The Devil's in the Details (25 page)

“So?” I asked my mother when we climbed into a waiting limo just after three a.m. Everyone else had called it a night and it was just the two of us. “Did you have a good time?”

She shrugged. “I s’pose.”

It wasn’t the gushing
yessss!
I’d been hoping for, but it was still the nicest thing my mother had said to me in a long, long time.

Maybe ever.

Warmth stole through me, a feeling that had nothing to do with the ridiculous amount of alcohol I’d consumed and everything to do with the fact that deep down, I still longed for my mother’s approval. What daughter didn’t? “I’m glad it didn’t suck.”

“Not at all. But it is a great deal later than I intended. I told Samael I’d be home early.” I thought I saw a glimpse of regret. But then it faded and I realized I was just punchy from lack of sleep and too much tequila.

Regret?

This was Satan we were talking about.

“Oh, well. He’ll get over it.” She rested her head back against the seat and closed her eyes.

A comfortable silence descended, and for the first time I didn’t feel so on edge. Gone was the obsessive worry that I wasn’t good enough. Likewise, she didn’t seem the least bit anxious to criticize me.

Because I wasn’t a total screwup?

She was my
mother
, for Pete’s sake. Genetically wired to care about me regardless of how much I disappointed her. Which meant she would totally want to know that someone wanted me dead, right?

“Mom, I need to talk to you.”

She grunted what sounded like a “Hmmm?”

“Someone is after me.” I launched into a five-minute explanation about everything from the bloody warning to tonight’s near-death experience. “At first I thought it was Aunt Bella or Aunt Levita, or even one of the cousins. But now I’m not so sure. If one of them wanted to get rid of me, they could have done it easily enough. They’ve been popping in and out of my apartment regularly over the past two weeks. Which makes me think that it’s someone else who wants me dead.”

There. I’d said it.

Relief rolled through me. Short-lived when I heard the low, guttural, unearthly growl coming from my ma.

“Now don’t go getting all worked up. Please. I just don’t know where else to turn—” The words died as I slid a sideways glance to find Lillith’s head lolled back, her mouth wide open. Another growl slid past her lips.

Okay, make that a snore.

Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrr…

The sound vibrated through the car and my relief vanished quicker than the last truffle in my gift box. Alarm rushed in, reminding me that I had a full forty-eight hours to go until the wedding was over and there was no longer any reason to kill me.

Hopefully.

Which explained why I dropped off my mother and gave the limo driver directions to Blythe’s place. After I swung by my extremely dark, extremely intimidating apartment to get Snooki, that is.

Agarth had picked up Blythe at the club just after midnight under the pretense that her car was messed up and he was just giving her a lift home. One that obviously involved an overnight sleepover, since he answered the door when I knocked.

“What ye be needing at this hour of the bloody night?” His eyes flashed murderous intent at the barking Snooki in my arms.

Talk about rotten timing. I should have shown a little decorum, pretended not to notice that he was wearing only a pair of boxers and an irritated expression, and walked away.

“Can we sleep on your couch?” I blurted instead. “Please.”

If survival meant being an unwanted third wheel, then bring on the lug nuts and call me Goodyear.

“Mmmmm…lick me again,” I murmured to the tall, dark hunk of demon slayer who loomed over me.

A smile played at Cutter’s lips and his green eyes sparkled. He dipped his head. A quick, leisurely sensation lapped at the side of my neck, and my nipples pebbled. Another lap and my toes curled.

“More,” I begged as the tip of his tongue touched the outer shell of my ear. Desire swept my nerve endings.

He had the most sinful mouth and I’d been waiting so long and
—

“Ruuuuffffff!”

My eyes snapped open a split second before Snooki’s tongue caught me right on the lips.

“Stop,” I sputtered and pushed her away. She yapped, determined to get in a few more licks before retreating.

“This is just between you and me,” I said firmly to the tiny Yorkie. I scrambled to a sitting position just as Blythe walked out of the bathroom.

“What are you doing?” She didn’t miss my blazing-hot cheeks and rumpled hair.

“Wrestling with Snooki.” Yeah. That’s it. “We were, um, just playing.”

“And here I thought you were having a lewd, lascivious dream about that demon slayer.”

“He’s not my type.”

“Sexy. Good-looking. Single. Yeah, I can see how he’s not your type.”

“He’s a slayer.”

“Who has the hots for you.”

“He does not have the hots for me.”

“Fine.” She shrugged. “
You
have the hots for
him
.”

“I’m a succubus. I have the hots for every man. And speaking of men, was that Agarth who answered your door last night? And don’t tell me he was sleeping over because he was too tired to go home after fixing your car. Your car wasn’t broken.”

“It might be broken. If Agarth weren’t doing the upkeep. He gave me an oil change.”

“Among other things.”

She shrugged. “Okay, so we’re friends with benefits.”

“Just friends?”

“Of course. He’s
so
not my type.”

“And yet he spent the entire night.” I sniffed. “And made coffee.”

“Maybe I made the coffee.”

