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her head and went on. “Technically, Demons
are forbidden to create or cause true evil—we’re only allowed to
siphon off the energy from evil caused by humans. But Demons, like
humans, also have free will. While mild violence, deceit, stealing,
promiscuity and cheating are standardly overlooked, acts of terror,
mutilation or hobbies resulting in the death of others are strictly
forbidden. Trust me, there are plenty of Demons residing in the
Basement of Hell. It can be difficult and tricky to control
something that thrives on evil, yet isn’t supposed to commit
it.”
    “Hell has a basement?” I asked, trying to
absorb the massive amount of info she’d just spit out.
    “That’s your question after what I just told
you?”
    “Yep.”
    “Ooookay,” Dixie laughed. “Yes. Hell has a
basement.”
    “And nine other levels?”
    “Um, no. Dante was completely wrong.”
    “You’re kidding me,” I gasped. Was everything
I knew about Hell a fairy tale?
    “Dante will be here on Thursday. It’s poker
night. You can grill him then. He’s been pissed for ages. He went
ballistic when he found out the actual layout.”
    “So much of what you just said was screwed on
so many levels.”
    “Nine?”
    “Touché,” I laughed. “Dante lives in Hell?
And he plays poker?”
    “No and yes. Dante resides in Heaven, but
comes over every Thursday to play poker with my dad.”
    “God lets people out to play poker?” This was
too much for even me to believe and I was a Vampyre. A myth . .
.
    “Free will, Cousin. God has no say if his
residents want to vacation in Hell.”
    “Does that work both ways?” I asked, still
amazed that Satan played poker with Dante.
    “Absolutely not. God doesn’t let evil touch
his doorstep.” Dixie sniffed with disdain.
    “Who else plays poker with your dad?”
    “It depends. Most of the time Hemingway
comes. Occasionally Marilyn Monroe, Elvis, Picasso and Mother
Teresa.”
    “Back the fuck up. Mother Teresa plays poker
with the Devil?”
    “Why wouldn’t she? My dad is charming and
throws a great party. Besides, she’s always trying to reform him.”
Dixie giggled and shook her head. “Oh, and one time Nixon
came.”
    “How’d that work out?”
    “Dad says he cheats.”
    “Of course he does,” I muttered, wondering if
she was just pulling all of this out of her ass and fucking with me
. . .
    “With all that being said, it would be a
grave mistake to assume Demons are goody goodies. They’re not . . .
alright, I kind of am, but I’m a freak here.”
    “I have no issue with freaks. I ride that
train too,” I told her.
    “Here’s the bottom line. I’ve been raised to
be grateful to evildoers, because without them Demons wouldn’t
exist. We derive our power and magic from the chaos and evil of
humans. So while we don’t necessarily cause it, we thrive on it or
feed on it, so to speak. Don’t forget that our Uncle God dealt out
the free will thing, not my dad. And now to combat his error in
judgment, God and his army of Angels keep trying to end evil so my
dad and his people, including me . . . and you, will cease to
exist. No offense, but God really screwed himself by letting men
and women choose their own paths. If he wanted everyone to be good,
he should have come up with a better plan. Daddy thinks that
particular subject is hilarious.”
    “I bet he does,” I mumbled and wondered how
to broach the what-does-a-portal-look-like subject without seeming
too obvious.
    “There’s a ton more for me to tell you, but
we only have a couple of hours before we have to go and not to be
rude, but you need a shower. You hair is kind of wild and there’s
soot all over your face and you’ve got some dried blood on
you.”
    “Um, you waited till after your therapy
session to tell me I looked like a homeless person?” I snapped.
    “No, I did that on purpose. You look
dangerous and crazy with all that hair and blood. I thought it
might throw our bitchy therapist off her game . . .