The Devil's in the Details

by Kimberly Raye

  Failure was not an option.

  That’s what I kept telling myself. But when I finally fell asleep, my dreams were filled with dancing virgins, barking dogs, and Cutter coming after me with his giant sword (and I don’t mean that in a good way).

  I was so screwed.

  I woke up with a major sugar hangover (what’s new?), a great big mound of guilt (get thee behind me, Chips Ahoy), eight urgent phone messages from Delaney, who insisted on changing the table linens—all five hundred of them—and my cousin Monique looming over me because I’d been so busy googling that I’d forgotten to spread my No Demon powder across the windowsills and thresholds before dozing off on the couch.

  “Do you know that you drool when you sleep?”

  “No, but thanks for passing that along.”

  “You snore, too, and not in a cute, fluffy sort of way. You really let it rip—”

  “What are you doing here?” I cut in, scrambling upright. Crumbs flew and the remote took a nosedive to the floor.

  “The real question is”—she swept a gaze around at the circle of burned-down candles sitting center stage in my small living room—“what are you doing here?”

  “I was, um…” My brain raced for something to say, and not very fast since it was early and I hadn’t had a shot of caffeine. “That is, I was just summoning Tylechanezer.” The ancient demon’s name popped into my head courtesy of the bottle of Tylenol sitting on my nightstand. “For my mom’s bachelorette party. She wants to get wild, so I thought we could have him jump out of a cake.”

  It was a lame excuse, but Monique seemed to buy it.

  “Good idea, but wouldn’t it be easier to just text him? He’s been living in Chicago for the past ten years. Occupying a really hot body from what I understand, so I’m sure your mom will be happy.” She gave me an odd look. “A conjure spell only works if a demon is Down Under. You should know that.”

  Duh. Talk about Demon 101. The thing was, it had been so long since I’d actually sat through Demon 101 that I’d sorta, kinda forgotten a lot of the dos and don’ts.

  “I’ll e-mail his number.” Her mouth drew into a tight line as she eyed me. “Then again, you probably won’t open my e-mail because you never open my e-mail. I tried calling you too, but you haven’t called me back.” She stared at me as if she were about to hand over the fate of all mankind. “I need you to bring the brownies.”

  “Brownies?” I pushed to my feet and sidestepped a wayward candle. “What? When? Where?” A sleepy fog still gripped my brain, and I did a quick visual for a leftover Diet Coke on the nearby coffee table. Caffeine would be good right about now.

  “Brownies,” she prodded as I stumbled toward the kitchen. She stalled in the doorway and cast a sideways glance at Snooki pacing behind the doggie fence blocking off the bathroom. The animal barked and growled, and Monique glared. “For the baby shower, remember?”

  “I’m sorry. I meant to call. I can’t make it this Saturday.” I sent up a silent litany of thanks. “I’ve got a wedding.”

  “Which is why we switched it to Thursday afternoon. One o’clock.” She bypassed a snarling Snooki and walked toward the counter where I stood. “You really haven’t been reading my e-mail.”

  “My server’s been down,” I murmured, desperately trying to digest this new piece of information. Moved? To Thursday?

  “Now back to the brownies. Hester positively loves them. And so does everyone else. So we have to make sure we have plenty. I’m thinking a full dozen for each person there. That puts us at”—she glanced at the iPad in her hands—“eighty dozen.”

  “Thursday?” I mumbled, still stuck on her earlier news. This Thursday? Without a major shot of caffeine it was a little difficult to keep up. “But today is Tuesday.” My head snapped up and my gaze collided with hers. “That means tomorrow is Wednesday. Followed by Thursday.” Anxiety zapped me and blood started pumping even before I popped the top on my Diet Coke. “But that gives me barely forty-eight hours to make a zillion brownies.”

  She shrugged. “You should have read the e-mail. Or at least checked the Facebook page that I designed for the event.” She beamed. “Talk about cuteness.”

  “I can only imagine.” I downed a can of soda while Monique slid into a kitchen chair and chattered on about the baby shower for my cousin Hester. Ugh. It was just so wrong on about a million different levels.

