusual and I don’t often get to share them. It would be one of my finest moments if you would give me that honor, Enforcer.”

Bill glanced over at me. I said nothing. The choice was his to make. However, if he made the incorrect choice, I was going to tackle him and let Fred do whatever he could to help him. Bill ran his hand through his hair and closed his eyes for a moment.

“The honor would be mine I assure you,” Bill replied, bowing his head to Mr. Rogers.

I was mystified by the turn of events, but so grateful I couldn’t speak. When I found my voice again, I would tell Fred he could choreograph our pole routines until the end of time… and star in them… and design the costumes. As long as he helped Bill, the nicest man in the Universe could have the absolutely anything he wanted and I would happily supply it.

Mr. Rogers smiled as he approached his friend. A soft shimmering golden glow engulfed Fred as he wrapped his arms around Bill and held tight. The light flickered around the two men, bathing them in celestial magic. As they rocked back and forth in a dance of friendship and respect, Fred began to chant. It was melodic and melancholy at the same time. The language was one that I’d almost forgotten. It was as ancient as the beginning of time. Slowly, as Fred’s chanting became more intense, the golden light crackled and turned to flame. The fire licked at Bill’s skin and he gasped in relief. Fred’s body convulsed in pain, but he held onto Bill and continued to chant.

As comfort washed over Bill, Fred experienced the opposite. Mr. Roger’s hair was now peppered with the same silver white strands as Bill’s and his eyes took on a slightly red glow. Bill was horrified and tried to pull away, but Fred’s grip was unbreakable.

Never underestimate Mr. Rogers. Ever.

“What have you done?” Bill whispered on a ragged breath when Fred finally released him.

“Nothing much. You will be safe in Purgatory. No harm will come to you here,” Fred assured him as he leaned forward and kissed Bill’s forehead. “I cannot stop it, but I can give you temporary relief.”

“Will you be alright?” Bill asked, touching the silver in Fred’s hair with concern.

Fred nodded and smiled. “Yes, my friend. I promise.”

“I will not be able to repay you,” Bill said as healthy color began to come back to his skin.

“I require no payment for gifts,” Fred told him, narrowing his eyes playfully. “A gift is a gift given of free will. I bestow it with great pleasure.”

“Then I thank you,” Bill said with another bow. “You will never know how much.”

“And I thank you as well,” I said, taking Fred’s hands in mine and kissing them. “I am in your debt for eternity.”

“Pish,” Fred said with a wink and a chuckle. “You’re already in my debt for eternity for making me wear those horrible blue booty shorts during our last pole dancing competition, Gaia.”

“You worked them wonderfully,” I told him with a grin. “You were quite hot. And we would have won if I hadn’t accidentally kicked the judge’s head off during my flying dismount. He was such a big baby about it. I mean, for goodness sakes he was a Gnome. His head grew back in an hour.”

“Be that as it may, you are up to something,” Fred replied, blushing at being complimented on his short shorts. “I will ask no questions. However, I grant you the right to use Purgatory as you see fit. I will welcome Beulah Cocksmacker and her son to my territory.”

“And Velma, Joan, Cathy, Fran and Hortense,” I added with a wince.

Fred blanched and paled considerably. “I should have known they would be back. Are there any more surprises?”

“God and Satan will be joining us for dinner as well,” I told him. “Do you happen to have any aprons that you wouldn’t mind being incinerated?”

Fred stared at me quizzically and then shook his head. “Yes, I have aprons. Is the meal being catered… I hope?”

“Shit,” I hissed and smacked myself in the head. “I was so busy organizing the shitshow, I forgot about the food.”

“Not to worry. The Mini Fire Gnomes are actually tremendous chefs. They can sear a fillet like no one I’ve ever come across.”

“Those little foul-mouthed idiots can cook?” I asked, shocked.

“They’ve taught me a thing or two and I trained with Julia Child once she got to Heaven—lovely woman,” Fred commented.

I paused in thought for a moment. The vulgar flaming midgets came from my dream. That had to mean something. Maybe if we made it through this hot mess, I should invite them to Nirvana to teach me how to cook. Or not. Their language was appalling. Dealing with Bonnie Hooper was enough.

“Have the little assholes create a feast, please,” I told Fred. “But no nuts. God has a peanut allergy.”

“As you wish, Gaia,” Fred said as he snapped his fingers and the Mini Fire Gnomes came tumbling across the sand.

They seated themselves in a flaming circle around Fred and stared at him with adoration. Not one filthy word left their smoking lips as they waited for direction from the kindest man who ever lived.

“Boys, we’re going to create a feast,” he told them as they oohed and ahhed over every word Fred uttered. “However, I’m making some ground rules. We will not burn my cottage to the ground… again. And we will no longer use the term butt-sniffing cocksucker when referring to each other. Am I clear?”

The smallest of the Mini Fire Gnomes raised his ignited hand and politely waited to be called on. I was stunned to silence. Only days ago, the little shits were unruly and out of control. Fred was magical.

“Yes, Kenny?” Fred asked. “You have a question?”

“I do,” Kenny replied as smoke poured out of his mouth. “Could you please suggest some alternatives to butt-sniffing cocksucker?”

All twenty smoldering little dudes nodded enthusiastically.

Fred smiled. “I’d be delighted,” he told Kenny warmly. “How about friend?”

The chatter grew loud and the flames grew higher as the tiny things discussed the new option. Again, Kenny raised his hand.

“Kenny?” Fred said.

“So, you mean just friend? Not butt-sniffing cocksucker friend.”

Fred bit down on his lip and tried not to laugh. Kenny was so earnest it would have been horrible to laugh—and possibly dangerous considering he was literally on fire. “Umm… yes. Just friend. And thank you for clarifying, Kenny.”

“My pleasure,” Kenny replied, preening under Fred’s approval.

“Boys,” Fred said as he carefully stepped out of the ring of fire. “Let’s go to my cottage and get cooking.”

With that, Mr. Rogers and the tiny flaming weirdos poofed away. Glancing around, I searched the horizon for my posse and the invited guests.

“It looks just like the clouds,” Bill said, perplexed as he stared at the scene in front of us. “Only a few pieces are missing.”

“What do you mean?” I asked, trying to see what he saw.

“When I flew you to the clouds,” he explained, pointing at the mountain, the sand and the water. “The terrain is the same. We’re just missing the players.”

I sucked in a breath as I realized he was correct. Fate had said the clues were in my dreams and in the clouds. If I’d known she was being literal, I could have saved some damned time.

There was no Angel or Demon atop the mountain… yet. There was no winged monster on the beach… yet. There was no fire on the water. There were no large ladies wrestling a woman in a business suit. And there was no cloaked man in the distance.

Aside from the cloaked man, I could figure out the who the rest of the players were. Maybe Darby Dick Demon would be wearing a cape. Normally during our sessions, the Demon was dressed from head to toe in black combat gear with a questionably fashionable beret on his head. However, Darby was a fashion renegade. I wouldn’t put a cloak past him.

“We’re in the right place,” I said, feeling a strange tingle in my stomach. It was a cross between excitement and terror. Kind of like when I ate the spaghetti and meatballs I’d made a few months back. Of course, the spaghetti and meatballs had ended very badly… for me… and Bill… and Studly.

I had no plans for today to go the way of my attempt at an Italian meal. To avoid the end, I must create a new beginning and that was exactly what I was going to do.

“I love you, Bill,” I whispered as I felt the wind change direction.

My guests were about to arrive.

“I love you more,” Bill replied, kissing the top of my head.

“Not possible,” I told him. “Let’s call it even.”

“Deal,” Bill said with a smile. “Are you ready?”

“Nope, but that hasn’t stopped me yet.”

“That’s my girl,” Bill said.

I was his girl. And I planned to stay that way.

Chapter Fifteen

“Sweet Hell on earth,” Darby squealed with a shudder as he gaped in shock at the sleep-inducing, beige landscape. “This place is terrifying.”

“You live in Hell,” I pointed out. For a deadly Demon, he was quite the weenie sometimes.

“Exactly my point,” he said with an eye roll.

Cathy and Darby Dick Demon were the first to arrive. Cathy had just adored Hell—thought it was the cutest place ever. The Fairy’s insanity was definitely showing, but I didn’t care. She’d gotten Darby to come and he’d agreed to the lavender Diane von Furstenberg. She didn’t even have to mention the silver Prada. It was a win-win as far as I was concerned.

“Why exactly am I here?” Darby inquired, trying not to step on the sand, which was ridiculous.

He was hopping around like a bunny wearing a raspberry beret and all black with high-heeled combat boots.

“You’re going to counsel Bonnie Cooter and her son—the spawn of the Antichrist,” I explained.

“Ahh, family issues,” he said, pulling a notebook and pen from his man-purse. “Was there some kind of misunderstanding?”

“Something like that,” I muttered as God and Satan looking shell shocked, arrived in a blast of magic with a grinning Velma. “Just don’t let them kill each other. It will bring on the end times.”

“Shit,” Darby said and started taking notes.

“Mother,” Satan said, narrowing his eyes and shoving God between him and Velma. “Is there a reason you couldn’t have just called?”

“Time crunch,” I said with a naughty little smile. “Had to send Velma.”

“Sorry, I can’t hear you,” Satan shouted in extreme exaggeration, eyeing Velma with horror. “I do believe I lost an eardrum.”

“It was a bit disconcerting to be summoned in the key of Z minor,” God said politely, shifting to the left so Satan was now next to Velma. “However, I’m pleased to be here.”

“No, you’re not,” Satan hissed and shot him with a fireball.

“Yessss, I am,” God snapped and retaliated with a bolt of lightning.

“Enough,” I shouted and electrocuted both of them. “We have no time for fun and games right now, boys.”

“My apologies, Mother,” God said sincerely.

“Mine too,” Satan said with an eye roll. “Not.”

“Everyone take a seat,” I instructed.

“Where? On the sand?” Darby gasped out with a horrified expression and his hand on his heart.

Bringing my therapist here might have been a dreadful mistake, but it was too late now. Clapping my hands, I created an exquisitely set table for thirteen. The unlucky number was slightly alarming, but that was the headcount. I would never be short a chair. That would be mortifying. I might be a terrible cook, but I was an excellent hostess. I did consider putting a fourteenth chair for Mr. Rogers, but I’d already pushed my dear friend past his limit. He’d be far happier in the kitchen with the butt-sniffing cocksuckers… I mean, his friends.

The peach linen table cloth and the teal and hot-pink china lent some needed personality to the bland, colorless landscape. Crystal wine goblets twinkled in the sun, causing a sprinkling of orb-like rainbow dots across the sand. I chose bright yellow napkins with floral rings to complete the table along with a centerpiece of purple and peppermint striped roses. I had no clue what was being served, but the décor was stunning.

