The Devil's in the Details (21 page)

Thanks to a faulty cooler (the flowers), a severe thunderstorm (the venue), and two teens fighting over a paintball gun (the dress), the next few days passed in a frantic blur.

A bad omen of the week to come and proof that my aunties were hard at work, trying to ruin my life and, ultimately, my ma’s big day.

That, or payback for running out of brownies.

Sure, I managed to work it all out. I found a substitute florist, took the garden nuptials inside the reception ballroom, and talked a local designer into loaning a couture gown to replace the ruined one (and I even talked my cousin Hester into zapping the teens with a bad case of jock itch).

All in all, there was still a happy ending. Even more, the bride and groom loved the lemon tree that I had planted in their honor (my special gift since they were eco fanatics) at Buffalo Bayou Park.

So why didn’t I feel the usual sense of relief and delight that came once the last bag of birdseed had been thrown? Instead, I walked into my apartment late Saturday night feeling uneasy. Nervous. Freaked.

Even a leftover piece of groom’s cake and the latest episode of
Say Yes to the Dress
did little to calm me down. By the time I climbed into bed, I still felt like crying.

And killing Snooki.

Seriously, my nerves were shot and I really needed her to lose the attitude.

Just for a little while.

My gaze swiveled to where she stood behind her doggie gate. Her shrill barking filled the air and grated across my nerves.

“I can’t deal with this tonight. Give it a rest, otherwise I’m going to duct-tape your mouth shut.” She barked again and I narrowed my gaze. “I’ll do it. I will.”

Okay, so I wouldn’t, which she quickly figured out after several more barks. What? She looked a little freaked herself, running back and forth behind the doggie gate. As if she expected the big bad boogeyman to jump out at any moment and she needed to be on her guard.

I knew the feeling.

I glanced at the line of demon-busting powder surrounding my bed. A little extreme, but I was sick of being caught off guard.

The barking continued and I tried stuffing my head under the pillow. When that didn’t work, I climbed out of bed, determined to do a little bodily harm.

I was just about to choke her (really), or at least shut the bathroom door, when she whimpered and licked my fingers. Okay, so it couldn’t hurt to pick her up and sit her at the foot of the bed.

So she can keep you up all night?

She was doing that anyway.

Besides, I really didn’t think I was going to manage any sleep. Not after the past few days of chaos, not to mention the knock-down, drag-out with the chocolate-chip spiders and the startling and surprising kiss with Cutter. And the promise.

But I’m coming back.

As excited as the notion made me, it was also equally depressing, because he never would have said such a thing if he knew my true identity. And wasn’t that the point of searching for The One in the first place? To find someone who would love the real me?

The questions pushed and pulled, making me even more stressed than usual.

On top of that, I was starting to feel a little bad about keeping Snooks cooped up in the bathroom all day. The last thing I needed was animal control knocking on my door.

I ignored the tiny voice that reminded me that would be a good thing. I wanted her gone, didn’t I?

Damn straight. She was noisy. Annoying.

And soft, I admitted when I scooped her up and climbed back into bed, holding her close. I snuggled closer and surprisingly enough, she stopped growling after a few minutes and settled down against me.

When I closed my eyes, I had the fleeting thought that maybe all the yapping wasn’t because she was prewired to hate my demon guts.

Maybe there were exceptions to every rule. The biggest, baddest demon hunter in the Legion had kissed me.
Me.
Satan’s own. Sure, he didn’t know I was the daughter of Hell’s numero uno, but that was just a minor detail. The point was, he’d still done it, which meant that maybe all the rules weren’t written in stone. Demons and dogs didn’t have to be enemies, just as demon hunters and demons didn’t have to be on opposite sides of the fence.

We could get along.

Be friends.

Fall in love.

Yeah, I knew it was a stretch, but I was tired and desperate, so I latched onto the small thread of hope and fell into a restless sleep.

I quickly came to my senses the next morning, however, when I woke to find Snooki chewing a hole through my favorite pillow.

“You are so going to the nearest shelter,” I told her.

She growled.

I glared.

And just like that, my small thread of hope faded in the overwhelming realization that I had exactly six days to pull off the wedding of my career.

The countdown had officially started and I still had a million and one things to do.

“Hell, here I come.”

If I hadn’t already had the heebie-jeebies about the coming week, Sunday would have stirred every apprehensive bone in my body. It was a day straight out of a
Twilight Zone
episode.

It started out with a phone call from Cheryl telling me that she had the guest list ready for Thursday night’s bachelorette party. Yeah, I know. My mom and my aunties and my sisters and the cousins all in one room. Together. In just four short days.

Oh, joy.

As if that wasn’t doom and gloom enough, I headed over to Bliss, Bling & Otherworldly Things for more demon-busting powder, only to find that they were out. Apparently with my mom’s big event just days away, there was an overwhelming amount of demon activity in Houston and the stuff had been flying off the shelves.

“I just sold my last case,” Sassy told me, “but I’ve got some antivampire deodorant on sale if you’re interested. Spring meadow or baby powder scent?”

“I’ll pass.”

“Werewolf flea powder at a ten-percent discount?”

I opened my mouth to decline when a thought struck. “Does it work on Yorkies?”

“Sure, but don’t use too much, otherwise you might have a big problem on your hands.” When I flashed a questioning look, she added, “The stuff has growth hormones. It’s deadly to fleas, but I’m afraid your Yorkie might end up a Great Dane.”

