A Fashionably Dead Christmas: Hot Damned Series, Book 5 (9 page)

“You shall love this one, my dear granddaughter,” she promised. “To the kitchen everyone!”

***

The kitchen was immaculate as it was rarely used. Vampyres didn’t eat. Food was the thing I probably missed the most about being human.

Gemma had a special magic that she shared with me. Whatever she ate I could taste in her blood if I drank from her. It was wonderful, but it wasn’t the same as chowing down on a huge bowl of black raspberry ice cream or a loaded pizza.

“I have cooked up a feast for you,” Mother Nature told the now terrified crowd.

I swear I heard a few whimpers. If I could breathe, I would have heaved a ginormous sigh of relief. Today I was thankful that I didn’t eat. My grandmother’s cooking was unspeakably horrific. Pompei was demolished because her family hated her cake—true story.

“Thank you, Gigi,” I said, feeling sorry for my friends who would have to choke down some of the dishes my grandma had made. “That is, um… lovely of you.”

“Ahhhhhhh… ” she cooed. “But wait! I can only do this every thousand years or so due to some asinine rules, but I can make it so the Vampyres can eat!”

“What?” I gagged out, praying I’d heard her incorrectly.

Without another word, Mother Nature flung her hands around and did a few bump and grind moves that had my child giggling. She shouted in a language I vaguely understood and then all the Vamps in the room collapsed to the floor—including me.

“Um… Gigi, is this supposed to happen?” I asked.

My body felt as if it weighed a thousand pounds and I just wanted to sleep.

“Oh shit,” she muttered distractedly. “Haven’t done this one in a few thousand years. I do believe I’m supposed to roll my hips to the left instead of the right and I should do a booty shake in the place of the pelvic thrust.”

“Get on with it,” Ethan snapped as he tried in vain to pull himself up off the floor.

“No need to be rude, young man,” Gigi chastised.

She did her new and alarming dance. After she produced a few un-ladylike grunts and a poof of pink and blue glitter, we all regained the use of our bodies.

I stood and checked my baby. He was as happy as a pig in poop all wrapped up in Santa’s arms with his baboon hanging off of Santa’s neck. The Kev was enjoying himself tremendously and I was humbled.

I had very good friends.

“Now. Let’s eat,” Mother Nature shouted. “There are pies and cakes and I made my famous chili. Dig in folks.”

Even my grandpa had turned an unbecoming shade of green. The Sins had stealthily slunk out of the room. I wanted to bust them, but I wasn’t that mean. If they were able to escape eating Gigi’s cooking, then more power to them. Sadly, I knew my absence would be noticed.

Shitshitshit.

No one moved toward the food except Martha and Jane, who were either gluttons for punishment or weren’t aware of Mother Nature’s appalling lack of cooking skills.

“Sweet Sarah Palin in a three way,” Jane exclaimed after she downed a bowl of chili in one swallow. “This is fucking amazing.”

Maybe they didn’t have taste buds.

Mother Nature squealed in delight and hugged Jane so tight I thought poor Jane’s head might pop off. I was certain the old bag’s compliment was the first Gigi had ever received about her cooking. Ever.

“Did you try dessert?” Mother Nature asked excitedly as she yanked both Martha and Jane over to the array of sweets.

She waited with baited breath as the old ladies polished off half a cake each.

“I’d like the recipe for this one,” Martha said as she put the rest of the cake into her purse to eat later. “I detect lemon and honey and dare I say frog legs?”

“Oh my Heavens, YES!” Mother Nature shrieked with joy as she danced around the room. “I was going to use salami, but I thought the frog legs made the dish more exotic.”

“Tastes like chicken,” Jane said with a nod of appreciation. “Excellent.”

“Isn’t anyone hungry?” Mother Nature demanded.

“Well, you see… uh,” I stuttered. “I told everyone it was only very, very, very, light hor d’oeuvres and I’m sure everyone already ate.”

I finished my lie with a faux sad shake of my head.

“Is this true?” she asked with narrowed eyes and pursed lips.

The nods were vigorous.

“Steve Perry, you must be hungry. When did the idiots kidnap you?” Gigi asked.

“I’m Vegan,” Steve replied quickly. “I’m so sorry.”

His relief made me giggle. I wasn’t sure if the Vegan thing was true, but I sent him a covert thumbs up. There was no way Steve Perry knew about my grandmother’s cooking. He was just a very smart man.

“No worries,” Mother Nature told him. “And the rest of you?”

“I drank a vat of blood before I came,” Venus apologized profusely. “If I’d only know I would have abstained.”

“Me too,” shouted a chorus of every undead person in the room.

Clearly Gigi’s culinary reputation preceded her.

The silence felt year-long and I was worried my kitchen was about to turn into a jungle.

“Well,” she said slowly as if she was thinking it out as she said it. “Martha and Jane, you ladies are in luck. It’s all yours!”

“Hot damn,” Martha shouted, and she and Jane high-fived each other in glee.

The cheers from the crowd in the kitchen were deafening and the relief was palpable. The bullet had been dodged—at least for another thousand years.

“Astrid, maybe I could call in some favors on the Vampyre eating thing and cater your wedding,” Gigi suggested. “I know a few old bastards that owe me.”

“I don’t want you to do anything that would put you in a bad position,” I insisted as diplomatically as I could. What I wanted to do was gag and scream. I was certain I’d just paled to a shade short of real death.

“Not a problem at all,” she assured me with a delighted smile. “All those fuckers ask me for things all the time. It’s my turn to borrow a little power.”

“Sounds great,” I choked out with what I prayed passed as a smile.

“Oh fuck,” Ethan muttered from behind me.

