Chapter 8 Astrid
ASTRID
“Oh my God,” I said, sniffing the delicious aroma as the server brought my food. “Sooooo gooooood.”
I almost bit Lizard’s fingers off when he tried to reach for one of my fries.
He just laughed and ordered his own. I’d apologized profusely but he assured me he understood.
He overshared about the time he had only one piece of gum in his abode and Wipe, the dummy with the baseball embedded in his pit, had chewed it.
It had erupted into bloodshed, lost limbs, a decimated house, lots of cussing and finally a good belly laugh.
Lizard’s sense of fun was as wackadoo as he was, but I was just glad he was cool that I wasn’t about to share even a crumb of food.
“Eat up, Busty McLadyBumps!” Martha said with a grin. “I’m bettin’ thirty seconds on the fries.”
“Nope,” Jane said. “I’m bettin’ she downs ‘em in fifteen.”
“I’ll wager five,” Satan said with a disapproving shake of my head.
Lizard chuckled. He gave me a thumbs up. “Alrighty, Astrid. On your mark. Get set. Go!”
With gusto, I happily destroyed the plate of French Fries and catsup on the plate front of me. The tanginess of the catsup and the saltiness of the fries was perfection. It was my every dream come true.
Six seconds. Satan won the contest without going over prize. It was only slightly embarrassing. Frankly, I was too thrilled to care.
I didn’t even give a crap about sightseeing anymore. From the expression on the Devil’s face, it was clear he regretted putting the kibosh on the Tower of London and Westminster Abby.
Too bad, so sad. It was the best day of my life after the birth of Samuel and marrying Ethan. It wouldn’t last… at least I hoped to Hell and back it wouldn’t. Being in Uncle Fucker’s body was freaking awful. Well, except for the fistful of fries I’d just shoved into my mouth.
A teeny tiny part of me hoped Mother Nature’s spell didn’t reverse too soon.
It was a very risky and selfish wish. I knew it, but I couldn’t help thinking it.
Eating was glorious. Consequently, Uncle Fucker and I were getting along pretty well.
I was positive he still thought Vamps were pussies, and I was still firmly in the camp that he was a dick. I wasn’t sure that would never change.
Was truly respecting each other what it would take to reverse the spell? I certainly fucking hoped not. That would happen when Hell froze over.
“Are you done?” Satan inquired archly, as I made my move to lick the plate.
His tone and his words stopped me abruptly.
Thank God. That would have been embarrassing. “I am. Let’s find another restaurant!”
I had not been joking when I said I wanted to eat my way through London.
Martha and Jane had enjoyed the heck out of watching me practically inhale a cheeseburger at the first pub before the sweet waitress had even placed it on the table.
Reminding myself to slow down and savor the food was impossible, but I was trying.
Leaving the pub, I spotted a bakery two doors down. Winning!
“Your manners are appalling,” Uncle Fucker said as I sprinted to the entrance.
“Thank you,” I squealed.
“It was hardly a compliment,” he replied as I grabbed a table, a menu, a waitress and started ordering. He continued speaking, “After this place, we’re going for a walk. If you burst my body like a tick, I will be pissed.”
“Got it,” I said dismissively as I perused the menu.
I ordered and asked for it to be rushed… as we were in a hurry. Not. But I hadn’t had anything sweet yet and didn’t want to miss out. The Devil kept espousing about the importance of exercise. I raised a brow and glanced his way. Uncle Fucker’s desire for a walk was several-fold.
I knew exactly what the Devil was doing.
He thought he was being covert, but I could read the Demon like a book.
As he’d led the way from pub to pub, I was aware we were making our way to Oxford Street.
I didn’t recall telling him that I’d met Critter Steve and Trapper Rick there.
I’d only mentioned London. He’d obviously done a little research.
Speaking of research…
“Lizard,” I said with a mouthful of blueberry scone that had just arrived at the table. “Did you figure out a connection between the dates, December 17th, 1976 and August 7th 2003?”
My beret wearing buddy sipped his tea and shook his head. I was floored that he extended his pinkie when holding the delicate China teacup. However, my shocked admiration was partially diminished since he continued to chew his gum like a cow chewing cud while he drank.
“Can’t rightly find a connection. Yet,” he amended quickly.
