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—”
“No cousins. I’ve decided to have your aunts. All three of them.” A smile lifted her mouth. “I want them front and center for every moment of this event.”
My mind riffled back through the past forty-eight hours, complete with the cryptic message on my bathroom mirror and the invisible noose in the car. Both screamed mad as hell, and now she wanted said perpetrator in the wedding? “Do you really think that’s the best idea?”
“I think it’s brilliant. Getting married is a huge coup. But rubbing their noses in it will be just plain fun. I don’t want them to miss a minute of this, particularly your aunt Bella. She’ll be the matron of honor.” She giggled. No, really. Giggled. Like a schoolgirl having her first crush. Or the Devil appointing her most detested sister as the matron of horror.
“And they agreed?”
“They have no choice, dear. Your grandfather supports this union and they won’t risk pissing him off. Speaking of your grandfather, he’ll need a tuxedo. I have no clue as to his measurements because he’s off playing some tournament right now and can’t be reached, but I have no doubt he’ll show up just to make sure that I am, indeed, tying the knot. He won’t let me assume sole control without proof.”
“One tux,” I murmured, still trying to process the latest news. My aunties? In the wedding?
“So where are we going to do this?” My mother’s voice slipped past the pounding of my heart. “Give me a location and Cheryl will text the aunts where to meet us.”
“But it’s almost nine o’clock at night.”
She cut a glance at me. “And?”
I wanted to tell her that all the shops were closed because they were all run by humans who actually kept normal business hours.
At the same time, this was my chance to prove to her that I was actually good at something other than seducing men. I was Houston’s hottest up-and-coming wedding planner. Translation? I had mad wedding skills and it was time to prove it.
“Give me five minutes.”
15
“I really appreciate this, Summer,” I told the chic brunette who opened the glass doors of the elite dress shop in the heart of the Galleria area.
“When duty calls, I answer.” Summer Canfield routinely dealt with Houston’s rich and famous. She was no stranger to opening after hours—thankfully—and loved getting the scoop on the lives and times of Houston’s most prominent VIPs. This burning desire—plus a ten percent bonus commission—had lured her out of bed at nine thirty on a Thursday night. “So who is it?” Her eyes danced with excitement. “Debutante? Actress? Politician?” She finished flipping on the lights, chasing away the last of the shadows, and turned an expectant gaze on me.
“Um, yeah.” I glanced around the pristine shop with its plush cream-colored sofas and thick champagne carpeting. The only real color came from bunches of pale orchids situated here and there and the collection of dress magazines stacked on a gold-edged coffee table. A bowl of white Jordan almonds sat nearby. Michael Bolton drifted from the speakers.
Summer’s was the perfect scenario for an excited bride to choose fabulous dresses for her wedding party. A not-so-perfect scenario for Satan to torture her hellish sisters.
I sent up a silent plea that the sofas had been coated with Scotchgard. Otherwise, I was screwed.
“So?” Summer’s eager voice drew my attention. “Which one is she?”
I did a quick mental tally and blurted, “Politician.” What? While my mom fit the bill for the first two (she could throw a temper tantrum and do a crackerjack Angelina Jolie impersonation) false promises were definitely her specialty.
Excitement lit the woman’s eyes. “Local or state?”
“Bigger.”
“National?” she breathed.
“And then some.”
“I knew it.” She mouthed a quick tell me all the dirt later, clamped her lips shut, and pretended to lock her trap and throw away the key. While Summer thrived on being in the know, she was still a master of discretion. At least until we walked out and she started texting the members of the local women’s auxiliary. She gave me a wink before waltzing past me to greet the aunties, who’d just arrived and now stood in the doorway.
“Ladies! Welcome! Can I interest anyone in some champagne?”
“By all means,” said my mother, easing into a nearby chair. She wore a black silk blouse, a fitted black skirt, and an expression that said she was really going to enjoy what was about to happen. “This is definitely an occasion worth celebrating.”
