The Devil's in the Details (5 page)

I was halfway up my front walk when I felt the presence behind me. My skin prickled and awareness rippled through me. Along with a teeny tiny sliver of fear.

I know, I know. I’m a big, bad, ballsy demon. Evil is my middle name. I shouldn’t spook so easily. But with my hands full and my nerves still buzzing from my up-close encounter with the Legion’s top demon hunter, I was uncharacteristically jumpy.

All right, so I’m a wuss.

“I have Mace,” I breathed. “And I’m not afraid to use it.”

“Easy, Dirty Harry,” came a familiar voice.

Relief swept through me and I turned to find myself face-to-face with a tall, leggy brunette in three-inch designer pumps, hot-pink shorts, and a white
I Heart Justin Bieber
T-shirt.

Lucy Damon was my mother’s youngest sister and my favorite relative of all time. Forget murder and mayhem—Aunt Lucy used her powers to design the most amazing shoes and accessories. She was cool and trendy and didn’t give a fig about the power trip Down Under. Even more, she didn’t scare the crap out of me like my other two aunties.

Usually.

I arched an eyebrow and eyed her fitted tee. “Isn’t he a little young for you?”

Her brown eyes danced. “Maybe, but he’s sooooo cute, dontcha think?”

“In an underage, jailbait sort of way,” I reminded her. I tightened the grip on my satchel. “Shouldn’t you be in New York right now? Dressing models for a runway or something?”

“My show is next month. Listen, I popped in as soon as I heard the disastrous news.” She reached into the leopard-print Coach slouch hanging from one shoulder. “And I brought reinforcements.” She held out a silver purse attached to a single wrist strap. “Part of my new spring line, launching in thirty-six days and counting.”

The smell of designer handbag called to me, and my shitty day melted away as I cradled the coveted clutch in my hands. “I love it.”

“I know it’s not much compared to what you’re going through, but I was hoping it might cheer you up.”

Mission accomplished. I couldn’t stop smiling for the next nanosecond. Until I felt the uneasy ripple up my spine and the churning in the pit of my stomach. Something bad was brewing, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that I’d been plunged right in the middle of it. And that I was sinking.

My smile faded and I gave my favorite aunt a desperate look. “What am I going to do?”

“You’re going to stay strong. You can’t let one jackass screw up your entire existence.”

I glanced overhead, fully expecting to see the star-studded sky crack open. “Um, maybe you should keep your voice down so said jackass doesn’t hear you.”

“Hey, I call ’em like I see ’em.” She touched a comforting hand to my shoulder. “You’re stronger than this, Jess. Don’t be intimidated. Hold your head high and walk away.”

“I can’t.”

She shrugged. “Then get a vibrator.” When I opened my mouth to blurt
been there, done that
she held up a hand. “I know you’re really busy with your career, but sometimes we have to slow down and enjoy ourselves. We’re talking survival, and we females have to
do whatever it takes to get through the tough times. That, or I can arrange to have his head chopped off. Or any other body part.”

O-kay. “What, um, exactly are we talking about?”

“The whatshisname who dumped you last week.” She patted my shoulder. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of. We’ve all been there, honey.”

“No one dumped me last week.”

“But I got a text this morning saying there’d been a bad breakup.” She seemed to think. “Come to think of it, maybe it was your cousin Tess.” She shrugged. “She was probably texting while driving again. Last month I got a message that she was rescheduling her well-woman appointment. Meanwhile, the Women’s Health Group over on Louisiana got an invite to a Slutty Susie party she was having at her apartment.” She eyed me, her dark eyes soft and concerned. “So if it isn’t a man who has you looking like you want to throw yourself into the nearest carton of ice cream, who is it?”

“Ma.” I lowered my voice, ready to deliver the devastating news. “She’s getting married.”

Lucy rolled her eyes. “Tell me something I don’t know.”

“She wants total control.”

“More power to her.” She shrugged. “I barely have time to eat, much less worry over a bunch of greedy demons who don’t listen anyway.”