“I texted Wipe to see if he knew. The Vamp is great with random shit. All that the ball-in-the-pit bastard could come up with was that December 17th, 1976 landed on a Friday and August 7th 2003 fell on a Wednesday. Oh yeah, and 1976 was the Year of the Dragon. 2003 was the Year of the Goat. Like I said, not addin’ up. ”
“That doesn’t help,” Satan groused as he watched me polish off a chunk of cheesecake and wash it down with a root beer float. “If I’m fat by the time I get my body back, I will make your life miserable.”
I laughed and burped. Root beer did that to me. “Dude, Immortals have fast metabolism. A few extra calories will not extend your ass.”
He shook his head and made a sound of disgust. “This is the sixth establishment we’ve…
I mean, you’ve eaten in. After the pasta, pizza, hamburgers, shrimp curry, thirty-two spicy salmon rolls, fish and chips, fried rice and now this sugar fueled disaster,” he ground out pointing to the rather large array of desserts in front of me, “I’d say you’ve eaten at least fifty thousand calories. ”
“And delicious calories they were,” I said, spreading jam on an apricot and white chocolate scone and taking a bite. “Okay, back to the random ass clues. I know those dates are important. They have to be. Immortals are ridiculously cryptic.”
The arcane and mysterious way of people who lived forever drove me nuts. Even after a decade or so, I was still trying to get used to it.
“Welp, Bosom McBooby, maybe you shouldn’t have ghosted Connie,” Martha pointed out. “She was the one who brought it up.”
I swallowed the bite and sighed. Martha was correct, but Connie Raven Enid Delacroix was shady.
The woman was able to cast a spell on my son—one of the most unique and powerful Immortals in existence.
Unheard of. Something was off with the witch and I didn’t trust her.
Neither did Satan, and it was our lives—so to speak—on the line.
“I could summon her,” Jane volunteered.
I squinted at her. “You can summon a human?”
“Nonsense. Absolute rubbish,” Satan added.
“She’s a witch,” Martha reminded us. “All you gotta do is say her name three times and do the secret fuckin’ handshake. And POOF! Connie Raven Enid Delacroix shows up with her broom ready to party.”
I laughed. I shouldn’t have. The scone went down the wrong way and Lizard had to Heimlich me. Not my best moment. Still coughing, I thanked my Demon buddy. Choking would not kill me. I was Immortal, but there were still a couple of scones left and I wanted them badly.
Without any warning, Martha and Jane prepared to prove that Connie Raven Enid Delacroix could indeed be summoned and began chanting her name.
I choked again and dove over the table to stop them.
Unfortunately, Satan was all over it. Uncle Fucker, clearly forgetting we were surrounded by humans, electrocuted the daylights out of the idiots.
That move caused an explosion, screaming and a mass exodus of the bakery.
“Shit,” Satan growled as he picked up the flaming Martha and Jane and made for the door. “Run for it. This isn’t exactly explainable.”
He was correct. The customers and staff had hightailed it out of the bakery.
To find all of them and wipe their memories could take days.
We didn’t have days to waste. We needed to figure out how to appreciate each other before we accidentally destroyed London.
I didn’t exactly appreciate Satan at the moment since my remaining scones had also gone up in flames, but Lizard had my back.
He grabbed a bag and shoved ten tea cakes and fourteen scones into it before we made our escape.
“This way,” Satan insisted, still carrying Martha and Jane.
He’d doused the flames on the gals and now the two old bags were just smoldering and cackling.
Lizard held their canes that had survived the blast and used them and his bat to gently move pedestrians out of the way.
I was busy running and shoving food into my mouth. It was not a good look for any of us.
“Avoid the bobbies,” Satan warned tersely.
“The what?” I asked with a mouthful of almond tea cake that almost brought a tear to my eye.
“Coppers,” Lizard translated.
“Got it,” I replied, polishing off the remaining treats.
As we rounded a corner, Uncle Fucker took a hard right into another deserted alley. The relief was real. Running and eating wasn’t easy. I mean, I’d do it again in a pinch, but it was far preferable to sit in a restaurant and shove food into my cakehole.
Satan dropped the dumb-dumbs to the cobblestone pavement and straightened his Prada dress. “Under NO circumstances will you call on that witch,” he snapped. “She’s batshit nuts.”
“Roger that,” Martha said with a chuckle.
Lizard handed his women their canes helped them to their feet. The boobs were a problem. I wondered if they were permanent or if the spell would eventually wear off. Did it really matter? No. But looking at them was definitely more difficult than usual.