The Devil's in the Details (16 page)

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
A
s 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.

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.”

His expression eased and a grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Not on your life, sweetheart.”

That’s what I was hoping.

I ignored the last thought and stiffened. “I don’t need a babysitter.”

“Says you. The car,” he reminded me about the incident a few nights ago. The coldness. The noose. “You were choking and I played Superman.”

And how. I remembered the feel of his hard body pressed up against me, his strong arms wrapped tight. “Um, thanks.” I cleared my suddenly dry throat. “But I’m fine now. I really need to go. I have a cake tasting.”

He didn’t move for a long, drawn-out moment. Instead, he stared down at me, his gaze hooked on my mouth as if he wanted to taste me as much as I wanted to taste him.

Hello? He wants to kill you. That’s what he does. He takes out demons. He needs you right now. That’s the only reason he isn’t slicing and dicing.

“Are the rumors true?” I heard myself ask. “About you wanting to take out as many demons as possible?”

“Azazel stole
my soul
,” he murmured, as if that explained it.

And it did. I saw the flash of torment in his eyes, so quick, but it was there. Deep inside.

“I’m really sorry.” I shouldn’t have said it, but I couldn’t help myself. I
was
sorry. Sorry that he’d suffered because of my kind. Hopeful that I could help him find some peace. And not just to save my own skin, I realized as I stood staring up at him.

No, it went beyond that.

I liked Cutter. I actually
liked
him.

Yeah, right.

You hardly know this guy. It’s the hormones talking.

Surprise glittered hot and bright for a brief moment. “Are you sure you’re a demon?”

I shrugged. “Nobody’s perfect.”

He grinned, just a small lift at the corner of his mouth, but it was enough to send a whisper of
yowza
through my already hormone-riddled body. The tension between us thickened, and I became light-headed. Yep, it was the hormones, all right. I licked my lips. He was so close.

Just a little closer. Please.

He stiffened. “You really should go.” He stepped aside and motioned me forward, and hope faded in a rush of disappointment.

A kiss? Really? Are you that delusional?

I was. I’d been on the wagon so long that I was starting to imagine things. Like how I actually
liked
him. And how great it would be if he liked me.

Ugh. I
so
needed a big fat bite of chocolate decadence.

I spent the next two hours gobbling down mouthful after mouthful of my favorite, as well as a dozen other flavor combinations, before nailing down both the bridal cake and the groom’s cake. With a major sugar buzz sating my craving—for the moment—I managed to turn off the deprived-succubus-trying-to-stay-on-the-celibacy-train and switch on Houston’s-upcoming-wedding-planner-of-the-year.

I headed to a nearby salon to check on the dress fittings for the Stout-Fowler wedding, ordered the engraved invites for the Gray-Schneider vow renewal, and talked one of my upcoming brides out of making her pet boa constrictor the flower girl. Daisy gobbling up a few of the 115 wedding guests would surely shoot the modest budget to Hell and back.

I also stopped off at Costco to pick up brownie supplies for tomorrow and headed home feeling calm and hopeful for the first time since my mother had dropped the bomb about her wedding—a feeling that disappeared the minute I saw my mom’s black Lexus parked in front of my duplex.

I walked into my office to find her sitting on the white settee in the main lobby area. Andrew and Burke perched in front of her, glazed, adoring looks on their faces as they each held one of her feet and worked the kinks out of her toes.

“Your minions are too cute,” she murmured, sipping a glass of champagne with a strawberry floating on top. Cheryl sat to her right, champagne bottle in one hand, iPad in the other. “Isn’t that right, Cheryl?”

“Too cute,” the woman readily agreed.

“My minions?”
Not.
“Oh, yeah. Mine. And definitely cute. What, um, exactly did you do to them?”

“They started bombarding me with all these questions about colors and music and food, so I zapped them. They’re much more tolerable this way. The arch,” she told Andrew, who gazed at her with total adoration. “And do it just a little harder. There. That’s it.” She smiled and apprehension wiggled through me.

“Mom?”

“Yes, dear.”

“What, um, are you doing here at my office?”

“I’m here for the bridesmaids’ fittings, of course.”

“But how can we fit anyone when we haven’t decided which cousins to ask? I made a list, but I haven’t narrowed it down—”