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Luck of the Devil

A Lucky Magic Story

By Cate Lawley

Table of Contents

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

EPILOGUE

About Cate Lawley

PROLOGUE

The happy couple spun around the dance floor. That’s what his mom called them, the happy couple. And watching his sister Livy and her new fiancé Jackson spin around the dance floor for the tenth time, Michael had to agree. All things considered, the engagement party was looking to be a success.

His gaze fell on his sis’s best friend, Annabeth, a leggy blonde who had gained an entourage of men as the evening had progressed. But then, men flocked to Annabeth. She was gorgeous, funny, fun, and just plain easy to be around.

His father clapped him on the shoulder. “Enjoying yourself?”

“Ah, sure. I’m happy for Livy.”

Dad grumbled and muttered while he filled a cup at the punchbowl half full. Something along the lines of disgraceful and ungrateful.

Michael looked away from Annabeth—who wasn’t exactly disgraceful, more lively or flirtatious, mostly vibrant—to his sister. His sweet, finally happy, sister.

“An absolute disgrace, that’s what she is. And a disappointment to her dear old dad.”

“Sure, Pops. It’s a disgrace that your daughter picked a man to be her husband who stood up to you because he thought you weren’t being kind to the woman he loves. Shame on him. Shame on her.”

Patrick Kelly loved his children, but he could be an opinionated ass. And, unfortunately for Jackson and Livy, an ass that held a pretty good grudge. He’d come around…eventually. In a decade or two.

Without breaking stride, his father kept right on going. “And a warlock. When did a respectable leprechaun ever keep company with a warlock?”

Michael had to swallow a laugh at the appalled look on his father’s face. Six months, and the man still couldn’t wrap his brain around the idea of his daughter dating a warlock. And while his sister was certainly respectable, the rest of them didn’t come close. Well, except his mother, of course. She was a saint.

Michael knew it was pointless to argue further on his sister’s behalf, so, with an agreeable expression, he said, “Right, she’s a terrible daughter,” then took a sip of the bland, alcohol-free punch.

“I didn’t say that, now did I?” Patrick grimaced at the cup of punch in his hand, then pulled out a flask and topped it off with whiskey. “And no alcohol, at a Kelly family event. What’s the world come to?”

“You know as well as I do that if you put Thomas, James, and Stephen in one room, add liquor, and let more than five minutes go by, mischief will follow. It’s Livy’s party, and she wanted it to be low-key.”

Her exact words had been, “My engagement party will not have explosions, interdimensional slips, or time travel. There will be no disasters, nearly averted or otherwise.”

She’d even stomped her foot. His sister did not foot-stomp. Or throw tantrums. She rarely asserted herself at all when it came to family matters. She’d always been the one quiet, sweet girl in the sea of misbehaving Kelly boys.

He couldn’t have been prouder of her, foot-stamping and all. Although the punch did suck.

He scanned the dance floor and did a double-take as he caught Annabeth shimmying to some retro ’80s rock. She’d better watch it, or she was going to shimmy herself right out of that dress.

Man, he was starting to feel old. There was a time when he’d have shimmied, too. But the older he got, the more he was starting to see the appeal of a quieter, shimmy-free life. His sis might be on to something.

Patrick studied him carefully. “You’ve not been yourself of late. We barely see you anymore except for the occasional Sunday dinner.” A sly look crossed his face. “You can tell your dad—have you found yourself a good leprechaun woman?”

Michael arched an eyebrow. “And if I found myself a good witch instead? Would you give me as much grief as you’ve given Livy?” Michael already knew the answer to that question, because standards in his family had always been different for Livy, as the one and only Kelly daughter.

“Well, now, that’s not the same at all, is it? And it’s not like you’d marry a witch…” Patrick stopped speaking when he saw his wife approach, then quietly said, “Not a word of this to your mother. She’ll have me on the couch for a week.”

“You look gorgeous, Ma.” Michael bent to kiss her offered cheek. And she did. Leprechauns were long-lived and slow to age, but she’d seemed to stop aging altogether in her late thirties. He wouldn’t dare ask her how she’d managed that trick.

His mother was a beautiful woman whatever age she appeared to be. She’d swept her thick auburn hair up into a fancy bunch of curls, something she did for special occasions. Brigid Kelly couldn’t be happier that her daughter was getting married—warlock or no—and this was a very special occasion in her eyes.

“And you were late,” she replied without censure. Turning to his dad, she said, “And what do you think will have you on the sofa all week?” She blinked brilliant green eyes at his poor father. He’d been found out.

Brigid Kelly was no one’s fool.

Michael wouldn’t lie to his mom, but he also felt badly for his dad—the couch was about three inches too short for him.

“Let me guess, some silliness to do with your daughter’s choice of husband?” She turned a falsely sweet smile on her husband of several centuries. Then her gaze darted to the main entrance. “Oh, what wonderful timing. Just in time for cake. It’s my dear friend Carol.”

Dad’s face went pale, quite a trick since he’d been flushed from nipping at his spiked punch. “That woman.”

Michael hadn’t a clue what woman he meant, so he turned to get a look. The only newcomer was a sparklingly attractive blonde woman in a hot pink gown. A terrible, ruffled, monstrosity of a gown. So, so many ruffles.

It took his eyes a moment to recover, but when they had, he spotted a dark-headed man built like a linebacker joining her. Her date, apparently.

“Who are your friends?” Michael asked.

His mother hooked her arm in his and led him forward as his dad murmured dire warnings and predictions of a grim future. “Ignore your father. He’s just got a bee in his bonnet about some accident he blames Carol for. It happened ages ago, but you know your father: that man holds a grudge forever. I don’t know her companion, but Carol is a darling woman.” Brigid patted his arm. “But do use your Sunday manners.”

Powerful or influential, or his mother wouldn’t have warned him, and yet she was dressed like she’d just stepped out of a 1980s prom mockumentary. Was that a lace bow in her hair? He squinted. Surely not.

There was something about this Carol woman. He felt he should know who she was, but he couldn’t quite place her.

Carol and his mom air kissed in greeting, but not before they shared a smile that made his neck hairs stand on end. Mischief was afoot.

“I’m so glad you could make it, Carol.” His mom looked tickled her friend had come. And since when did his elegant mother run in the same social circles as time-traveling, prom-dress-wearing beauty queens?

Carol smiled at his mother and gave him an assessing look. “I’d hate to miss a good party. And who is this?”

“My son, Michael. I believe I mentioned that he and my three younger boys would be here.” Brigid gave Carol another one of those mischief-filled, hair-raising smiles. “Michael, say hello to my dear friend, Baba Yaga.”

Baba Yaga? All the air in his lungs disappeared. His Sunday manners…he was going to kill his mother.

He kept his eyes trained on her face, and well away from what was indeed a huge lace bow stuck to the top of her head. He’d hate to annoy the Baba Yaga. Livy’s fiancé had upset her and lost his magic for ten years.

He willed himself to inhale, then with his best Sunday manners said, “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Is it? This is Don.” She turned to where the linebacker had been but a moment before. Finding him absent, she said with a patently false nonchalance, “Oh, I wonder where he’s gone?”

Alarm bells rang like mad in Michael’s head. As a former purveyor of high quality mischief, he could feel the trouble brewing.

He scanned the ballroom and saw immediately where—and on whom—that trouble hand landed. Don was moving quickly and efficiently through the crowd of partygoers toward the exit. For a big guy, he was light on his feet.

Unfortunately, Don wasn’t making a hasty exit alone. There was the flailing woman slung over his shoulders in a fireman’s carry.

Annabeth. He’d recognize her long legs, ridiculous strappy sandals, and pert rear anywhere. Michael’s blood boiled.

The guests parted for Don as if he were politely escorting his date, not committing an assault and kidnapping her.

Michael didn’t ask Carol—Babba Yaga—why she’d brought a pervert to his sister’s engagement party. He didn’t ask her why a Neanderthal in a suit was toting her around like so much furniture.

He didn’t say anything. He ran like the hounds of hell were on his heels.

No way was he going to let some goon kidnap his little sister’s incredibly hot, amazingly fun, crazy smart best friend.

Not that he was into her or anything. He shoved a waiter with appetizers out of the way. It was just that kidnapping someone at an engagement party was uncouth.

He flung the exit door open to find the linebacker making tracks toward the parking lot. He was going to dump her in a car like so much luggage and drive away. What the hell?

With a dash of magic pushing him forward, he sprinted to close the distance between them.

Then he tackled the thug.

CHAPTER ONE

This couldn’t be happening. I could not be in a pile of arms and legs. A pile that included me, my supposed fiancé, and the man I’d had my longest lust-crush on.

But then I tried to move my arm and realized it was pinned beneath a very muscular thigh belonging to a very hot man who was right now staring at me with a murderous expression.

“I didn’t ask to be kidnapped.” That’s what I tried to say. Who knows what actually came out, because Michael Kelly had twisted me up in knots from the moment I’d met and fallen head over heels in lust with him.

He shook his head, looking confused.