“That’s not the worst of it. She wants me to plan the wedding, which means”—I swallowed, desperate to push down the lump rising in my throat—“we’ll be spending a lot of time together. Practically every day.”

Horror flashed in her gaze and a strangled cry escaped her full lips.

No, wait, that cry came from
me
.

A second later, I found myself smothered by Justin Bieber as Aunt Lucy pulled me close for a fierce hug. “I’m so sorry,”
she said, and meant it. That was the thing about Aunt Lucy. She hugged and she cared. Two things my mother and my other aunties would never understand. Not that Aunt Lucy bothered explaining herself to her sisters. She didn’t care what they thought. She did her own thing and, more importantly, she was happy doing it.

Her phone beeped and the hug ended.

“Sorry sweetie, I have to take this.” She spent the next thirty seconds reading a very long text before sliding the phone back into her leopard-print bag and giving me an apologetic smile. “I’ve got to run.”

I cradled the cute little clutch for a few moments before forcing myself to hand it back over. “Don’t forget the purse for Tess.”

She waved me off. “You keep it. I think you need it a lot more than she does.”

I grinned and watched her body shimmer and fade into the surrounding darkness.

Most demons utilize the usual modes of transportation in this realm because zapping in and out requires a lot of power that they simply don’t have. Demon juice is a cumulative thing that grows over the years, meaning the older the demon, the more gas in the tank. Since my aunt Lucy is older than dirt, she cashed in the frequent flier miles in favor of popping in every now and then.

I drew a deep, steadying breath, turned, and headed for my front door.

I
could
do this, I told myself. I had a good friend in my corner. A terrific aunt pulling for me. And even more, I had my very own new preseason, couture clutch.

I could pull this whole thing off
and
get my mom off my back.

The confidence lasted for a few minutes, until I walked into my bathroom. Then doubt screamed in my head. Literally. My gaze hooked on the mirror and the words smeared in red.

You’re in over your head,

Back off now or you’re dead.

The air rushed from my lungs and cold horror slid through me. A sharp, pungent scent tickled my nostrils. Blood. The message was written in
blood
. AB negative, to be specific.

I quickly became aware of the closed shower curtain behind me and the possibility that whoever had scribbled the worst poetry I’d ever read (and I’d been a huge Walt Whitman fan back in the day) could still be here.

Yeah, and you just ran smack-dab into her.

Aunt Lucy?

I drop-kicked the thought as soon as it struck. She would never,
ever
do such a thing. Forget death and destruction. She was the anti-auntie. The one shining light in the darkness. The demon of designer handbags.

Threats? Not her style. Especially when it came to her favorite niece.

Aunt Bella was a totally different story. Her claim to fame was physical anguish. Think the Spanish Inquisition. The Salem witch trials. The Saw flicks.

Even more, she hated all her nieces. Yours truly especially, since I’d given her a bouquet of flowers for her birthday last year instead of the expected body part. She’d been waiting for an excuse to come after me with her arsenal of toys, i.e., knives, whips, chain saws, the Jackass movies on DVD.

I knew then that it wasn’t a coincidence that Portia had called earlier tonight. She’d probably been spying for her mother to find out the truth. And now Aunt Bella wanted to throw a wrench into my ma’s plans by taking me out.

AB negative
was
her favorite blood type.

Ba-bom. Ba-bom. Ba-bom.

My heart beat a frantic rhythm as I turned, my gaze riveted on the closed shower curtain. I inched backward one awkward step at a time.

One. Two. Easy—yikes!

I banged into the doorframe and whirled. Panic bolted through me and I raced down the hallway and into the kitchen. Rummaging in the drawers, I searched for the biggest knife I could find. Not that I intended to use it. The sight of blood and guts made me queasy, and I was already batting one for two at the moment.

My hands trembled. Talk about a wimp—but my auntie didn’t know that.

If it
was
Aunt Bella.