  Number one? I couldn’t stand Hester—one of Aunt Bella’s brood—when she wasn’t expecting. Add a bunch of raging hormones and swollen ankles and three solid hours listening to her brag about everything from her shoes to the size of her husband’s penis and I could safely say she was my least favorite relative.

  If Hester’s company wasn’t bad enough, a baby shower meant all of my kin stuffed into one location—in this case the penthouse apartment of the Galleria Towers. Which meant my aunt Bella would bring her usual pickled eyeballs and my cousin Dahlia would talk nonstop about her own set of twins and then everyone else would want to know why I didn’t have a baby on the way, including my mother, who was sure to be front and center, reminding me that my specialty was the big S and I should have two dozen of my own little illegitimate demons running around by now. And who knew? Maybe I’d be the one to break the curse and finally birth a boy.

  Like that was going to happen.

  I knew that was next to impossible, and you would think after more than seventy-two female births, the rest of my aunts and cousins would know it too. But obviously optimism is alive and thriving in the Damon clan.

  Case in point—Hester had registered for an all-blue layette complete with a miniature cowboy outfit, baseball-themed nursery sheets, and a sterling silver football ready to be engraved with the new baby’s name.

  Hargathonarazmas. That had been the name listed on the powder-blue invitations.

  Welcome Baby Hargie!

  “So that’s eighty dozen brownies, and don’t forget a baby gift,” Monique told me. “I’m getting the baby a miniature Dallas Cowboys football uniform, complete with tiny helmet.”

  “But what if it’s a girl?” What can I say? With a demon slayer hot on my tail and my livelihood hanging in the balance with my mom, I was fresh out of optimism at the moment.

  “It’s not a girl.” Monique gave me a narrowed look that promised retribution if I didn’t jump on board the XY-chromosome train.

  “Did she see the sex on the ultrasound?” What? I was already on the Demons’ Most Wanted list, being tormented by my big bad aunties. Monique, a lower-level demon who specialized in slow grocery clerks and long wait lines at the DMV, was the least of my worries.

  “Everybody knows you can’t trust those ultrasound thingies.” She waved a hand. “If Hester thinks it’s a boy, that’s good enough for me. Now about the brownies…” She spent the next fifteen minutes giving me specific instructions on the size she wanted each brownie square and what type of serving platters to bring and how high to pile the plates and what color doilies to use.

  “That’s powder blue,” she told me. “Not baby blue. Or cornflower blue. And don’t even think about showing up with azure.”

  Yep, you guessed it. It isn’t just optimism that runs rampant in our family. We’re also a bunch of OCD pain-in-the-asses.

  “Don’t forget,” she went on. “You need to be there two hours early.”

  “Got it.” I downed the last of my Diet Coke and glanced at the clock. A bolt of panic went through me. I had two dress fittings, three cake tastings, and a meeting with Cheryl to go over the guest list, and I was already forty-five minutes late.

  “I really have to get going.” I ushered Monique toward the door. “But thanks for stopping by.”

  “Don’t forget the brownies,” she blurted before I slammed the door in her face.

  As if.

  I might be guilty of lots of things. Too many one-night stands. A little creative Photoshopping on my Facebook pic. Slipping a Valium into Snooki’s nightly kibble. Okay, that last one I’d only t
hought about. But still. I made mistakes.

  But forgetting a mountain of chocolate?

  I was stressed, not crazy.

  14

  “Here’s the guest list.” Cheryl handed me the neatly typed pages when she walked into the office a few hours later, where I was neck-deep in momzilla wedding details.

  I was flying solo that morning since Andrew and Burke were finishing last-minute errands for a vow renewal we had planned for this Saturday, complete with a Friday night dinner party at the Waldorf Astoria. An event that was completely under control. Unlike my mother’s extravaganza. Sure, it was taking shape. Slowly. But slow wasn’t good enough. I needed fast.

  On top of that, I’d spotted Cutter’s black Land Rover parked across the street this morning and a box of Krispy Kremes waiting on my doorstep.