I barely resisted the urge to grab Summer and run for cover. But that would surely blow my cover as a mad, bad demon. I forced a deep breath and concentrated on not having a major freak-out. Tough, considering all the aunts were here. Right now. Right here.
“I’ll have a drink.” Aunt Lucy slid a hand into the air as she perched on the edge of a sofa. She looked fun chic in a Rihanna concert tee, a pair of pink spandex pants, and a hot-pink pair of retro cowboy boots.
“Me too,” said Aunt Levita. She was the picture of cold indignation with blonde hair, stormy gray eyes, and an expression that said she would rather have bamboo shoved under her fingernails than sit down. “In fact, make mine a double.” She eyed a nearby sofa as if it were going to jump up and bite her. “It’s really pale in here.”
“It’s called eggshell.” Summer beamed. “It’s the latest in the in color palette.”
“Peasants,” Aunt Levita snorted and slid on a pair of sunglasses before forcing herself down next to Lucy. Meanwhile, Summer turned to Aunt Bella. “How about you, dear? A glass of Cristal?”
“I’d rather have fresh-squeezed virgin’s blood.” Aunt Bella was the oldest of the bunch and the most traditional. She was the least superficial, too, and preferred a more motherly approach to deception. Translation? With snow-white hair and a black dress, she looked more like a grieving widow than a demonic princess. “That always gives me a nice kick.”
“Virgin’s blood,” I snorted. “What a joker.” I gave Aunt Bella a pointed stare that said Hello? Human alert.
A chilling smile curled her bottom lip. “I suppose a glass of AB negative would do just as well.”
Her words conjured an image of the bloody mirror and my stomach contracted.
“Bella’s such a riot.” Lucy’s voice pushed past the noise and snagged my attention. She laughed and gave me a look that said get it together, and fast. “The champagne will do just fine,” she told Summer, who rushed off, a strange expression on her face.
I gathered my courage and gave myself a mental ass kick. I might be quaking inside, but I wasn’t going to give Aunt Bella the satisfaction of knowing it. I met her icy stare with one of my own. “Seriously?”
She shrugged. “Back in the old days, we drank a dozen virgins anytime we felt like it.”
“Virgins are so last season,” Lucy told her, “but then you wouldn’t know that because you live under a rock.”
“It’s a cave, and there was a time when all demons lived in one, including you.”
“About a zillion years ago,” Aunt Levita said. “In case you didn’t get the memo, Bel, we’ve evolved since then.”
Bella scoffed and gave her sister a pointed look. “Evolution is for peasants.”
“You’re an eccentric idiot,” Levita countered.
“You’re an idiot.”
Oh the joy of a family get-together.
“Why don’t we all just relax and enjoy the moment,” I cut in. “Remember, we’re not here for ourselves. This is all about the bride.” I scooted around to position myself in a nearby chair. Close enough to play referee but far enough not to get caught in the cross fire. “Mother? Do you have anything you’d like to say to everyone?”
“Just that I’m happy to have all of you here to share this special time with me. It really means a lot.” My mother beamed, and I had the crazy thought that maybe, just maybe, this hasty marriage wasn’t solely a power play.
Maybe my mom actually had feelings for Samael.
Maybe she’d realized the error of her ways and the dueling between the sisters was now officially over.
Maybe it was (deep sigh) true love.
“Choosing the right bridesmaids’ dress is crucial for this event,” my mom went on. “I mean, really, I can’t have any of you looking better than I do on the one day when I’m trying to show everyone up.”
Then again, maybe not.
“Tell me again why we’re adding five thousand dollars to the momzilla budget?” Andrew asked the next morning when I finally dragged myself into work. After a restless night courtesy of a yapping Snooki and a frisky Cutter.
Not the real Cutter. The fantasy Cutter.
I tried to ignore the ache in my nipples and grabbed the air freshener to mask the pungent smell of smoke that still clung to me. “A few unexpected expenses.”