Oh, no. Livy was going to kill me. If I broke her hot brother’s head at her engagement party, she would never let me live it down.

He propped himself up on his elbows and flashed me a gorgeous grin. “You think I’m hot.”

I did not said that out loud. No, I did not. But he was staring at me with that cocky grin and those gorgeous blue eyes, and—

“I will remove your head for your insolence.” And there goes the fiancé, spoiling all the fun.

Don, who was no Juan, might actually take Michael’s head off if he was angry enough. Rumors abounded about that guy that one time who slept with Don’s, uh, sort of girlfriend? Actually, I wasn’t really sure on the details, but Don was not a dude to be messed with.

Naturally, Michael looked not even a little bit worried. Idiot.

It seemed like it was time for action, not lustful panting. I wriggled free of the pile, slapped a temporary binding on big and burly so he couldn’t chop off Michael’s head before he could say “magically delicious,” then grabbed Michael’s arm and gave a good tug.

When it looked like he was on his feet, I said, “Run.”

Then I took off like the scared little rabbit that I really was.

Small problem. I’d forgotten that Michael was an athlete, whereas the most exercise I got was the sex I had in my dreams.

He caught up with me about half a second after I took off.

While I sprinted like mad, he loped along beside me. “Why are we running?”

I tried not to sound like I was about to die from a heart attack—not technically possible, but it sure did feel like it. “Bad man.” I huffed and puffed. “Wants to kill—” One more breath. Maybe two. “You.”

And then I stopped, because—who was I kidding?—I was not a runner. Even in a life or death situation, I only had about twenty or thirty good yards in me. Maybe fifty if a sharp implement was in play. I would have looked over my shoulder to see if Don was close behind wielding a magically conjured ax, but I couldn’t do it. As in, physically unable. I planted my hands on my knees and bent over.

“Wow, you’re in terrible shape.” Amusement glinted in Michael’s eyes as he watched me come close to hyperventilating.

He needed a good telling off. I held up a finger. As soon as I could stop gasping like a fish out of water, I would do exactly that. With any luck, I wouldn’t puke in the interim, but if I did I was aiming for his shoes.

“Whenever you’ve caught your breath.” He shrugged, then pulled out his car keys from his pocket. “But if you really are in a hurry, I’m parked over there.” He pointed one row away.

I nodded. Definitely he was getting an earful, just as soon as I could speak. I started to walk toward his car but my side started to cramp, so I clutched the stitch in my side and hobbled to his car without dwelling on the burning humiliation of it all.

Up side? We were both still alive, and I hadn’t been carted down to the fires of hell on the back of a demon.

Yay.

Michael’s car chirped as he unlocked it remotely. As I let myself inside, he stopped to retrieve something from his trunk. No hurry here, not being chased by a kidnapping maniac or anything. Please, stop and retrieve your—

He opened the door and handed me a water.

“Oh, thanks.” I unscrewed the cap, hoping this wouldn’t make my slowly fading stitch stick around. “We should maybe hurry. If you like your head attached.”

He chuckled, but he did put the car in reverse.

“I’m not kidding.”

“Okay.” He gave me a strange look, but it was pretty clear he thought I was delusional. “I think I can take care of myself.” He exited the parking lot onto a one way street.

“You think wrong.” I took a swig of water.

A few seconds passed in silence. At least he didn’t make a macho pitch about how he could kick anyone’s butt, or how he’d saved me. I didn’t think I could take that right now. Especially, because I could have saved myself. Probably. Certainly it would have required some extreme emotional discomfort. Talking to people about feelings was hard.

“Where are we going, darlin’,” he said in a sexy low voice, “your place or mine?” Then he ruined the illusion by tapping me on the leg and saying, “Seriously, where do you want me to take you?”

I squeezed my eyes shut and told my lady parts to be quiet. Oh, how I wished those words had come out of his mouth in a non-ironic, I want to jump your bones, kind of a way. “I can’t go home. If he found me at your sister’s party, then he probably already knows where I live.”

He shifted in his seat, clearly giving some thought to what I’d said. Finally, he said, “You’re serious.”

“As hell.” Literally, but I really didn’t want to get into that while Michael merged onto the freeway.

“I’m taking you to my place.” He held up a hand silencing my objections. “Not in town. I’ve got a little place in the country, about two hours out. My family doesn’t even know about it.”

Which made me stop and look at him. A little place in the country? Where there were no crowded bars and no hot women. More importantly, where there was no chaos waiting to erupt. Oh, and that was also a secret from his family. His super tight, very up-in-each-other’s-business family.

“Who are you, and where’s the Michael I know?”

After he merged onto the highway, he held out his hand, “Michael Kelly, eldest son of Patrick and Brigid Kelly, retired mischief-maker. But don’t tell my dad. He’d be crushed. And you?”

I shook his hand, reading between the lines in a way he could never guess I might.

“Annabeth Smith, the devil’s youngest daughter, and unwilling fiancé to the Prince of Darkness and Destruction, otherwise known as Abaddon. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

CHAPTER TWO

One near-miss accident and hasty recovery later and I was a tiny bit sorry that I’d told Michael my Big Secret while he was driving.

Maybe not my wisest move, but it had been impossible not to. He’d been almost honest with me. His words were the closest anyone in his family had come to telling me about his family’s secret, and his sister was my best friend. BFF, super-tight, I was her maid-of-honor—that kind of best friend.

Mischief-maker, ha! If that wasn’t code for leprechaun, then I’d set my car on fire—on purpose this time.

I understood why Livy hadn’t told me. I was disappointed, but I understood seeing as how I had my own pile of bones in my family closet. But for Michael to mention it so casually, if a little obscurely… And semi-retired?

Was someone tired of being naughty? I sneaked a glance at him.

“So, uh, the devil’s daughter,” Michael said, rubbing his neck.

And I couldn’t help a sigh. This was the part where he had to decide whether I was whackadoo or a part of the “in” crowd. I almost felt bad for him.

“Maybe we should wait till we get to your cabin to talk about it. I’d hate to distress you and cause an accident.” I placed just the slightest emphasis on “distress.” No manly man liked to get called out on bad driving, and the poke was too good to pass up.

He gave me a tight-jawed, narrow-eyed look. “The only thing that has distressed me this evening was seeing you carted off like so much luggage during my sister’s party. Who was that guy?”

“Ah. Now see, that’s a problem. If I tell you who he is, the truth, no lies”—and I’d swear the tips of his ears were turning pink—“then you might cause an accident. What with you hanging up your mischief hat, that wouldn’t do at all.”

He gripped the wheel tighter. “You know.”

“I haven’t a clue what you mean.” I fluttered my lashes at him when he glanced my way. He looked furious, but that didn’t dissuade me. If anything, it had the opposite effect. I’d never seen Michael flustered. I smiled sweetly and asked, “What could I possibly know?”

“If I wasn’t worried that bulldog posing as a human might actually be after us, I’d pull over and we could discuss this like actual adults. You’re acting like a toddler.”

A “bulldog.” Now that was hardly fair. Don wasn’t actually all that bad looking. My objections to him had to do with what he was (a skirt-chasing demon with a reputation for vengeful violence) and who he knew (my dad, who’d made the marriage arrangements). That was putting aside the whole argument of not wanting to marry some random (in regard to my emotional attachment) demon because it was a good political alliance for my father. Or the fact that it wasn’t the middle ages.

But it really wasn’t good for my emotional state to dwell. Suffice it to say, Don wasn’t my type, and I had no desire to marry into the family business.

Objectively speaking, Don was a bit of a catch. Was Michael a teensy bit jealous… maybe? Nah. Those were my lady bits speaking up. My common sense said, don’t get your hopes up.

Now, what was that about my being a toddler? Hm. “If I’m such a toddler, maybe you’d like to pull over and spank me.”

That naughty thought had popped into my head and directly out of my mouth. What was it about Michael that made me do that?

I could tell he was still mad, but his lips quirked. “You know spanking is very last century… for toddlers.”

But then he didn’t say another word for miles. About the time I’d convinced myself that we’d ride the entire distance in silence, he spoke. “You could have said something. If you knew, you should have said something.” He sounded a little angry, but mostly disappointed. Like I’d let him down. “You have no idea how hard it is for my sister to trust people. When she finds out that you’ve kept who you are, what you are a secret,”—he sighed.—"she’s going to be upset.”

Ah. I considered my words carefully. This wasn’t a chance at a cheap shot. This was about Livy, and she deserved better. “She’s my best friend. I didn’t want to hurt her. I don’t want to hurt her.”

“Then how could you lie to her for so long?”

I laughed but it was a nasty sound that reminded me of my father.

Michael glanced at me and his nostrils flared with some emotion.

“Okay, Michael, if we’re going to be truthful here, what exactly are you?”

He shifted in his seat, then checked his mirrors. “You know.”

“Say it.” But he didn’t, and my anger climbed. I could feel my face flushing. “You have no right to judge me, when you can’t even say it out loud.” Still he was silent, so I pulled out a little bit of my dad’s nastiness. Quietly, I said, “I can make you.”