He was correct.

I was now going to have to arrange to have spit buckets discreetly placed all over at my wedding. My friends will need to purge without being noticed.

I’d get on that tomorrow.

I still had to get through today.

Chapter 9

“Jesus Christ,” Satan groused as we all made our way back to what used to be the Great Room.

We’d spent an hour and a half in the kitchen watching in horror as Martha and Jane had consumed almost all of what Gigi had brought. The leftovers, they shoved in their purses.

“Oh my Hell, is he here?” I asked frantically.

I ran over to the mantle area and tried to brush my cousin’s busted little namesakes under what was formerly a couch. I’d not met my cousin yet. I’d only met God, but Jesus hadn’t been present. It was sad I had very little in the way of decorations or presents to celebrate his birthday.

“Is who here?” my uncle asked confused.

“Jesus,” I snapped, exasperated. “Is Jesus here?”

“Not that I know of,” he replied as he scanned the crowd.

“You just said
Jesus Christ
.”

“Yes,” he replied with an evil little smirk. “I enjoy using my nephew’s name as an expletive.”

“You’re an ass,” I told him.

“Tell me something I don’t know,” he shot back with a hearty laugh.

The next visual I witnessed would be branded in my brain for eternity. It was fucking unbelievable. Six of the seven Sins came rushing back into the room. Obviously they’d realized brunch was over. It wasn’t the speed with which they re-entered—nope—it was what they were wearing. I had no clue how they found the heinous ensembles considering mine was an accident, but they’d done it.

All six were sporting midriff sweaters and men’s boxer briefs cinched in the front with a hair elastic. I bit back my scream of laughter and buried my head in my hands.

All six gave me victorious glares and proudly posed for pictures.

If it wasn’t so damned funny it would be pathetic. I shook my head and focused back in on my more sane guests.

I wondered if God and Jesus would even come. They’d RSVP’d yes, but they were notorious no-shows. Honestly, it would probably be better if they didn’t come. This had turned out to be a clusterfuck.

However, when it rains… it pours.

Tiny, glittering, white lights appeared and shot gently around the room. They bathed the disaster in golden light. My friends and family stopped whatever they were doing and watched in awe as the glowing orbs bounced and played. Satan was the only eye roller.

Samuel cooed with delight as he and Blobbityflonk tore around the room and tried to touch the sparkling bubbles. My stomach tightened and I desperately tried to tidy up the mess a little bit… yet another exercise in futility.

“Stop,” Ethan said as he took my hand and forced me to live in the moment.

I watched as my posse beheld the magical light with reverence and joy. Some held hands, some hugged each other—it was odd. How could some bouncing light cause us to forget the disaster that surrounded us?

And then they arrived… but Jesus was missing.

God and a small Asian woman walked in as if they knew the place—like they’d visited a million times. There were no expressions of shock or dismay at the mass destruction. No judgment at the blown out wall or the scorched remains of the tree.

There were smiles on their faces and God waved happily at those he knew and those he didn’t. His little Asian gal pal did the same.

My Baby Demons floated around God’s head chattering a mile a minute while God chuckled at their stories. I sure as shit hoped they weren’t regaling him with their recent trip to the zoo.

He was mobbed quickly and I stood on the outside looking in. I didn’t know what to say anyway. He was freakin’ God after all.

“Hello, Astrid,” God’s little Asian gal said as she parted the crowd and approached.

Shitballs.

I wracked my brain and tried to remember if God had replied with a plus one and a name. I had no clue who this woman was, but she seemed to know me.

“Hi,” I said politely and put my hand out to shake.

She laughed and opened her arms for an embrace.

I shrugged and complied, wanting to be polite. Maybe everyone was very huggy in Heaven. It made sense to me.

In her arms I felt so calm and peaceful it was bizarre. I didn’t want her to ever let me go.

Like… never. The feeling was very strange.

“I’ve been looking forward to meeting you, my cousin,” she whispered as I held on tight.

Wait. What?

“You’re Jesus?” I stammered the question as I pulled back, stunned.

She nodded and smiled. She seemed to greatly enjoy my confusion.

“But, I thought… you know… that you were a man with a beard, white robes and a halo,” I explained haltingly. “The guy with the long hair and sandals and holes in your hands and feet. You know… I thought you would be the fish and loaves dude.”

I stopped talking. I felt like an idiot and had no clue what would come out of my mouth next. The entire room had paused their revelry to watch our exchange.

“Look at me, Astrid. Truly see me,” she urged.

And I did.

It was like a movie, but it was so very real.

I stared at the woman who said she was my cousin. Each time I blinked she was someone else—an old wrinkled black man, a young peace-loving stoner, a harried white mother, a Middle Eastern child, an African merchant, a soldier, a helpless baby, a homeless beggar. It went on and on. The faces were endless. I was struck mute.

Jesus was simply amazing and I didn’t even deserve to be in his or her presence.

“I am every man and every woman,” my cousin said, acknowledging my uncertainty and confusion. “I am no better or no less than anyone. I just pick who I am in the mood to be and wear that person around until something else calls me.”

“Do you ever have an identity crisis?” I asked and heard the titters in the crowd.

I didn’t care. I knew Jesus wouldn’t laugh at me.

“No, my cousin, I don’t. Everything you see is part of who I am and who I choose to be. Who I was always meant to be.”

“Are you normal?” I asked and then slapped my hand over my filter-less mouth.

“Are you?” Jesus countered with a grin.

“Define normal and then I’ll answer,” I mumbled as I shared her smile.

“Would you prefer the bearded version with the halo?” Jesus asked with a tilt of her head.