Chapter 12 Astrid
ASTRID
I felt strange and unsettled as I walked hand in hand with my uncle back to the others.
Could I force myself to feel something I didn’t necessarily believe?
Would the Universe know I was lying if I said I respected the Devil?
There were days I wished I was a better liar. Today was one of those days.
I glanced over at him. He might look like me, but I fully recognized him for who he was at his core. At this point, it didn’t even seem all that weird that he was walking around in an Astrid suit. Was that a good omen or a bad one? I had a lot to consider where he was concerned.
Did I love Uncle Fucker? Yes. Did I like him? Most of the time, yes. Did I know in my heart that deep down he was a good guy? Yes. Absolutely. Was stealing office supplies one of his favorite hobbies? Yep. Would he always be a dick? Umm… yes. It was who he was. But did I respect him?
It was complicated.
I’d looked up the definition of respect on my phone earlier.
The result made me feel a little sick. According to the online dictionary, the word meant a feeling of deep admiration for someone due to someone’s abilities, qualities or achievements.
Would I be able to get there with Satan?
He had admirable abilities, certainly. And, as the leader of Hell, he’d racked up millions of achievements since his birth.
However, I wasn’t convinced he had great qualities when it came to how he treated others.
He’d done good by rewarding Critter Steve and Trapper Rick with homes and pets and a buttload of money.
But he’d done it while hiding his true self inside me.
It hadn’t cost him anything to be magnanimous because he didn’t have to worry about upholding his image as a leader who never bent.
I was fairly sure he wouldn’t have been able to put aside his ego and bring himself to do the same if he’d been in his own skin.
Did it matter? He’d still done it. But he’d also been the one who damned them to a hideous life of cleaning cesspits for a century in the first place, all because they’d told him his butt looked big in pantaloons.
I mean, did anyone’s ass look good in pantaloons?
The answer was a resounding no. It was really fucking hard to respect someone who was that fragile about his butt.
Shit.
The risk that we might destroy our only chance to reverse Mother Nature’s spell by wasting a hug if both of us weren’t on the same page was more terrifying than any enemy I’d ever faced.
Maybe, Uncle Fucker was right about dealing with the problem at hand.
Move forward, not back. The past lived where it was supposed to.
We only had the future to mold. The week wasn’t over yet.
We still had time to walk in each other’s shoes.
Oklahoma was the most immediate problem at hand.
The chances of everything going up in flames—literally and metaphorically—were high.
There was the good possibility that Ethan would recognize me no matter what my outer shell looked like.
That could be bad. Seriously bad. However, Vamps killing humans and Ethan being in the middle of it without my backup was worse.
We were a team. We were stronger together. Period.
When we rejoined the group, they were ready to go.
Me? Not so much. We needed to look battle-ready, and our clothes weren’t exactly going-to-battle couture.
Martha and Jane were still in the Chanel pantsuits.
They looked presentable for once in their life—especially with normal-sized perky boobs—but it wasn’t right for the mission ahead.
Lizard, in mom jeans and a flowy top, was a travesty, but he was still cute in a semi-ugly way. Uncle Fucker and I were disasters.
It was time for an outfit upgrade.
“Hey! Tits McBoulderBomb, your balls are buzzing,” Martha pointed out.
“My what?” I asked, confused.
She pointed to the crotch of my gray track pants. “Your nuts, your nads, your chicken tenders.”
Jane helped her out. “Your wrinkle-purse, your meat clackers, your snapper slappers.”
“Oh my God,” I shouted. “I get it. Stop already.”
They were correct… kind of. My phone was in my pocket, and I’d gotten a text. I pulled it out and read. My stomach dropped, I heard a ringing in my ears and white-hot fury made my vision blur. I was as close as I’d ever been to a panic attack.
“Fuck,” I snarled, reading it again to make sure I hadn’t misunderstood the message. It was difficult to see the screen since my fingers were spitting sparks. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”
I hadn’t been mistaken. It was time to leave. Now.
Slicing my hands through the air, I dressed all five of us in black combat pants, black long- sleeved t-shits and matching shit kickers.
It wasn’t enough. Snapping my fingers, I armed Martha, Lizard, Jane, Uncle Fucker and myself to the teeth—swords, knives, razor sharp daggers, throwing stars, katanas and grenades.
Grenades wouldn’t end an Immortal’s life, but they could create necessary diversions.
Without even thinking, I clapped my hands together so hard it stung.
I focused on Satan and myself. In a flash of lightning, I restored the damage we’d done to each other.
