Luck of the Devil

by Cate Lawley

  “I did sign the client agreement.” The first agreeable thing my father said, and it was about paperwork.

  “Here are the pertinent facts,” Michael said. “I’m going to give you the information that you’ve been missing, Bill.” Michael smiled reassuring, and then he dropped the whole mess in the ill-equipped man’s lap.

  Dad’s job, which he’d apparently referred to as stressful and where he claimed to mostly herd cats. If demons were cats, then sure. Michael made sure to include the part about Dad not being evil incarnate, that he was one in a long line of demons to hold that particular position (the king of hell, ruler of all demons, also known as the devil). Bill did not appear to be reassured. More accurately, he blanched as he shot apprehensive glances my father’s way.

  Then there was my engagement, which Dad had apparently claimed I’d agreed to and had been both a way to have me settled close to home (news to me) and to consolidate power (naturally).

  And this was a good one. Dad had told his therapist that my fiancé was, a “guy from work.” What little color was left in Bill’s face fled at that point. The Prince of Darkness and Destruction did have a bit of a terrifying ring to it.

  Bill Nutterman was like a fish in a tiny bowl. Everyone was staring at him, and his mouth just opened and closed and opened and closed.

  But then Michael just kept going. “I’m Michael Kelly, the man whose father has agreed to erase all of this from your memory when the session is over. I’m also the guy who’s madly in love with the devil’s daughter. I’ve asked her to marry me.” He glanced at me. “But that’s a work in progress.”

  Then there were three little fishies in the bowl.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Dad was the first to speak. Big surprise there. “I don’t give my blessing.”

  Then everyone starting talking at once. Except we weren’t talking, we were yelling. Even Bill Nutterman.

  Imagine my surprise when Bill stood up and sharply clapped his hands. “Attention everyone. Only one person speaks at a time.” Shaking a finger at my dad, he added, “And you, breaking the client agreement like that, betraying that sacred trust…” He shook his head, as if there simply were no words. Then he looked at his finger as if it didn’t belong to him and clasped his hands together.

  Apparently, therapists shouldn’t wag fingers at their clients. Also, Bill Nutterman was hiding some steel balls.

  And it turned out that my dad was a little ashamed of his deception. “Look here, Bill, I’m sorry about that. I did try to abide by the spirit of the thing.”

  “Herding cats?” Bill said.

  Dad spread his hands. “Now that part was the absolute truth. Demons are hell to manage. They can be a slippery bunch.”

  Bill really was taking this news well—the devil in his therapy room, the Prince of Darkness and Destruction’s fiancé sitting on his couch, and a guy with relations who could snap their fingers and steal his memories.

  And that same guy, the one with the mind-warping capabilities, also said he was madly in love with me.

  I’d been temporarily distracted by Dad’s obstinate refusal to back any decision not originating with him—that man pushed all my anger buttons—and in the process Michael’s declaration had been swallowed up. Always there in my mind, just jostled by other things.

  What did that mean in the grander scheme of things? The question of marriage was flipped on its head if Michael was madly in love with me. And that also opened up the question of how I really felt about him—

  “Annabeth?” Michael looked at me like he was waiting for an answer. Except not that answer, a more prosaic answer.

  “What?” I flushed. He loved me.

  “Do you agree to Bill’s terms?” Michael asked.

  Bill had terms? I’d definitely missed something once I’d gone down the path of love and marriage in my head. Not just love. He was madly in love with me. A happy little glow started inside me, and it wasn’t even related to my lady bits. Okay, sure, it might have touched on those bits a little, but mostly it was near my heart.

  Michael’s lips twitched. “Do you want him to recap?”

  It looked like that glow would have to get in line. My dad and his therapist were pushing their way to the front. “Right, yes, that would be good.”

  Bill looked at me, then Michael, then me. But being the clever soul he was, he didn’t say a word about Michael’s revelation or the dippy lovesick look I was certain was plastered on my face. “I’ve agreed to modify how the session is run. We’ll suspend some of the usual parameters, and I’ll seek to simply facilitate a civil discussion. So, raise your hand if you’d like to speak. Don’t speak unless I’ve called on you. And understand that everyone will have an opportunity to speak. Understood and agreed?”