He whipped over to the shoulder and threw the car into park. “What did you say?”

“I can make you.” I repeated it, but my anger was slipping away. It never lasted, because—thank goodness—I was only half my father’s child.

He stewed for a few seconds. Then a few more.

Michael Kelly was turning out to be a much more thoughtful and much less impulsive man than I expected. So very different from my dad.

Eventually, he said, “I’m sorry. That‘s between you and my sister. I know you’ve been a good friend to her.” He turned to find me gaping, I’m sure in an unattractive fashion. To which he responded by flashing me his charming, easy smile. “Now it’s your turn.”

I looked at him, confused.

“It’s your turn to apologize.”

“Oh. Right.” The words tumbled out. “I’m sorry.” And I was.

“See, not so hard.”

He had no idea.

“You know I wouldn’t do that, wouldn’t…” Great. Now it was my turn to fidget. I huffed out a breath then quickly said, “I wouldn’t fiddle with your free will.”

“I know.” He didn’t think about it, didn’t have to consider. He knew I wouldn’t do that terrible thing.

He discovers I’m the devil’s kid, and he doesn’t for a second think I’d step past the line that stood between right and so very wrong.

He put his blinker on, put the car into drive, and carefully merged back onto the road. Like we hadn’t just had words. Like everything was fine. Like I was a totally normal person.

And he’d apologized.

I’d apologized.

Tears burned at the back of my throat. I might cry.

I hated my temper. Hated it so much, because sometimes it felt like it was bigger than me. It reminded me that I was my father’s child. Oh, and then there were the fires. If I got really mad, I started fires. Accidentally, but that didn’t make it any better when someone’s car burned up (mine) or someone’s library book turned into a charred mess (my junior high bestie’s) or someone’s carport caught fire (my mom’s).

So I avoided things that made me angry.

Livy and I didn’t argue. Not in a weird avoidance kind of a way. Just because Livy was Livy. I loved her. She was like an amazing fruit pie: only a little sweet and completely genuine, never syrupy and overdone. She was easy to love, easy to get along with, easy to concede to.

But Michael wasn’t like Livy. He was a little like my dad. Not his temper, obviously, but some parts of his personality. The assertive, confident, self-assured aspects. Those people were harder for me.

Over time, I’d learned to hide away the anger, bury it, and then there were no burnt up library books between friends. Avoid conflict, and then there was no awkward homeowners insurance claims for mysterious carport fires between family.

I’d learned not to be swallowed up by the anger. I’d learned to swallow it instead.

But with Michael, I’d let my freak flag fly, gotten a little angry, and apologized. That was new.

Michael deserved more than an apology. Ugh. We were going to talk about feelings.

“At first, I didn’t know, you know, what she was.” I clenched my hands in my lap.

Michael quirked an eyebrow at me, then with a twitch of his lips, he said, “That she and her whole family, myself included, were leprechauns?”

I chuckled, but I’d swear those ridiculous tears were still close—because that admission was better than an apology. He really did know how to push my buttons, just all the good ones instead of the bad. I smiled back at him. “Exactly. By the time I figured it out, I’d already considered what my situation might mean for her. She tells me she’s a leprechaun, I say, oh, gee, no worries, I’m half demon—”

“Half?”

“Hm? Yes, half. My mother isn’t. She’s lovely.” He nodded, as if half or whole, it was all the same, just another piece of information, so I continued. “And then I tell her, by the way, I’m engaged to a prince of hell, but I’m hiding from him, and then bam! She’s tangled up in the mess that is my life.”

Michael cleared his throat. “Don is a prince of hell?”

“Abaddon. He’s the one with the locusts and the floods.”

“Oh, I know which one he is.” Michael’s face had assumed a grim cast.

“Oh, Michael, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have involved you in my messy life.”

He scowled at me then turned off the highway. “You’d rather have been carted away by a linebacker lookalike who doesn’t seem to think much of women? A guy that rumor says keeps a harem down in hell?”

“Ah, you do know who Abaddon is.”

“You can’t marry him.”

“I’ve been hiding out for a while now. Out of sight and out of mind, as they say. Since I don’t actually want to marry him, it seemed like a good idea.” I ignored Michael’s snort. “I check in with Dad a few times a year. I just make sure that Abaddon is far from hell when I do it.” I frowned at Michael. Who was he to judge? He didn’t know all the facts. “It wasn’t like he was in any hurry to get married, what with his harem of women.”

“Uh-huh. Except something changed.”

“Yeah, something changed.”

“Do you want to tell me why you’re engaged to a man you don’t want to marry?”

Sinking lower in my seat, I mumbled, “Not really.”

I wasn’t about to tell Michael I’d dreaded the argument that denying my father would have precipitated. That I was worried Dad’s dynastic plans were more important than any feelings he had for me, and terrified that denying the engagement would give me ample proof of his disappointing priorities. That we’d been topside in a park picnicking and there had been trees—so many trees—and I’d been worried about starting the next national newsworthy brushfire.

So while I hadn’t said “yes,” I also hadn’t said “no.”

“Okay. So break it off.”

“You’ve lost your mind.” I stared at him. “Abaddon, Prince of Darkness and Destruction. The name basically says it all.”

Michael glanced at me with just a touch of pity in his eyes. “I’m not the crazy person in this car. If you’re so frightened of what your fiancé will do over a broken engagement, then perhaps that’s all the more reason not to end up as the man’s wife.”

A shiver crawled up my spine. Wife. I’d been thinking in terms of a long engagement and a wedding that would never happen. Being someone’s wife was terrifying. I glanced at Michael to find his expression had morphed to concern—for me, over my stupid, partially self-inflicted engagement woes.

Maybe being someone like Michael’s wife wouldn’t be quite so terrifying.

Then I chuckled. Who was I kidding? I wasn’t ready to get married. Not to Abaddon, not to someone like Michael, not to Prince Charming himself (should the man exist).

“Glad you can laugh.

“Oh, I better laugh. If I don’t laugh, you might have to mop up me and my tsunami of tears, before your leather seats are ruined.”

His worried look vanished and he smiled again. “I have a hanky.” After a minute or two, he asked, “What are you going to do?”

“Run, hide.” I shook my head. “I don’t know.”

He shrugged. “Marry someone else.”

Silence followed—because that was insane. I’d already decided I wasn’t ready for that step. Marriage was scary. And even if it weren’t, who would this mystery man be? I wasn’t dating, for one. And then there was the other thing, the fact that he’d have to be mentally incompetent to marry me while I was engaged to a prince of hell.

Michael sighed. “Look. Present it as a fait accompli, then there’s not much Abaddon can do. After that, well,” He grinned. “you’ll have to rely upon some charm and some luck to smooth things over.”

I laughed. I mean, I laughed. Hurt my sides, almost throw-up laughter. I wiped the dampness from my eyes. It was simply insanity. There were so many problems with his plan, so many. Why mention the list of challenges when there was one, insurmountable hurdle? “Who exactly is going to piss off the devil, Abaddon, and about half of hell to marry me?”

“I will.”

CHAPTER THREE

It’s a good thing I hadn’t been driving, because we would have crashed. Definitely run off the road, maybe into a tree, possibly hit a deer, certainly smashed his car. Chances were good.

But he was driving, and we arrived at his little country cabin—with one additional stop—without injury. I expected him to say he was just kidding, or it was too dangerous, or he couldn’t disappoint his family, or—I don’t know, one of a hundred different excuses.

But he didn’t.

He didn’t say anything else about it, and other than saying he was a crazy person and clearly not attached to his head, neither did I.

He parked, and I got a fair look at the place, as good as I could in the full moon darkness. It was a cabin, just as he’d said, but I hadn’t envisioned it as quite so small. On the up side, the driveway had been pretty long, maybe a quarter mile, and the nearest neighbor was likely a mile or two down the road if the lights I’d seen had been any indication. So it was a very private, very small cabin. The better to be quietly murdered in our sleep.

“We’re not going to be murdered in our sleep,” Michael said before he opened the door.

“Did I say that out loud?”

He gave me an exasperated look. “You did. How did you manage to keep the devil’s daughter tidbit under your hat for so long? You don’t seem to have a good handle on what comes out of your mouth.”

It wasn’t usually a problem. Not that I could say that, because then I’d have to fess up to Michael being the cause. He made me nervous. He always had. But only in a girl-has-crush kind of way. I didn’t have actual feelings for him…because that would be weird, him being a leprechaun and my bestie’s brother.

He grabbed my shopping bag out of the car—thank goodness for Target one-stop shopping—and looked at me expectantly. “That was a real question.”

“You make me nervous.” Holy hell, I just said that out loud. Accidentally-on-purpose aloud, not oops-that-slipped out aloud. Excessive honesty must be another symptom of the illness that was my lust-crush. Time to retreat. I grabbed the bag from his hand and headed for the door.

To arrive and realize it was locked. I touched my finger to the lock.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” Michael’s voice in my ear made me flinch first, melt second.

Sneaky, quiet, sneaky leprechaun.

“You said sneaky twice.” He was close enough that the rumble of his voice in my ear made my ovaries purr.

