The Devil's in the Details Read Online Free PDF Page A

a bad feeling about this. “No,” I murmured.
    “No, you don’t know her or no, she wasn’t a guest?”
    “Both.”
    He arched an eyebrow. “If you don’t know her, then why were you talking to her?”
    “She, um, was asking about a different wedding.” No lie there. “She’d heard about my services and wanted to set up an appointment.” I gave myself a great big mental high-five for sticking to the truth, at least in a roundabout way.
    I know, I know. Ruthless demons shouldn’t feel guilty for lying. But I’d turned over a new leaf and vowed to find love. It was never going to happen if I didn’t lose all of the bad behavior. Now if I could only stop DVRing
Jersey Shore
, I’d be set.
    “Why are you so interested in her?” I asked.
    “Personal business.” He eyed me for a long moment as if trying to decide something. His nostrils flared slightly, confirming what I already suspected. Namely, that he wasn’t my biker fantasy come to life.
    He was a demon slayer, and he was looking for a demon.
    Thankfully I smelled more like a Krispy Kreme than sulfur. While the potent odor was a dead giveaway, most of my wicked brethren had long since discovered deodorant. It was just too easy to mask scents these days. Lotions, perfumes, candles, a dozen glazed right before work—they all did the trick.
    An unfortunate drawback for members of the Legion.
    Unlike other paranormal groups who hunted supernatural entities (vampires, werewolves, shifters, etc.), the Legion was an organization committed to tracking down and destroying demonic spirits. And I do mean
destroying
.
    See, when a demon “dies” on Earth, his spirit heads back to Hell to wait for another chance at possession in this realm. That, or he stays Down Under indefinitely. There are a few, most of them ancients, who prefer fire and brimstone. But the majority want to be here. That means looking both ways before crossing the street and driving the speed limit. Except for my ma and aunties, of course. They were large and in charge. That meant no line and no waiting. If they bit the dust, they could be back in an instant. Different body. Same evil personality.
    But when a demon—my ma and aunties included—dies at the hands of a Legion member, there’s no coming back. Rather, said demon simply ceases to exist. Gone.
Forever.
After a somewhat messy explosion, that is.
    Legion members were the ultimate threat to my kind.
    They were also highly trained and very organized, complete with membership cards, an official procedure booklet, and a 401(k) plan, or so my cousin Helvetica had told me at her last birthday party.
    Number one in the procedure booklet? How to sniff out a demon. There were a few other giveaways, as well—we tended to make the electricity go nuts if we were a little angry, and animals were highly attuned to us (which explained why I’d opted for a Chia Pet instead of the real thing). But for the most part, smell was the primo tool for weeding out the bad guys. Otherwise, demon detection was pure instinct.
    Some people trusted their guts and were good at it, others not so good.
    My hunch said this guy was one of the best.
    I returned his stare and, as expected, I didn’t get so much as a glimpse of his fantasy woman. No Angelina Jolie wearing a red bustier or Sarah Palin sporting an American flag bikini. Legion members lusted after the kill more than sex, so catching a glimpse of anything other than cold, hard intent was virtually impossible. I read nothing in those few moments before he broke the contact and shifted his attention to the wireless headset hooked around my neck. He seemed to come to some silent conclusion.
    “My name is Cutter Owens.” He pulled a black business card from his pocket with nothing on it except a phone number in big red font and the familiar Legion insignia—a bloodred
L
—and handed it to me. “If she contacts you again to set up an appointment, I’d appreciate it if you would give me a call.”
    He was