  “That sounds fair.” I nodded firmly. “Agreed.”

  “Also, if we could keep the yelling down, I would appreciate it. Michael has assured me that the sound won’t travel outside the walls, but out of respect for myself and the other members of the group, I ask that you try.”

  He was worried about me yelling? I pointed a finger at Dad who was looking remarkably subdued. “What about him?”

  Bill’s lips thinned. “He’s agreed to make the effort, as has Michael.”

  “Well, Michael’s not going to yell at anyone.” I looked at Michael to find him grinning at me, which made me frown. “No need to look so entertained by my family drama.” But that wasn’t fair. The poor guy had been dragged into the mess of my life willy-nilly, and he’d been making the best of it ever since. “I’m sorry. Better we be entertaining than give you an ulcer.”

  He tugged me closer. “Darlin’, you could never give me an ulcer.” And he kissed me.

  In front of my dad!

  Okay, it was a pretty chaste kiss. And maybe I kissed him back a little. Okay—a lot. But the man was walking sex appeal.

  I stepped back and peeked at my dad. His eyes simmered with an orangey-red glow. I could feel my hackles raising. Apparently my ability to give way in an attempt to avoid arguments had vanished overnight.

  Dad raised his hand. He even waited for Bill to call on him. “He needs to keep his hands off my daughter. She’s engaged to another man.”

  Bill asked me, “Is it that true? Are you engaged to another man?” He gulped. “This Abaddon gentleman, correct?”

  I was about to respond when Michael raised his hand.

  Bill looked at me and when I nodded, said, “Yes, Michael?”

  Michael turned to me so we were facing each other, and he grasped both my hands. “Did Abaddon ask you to marry him?”

  Huh. Had he ever asked me to marry him? I know I’d never actually said yes… “No. He never proposed.”

  Dad started to make some noise over in his corner, but he fell silent with a warning from Bill and an assurance that he’d get his turn.

  “Do you consider yourself engaged, Annabeth?” Bill asked.

  Not fair. That wasn’t a fair question at all. Did I? “Maybe? I never said no…” Then I glanced down at my left hand still clasped in Michael’s much larger one. No engagement ring. No proposal. And Michael was right; I hadn’t ever said yes. “No,” I whispered. Then louder and more firmly, “No, I don’t. Thank you for asking, Bill.”

  Dad sputtered, but I had to give the guy credit, he didn’t speak. He did raise his hand, which almost made me giggle. The devil raising his hand like a school kid waiting to be called on. It was pretty awesome. I wondered what Patrick Kelly would say to a picture of that. Wild guess, taking pictures during therapy for tweets was frowned upon.

  Bill called on Dad, but he gave him a warning look.

  And when he spoke, I thought I’d faint—from shock. “Why didn’t you just say you didn’t want to marry the guy?”

  I blinked and went back to the fish-look. I suspected it was not a good look for me, so I snapped my mouth shut. Why… “Because you’re terrifying when you’re mad…and you wanted me to marry him.” I winced, waiting
for the yelling and the screaming and the “I know better.”

  His lips moved but nothing was coming out. I squinted, and then I couldn’t help it, I snorted. He was repeating his mantra silently: I am calm, focused, and relaxed.

  “Dad, you’re never calm, focused, and relaxed.” But I couldn’t help smiling at him.

  Simon Smith, king of hell and ruler of demons, ran a hand through his thick blonde hair and said, “I know, but I am trying.”

  And my heart cracked just a little bit. He was trying. The man had enrolled with a family therapist. He chanted affirmations about calm. He raised his hand and waited to be called on.

  A tear slipped down my cheek. “Yeah, yeah you are, Dad.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  The tension in the therapist’s room lowered after my dad admitted that he was trying to change. So much so, that we all actually sat back down around the circular table in the room.

  And we talked.

  For an hour. It was exhausting. And I might have cried a bit, which seemed to really upset Dad, which in turn I found really surprising. I mean, if he actually cared about my feelings why did he run around yelling at me and making marriage arrangements without my input?