“Sit at the table,” I directed everyone. “I have a little story to tell.”

“Ohhhhh, I adore a good story,” Darby said as he seated himself next to his boss, Satan. “Especially if it’s a romance. I’m quite partial to the ones where the heroine gets knocked up and the hero doesn’t know. Then the hero leaves town for a job or some other bullshit reason like a yard sale. The kicker is he comes back because the yard sale sucked and there are all these fabu misunderstandings. And then sex. Lots of sex.”

Everyone was speechless. Again, I silently lambasted myself for bringing the dingbat to Purgatory. I was floored that I’d been paying Darby for therapy. His choice of romance trope was positively shitty. I far preferred humorous paranormal romance. My shrink was an idiot.

“Mmmkay,” I said, standing next to Bill as he seated himself at the head of the table. “I’m going to pretend Darby was speaking a language that I don’t understand. Of course, this is ridiculous since I know them all. But there are far bigger fish to fry than to debate Darby’s shitty taste in romance novels. I’m choosing to play it that way so I don’t have to electrocute him.”

“Thank you, darling,” Darby said, giving me a thumbs up.

“You’re welcome.”

Both God and Satan eyed Bill with great concern. Satan was no longer hard of hearing or pissed about being here. His laser focus was directed at his father. And neither he nor God liked what they saw.

“Here’s the deal,” I said, getting straight to the heart of the matter. “I’m bringing the spawn of the Antichrist together for a dinner party with his mother, Bumpy Cockrock. Because of my dream, I believe that by bringing them together I can stop that little bastard Jim Bob Bob-Bob from breaking the rest of the Horsemen.”

“That’s what’s happening to you?” Satan roared, as he stood up and moved to Bill faster than the eye could follow. The Devil stood nose to nose with his father and black sparks burst around him. “You’re stopping the fucking Horsemen of the Apocalypse?”

“It’s my destiny,” Bill said, putting his arms around his son.

For the first time in eternity, Satan didn’t pull away or act horrified to show affection. He wrapped his arms around Bill and held him tight.

“This is impossible,” God said, shaking his head and approaching Bill and his brother. “I don’t understand where the spawn got the horses. It makes no sense.”

“Making sense is irrelevant right now. I never make sense,” I responded. “The facts are standing right in front of us. Bill has already absorbed Pestilence and War—hence his silver-white hair and red eyes. If the other two seals are broken…” I couldn’t even finish the statement.

“I will perish,” Bill supplied the answer that I had refused to speak aloud.

“Unthinkable,” Satan snarled and set fire to the water in his fury.

“I agree,” I said, eyeing the flames on the water as my stomach clenched. I realized everything would come to a head very soon. The players were arriving and the pictures from the clouds were coming to fruition. “According to Bunny Cooper, Jim Bob Slob-Nob is trying to gain points with the Antichrist by destroying the first defense against the Apocalypse. And I mean by destroying it now—long before the ends times actually occur,” I said, keeping the tremor out of my voice. There was very little I could do about the fire shooting from my fingertips.

“Count to fifty-one,” Darby advised quickly as he conjured up an industrial-sized fire extinguisher.

Nodding my thanks to my headshrinker, I blew off his suggestion. Looking like a volcano about to erupt could be to my advantage. Plus, I didn’t want to mute my power in any way. With my sons and myself on the same plane, there was more magic here than anywhere in the Universe at the moment.

“The spawn and his mother have to come together and get along. I fully expect them to try to kill each other. So, we’re going to show them what a healthy loving family looks like,” I explained.

“Who is that?” Satan asked, completely confused. “I see no healthy loving family.”

“We’re the damned healthy loving family, you little shitass,” I snapped and electrocuted him. “We are going to model what love means. They will observe what a wholesome mother and son relationship looks like and they will emulate it. And if they don’t, we can simply shove it down their throats. Or tie them up and torture them until they comply.”

“You could always threaten them with one of your cookies,” Satan said with a laugh as he smacked out the fire on his rear end.

It wasn’t a bad idea…

“While the idea has merit, I’m not sure it will work,” God said.

Two images were at the forefront of my mind. The look of devastating pain in Jim Bob Bob-Bob’s soulless eyes at the grocery store and the broken look of despair on Becky’s face as she lay on the floor in my kitchen. They were two lost ships sailing in the night during a tsunami from Hell at the height of hurricane season in the eye of the storm. Or some other terrible metaphor like that. I didn’t care.

It had to work.

It would work.

“A mother’s love is stronger than any magic in the Universe,” I stated firmly. “I love you no matter how terribly naughty you are,” I told Satan and then turned my attention to God. “And I love you no matter how delightfully good you are.”

“Do I really have to listen to this crap?” Satan muttered, shooting his brother the bird.

With a flick of my fingers, I electrocuted the Devil. Again.

“I did that because I love you,” I told Satan with a grin. “I can’t even imagine where you’d be today without me.”

Satan rolled his eyes and bust out laughing. “I’d be richer because I wouldn’t have had to pay for thousands of years of therapy, Mother.”

“Possibly,” I said as I grabbed him by the hair and laid a big wet mommy kiss on his cheek. “But life would be a Hell of a lot more boring. Wouldn’t it?”

“For the love of everything illegal,” Satan groused. “This affection has gotten entirely out of hand.”

“I’ll take one of those kisses, Mom,” God said with a grin, shoving Satan aside and hugging me tight.

“Kiss ass,” Satan muttered as he pulled God off of me and gave me a hug of his own. “I will deny all of this appalling behavior once we’re done here. However, I’d like to go on record and say that I’m Mother’s favorite.”

“That shall be expunged from the records,” God said, kicking Satan’s feet out from under him and stealing me away. “I’m the favorite.”

With a delighted giggle, I extricated myself and placed a hand on each of my beloved sons. “There is no favorite. When a mother has more than one child, her heart grows bigger.”

“Is that true?” Satan asked, eyeing me with mistrust.

“It is,” Bill said as he too put his arms around me. “There is no magic more powerful than a mother’s love.”

“He is Wisdom,” God pointed out with a chuckle. “I’m going to go with what Bill says.”

“Smart boy,” I said and then got back to business. “This is my issue to solve. However, backup will be appreciated. I refuse to lose Bill. It is not an option.”

Bill sat back down. I could tell he was exhausted and trying to hide it. Fred had given him a reprieve, but the battle still raged within. My chest tightened with worry. I gently kissed his cheek and made sure he was as comfortable as he could be. The next hour or two would change everything. I hoped.

“Goddammed right it’s not an option to lose my father,” Satan growled.

“Really?” God rolled his eyes. “I’m standing right here. There are plenty of curse words for you to use. Do we really have to take my name in vain?”

“Would you like to suggest a replacement?” Satan asked, with a sly grin. “I’d love to hear you lay out a litany of curse words.”

“I’m quite sure you would,” God said with a laugh. “However, I don’t have the time or the crayons to explain it to you.”

“If you really spoke your mind, you’d be speechless,” Satan shot back with a laugh of his own.

God shook his head and grinned. “Brains aren’t everything. In fact, in your case they’re nothing.”

Satan raised a brow and smirked. “You should stop being a spherical dumbass. It’s not flattering.”

We all paused and tried to figure out what the Hell he meant. Even Bill looked perplexed and he usually understood our obnoxious son. As we stood in silence, Satan got pissed and stomped his foot.

“Seriously?” he demanded. “None of you got that?”

Darby chimed in and tried to help his boss out. “I believe that since the globes of the buttocks could be considered spherical, that you must be referring to the actual shape of the funk-trunk. Therefore, it’s a double insult to your brother. Basically, you called him a twofold badonkadonk.”

“Umm… no,” Satan said, with a wince at his subject’s choice of words.

“Can I take a stab at it?” Cathy inquired.

Satan rolled his eyes and threw his hands in the air. “Go for it.”

“I think you possibly misspoke,” Cathy announced as Satan’s eyes grew wide at being told he was wrong. “Happens to everyone. Rhyming words can be a real bitch. Kind of like Joan who’ll be here shortly. She’s a Witch who’s a bitch. See? The rhyme can really screw you up. Occasionally I call Joan a bitch instead of a Witch and she whips out that damn wand and removes a body part—just awful. Soooo, is it possible that you meant a climacterical dumbass? That would mean a dumbass at an important physiological changing point. For example, menopause. I think what you were trying to say is that your brother is a menopausal dumbass.”

“Umm…” Satan didn’t even have a comeback for that.

Actually, none of us did.

God laughed and enjoyed Satan’s appalled discomfort. “Brother, I knew what you meant. It was simply far too much fun to watch you suffer.”

“That’s not very God-like of you,” Satan snapped.

“Yes, well, you bring out the best in me,” God replied with a raised brow. “To clarify, a spherical dumbass is a dumbass from any angle… because it’s a sphere.”

“THANK YOU,” Satan huffed. “For a second there, I thought all this hugging and kissing nonsense had made me lose my edge.”

“No darling,” I told him. “Your edge is just fine. You’re as rude and uncouth as you’ve always been.”

“Thank you, Mother,” Satan said with a sigh of relief.

“Welcome.”

And that’s when Joan the Witch arrived in a blast of green sparkles and smoke—or Joan the Bitch if you were a rhymer like Cathy.

“Betsy Cocker is a pain in my green ass,” Joan hissed as she retrieved a pint-sized Booty Cooter from her Chanel bag and dangled her in the air. “Tried to bite me. Twice.”

“Listen to me, you sphincter-goblins, I’m not making nice with the Slob-Nob. I’ve wasted my entire existence trying to avoid being offed by that jack-wank. I don’t get paid enough to deal with this kind of shit,” Becky shouted. However, the real oomph was missing considering she was the size of a miniature candy bar.

“May I?” Darby inquired as he picked up Boopie by her tiny red blazer and plopped her on the table.

Her red blazer clashed horribly with the teal and pink china, but since she was so little it was the best place to keep her. If we dropped her in the sand, we’d never find her again. That would be a disaster.

“Be my guest,” I replied warily, worried that Darby might do more damage than good. But at this point, I was willing to try anything.

“So, you say your son has tried to kill you?” Darby asked as he pulled out his notebook and pen.

“What part of my last sentence did you miss, stinky dingleberry-merkin?” Becky snarled.

Again, it was oomph-less as she sounded like Velma without the high pitch. However, the merkin part was truly disgusting.

“I see,” Darby said, looking a little taken aback. “So, have you tried to kill your son as well?”

“I’ve been a little busy being the fucking Grim Reaper,” she screeched. “I had enough on my hands blowing up appliances and automobiles.”

