“Samael and I took an engagement picture. I had Cheryl order extra prints for my sisters. That way they will have a constant reminder that I married first.”
“I was thinking jewelry or perfume, but that could work too.”
As a dartboard, at the very least, if my aunties weren’t feeling the whole memento vibe.
“About the rehearsal dinner,” my mother went on. “I need details so I can text them to your grandfather. Not that he’s going to make it. He’s finishing up a tournament on Friday and I doubt he’ll be done in time. But I still want him aware of every step of the process.”
“I’ve booked a restaurant near the Galleria area.”
“Houston’s? They’re my favorite.”
“Jimmy J’s. They were the only steak house that would let me bring in a private chef,” I added when a tense silence filled my ear.
“I guess it’ll do,” she finally said. “It’s not like it really matters anyway. It’s the ceremony that’s most important.”
I tamped down a wave of oh, no and summoned my most optimistic voice. “I booked Chef Lorenzo DeMarco.” I played my only good hand. “You love his tonsil tartare.”
She grunted what sounded like whatever and a wave of anxiety went through me. If I couldn’t amp up her excitement with Chef Lorenzo (to whom I’d had to promise an arm and a leg—not my own, but those of some poor schmuck Lorenzo had chosen to be the star of Friday night’s menu), no way would she be wowed by the other wedding details. Especially since they weren’t nearly as dark and creepy as she’d requested.
“You know, it’s not just about the ceremony. It’s about all the little steps leading up to the main event,” I said, trying to pump up her lack of enthusiasm. “You’re actually getting married.”
“True,” she said after a long moment. “I am getting married. Even more, I’m this close to ruling the world.”
“That too.”
“I should be counting down the minutes.”
“I was thinking you should slow down and enjoy the moment.”
“Are you insane? I’ve been waiting for this my entire existence and it can’t come a second too soon. Just make sure everything is in place for a really good show.”
That’s all this was to her. A show. A chance to one-up everyone and thumb her nose at her sisters.
The notion went against everything I believed in. My mother was making a mockery of the sacred institution of marriage, and I was smack-dab in the middle of it.
And there wasn’t anything I could do except see it through.
Or quit.
The possibility played in my head all of five seconds before I dismissed it. However much I wanted to bail—and not because of the blood warnings and the invisible nooses and the spidery chocolate chips, though those made for a good argument—I couldn’t. Despite our differences—despite her indifference—I didn’t want to let my mother down. Not just because I was afraid of her. For the first time, she’d asked me to step up, to do something for her, and I was determined not to fail.
“It’s going to be a great wedding,” I promised her. “The biggest and the baddest ever.”
Now all I had to do was follow through and I’d be home free.
At least for a little while.
Until she saw the magazine and sent me spiraling back down to Hell.
I ignored the depressing thought, held tight to my fast-waning optimism, and focused on the next item on my list.
The bachelorette party.
Aka the bridal party (my aunties) and the bride (my ma) all in one room at the same time.
I pictured several possible scenarios even worse than the burned-out bridal salon and the singed dressmaker, and the optimism vanished.
On second thought, maybe quitting wasn’t such a bad idea.
22
“Tell me again why I have to be here?” Blythe demanded on Thursday night as we stood in the doorway of the Ab Factory, Houston’s version of Chippendales.
While I was killing myself trying to plan a wedding befitting the princess of darkness herself (complete with a bat release when the happy couple officially said I do), the bachelorette party was a different story. Sure, I was terrified of having the aunties together after the fiasco picking out the bridesmaids’ dresses, but the actual party details were a no-brainer.
My mother was no different from any other bride in that she wanted a chance to cut loose, lust after a few hot male bodies, and store up enough memories to last her entire married existence. Hence the male strippers and overpriced drinks.
“You’re here because you’re my BFF and I desperately need moral support right now,” I told Blythe.
She glanced at the clipboard I handed her. “I can do moral support without a pen and paper.”