  Bill talked about patterns of behavior and breaking those patterns to form new ones.

  Dad talked about trying to keep me close after missing out on my childhood. Turns out Mom had told him to stay away, just like Michael had guessed.

  I was Simon’s only half human child, and he hadn’t been entirely sure Mom was wrong about keeping me away from demons (including my own father) until I was older. And in his uncertainty, he’d acquiesced. Dad, uncertain. That was a shocker.

  And that really made me cry. For all the time I’d missed with him as a kid, for the support I’d lacked as I’d gained my magic, for thinking the worst of him, for the silly decision my mother made though I was certain in my heart that it had been kindly intended.

  Therapy sucked.

  “The therapeutic process can be difficult, but therapy does not ‘suck.’” Bill gave me a slightly censorious look.

  Oops. Hadn’t meant to say that aloud.

  The guy had really started to let fly with his opinions. But he still looked guilty every time something inappropriate slipped out. I suspected that Michael had done something to give the guy a little push toward accepting us and that was the side-effect.

  I cleared my throat. “Apologies, Bill.”

  “Not a problem. I spoke out of turn. But it looks like this session is about over. I’ll expect to see you all next week at the same time. Shall I?”

  We all looked at him like he’d grown a second head, but it was Michael who said, “We have to do this again?”

  Bill clasped his hands together, and assumed a very serious mien. “Therapy is an ongoing process, as your father is well—”

  “How about we keep the weekly sessions between you and me, Bill? And Michael? No need for Patrick to wipe Bill’s memory. I’m sure we can keep this all private. Can’t we, Bill?” Dad flashed a charming and yet terrifying smile Bill’s way.

  Bill blanched. Apparently he’d forgotten all about the memory-wiping part of this little adventure. Or he was scared speechless by his client. Either or.

  “Right,” I said as I stood up, “I think I’ve had enough therapy to last me a good while. But you’ve been fabulous, Bill. I’ll be sure to be in touch if anything else pops up.”

  Since I absolutely didn’t mean it, I wasn’t even a little offended by Bill’s lack of enthusiasm.

  Michael finished the text he was sending, likely to his father letting him know he wouldn’t be needed after all, and stood up to leave with me.

  “Ah, Annabeth,” Dad said. “About Don…”

  Two hours later, we pulled into Michael’s driveway. We hadn’t ridden in silence, but definitely stuck to small talk. Wasn’t it funny that a therapist who insisted we use his first name wore a tie? Or that his tie had little tiny skulls on it? How was Livy’s wedding progressing? No Kelly boy pranks on the horizon?

  It made me wonder if Michael wasn’t occasionally just as much a coward as me—or maybe he just knew when he shouldn’t push—because that declaration of love definitely still hung unresolved between us.

  As we drove the last quarter mile up his drive, I couldn’t help thinking about this place as Michael’s love shack. Not because he brought women here—I knew he didn’t—but because this little cabin was the place where I’d fallen the rest of the way in love with him.

  If only I knew what to do about it.

  It’s not like I could marry a guy I hadn’t even dated—even if that guy was Michael. It was pretty clear he actually meant all those marriage proposals. I knew Michael, and if he said he loved me madly, then he did. And if he asked me to marry him knowing he loved me, then he’d meant it. Maybe the first time had been a knightly, save-the-damsel type gesture, but not the other times.

  That realization was both warm-glow and terror inducing.

  Michael parked the car and turned to me. “Penny for your thoughts?”

  I shot him a speculative look. “Hm. No, I don’t think so. Let me wash my face and brush my teeth, then we can go deal with Don.” I paused. “If that’s okay?”

  He nodded, but his normally open and easy expression was gone. I couldn’t tell what he was thinking. “One thing, though. You do know your dad loves you, right?”

  “Yeah. After the third or fourth time that he said that, I got it. And I really had no idea that the impetus behind this whole marriage thing was to get me ‘happily’ settled and closer to him. Who would have thought?”

  Not that I had any illusions about my father. Maybe Don was the decent guy my dad claimed, but Don was also a prince of hell. I’m sure it didn’t hurt that he had an army of minions at his back. My dad always had an eye to his position—it just was less of an eye than I realized this time around.

