A Fashionably Dead Christmas: Hot Damned Series, Book 5 (6 page)

The other three nodded their little heads spastically in agreement.

My Baby Demons were tiny menaces, but I adored them. Beyonce, Honest Abe, Rachel and Ross stood about three inches tall. I found them on my ceiling when I’d just been turned and had adopted them as my own. On days like today, I regretted the decision immensely. They were named because of their uncanny resemblance to their historical counterparts.

They were ugly little suckers who didn’t poop or bite. However, they did eat. They ate bad Demons and occasionally car salesmen.

“The baboon has to go. The four of you do enough damage without adding a hairy six foot beast to the mix,” I stated firmly.

And that’s when the crying started.

Initially it was just the Baby Demons. Along with the tears, they began slapping themselves and each other as they tumbled off the remains of the bed and into a pile of what looked disturbingly like baboon poop.

Samuel started next. Huge tears rolled down his cheeks as he silently pled with me not to get rid of his new beloved pet from Hell—or the zoo to be more accurate.

Third and most alarming, the baboon let her rip. Enormous tears and sobbing that made me slap my hands over my ears ensued from him.

The waterworks in the room almost rivaled the monsoon from my closet, but not quite.

“
Enough
,” I shouted over the opera of sorrow. “Turn off the tears. If I get wet again, my dress will shrink more. Santa will be in danger of seeing my ass—not to mention the rest of my unstable family.”

“Can me smack your ass?” Abe inquired politely.

“No, you cannot,” I snapped as I put some distance between me and the little Demon bastards. I was certain they were covered in baboon crap and I had nothing else to wear. I refused to smell like primate poop. Not happening.

“Samuel,” I reasoned as I gingerly removed my baby from the wailing baboon’s furry arms. “Your new friend seems… um… lovely… but this is not a good place to keep a baboon. Grandma Gigi was planning all along to let him live with her and you can visit him whenever you want.”

“I was?” Mother Nature asked in surprise.

“
Yes
,” I hissed through my smile, as I shot her a look that made even Satan drop his gaze. “
You were
.”

“Oh, right,” she agreed quickly. “He can live with my monkeys in the guest house. There’s a pool and a wonderful Jacuzzi, and a banana grove right outside.”

Samuel considered this new wrinkle seriously for a moment before he nodded sadly. “Okay, Mommy. But he can stay for Christmas, right?”

I nodded numbly and mentally kicked my own ass hard for giving in so easily. If the baboon could do this much damage in the space of an hour or so, there was no telling what he could fuck up in twenty-four. But I had given my child my word.

“Yes, he can stay for Christmas. Do you think he might like a nice cage to hang out in?” I suggested cautiously.

“Grauhumph pookityflabe moomoo,” the baboon grunted and patted delicately at his tear stained face.

“He say no, Mommy,” Samuel said.

“Of course he does,” I mumbled as I glared at the hairy shit machine.

“He say he lived in cage and terrible mans hit him with sticks and hurt him bad,” my boy translated.

Blobbityflonk nodded his large head sadly and visibly shuddered at the memory. My stomach clenched as I wondered if the beast was telling the truth. I was also curious how in the Hell my son understood him so easily, but my baby was a freakin’ wonder. Not much surprised me anymore.

Putting Samuel down, I walked over to Blobbityflonk and squatted in front of him. Damn it to Hell if he wasn’t cute in a hairy, smelly, baboon kind of way. He extended his arm and silently bade me to examine it.

“Fretogoogy daroopmlakreefa,” he whispered.

Thankfully, his actions made his unintelligible language make sense. He sounded like a baby Wookiee. Damn my love for Star Wars to Hell.

Angry, red, scabbed over welts lay beneath his fur. On closer inspection, I realized most of his body had heinous jagged scars all over it. This animal had been beaten within an inch of his life. What kind of assholes beat defenseless baboons?

“Motherhumpincrapcanoes,” I said as I took the foul animal into my arms and hugged him tight. “You can stay for Christmas, but no more breaking things. If you poop in the house, I will make you eat it. We have an enormous amount of underused toilets in the compound. You will use them instead. Furthermore, if you clog any of the toilets with your crap, I will use your head as a plunger. We clear?”

“Gahhhhwhompa,” he said with a grateful nod and then licked my face.

“And no more of that licking stuff,” I gagged out as I grabbed what used to be a t-shirt and mopped the slobber off my face. “Wait. Did you just say thank you?” I asked, shocked that I might have understood his gibberish. I did have a bizarre talent for languages, but baboon wasn’t exactly a language.

“Blahookah flonymassageggegee.” He nodded with delight.

“Um… I didn’t get that one, but if that statement included any swear words, I’ll wash your mouth out with soap,” I threatened.

“Flinky blowhoppas wasdacrump.” He slapped his hairy thighs and laughed like I was a professional comedian.

And the day got longer.

“Can he sleep with me?” Sammy asked softly.

I looked around the room and groaned. My son’s nursery was not habitable. The top floor of the mansion was a wreck too. The fire and subsequent storm which had doused the flames had rendered my suite completely useless. What the Hell were we going to do to sleep?

The compound was large, but most of the rooms were taken. I knew any Vampyre here would happily give their suite up for us, but I wasn’t going to make any of my people homeless on Christmas Eve.

Damn. We were a menagerie without a manger. Maybe I was taking this reenactment stuff a little too far.

Satan and Gigi had guest rooms, but they weren’t big enough to hold all of us comfortably. Leaving my grandma and uncle alone to their own devices was most definitely out of the question.

There was only one thing to do and no one was going to be happy about it.

“We’re going to have a slumber party by the Christmas tree,” I announced in my loudest outdoor voice, hoping that sheer volume would distract everyone from the horror of what I had just said.

