Page 4 of Generally Hospitable (Good To The Last Demon #7)

Pandora gave me a sharp glance, indicating that the show was about to begin.

I was the star, and this would be a performance of a lifetime.

I had to make it Oscar-worthy...our lives were literally depending on it.

I gave the woman a quick nod. With a giggle that would have gotten me a voiceover for a kid hopped up on a vat of sugar, I went for it.

“I said that I have no clue what ling chi is.”

Decatalain’s smile made my skin crawl. “Would you like to know, half breed?”

He was going to tell me whether I wanted him to or not. I’d play. “Sure!”

“Delightful,” he said. “Ling chi is also called slow slicing or more endearingly, death by a thousand cuts.”

Dude was whack. But two could participate in that game. “Kind of like a BBL?” I questioned innocently.

I wasn’t positive, but I was pretty sure Pandora laughed. Might have been a strangled burp, but I was going with a laugh.

“What are you talking about?” Chub Chub demanded, quickly losing his patience.

It was a risky move, but when the enemy got pissed, he often got messy.

Granted, he had a shitload of magic, and my tank was on empty, so the odds were stacked against me, but swallowing shit and losing my head would be a really bad way to die.

If the only thing I had left was throwing the bastard left of center to buy time, that’s what I’d do.

I might live to regret it, but right now, I wasn’t sure I was going to live at all.

Maybe Staying Alive wasn’t the correct motto.

Maybe I should stick with the tried and true, Let’s Get the Party Started.

“A BBL,” I explained with a giggle so shrill, I almost slapped my hands over my ears.

“A Brazilian Butt Lift—lots of cutting. Cut, cut, cut, cut, cut! It’s a procedure that enhances the size and shape of the gluteus maximus using kadunkaduck from other parts of the body.

Hence, more cutting… you know, like ling chi!

Of course, you use liposuction to suck the gelatinous blubber out of other parts of the body like the thighs, tummy, weak and unmanly chin, or the flanks and then inject that amalgam into the bootay for a fuller, bouncier, bubble-butt look. Is that what you’re talking about?”

Chub Chub Wang was speechless. He couldn’t tell if I was serious or seriously brain-damaged.

Winning.

He shook his head. “No. That is not what I’m talking about, half breed,” he snarled.

“Ling chi was practiced in China for centuries. The prisoner is tied to a post.” He clapped his hands, and a massive golden post appeared on the dais next to the throne.

“Bits of skin and appendages are removed slowly and meticulously, usually ending with a final slice to the heart. However, since we’re Immortal, I enjoy ending the session in decapitation. ”

My chin dropped to my chest for a moment. It was all for show. I was that good. Decatalain chuckled. He thought he’d terrified and broken me. He was wrong—so wrong.

I glanced over at Pandora. She simply raised a brow.

Raising my hand, I made eye contact with the Demon who thought he was in charge. I might die, but Abaddon wouldn’t rest until Chub Chub Wang was dust. The thought of Abaddon strengthened my resolve.

Chub Chub gave me a curt and furious nod.

“I do have a question,” I said with a sweet smile and the best curtsey I could muster, considering my feet were attached to the floor. “I think there might be a little issue with the ling Ling method.”

“Ling chi,” he corrected me with a disgusted grimace.

“Whoopsydoodle,” I said in my outdoor voice. “My bad. Ling chi!”

“Speak,” he snarled, getting more put out with me by the second.

“If you truly want to dump some food’s evil cousin into my cakehole, how are you going to accomplish it if I’m tied to a tacky-assed flaxen stanchion?

” My tone was over-the-top innocent, verging on baby talk.

The Demon had no clue what was happening.

I wasn’t done. “I mean, are you going to stand on a ladder and drop trou or something? Oh, and by ladder, I’m not referring to the traditional British slang for ladder, meaning a run in the stockings, or street slang, meaning Xanax. Just a basic ladder. You feel me?”

Again, Pandora either burped or laughed. Chub Chub Wang did not. He was confused and displeased. My love of thesauruses and getting paid to pretend for most of my life was coming in handy.

“Shut up,” he shouted. “Maybe ling chi is too kind for the likes of you. The blood eagle might be more fitting.”

“Oh my god!” I screeched. “You know Blood Eagle? He’s nuts!”

Chub Chub Wang was beyond perplexed. Pandora was correct. He was dumb. I might be playing dumb, but he was the real deal.

“There’s a Demon named Blood Eagle?” he questioned warily.

