Page 16 of A Chip on Her Shoulder

She needed to go to a different home, and I needed to storm the gates of the Devil’s many hells to get my brother back. Revenge came second to that, although I would work hard on that front as well. No matter how much I wanted to keep her, I couldn’t.

Handing her over hurt my heart, but I refused to say goodbye.

I’d see her again someday, so I wished her well and told her to kick ass in the process. Teaching a baby to curse wouldn’t win me any points, but an archangel had already confirmed I’d be going to hell long before I saw any heavens, so what was one more infraction on my list?

Armed with an official copy of her passport, her birth certificate, her social security number, instructions on how to renew them all, more instructions on how to act as a super-secret guardian agent, and more instructions on how to smooth the way for her into adulthood, I left the CDC’s building and headed home with my brother in tow.

I dumped my brother on the front seat, buckled his cage in, and hissed at his wretched little car, one of the sources of my many problems. Jonas complained in a squeak and beat at the clear wall of his cage.

“You’re lucky I love you too much to eat you, Jonas. I have a date with the Devil because of you, so you better watch your pipsqueak mouth. Once you’re back to human or the equivalent, I’m going to kick your ass so hard you can’t see straight for a month. After you can see straight again, I’m going to kick your ass again. The number of times I kick your ass will be determined by how much you piss me off between now and returning you to your proper form.”

That shut my idiot brother up.

“Good. There are some new rules I expect you to abide by. You will eat the damned chipmunk food and like it, you will not stage any escapes from your cage, and you’ll behave for once in your fucking life. In exchange, I’ll provide food, I’ll let you out of your cage now and then so you can stretch, and I’ll clean your cage every day. Because I’m having to deal with a fucking mafia because of you, I own your soul for the rest of eternity. You hear me?”

My brother squeaked but bobbed his head.

“You’re a fucking moron, and you’re lucky I love you.” I drove him home, got the gun out of the glove box, and checked the street for unusual vehicles. Once satisfied, I got out, gathered my brother’s cage, and kept the gun close and ready for trouble. I checked the mailbox, which had a letter addressed to me with no address, which I assumed came from the mafia. I returned to the car, grabbed my brother’s gloves, and put them on before picking the envelope up. I shook it, watching for any telltale signs the envelope came with extras.

Nothing came out, and I heard papers rustling within. I turned it upside down and shook it again. Nothing came out.

Satisfied there were no basic powders inside waiting to make a mess of my day, I checked the front door of my home before unlocking the door. Everything was as I had left it, although I did a sweep of the place before sitting at my kitchen table and setting my brother’s gun aside. I set Jonas down in the center of the table, went back to his car, and ferried all of his new supplies inside.

Setting his tank up in the living room counted as an asshole move, but I figured he could suffer with anyone coming into the house beholding him in all of his chipmunk glory. I considered tossing the television to the curb to add to my asshole move, but I left it alone, transforming the coffee table into his new home, turning the television on to his favorite channel, and dumping his ass into his new habitat.

“If you escape from your cage, I make no promises I won’t eat you,” I warned.

In reality, I would be eliminating chipmunk from my diet until he was returned to his proper shape, but I wouldn’t tell him that. While the mafia hadn’t scared sense into the idiot, maybe threats of being eaten by his sister would.

Jonas wisely settled in his new home, made himself comfortable, and watched the television.

With one problem solved, I returned to the kitchen and the letter, likely from the mafia who’d made a mess of my life. Using a fork and a letter opener, I tore into the envelope, and I snagged the grill tongs as my tool of choice to dump the contents out onto the table.

A business card and a letter waited for me, along with a few rose petals. I used the tongs to open the letter, which proved to be handwritten in neat cursive, first thanking me for not having added a new hole to one of the writer’s sons and requesting to meet with me in a week. The letter contained an address in Manhattan, directions on how to get there by car and public transit, and a request to wear something that showed off my assets.

I twitched, well aware of Michael’s warning of how the mafia would behave because of my status as a woman willing to shoot assholes who crossed me.

Great. Just great.

The business card informed me I dealt with the CEO of an investment firm, and I wondered why Lorenzo Gallo would be dumb enough to leave a trail of paper evidence I could take to the police. I thought about it, returned everything back to the envelope using my various tools, and dumped it into my kitchen drawer.

I’d think about how to deal with the letter in a few days. In the meantime, I had a bigger fish to fry.

Since the Devil was the only damned entity in the universe who could help my brother, storming the gates of hell came first and dealing with Lorenzo Gallo and his odd invitation came second. Taking over the Devil’s hells long enough to secure a future home for baby Kanika came third, as I had sixteen years at a minimum to complete that plan.

It was important to set my priorities based on immediate need versus future desires, and I refused to fall prey to shortsightedness like my brother had. No, I’d play the short and long game, and the Devil would be the center of all my plans.

If I could tame the Devil, Lorenzo Gallo would be child’s play in comparison.

I didn’t even need to tame the Devil. I just needed to make him do what I wanted. I could trust an archangel to speak the truth and nothing but the truth, and he’d given me some very useful clues.

The Devil had an angelic streak in him, and I could use that to my advantage. But how? I went to the landline, picked up the receiver, and dialed the number Michael had given me.

The archangel answered on the second ring. “It did not take you long to seek my counsel.”

“I have decided I’m hunting your brother, and I’d like to bargain for anything I might be able to use against him.”

“You’re hunting my brother?”