The Devil's in the Details (17 page)

“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.”

“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.”

“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 your plan A falls through.”