5
SATAN
We stoodin silence and stared at each other. It felt surreal. The lack of control over my own fucking life and body pissed me off. I had no clue what was going on in Astrid’s brain, but mine was a jumble of incoherent gibberish punctuated by a litany swear words. Our sour expressions demonstrated our horror at the situation. I’d experienced many shitshows during the billions of years I’d been alive, but this… this was seriously bad with the potential to get even worse. The thought that my batshit insane mother could make it permanent was unacceptable. Having breasts and being technically dead wasn’t working for me. At all. For one thing, I liked having a dick. Another, my better half like me having a dick. Fuck. Elle was going to be pissed if I didn’t get my junk back.
Speaking with Sogdroth seemed wise. However, I wasn’t exactly me, and I couldn’t tell my therapist what was up, or my niece and I would be stuck in each other’s bodies forever. In the Immortal world, forever was a very long time.
Who had I fucked over that this was my reality? Well, that was a rather redundant inquiry. I’d made a living fucking people over. Shit.
“Well, slap my ass and call me Renee,” Martha said with wide eyes and a stupefied grin. “Ain’t this just the shit?”
“Understatement,” I muttered, realizing my center of gravity was vastly different in a female body. Theonlything I was grateful for at the moment was that Astrid hadn’t been wearing heels. It was bad enough to be wearing melted tennis shoes, sweatpants and a t-shirt. Falling on my face while navigating stilettos would send me over the edge. And I was very, very close to the edge.
Astrid closed her eyes—well, my eyes, technically—and inhaled deeply. I wasn’t afforded that luxury since I no longer breathed. Being undead sucked.
“Ground rules,” Astrid announced. She paced the foyer of the Vampyre compound like a wild animal trapped in a cage. “We need ground rules.”
Coming here today had been a grave mistake. I would pay my mother back for this appalling nonsense. I watched myself, who wasn’t me, freaking out. I had to admit I was a gorgeous specimen. Very suave and debonair. It was strange to me that Astrid wasn’t thrilled to be me. Everyone wanted to be me.
“State them,” I said flatly. Having my niece’s body and voice was alarming. I didn’t like it one bit.
“Do not touch my boobs,” she said.
I rolled my eyes. “I have no desire to touch your bosom. That’s disgusting,” I hissed. “Of course, I could throw that back to you and forbid you from touching my outstandingly enormous cock, but you’re going to have to touch it when you pee… unless you enjoy spraying urine all over the place.”
Astrid paled considerably. She looked as if she was about to puke. I found that insulting. Anyone should be honored to touch my junk.
“No,” she whispered brokenly. “I didn’t even think about that. I can’t do this.”
“You think?” I shouted. “This is your fault for saying I had an undersized cock.”
“OH. MY. GOD,” she snarled. “As previously noted, I didn’t say it. I repeated it. There’s a difference. You’re the one who said Vamps are pussies. It’s YOUR FAULT.”
In a fit of fury, she ripped off the sopping wet Armani jacket and pants. With a snap of her fingers, she dressed herself, aka me, in flipflops, shorts and a Hawaiian shirt. I screamed. Two could play that game. With a wave of my hand, I removed the sweats and melted tennis shoes she’d been wearing and replaced them a hideous lime-green floral housedress and Crocs.
It was Astrid’s turn to scream.
“I look awful,” she shouted at me.
“Pot. Kettle. Black. I don’t wear shorts,” I snapped back, glaring at her.
Strangely, it was easy to recognize her even though she looked like me. It didn’t feel at all like I was talking to myself. Her mannerisms, like the tension in her lips, the way she stood, shifted her weight, and moved her hands about were all wrong. She was certainly no Satan.
I wondered if she felt the same about how I was handling wearing an Astrid suit. I’d ask her at another time. We weren’t on the best of terms at the moment.
Astrid gave me the stink eye then gasped aloud. She smacked herself in the head. Hard.
“Avoid marring my face,” I ordered.
“Cakehole,” she shot back. “Shut it.”
“Fine.” I shrugged and conjured up a tube of red lipstick. I proceeded to smear it all over my face. “You were saying?”
She stared at me slack jawed.
I was winning… until I wasn’t.
The horrid woman conjured up a pair of scissors and hacked off a huge chunk of my hair right in the front. My gorgeous visage now sported a large bald spot roughly the size of a cantaloupe.