No, not good. I touched my finger to the lock, sending a quick unbinding pulse of magic to the lock.

“Ow!” I yanked my hand back. “It bit me!”

Michael just chuckled, then nudged me to the side so he could unlock the door with a proper key. “I warned you. Also, for future reference, the harder you try, the harder it bites.”

Good to know, because I’d just given the lock a little nudge. Shaking my hand—like that helped—I said, “Your sister can’t do very good wards or protections.”

He swung the door open for me. “Oh, how do you know? She’d hardly have shared what she can and can’t do with her best friend, the one who doesn’t know about magic, would she?”

With my shopping bag clutched in my good hand and my other hand throbbing in time to my increasingly rapid pulse, I sashayed into the place like I owned it. And made it about four feet. “Whoa.”

Michael shut the door behind him. “Ah, is that a good whoa or a bad whoa?”

“It’s a ‘this place is tiny and has one bed’ whoa.” But then I looked again. It was all exposed log walls and rustic charm. Looking at him, so he’d know I meant it, I said, “It’s really nice. Thank you for doing this.”

“You thank me for letting you crash in my one-room shack but you don’t answer my proposal of marriage. You’re a strange girl, Smith.”

“This is not a shack.” I frowned at him. I could tell he loved this place; that easy charm of his was practically seeping from the logs. For the place to soak up that much of his personality and his magic, he had to spend some serious time here and really love the place.

He rolled his eyes. “Okay. We’ll just avoid the fact that the Prince of Darkness and Destruction—who has enough women to create his own harem—is chasing you down with an eye to a forced marriage, and that something very odd is going on between you and your dad if he’s supporting Abaddon, the Don Juan of Hell, as your future spouse. We’ll skip over all that. You’re absolutely right. It’s not a shack. I love this place.”

“You really have heard all about Don.” I sized up his bed. Big enough for two—actually three or four, if that’s the direction Michael liked to lean—but no, this wasn’t a love shack. “By the way, Don hates that name.”

“The sofa makes a reasonable bed.” He gestured to the couch. “Of course he hates it. It’s tongue in cheek. The guy’s a chauvinist and a player, not exactly every woman’s dream lover.”

Focus on the non-personal stuff. Sofa…what was that about the sofa? Michael was well over six feet. No way that would work. “Oh, I’ll take the couch.”

“Yeah, you will. I’m pretty sure my feet would hang over the edge.”

And there was the Michael I knew (and maybe adored just a tiny bit.) That particular thought I held close and didn’t let slip out. I don’t think he’d ever caught a hint of my lust-crush. He knew he was hot, so that little slip earlier was nothing. He didn’t know he made my girly bits party when he was around.

I dropped down into one of two twin crushed velvet arm chairs, and it immediately tried to swallow me. I might let it, because it felt so good. I slipped my strappy sandals off and kicked my feet up on the matching ottoman. “So, about your sister’s magic or lack thereof, I can just tell she doesn’t have a lot of, uh, juice. Protection and wards take a lot of skill and power.”

“You can just tell.” He grabbed a beer from the fridge and lifted it in my direction.

“Yes, please. Maybe with a chaser of whiskey.”

I’d been kidding, but when he pulled out a bottle and a few shot glasses it actually seemed like a pretty good idea. Get a little tipsy, pass out on the sofa, avoid serious conversation…

He put the shot glasses on the small table between the chairs, as well as the bottle, and then handed me my beer.

I looked at the label: a local Austin brew. “Way to go local.”

He chuckled. “I was going local before it was a thing, when it was the only thing.”

Which made me wonder how old he was. I poked a little with my magic, but got bupkis.

He dropped into my chair’s twin. “Quit it.” There wasn’t any censure in his voice, but I still felt like I’d just been found peering inside a neighbor’s window.

There was only one ottoman, so I scooted it closer to him. How had he done that? First, noticed that I’d tried to get a peek and second, blocked it without any effort at all?

He glanced at my strappy heels as he was taking his shoes off. “I feel bad for making fun of you. I don’t know how you could run in those.”

“Well, I didn’t do a stellar job of it, did I? The only reason Don didn’t catch up was because he wasn’t expecting your tackle or my binding spell.” I groaned. “Michael, this is not good. Don is going to be so pissed at you.”

“I’ll be fine.”

He looked like he hadn’t a care in the world. His sexy bare feet were propped on the ottoman next to mine, and he was slouched in the down-filled chair with his dark head tipped back and his eyes closed. Not a single care in the world.

Averting my eyes from his sexy toes, lest I develop a foot fetish on the spot, I said, “Hm. I don’t think you know how powerful he is.”

He cracked open an eye. “I don’t think you know how powerful my family is.”

Oh my God, I might be getting teary. He didn’t think twice, he just assumed his family had his back. Because they would. Which made me all warm and fuzzy that he had that in his life and then sad that I’d drug them all into my messy life.

I rubbed my tired eyes. I would not cry in front of this man. Once I was certain I could speak without losing my composure, I said, “We have to keep your family out of this. I need to get you out of this. I’ll leave tomorrow morning.”

“I don’t think so.” He didn’t even bother to crack an eye this time. He lounged in his chair, looking like he’d just had a massage.

Then another thought occurred, maybe I’d worn the poor guy out. Or maybe he was actually super stressed out about the whole situation. The Prince of Darkness and Destruction was on his trail with revenge on the brain, of course, he was stressed out. “Oh my god, I’ve ruined your life.”

And then I knew he’d gone over the edge, because…he laughed.

I’d just broken Michael Kelly.

And I might have said that out loud.

Once he’d stopped laughing, he drank about half his beer in a few swigs. Finally, he said, “You didn’t break me.” His eyes danced, and he suddenly looked an awful lot like his dad, full of mischief and merriment.

“If you’re not worried—or crazy—then I don’t think you get it.” I groaned. “Your family is going to hate me. And Livy…”

“Stop it.”

I couldn’t stop. I had to tell him. He had to understand. “Don and my dad are tight. Don’s got a lot of magic, but my dad…you have no idea. This is so bad. So bad.”

“I said, stop it.” And he grabbed my hand. “I know who Abaddon and your dad are. I know Abaddon commands an army of minions, and that your dad has alliances with some of the most powerful demon families. He wouldn’t be king of hell if he didn’t. I know all that.”

“You do?” My gaze landed on our interlocked hands. I liked the feel of his hand clasped around my own.

“I do. I think you don’t get it. You’re under a false assumption that my family and I have something to fear from your people, that we can’t protect our own, and that’s just not true.” He laced his fingers with mine. “It could be a little uncomfortable around Christmas and Thanksgiving, but that’s easy enough to manage.”

I did break him. He’d gone over the edge. I snatched my hand back. “You’ve lost your mind.’

“Thinking you might marry me? Hey, I’m a catch.” He winked at me. Winked—like it was all no big deal that powerful people might be angry with him, might…I don’t know, lop his head off, or cause some kind of rift with his family. He continued speaking as if the sky wasn’t falling. “My mom tells me that all the time. Then again, maybe she’s a little biased.”

“You’re nuts. Does your sister know you’ve lost it?” This isolated cabin took on an entirely different meaning. Maybe I hadn’t broken him. Maybe he’d been teetering on the edge for a while now. Ugh. Great. So now I was the one who shoved him off the cliffs of sanity.

He retrieved my hand and laced his fingers with mine. “Are you doubting my sanity, because I want to marry you? Shame on you, to think so little of yourself. You’re a prize, even the prince of darkness thinks so.”

And then it hit me. I yanked my hand back—though it had felt amazing and very right for him to hold it. “You’re messing with me.”

“Only a little,” but he said it with that Kelly smirk, the one that was two parts charm, two parts arrogance, and too many parts mischief.

So I punched him. In the arm. I’d hate to give him a black eye or hurt his insanely handsome face.

He rubbed the spot like it actually hurt. Which made me smile, because no way it had.

“Okay, please explain to me why you’re not more worried about all of this. Aren’t you concerned about upsetting your family? They won’t appreciate being pulled into my family’s private drama. Oh, and the small fact that my dad isn’t what I’d call an inconsequential enemy.”

“First, I don’t think your dad is going to war with the leprechauns over a family matter. He’s actually considered to be a pretty fair-minded guy.” When I sputtered and choked, Michael said, “That’s news to you?”

Nothing about my dad’s purple-faced screaming tirades said fair-minded. “Yeah, that would be news to me.”

“On the other hand, there’s my family. The Kellys have been around a long time. Any family with history has power.” His tone moved from serious to playful. “And we might think war with the devil would be great fun.” Seeing my shocked expression, he looked at me. “Okay, by ‘war,’ I mean a series of exceptionally executed practical jokes.”

I huffed in annoyance and took a swig of beer. He wasn’t taking this nearly seriously enough. “What about Don’s head lopping rep? That didn’t come from nowhere.”

“Some races can grow their heads back, so it’s probably not nearly so bad as you think.” Michael scratched his chin. “Or that was a youthful indiscretion.”

