Hi, I’m Muriel, the only white sheep in a sea of black ones, and a virgin to boot. I am determined to wait for love, but my dad, more commonly known as Lucifer, just wants me to stop being an embarrassment. I’m hoping the hunk that I met in my bar will turn out to be the one–just looking at him makes my insides melt like marshmallows over the coals of hell, but trusting is hard when it seems everyone I get close to ends up trying to kill me.
Not only am I dealing with an extreme case of lust, there’s a new threat in hell, one my dad says to ignore. Something easier said than done since it seems everywhere I turn demons are trying to kill me. But I’m okay with that, because one thing I’ve learned being a princess of hell is that sometimes I have to grab a demon by the horns and slap it around a bit.
A rebellion in hell, demon assassins and scorching kisses, could my life get any more interesting?
Excerpt
Satan appeared in a puff of smoke that brought with it the acrid smell of brimstone. I glanced at him briefly, then continued to paint my toenails a gorgeous, seashell pink.
“You’re a disgrace to your lineage,” the Devil said, starting in on his favorite rant, pacing the small confines of my living room.
“Yeah, yeah, I know,” I said with disinterest, blowing on the wet coat of polish. “Whatever happened to ‘hello’?”
“That would require manners, something you know I abhor,” he retorted.
“Well, could you at least knock? I’m kind of fond of my privacy--not to mention, as a girl, I could have been doing something–” I paused here, trying to think of something appropriate. Of course, I couldn’t at the moment, but I would about an hour later when the conversation was long done. “Girly.”
Satan just snorted. He knew me so well. “Why can’t you be more like your half-sisters?” he railed.
“Um, probably because they’re succubi and I’m part human.”
“Minor details. Couldn’t you at least sin a little? You’re supposed to be a princess of Hell.”
“I bet other princesses are lucky enough to have their dads knock first.”
“See what I mean?” he said in exasperation. “No respect, which would usually make me proud, but you’re not following through with vile acts. You’re making me look like a bad parent. My minions in Hell are laughing at me. There have even been rumors I’m no longer fit to be the Father Of All Sin, since I can’t even control my own daughter.”
“Yeah, well, it sucks to be you.” I’d always been the good apple in a sea of bad ones, a fact that drove my dad--The Devil, Beelzebub, whatever you wanted to call him--wild.
“It wasn’t bad enough you got straight A’s in school. Oh, no,” he said, warming up. “You just have to be a virgin, too. You’re twenty-three years old. It’s just wrong,” he shouted. “I raised you to be more evil than this.”
“I told you before, not until I fall in love,” I said, finally standing up, my body bristling with tension as we faced off over an age-old argument. I wanted my first time to be special. Dad knew that. I’d read enough books about sex to know this momentous occasion would be a memory that would last a lifetime, which in my case could be quite a while, given my parentage. Was it my fault I hadn’t yet found the one? I mean, just think of the criteria this poor fellow had to meet. One, he couldn’t be completely mortal–being a little stronger than normal girls, I had a fear of hurting him in the heat of the moment. Two, he had to not run screaming when he found out my dad happened to be Satan, master of lies and deceit. And three, the lucky winner had to be hot. Hot enough to melt my insides into mushy goo, and make me go cross-eyed. Those were just the top three criteria; I had a few more, but I had yet to meet someone who managed to get past the first three, which made me wonder if I needed to revise my list, but dammit, I refused to compromise. I knew I’d find the one eventually, but while I waited for Mister Right, I had to say, I quite enjoyed driving my dad batty.
Lucifer pulled at his still-dark hair that only had hints of grey at the temples, and sighed wearily. “Why do you do this to me?” he asked, slumping onto the couch. I sat down beside him and hugged his stocky body. After all, when all is said and done, I do love my father, even if he can be a tad overbearing.
“Hey, if it’s any consolation,” I said in an effort to cheer him up, “I probably won’t wait to get married first. That’s a little sin, right?”
“I guess,” he said, sounding a little mollified.
Of course, my decision to skip marriage might have to do with the fact I couldn’t enter a church without all the religious items bursting into flame. So unfair. I hadn’t done anything evil--well, truly evil--and yet God and all his trappings reacted to me like I was the anti-Christ, something my only human brother found highly amusing. Even priests couldn’t get close to me; well, the pure ones, anyway. The bad ones had no problem at all. It was only the pure of faith following the doctrine of the One God who dropped to the floor writhing in agony. Good thing most of the priests I met were of the other variety. Needless to say, I didn’t think marriage lay in the cards, unless I did the whole ‘city hall judge’ thing, which personally I thought lacked romance and commitment.
My dad still sat on the couch, looking woebegone. Good thing none of his minions were around to see. It made me glad that, around me, he didn’t feel like he had to put on an act. I mean, it had to be hard, being evil all the time. Even bad guys needed a break–and someone to love them.
“Dad, I know what will cheer you up. Why don’t you go back to Hell and torture a few of the demons who are bad-mouthing you, and show them you’re still boss? Start a few eternal fires, make a grand speech about everyone bowing to the king of Hades or facing the flames of perdition.”
“You’re just trying to get rid of me,” he sulked, although I could see my words had perked him up a bit.
“Yes and no. I have to open the bar in, like, twenty minutes; so yes, I am trying to get you to leave, but,” I said, throwing my arms around him and hugging him tight, “I love you, and I don’t like to see you like this.”
“I don’t know why, but I’m attached to you, too,” Satan said grumpily, hugging me back. I cherished moments like that; they tended to be few and far between. “Try to be bad,” he said, before popping out of sight.
The smell of brimstone--the predominant perfume of Hell, and my dad’s calling card--hung in the air, the hard-to-wash miasma clinging to my sweater. Great, now I needed to change again. Hurrying because I was now definitely running late, I changed my yellow crew-neck t-shirt to a tight, pink, scoop-necked one. I tucked it into my skin-tight white jeans; then I yanked on my pink ankle boots with furry cuffs, because everyone knows: no matter how fabulous or not the clothes are, it’s all about the footwear. I grabbed my keys and white lambs-wool jacket, and hightailed it out the door.
As soon as I exited the building, the wind caught at my hair, which I’d stupidly left hanging down. The long, silken length of it plastered across my face, and I could only see in patches. With no time to go back and tie it up, I squinted as best as I could and cursed–some of it pretty colorful, considering the people I knew–and trudged off to work. I’d like to blame my hair for slamming into the broad back of the man who seemed to suddenly appear in front of me, but truth be told, I’d been woolgathering again.
Of course, I didn’t intend to take the blame. “Ow, watch where you’re standing,” I yelled, stumbling backwards and teetering over the edge of the curb. I would have probably fallen on my ass, had the rock I’d run into not grabbed me by the arms and yanked me steady.
“You should watch where you’re walking,” said a gravelly tone that made goose bumps rise on every part of my body.
I wanted to see his face, to see if he could possibly be as sexy as his voice suggested, but the damned hair in my face just refused to get out of the way. I only managed to get an impression of height and width. By the time I’d managed to grab my hair and yank it to the side, the stranger had disappeared.
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