My hair on his head was back to normal. The lipstick was gone. His bald spot on my head was also gone.
The Devil arched a brow and gave me a look that would have withered a lesser Immortal. I was not a lesser Immortal. I was the Chosen One, and my mate had been kidnapped by a bunch of human-murdering soon-to-be-headless Vamps.
“That could have ended badly, Dickie,” Satan commented, tossing both sides of my hair over his shoulders. “I’d highly suggest calming down before you turn us into Trolls by accident.”
I nodded curtly. “Roger that, Pussycat,” I snapped. I shouldn’t take my rage out on him. He was correct. My lack of thinking could have counteracted the spell. My fury was making me sloppy. People died that way, or got stuck with private parts that belonged to someone else for eternity.
“Show me the phone, Astrid,” Satan demanded, holding out his hand.
I handed him the phone, squatted and let my head drop between my knees. Breathing deeply was an odd sensation, but it calmed me down.
Rage made a person careless. Careless could get my husband killed.
“Motherfuckers,” Satan growled. “Stupid motherfuckers.”
“My liege,” Lizard said, chomping his gum and choking up on his bat. “What’s going on?”
I stood and held up a hand. “I’ve got this,” I said, flatly. My heart still raced, but I had my emotions under control. “It’s a message from the Oklahoma Vamps. They have Ethan’s phone and they have him.”
“MOTHERFUCKERS,” Jane shouted.
“WORD,” Martha agreed.
“What do they want?” Lizard asked in a voice that made the hair on my neck stand up.
“Me. They want me. Ethan’s life in exchange for mine. They despise me and figure this is the way to end me. They want me to come alone and unarmed.”
“Are they braindead?” Satan asked. “You’re a True Immortal. You can’t die unless you choose to and they have the damn Sword of Death. Trust me, Mr. Rogers isn’t going to let some random ass Vamps from the armpit of the United States have the Sword of Death.”
I simply stared at him.
“No, Astrid,” he ground out through clenched teeth. “You will not choose to die for him.”
“He would die for me,” I shot back.
“And you think he’ll be delighted if you give your life for his?” he hissed. “I can tell you that he won’t.”
I shook my head. He wouldn’t be delighted. Ethan would be furious. But he would do the same if the tables were turned. I walked over to Uncle Fucker and got in his face. “You’re telling me you wouldn’t trade your life for Elle or Luke?”
“Of course I would,” he shouted, then froze in surprise. “Holy Hell, I would,” he whispered in wonder. “I would give my life for them in a heartbeat.”
“Then you understand,” I said.
He couldn’t answer me. A lie would be absurd, and the truth was too awful to speak out loud.
“May I pontificate on the subject?” Lizard asked. “I have some thoughts.”
“Yes,” I said. This would either be brilliant, or alarming, or brilliantly alarming. One could never tell with Lizard. “But make it quick.”
He nodded and shoved another piece of gum into his mouth.
“I say ain’t nobody gonna die except these sons-of-bitches who sent you that text.
” He tapped his baseball bat against his palm, and there was a homicidal look in his eyes that I felt to the bottom of my soul.
“Here’s the plan…,” he said, then proceeded to spew out one Hell of a messed-up plan.
We all stood there in stunned to silence when he finished. I wasn’t sure if I’d just lived through a fever dream or if the Demon had no gray matter left in his brain.
It took Uncle Fucker a full minute to make words. “So, your plan is to shrink Martha and Jane to pocket size. Did I hear that correctly?”
“Yeppers,” he said with a quick thumbs up.
“Is that even possible?” I asked, confused.
“It is,” Martha said, waggling her eye brows. “Normally, we do it for nookie purposes, but we can use it for killing jackasses as well.”
Never in my life was I going to ask for clarification on shrinking for nookie purposes. Never ever, ever.
“How?” Satan asked.
Lizard was positively smug. “I know a guy who knows a guy who knows a Unicorn who blackmailed a Troll who got it from the Fairies and BINGO, I learned me a shrinkin’ spell.”
I looked at Satan.
His mouth was wide open.
“You expect Satan, as me, to go into the Oklahoma Vampyre compound with Martha and Jane in his pockets?” I questioned.
“Correct,” Lizard said.
I kept going. “And I, as Satan, and you, as you, will wrap ourselves around his legs like freaking contortionists and go in as well?”
“Yep.”
“Umm… won’t that be a little bulky looking?” I asked, wondering if Lizard’s two brain cells had disconnected somehow.