  Michael watched me for several seconds, then he nodded. “All right. After a pit stop, let’s go check on our statue buddy.”

  Michael and I had grabbed a few tacos to go in Austin before heading back this way. Between that and all the bawling I’d done at the therapists, I desperately needed to get cleaned up. One look in the mirror confirmed my fears. I looked about as terrifying as Dad with his glowing eyes.

  I’d cried enough today to last the next decade, but if I’d had any doubts about that, the image staring back at me confirmed it.

  When I emerged from the bathroom, Michael traded places with me. The splash of the water and the sounds of him brushing his teeth and gargling—yes, the man gargled, a fact I had not been privy to previously—felt intimate.

  When he emerged, he grabbed his keys and we were off. It looked like Michael was either waiting for me to signal I was ready to talk about us or waiting until I’d cleared the small matter of bronzed Don.

  “Do you think anyone’s noticed him? I mean, of course they’ve noticed him, but I mean, that anyone thinks it’s odd that he just turned up out of the blue?”

  Michael quirked an eyebrow at me. “An uncommissioned bronze appears in the town square, no delivery truck, no commemorative plaque. Yes, I think many someones will have taken notice. And it doesn’t help that he was caught mid-flight and probably looks angry as hell.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Many someones had noticed Don. That was clear even before Michael parked his car. Don had been lei’d.

  In his current state, I doubt he recognized the humor in the situation. As we approached the statue, we discovered not only that he’d been lei’d but there was a sign hung around his neck: Lei me & I’ll bring you good luck.

  I choked on a laugh. It was simply too perfect for words. Especially give the expression on his face (intently displeased) and the bulging veins in his neck (surprisingly visible in bronze).

  “I’m not sure he’d appreciate the humor.” Michael’s dry comment brought me back down to earth.

  “You’re not kidding.” I e
yed the hulking demon who’d been my fiancé for far too long. “He’s going to be so pissed when he’s unfrozen.” Assuming I could even do it. I’d never bronzed someone before, so unbronzing was equally new to me.

  And how much did I want to unbronze Don? Don was a very angry, very large, very powerful demon. A guy with a temper (disputed by my dad, but look at the source) and a lot of minions.

  And then, just like magic, a voice emerged from the ether and spoke the very words running through my mind. “I’m not sure it’s wise to release him in his current state of mind.”

  Except it wasn’t magic, and the words hadn’t manifested. A woman in a purple jumpsuit now stood next to us. She admired the statute, running her finger over first a bulging bicep and then a nicely formed pec.

  Michael and I both turned to look at her. When Michael got a good look at her, his arm slipped around my shoulders. That was interesting. She was hardly intimidating. And her clothes—oh, my. The purple jumpsuit was only the beginning. It was as if she’d seen an ’80s movie and swiped all the worst parts: the over-teased hair, the overdone make-up (purple eye-shadow?!), and little baby doll socks with heels. My eyes hurt, but she wasn’t scary.

  “Baba Yaga, I’d like you to meet my, hopefully, soon-to-be fiancée, Annabeth Smith.” His voice was a little tight, and Michael wasn’t the type to get all possessive and claim-staking, which was exactly what he was doing.

  Wait—Baba Yaga? The Baba Yaga? That was…weird. Especially the fashion choices. I’d have expected, hm, I’m not sure what. Come to think of it, if I was one of the most powerful magical people on the planet, I’d probably cultivate whatever fashion whim I liked as well.

  “So nice to meet you, Baba Yaga.” My eyeballs about bugged out when Baba Yaga’s hand slipped down to cup Don’s very nicely-shaped ass.

  “He makes a lovely statue, doesn’t he?” she asked me with a mischievous sparkle in her eye. Looking at Michael, she said, “Of course, I know who she is. She’s the reason I brought Don as my date, though he’s also easy on the eyes.” Her eyes drifted down to—I’m pretty sure but I wouldn’t swear to it—ogle his crotch. “He needed an invitation so he could retrieve his wayward fiancée.” She gave his ass a final pat. “So, about this bronze situation: I have plans for the Don Juan of hell.”