Nope. No such luck.

“Fine, but I sleep naked,” Satan announced with his arms spread wide as if we should applaud this unsavory bit of info.

“Not tonight you don’t,” Ethan said as he ran his hands through his hair, then purposely banged his head against the doorframe.

“Are you sure about this, Astrid?” Mother Nature inquired with raised brows.

“Nope, not even a little bit, but it’s what we’re doing. That way I can keep my eye on everyone and with some luck my home might still be standing tomorrow.”

I scrounged around and tried to find some PJs for my boy that hadn’t been torn to shreds. I did find some only slightly holey Batman underoos. They’d have to do.

“Ethan, can you take Samuel and have cots delivered to the Great Room?” I asked as I tossed him the pathetic excuse for jammies.

He nodded and caught them. “Will do,” he replied as he hoisted our baby onto his broad shoulders.

“Me love slumber parties,” Samuel said as he clapped his hands happily.

Satan sighed heavily and took his mother by her hand. “On my birthday, everyone will have their own quarters. And the baboon will not be invited.”

On that note they exited, leaving me with said baboon and the Baby Demons. I plopped down in defeat amongst the disarray and put my head in my hands. This was not going at all like it was supposed to go. I’d planned it out so well and it was now blowing up in my face.

“Um… Mommmmmeeeey?” Abe asked as he hopped up onto my shoulder and patted my head lovingly.

“Yes?”

“Me kind of hungry. Me was just thinking me might take a little trip to the zoooooooo and have snack,” he said with an evil glint in his eye.

Glancing over at the baboon with the scars and welts all over his body, I nodded silently.

“Just make sure you eat the right ones,” I told him.

“YAYAYAYAYAYAY,” they all squealed as the baboon’s eyes filled up again.

“Garummph flobuscka shopertgashub,” he whispered.

“Did he just say he likes to put underpants on his head?” I asked the Baby Demons.

“Noooooooooo,” Abe shouted through his hysterics. “Me like to put panties on me head though.”

Clearly my understanding of baboon needed improvement.

“He say there are two bad mans and they kill the animals for insurance money,” Rachel spat angrily.

“And the bad mans keep the moneys,” Ross added.

My stomach roiled. I knew then I was going to keep the hairy, maimed bastard. Ethan was going to shit a brick, but I’d work that out later.

“Honkasoopy clamatootiewojah deekiemoma.”

“I really hope I heard that wrong,” I hissed. I felt sick.

“Me don’t know, Mommmeeey, but Blobbityflonk also say they kill his family slow and laugh about it,” Abe informed me as he flitted over to the beast and gave him sweet little kisses.

I’d heard correctly.

My fury at what had been done to Blobbityflonk made my hands spark. I quickly tamped it down. There was nothing good to come of me incinerating another room in my house. If I’d had the time, I’d pay a personal visit to the zoo and throw down a little whoop ass before my Demons ate. But alas, there was no time. Christmas was coming whether I was ready or not.

“Lock the doors when you get home,” I said as I stood and extended my hand to the baboon.

He took it and started to lick it.

“What did I say about licking? Absolutely not,” I said sternly as he sucked his tongue back into his mouth guiltily. “You lick any part of me and you will lick all the floors clean in the entire compound.”

“Clabadorunkee fifimacca!”

The idiot thought that what I said was hilarious and inadvertently yanked me down on top of him in his laughing fit. I dropped my head to his chest and hugged him over his mirth.

The Baby Demons joined in and I eventually gave up all hopes of smelling good on Christmas Day. Some things were simply more important than me ending up smelling like a baboon.

“We go now?” Abe asked.

“Yep, go,” I replied as I stood up and pulled the beast to his feet. “Just be back for Christmas. It’s gonna be an interesting one.”

Truer words had never been said.

Chapter 6

“She snores,” Ethan hissed quietly as he tried to get his huge frame comfortable on the small cot. “And that son of a bitch talks in his sleep.”

He was referring to Mother Nature and Satan—and he was correct. Thankfully, Samuel and Blobbityflonk slept through my uncle’s play-by-play of his most recent conquest’s measurements and talents in the bedroom. Unfortunately, Ethan and I did not.

On top of the Hell we were experiencing, the pre-bedtime rituals had been trying. There had been a tense round of negotiations to get my uncle to wear pajamas. In the end, I had to let him
enhance
three more decorations.

And lest I forget to include that Blobbityflonk had to be taught to use a toilet.

“Do you think he can really do that?” I whispered as the Devil reminisced about a position that would have put me in traction.

“I will not dignify that with an answer,” Ethan replied. “However, if you want to try it, I’m game.”

“Oh my Hell.” I giggled and punched him in the arm. “We’re going to be exhausted tomorrow. I swear on my Cousin Jesus, I will never invite Satan for Christmas again.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” Ethan said with a chuckle and a gleam in his beautiful blue eyes. “Do you think we’d get busted for a make out session?”

“Can you be quiet?” I asked as I scooted my cot closer to his.

“I’m not the screamer,” he reminded me with a smirk as he yanked me off of my cot and gently placed me on top of him.

Glancing around the impromptu camp out, I made sure all were fast asleep.

Bingo.

Maybe some tongue tangling with my mate would calm my inner turmoil… or not.

“
One love feeds the fire
,” Satan sang in the key of Z minor—dead asleep.

“Oh Sweet Hell on Earth—no,” Ethan moaned as he clamped his hands over his ears.

“
One heart burns desire
,” Satan warbled even louder.

It was all I could do not to squeal with laughter, so I did the next best thing. I grabbed my cell phone and hit record. I was going to own the ultimate of all blackmail tapes.