Last Minion StandingBy: Eve Langlais
“I need a minion,” I announced suddenly.
My best friend Jezebel, more commonly known as Jezzie, whom I’d grown up with in the pit known as Hell, looked up from her issue of Demon’s Duds and frowned. “What do you need a minion for?”
“If I’m going to be hunting down scummy souls and sending them back to Hell then that kind of makes me a superhero, right?”
“I guess,” said Jezzie slowly. “So why the need for a minion?”
“Don’t all superheroes have a minion?” Redundant question, as I’d watched all the movies and had read like a zillion comic books—Batman had Robin, Hercules was followed around by the weird satyr, Han Solo had Chewie. If I wanted fame—and the other side of the coin, fortune—I needed a lackey of my own, someone to enhance my awesomeness. Besides, I’d grown tired of fetching my own coffee and dry cleaning.
Jezzie’s face cleared in understanding and she laughed. “I think you mean a sidekick.”
Talk about splitting horns. I rolled my eyes. “Minion. Sidekick. Whatever you want to call it, I think I need one.”
“Sure, why not? But, if you’re going to set yourself up as some kind of super crime fighter, shouldn’t you have a cool name? I mean seriously, even Diana Prince had a secret identity.”
“Who is she?” The name drew a blank. I thought furiously. I knew who Clark Kent was, Peter Parker, too, but I’d never heard of this Diana broad.
“Diana Prince.” Jezzie sighed at my continued blank look. “You know, Wonder Woman. She wore the American flag body suit and tiara.”
“Oh, yeah.” I knew who Jezzie was talking about now, and I hated Diana even more than ever for she not only already owned the best superhero name, she also had the sluttiest supergirl outfit—the bitch.
Much as I hated to admit it, Jezzie had a good point though. Somehow my true name, Sally Jones, just didn’t have an awe inspiring ring or the right kind of syllables sure to make villains tremble. It was my father’s fault. He, a demon with the wicked and strong name of Asmodeus, had caved into the stupidest of human emotions—love. Ick. You wouldn’t catch me falling in love—lust yes, love never. My father though had fallen hard for my mother and out of nostalgia for the human who begat me, he named me after her. I wasn’t impressed. I might have felt differently if she’d lived to raise me, but all I had left of my mother, other than her name, were faded photographs.
“What do you think I should I call myself?” I asked jumping up from my sofa to pace back and forth. I really liked the idea of changing my name. “How about Sexy Lady? Or Wears Prada?”
Jezzie, the traitor whom I instantly demoted from best friend, laughed at my wonderful suggestions. I growled and she laughed harder. I ended up joining in. Okay, so they weren’t the greatest titles, at least I’d gotten the ball rolling.
“I know what you should do,” said Jezzie, the bright gleam in her eyes signaling the arrival of a great idea. I waited eagerly to hear it. Her last great idea had been utterly fantastic and gotten us kicked out Hell for six months. I still wasn’t allowed to talk about it according to the terms of the contract Satan made me sign. But damn, we’d had fun.
“Well, spit it out,” I said. “Wait, don’t spit. Last time your acid ate right through the carpet and floor into Mrs. Livingston’s place and she wasn’t happy.” For a human, my neighbor could be quite shrill.
“How about you have a contest?”
“What? For a name or a minion?”
“Why not both? We’ll setup a Hellbook fan page with pics of you doing superhero stuff and let the denizens of Hades choose your name. And at the same time, we’ll put out word we’re accepting applications to become your sidekick.”
“Minion,” I corrected absently, my mind already turning this idea around in my head. Did I want strangers choosing my name? Then again, could they do any worse than I had so far? The more I thought of it, the more I liked it. “Let’s do it.”
With a shout of glee, Jezzie dove for her laptop and fingers flying, she got the proverbial ball rolling.