Free The Devil's in the Details by Kimberly Raye

the busiest day for suicide prevention hotlines, depression clinics, and Krispy Kreme bakeries.
    All right, so I’d added that last one based on the forty-five minutes I’d just wasted picking up a dozen glazed, but still.
    Bottom line—Mondays sucked, and no one in their right mind would think otherwise.
    I topped off my second cup of black coffee and stopped whistling the chorus of “We Found Love” (barely audible above the constant yapping coming from the bathroom) long enough to take a drink and snatch up my briefcase. A few seconds later, I skipped downstairs to my office, a smile on my face and Rihanna belting it out in my head.
    After the weekend I’d had—not one, but
two
visits from my
madre
, various demons popping in to poke their noses in my business (not to mention the one threatening my existence), and an entire night of high-pitched barking—even the most dreaded workday seemed like a dream come true.
    A chance to throw myself into a great big vat of normal for a few hours and forget the totally abnormal state of my crappy existence.
    That, and I was just this side of punchy after only forty-seven minutes of sleep. While Sassy’s powder had done the trick last nightand I hadn’t entertained any unexpected visitors, I hadn’t
known
it would work. I’d found myself wide-awake most of the night (thank you, Snooki), either surfing the Internet for possible venues for my ma or scarfing cookies and staring in abstract paranoia at the windows and doors. The little bit of shut-eye I did manage had been riddled with superhot fantasies starring a certain demon hunter with amazing eyes and buns of steel.
    And a really big sword, I reminded myself, determined to keep my head and not let my hormones go gaga. Big, effing
sword
. And I wasn’t talking metaphor, though I’d be willing to bet his other, ahem,
sword
was pretty impressive as well.
    Solid silver. Sharp. Deadly.
    It wasn’t the Legion members themselves who were so deadly to a demon. It was the weapons they used. Magical weapons blessed by the head honcho, Gabriel, himself.
    One swift stab and—
poof!
—g’bye, demon.
    I tried to conjure several images of such a weapon pressed to my throat, but the only thing I could see was Cutter’s face and those green eyes and, well, have I mentioned that it’s been two long years since I’ve had sex with anyone other than a vibrator named Big Buck?
    I pushed open the door to Happily Ever After Events and walked into the modest but tastefully decorated interior. The living room served as the lobby, complete with framed issues of
Southern Bride
magazine lining the walls, two plush white sofas, and a glass coffee table stacked with more wedding mags, along with an eight-by-ten digital photo frame that flashed images of my work.
    The main room opened into another area set up with three small tables depicting the latest in tablescape and centerpiece trends. A small hallway led to another room that served as a work hub with two desks, a large bookcase, a ginormous filing cabinet, a small round table covered with invitation books, and an anxious Burke Carmichael.
    He looked as hot as ever in fitted jeans, a distressed black T-shirt that fit his P90X bod like a glove, and an expression that said
It’s about freakin’ time
.
    “I’ve got good news and not-so-good news.” He pushed up from his desk and handed me a stack of phone messages. “Pick your poison.”
    I set the box of doughnuts on a nearby desk and glanced through the slips of paper. Cousin Laura. Cousin Bernice. Cousin Hester. Cousin Mary. Cousin Susanna. Cousin Millicent. Cousin Andromeda. The list went on and on.
    With each name my stomach churned and the cryptic threat on my bathroom mirror flashed in my head. It could be any of them.
    All of them.
    Maybe I didn’t have to worry about just one bad guy. Maybe there was a bona fide conspiracy to kill the wedding planner and put a crimp in my mother’s plans to rule the Underworld.
    I clamped my