My mother wasn’t my only bride, after all. For a split second, I considered the possibility that maybe, just maybe, the threat stemmed from one of my other clients. I was sure there were a few jilted exes out there who might want to stop a wedding.

But enough to break in and write a bloody death threat?

Doubtful.

Either way, I desperately needed a weapon.

A few frantic seconds later, I realized that the one detriment to having my own business was that I had little time to cook, which meant that my arsenal of weapons consisted of three plastic sporks left over from yesterday’s Italian takeout, a pair of chopsticks, and a monogrammed cake server from three weeks ago. The bride—Margaret—had ditched the groom—Jim—during their Jamaican honeymoon when she’d caught him cheating with a cabana girl. Needless to say, she hadn’t wanted a souvenir from the wedding.

I grabbed the cake server and tried to calm my pounding heart. When that didn’t work, I reached for the cookie jar and the mountain of Oreos stuffed inside. I shoved two Oreos into my mouth. Did I mention that demons have a superfast metabolism?
Which meant the three slices of cake and their soothing powers were long gone.

I chewed the mouthful and by the time I swallowed, I felt loads better.

Okay, so
loads
was stretching it a bit. But I felt calm enough to face my no-win situation—me and my cake server vs. crazy, bloodthirsty Aunt Bella should I go through with the wedding from Hell. Or me and my cake server vs. crazy, bloodthirsty Mother should I back out. While Aunt Bella was a card-carrying sadist for sure, my own mother had founded the club and written the handbook. Aunt Bella could hurt me, but my own mother could
hurt
me. As in calling me back to Hell and keeping me there for all eternity.

On the other hand, if I went through with it and pulled off a successful wedding, I would bank enough money to move my business into an actual storefront. Even more, my mother would be so busy controlling everything and everyone Down Under that she would have zero time left over to keep tabs on me.

And if she did, by some crazy twist, eventually discover that I’d gone legit, she would still be so grateful that I’d pulled off such a fabulous event that she would show a teeny tiny ounce of mercy and leave me alone.

What can I say? Sugar not only boosts my mood, it also makes me slightly delusional.

I held tight to the crumb of hope, stuffed another Oreo into my mouth for an added rush, and marched back into the bathroom. After ripping aside the curtain and checking every nook and cranny of my apartment, I headed back to the kitchen for a dishrag and some Palmolive.

A few minutes later, I’d washed all the evidence of the threat off the mirror and out of my head.

Kind of.

I still had the cake server in one hand (just in case) when I walked into my bedroom. I pulled off my skirt and blouse and climbed into some comfy sweats. While I had a thing for designer handbags, my weakness didn’t stretch to my wardrobe. I much preferred comfort over couture. My favorite outfit? A pair of pink Costco sweatpants and a Hello Kitty sweatshirt. Pinky swear.

Back in the living room, I collapsed on the sofa and reached for the remote. I was just about to pull up last night’s episode of
My Fair Wedding with David Tutera
when a strange sense of awareness crawled through me and I felt a prickly sensation on my bare foot.

I screamed and jumped, and the spider scuttled under a nearby chair.

My cousin Aylena had a great recipe for a mean tarantula omelet, but big or small, I hated anything with more legs than me.

Which explained why I was still standing on my couch a full fifteen minutes later, cake server in hand, eyes frantically searching for the MIA spider, when I smelled the sharp scent of sulfur.

I knew even before I turned around that there was a demon standing behind me. What I didn’t know was which one had decided to pay me a visit.

With my luck at an all-time low, I had no doubt it was Aunt Bella herself, chain saw in one hand, DVD in the other.

I drew a deep breath, held tight to
Margaret & Jim 4-ever
, and turned to face my nemesis.

“It’s a little kinky, but I can work with it.”

The deep voice rumbled through my head and relief washed over me, followed by a wave of irritation. Turning, I found myself face-to-face with the hottest-looking pirate I’d ever seen—and trust me, I’d seen plenty in my line of work.