Undead and Unappreciated

Satan appeared to me while I was sipping a medium Orange Julius and flipping through that month's Real Simple. There was a small sitting area near the Orange Julius stand (technically, it was Cinnabon's property) and I was relaxing and pondering where to go next-Nordstrom or GapBaby.



I'd found a black cashmere dress to go with my purple pumps, but I was still watching out for the perfect accessory. And there was the gestating baby to consider; it wasn't a minute too soon to try to counteract the Ant's tacky taste.



Suddenly, there she was, sitting across from me. The devil. Satan. The lord of lies. And it wasn't any big shock-I'd known it would be coming. And I instantly knew who she was. Some things you just know, the way you just know you shouldn't wear true black mascara because it makes your eyes look small and squinty.



The devil, in case you ever wanted to know, is a woman in her late forties. Today, she was wearing a dark gray suit that buttoned up the front and looked almost military, black panty hose, and plain black pumps. Her hair was a rich chocolate brown, with steaks of silver at the temples, and done up in an elegant bun. Her eyes were very black. Her ears weren't pierced; in fact, the devil wore no jewelry at all.



She studied me from across the table for a few moments. Finally she said, "You are the vampire queen."



It wasn't a question, so I guessed she wasn't taking a poll. I wiped my mouth. "Uh... yeah."



"Elizabeth Taylor."



"Yes." From pure force of habit, I checked out her shoes again... then looked one more time. What I had first taken for plain black pumps were in fact Roger Vivier comma heels. Vivier customized footwear for celebrities; his shoes were literally one of a kind. Queen Elizabeth had worn a pair to her coronation. I was looking at hand-tooled shoes with garnets in the heels.



Circa 1962. Only sixteen pairs were made.



They were the holy grail of footgear.



"Wh-where did you get those?"



The devil gave me a wintry smile. "Would you like them?"



Yes! No. Would I sell my soul for shoes? Of course not. The very idea was absurd. And the gleam of the garnets didn't call to me, the very idea of selling my teeny little soul wasn't a bargain at any... no!



"And you are half sibling to my daughter, Favored of the Morning Star?"



"What? Oh, you mean Laura? Right, that's what the Book called her. I guess 'Spawn of Satan' didn't have as nice a ring to it."



The devil had a superb poker face. "The Book. You shouldn't have tried to destroy it."



Tried to? One thing at a time. "Yeah, well, it didn't go with anything else in the library."



"That sort of thing could be considered blasphemy. Consider the average Catholic's reaction if the Pope threw a first-edition Bible into the Mississippi River. Now consider the message you just sent to your servants."



"They aren't my servants."



"Wait."



"Look, can we get back on topic? You were asking about Laura? Thanks so much for helping us at Scratch, by the way."



"I'm more of a watcher than a doer," Satan admitted. "Besides, I knew the two of you would prevail. In fact, the two of you combined are virtually unstoppable. Virtually."



"Yeha, yeah."



This was the devil. The devil! The worst creature in the whole universe. The reason people killed their husbands and ran over little kids in the road and drank too much and did drugs and raped and murdered and lied and cheated and stole. So I admit I was a bit cautious, even if the devil did look weirdly like Lena Olin.



"He still loves you, you know."



"Yep, I sure do know."



"In case you were having doubts. It seems to me that it's been a rough couple of weeks for you, so I'll set you straight on that, at least: He will always love you."



"Yes, I know."



(Later, Jessica would ask me, "Who was she talking about?" and I would tell her, "God. She was talking about God." This weirded out the vampires, but Jess thought it was very fine. As for me, I'd always known the truth. Yeah, it had been a bad couple of weeks, but I'd never doubted that.)



She sniffed. "It's too bad. My daughter has the same problem. You could have been formidable. She still will be."



"I wouldn't bet the farm on that one."



"I love to bet." She studied me, her blue eyes narrowing. Er, hadn't they been brown a minute ago? "Definitely a shame. You might have been someone to contend with. You still could be, if you jettison a few silly ideas."



"Oh, I don't mind," I assured the devil. "That was never, you know, a career goal or anything."



"Humph." The devil narrowed her hazel eyes. "Your stepmother was the perfect vessel for me."



"Oh, I'm sure," I said truthfully.



"And your father is a fool."



Okay, now I was starting to get a little annoyed. What'd I ever do to the devil? Besides not be completely and foully evil all the time? And not sell my soul for her shoes? Which I hadn't entirely ruled out yet. "Are we going to talk about anything I haven't figured out for myself? Because I was sort of hoping this would be an interesting conversation. I mean, you do have a reputation."



The devil smirked. "Wretched child."



"Look, it's kind of weirding me out to be talking to you here."



"I have been here many times."



"Ooooh, wow, a commentary on our grasping culture and how the mall culture is secretly the root of all evil! I'd never pick up on that. I've seen freight trains that were more subtle."



The devil glared. "I was just making an observation."



"Yeah, well, make another one."



"You're one step up from being a moron."



"I'm rubber and you're glue," I told Satan, "and everything that bounces off me sticks to you."



She narrowed her green eyes and looked like she might come over the table at me. After a long moment, she said, "Look after my Laura, if you please."



"Well, sure."



"I have big plans for her."



"Okay. That's not humongously creepy or anything."



She crossed her leg and pointed her toe up, giving me a look at the sole of her shoe. Totally unmarked. Oh, God. They were in perfect shape.



"Last chance," the devil said.



"Get thee behind me, Lena Olin."



She disappeared in a puff of smoke that smelled like rotten eggs. No, really. She did. And I went back to Real Simple. It was either that or have hysterics in the food court, and I did have some pride left.