The Devil's in the Details (32 page)

“I’ve got something I need to tell you.”

And then I did just that.

1

“We want an outdoor theme,” said the woman sitting across from me. “Something at night beneath a star-studded sky.”

“Outdoors.” I entered the information into my iPad. “I can do that.” Because I was Jess Damon, Houston’s hottest up-and-coming wedding planner—at least according to the last issue of
Texas Brides
magazine. My sole mission in life was to make matrimonial dreams come true.

“With lots of candles.”

“Candles.” My fingers flew across the touch screen. “Check.”

“Black candles.”

“Black. Check.”

Okay, so I wasn’t just any ordinary wedding planner. Jess is short for Jezebel.
The
Jezebel.

Yep, that’s right. I’m a 1,026-year-old demon slut puppy (the not-so-PC term for succubus) with a weakness for all things sugar, a rockin’ bod (a demon can only exist in this realm by occupying a human body), and a crazy extended family. We’re talking a control-freak mom (aka Satan, one of the four crown princesses of Hell), three aunts (the Big H’s other three), thirty-six cousins, and a zillion second cousins. All female.

Um, yeah.

Anyhow, I’d been carrying on my birthright by plowing through men faster than I went through my favorite Krispy
Kreme doughnuts up until two years ago, when I’d watched an old hookup marry the love of his life. A lightbulb had gone off then and I’d realized how empty and meaningless my existence had truly been.

Forget mindless lust.

I wanted the real deal. Forever and ever. Till death do us part.

And I wanted it in a big, massive ceremony with those cute little bubbles, a five-tiered wedding cake, and tons of flowers.

What? A demon can’t be a hopeless romantic?

Anyway, since true love wasn’t hanging around every street corner, I’d had to settle for planning happily-ever-afters for everyone else while eagerly awaiting my own. I’d started out with a strictly human clientele, but a recent wedding uniting Mommie Dearest with a demon general named Samael had opened up my employment options.

Enter Henry Martin—that’s human speak for Heneraminzanen, aka chief demon of foul-smelling gases (and I don’t mean the fuel kind)—and his one and only Eloise Macallister—Elimaneezercalis, i.e., the chief demon of bad timing. They’d been front and center at Mom’s big event and properly awed by my planning skills. While they’d obviously teamed up a long, long time ago, now they wanted to make it official with a big ceremony and an ever-growing guest list.

“And we need lots and lots of shrunken heads,” Eloise went on. “Henry has a thing for shrunken heads.” She beamed at the fortyish-looking man sitting next to her. “And we’d like to do a mini bonfire at the center of every table and ceremonial knives at each place setting and we definitely want to spit roast a few virgins.”

“Four,” Henry chimed in. “We need at least four.”

“A wedding is a happy occasion,” I reminded them. “Why don’t we save the human sacrifice for the first anniversary?” That, and since we demons existed in this realm and weren’t too anxious to find ourselves sucked back Down Under, we tried to play it as
safe as possible. That meant looking both ways before crossing the street, turning off the oven before bedtime, and refraining from any major felonies that might lead to the death penalty.

“I think I’ve got enough information to get started,” I said after making a few more notes. “I’ll call as soon as I’ve lined up some location prospects.”

“Great.” Eloise smiled and motioned to Henry. “Pay the woman.”

Henry pulled out a Visa Gold card and my heartbeat kicked up a notch. While I was scheduled to make a nice profit off my mom’s wedding, I had no idea when, or if, I would see the money. I’d sent her an invoice two weeks ago, right along with a copy of
Texas Brides
featuring yours truly. No big deal, except that my mom had been under the impression that my new career was nothing more than a front to boff hunky groomsmen and spoil Big Days. The magazine was proof that I’d gone legit.

I’d expected a few lightning bolts and maybe a plague when she’d discovered the truth.

But complete and utter silence? Talk about scaring the bejesus out of me.

In more ways than one.

My chest tightened as my thoughts shifted to a certain hunky demon slayer. While Cutter Owens and I had gotten superclose (we’re talking phenomenal sex and the fact that I’d helped him hunt down an ancient demon and reclaim his soul), I’d failed to reveal my true identity. Instead, I’d led him to believe I was just a lower-level demon. Insignificant in the hierarchy of Hell. And, therefore, hardly worth a Legion member’s time, much less his sword.