Youthful indiscretion? Leprechauns were as bad as demons.

“Oh, by the way, the next time you try to get a read on someone’s magic, you might try using a little finesse, darlin, because your magic is about as subtle as a sledgehammer.”

Not true. I used that poke all the time. Okay, not all the time, but on anyone I thought might be packing magic. Which raised an interesting question. “You seem to be pretty sure that you and yours can stand up against the demons of hell with no problem, but…” How did I tactfully state that Livy wasn’t exactly fully charged when it came to magic? “Um, Livy doesn’t seem to be packing much of a punch.”

“Livy doesn’t,” he agreed.

“Don’t even tell me this is a macho thing. If you’re going tell me that men are the superior magical power, then—”

He barked out a laugh. “Please, just don’t say that in front of my mother. If she thinks I even hinted at it, my ear will be sore for a week.”

Magic tended to be genetic, so I wasn’t really getting it. “You’re saying your sister is a magical dud.”

That killed his amusement. “No. I’m certainly not saying that. Even if it were true, I wouldn’t say it like that. Where do you get this stuff?”

I wasn’t about to tell him my mom, who’d raised me with no help from Dad, was as mortal as they came, and I was primarily self-taught and didn’t mingle amongst the magical masses.

Finding Livy had been a happy accident.

When I didn’t respond, he said, “Look, my sister has made her own life choices. And she’s young.”

“But magic is genetic.” I bit my lip. Was I revealing my unorthodox upbringing? Ha. Did I care? The guy knew I was the devil’s daughter, and he’d still invited me back to his place.

He gave me a weird look. “Partially. Leprechaun power increases with age and practice—just like demons.”

Huh. Not rocket science, but also not something I’d known.

He drank a swig of beer, but when I didn’t reply, he sighed and said, “I’m older, and I practice more.”

“Oh.” Maybe the Kellys had more than a little magical juice. Maybe they were a match for Abaddon. Maybe they wouldn’t be scared off by my dad.

Maybe they wouldn’t hate me for dragging Michael into a very personal family matter? Ha! Try again.

“Do you want to feel me up again with your magic meter?” He flashed me a sexy, teasing grin.

“Do you want me to hit you again?”

He just chuckled. “Now, drink your beer and your shot. Someone needs to get her butt to bed and get some sleep.”

“I can definitely drink to that.” I clinked my shot glass against his, and I let go of all those questions—for now.

“I wouldn’t want you to look all red-eyed and droopy at our wedding tomorrow.”

I choked and just about spat a very expensive whiskey on my newly acquired “fiancé.”

CHAPTER FOUR

“Once you’re dressed, we can head out to the county clerk’s office.” Michael stretched, pulling his T-shirt up and flashing muscled abs.

No ab-watching, no ass-gazing, no pec-peering, no speculation as to other parts unmentioned, and definitely no touching. I told myself that this morning as I’d rolled off the sofa and practically into Michael’s bare-chested self. Small cabin.

At least we’d both passed out quickly after Michael’s crazy announcement. I’d treated it like a joke, he’d said “sleep on it,” and we’d both crashed. End of crazy idea.

“What was the question?” I asked, sipping my orange juice. I was not a morning person and refused to be held accountable for my actions prior to the consumption of large quantities of caffeine.

“No question. I suggested that we head out to the county clerk’s office once you get dressed.” Michael’s gaze flowed smoothly from my head to my toes, not pausing to admire the cuteness of my bare knees (they were very cute,) or judge the state of my hair (terrifying), or even ogle my thinly covered breasts (braless under the T-shirt I’d borrowed from him to sleep in.)

What was wrong with the guy? He wanted to marry me last night, but doesn’t want to make my lady bits sing this morning? This was all sorts of weirdly not right. Never mind that I’d told myself hands off, he should at least be looking like he wanted to feel me up. “Wait, what? County clerk?”

As soon I said it, I knew the crazy of last night had invaded the reality of this morning.

Any maid-of-honor worth her salt knew that the County Clerk was step number one down the path of wedded bliss. Or at least it was step number one on the paperwork side. For Livy, step number one had been falling in love, and then an amazing proposal, and then a beautiful ring. I sighed as my heart did a little pitter-patter. It had been more than a little romantic.

This was not romantic—not that I would expect romance from Michael. It wasn’t like we were an item.

Even so, this marriage thing had overtones of “save the hellaciously distressed damsel” that made me cringe. I lifted my juice glass to hide my peevish expression. Michael didn’t even want to have sex with me. The idea of marriage was inconceivable.

Not that it was a real marriage proposal, but that didn’t diminish my annoyance.

Unfortunately, I drained my juice glass all too soon. I eyed the kettle, willing it to boil—which it did without hesitation. The kettle sang a surprisingly gentle tune. “Look at that. Water’s ready.”

Michael shut off the burner. “You’re zapping the coffee water to avoid a conversation.” He crossed his arms and leaned back against the edge of the counter. “You didn’t want to discuss it last night. You don’t want to discuss it this morning. I don’t recall you ever being such a coward.”

“I thought you were kidding.” I headed for the French press, but ditched it when I didn’t see any beans. But I needed coffee, dang it. Michael had an unfair advantage. His brain seemed to work just fine pre-caffeine. “Since I thought you were joking, there’s nothing to discuss. But I appreciate having a place to crash while I sort out what I’m going to do, so thank you, again.”

A tin of instant peaked out from the shelf.

“It’s no trouble. But I really don’t think there’s anything ambiguous about ‘let’s get married tomorrow.’ Oh, hey, let me do that.” He snatched the instant coffee from my hands and put it back on the shelf. “What are you? A heathen?” He pulled out a grinder from a high shelf and some beans stored in an unmarked tin.

“You’re the heathen. You’re the one who bought instant coffee.”

As he went through the ritual of preparing coffee, he kept his attention firmly focused on the task. Only when he was done and had set a timer for the coffee to brew did he turn back to me. “Let’s put aside the question of marriage.”—Sanity, at last! Except his lips just kept moving. “For now. Why not tell Don you don’t want to marry him? That you’ve changed your mind. It does happen.”

I scowled at him. He wouldn’t understand. His family was like a magical, mischievous, and very hot version of the Brady Bunch.

“Annabeth?”

I watched the digital timer tick down and couldn’t help thinking it was a crazy metaphor for the ticking time bomb that was my life. It was all going to explode, the question was how? Or maybe when? And what would be left of me once it did? I sneaked a glance at Michael. And who else would be hurt?

The buzzer sounded, and I jumped.

“I’ve never seen you this jumpy.” He rested his hands lightly on my upper arms. “Are you physically scared of Don?”

“No! No. I don’t think Don will hurt me.” Actually, I hadn’t really given that a lot of thought. The rumors of violence certainly didn’t involve women he’d been romantic with. And really, I didn’t know much more than rumors. He was pompous and arrogant and…that’s all I had. “I don’t actually know him very well, you know, apart from the rumors and the some superficial greetings. But no, I really don’t think he’d do anything to me. You, I’m not so sure about.”

Michael rolled his eyes. “I’ll be fine. But what are you so worried about? I can’t help if you won’t explain why you’re acting so afraid.”

He was being so understanding. I squeezed my eyes shut, because I couldn’t see his face when I told him. He was going to be so mad or disappointed or disgusted. “I can’t tell my dad. He arranged the marriage.” It came out in a rush, but I couldn’t open my eyes.

Silence. Yep, he was probably thinking all sorts of unpleasant things, not the least of which was how a woman gets herself into such a situation in this century. Of course he was. I squeezed my eyes tighter. I knew I was thinking those things. Every single day, I thought that. Every day, I was angry, disappointed, and disgusted with myself for getting into this mess.

And Michael had carted my ridiculous, weak-kneed, cowardly self to his super-secret hidey-hole-of-heaven, had painted a hellish target on his head, and now I tell him that I haven’t even had the courage to tell my fiancé I didn’t want to marry. Worse, I hadn’t told my fiancé I wanted to break our engagement, because I was scared of my dad. Sort of. It was more complicated than that—but basically.

Michael’s hands were still resting lightly on my upper arms and there was no crackling tension in the air. I cracked one eye.

And he was just waiting. Patiently.

So I opened the other eye.

“Why did you say yes?” he asked, still looking decidedly not angry.

“I never exactly said yes.” I bit my lip and shrugged. “I just didn’t exactly say no.”

His hands fell from my arms, but only after he gave me a gentle, reassuring squeeze. Except now he looked a little put out. He ran a hand through his hair. “Annabeth, you do realize that you get to choose? You say who you do or don’t marry. Someone announcing it does not make it so—even for demons.” His lips quirked up for a second. “Or half demons.”

Except I was living and miserable proof that he was wrong. I mumbled, “You don’t know my dad.”

“I thought I knew you.”

Which made my hackles rise. “Hey, watch it buddy. Don’t you even start—"

“I’m not judging you, Annabeth, I’m telling you I’m confused. That I find this situation confusing. You’ve always been bold. If anything, ridiculously so. What you’re telling me doesn’t fit what I know of you. How long have I known you? Five years?”