“All right, so I desperately need an extra set of hands. And eyes. And ears. Mother had me invite every female relative in our family.” Including a few third cousins and my cousin Renee, who had four arms. “I need an extra sober person to help keep track of everyone on the list and prevent any disasters.”
“Like your aunt Bella and your aunt Levita fighting over who gets to eat the Candy Man?”
“No one gets to eat the Candy Man. No one gets to eat anything tonight except the appetizers.”
“Tell that to Aunt Bella.” Blythe’s gaze slid past me and I turned in time to see Bella with a dagger in her hand while a really hot Latino dressed in a red-and-white peppermint-striped thong gyrated in front of her.
“Stop!” I shrieked, darting across the room in time to catch the blade before it turned Raoul from a he to a she. “No slicing and dicing the dancers.”
Despite my diabolical-looking Aunt Bella and a near-death experience, the Candy Man kept time to LMFAO’s “Sexy and I Know It” without missing a beat. All hail my quick-thinking glam powers.
Aunt Bella shifted her full attention to me and I instantly felt the heat on my face. She frowned and fire swept from my head to my toes. The first wafts of smoke curled in the air and panic bolted through me.
My hair.
I knew it even before I smelled the sickeningly sweet aroma of burned shampoo. This was no warning. This was the real thing—my complete annihilation—and it was happening right here in front of everyone.
“Aunt Bella,” I croaked despite my suddenly dry lips. “Please—”
“Bella,” Aunt Lucy declared, sliding an arm around her oldest sister’s shoulder and drawing her attention. The heat subsided and I managed to catch my breath. “I was just looking for you. We’re doing Bloody Mary shots.” Lucy winked at me as she steered Bella around toward the bar. “Nobody sucks down a Bloody Mary like you, old girl.”
“I do have superior sucking powers,” Bella growled. “But I’d much rather have the real thing.”
“And the rest of us would rather not be party to a felony. At least not in public.”
“Pshaw,” Aunt Bella scoffed. “Back in my day, we didn’t worry about silly felonies…”
They disappeared toward the bar and I managed to draw a much-needed breath. After a quick glance to make sure I wasn’t still sizzling—yes, my hair was slightly singed on the ends, but nothing a quick trim wouldn’t fix—I gave in to a surge of relief. I sent up a silent thank-you (do not tell my mother) for my aunt Lucy.
“Are you okay?” Blythe was beside me in that next instant. “You’re smoking.”
“Still?”
She eyed me, doing a quick look around. “A little, but there’s no fire. Your aunt is totally psychotic.”
“Tell me about it.” My mind flashed back to the bloody threat on my bathroom mirror, the invisible noose, the spiders. Yep, Bella was psychotic, all right.
But in a bold, in-your-face way.
I’d just seen that for myself. She hadn’t waited for me to slip off to the ladies’ room so that she could exact her revenge. Rather, she had set me on fire in front of everyone, or at least she’d tried.
No, Bella wasn’t behind the cryptic messa
ge on my bathroom mirror. Or any of the other threats. Subtlety wasn’t her style.
Was it Aunt Levita who’d been terrorizing me? Or one of the cousins? Maybe they’d just been blowing off steam over the nuptials.
I shivered, still really, really wanting to believe. My family gave new meaning to the word crazy, but better the devil you know.
“I think I need a drink,” I croaked, my lips suddenly dry.
“You and me both. Do you know I caught your cousins trying on thongs in the back dressing room with the dancers?”
“Let’s hope that’s the worst we have to deal with. Last time I had the aunts together, the building caught fire.”
And this time I’d caught fire.
“I’d invest in an extinguisher if I were you. It’s probably going to get worse. Agarth said there’s far too much demon activity going on for one city. Something is bound to happen.”
“Way to lighten my mood.”
She shrugged. “I just want you to be careful. I worry about you.”
And I was starting to worry about Cutter.
I admitted that to myself over the next few hours as I sucked down not one, but three margaritas and thought about the situation.
Cutter had been forced off the grid because of all the demon activity. I knew that much. But why? Because he was in danger?
That had to be it.