But in my flurry of guilt, I’d not only sent my mother a copy of the magazine, I’d gone for a full confession with Cutter.

“My mother is the Devil,” I’d blurted just as he’d gotten an urgent text from his higher-ups. He’d stared at me for a nanosecond,
muttered a gruff, “We’ll talk later,” and then he’d hauled ass in the opposite direction.

I hadn’t seen or heard from him since.

A good thing, I told myself for the umpteenth time. If he’d been
really
pissed, he would have come back to slice and dice me by now.

No, he was probably just taking his time to process the info.

That, or he’d gone straight to the Legion with the news, because he couldn’t do the deed himself since I’d rocked his world and he was madly in love with me. They’d no doubt issued a bounty on my head and every demon slayer within a thousand-mile radius was now stalking me, waiting for the perfect moment to—

“…much up front?” Henry’s voice pushed past the humming in my ears and yanked me from my morbid thoughts.

“What? When? What?”

“The down payment.” He motioned to the credit card in my hand. “How much are you putting on the card?”

I forced Cutter from my thoughts, tamped down the gut feeling that something bad was about to happen, and focused on the couple sitting across from me.

“For the size of your wedding and all the extras”—I did a quick mental calculation and added twenty percent—“a fifty-thousand-dollar retainer should do the trick.”

Henry didn’t flinch. Thankfully. While I wasn’t exactly living off ramen noodles, I still had bills to pay, not to mention I was desperate to move my growing business from the first floor of my duplex into an actual storefront.

I was just about to run the credit card when the intercom buzzed.

“Jess?” Burke Carmichael’s voice floated over the line.

Burke and his twin brother, Andrew, were my devoted assistants. With blond hair, brown eyes, and ripped bods, they were
two of the hottest guys I’d ever seen. They were also extremely gay, a big plus for me because, as a succubus, I oozed massive sex appeal, which proved far too distracting to the average heterosexual male. The twins fixated on flowers and centerpieces rather than boinking yours truly, so we tended to get massive amounts of work done.

“I know you’re with a bride and groom right now,” he went on, “but I think there’s something out here you should see.”

“I’ll be right there just as soon as I finish up.” I slid the card through the reader and keyed in the amount.

“It’s really important.”

“Ditto in here.” I grabbed a twenty-off referral coupon while I waited for the receipt to print.

“I bet this is more important.”

“I bet it’s not.” I handed Henry the credit card slip and a pen. “If you’ll just sign right here—”

“Get your ass out here now!” His frantic voice shattered my train of thought. I punched the off button and pushed to my feet. “If you’ll excuse me for just a minute. What’s the big emergency?” I demanded when I waltzed into the outer office to find an ashen-faced Burke.

“I opened the closet and there it was.” He clutched his hands. “So then I slammed the door shut and tried to tell myself that I shouldn’t have had two mimosas this morning, but the thing is, I always have two mimosas after a morning facial because they relax me, you know, but maybe I should have had just one because two might be getting to be a bit much and so now I’m seeing things, really bad things and—”

“Burke!” I grabbed him by the shoulders. “Get a grip.” I stared past him at the closed door. “It’s just a closet.”

“Says you.” He shook his head. “It’s in there, I tell you.”

“What is? A rat? A raccoon? A dead body?”

What? I’m a demon, for Pete’s sake. It’s not like I haven’t seen it all. Then again, Burke wasn’t privy to my demon status, so I definitely should have kept my mouth shut.

He didn’t so much as bat a wide, terrified eye. “I think it’s a vortex,” he managed a split second before the door seemed to swell. A roar started. Hinges creaked. Wood cracked.

Okay, so maybe I haven’t seen it all.

The roar grew louder, deafening. I grabbed a fistful of Burke’s shirt and dived for the floor just as the door blew.

And all Hell rained down on us.

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Writing is the hardest job in the world and the most solitary, but luckily I have a few key people who help make the job easier and a little less lonely: my wonderful agent, Natasha Kern, for her continuing faith in me and my work; my loving husband, Curt, who keeps me going through every trial and tribulation and slaps the remote out of my hand when I’m on a reality TV binge; and my best bud, Debbie, for always listening when I need to talk, or cry, or gossip about people we used to know.

My heartfelt thanks to all of you!

And many,
many
thanks to my readers who send notes and e-mails and visit me on Facebook. Your encouragement means the world to me!