I narrowed my eyes. He knew exactly how long. “Seven. And given how close your family is and me being Livy’s best friend—I get it. You’ve been up to your ears in Annabeth antics and Annabeth stories for years.”

He flashed me a smile. “I wouldn’t have said it like that, but I would say that I know you reasonably well.”

“Maybe.” Because he did. And vice versa, hence the development of my never-ending lust-crush.

The guy was hard to be around without noticing all the good bits—and I wasn’t just talking about his mighty fine ass that actually filled out a pair of jeans, or his broad chest that filled out a T-shirt, or his broad shoulders that filled out a jacket, or his sexy smile…or any of those other deliciously sexy physical attributes. Michael was good people, and Livy’s favorite brother. Not that she’d ever admit it.

“So, since we’re both agreed that I know you reasonably well and you’re not usually anything less than audaciously brave—what gives?”

“I have a temper.”

Michael shrugged. “Okay.”

The urge to punch him in the arm returned. “Easy for you to say. Your dad isn’t the guy with an epic level of anger issues.”

“That sounds like an exaggeration, but let’s say it is true: you don’t have anger issues. What does this have to do with you being unintentionally engaged?”

“Everything.” Although it wasn’t everything. There was also that little problem of not knowing where in my father’s affections I fell. “I set a few fires when I was younger. Magically and accidentally, but always when my temper got the better of me.” I shot a longing look at the coffee.

“I still don’t see the connection.” Michael poured us both a cup, mine light.

As he handed me the cup, I couldn’t help a little tug of squishy, warm feelings. I adored that he remembered how I liked my coffee.

“Your temper and your engagement are connected how?” Michael nudged me back towards the unpleasant truth.

“Right. I avoid confrontation.”

Michael laughed. “Uh, no you don’t.”

Fair point. “I avoid confrontation that would cause me to lose control of my temper. And anything that involves my dad basically falls into that category.” I sipped my coffee and sighed. I needed that. Especially after confessing to something so completely idiotic.

“Family does that, they make you a little crazy.” He sipped at his coffee and seemed to mull it over. After a minute or two, he said, “And why no email or phone call? Add a little distance to the equation.”

“Why? Up until recently, Don didn’t seem any more inclined to marriage than I was. It was easy to let it ride.”

“Here’s the thing, Annabeth. You can’t let it ride any longer. Not unless you want to be running until you can’t run anymore.” His raised an eyebrow. “And we both know that running isn’t exactly your best skill.”

I scowled back at him. “I was in heels. Give a girl a break.” And not really into cardio, but no need to dwell on that. But Michael was right. I needed to find some way to confront my father and tell him the truth: I didn’t want to marry his hand-picked demon-boy. I groaned. “Talking to my dad is hard.”

“Yeah, talking about things like emotions can be rough.” He didn’t look very sympathetic as he said it though. Maybe it was my whiney tone.

He gave me a little push in the direction of the bathroom. “I’ve already showered, so go do whatever it is that you do in the morning so we can get going.”

I didn’t want to ask. I had to ask. With another groan, I said, “And where are we going?”

“The county clerk’s office to pick up a marriage license.”

“What? How is that the plan?” Didn’t we just agree that I needed to confront my dad and tell him I wasn’t going through with the marriage to Don? No fake wedding required. “That would be like waving a red flag in front of a bull.”

“Exactly.” He clapped me on the shoulder. “I’m glad you’re on board with the plan.”

CHAPTER FIVE

I was not on board with the plan.

I tell Michael my dad has anger issues, that I used to set stuff on fire when I got angry, that my dad pushes all of my buttons…and he wants to throw us in a room with a bunch of matches and kindling.

As I lathered and scrubbed in the shower, I had to concede that Michael Kelly was right about one thing: it was time to confront my past so that I didn’t screw up my present or my future.

While it might be a little bit easier with someone I trusted standing at my back, I didn’t see how having that someone stand right next to me saying, “I do,” would help at all.

Why poke the bear? One whiff of an engagement to another man, and my dad would lose it. And I couldn’t really blame the guy. Sure, he didn’t ever ask me if I wanted to marry Don. Sure, he just announced that he’d picked someone suitable and made the arrangements. Sure, he made it really hard to have a civil conversation unless I was agreeing with him. Sure…

I was rethinking that blame issue. In fact, I was feeling downright contrary. Maybe I’d been waving a white flag where my dad was concerned for too long. Maybe making the motions as if I was going to marry Michael was exactly what I needed to do.

A light knock on the bathroom door interrupted my absurd, borderline delusional thoughts. “Yes?” I was hardly shy, but the shower curtain was also completely opaque. I ducked my sudsy head out.

Michael cracked the door and his hand slipped inside the bathroom holding a towel. “Sorry, I used the one in here earlier.”

“Thanks. Hey!” The door cracked open again. “Any chance leprechauns don’t die if they’re decapitated?”

The door opened wider and the disputed head popped through the crack. “Not to be a downer, since you seem to be enjoying your shower, but I need my head.”

“Got it.”

He disappeared and closed the door.

It figured that leprechauns weren’t one of the mysterious peoples who could regrow their heads. Darn it.

Ten minutes later—his hot water tank must be pretty big—I emerged from the shower. My coffee was a little cool, so I zapped it. Heat was easy magic for me. Being the daughter of the devil had a few perks.

I debated trying to tame the blonde mess atop my head but in the end just ran some extra conditioner through it so it wouldn’t getter bigger as the day wore on. Texas heat and humidity was not an easy environment for sophisticated, sleek hair.

A quick brush of my teeth, a few seconds of peering in the mirror and wishing for more than the lip gloss I’d grabbed at Target, and I was good to go. I threw on the dress I’d picked up and opted to be a little daring in the underwear department, because no way I was wearing unwashed underwear from a packet. They used chemicals and stuff on the fabric, and I liked my lady bits just as they were: chemical-free.

“Please tell me you have a washing machine in this love shack,” I said as I emerged in a cloud of shampoo-scented steam.

“Not a love shack, and yes.” He opened a door that I’d thought was a pantry to reveal a stacked washer-dryer unit.

I dumped my dirty clothes and the rest of the clothes I’d picked up at Target into the wash, including the underwear. I turned to ask if he had any laundry detergent and caught him eyeing my rear. I swallowed a smirk and asked, “You have anything to add?”

He cleared his throat. “Yeah, let me just grab a few things.”

Served him right. He could stew over what I was—or wasn’t—wearing under my dress while I freaked out about my dad. Oh yeah, and Don.

My stomach started to knot. Was I really considering going through with this fake engagement plan?

“Yes, you are.”

“I have got to stop doing that.” I frowned at him, as if my lack of filter was his fault. Oh, right, it was—sort of. It was unnerving and really annoying. “Explain to me again why I should.”

“Because it’s a step you can’t take back, and it doesn’t require you to stand up to your dad in person.”

Wow. That made me sound like a cringing little coward. I gritted my teeth. Sometimes the truth hurts. “So is a text. Or email. Email sounds good about now.”

Michael herded me out the door. “This has more flair. Besides, you know you want to be engaged to me. I’m hot, remember?”

I planted my heels on his porch. “This is a bad idea.”

“It’s a great idea.”

“Said every leprechaun ever before something terrible happened.”

Was that a twinkle of mischief in my leprechaun’s eye? And here I was thinking that he was considering retirement. Silly me. I grinned at him. That twinkle was pretty cute.

“Okay,” I grumbled. “Let’s do this.”

Forty-five minutes later, I found out exactly how one acquired a marriage license, and it was shockingly easy. The most difficult part had been finding the county clerk’s office, and that hadn’t been all that hard. It was so easy, in fact, that the State of Texas required a seventy-two hour waiting period before one could actually use that easily obtained license.

Not that we were going to actually use it.

Of course not. The point was to make a statement. Send a message. Yell a challenge. Oh, snotty minions, what had I done?

As we emerged from the building, I was temporarily blinded by the sun. Thankfully, Michael hadn’t been. Before I could register the looming presence of the second biggest ass in my life, Michael put his hand on my elbow and said, “I believe that your jilted fiancé has joined us.”

For a moment, I thought he’d lost his mind, because he didn’t seem the least bit concerned. Also, we had just gotten that license. No one was that wired into the big bureaucratic machine that was the State of Texas. Not my dad and surely not Don.

Except there he was, big and burly and mad.

Michael wrapped an arm around my stiff shoulders and pointed me in the direction of the clerk’s parking lot. “What is that saying about unwanted guests?”

I choked on a laugh. Those cliffs of sanity I’d imagined shoving Michael off? There weren’t even in sight. Why not join along and we could both lose our heads together, because that’s about how pissed off Don looked. “If you mean houseguests, it’s three days and something about smelly fish.”

“Ah. Perhaps there’s a hint of cod in the air?” And in a completely normal, not even a tiny bit rattled tone of voice, he continued, “But then, maybe not. I do think overly persistent jilted fiancés might be an unfilled niche in the idioms department.” His voice hardened slightly. “No, how silly of me. There’s a name for it. Stalking, I believe is the right word.”