“For the love of everything criminal, there is no Grim Reaper,” Satan snapped.

“Yeah, I know that now, you spastic wanker-turd,” Bossy snapped. “I have a new job that I suck at and I want to keep it. If the spawn that I hatched kills me, I won’t get PAID.”

“Would it really be that bad if we let him kill her?” Satan inquired casually.

At this point, I almost agreed with him, but then I looked at Bill and my heart constricted.

“There will be no offing anyone today,” I announced and then got down in Boobie’s tiny face. “Benny Cocksucker, you haven’t tried hard enough. You’re being a terrible mother. You think it’s easy being the mother of Satan and God? Well, actually God was a very easy child and a delightful adult. Now, Satan is a different story. But just because he’s an asshole at times doesn’t mean I don’t love the little shit with every breath I take. If you are lucky enough to give birth to a living being—even if the being came about due to a drunken stupor that resulted in banging the Antichrist—you have a responsibility to the jackass that you hatched. It’s the Law of Nature. And I should know considering a made all the freaking Laws of Nature. You feel me, Bumpy?”

Becky Cooter was finally shocked to silence… kind of. She started to cry.

“Well, shit,” I said, twisting my red curls in my fingers. “I didn’t mean to do that.”

“No, it’s fine, twat-wagon,” Bonnie sobbed. “You’re right. I’m a terrible mother. I hate the little fucker.”

“Okay,” Darby said, getting excited. “That’s a good start. Why do you hate him? Besides trying to kill you, has he committed any other grievous crimes?”

“Like that’s not enough?” God muttered.

“Shhhh,” I hushed God with my finger to my lips. We were getting somewhere with Beulah. Or at least I thought we might be.

“I don’t even know the shit-monger,” Bessy said as she continued to wail. “I blew the watermelon out of a hole the size of a golf ball and then the cocksocket took him away.”

“Cocksocket?” Darby questioned, bewildered.

“The Antichrist,” I said, clearing up any confusion.

“Interesting,” Darby said, taking notes a mile a minute. “So, you never got to bond with the little fucker?”

“Do you need a hearing aid, crotch-goblin?” Bopsy shrieked as she used the tip of one of my linen napkins to wipe her nose. “I barely laid eyes on him until he was about three hundred years old. He showed up one day and dropped my blow dryer into the tub while I was taking a bath.”

“Too bad that didn’t work out,” Satan commented.

I electrocuted him.

“I think we can solve this problem,” Darby announced, tucking his pen into his raspberry beret and patting Becca on the head.

“How?” she demanded.

“Yes, how?” I asked, hoping a yard sale wasn’t part of the solution. One never knew with Darby.

“We’re going to play the compliment game,” Darby said. “Instead of killing blows, we’re going to shoot from the heart. When the little fucker gets here, we will seat them at the table and they will say kind things to each other.”

“And if that fails?” I asked.

“You can electrocute them,” Darby told me. “However, it will work. Saying nice things is a real ice breaker and can open the doors of communication and generate a real feeling of trust that can lead to love. Or at least the absence of murder.”

“You are so close to losing your Demon card,” Satan mumbled and shook his head.

“Fine,” I said as the wind changed directions again. “Incoming.”

And that’s when Hortense and Fran arrived with the snarling and pissed off spawn of the Antichrist. His black wings were on display and he was ten times the size that he was when I last saw him in the grocery store. I had no clue how Hortense and Fran had been able to get him here. He was truly terrifying.

And then I saw it.

My posse did not screw around. At all.

The big-boned Vampyre and Gnome had attached unbreakable magical chains to Jim Bob Bob-Bob. The chains were a specialty of the Gnomes. I’d only witnessed them a few times in my long life. However, it was more what the chains were attached to than the chains themselves that was the most shocking part.

Bill, Satan, God and Darby all doubled forward in phantom pain.

My girls had tied the spawn of the Antichrist’s nuts into a knot and then secured them with the enchanted chain. They held one end and if Jim Bob tried to fight them, the chain tightened. It was dastardly.

It was also perfect. We had the spawn of the Antichrist just where we wanted him… by the balls.

Chapter Sixteen

“I have a bingo game in ten minutes,” Jim Bob Bob-Bob roared as he plopped his hairy butt down on the sand. He was smart enough to make sure there was some give in the chain so his nuggets wouldn’t be torn from his hideous monster body. He narrowed his eyes at the assemblage on the beach and proceeded to kick the sand around.

“Should we keep his junk locked down?” Hortense inquired.

“For now,” I said. “He’ll have to earn his junk’s freedom back.”

“Good luck with that,” Fran mutter with a chuckle. “We had a Hell of a time knotting up his twigs and pieces. Hortense almost popped a fang.”

I wanted to ask what that meant, but I also wanted to keep the contents in my stomach.

“BINGO,” Jim Bob bellowed. “I have bingo.”

“Too bad. So sad,” I said as I examined the abomination with curiosity. “You have to eat dinner. Everyone needs a hearty meal before bingo.”

His eyes were as black as a starless night. His body was covered in matted black fur, yet he was strangely human-looking. However, his feet and head were enormous. Jim Bob’s ebony black wings could use a good brushing and a trim, but if the idiot took a bath, he might not be quite so unappealing.

Wait. Who was I kidding? He was heinous. It would take thousands of gallons of tomato juice to remove the stench.

“Hello there, big guy,” Darby called out with a wave. “I’m Darby Dick Demon. And you are?”

The spawn of the Antichrist eyed Darby warily. Darby was slightly off-putting with his raspberry beret, high-heeled combat boots and the way he was hopping around on the sand so his feet wouldn’t touch. However, he was also an outstanding therapist—most of the time. As long as he stayed away from yard sales, I would let him go for it.

“Jim Bob Bob-Bob,” the beast snarled.

“It’s James Robert Bob-Bob, you slimy little shit,” a tiny voice shouted from the table.

“Who said that?” Jim Bob demanded, glancing around wildly and growling low in his throat.

“I did, you over-grown piece of toe-jam,” Becky screeched.

“Where is she?” Jim Bob demanded as his black eyes began to glow eerily. “What have you done to her?”

“What do you mean?” I asked with a raised brow.

“If you harm her, I will eat you,” he hissed and gnashed his big pointy teeth.

Very, very, very interesting. Maybe there was hope. “Follow my lead, Belinda,” I whispered as I turned my back on the spawn zoned in on Bunky.

“Is a raise involved?” the idiot whispered back.

Fisting my hands at my sides so I didn’t electrocute the horrid tiny woman, I nodded curtly. “A substantial one,” I assured her. “And if you get the little shit to cough up the remaining two horsemen, you will be set for life and then some.”

“Fine then, titty-smacker. You talk. I’ll agree. I’ll get the fucking horses,” she said.

Glancing over at Bill, he winked at me. My lover believed in me and I wasn’t about to let him down. Rolling my neck to release the tension, I pivoted to face the monster. My eyes filled with tears and I stumbled forward with my hands on my heart. “She’s dying,” I cried out. “Her last wish was to see her son once more.”

“Damn, she’s good,” Satan muttered under his breath.

“Genius,” God agreed.

Jim Bob’s onyx eyes widened in horror and slapped the sand with all of his might. Granules flew everywhere creating the sandstorm to beat all sandstorms in Purgatory. With a bit of quick thinking, I wiggled my nose and protected Bill, Becky and the table. Everyone else was on their own at this point. We were Immortal. A little sand in our panties or our lungs wasn’t a biggie.

“Unacceptable,” Jim Bob bellowed, causing the fire on the water to shoot even higher.

“I see no problem,” I said, wiping my tears from my eyes. “You’ve been trying to kill her off for eons. I would think you’d be happy.”

Jim Bob was stumped by this news. He was clearly an idiot.

“Can I chime in here?” Darby inquired.

“Absolutely,” I replied.

“Tell me about your father, James Robert,” Darby said, conjuring up an outdoor rug to stand on so his heels didn’t sink. Or at least I thought that was why. “What was it like growing up with the Antichrist? Did he take you to baseball games and to Target?”

I was a little confused by the Target reference, but then again, Darby liked a good yard sale too.

“He loves me. The Antichrist loves me,” Jim Bob shouted and raised a hairy middle finger to all of us. “He’s tried to decapitate me since the day I was born.”

Silence ensued for one minute and twenty-two seconds as we digested this new wrinkle.

“Can I say something?” Satan inquired.

“Is it pertinent?” I asked.

“I believe it is,” Satan replied.

“Have at it, son,” I told him and then held my breath. I never knew what would come out of my own mouth and I really never knew what would come out of the Devil’s mouth. But since our end goal was identical, I was going to let my boy do his thing.

“If the circumstances weren’t dire, I would have kept my mouth shut,” Satan began, clearly put out. “Helping people gives me hives. However, I’d like to point out that you have a low IQ and are a fucking idiot.”

“Umm… not sure how this is helping,” I said to Satan with wide eyes as Jim Bob began to glow like a volcano about to erupt.

“I’m getting there,” Satan replied.

“Get there faster,” I urged.

“So, Slob-Nob,” Satan continued. “The bottom line is this—your piece of shit pappy doesn’t love you.”

“YES, HE DOES,” Jim Bob snarled as his black eyes began to glitter and smoke wafted out of his ears and nose.

“I beg to differ,” Satan said with an enormous eye roll. “A little electrocution here and there, a fireball, a few years of solitary confinement, short sheeting your parent’s bed on their nookie night, giving your mother a wedgie at a formal affair, telling your father he’s a jackass and then stealing all of his office supplies when he’s not looking, leaving the toilet seat up on purpose when your mother comes to visit so she’ll fall in, a good old-fashioned spanking when you get caught setting your brother on fire… that’s love. Decapitation is not love. Trust me on this.”

“Are you fucking serious?” Jim Bob demanded, paling considerably under his fur.

“No. I’m fucking Satan,” the Devil groused, letting his head fall back on his shoulders. “I get no respect at all around here.”

“I respect anyone that can fuck themselves,” Jim Bob offered up, nodding his gigantic head. “That’s truly amazing.”

Satan began to spark and hiss. Red and black fire engulfed him. It was impressive, but not conducive to winning. I was going to win no matter what. Bill’s existence was on the line.

Lucifer had made some headway, but he was about to blow it. It did warm my heart to know how much my evil son loved all of us. His methods were a little bizarre, but his intentions were good. Note to self—turn the light on in the bathroom when visiting Hell from now on. Falling into the commode was not pleasurable no matter how much my son loved me.

“I think there might be a bit of a misunderstanding here,” I said, stepping in front of Satan so he didn’t incinerate the beast.

“Ya think?” Bunny griped.

