8
ASTRID
We wereat our fifth pub on this lovely afternoon. All the food in each had been tasty, but this particular pub was my favorite so far. According to the sign out front, the establishment had been in existence since the mid 1700s. The tables were old and sturdy with a rainbow of blacks, beiges and browns swirled together on the pitted surfaces. I wondered if they held the secrets of all who had touched them over the centuries. Tracing the lines and the grooves, I was curious what the table would make of my story. It was a doozy.
“Oh my God,” I said, sniffing the delicious aroma as the server brought my food. “Sooooo gooooood.”
I almost bit Lizard’s fingers off when he tried to reach for one of my fries. He just laughed and ordered his own. I’d apologized profusely but he assured me he understood. He overshared about the time he had only one piece of gum in his abode and Wipe, the dummy with the baseball embedded in his pit, had chewed it. It had erupted into bloodshed, lost limbs, a decimated house, lots of cussing and finally a good belly laugh. Lizard’s sense of fun was as wackadoo as he was, but I was just glad he was cool that I wasn’t about to share even a crumb of food.
“Eat up, Busty McLadyBumps!” Martha said with a grin. “I’m bettin’ thirty seconds on the fries.”
“Nope,” Jane said. “I’m bettin’ she downs ‘em in fifteen.”
“I’ll wager five,” Satan said with a disapproving shake ofmyhead.
Lizard chuckled. He gave me a thumbs up. “Alrighty, Astrid. On your mark. Get set. Go!”
With gusto, I happily destroyed the plate of French Fries and catsup on the plate front of me. The tanginess of the catsup and the saltiness of the fries was perfection. It was my every dream come true.
Six seconds. Satan won the contest without going over prize. It was only slightly embarrassing. Frankly, I was too thrilled to care.
I didn’t even give a crap about sightseeing anymore. From the expression on the Devil’s face, it was clear he regretted putting the kibosh on the Tower of London and Westminster Abby.
Too bad, so sad. It was the best day of my life after the birth of Samuel and marrying Ethan. It wouldn’t last… at least I hoped to Hell and back it wouldn’t. Being in Uncle Fucker’s body was freaking awful. Well, except for the fistful of fries I’d just shoved into my mouth.
A teeny tiny part of me hoped Mother Nature’s spell didn’t reverse too soon. It was a very risky and selfish wish. I knew it, but I couldn’t help thinking it. Eating was glorious. Consequently, Uncle Fucker and I were getting along pretty well. I was positive he still thought Vamps were pussies, and I was still firmly in the camp that he was a dick. I wasn’t sure that would never change.
Was truly respecting each other what it would take to reverse the spell? I certainly fucking hoped not. That would happen when Hell froze over.
“Are you done?” Satan inquired archly, as I made my move to lick the plate.
His tone and his words stopped me abruptly.
Thank God. That would have been embarrassing. “I am. Let’s find another restaurant!”
I had not been joking when I said I wanted to eat my way through London. Martha and Jane had enjoyed the heck out of watching me practically inhale a cheeseburger at the first pub before the sweet waitress had even placed it on the table. Reminding myself to slow down and savor the food was impossible, but I was trying.
Leaving the pub, I spotted a bakery two doors down. Winning!
“Your manners are appalling,” Uncle Fucker said as I sprinted to the entrance.
“Thank you,” I squealed.
“It was hardly a compliment,” he replied as I grabbed a table, a menu, a waitress and started ordering. He continued speaking, “After this place, we’re going for a walk. If you burst my body like a tick, I will be pissed.”
“Got it,” I said dismissively as I perused the menu.
I ordered and asked for it to be rushed… as we were in ahurry. Not. But I hadn’t had anything sweet yet and didn’t want to miss out. The Devil kept espousing about the importance of exercise. I raised a brow and glanced his way. Uncle Fucker’s desire for a walk was several-fold.
I knew exactly what the Devil was doing. He thought he was being covert, but I could read the Demon like a book. As he’d led the way from pub to pub, I was aware we were making our way to Oxford Street. I didn’t recall telling him that I’d met Critter Steve and Trapper Rick there. I’d only mentioned London. He’d obviously done a little research.
Speaking of research…
“Lizard,” I said with a mouthful of blueberry scone that had just arrived at the table. “Did you figure out a connection between the dates, December 17th, 1976 and August 7th2003?”
My beret wearing buddy sipped his tea and shook his head. I was floored that he extended his pinkie when holding the delicate China teacup. However, my shocked admiration was partially diminished since he continued to chew his gum like a cow chewing cud while he drank.
“Can’t rightly find a connection. Yet,” he amended quickly. “I texted Wipe to see if he knew. The Vamp is great with random shit. All that the ball-in-the-pit bastard could come up with was that December 17th, 1976 landed on a Friday and August 7th2003 fell on a Wednesday. Oh yeah, and 1976 was the Year of the Dragon. 2003 was the Year of the Goat. Like I said, not addin’ up.”