Oh. My. God. Michael had just told the Prince of Darkness and Destruction to stop stalking his fiancé. While fondling said prince’s fiancé.

Not exactly fondling—maybe that was more wishful thinking—but still, very ballsy. I ducked out from under Michael’s arm when I caught Don approaching us in my peripheral vision. A girl who taunted angry ex-fiancés had to be ready to run. Don must have been so startled by our unexpected response (not peeing our pants and begging for mercy) that his reaction time had slowed.

I realized as I walked down the sidewalk bumping shoulders with Michael and ready to run at the first sign of trouble, that I just might be having a little fun. Hm. Maybe there was something to this idea of poking the beast. Don had caused me a lot of grief over the last few weeks.

Why not poke a bit more? So I said, “Stalking sounds so bourgeois.”

A gasp followed my comment, and Don stopped his forward march. He drew himself up to his full height. “I’m a prince. Nothing I do could possibly be bourgeois. Everything I do is princely…by definition!”

“And, you know, Michael? I agree. There’s no fishiness here. Just a great big bunch of bull.” Take that, you jerk.

I happened to know the Prince of Darkness and Destruction was a little sensitive about his build. He thought royalty should be elegant, not buff. Silly man. He did have more of a bulky, wrestler meets bear physique—but the guy should learn to own his own assets. Some women went for that.

Catching on, Michael said, “He does resemble a bull, doesn’t he?”

“I can hear you. And I do not. I am the epitome of all that is masculine and handsome.”

“Do real people talk like that?” Michael asked.

“I guess demons do?” I shrugged.

A loud roar cut us off. We’d clearly pushed all of Don’s buttons. I had no idea what had grabbed hold of me, but I hoped it didn’t let go.

Except now we were being charged by a bull of a demon who was pissed off and then some.

“How about that binding spell?” Michael broke into an easy jog and tugged me along with him.

“What? Don’t you have a plan?” I looked down my nine ninety-nine flip flops, and swore I was investing in some running shoes pronto. His hand pulled more firmly as Don closed in on the ten foot mark. “Hey, I’m gonna lose a shoe.”

“Binding spell,” he reminded me.

“Right.” So I took all that excitement—of being chased, of poking the bear, of shacking up (sort of) with Michael, of getting married to someone not the Prince of Darkness and Destruction (though I wasn’t, not really)—and I balled it up. Then I chucked it over my shoulder and willed it to land right on top of the ass chasing us.

A massive crack of thunder split the sky.

Uh-oh.

I stumbled to a stop with a light-headed sway. I was seeing a depressing amount of cardio in my future. It was that or be so out of shape I couldn’t jog down the block without passing out.

Michael screeched to halt and steadied me.

“Uh, is that normal?” He gently pivoted me in the direction of a bronze that was situated next to a bench on the sidewalk.

“Is what—” Uh-oh. That was not a bronze. I inched closer. Then a bit closer. When I got about a foot away, I couldn’t help but realize that, nope, that wasn’t a bronze.

The thick neck, the broad shoulders, the scowl. That was definitely Abaddon, the Prince of Darkness and Destruction.

I leaned forward and poked him on the nose. I couldn’t resist and had apparently completely lost my mind. “Do you think he can do magic like this?” But then it hit me. “Oh. I did that.”

“I think it’s safe to say that you did.” Michael joined me, and we both stared.

Finally, I said the only thing I could. “Holy hell. I’m in so much trouble.”

CHAPTER SIX

Michael gave the bronze a little magical poke. Then a harder one. “It appears magic is out. Which means he can’t free himself—at least not anytime soon.” He looked at me with a mischievous glint in his eye. “Who knew you had it in you? You’ve gone and bronzed a demon. Dad’ll be tickled.”

“You cannot tell your father about this. What will he think?” Then I lifted my palm to my forehead and thumped myself. First, I was not actually marrying Michael, so what did I care about impressing Mr. Kelly? And second, Patrick Kelly would love it. The man would buy me a whiskey. Hell, a distillery.

“I think you know exactly what he’d think. Come on. I’ve been in a bit of a slump, so this will really cheer him up.”

“You guys and the mayhem-making. You do know that stuff gives your sister conniptions, right?” Poor Livy. I was surprised she didn’t have an ulcer what with everything the Kellys put her through. Then I groaned. “Your father can’t tell Livy. She’ll just die when she finds out who I am. I have to be the one to tell her.” My gaze drifted to the bronzed Prince of Darkness and Destruction. “And she really can’t know about that. I mean him.”

“The bronzing? Or that you were engaged to the biggest douche in hell?”

I pinned him with a nasty look, but he was too busy taking pictures and texting to notice. “Either, Michael, and I’m serious.”

Michael snapped a picture, then started to type a text. “Neither will be devastating. She should have told you about her situation.” He looked up, met my gaze, and said, “That she and her horribly incorrigible family are leprechauns.”

I grinned. He really was cute—and trainable. Aw. Just like a puppy. “Except I already knew about you guys.”

“Yeah, maybe keep that to yourself until some of this blows over. But generally speaking, Jackson has really mellowed her out. Not so much that she wants to participate, and we still need to make sure the wedding goes down without a hitch, but she doesn’t seem nearly so touchy these days.”

“Touchy?”

Michael looked up from his phone with a guilty expression. “Ah, I didn’t mean it that way. I actually kind of get where she’s coming from. But you have to admit, some of the things that stress her out really aren’t that big of a deal.”

I gave him a disapproving look. “The Marfa lights?”

He held up his hands. “Not me. Besides, that turned out okay, right?” His phone pinged with a text. Once he read it, he grinned at her. “Dad wants to buy you a drink.”

Suddenly my head felt like it might explode. “If only my dad felt the same way.”

“How could he not?” Michael took another picture. “This is great. This is pretty sophisticated magic.”

“If you say so, but I didn’t actually mean to do it.”

Michael shrugged. “Either way, this took talent. I also suspect you have more control than you realize.” He pocketed his phone, focusing all his attention on me. “Look at the result. You didn’t hurt him. Not really. You protected yourself, and you protected him from who knows what foolishness was on his mind. I guarantee that if he’d laid a hand on you, there’d be a line of people ready to castrate him.”

From the expression on his face, Michael would be in that line. Which was also cute.

I patted bronzed Don on the cheek and sent him a silent thank you for the opportunity to stretch my magical wings.

Then I left him there.

Served him right if he collected a little bird poop while we tried to sort this mess on a more permanent basis.

I turned to Michael, who was keeping pace with me. “And what about you? Didn’t I save you, too, Mr. I have no plan, quick use a binding spell.”

“I had a plan.” With his hands tucked into his cargo shorts pockets, he looked adorably relaxed—but there was just the hint of an edge. “You wouldn’t have liked the backup plan. It involved a small interdimensional rift and me stuffing him through it.”

“Oh.” I looked at him with a little awe. “That’s scary.”

My purse vibrated.

“Is that your phone? I thought you turned it off.” Michael shot me a concerned look.

I had. And the timing couldn’t be a coincidence. I knew who it was. Who else could place a call to a dead phone? If I was right, all hell was about to break loose. Or, rather, the devil was about to break loose from hell and visit his wayward daughter.

Where did Dad and Don get their info? Was there some demon network tied into the State of Texas’s marriage license database? I knew they’d find out. That was the point, after all. But it had been less than five minutes.

The phone kept ringing as my mind twirled and danced around the logistics of what was happening.

“You better answer it.”

“Don’t want to.”

Michael stopped, hands on his hips. “Remember that thing I said about taking a step you couldn’t take back? This was why. No last minute cold feet.”

Where did that term come from? Cold feet my ass. My feet were burning hot and itching to take off. Except, oh yeah, I really sucked at running. Also, even if I was good at running, I couldn’t do it for forever.

My phone, however, could ring forever. And that’s what it was going to do if I didn’t pick it up.

I was maybe halfway to convincing myself to answer it, when the ringing stopped. A reprieve? Had my prayers been answered? Was Dad just going to let this one go?

“Hello?” Michael said, speaking into the phone the sneaky leprechaun sneak had grabbed from my purse.

CHAPTER SEVEN

“Annabeth, it’s your father.” Michael handed me the phone.

A stream of loud, agitated words came from the phone, and I could feel my blood pressure rising.

Michael whispered in my left ear, “You’ve got this.”

Which gave me goosebumps and made my girly parts consider melting. As hot as he was, I still couldn’t believe he’d managed to distract me—but something about his voice that close to my ear and his breath on my cheek…just yum. My Michael buzz was fading fast, and my father was still screaming into the phone. Now or never.

I lifted the phone to my other ear. In a calm tone—I was absolutely channeling my inner Zen, something I didn’t know existed—I said, “Hi, Dad.” And ignoring the yelling, in a very quiet voice, I said, “If you don’t use a normal speaking voice, I’m hanging up.”

Wow. That was a first for me. I avoided (the last eight years or so) or I yelled (my teenage self.) I didn’t really do calm demands.

The silence was a little terrifying.