  Not that it was a gift or anything, even if my heart did skip a few beats. It was a reminder. He knew what I was, and he wasn’t going away until he got what he wanted—namely the ancient demon who’d stolen his soul.

  If only I didn’t keep fantasizing that I was what he wanted.

  Seriously. I was having some major fantasies starring Houston’s hottest demon slayer. Sexual fantasies, I reminded myself, which was to be totally expected since I had succubus flowing through my veins.

  But the sun was shining now and it was time to focus on the finished invitations that had been delivered earlier that morning.

  A quick glance at the neatly typed pages from Cheryl and I realized it was an alphabetical list of names only. WTF?

  “Where are the addresses?”

  She shook her head. “No addresses.”

  “How am I supposed to send out invitations without any addresses?”

  “That’s what George is for.” She motioned to an empty corner. The air shimmered and solidified and suddenly we had company.

  George was a black-robed figure with a shrouded face and a pair of impressive wings that looked a little singed around the edges.

  “I’m guessing he’s not a postal worker.”

  Cheryl smiled. “He’s better. No lunch breaks. No union. Just fast and efficient service.”

  “Guaranteed or your money back,” said a deep, vibrating voice that seemed to bounce off the walls.

  “He’s part of a new Down Under courier service that your mother started. While she can summon with the snap of a finger, often she only wants to send a message. Do this. Do that. Fry this. Fry that. George here is her faithful delivery guy.”

  I thought for a second and a memory stirred. “Didn’t you bring me six thongs for my birthday last year?”

  “It was seven, dear,” Cheryl said. “One for each day of the week. I purchased them myself.”

  “But I only received six.”

  Cheryl arched an eyebrow at George. A startling slash of white cracked open the blackness of his face. “I thought you were working on the undie fetish?” The shrouded shoulders shrugged, and she shook her head. “Demons. What are you gonna do? Anyhow, you just get them labeled and George will deliver them. No addresses needed.” When I didn’t look convinced, she added, “A lot of our guests don’t actually have a physical address, since half of them are coming from Down Under.”

  Duh. Unfortunately I’d been planning human weddings for so long that I hadn’t actually stopped to consider that all-important fact.

  “What about the RSVP cards?”

  “What RSVP cards?”

  “We need an exact head count for the reception. Guests mail the cards back in with the number attending or their regrets. Will George be bringing those as well?”

  “There won’t be any regrets. No one is going to miss your mother tying the knot.”

  “I know that’s what most brides think, but trust me, there are always regrets. Things come up.”

  “Not this time. If your mother invites them, they will come. They have to come.”

  Her words sank in and reality smacked me. We’re talking Satan Speak, which equaled the Down Under version of Simon Says. Meaning whatever Mom said, they did. Otherwise they spent an eternity on shit duty.

  No was not an option.

  “So they’re all coming. Everyone.” The moment the word slid past my lips, an idea struck. A brilliant idea.

  All I had to do was summon Azazel to the wedding on behalf of my mother and—bam!—he would have to make an appearance. Cutter would have his revenge, and I would keep my ma from losing her head permanently.

  If I could get my mother to invite him.

  I glanced down at the As and sure enough, no Azazel.

  “This seems like an awfully small list,” I told Cheryl, my heart pounding and my mind racing. “I thought my mother wanted to go big.”

  “There are six hundred names on the list.”

  “This is Texas.” I managed a laugh. “Big usually means a thousand. At the very least.”

  Cheryl seemed to think before shaking her head. “Your mother handpicked the list herself. Everyone who’s anyone Down Under will be there. Anyone else is just added baggage.”

  “But I can think of at least a dozen demons she’s missed.”

  “I wouldn’t mess with her list,” Cheryl said. “She was very specific about who she wanted in attendance.”

  Meaning there would be no slipping Azazel onto the list without my mom realizing that something was up. If I wanted him invited, I had to come up with a really good reason to get my mother to change her mind.

  “What about a date? Surely I can bring a date?”

  “I’m afraid your mother didn’t allow for dates.”