“Hush,” I snapped at her. “Satan is correct. Mothers and fathers do not decapitate their children. That’s not what real love is.”

“You lie,” Jim Bob roared.

I rolled my eyes and then smiled. “Possibly,” I agreed. “However, there is someone here who never lies. God, could you please join me?”

“With pleasure, Mother,” God replied as he snapped his fingers and put on a show.

My celestial son was now clad in all white—sparkling white. And thankfully, not in a softball uniform. His flowing robes floated around him and a golden halo framed his beautiful head. He was stunning.

“God, can you explain love to James Robert?”

“I can,” God said, standing tall and proud. “I shall recite a quote from my book.”

“Here we go,” Satan muttered with a grunt of disgust. “My book waaaay outsold his.”

“Quiet,” I hissed at him.

“This is from Corinthians with a little spin of my own,” God announced grandly to the group. “Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. And it definitely does not decapitate people. And for that matter, it does not drop blow dryers into bathtubs while their mother is bathing,” God said, giving Jim Bob a stern look. “Love does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes and always preserves. So, my friend, I will have to go on record as agreeing with my brother. Your father does not love you.”

Jim Bob was floored by this news. “So, umm… I despise you and would be delighted to eat soup from your cracked and bloody skull isn’t an endearment?”

“Ahh… nope. Definitely not,” God said, shaking his head sadly.

“Okay,” Jim Bob said with his hairy unibrow wrinkled in thought. “The air you breathe offends me to the point I want to tear your limbs from your body and shove them down your throat doesn’t count either?”

“Can I field this one?” Satan asked.

“Of course,” God said, stepping aside so the Devil could take the stage again.

Satan leveled a hard glare at Jim Bob. “While your sperm donor’s sense of humor is refreshingly creative, he is a gaping mother fucker who doesn’t deserve a son. Not that you’re any great shakes in that department.”

“Mmmmkay,” I said, interrupting Satan before said something more detrimental than he already had. “James Robert, I believe that you have been misled and raised horribly. I’m so very sorry about that, but it’s not too late.”

“Might be,” Becky shouted from inside a teacup.

“And you,” I snapped as I grabbed her and made her full-sized with a blink of my eyes. “You need to pull up your big girl panties and make nice with your boy.”

“I don’t wear panties, salami-sniffer. I’m one hundred percent commando under this spiffy polyester red suit,” Becky announced to a now gagging audience.

Swallowing back my bile, I stayed focused on the end game. “Be that as it may,” I choked out, “I believe your son has been trying to tell you he loves you. His methods are truly appalling, completely illegal and wildly inappropriate. However, he seems to have come by them honestly. Talk to him,” I hissed as I shoved her toward her hairy beast of a son.

“Actually,” Darby said, tilting his beret jauntily to the left and getting between mother and son. “This is where we will play the compliment game. It’s all kinds of fabu and you will love it! I’m convinced that we can avoid bloodshed and a massive hairy testicle removal if we simply open the lines of communication and let the love shine through because love is what makes the world go ‘round. All you need is love. Love is not a battlefield or it shouldn’t be unless you’re into that kind of thing. Oh, whoops, that’s not appropriate for this session. That was my last session with the Dom—who was quite hot and very bossy, by the way. And yes, I’m aware that love is a crazy little thing, but if we can love rock and roll we can certainly love each other.”

“Are you missing brain cells, merkin-head?” Becky said with an eye roll.

Jim Bob cleared his throat—which sounded like thunder rolling through Nirvana before a monsoon hit. “Can I get some clarification?”

“Sure, butt-basket,” Bonnie said.

“What’s a merkin?”

“A vagina wig, you little bastard. All the rage back in the 1400s. I hear they’re making a comeback now,” she explained as her son hung on her every word.

“Okay, no, no, no,” I said, pressing the bridge of my nose in horror. “That is not true.”

“If my mommy says it’s true, then it is,” Jim Bob bellowed in a fury.

“That’s right,” Boopsy said with a cackle. “The little fucker is on my side.”

“Awesome,” I muttered.

“Beware of what you wish for, Mother,” Satan said with a chuckle.

“Alrighty then, let’s play the game,” Darby announced. “Betsy, give the little fucker a compliment.”

“Do I have to?” she whined.

“You do,” Darby said with a smile of encouragement. “It will feel great! Try it.”

“Fine,” she grumbled and stared hard at her hairy son. “Umm… you don’t smell good, but I haven’t thrown up in my mouth yet, so I suppose it’s okay.”

“Fantastic start!” Darby said as he did what I could only describe as a cheerleader jump. “James Robert, it’s your turn.”

“Okay,” he said, scratching his bulbous head in thought. “How about, I love you so much that I want to peel the skin from your body, sew it into a romper and wear it forever?”

“Umm… no. Absolutely not,” Darby said with a shudder and a small scream. “Let’s try that again and not include anything about dismemberment.”

There was no cheerleading jump after the last admission.

Jim Bob was crestfallen, yet the stinky bastard didn’t give up. It was incredibly moving and sweet in a repulsive way.

“I love you so much that I will peel my own skin from my body, sew it into a romper and let you wear it for eternity. Better?” Jim Bob asked.

“Slightly,” Darby said with a wince. “I’m going to put both of you on my schedule for the next three hundred years. Although, you probably need a few hundred years more. Your appointment day will be on Mondays at 4:00 PM—Underworld time. My office is in Hell, but I’ll make house calls if you serve refreshments.”

“Soup in a skull?” Jim Bob asked, completely serious.

Darby was mute for a minute and a half. After scribbling notes into his notebook and moving his beret to the right side of his head, he was finally able to speak. “How about this? You will come to me. I think that will solve a multitude of issues and I won’t have to go to my own therapist.”

“Sounds good to me, fart-ball,” Becca said. “So, little fucker… I mean, James Robert.”

“I’m good with Little Fucker,” Jim Bob said, blushing with delight under his fur. “You’ve been calling me that for centuries. I like it.”

“Great,” Becky said with relief. “That was going to be a hard habit to break. So, anyhoo, Little Fucker, do you happen to have the other two Horsemen of the Apocalypse on you? I really need them.”

Jim Bob grinned and nodded his head. I almost fell to the ground in relief. Bill might have to live with Pestilence and War inside him, but he would live.

“Do you want me to break them like my daddy commanded me to?” he inquired, pulling a black and an ashen plastic horse from a furry pocket and holding them high in the air.

God sucked in a furious breath and Satan blew up my beautiful table. Of course, the Devil had the wherewithal to leave his father’s chair in one piece… and his father. Bill gave me a thumbs up and a grin to let me know he was fine.

“Hell to the NO, Little Fucker,” Becky shouted, finally sounding like a mother should. “And from now on you will refer to your sperm donor as Cocksocket. Am I clear?”

Jim Bob nodded. “Yes, mommy. What should I do with the horses? Cocksocket promised me if I broke all four that he would give me the honor of letting him beat me within an inch of my life daily for the next three centuries. Would you like to beat me? I can tell the Cocksocket to suck it if you would prefer to bring me to the brink of death on a daily basis. It would be an honor.”

Betsy Cocker almost split in half like Rumpelstiltskin she was so furious. Her face turned as red as her out of style jacket and she began to stomp around the beach, becoming more unhinged than she already was. With each step she took, small explosions rocked Purgatory. The mountain in the distance trembled and the beige landscape began to turn greyish black. Mr. Rogers was going to crap. He loved the calming and sleep-inducing color scheme of his territory. She was so out of control my posse had to wrestle her to the ground.

Five large women wrestling a woman in a business suit. Well, business suit was a stretch, especially considering her lack of undergarments, but the picture was correct. The clouds were coming alive. The end was drawing near.

Betsy finally got her shit together after Joan yanked out her wand and threatened her with a pair of permanent underpants. Clearly, Betsy took her commando status seriously. The lunatic was calmer, but she wasn’t any less enraged. Honestly, I didn’t blame her. I would destroy anyone who harmed my children.

“Little Fucker,” she screeched. “That is the last time you will ever talk about letting someone kick your smelly dingleberry covered butt again. Ever. From now on, any ass-flap who tries to fuck with you will have to come through me—including Cocksocket. I feel like shit right now. If I’d known that the attempts you took on my life meant you loved me, I never would have kicked your nuts up into your esophagus two hundred years ago. That had to have hurt like a bitch,” she said, still spitting mad. “Violence does not mean love. Never has. Never will. I sucked as the Grim Reaper because I didn’t have it in me to kill people. Of course, I know now that I wasn’t supposed to off any of the jackasses that I visited. And the real kick in the sphincter is that the fucking position doesn’t even exist according to the dude who can fuck himself. Crazy. Right? Now, swearing is fine. It’s my hobby and I’ve won many a cussing contest over the centuries.”

“There are cussing contests?” Joan asked, shocked.

My posse had been silent during the last twenty minutes, but they’d been ready to attack and maim at my command. I was proud to be part of their club. They were well-dressed, loyal and violent—my kind of girls.

“I could totally win a cussing contest,” Fran grunted, still holding the enchanted chain connected to Jim Bob’s junk.

“Sorry,” I said with a small giggle. “Betsy Cocker could kick your ass.”

“You said her name correctly,” Hortense pointed out.

She was right. I did. Maybe since Betsy had stepped up and was saving the day, I wouldn’t forget her name anymore. Maybe…

“Anyfuckinghodalyhoo,” Betsy went on. “We’re a family now—you and me. A fucked up, dysfunctional family and it’s all thanks to the hooter-box with the red hair. So, I want you to give me those horses to hang onto.”

“Okay, mommy,” Jim Bob said and held them out to her. Betsy took them and shoved them in her purse. “Can we free my junk now?”

“Sure thing,” Fran said, removing the chain from Jim Bob’s nuts.

We were exactly ten seconds away from saving Bill and ultimately the Universe when the shit hit the fan. The picture was not yet complete. Well, it was now. I blamed myself for not noticing Darby wasn’t wearing a damn cape. If I’d been on top of everything, I would have realized that all the guests hadn’t arrived.

Until now.

Chapter Seventeen

The sky turned an ominous inky purple and the clouds looked like black and blue bruises floating aimlessly above. A putrid-smelling wind wafted through Purgatory. The beige foliage wilted and died. Pink-eyed beasts with seven heads circled above and tore jagged holes in the purple clouds with their horns. Drops of ice fell from the sky and I sucked in a horrified breath.

The dream was coming true and the cloaked man I’d seen in the clouds was not Darby. Not by any stretch of the imagination.

It was the Antichrist… and he’d arrived.

The abomination’s black eyes were sunk so far back in his head, he looked deformed. Grey skin stretched over his sharp cheekbones and his lips were thin and colorless. His robe was black and trimmed in snakes—live snakes that hissed and spit as he moved. His fashion sense was dreadful. Betsy had to have been plastered to have nailed the disgusting creature.

