Page 74 of Grave Humor

“I love you. I’m Darlene.”

“Anwen. You ever use a weed whacker before?”

“No, I can’t say I have. Before I took pity on the layabout over there, my neighbor took care of the edging in my yard. I did use the push mower. It was fun enough.”

“This is far better than a push mower.” I marched around the house. “Don’t breathe near the hole. The basement is nasty, and it’s the primary reason I’m having your husband torch the whole damned thing.”

“I could smell it from the driveway.” Darlene tapped the side of her nose. “It’s sensitive. Too sensitive. I really need to convince him to change the stench of hell. If I wanted to smell sulfur all the damned time, I would’ve moved to Yellowstone. The geysers are prettier than lava fields.”

I bet. “When was the last time you let him count your spots, anyway? According to his whining, it has been at least a decade.”

Darlene skipped along beside me, and her tail fur smoothed. “A month. He’s been a very naughty devil, and he hasn’t been naughty in the right ways. I’m sure he’ll learn to say he’s sorry one of these days.”

“I will not!” the devil called out from behind us.

“Then you’ll be counting my spots in approximately never, asshole!”

No wonder the devil had been willing to do so much for so little. He’d need a miracle to get out of the doghouse with his wife. “Do you fight often?”

“We’re supposed to not be fighting?” Darlene grinned and waved her hand to dismiss my concerns. “He gets worried when I act all lovey dovey with him. It usually means I want something, and when I want something, it usually involves him having to do something embarrassing, such as confess his eternal, undying love for me in front of his devilish horde.”

The devil popped into existence in front of us, stretched out his wings, and leaned forward to get nose to nose with his wife. “Never again, you.”

I considered beating the devil with my weed whacker but thought better of it; his hard skull would break my new machine, and I needed a cleared yard so I could have a picnic. “The house is still standing, Lucy. Get your ass kicked by your wife after you’ve done your chores.”

“Maybe she should run your hells, babe. She’s bossing you around, and you’re even going to do what she wants. It stinks. I’ll consider an exemption from your spot-counting ban should the house be properly demolished without creating any legal problems for her or Death.”

“Eoghan,” I corrected. “I’m still having trouble believing that part of things,” I admitted.

Eoghan strolled over. “Which part?”

“You can transform into a black dog and you didn’t tell me,” I complained. “I could have pet you anytime I wanted, and you hid it.”

The devil snickered. “You can conquer her with a mere promise she can pet you at her leisure, Eoghan. Not only does she love dogs, she adores you as a dog. You’re already ahead of the game. It’s good to be the Black Dog of Death, isn’t it?”

Heaving a sigh, Eoghan bowed his head. “Why is killing you forbidden?”

“You’d miss me.”

“I really wouldn’t.”

“You would.”

“Boys,” Darlene warned.

To my amazement, both men shut up.

“Okay, how did you do that?” I demanded.

“I merely taught mine the truth of the situation: I have what he wants, and if he upsets me, he doesn’t get what he wants. The other one is smart enough to understand if he upsets me, Satin over there will get pissed and he’ll have a real fight on his hands. I’m just using my authority. You have it, too. You’ll see.”

“Satin?” I asked.

“Our daughter’s favorite name for him. He scarred the poor girl for life once after wrapping some nitwit up in a fortune of fabric and lighting him on fire. She copes with having seen her father in all his glory through odd nicknames and other strange coping mechanisms. She’s got enough divine blood in her that she isn’t wiped out should she get a peek of his face, but she shies away from the memories. For good reason. The first time I got a look at him, he had to take drastic measures because I wasn’t born with divine, demonic, or devilish blood—and angelic blood won’t save you from that, not that I have a scrap of angelic blood in me.”

“I try not to think about that,” the devil admitted.

“He’s a big softy, and don’t you listen to his lies,” Darlene ordered. “The house is still standing, my dear. It stinks. Get rid of it, go calm the locals down once you’re done, and don’t you dare forget my coffee.”