The Devil's in the Details

by Kimberly Raye

“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.

  But then she pulled away. Samael stiffened. And I was left to wonder if all that Red Bull was making me hallucinate.

  “It’s not enough that she’s taking control,” Lucy went on. “She wants to rub everyone’s nose in it. Even the judge looks pissed.”

  I turned my attention to the man sitting on my mother’s right. Judge Landon Parks, aka chief demon of slavery and oppression. He had salt-and-pepper hair, regal features, and a grim expression that said he’d like to slap a pair of handcuffs on whoever was responsible for the plate in front of him.

  I swallowed. Hard.

  “Maybe ma changed the menu because she really likes salmon,” I heard myself say.

  “And maybe Bella will make a heartfelt toast to the happy couple.” Lu
cy motioned to her sister, who sat across the table looking as gloomy as ever in her usual old-lady black dress. Her eyes blazed with fury.

  Eyes that were trained solely on me.

  Uh-oh.

  “I’ll be right back. I need to check on the dessert.” I retreated into the kitchen, only to run smack-dab into the young Legion rookie who’d become my shadow over the past few days.

  Could my night get any worse?

  “Are you crazy?” I gripped Smith’s arm and tried to steer him toward the back door, but he wouldn’t budge. “There are two dozen hungry demons in the next room who would love to rip off your head and have it as the main entrée.”

  “So?” He shrugged away and puffed out his chest. “I’m not scared.”

  “Yeah, right.”

  “I’m not. Really.” He glanced nervously around at the prep cooks, who seemed oblivious to us as they rushed to plate the entrée. “I need to talk to you.”

  “It’ll have to wait. I’m in the middle of a rehearsal dinner.”

  “I know. Satan’s getting married and you’re in charge. This is important.” His mouth tightened as he seemed to gather his courage. “I’ve got a message from Cutter.”

  I glanced over my shoulder to make sure the statement hadn’t snagged anyone’s attention, and then I grabbed Smith by the arm and steered him into a nearby walk-in refrigerator.

  My teeth started to chatter as soon as I pushed the door shut behind us. Hey, it’s a demon thing. Any cold is too cold, which meant the fridge was the safest place for this conversation.

  I hugged my arms and nodded. “You’ve got five minutes.”

  “It’s about the plan for tomorrow.”

  “What does he want me to do?” I managed, my teeth knocking as I tried to get the words out.

  “When the target shows up at the wedding, your job is to steer him outside into a waiting car.”

  “I’m supposed to send him away when the whole point is for him to be at the wedding in the first place?”

  He nodded. “Tell him he was only invited to the reception, not the actual ceremony. Brides do that all the time, right?”

  “I suppose.”

  “Tell him you’re sending him for cocktails or something at a different location until it’s time for the reception. Tell him you’ve got limos shuttling everyone over. We’ll have one there to pick him up and drive him to a takedown location.”

  “Where?”

  “Someplace dark and empty.”

  “What if Azazel realizes that something is up?”

  “He won’t. Not until he’s in the car, and then it’ll be too late. I’ll be following just in case.” When I arched an eyebrow, he added, “I can handle myself.”

  “Will there be other backup?”

  He shifted uncomfortably. “The thing is, this isn’t technically a Legion-sanctioned kill. Not that they don’t want Azazel dead. It’s just that Cutter can’t risk bringing anyone else in. He can’t risk another Legion officer making the actual kill.”

  Because in order to gain his soul, Cutter had to be the one to deal the final blow to Azazel.

  “You’re involved,” I pointed out.

  “True, but I’m not an official slayer.” He actually looked sheepish. “Cutter’s been training me for tryouts when I turn twenty-one, but I’m still a civilian. Which is why I’m the one watching you. There are some bad forces out there and Cutter didn’t want to draw any more unwanted attention to you. Putting a bona fide demon hunter on your tail would have been a red flag, and it would have meant alerting other Legion members.”

  Any more unwanted attention? My brain snagged on the words and my chest tightened. Had I already drawn someone’s attention? That would explain the threats and confirm the nagging feeling that my family wasn’t really out to kill me.

  It was someone else. Another demon? Or a Legion member?

  I opened my mouth to beg for more info, but Smith reached for the door. “I have to get out of here. I’ve already said way too much—”

  “Wait.” I grabbed his arm. “I need to talk to Cutter.”

  “Do you have questions about the plan?”

  I shook my head. I didn’t have questions so much as comments. Be safe. Watch your back. I miss you. “Where is he?”

  “Still off the grid, and he’ll stay that way until tomorrow night.”

  “I need help with these plates!” The headwaiter’s voice boomed nearby.

  As much as I wanted to keep Smith there and grill him for more information, I knew it wasn’t safe. “You should go before the entrées get sent out.” I ducked my head outside the fridge to make sure the coast was clear. “I have a feeling the natives are going to riot.” I walked out first, blocking the way so he could scoot by and slip out the back door.

  I spent the next two hours scarfing down ladyfingers—soaked sponge cake, thankfully, since my mother had ditched the real thing—and praying for divine intervention.