The only thing going for us right now was that Purgatory was off-limits as far as a battle went. It was a Law of the Universe and set in stone at the beginning of time. Literally. The stone still resided in the Garden of Eden. No wars in Purgatory. Ever. If it came to that, no one would survive—Immortal or not. However, damage could be done without a battle—devastating damage.

“Sorry I’m late. My invitation must have gotten lost in the mail,” the Antichrist hissed in a voice so purely evil, I felt like a needed a bath.

“Funny thing,” I said, stepping out in front of everyone. This was my battle to fight and fight I would. “I don’t recall sending you one.”

“It’s Cocksocket,” Jim Bob whispered, terrified. “Get behind me, Mommy. Now.”

“Not on your smelly life, Little Fucker,” Betsy grunted, as she stepped up next to me and shoved her son into the background. “My son is no longer alone in this shitshow. And I’d like to go on record that I was blackout wasted when I boinked that dude. Thank you.”

“I was going to say…” I muttered, glancing over at her.

“It had been a rough week,” Betsy said with a shrug. “I wear contacts now so my vision is sharper. Couldn’t see a damn thing thousands of years ago.”

“Were you blind?” Satan asked as he too stepped up next to me.

The Antichrist’s beady black eyes narrowed in surprise when he saw the Devil.

“Nope,” Betsy replied and then grinned. “But that’s my new story and I’m sticking to it. Thanks, boss.”

“I am not your boss,” Satan snapped, keeping his eyes on the Antichrist.

“Enough,” I admonished both of them. “Why are you here? You are not welcome in Purgatory. No battle shall be fought in this territory.”

“No battle needed. I am quite aware that this plane is off-limits,” the Antichrist snarled as his snakes hissed. “I believe you are in possession of something that belongs to me.”

“And I believe you are wrong,” God said as he too joined us. “The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse belong to no one.”

God’s presence gave the Antichrist pause. The sky became even darker and the flying beasts multiplied. His roar chilled my blood, but I didn’t move an inch. The Antichrist grew agitated and began to pace, leaving charred ground with each step he took.

“The end times are not on the schedule,” God continued in a voice that made the hair stand up on my neck. “You are not welcome here.”

“Your point?” the Antichrist snarled.

“That’s my line, you son-of-a-bitch,” Satan said as flames engulfed him and his lips curled into a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “I just despise it when someone steals my line.”

The Antichrist quickly glanced around and shuddered when he noticed Hortense, Joan, Fran, Velma and Cathy. My posse’s reputation was known far and wide. But he didn’t smile until he saw Bill. And the smile was not pretty.

“Enforcer,” he purred in an oily tone. “How are you feeling?”

“Never better,” Bill said as he rose from his chair and moved to stand by my side. “You have broken the rules.”

“And what are rules if they’re not made to be broken,” the hideous creature inquired. “I decided to even the playing field for the end times. It’s simply not fair that it’s me against all of you. I’m only eliminating one player.”

“Wait. What?” Jim Bob asked in shock. “The Enforcer is going to die? You didn’t tell me that.”

The Antichrist raised his hand shot a massive bolt of black magic at his son. The sizzle as it burned the skin and fur from his body was horrifying. Without a second thought, Betsy took a flying leap and tackled her enormous son, rolling him in the sand until the fire subsided. “Nobody screws with my Little Fucker,” she roared. He’s mine. He smells awful, but I’m gonna solve that shit. Next time you touch him, your bony ass is grass.”

“Try it, pathetic woman,” the Antichrist said with an ugly laugh. “It would give me great pleasure to eliminate you. I’d quite enjoy tearing your limbs from your body and watching you bleed out.”

“I have the worst fucking taste in men,” Betsy grumbled as she flipped off the Antichrist.

“First off, tearing limbs from bodies is very unoriginal. I’d have thought you were more creative than that. Secondly, none of that shit is happening in Purgatory,” Satan said with a raised brow. “Not unless you’d like the fires of Hell to rain down on you. Everyone knows that killing in Purgatory is a fucking no-no. However, if you’d like to kill her, I’d be more than pleased to escort you to the Basement of Hell.”

“NO,” Jim Bob bellowed as he limped forward and made sure his mother was behind him. “I will take her place. I’m worth nothing. Take me. Kill me now.”

“I will never kick you in the nads again, Little Fucker,” Betsy said, moving to stand next to her son and hugging him… or at least hugging his leg as he was so huge.

“That’s real progress,” Darby said with a thumbs up to Betsy as he too joined the front line. “Little Fucker what do you have to say to your mom?”

“Thank you, Mommy,” Jim Bob replied with a smile that normally would have terrified me since his teeth were so large and pointy, but right now it warmed my heart.

“You sicken me,” the Antichrist snarled at the trembling Jim Bob who stepped forward again and offered himself in place of his mother. “You are an embarrassment and a blight on my bloodline. I should have destroyed you when you were born. You can’t kill a fly.”

“And why didn’t you?” Satan inquired, folding his inflamed arms across his chest. “Is it possible that you can’t? He is of your bloodline.”

“Rubbish,” the Antichrist roared and grew taller in his ire. “I could kill the boy at any time.”

“The boy has a name, you small peckered jack-hole,” Betsy announced as she glared at the Antichrist with hatred. “It’s Little Fucker and you will use that from now on.”

“Excellent way to stand up for your son,” Darby congratulated Betsy.

“I thought that was a good one,” Betsy replied with pride. “I thought the small peckered jack-hole part was inspired.”

“ENOUGH! Give me the horses and I shall leave,” the Antichrist shouted, causing more of Purgatory to burn.

“I’m so sorry. That’s not going to happen,” Mr. Rogers announced as he joined the standoff with twenty tiny flaming gnomes carrying trays of food behind him.

Fred looked around his territory shook his head and sighed.

“Who the Hell are you?” the Antichrist roared.

Clearly, the Antichrist didn’t have a TV. Fred Rogers was one of the most recognized men in the Universe—and the most beloved.

“I’m the man who summoned you here today,” Fred replied as he nodded to his friends. With a snap of his fingers, the table was restored to its original glory. The Mini Fire Gnomes quickly and efficiently began to place the feast on the table.

Wait. Fred summoned the Antichrist? I wasn’t sure I loved him anymore.

“I’m leaving.” The Antichrist bellowed as smoke and fire came flying from his mouth, nose and ears, covering his body in flames. His snakes hissed as the noxious flames seared their skin, but they stayed with their heinous master.

Continuing calmly with no wasted movement, Fred placed God’s hand in Satan’s.

“Create a bubble,” he instructed politely, but firmly. “No one in and no one out.”

“As you wish,” my boys said in unison.

Glorious and blinding white light highlighted by shimmering black fire exploded from my children and created an impenetrable orb that encompassed Purgatory. I gasped at the beauty and realized yet another picture from the clouds had been realized. An Angel and a Demon hand in hand.

“Ladies—and I use the term cautiously,” Fred said, turning to my posse with trepidation. “Can you secure the beast without killing him?”

“Thought you’d never ask,” Joan said with a wide grin and a terrifying cackle as she and the rest of the Eternal Crème de la Crème Society went batshit crazy on the Antichrist.

Wands, fangs, magical chains, throwing stars, swords and a tank were used. The language was just awful. I was now unsure that Betsy would win a cussing contest against Fran. Velma came in a close second with Hortense making a fine showing at third. God and Satan were positively flabbergasted. I had to admit I was as well.

In a matter of four minutes and twelve seconds, the Antichrist was bound within an inch of his evil life. They’d run him over with the tank seven times. His screams of terror left me cold. Joan was an absolute genius with her wand. Cathy’s wings were deadly weapons and her sweat dripping into the open wounds of the Antichrist apparently burned like acid, if one were to believe the evil creature. And Fran? She drove a tank like a drunkard on a mission from Hell.

Unbelievably outstanding and gross.

“You have broken the Laws of the Universe,” Fred informed the seething Antichrist as he hissed and spit fire. “A penance must be paid.”

“And that’s where you’re wrong,” the Antichrist snarled.

Fred simply smiled. I was kind of hoping he would whip out Lady Elaine Fairchilde. She was almost as scary as my posse.

“James Robert, who directed you to break the Laws of the Universe?” Fred asked.

“Cocksocket,” Jim Bob answered, still smoldering and bloody from the hit he’d taken from his father.

Fred winced and squinted his eyes at Jim Bob. “I’m sorry. Who?”

“The Antichrist,” I answered.

“As I thought.” Fred nodded to me and held out his hand. “It’s time for you to finish this, Gaia.”

I closed my eyes and inhaled deeply. The words of Fate came back to me.

“Bring them together. Children need their mother. They will help you find the perfect recipe. They will have the ingredients. Good versus evil must be served by one with a little pinch of nature. And remember a mother’s love is more powerful than any magic in the Universe. And a little glue never hurts anything.”

I had brought them together. James Robert Bob-Bob needed his mother more than any child I knew. His eternal life up to now had been nothing but abuse and misery. The recipe was not about food—thank the Heavens, considering neither Betsy nor I could cook. They were directions of a sort.

And the ingredients? I had an idea…

Good versus evil was quite clear. We were good—all of us—even Satan in an indirect way. The Antichrist was the true evil. Of that I was sure.

I glanced over at Bill and he winked. “Wing it, lover. It’s worked since the beginning of time. I trust you and I love you,” he said. “You’ve got this.”

He was nuts. Then again, I was too. Bill was also correct. I’d been winging it for eternity and I was still around. Today wasn’t the day to fix something that wasn’t broken. The love of a mother might be the most powerful magic in the Universe, but the love of a mate was pretty damned strong too.

“Betsy, what’s in your purse?” I demanded as everyone looked at me like I was insane—everyone except Bill.

I didn’t care. I was insane and I owned it. There was nowhere else for the ingredients to be unless Velma had shoved more than just a homing device up Betsy’s bottom.

“Umm… lemme look, hooter-head,” she answered as she dumped the contents of her purse into the sand.

“James Robert, empty your fur pockets. Now,” I commanded.

“I prefer, Little Fucker,” he told me politely as he rummaged in his pockets.

“I don’t use the F-bomb,” I told him with an eye roll. “Would Little Shit work for you?”

“Absolutely, Mother Nature,” he replied with a smile as he dropped the broken pieces of the white and red horse into the sand.

“MINE,” the Antichrist roared as he fought his chains with fire and black magic.

It was to no avail. Note to self—stay on the good side of my violent, big-boned buddies. They were seriously unhinged and dangerous.