“Totally,” I replied. “Craziest thing. I matched with him on Date-A-Demon. He seemed so normal—together. He was tall, dark and handsome. Had a great job defrauding the government. Loved puppies. Didn’t say crap like—as long as I have a face, you’ll always have somewhere to sit.”

“Wait. What?” he demanded.

“I know, right?” I shot back. Decatalain looked like he was beginning to drown in bewilderment.

“Anyhoo, we texted back and forth for a week—mostly memes of dinosaurs and craters on the moon. Fun stuff. Then… Blood Eagle says he wants to take me out to dinner at a cute little café on the sketchy side of town. I was all in. You feel me?”

“Umm…”

“For sure!” I giggled like I had two brain cells in my head that were not connected.

I’d wasted at least five minutes at this point.

I covertly tested my power. Nothing. Fine.

I had more. There was always more. “So, I show up early looking casual but very trendy—mom jeans and a concert t-shirt with a belt made of neckties. I texted Blood Eagle that I’d grabbed a private booth in the back.

You know… just in case! He texted back and said, ‘Cool!’ So far, so good. Right?”

Chub Chub Wang was lost, but for the disgusting life of him wasn’t going to let me know. “Yes. Right.”

“Perfect!” I cooed. “But… it was NOT perfect. Approximately one minute and twenty-two seconds later, Blood Eagle walked into the café with his MOM. Can you believe that? HIS MOM.”

Decatalain didn’t have words. That was fine since I did.

“It was his actual freaking mother. I thought to myself that maybe Blood Eagle was directionally challenged and needed his mom to help him get places. Or maybe he was blind and had omitted that on his profile. But, NOPE. That jackhole wasn’t blind at all.

His mother sat down in the booth with us.

She peruses the fucking menu and lets me know that the soup is delicious and that the bean dip is very farty. Unreal. Right?”

“Quite,” he said, now looking like he wanted to be anywhere but here. That made two of us. Or three of us if I counted Pandora.

There was no way in hell I could look at her. If I did, I’d fall over laughing. And since my feet were one with the floor, that could end in a broken leg or dislocated knee. Didn’t have time for that. It would make me break character. I was a pro. Always had been and always would be.

My focus stayed on the Demon on the dais.

“So, of course, I’m just staring at Blood Eagle wondering what in the hey-hey is going on, and he says, ‘I thought it would be prudent for you to meet my mother right away.’ And I’m thinking, I haven’t even met you yet.

Why in the hell would I want to meet your mom? ”

Decatalain raised his hand. I nodded.

“Did you say that part out loud?” he questioned.

“No,” I assured him. “I just thought it. But I most certainly had asked him if he was pranking me. And he said, No. He takes going out with demonic women very seriously. His mom just nods like a sixty-year-old batshit crazy bobblehead. She pulls wet wipes out of her purse and proceeds to clean the table.”

“She didn’t,” Chub Chub said, shocked.

“Yesrsiree, she did. Then she questioned me about my intentions with her son. SHE WAS DEADLY SERIOUS.”

Ten minutes had passed since I’d started my one-woman show, and yet... Still no magic. I wasn’t sure how much further I could take the scene, but I wasn’t a quitter.

“As any sane Demon gal with manners would do,” I continued. “I thought about electrocuting Blood Eagle, but decided that I could write a blog about it on the internet and get popular instead. Maybe even become an influencer and get free shit.”

“A what?” Decatalain asked, his interest perking up at the mention of “free shit.”

“Don’t worry about it. Not important,” I told him. “So, I pretty much checked out for the entire dinner from the pure cringe factor. He ordered the bean dip for her, and she ordered the soup for me. The soup tasted like toes that had been sweating into pantyhose for a week.”

The stupid Demon made a face.”

“Exactly!” I snapped. “It sucked.” I shook my head.

“On top of that, the bean dip was definitely farty. Old Mom cleared the entire diner in six minutes and twelve seconds. It had to be a record. The stench was so rank I had to tear up my napkin and shove little pieces into my nostrils. I played it off like I had chronic nose bleeds. They bought it. Blood Eagle didn’t eat.

Not sure why. Although I surmised that in order to eat, his mom would have had to chew the food for him, then spit it into his mouth.

So gross and so not hot. At one point, the mother asked me if I was into kinky bedroom antics.

I had to electrocute her. She laughed. It was weird. Right?”

“Weird,” Chub Chub agreed, now invested.

“I was pretty much over it at that point and left. Totally stiffed them on the bill, sprinted home and drank three-quarters of a bottle of vodka. And wouldn’t you just know…”

“Know what?” Decatalain demanded.