Page 7 of Generally Hospitable
I wasn’t positive, but I was pretty sure Pandora laughed. Might have been a strangled burp, but I was going with a laugh.
“What are you talking about?” Chub Chub demanded, quickly losing his patience.
It was a risky move, but when the enemy got pissed, he often got messy. Granted, he had a shitload of magic, and my tank was on empty, so the odds were stacked against me, but swallowing shit and losing my head would be a really bad way to die. If the only thing I had left was throwing the bastard left of center to buy time, that’s what I’d do. I might live to regret it, but right now, I wasn’t sure I was going to live at all. Maybe Staying Alive wasn’t the correct motto. Maybe I should stick with the tried and true, Let’s Get the Party Started.
“A BBL,” I explained with a giggle so shrill, I almost slapped my hands over my ears. “A Brazilian Butt Lift—lots of cutting. Cut, cut, cut, cut, cut! It’s a procedure that enhances the size and shape of the gluteus maximus using kadunkaduck from other parts of the body. Hence, more cutting… you know, like ling chi! Of course, you use liposuction to suck the gelatinous blubber out of other parts of the body like the thighs, tummy, weak and unmanly chin, or the flanks and then inject that amalgam into the bootay for a fuller, bouncier, bubble-butt look. Is that what you’re talking about?”
Chub Chub Wang was speechless. He couldn’t tell if I was serious or seriously brain-damaged.
Winning.
He shook his head. “No. That is not what I’m talking about, half breed,” he snarled. “Ling chi was practiced in China for centuries. The prisoner is tied to a post.” He clapped his hands, and a massive golden post appeared on the dais next to the throne. “Bits of skin and appendages are removed slowly andmeticulously, usually ending with a final slice to the heart. However, since we’re Immortal, I enjoy ending the session in decapitation.”
My chin dropped to my chest for a moment. It was all for show. I was that good. Decatalain chuckled. He thought he’d terrified and broken me. He was wrong—so wrong.
I glanced over at Pandora. She simply raised a brow.
Raising my hand, I made eye contact with the Demon who thought he was in charge. I might die, but Abaddon wouldn’t rest until Chub Chub Wang was dust. The thought of Abaddon strengthened my resolve.
Chub Chub gave me a curt and furious nod.
“I do have a question,” I said with a sweet smile and the best curtsey I could muster, considering my feet were attached to the floor. “I think there might be a little issue with the ling Ling method.”
“Ling chi,” he corrected me with a disgusted grimace.
“Whoopsydoodle,” I said in my outdoor voice. “My bad. Ling chi!”
“Speak,” he snarled, getting more put out with me by the second.
“If you truly want to dump some food’s evil cousin into my cakehole, how are you going to accomplish it if I’m tied to a tacky-assed flaxen stanchion?” My tone was over-the-top innocent, verging on baby talk. The Demon had no clue what was happening. I wasn’t done. “I mean, are you going to stand on a ladder and drop trou or something? Oh, and by ladder, I’m not referring to the traditional British slang for ladder, meaning a run in the stockings, or street slang, meaning Xanax. Just a basic ladder. You feel me?”
Again, Pandora either burped or laughed. Chub Chub Wang did not. He was confused and displeased. My love ofthesauruses and getting paid to pretend for most of my life was coming in handy.
“Shut up,” he shouted. “Maybe ling chi is too kind for the likes of you. The blood eagle might be more fitting.”
“Oh my god!” I screeched. “You know Blood Eagle? He’s nuts!”
Chub Chub Wang was beyond perplexed. Pandora was correct. He was dumb. I might be playing dumb, but he was the real deal.
“There’s a Demon named Blood Eagle?” he questioned warily.
“Totally,” I replied. “Craziest thing. I matched with him on Date-A-Demon. He seemed so normal—together. He was tall, dark and handsome. Had a great job defrauding the government. Loved puppies. Didn’t say crap like—as long as I have a face, you’ll always have somewhere to sit.”
“Wait. What?” he demanded.
“I know, right?” I shot back. Decatalain looked like he was beginning to drown in bewilderment. “Anyhoo, we texted back and forth for a week—mostly memes of dinosaurs and craters on the moon. Fun stuff. Then… Blood Eagle says he wants to take me out to dinner at a cute little café on the sketchy side of town. I was all in. You feel me?”
“Umm…”
“For sure!” I giggled like I had two brain cells in my head that were not connected. I’d wasted at least five minutes at this point. I covertly tested my power. Nothing. Fine. I had more. There was always more. “So, I show up early looking casual but very trendy—mom jeans and a concert t-shirt with a belt made of neckties. I texted Blood Eagle that I’d grabbed a private booth in the back. You know… just in case! He texted back and said, ‘Cool!’ So far, so good. Right?”
Chub Chub Wang was lost, but for the disgusting life of him wasn’t going to let me know. “Yes. Right.”
“Perfect!” I cooed. “But… it was NOT perfect. Approximately one minute and twenty-two seconds later, Blood Eagle walked into the café with his MOM. Can you believe that? HIS MOM.”
Decatalain didn’t have words. That was fine since I did.
“It was his actual freaking mother. I thought to myself that maybe Blood Eagle was directionally challenged and needed his mom to help him get places. Or maybe he was blind and had omitted that on his profile. But, NOPE. That jackhole wasn’t blind at all. His mother sat down in the booth with us. She peruses the fucking menu and lets me know that the soup is delicious and that the bean dip is very farty. Unreal. Right?”