“Just put me on the waiting list for the demon-busting powder.”

“Will do. You sure I can’t interest you in something else?”

Anxiety rolled through me and my stomach jumped. I desperately needed something to ease my nerves, and there was only one thing powerful enough to do that. My gaze shifted to a new Vera Bradley hipster purse hanging on a nearby wall.
Come to Mama!

I forked over my credit card for the purse and left my name and number on Sassy’s waiting list. Then I hightailed it to a nearby restaurant (demon doth not live by cookie alone) for omen number three—Blythe, who showed up for our lunch date with Agarth in tow.

“It’s not like I could just up and leave,” she told me when I hauled her behind a nearby potted plant under the pretense of going to the ladies’ room, “not with him sitting on my couch.”

“And why, pray tell, was he sitting on your couch?”

“Actually, he was sleeping. What?” she asked when I arched an eyebrow. “We had a late night. I couldn’t let him drive home at four in the morning. You know what kind of crazies are out at four in the morning?”

Talk about preaching to the choir. “I thought you weren’t going out with him again?”

“He bought Maroon 5 tickets for my birthday.”

“Your birthday isn’t for another three months.”

“It was an early present.” Another eyebrow arch and she shrugged. “You know I love Maroon 5. I couldn’t let them go to waste. Besides, Agarth really behaved himself at the Coldplay concert so I thought, why not? It’s not like I actually
like
him. Seriously”—she motioned toward where Agarth was sitting several tables away—“what’s to like?”

My head pivoted in time to see him swipe a platter of hot wings off a passing waiter’s tray. He popped one into his mouth, bones and all, chewed, and swallowed.

“I rest my case,” she murmured before heading back to the table.

I followed and slid into my seat just as Agarth gulped down another hot wing. “So, um, Agarth, I was hoping to talk to you about doing another sculpture for me.”

He paused, buffalo sauce on his lips, another chicken wing in his hand. “Is Blythe part of the bargain?”

“I’m afraid not—”

“I’ll do it,” Blythe cut in.

I slid her a sideways glance. “Do what?”

“You know.” She shrugged. “Whatever you need me to do. One more date. Three more dates. Whatever it takes for Agarth to cooperate.”

“What might ye be in need of?” Agarth waved a knife at me. “Another ice lion? Or maybe a dragon? A two-headed serpent?”

“Not exactly. See, I was thinking…” I spent the next fifteen minutes giving Agarth my vision for my mom’s special wedding surprise. Not that it fit with the dark and sinister she was going for, but it was as close as my conscience would allow. I gave something special to all of my brides, and Satan’s own would be no exception.

After bargaining a half dozen Blythe dates for Agarth’s agreement, I spent the next hour stuffing my face with not one, but two desserts—after a grilled chicken salad, of course. Then I headed back to my apartment to order place cards for the reception.

To go with the Day of the Dead theme playing in the back of my head, I wanted to use miniature hand-painted skulls for place cards, which meant I had to find (a) six hundred miniature skulls, and (b) an artist to paint them.

Frustration clenched my hands, but I flexed my fingers and took a deep breath. How hard could it be? One could find anything on the Internet.

Except six hundred miniature skulls.

I figured that out five hours later, after a full afternoon spent looking at every website that even mentioned the word
skull
,
including a voodoo headshrinker at www.itsybitsyheads.com who promised the real thing.

And the problem was?

My mom wanted dark and sinister and frightening.
Voilà.
But I couldn’t silence the voice that kept telling me I was violating my principles. This was a wedding. A happy occasion, or it should be.

Which meant I was going to find ceramic skulls rather than the real deal if it killed me.

“I can’t make it tonight,” I told Circle of Love president Sherrie when six thirty rolled around and I was still shit out of luck.

“But Sherman Meister cheated on his wife a few nights ago with the fry girl at the McDonald’s and I was counting on your red velvet cupcakes to calm everyone down after they listen to the details. You know how worked up we can get.”

Boy, did I ever.

I had a quick vision of my own fall from grace last week with Cutter and the kiss and…whew, was it hot in here or was it just me?

I drew a deep breath and tried to find my suddenly scratchy voice. “I’m so sorry. I had two dozen ready to go, but I just can’t give up the extra few hours. I’ve got a big wedding this weekend.”

“What about fifteen minutes? Surely you can spare fifteen minutes to drop them off.”

“I could do that.” If I hadn’t already eaten some of them, that is. The rest I was saving for tonight. “I could definitely do that, except I don’t actually have them. See, I left them sitting on the counter and Snooki got into them. Not that she ate them, because chocolate is really bad for dogs, but she made a huge mess and now I have to clean it up and, well, I
really
need to go.”
Click.

I stifled a pang of guilt and made a mental promise to bake a full four dozen for the next meeting so everyone could have extra.

In the meantime, I grabbed another cupcake and plowed back into my mad search for skulls. I had a feeling it was going to be a long night.

“She’s going through with it,” Gio told me when he popped in later that night.

Literally, since Sassy had yet to call with the new batch of demon powder.

“I still can’t believe it.”

“Who? What? When? Where?” The questions poured out of my mouth as I tried to shift off my internal wedding planner and switch on loyal friend with zero benefits, because I wasn’t sleeping with Gio no matter how good he looked in black leather chaps, biker boots, and a tight black tee.