He was in danger, so he’d bailed and assigned Smith to keep an eye on me.
Because I was in danger?
Duh. I’d been neck-deep in it from the get-go.
If only I wasn’t starting to think that I had more to worry about than a few crazy relatives. Much more.
I tried to drown the notion in another margarita while I watched Blythe stand guard near the restroom, her clipboard in one hand and her cell phone in the other. She read an incoming text and her face brightened.
What were the odds Agarth was at the other end?
I smiled and then I frowned, because while I was superhappy that Blythe had found someone (even if she wouldn’t admit it), I was superunhappy that I had found zip.
Just a demon slayer who didn’t know how to call or text or drop by.
And the problem was?
The last thing I needed was to start something that could only end in disaster. Cutter would find out the truth and lop off my head, or I would take a nosedive south thanks to some unseen force out to get me. Either way, we’re talking bad with a capital B.
All the more reason to try to relax and enjoy the time I had left. And the hot guys. Everywhere.
I summoned my inner slut puppy and focused on a nearby waiter with broad shoulders and muscular biceps and six-pack abs that would make any woman’s mouth water.
I waited for the appropriate reaction. I was a succubus, for Pete’s sake. There should be an instant rush of give it to me, baby.
Instead, the only thing I felt was a churning in my stomach courtesy of my stress level.
Seriously. I felt more excitement for the chocolate-truffle gift boxes stacked on the main table than I did for Mr. Six-Pack.
Uh-oh.
I reached for another drink. And then another. And then another.
I was drowning my troubles with a sixth margarita and trying not to cringe as eight of my cousins sang a really bad karaoke version of “We Are Family” when Aunt Lucy finally slid into the seat next to me.
“I never thought I’d say this”—she took a long swig of her own appletini—“but I’m actually having a good time. And so is your mother.”
My attention shifted to Lillith, sitting at a nearby table. She wore a white veil dotted with condom packages and a T-shirt that said The Bride Wants a Ride!—all courtesy of Aunt Lucy, of course.
“Can you believe she actually put on that getup?” Lucy finished off the appletini and grinned.
“Only because she likes being the center of attention.” My gaze shifted to the hunk strutting his stuff across the stage in front of her. His name was Count Wonderful and he wore a black cape, black leather pants, and enough body oil to grease a fifty-foot Slip’N Slide.
“He’s so hot,” cried Aunt Levita, who sat next to my mom. She nudged Lillith before hopping up on her chair and waving a dollar bill. “Come and get it, Mr. McHunky.”
In typical one-up fashion, my mother pulled out a twenty. “Over here, man slave.”
Aunt Bella, who sat on my mother’s left, was the only one who didn’t look the least bit engaged, but then I’d confiscated her dagger, so I couldn’t really blame her. She’d given up sex years ago in favor of blood and destruction.
“I think Bella needs another drink.” Lucy signaled the bartender. A minute later, she sashayed over to her oldest sister, a Screaming Orgasm in hand. She nudged the oldest Damon and handed over the drink. A few gulps and, surprisingly, the stern set of Bella’s features seemed to ease. She looked almost human. Harmless. Family.
The hunch that I was sinking deep and fast into something I didn’t understand hit me again and I blinked against the burning at the backs of my eyes.
I shifted my attention to Cheryl and George, who stood near one of the adjacent stages. Cheryl, whose face looked ready to explode, peeled off several dollar bills from a huge roll and waved them at a tall, buff construction worker who went by the name of the Drill Bit. He shook his moneymaker in front of an embarrassed Cheryl before plucking the dollar bill from her hand. He whirled, shimmied, and backed it up right in George’s shrouded face.
The hellish messenger waved a hand and the pants slid up into a very painful-looking wedgie. The construction worker squealed. I cringed.
Ouch.
If I hadn’t known better, I would have sworn I saw a crack of white in the black shadow that was George’s face. But then the construction worker did a quick rip and yank, and the pants went flying. The demons cheered. George growled. And I reached for another drink.
“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 th
rough 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.
23
“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—
The Devil's in the Details Page 17