“Not,” I snapped at the evil bastard and electrocuted him. It wouldn’t kill him. Being myself felt right. Plus, he deserved it.

Quickly glancing down at the pile from Betsy’s purse that littered the sand, I grinned. She had gum, dynamite—probably left over from her failed stint as the Grim Reaper, a few crumpled dollar bills, a half-eaten cheese stick, a squeaky dinosaur toy, the Kama Sutra, a tube of superglue and the plastic black and ashen horses.

And a little glue never hurts anything.

My smile grew so wide it hurt my cheeks.

“You can’t win,” the Antichrist growled. “The storm has begun and you are not strong enough to stop it.”

“Ahh,” I said with a smile. “A metaphor. I just love them. How about this one? I am strong enough to withstand the storm. For I am the storm. I’m Mother freakin’ Nature, you piece of crap.”

Throwing my hands in the air, lighting burst in the sky and thunder rumbled so loudly that the seven-headed beasts fell from the air and huddled behind the bound abomination. The snakes crawled inside his robe and his fire went out due to the crystal drops of rain that began to gently fall from the sky.

“Pick up the broken horses,” I instructed Betsy as I grabbed the superglue and removed the top. The recipe would be simple. “The white one first.”

Good versus evil must be served by one with a little pinch of nature.

Betsy did as she was told. Betsy Cocker was going to serve and I would add a pinch of my own… a pinch of nature, so to speak. Gluing the first horse together, I laid it in the sand. Without even asking, Betsy held the pieces of the red horse out. Quickly gluing it back together, I laid it next to the white horse and then added the black and ashen to the line.

I held my breath and waited. I didn’t know what would happen… but I never expected nothing to happen. Bill’s hair was still white. His eyes were still blood red. I was one of the most powerful beings in the Universe and I was useless. My brain raced as I stared hard at the plastic horses on the sand. I’d made up the recipe and it had failed—very similarly to all the dishes I’d ever prepared.

This could not be happening.

The Antichrist’s vicious bellow of laughter would live in my memories for the rest of time. Had he won? Glancing over at him, I wanted him dead. Evil blood ran through his veins and covered the sand around him. He gnashed his sharp teeth, but all I could see was his blood. It boiled and bubbled as it seeped into the sand. The dark red liquid was filled with black magic.

His blood.

James Robert was of his blood.

“How did the Antichrist shrink the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse,” I demanded of Jim Bob. “Tell me.”

“With drops of his blood,” Jim Bob said.

“Reverse the spell,” Satan instructed tersely.

“How?” I demanded.

“Follow your instincts, Mother,” God bellowed.

It was my issue to solve. I had been the one who had the dream. My happiness was on the line along with the eventual fate of humanity. Life without Bill was unacceptable to me.

Bad blood from an evil line had created the spell. Good blood from the very same line would reverse it. It had to.

“Betsy, keep your shit together,” I advised as I snapped my fingers and produced a wicked looking jeweled dagger. “I’m about to stab your son.”

“Will I get extra vacation time if I don’t go apeshit on your ass, cooter-face?” she inquired.

“Yessss, as much as you want,” I hissed. “Little Shit, give me your hand.”

Jim Bob’s eye grew wide, but he obeyed. His smile was scary, but his eyes crinkled kindly. “You are a force of nature indeed.”

“I sure as Hell hope so. Back up everyone,” I instructed as I sliced the tip of Jim Bob’s finger.

Leading him to the plastic horses, I carefully squeezed his finger and let his blood drip onto each one.

I didn’t have to wait long this time.

The wind picked up like a cyclone had arrived. The air grew oppressively warm and the sky turned an eerie green. In an explosion that had to have rocked the Universe, The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse we no longer tiny plastic figures. They were now enormous and truly frightening.

Atop a massive white horse sat Pestilence. He wore a crown and carried a bow. He examined the scene with disdain until his eyes landed on Bill. God and Satan immediately transported from where they stood and flanked Bill. The Four Horsemen might be powerful and deadly, but the Devil, God and the Enforcer were the mightiest forces in existence.

“You have something of mine,” Pestilence said in a whispery voice as he got off of his horse and approached Bill. “I would like it back.”

Pestilence acknowledged Satan and God with a curt nod and then ignored them completely. Their battle was not on the schedule… yet. Everyone was aware of this and was satisfied to leave well enough alone—at least for another eight thousand years.

“Not so fast, buster,” I hissed as I grabbed Pestilence and shocked the Hell out of everyone present—including me.

Pestilence glanced down at my small hand on his massive arm and narrowed his eyes at me.

“Speak,” he said in the same whispery voice.

“You will not harm the Enforcer. He did not take what is yours willingly. It was thrust upon him by an evil that is defying fate.”

Pestilence paused and then smiled. It was vacant and terrifying. “He who has stolen from me will suffer the punishment—not the one who carries my gift.”

Gift was an oxymoron considering he was speaking of fatal epidemic disease, but I’d already pushed my luck with someone that could destroy the world.

With that, he removed my hand from his arm and touched Bill’s hair. The sliver white strands disappeared as Bill gasped in agony and fell to the ground. The screaming was horrifying, but it was not that of my lover. The wailing and shrieking came from the Antichrist. His body was riddled with disease. Pestilence didn’t even acknowledge the suffering of the evil creature. He simply got back on his horse, joined his comrades and closed his eyes.

The next was War. He carried a lethal-looking sword and also wore a crown on his head. He didn’t look around at all. He was focused completely on Bill who had slowly gotten back to his feet and was held up by Satan and God. My lover’s hair was back to its beautiful brown, but his eyes were still blood red.

War didn’t dismount from his red horse. With a flick of the rein, he directed his animal to where Bill stood. A palpable menace surrounded War and he didn’t speak a word. Leaning down, he stared into Bill’s eyes. Again, my lover’s knees buckled and he dropped to the sand in pained anguish. No one but the Enforcer could have survived what was happening.

The Antichrist was now bleeding from his eye sockets. Again, he was ignored by the Horsemen. Famine sat on a black horse with a furious expression on his face and scale in his hands. And Death was astride a pale ashen horse carrying a scythe. Death’s eyes were so black and full of suffering, I had to look away. I could not have been more relieved that Bill had not absorbed their gifts.

“You must leave,” God said. “Your time has not come.”

“Someone should have told him,” Death said flatly, eyeing the Antichrist with disgust. “We will not be played like this again.”

With a flick of his scythe, the Antichrist disappeared. I’d always thought the Horsemen answered to the Antichrist. I was going to have to reconsider that notion.

“Where have you sent him?” Bill asked, his eyes no longer red.

Death shrugged. “Does it matter? He won’t be back until it’s on the schedule.”

The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse then nodded in respect to God, Satan and the Enforcer.

“The next time we meet, we will be on opposite sides,” War warned.

“And we shall be ready,” God stated as Satan nodded in agreement.

“We shall see,” Pestilence whispered. “We shall see.”

“Mother Nature,” Famine said in a bored voice. “You have succeeded. The next time you will not be so lucky.”

“I don’t believe in luck,” I replied, taking my rightful place next to my children and my mate. “So, I suppose we shall just wait and see.”

Famine raised his brow and shrugged. “I suppose we will.”

Just as they arrived, they left—in a cyclone. Purgatory was a hot mess. Elvis and Studly were going to have their work cut out for them.

“I’m hungry. Shall we eat?” Fate inquired as she arrived in a blast of lavender sparkles.

“Are you serious?” I demanded, slapping my hands on my hips and glaring at her.

“No. I’m Fate,” she replied with a laugh as she went to Bill and examined him. Placing a kiss on his forehead, she then moved to Satan and took his hand in hers. “You have done well, Gaia.”

“I have,” I replied. “How about next time you be a bit less cryptic with your messages?”

“How about let’s hope there isn’t a next time,” Fate shot back as she held her arms out to me for a hug.

I sucked in a shocked breath and gaped at her. The vision was quick, but there was no mistaking it. Fate held a child in her arms—a beautiful, naughty baby boy. There had indeed been someone else walking in my dreams. The heir to the throne of Hell was soon to arrive. And Hell was never going to be the same.

“What?” Satan asked alarmed, noticing my expression.

“Nothing,” I replied easily as the vision disappeared and I hugged my pregnant daughter-in-law. Fate could see all futures except her own. I had thought I would need her gift to save Bill. Who knew I would get to know something she didn’t know? Knowledge was power. I like power. A lot.

“Let’s eat!” I told everyone. “Little Shit, can you scale down your size? You simply won’t fit at the table like that.”

“Yes, Mother Nature. I can,” he said as he took on a smaller form.

It was not the form I’d seen at the grocery store. Nope. He was now the spitting image of his mother—right down to the dated red blazer and pearls. It was alarming but somehow appropriate. Betsy seemed thrilled. I hoped Jim Bob was wearing underwear, but decided not to ask.

With a wiggle of my nose, I extended the table and made room for Elle, Mr. Rogers. The Mini Fire Gnomes could sit in the sand. I was not in the mood for my linens to go up in flames.

The feast was gorgeous and tasted heavenly. The flaming little farts had even supplied blood bags for Hortense and there wasn’t a peanut to be found in any dish on the table. I was curious if the little bastards catered, but I’d get that information later.

Smiling and sighing with happiness, I watched everyone enjoy their meal. Fred kept the conversation lively and Darby told everyone about the romance novel he hoped to write. There was sex. Lots of sex—and a yard sale. Betsy and Little Shit sat next to each other, so lost in conversation it was like they were the only two at the table. It was fitting and I was proud of bringing them together. I would keep Betsy on a large salary for eternity as long as she stayed away from Nirvana. As happy as I was for her and Jim Bob, I really didn’t want to see them on a regular basis—maybe once or twice a century.

My posse sat with God, Satan and Elle. God and Satan seemed a bit terrified, but Elle was enjoying the insane group tremendously. I was certain I heard Joan invite Elle into the club. Of course, I was tempted to electrocute the Witch but decided against it. If Fate and Astrid both said yes, I could probably blackmail them into voting for me for president. I was ready to be in charge again. And yes, I was aware I had a few minor faults but decided ignoring them was the way to go. I was Mother Nature after all.

Bill was able to take back on his Spite form and shifted back and forth while everyone clapped and cheered. My heart danced. I adored Bill no matter what form he took. His insides were the same—beautiful, loving and so very wise.

We had plans to take a little flight in the clouds after the meal, so Bill had chosen his Enforcer form for today. I did have to admit his ass was a work of art in this form.

“What did you see when you looked at Elle, lover,” Bill whispered in my ear as we watched the festive dinner party play out in front of us.

“Do you promise not to tell?” I whispered back, wrapping my arms around the love of my life and breathing him in. I couldn’t wait to get him back to Cloud Sixty-Nine.

