The Devil's in the Details Read Free Page A

been in the spoiling-and-seducing phase of my existence.
    At the moment, it just reminded me of my own self-imposed deprivation. Two years on the celibacy wagon. I hadn’t even had a date.
    Your own fault
, a voice whispered. I’d promised myself I’d take the bull by the horns and sign up for an online dating service or something, but I was just so busy on the weekends, what with everyone else’s weddings. That, and I was doing my damnedest to curb temptation. No dates. No one-night stands.
    No disappointment.
    I ignored the last thought and paged my way through the notes on my iPad. “We’ll sit Uncle Jeffrey next to the bride’s relatives on the other side of the room.”
    If only the seating at my mother’s wedding would be this manageable.
    Fat chance.
    Evil entities weren’t exactly known for their camaraderie. The last time Beelzebub had been within one hundred feet of Ashtoreth, they’d beheaded each other. Sure, the heads had regrown and they’d been back at it during the very next get-together, but still. We’re talking a massive dry-cleaning bill, and I was sure to puke all over my shoes at the first sign of blood.
    Hey, I’m a lover, not a fighter.
    I clicked my headset and called for Burke, who’d just headed to the kitchen to check on the menu for the hors d’oeuvres and cocktails that would keep the guests celebrating until the reception dinner began in an hour. Judging by the round of applause coming from the ceremony space, the doors would open any moment anda pack of hungry guests would head upstairs to the mezzanine level for cocktail time.
    “Is everything ready?” I asked.
    “The signature drinks are flowing and the platters are being loaded.”
    “Good, because all hell is about to break loose.”
    And how.
    Forget seating. The food choices at Mom’s big event would be even more of a nightmare. While every demon could appreciate a decked-out wedding cake (we all had an insatiable sweet tooth), each had a different palate when it came to main courses. I
so
didn’t want to be the one to ask a caterer to substitute braised eyeballs for the salmon croquettes. Talk about killing my chances at being voted Houston’s hottest wedding planner of the year.
    At the same time, if I refused to handle the arrangements, my mother would surely get pissed. I’d be forced Down Under, into eons of service as Hades’s chief harlot.
    I
had
to do it.
    And maybe, just
maybe
, if I pulled it off, my mom would be so busy calling the shots Down Under that she might miss the magazine article and the all-important fact that I’d turned my back on my birthright.
    Hey, it could happen.
    I held tight to the teeny tiny thread of hope and was about to pop some Life Savers into my mouth to pacify my sweet tooth when the cell phone in my pocket started vibrating.
    I wasn’t going to answer it. That’s what I told myself, particularly when I saw the black raven icon on the caller ID and realized it was my cousin Portia.
    Portia was the youngest of Aunt Bella’s brood, meaning her demonic specialty was being spoiled-ass rotten. She was Hell’s version of a mean girl, i.e., she loved Gucci, gossip, and getting her way.
    I didn’t want to talk to her right now. But if I didn’t pick up, she was sure to fabricate a scandalous reason as to why I’d avoided her call.
    “I’m really busy right now,” I said when I answered the phone. “Can I call you later?”
    “No can do. I’m about to have some collagen injected into my lips and I won’t be able to move them for a few hours.”
    “I’ll text,” I offered, but she wasn’t listening.
    “I heard from Trisha, who heard from Sally, who heard from Lara, who heard from Beth, who heard from Aunt Levita that your mom said she paid you a visit today. Word is there are going to be wedding bells in the near future.”
    Welcome to
My Big Fat Demon Wedding
.
    “Not wedding bells. Maybe a heavy metal guitar riff or a gloomy organ,” I said, remembering my mom’s