“Bigger centerpieces?” Andrew’s brow wrinkled. “Extra cake? More than one photographer?”
“Insurance deductible.”
Thanks to Mommie Dearest, who’d stuck the aunts in bright-white dresses. Short, frilly, virginal white taffeta with matching hair bows, parasols, and chunky jewelry.
I know, I know. Virginal white is so anti–dark and sinister, but it was the quickest way to torment her sisters. Needless to say, Aunt Lucy had been slightly freaked (white was so last season, and chunky jewelry? Not). Aunt Levita had thrown a fit because, hey, it’s white. And Aunt Bella had thrown not one, but two lightning bolts and a few claps of thunder.
Long story short, Summer’s shop was closed for fire damage and she was just this side of deaf but happy thanks to my demon glam skills.
Sure, she’d be wearing a wig for a little while, but the good news was her hair would grow back.
Someday.
“Insurance deductible?” Andrew stared, the question quickly forgotten as he wrinkled his nose and watched me wave around the can. “Have you been barbecuing?”
“You have no idea.” I shot another wave of Tropical Breeze into the air and sank down at my desk.
I cleared my still-scratchy throat and he arched an eyebrow. “So why is your mother paying an insurance deductible?”
“We had a bridesmaids’ fitting last night and things got a little ugly.” Or a lot.
Understanding lit his gaze. “Bad dress?”
“The worst.”
“Say no more. I’ll give the photographer a heads-up. Photoshop, here we come.”
16
“You’re off the hook,” I told Blythe that evening when she finally answered her cell. “I managed to summon Azazel all by myself.”
“Really? How?”
“I have my ways.” Or at least George had his ways. Thankfully. “No more Agarth,” I reminded her, waiting for her sigh of relief.
Silence ticked by for a few seconds. “That’s great.” Only it didn’t sound so great.
“What’s up?” I asked her.
“Nothing. I mean, I was getting ready to go see Coldplay. Agarth bought the tickets because he knows they’re my favorite, which was really kind of sweet, or it would be if I was remotely interested in him. Which I’m not.” She laughed. “He’s such a caveman. It drives me nuts. Not that I can’t put up with it a little while longer if you need me to. In fact, it might be a good idea. Just in case you
r plan A falls through.”
“Trust me, it’s foolproof.”
“Awesome.” The word was small and insincere.
“Something else is going on. What is it?” But I already had an idea. “Don’t tell me you actually like Agarth.”
“Are you kidding?” She laughed, a brittle, harsh sound that didn’t ring sincere. “I do not like Agarth.” Her voice softened. “It’s just that I had a really crummy day and Coldplay was the one thing pulling me through.”
“Crummy?”
“The school district called last night. I went on my first substitute-teacher job today. It’s part of a work program for my major. I need at least sixteen hours in the field in order to graduate. It was at Granbury Elementary School. First grade.”
“That’s terrific.” The minute I said the words, I heard a strangled cry on the other end. “Or not.”
“Oh, Jess. It was terrible. One kid kicked me. Another threw up on my shoe. And that was all in the first twenty minutes. It was the longest eight hours of my life. Being a teacher sucked. What was I thinking even considering giving up the limo service to be a kindergarten teacher? I should have majored in marketing or something that would help me book more tours. I think I’m in way over my head with the teaching stuff.”
“Don’t say that. Teaching is your dream.”
“It felt more like a nightmare.”
“Nothing worthwhile is ever easy.” Great. I sounded like an inspirational calendar. “It was your first day. Things happen. You need to cut yourself some slack. Hang in there. Don’t quit.”
She sniffled. “That’s what Agarth said when I texted him earlier.” Another sniffle. “Speaking of which, he’s supposed to be here in a half hour. I need to catch him before he drives all the way over here for nothing. Later.”
She hung up before I could ask the all-important question—why was she texting Agarth the details of her day?
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