Bill smiled and chuckled. “Have I ever betrayed your trust?”

“Nope,” I said with a giggle as I settled myself on his lap. “But this one is good—really, really, really good.”

“You have my word,” Bill promised. “And my heart.”

“Hell will soon have a new prince,” I said softly as I watched Satan and Elle talk and laugh together.

My son was finally happy and that delighted me. Satan was already the father to the Seven Deadly Sins and Dixie. However, he didn’t have a son… yet. Karma was about to kick his ass. Hard. The little boy waiting to make an entrance was naughtier than Satan on his worst day. I grinned. Payback was a bitch.

“Are you serious?” Bill asked, biting back a laugh.

“Nope. I’m Mother Nature,” I teased, grinning. “We’re going to be grandparents again.”

“Will you tell them?” he inquired with a delighted smirk.

“I don’t know. It might be more fun to watch them figure it out. They will be fine after the initial shock. It will be hilarious.”

“It’s true,” Bill said, pulling me close and holding me tight.

“What’s true?”

“A mother’s love is the most powerful magic in the Universe,” he said.

“I’d like to amend that statement,” I told him.

Bill looked at me quizzically and waited.

“Love is the most powerful magic in the Universe,” I told him. “It makes the world go ‘round.”

“Indeed, it does,” Bill said and kissed me like no one was watching.

The only problem was… everyone was watching.

“For the love of wanting to keep my food in my stomach,” Satan groused. “Get a room.”

Without even looking up, I electrocuted him. All was right with my world. I was in the arms of the man who made me whole. My children were happy and healthy. I had new friends—granted they were just awful—but they were mine and I was keeping them. I brought a dysfunctional family together and I still looked like a million bucks.

Life. Was. Terrific.

“Come fly with me?” Bill said, standing up and holding out his hand.

“Always, lover,” I replied as I blew kisses to all my friends. “Always.”

Cloud Sixty-Nine was waiting for us.

We made very good use of it.

Very, very, very good use.

Love was definitely the most powerful magic in the Universe.

I will stand by that statement until the end of time.

# # The End… for now # #

Note From The Author

If you enjoyed reading A Fashionable Fiasco, please consider leaving a positive review or rating on the site where you purchased it. Reader reviews help my books continue to be valued by resellers and help new readers make decisions about reading them.

You are the reason I write these stories and I sincerely appreciate each of you!

Many thanks for your support,

~ Robyn Peterman

Want to hear about my new releases?

Visit robynpeterman.com and join my mailing list!

Excerpt from: Beauty Loves the Beast

This is an excerpt from Book 1 of the Wylde Paranormal Love Story Series

GET YOUR COPY HERE!

Prologue

Georgia

A cage? A freaking cage? How had my life ended up in a cage?

Only four short months ago, I was a twenty-eight-year-old woman in my prime with an exciting—albeit dangerous—career ahead of me and a company car.

Now I was trapped in a four-by-four-foot cage in a highly classified lab.

Rattling the bars and realizing they were made out of some kind of electrified metal—I sat back and let the stinging in my hands abate. Taking stock of my life seemed pretty damned fruitless, but what else could I do, given the horrifying situation I was in?

Fine. I’d use my mind so I didn’t lose what was left of it.

Closing my eyes and searching for a serene place to escape to was an epic fail. Meditation had never been my friend. The sandy beach I pictured had sharks in the water. The pond I envisioned was full of alligators. And the peaceful meadow was full of emaciated and starving grizzly bears.

All I could summon up to focus on where I wouldn’t die a violent imaginary death was Scott. Scott, aka Hair Pants, the last guy I’d dated—or some loose definition of the word—before I’d ended up in hell. Whatever. Anything to take my mind off the torture I’d been through and the torture that was yet to come. Digging into my mortifying dating past was far less painful than trying to break out of my cramped prison—again.

So Hair Pants it is. Scott was a nice person—still is, I assumed. It was mean to focus on his flaws since God only knew I had quite a few of my own. But Scott’s flaw had been expertly concealed… by his pants.

Of course, I didn’t discover his alarming, furry secret until he’d disrobed in full light in my tiny government-issued apartment after a booze-filled night on the town. He was a civilian. I should have known better.

Now to be fair—to me—I had no clue that Scott was a man-scaper. I mean, his back was as smooth as a baby’s butt though he clearly trimmed his chest hair. A little weird, but acceptable. Admittedly, I plucked my eyebrows and got my bikini line waxed regularly. I wasn’t the girliest of girls, but I had some semblance of female vanity.

However, when Scott removed his jeans and tighty whities to reveal what I’d have to describe as full-on hair pants—covering every inch of the landscape all the way to his toes—I laughed so hard I almost choked. Guilt still plagued me on that one.

Occasionally, I played back the scene when I wanted to punish myself for something, but right now I was being punished enough as it was.

I had no clue why Hair Pants had popped into my thoughts. Scott couldn’t help being hairy, but I’d think a dude who clearly waxed his back and trimmed the chest rug might have had the foresight to de-hair his ass.

Suffice it to say that evening was the end of our very short relationship. My shocked laughter followed by an absurd amount of apologies mixed with choked-back hysterics killed the possibility of a happily ever after with Scott. However, the hairy irony didn’t escape me. I’d thought Scott was working an animal look, and here I sat in a freakin’ cage.

Actually, if I was being honest with myself—and why not—since I was probably going to die soon anyway,, I’d have to admit I’d never had a real relationship. I was too weird, and now I was completely broken.

Noticing the plate of what the guards thought passed as food in the corner of my cage, I swallowed hard and pushed back the ravenous hunger that had consumed me for a week. I’d only eaten the disgusting rations once, and the next thing I knew, I was in a cage sporting more hideous scars all over my body.

My dear friends clearly had some fun implanting God only knew what inside me. Sabrina Wenbo and Don Jarred were scientists—mad government scientists—and I was their pet at the moment. I was also stupid and shortsighted, but hindsight is twenty-twenty.

There had been six of us—bright-eyed and bushy-tailed brand new CIA recruits. We were clearly interchangeable. I was the only one left alive as far as I knew. The others were gone and I assumed dead. Lucky them.

Methodically pushing the food into the cracks and crevices in the filthy floor beneath my cage was the only power I had at the moment. I would not be drugged again and the first chance I had to make a break for it, I would. The guards—who were walking clichés dressed completely in black—would force-feed me if they knew what I’d been doing.

Wenbo and Jarred had enhanced me to the point they now feared me. I feared myself. I was a monster—a beast. However, as barbaric as I’d become, I had no plans to live out what was left of my life in a cage. I was a fighter. I’d always been a fighter. They’d made me an abomination and a killer. Now it was their turn to reap what they’d sown.

Today was the day I’d take my life back…

Or die trying.

The blood in my veins felt like fire and the sound as my bones cracked and reformed was sickening. My vision grew sharper and my sense of smell was so keen, I could scent the soap or lack thereof on the two guards with tranquilizer guns aimed at me.

They’d gotten cocky and I’d gotten smarter. It was unusual that only two guards would be on me. Normally it was four. Sadly, the scientists hadn’t come for the party. Whatever. I wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth. I was out of my cage. It would be far easier to destroy only two.

“Not as feisty today, are ya?” The main guard laughed as he carefully placed the large syringe he’d just pulled from my shifted body onto the tray.

My skin was now shiny black fur and my eyes were slits of yellow gold. Paws with razor-sharp claws had replaced my hands and the teeth in my mouth were positively obscene. I resembled a black panther—a deformed, part-human black panther.

A monster.

The monster was ready to show the enemy exactly what she could do. Today would either be the last day of my miserable life or the beginning of my freedom.

As the poison made its way through my system, I lurched forward onto all fours. It would be better to die. Something like me should not exist—should never exist. But if I died, they would keep destroying others.

“Are the cameras on?” the second one inquired as he glanced over at me in disgust.

“No,” the first confirmed with a sadistic grin. “Thought you might want to get back at it for making you piss your pants the other day.”

“Fuck you and thank you,” the second one grunted as he traded his tranq gun for a Taser wand.

The tranq gun I could handle. As long as I was fast enough to turn and take it in my shoulder, I could rip it out before the sedative went to work. My claws would tear into my arm, but it was a better alternative than being knocked out cold. The Taser? More of a problem.

Rolling into a ball and cowering on the floor was the beginning of my plan to make sure death paid a visit to the icy-cold lab that I’d called home for far too long. I just hoped it wouldn’t be mine. My demise would come by my own hand soon enough. I still had some business to take care of.

“It’s no fun if it doesn’t fight back,” the guard with the Taser complained as he warily approached.

“Sure it is,” the main bastard grumbled and kicked my spine. “As long as we don’t kill it, no one will be the wiser.”

I could smell their fear and their psychotic excitement. Now what I wanted to smell was their blood. Giving them the confidence to get sloppy was going to hurt like hell, but pain had become my norm. No pain. No gain.

“Start on low. Make it last,” the main guard snarled as he kicked me in the head. “It hasn’t eaten in a while. It’s weak.”

“This is gonna be good,” the second said as he pressed the Taser against my back.

The volt of electricity shot through my frame and my grotesque body flailed and contorted. A hiss of agony escaped through my teeth, but I lay still and took it. I could last through at least three shots—four if they kept the power on low or medium.

“Don’t draw blood,” the main asshole advised. “It’ll still be bleeding when it shifts back to human.”

“This abomination is not human,” the second sneered as he slammed the wand against my neck and electrocuted me again. “I don’t get paid enough to deal with shit like this. You hear me, monster? If you ever try to make me look like a fool again, I’ll kill you. Say it was a fucking accident.”

One more. My body could take one more. I eyed their positions. They stood side by side and grinned at each other. The lack of reaction on my part made them bold. My heart thundered in my chest and I asked a God I wasn’t sure existed for forgiveness for what I was about to do.

The third time was the charm—for me, not them.

Their end was bloody and it was fast. As my claws raked their shocked and surprised faces, I knocked the weapons from their hands. The metal instruments of death shattered the bottles of poison lined up on the metal counters on the far side of the room. The glass exploded and the shards glittered in the harsh fluorescent light of the room.

Their screams of pain echoed through the chilly lab, and I growled deep in my throat as I pinned the bloody pieces of shit to the floor. None of what was happening would ever be caught on camera. No. My horrifying captors had made sure no one would witness the beating they’d planned on giving me—hence, no one would ever have the displeasure of viewing their deaths.

The begging didn’t move me. I’d begged for my own life far more eloquently than these two and it had fallen on deaf ears. Even though hatred consumed me, I felt sick and raw inside as I stared at the fear on the faces of the men who had kept me trapped and took pleasure in torturing me for months on end. I wasn’t born a killer. I was made one.