“You hate coffee.”

“It’s not so bad.” I gave her a pointed look, which she avoided. “You’re welcome to a cup. And there’s Excedrin,” she added when I closed my eyes against the blinding sunlight that spilled through the window when she pushed the curtains aside.

“What about a gun?”

Laughter vibrated, making my head pound that much harder. “You’ll live. Dump a few tablets into a Red Bull and you’ll be up and around in no time.”

Unfortunately,
no time
amounted to five hours and thirty-eight minutes of excruciating headache.

Still, I dragged myself into the office and spent every moment nailing down last-minute arrangements for tomorrow and making accommodations for out-of-town guests.

The Hyatt for those in this realm. The morgue for those spirits coming from Down Under who needed a body more than a minibar. While demons usually went for live bodies, there wasn’t time to scope out walking, talking humans with spirits weak enough to make possession a possibility. The basement at Methodist Hospital afforded a quick alternative.

Once five o’clock rolled around, I headed over to the restaurant to check on the details for the rehearsal dinner.

Chef Lorenzo (a second-tier demon who’d cooked for my grandfather for eons back in the day) was hard at work finishing up the prep for a scrumptious feast starring my mother’s all-time favorite tonsil tartare and complete with chocolate-dipped baby rodents and roasted kidneys.

Needless to say, I spent as little time in the kitchen as possible before making a pass through the dining room to check that all the flowers had been delivered, and appropriately shriveled, and the place settings laid out—black chargers with black china edged in silver.

I also did a double check that the chocolate fountain worked properly. What? Someone had to do it.

After that, I rushed home to change clothes, check on Snooki, and mentally prep for tonight’s event. My definition of prep? Sucking down two Red Bulls and six Excedrin and dashing off a quick last will and testament naming Blythe as Snooki’s guardian should I bite the bullet.

Hey, it never hurt to be prepared. Particularly since I couldn’t shake the unease that sat in the pit of my stomach. A sensation that exploded the moment I returned to the restaurant to find my mother in a fierce argument with Chef Lorenzo.

“What’s going on?” I asked her when the demon of devilish chow threw up his hands and disappeared in a puff of smoke. “Where’d he go?”

“Don’t worry.” She waved a hand. “He’ll be back. He’s just blowing off steam because he’s mad.”

“And he’s mad because?” I prompted.

“I may have made a tiny little menu change.”

“But I worked hard with the chef to come up with that menu. It’s nasty, and it could turn a cast-iron stomach. It’s perfect for tonight.”

“Maybe.” She motioned to the platters of tonsils being dumped into the trash. “But I thought we’d go with more normal wedding fare. A pecan-crusted salmon and some julienne carrots.”

“Isn’t everyone in our family allergic to normal?”

“Exactly.” My mother smiled and my blood ran cold. “Lucy will refuse to eat. Levita will pout. And Bella will be climbing the walls. Literally. The last time she was faced with a plate of human food, she scaled the Sheetrock in search of spiders to tide her over. But I’ve already checked the dining room and there isn’t a stray bug in sight.” She beamed. “If only your grandfather could be here to see it. But, of course, he’s got an awards banquet to attend—he placed second in his tournament today. He promised he’d be here tomorrow. In the meantime, it’s going to be a glorious evening.”

Um, yeah. If by
glorious
she meant an enraged demonic bridal party desperate for sustenance.

Trepidation rolled through me. If my instincts were right and my aunties truly weren’t the ones out for my blood, the next few hours were sure to change that. I was the wedding planner, after all, and ultimately the one responsible for tonight’s menu.

I was
so
dead.

I didn’t die.

No, it was Lorenzo who bit the bullet when he refused to serve the salmon and my mother nailed him with a butter knife right
between the eyes. His body dropped and his spirit took a flying leap back to Hell, smack-dab to the end of that long,
long
line.

A vivid reminder of the fate that awaited me should I screw up Lillith’s big event.

“The food sucks,” Aunt Lucy murmured halfway through the appetizer—Santa Fe chicken wraps with sweet-and-sour sauce. She ignored the wrap and went straight for the cup of sauce, which she downed in one quick gulp. “This is the worst rehearsal dinner I’ve ever been to. Then again, this is the only rehearsal dinner I’ve ever been to.” When my eyes started to burn, she quickly added, “Not that any of this is your fault, sweetie. It’s obvious my dear sister wants us as miserable as possible.” My gaze shifted to my mother, who looked as fierce and as beautiful as ever in a bloodred suit, diamond earrings, and a chilling smile. She sat next to a very stoic-looking man with a receding hairline, watery blue eyes, and an extra chin.

I’d expected the chief demon of war to look more like Vin Diesel, but Samael appeared to be working the Napoleon angle. Smart man. Being underestimated because of his size and appearance probably gave him a huge advantage on the battlefield, and I had no doubt that Samael played to win. Just like my mother.

I watched as she touched Samael’s arm and whispered something in his ear. He leaned toward her, and his features softened. If I hadn’t known better, I would have sworn my mother actually laughed.