  I know, right? But let’s face it, the forces of evil, all of whom were less than ten feet away, cared little about my success. I needed something bigger on my side, so I sent up a prayer to the Big Guy that I made it through tonight and tomorrow in one piece, and that Cutter stayed safe and sound and managed to reclaim his soul. And that my ma never found out I’d gone over her head on this one.

  Ask and ye shall receive.

  At least when it came to tonight. Other than a small fire at the head table (Aunt Bella) and a sword fight between Samael and the best man (his brother Mordrad), the rest of the evening was pretty uneventful.

  Even Cheryl, who’d been the only human in attendance, looked pleased as she steered my mother and Samael toward a waiting car. “I wasn’t too sure about tonight, but you pulled it off without a hitch,” she told me after the door had shut and she was just about to climb in next to the driver.

  “Don’t kid yourself. We were in a roomful of bloodthirsty demons. The salmon was a definite hitch.”

  “Maybe, but it went well, all things considered. Let’s hope tomorrow is the same.” She drew a deep breath as if saying her own silent prayer. Attagirl, Cheryl. “Speaking of which, I’ve got to have your mother at the salon by two. All the bridesmaids are meeting there to get ready as well.” A shudder ripped through her and I knew she was envisioning what three hours smack-dab in the middle of the crown princesses of Hell would be like. Forget the paraffin wax. Tomorrow’s special would surely be a bloodbath.

  She seemed to shake away the thought. “Your grandfather flies in at two thirty. That was the earliest flight he could manage since he refuses to miss the celebratory breakfast after today’s tournament win.”

  The win was a given. I wanted to point out that Gramps could also pop in and out anytime he wanted, but I had a feeling Cheryl had already thought of that.

  “He insisted on flying in with his golf buddies.” She waved a hand. “You know how he is about golf. Anyhow, I’ll have my hands full, so can you pick him up and drop him at the Hyatt? I would send a car, but your mother wants the VIP treatment.”

  “I’m on it.”

  That is, if whoever was after me didn’t kill me in my sleep tonight. A definite possibility, too, since I was still flying solo sans my coveted demon-busting powder. I seriously doubted my newly acquired collection of Vera Bradley was going to ward off any evil spirits.

  Cheryl must have noted my sudden worry because she tried for a smile despite her own obvious misgivings. “Keep your chin up,” she said as she climbed in next to the driver. At least you get to see your sweetie tomorrow night. Maybe he’ll even bring his pooch.”

  Azazel.

  The name echoed in my head as I watched the car pull away.

  I glanced at the Datsun parked across the street. Smith sat behind the wheel, a slice of pizza in one hand, binoculars hanging around his neck. I gave him a small wave and he waved back.

  A sliver of comfort stole through me. Cutter was out there somewhere, still keeping an eye on me even if it was through
the Legion’s most inexperienced man.

  I marched back inside, back to the kitchen where the dishes were being washed and put away, and pulled out my phone. I spent the next few minutes on the phone with Blythe going over the plan to detour Azazel. If I had to pick up Gramps from the airport, I’d need someone else to catch Azazel when he arrived at the Bell Tower.

  “Sounds so James Bond-ey,” Blythe murmured, her voice unusually breathless.

  I heard a muffled giggle, followed by a deep, guttural, “I’ve got a big surprise for ye.”

  Ugh. Too much info.

  “Blythe? Is someone there with you?”

  “Of course not.” Another giggle. “I mean, um, yeah. But it’s just Agarth. We’re messing around. It’s nothing serious. So, um, why not just have Cutter intercept Azazel at the Bell Tower? Wouldn’t that be easier?”

  “If I wanted a knock-down, drag-out in the middle of my mom’s wedding, which I don’t. Can you do this for me? Please…”

  “Okay, but when this is over you’re going to owe me big-time for all the favors.”

  And I knew just how I was going to pay her back—with free planning and a discount on all wedding services.

  That is, if she ever admitted that Agarth was more than just an FWB.

  I spent the next thirty minutes boxing up the rented linens and dinnerware. I was making one last pass through the restaurant when I noticed that Landon Parks was still sitting in the small bar area near the front entrance, a glass of whiskey in his hand.

  “Big day tomorrow,” I said, and he nodded. “Shouldn’t you call it a night?”

  “Not just yet.” He eyed the bartender at the far end. “After that atrocious dinner, I need some sort of sustenance.”

  “But he’s a demon,” I quickly pointed out.

  “Perhaps.” His gaze shifted to the wall of windows just beyond the bartender. “But he isn’t.” The beat-up Datsun sat across the street. I watched Smith reach for another slice of pizza.

  A growl vibrated in my ear and my attention shifted back to Landon. “He looks so innocent, doesn’t he?” His eyes gleamed as he licked his lips, and my stomach did a somersault because I knew what he had in mind.

  He was the chief demon of slavery and oppression. Which meant he would more than likely tie Smith up and force him into a lifetime of servitude. That is, if he didn’t eat him first.