And sadly it was easy.

All too easy.

1

Carter

The room was dim. My head was pounding. My mouth felt like sandpaper.

Get a fucking grip. Panic gets you nowhere except six feet under. Dead is not on my agenda today.

Closing my eyes, I pushed aside the excruciating pain that racked my six-foot-four frame and focused my mind. My name… what the fuck was my name?

Carter. My name was Carter… is Carter.

Wait… was it? Yes. My name is Carter. Carter Wylde. Former Navy SEAL. Four tours in Afghanistan and many more that weren’t on any government record book. Hell, I was fairly sure I didn’t exist anymore, according to dear old Uncle Sam.

I was no longer in the game. I had enemies, but I’d been off the radar for several years now. As far as I knew, Sean was the only man from my old life who had a vague idea where I was and what I used to be. And that loyal son of a bitch would never give me up.

Was it day? Was it night? Fuck…

My body felt like it had been run over by a Mack truck. Opening my eyes took extreme effort. However, the frantic lavender-eyed woman was gorgeous enough for me to make the effort. She paced the room like a caged tiger—long limbs, wild dark blonde hair and a completely freaked-out demeanor.

What in the hell was going on?

“Ohthankfreakingod,” she choked out on a single breath, wringing her hands and peering at me with red-rimmed amethyst eyes. “You’re not dead.”

“Debatable. Do I know you?” I asked in a pained voice that sounded like I’d swallowed gravel.

She’d clearly been crying. Why?

“Umm, no,” she replied haltingly with shaking hands as she tidied the blankets that covered me. “Not really—not yet… I mean no. No, you don’t know me.”

“Where am I?” I asked, attempting to move my arms. They felt like they weighed a ton. What the fuck?

Had I been poisoned? Kidnapped? The woman smoothing the damp hair from my forehead didn’t seem remotely dangerous or the type to kidnap, but…

“Name?” I demanded roughly, narrowing my eyes while slowly and painfully moving myself to a seated position with Herculean effort. “Location?”

“What the hell? You sat up,” she pointed out, dumbfounded.

Raising my brow and taking in my surroundings, I gave her a curt nod. “Apparently,” I snapped. “Answer my questions before I decide to stand up. I can promise you that won’t end well.”

During my time as a SEAL, I’d been shot, tortured and had gone for weeks without solid food. I was familiar with the side effects of those situations. What I was feeling now?

Well, it was fucked up.

“Georgia.”

“Is that where we are? Or your name?”

“Actually, both,” she said with a giggle that didn’t belong in this particular conversation. At all.

“How about this, Georgia from Georgia… you tell me what’s going on—all of it—and you’ll leave this room alive.”

“Is there another option?” she asked, wrinkling her nose and tilting her head.

Goddammit, she was stunning.

Inhaling in through my nose and breathing out through my mouth, I gave myself a second to reconsider suggesting she could get naked and crawl into the bed with me. Clearly, I’d lost a few necessary brain cells when I was beaten to a pulp… or run over by a truck… or poisoned… or God only knew what. At least I was in still in the state I’d chosen as my temporary home.

Home was a vague term. I hadn’t had a home in years and that worked for me just fine. Being tied to anything for longer than a month or two made me uneasy. Quite honestly, this situation was making me uneasy. The woman running the show at the moment wasn’t working on all cylinders.

And why in the hell wasn’t I wary of Georgia from Georgia? I wasn’t in any position to be threatening anyone, even a small woman at this point. She could end me with a needle, a gun, or possibly just by leaving me here to die.

Not being in charge was not my idea of a good time. “You have three seconds,” I growled as she watched me like I was a science experiment gone awry.

“Okay,” she said, expelling a long sigh and gingerly sitting down on the edge of the bed.

For a bad guy—or girl—she smelled awfully good.

“I’m waiting.”

“I’m forming my dang thoughts,” she shot back, running her hands through her wild hair and rolling her eyes at me.

Unbelievable. She’d clearly done something to incapacitate me and was now acting the victim? If I could just stand, I could get my bearings and get the hell out of here. Since that seemed beyond the realm of possibilities at the moment, I’d have to listen to her story. However, the longer she paused, the less likely the truth would fall from her mouth… a mouth that was made for sin.

Damn it, I didn’t do the enemy. Right now, Georgia from Georgia was the enemy until she proved otherwise.

“Now, this might sound a little weird, but…” she said while twisting her hair in her slim fingers.

“Did you just say weird?” I asked.

Was I being punked? Was this some sort of fucked-up joke compliments of my former unit that I’d avoided like the plague since I’d been stateside?

She nodded and then jumped up and began to pace again. “Yep, weird.”

The room was small and her movement made me dizzy. There wasn’t much to the room—more like an afterthought—a bed, a dresser, a chair and a braided rug that had seen better days.

Was this her home? A motel? Shit, as my body began to regain strength, my mind became more muddled.

“Go on,” I said, not letting on that I was able to move my arms and legs with more ease now. I had no clue if my beautiful Georgia was working alone.

“Okay, so Sean told me to find you.”

“Bullshit,” I interrupted her. “Not possible. He doesn’t know where I am.”

Her pacing stopped, and I watched her search for her next lie. “True,” she agreed. “He didn’t know exactly where you were, but… umm…”

“Listen lady,” I snapped, quickly losing what little patience I possessed—which had never been much. “Get to the point. Now.”

“I picked you up in a bar because I’m a… well, I suppose the fastest way to explain it is I’m a government experiment. You weren’t hard to pick up at all. I figured you’d be… you know…”

“Clearly, I don’t know,” I said, closing my eyes for a brief moment and shaking my head. Georgia from Georgia was missing a few screws. A government experiment?

“I thought you’d be old and ugly.”

“Because?” I asked, somehow finding this bizarre exchange amusing.

“I don’t know,” she replied with an annoyed shrug. “Sean said you were a deadly killer. I need a deadly killer and someone who can help me disappear. He didn’t mention you were hot and ripped and really freaking tall. Anyway, I don’t want to live on an exam table or in a cage for the rest of my life. So since it would take a nuclear explosion to kill my abnormal ass, I decided to escape. But escaping from the government when they’ve spent millions of dollars on you tends to be a bit difficult. Plus, I’m pretty sure I might have accidentally had to kill a few people on my way out. I didn’t want to, but… you know, they weren’t too keen on me busting out. Plus the Taser wand really hurt.”

“Are you right in the head?” I asked, trying to follow her ridiculous story. I did have to admit I enjoyed the hot and ripped part, but she was unkillable? Living in a cage? Accidentally had to kill people? The Taser hurt? If her goal was to confuse, she was succeeding.

“Well, no, probably not. But really, who is?” she asked.

“Fine point. Well made,” I said, sarcasm dripping from each word. “Please do go on, I’m sure this gets better.”

“It does,” she assured me, either ignoring my cynicism or letting it fly right over her insanely sexy head. “Well, umm… so after the shit show of my escape and a brief detour, as I said, I picked you up and then…”

She stopped, let her head fall back on her shoulders and stared at the ceiling.

“Clock is ticking,” I reminded her.

“This was a bad fucking idea,” she muttered, turning away and lightly banging her head against the wall. “Such a bad idea. Never should have listened to Sean and now I’m stuck with him. Bad, bad, bad idea.”

“Georgia,” I said harshly.

She paused her self-flagellation and glanced over in surprise, as if she was shocked I was still in the room with her. She was off her rocker, but unfortunately, I was attracted to trouble that looked like her. And she was clearly going to be a lot of trouble.

“What exactly is the bad fucking idea? And while you’re at it, explain why I can’t move my limbs.”

“Should I start at the very beginning?” Georgia asked.

“It’s a very good place to start,” I replied, trying to bite back the grin that was pulling at my lips.

Her delighted laugh filled the small, dingy room and she clasped her hands together in glee. “I didn’t take you for a Sound of Music fan.”

“And why not?” I asked, pretending to be insulted.

What the hell was I doing? Playing von Trapp Family trivia with a lunatic who I secretly wanted to bed? Her laugh was like a breath of fresh air and for a moment I forgot all of the ugliness in my past. My gut said she was for real, and my gut had served me well, but far too many puzzle pieces were missing at the moment for me to break into Edelweiss.

And trust me, I could. Reciting that movie almost word for word had kept me sane during some of the most horrific moments of my existence.

“Back to the story, Georgia. Now,” I said, getting serious. I would not be seduced by a laugh. I was too far gone for normal.

“Right. The story… You’re not going to believe me.”

“Try me.”

Robyn’s Book List

(in correct reading order)

HOT DAMNED SERIES

Fashionably Dead

Fashionably Dead Down Under

Hell on Heels

Fashionably Dead in Diapers

A Fashionably Dead Christmas

Fashionably Hotter Than Hell

Fashionably Dead and Wed

Fashionably Fanged

Fashionably Flawed

A Fashionably Dead Diary

Fashionably Forever After

Fashionably Fabulous

A Fashionable Fiasco

More coming soon…

SEA SHENANIGANS SERIES

Tallulah’s Temptation

Ariel’s Antics

Misty’s Mayhem

Madison’s Mess

SHIFT HAPPENS SERIES

Ready to Were

Some Were in Time

No Were To Run

Were Me Out

Where We Belong

MAGIC AND MAYHEM SERIES

Switching Hour

Witch Glitch

A Witch in Time

Magically Delicious

A Tale of Two Witches

Three’s A Charm

Switching Witches

A WYLDE PARANORMAL LOVE STORY SERIES

Beauty Loved the Beast

HANDCUFFS AND HAPPILY EVER AFTERS SERIES

How Hard Can it Be?

Size Matters

Cop a Feel

If after reading all the above you are still wanting more adventure and zany fun, read Pirate Dave and His Randy Adventures, the romance novel budding novelist Rena was helping wicked Evangeline write in How Hard Can It Be?

Warning: Pirate Dave Contains Romance Satire, Spoofing, and Pirates with Two Pork Swords.

About Robyn Peterman

Robyn Peterman writes because the people inside her head won’t leave her alone until she gives them life on paper. Her addictions include laughing really hard with friends, shoes (the expensive kind), Target, Coke Zero Cherry with extra ice in a Styrofoam cup, bejeweled reading glasses, her kids, her super-hot hubby and collecting stray animals.

A former professional actress with Broadway, film and T.V. credits, she now lives in the South with her family and too many animals to count.

Writing gives her peace and makes her whole, plus having a job where you can work in your underpants works really well for her. You can leave Robyn a message via her website and she’ll get back to you as soon as her bizarre life permits! She loves to hear from her fans!

Facebook

Twitter

Instagram