  “But I need him there.” When Cheryl arched an eyebrow, I added, “We’re serious.” When she looked confused, I added, “Semiserious. We still see other people, of course. I am a succubus and duty calls. But there’s just something extra between us. We have so much in common.” Cheryl didn’t look convinced, so I threw in a quick, “We walk our dogs together.”

  I knew I’d hit pay dirt when excitement lit her eyes. “You have a dog?”

  I nodded. “Her name is Snooki, and she’s a recent acquisition. I was all thumbs when I got her and so I joined a dog-lover website. That’s where I met him. We’re pet-loving buddies.”

  “What’s the website? Maybe I know it.” Because Cheryl was a huge dog lover and knew all about pet-loving sites.

  “It’s www.luvdoggies.com.”

  “I don’t think I’ve heard of that—”

  “Or something like that,” I cut in. “It’s on my favorites so I don’t actually have to type it in exactly. Anyhow, we both have Yorkies, so we have lots to talk about.”

  “What’s his dog’s name?”

  I scrambled for a plausible name, but the only thing that popped into my head was, “Pauly D.”

  “Really?”

  “We both love Jersey Shore too. We’ve never met face-to-face, and this would be the perfect time for me to say thanks for all of his great doggie tips. I don’t know how I would have made it the past few days without him. He’s like the Yorkie Whisperer.”

  “I suppose I could bring it up to your mother—”

  “No,” I cut in. “She’ll just freak if we ask her and probably set me on fire, and then who would take care of my new little Snooki? Besides, we’re talking one measly demon. She’ll never even know. She’ll be so busy with everything else that she won’t have a spare second to scrutinize the hundreds of guests in attendance. Please,” I added. “It would mean so much to me. And to Snooki.”

  She looked doubtful, but then she nodded. “Add him to the list,” she said. “But that’s it. No one else. And make sure he keeps a low profile. She’ll have my head if she notices him.”

  “We’ll keep it very low-key,” I promised. “No making out at the reception table.” On second thought. “We’ll make out all over the place. She’ll never notice anything is off.”

  Cheryl left, and I finished off the invites, adding Azazel’s name to the bunch before handing them over to George.

&
nbsp; He grunted a garbled you suck—the Down Under equivalent of thank you—and disappeared in a wisp of black smoke. The sharp aroma of sulfur burned my nostrils.

  I lit the Yankee candle sitting on my desk—vanilla cupcake flavor, what else?—and mentally crossed Beheaded Bride off my list of upcoming tragedies. I texted Cutter a quick You can get off my back. One soul-stealing demon en route. No sooner had I hit Send than my phone beeped with a new message. How?????

  I hit the delete button and slipped my phone back into my purse. The less Cutter knew about how I’d managed to summon Azazel, the better. The last thing I needed was every demon slayer affiliated with the Legion standing in line, begging me to add their next kill to my guest list. I wanted to pull this wedding off without a hitch, not turn it into a Pop That Demon party.

  I could deal with the guilt of sacrificing one ancient demon to save my own mother. But a whole ballroom full? Even Dr. Phil wouldn’t be able to counsel me through something like that. I was the black sheep of the family, going it alone, dancing to the beat of my own drummer. Not a traitor.

  I squelched a wave of anxiety and focused on the all-important fact that I’d done it. I’d saved my mother from the Legion’s sword. A feat that called for some serious celebration.

  I skipped the next five items on my momzilla list and grabbed my purse to head over to Cake Creations. I hauled open the door and ran smack-dab into Cutter Owens.

  He looked even sexier in the bright light of day. He wore the usual jeans and black T-shirt. A serious expression drew his mouth tight. “Where did you find him?”

  “I haven’t found him. I mean, I have, but I can’t tell you where he is because I don’t know exactly. All I know is that he’ll be at the wedding. He’s on the guest list.”

  “How do I know you’re telling the truth?”

  “Why would I tell you he’s going to be at the wedding and risk you showing up and getting pissed because I lied to you? If I were lying, I’d send you on a wild goose chase someplace far, far away from this wedding. Speaking of which, I’ll have to work out some way to get Azazel off by himself so you can deal with him without interrupting my event. In the meantime, you can stop following me.”