As I waited for the yelling to start, my shoulders inched up closer to my ears. But then Michael winked at me, and I let out the breath I’d been holding and relaxed.

The silence stretched out until sweat started to roll down my face. Michael pointed to his car, and I nodded. Standing in the Texas sun wasn’t going to make this call any more pleasant.

In the calmest voice I’d ever heard emerge from my father’s lips, he said, “You bronzed Don.”

“I did.” I nodded my thanks to Michael for opening the car door and slid inside. “He was threatening me.”

“He was retrieving you.”

“I don’t wish to be retrieved, Father.” My pulse pounded. I was no wayward child to be fetched and then scolded. I did a quick survey of the car. No smoke—nice.

Another stretch of silence.

Dad could stew all he wanted about Don. Any normal human being would have gotten the hint: A marriage license without his name on it meant, I didn’t want to marry him. But if Dad was right and Don was in fact retrieving me, he’d missed that message entirely. Don couldn’t imagine that a woman wouldn’t want to marry his glorious and powerful self. His tiny brain simply couldn’t grasp the concept. If I could strangle them both and leave their corpses in the sun to rot—

Michael pried my fingers loose from his armrest. He kissed the back of my hand. Not a particularly sexual thing, more a gesture of comfort—but that kiss still traveled straight to my nether regions…which reminded me that I was panty-less…which made me squirm in my seat.

“Who’s the boy?” The question broke such a lengthy silence that I’d almost forgotten my father was on the phone.

Who was I kidding? I’d totally forgotten. I was wrapped up in my own steamy little fantasy involving Michael and all of his gloriously gorgeous parts. Parts I wanted to stay intact, so I said, “None of your—”

“Michael Kelly, Patrick and Brigid Kelly’s son.” Michael had leaned close enough to the phone that he was both crowding my personal space and sure to have been heard by my father. Then he mouthed, “He already knows.”

We couldn’t know that. Okay, it was highly likely. I shoved him back into his seat with a glare. But then I felt the warmth of his skin, the beat of his heart under my fingers. And I might have let my fingers play…just a little.

Until I was rudely interrupted by my father. That man ruined all the good things. His voice turned chilly. “What are you doing with Michael Kelly?”

And now was the time. Now was when I said, “I don’t want to marry Don. I never wanted to marry Don. I’m dumping Don.” Except I couldn’t do it. The words stuck in my throat. I tried. I really did. I opened my mouth, and I wanted to say it. It’s not like it would even be news to him, because so far as he was concerned, I was engaged to another man. But I couldn’t actually say the words.

Michael took the phone from my nerveless fingers. “She’ll have to call you back.”

And then he hung up.

On my dad.

The devil.

He handed me the phone like it was no big deal. Like he hadn’t just pissed off the king of hell. Like he hadn’t just made my life a living nightmare. “That wasn’t so bad, was it? Maybe next time you can—”

I slugged him.

He rubbed his arm and eyed me warily. “Has anyone ever told you that violence isn’t the best way to resolve conflict?”

“He’s going to kill you.” And then I bawled.

Not because I thought Michael was in imminent danger. There might even be a chance he was right and I was wrong. Maybe my dad was this fair-minded guy Michael had mentioned early. Maybe he saved the yelling and the screaming for family. Honestly, it’s not like Dad had ever physically harmed me, and Michael was much more able to deal with bluster than I was.

And I wasn’t crying because I thought I’d have to marry Don. That ship had sailed. No way was I ever agreeing to marry that pompous womanizer. If he didn’t get it, even after being bronzed, then I’d get up the courage to stand in front of him and say, “no.” Maybe I’d even practice a few times on his big, bull-headed, bronzed self. Not like he could talk back.

No, I was bawling because talking to my dad stressed me out that much. He made me feel fragile—and volatile.

“Hanky?” Michael held out a pristine white handkerchief. Even through my tear-blurred eyes, I could see the little green clover leaves in one corner.

I took it, rubbing a finger over the embroidery.

“Livy. She does have a sense of humor, it’s just frequently crushed in the stampede of her brothers’ idiotic adventures.”

I wiped my eyes, thankful for the lack of make-up that I’d bemoaned earlier that morning. “Thank you.”

“I’ll be fine, by the way. Just in case that’s what has you, uh, you know.”

“Bawling like an emotional basket case? No, that’s not it. But if you get yourself beheaded, I’ll never forgive you.” I realized how stupid that sounded, but I’m sure he got the point.

“Beheadings are Don’s thing, so I think I’m safe on that front. So tell me why you’re crying.”

I was about to tell him where he could go, when I realized that it was a very reasonable question, considering the circumstances. And—this was the kicker—I didn’t want to answer him because saying it aloud made it more real. I dabbed at my nose, considering my options.

“Blow your nose. You know you want to.”

Not what had been swirling around in my head. “What?”

“Why are women so weird about silly things like blowing their nose?”

I was not weird. I gave him a narrow-eyed look then very deliberately blew my nose on his pretty hanky.

“See, isn’t that better?”

And I cracked a smile, which I’m sure was the point. “Yes, but you’re not getting this back until it’s been laundered.”

Michael shrugged. “So why the tears?”

I scanned the square, looking for some hint that he’d popped in and was going to make my life even worse, but there was no sign of him. I scanned the immediate area around the car. Then opened up the door and looked again. “And not even a smoldering bush. That’s good news.”

The driver’s door closed, and Michael joined me on the passenger side of the car. He leaned back against the car and crossed his arms. “You thought you’d set the place on fire.”

“Yeah, it’s happened.”

“So, why does speaking on the phone with your dad make you cry?”

“Persistent aren’t you?” I asked, eyeing his casual posture. He was still leaned back against the car. But then my gaze met his, and I realized that he was really worried. About me.

I closed the gap between us, and I kissed him.

CHAPTER EIGHT

I had to perch on my tip toes to reach him, but not for long. As soon as our lips touched, his hands moved to my hips and then lower. He lifted me, pulling me closer as he explored my mouth. He nipped my lower lip, and I thought I might melt into one big puddle.

Except he held me close and wouldn’t let me slip away. He explored my mouth, and I explored the muscles along his back and shoulders. He nipped at my neck, and I ran my hands through his thick hair. He kissed his way across my collar bone—

A sharp wolf whistle brought me back to the present, and apparently Michael, too, because he loosened his hold on me.

I slid down his body, landing lightly on the balls of my bare feet. Somewhere in the midst of our public display of affection, I’d lost my flip-flops.

As I toed the ground looking for my shoes, I kept my eyes on Michael. I expected an apology or some glib comment. But his eyes met mine, and didn’t say anything. He kissed me again. Less nibbling and fondling, this kiss was fierce and brief.

No, no apology there.

He opened the car door for me. “Home? I think we have a little planning to do.”

I nodded and climbed in. But my agreement was a general sort of, yes, let’s do something besides stare awkwardly at each other now that we’ve tangled tongues and groped publicly. I hadn’t a clue what type of planning he meant.

When we were well on our way to the cabin and Michael hadn’t expounded upon these plans we’d be concocting, I asked. “What planning are we doing?”

He looked at me with a curious expression. “That’s one thing we—you—need to decide.”

I nodded as if I had a clue what he meant. Perhaps I’d just wait and see. I pulled my phone out to make sure it was still off and fiddled with the case as I considered taking the battery out. But it really didn’t matter. Battery or no battery, Dad could always call. Although the man wasn’t omniscient, so he’d gotten his information from someone. “We knew Don and Dad would have some kind of connection to the state database, like a magical crawler. Creepy in its big brotherness and how fast it worked, but predictable. But how in the world did Dad know about Don being bronzed?”

“Twitter is my best guess.” Michael gestured to a barbeque place we were passing. “Brisket for lunch?”

“I’m sorry—what? Um, sure, brisket is good. But what’s with Twitter?”

“Twitter? It’s a social media platform that limits—”

“I know what Twitter is! Are you telling me that my dad is on Twitter?” The king of hell…on Twitter. That just seemed bizarre.

Michael gave me a smile that held a pinch of pity and a lot of sympathy. “Your dad is huge on Twitter.” Then he rubbed his neck, looking embarrassed. “So is mine.”

“Your dad posted the picture of bronzed Don.” I rolled my eyes. “Of course he did.”

“It’s a great picture, you have to admit.” He gave our order, double-checking that a brisket sandwich was still my favorite (it was), then while we waited for our food pulled up his dad’s Twitter account. He scrolled a bit then blacked out the screen with a tap.

“That bad?”

“If you call a pissing match bad.”

Hand extended, I said, “Hand it over.”

“You’re sure?” But the look on my face must have been enough because he unlocked his phone and handed it to me. Then he passed our bag of food over and headed home.

For the five minutes remaining, I scrolled through light-hearted insults, embarrassing pictures, some relatively good-natured ribbing, and then it started to get personal. I couldn’t believe that Patrick Kelly and my dad had a similar sense of humor, but it seemed they did.

Don seemed to be fair game, but when Patrick accused Dad of poor judgment in the fathering department, Dad got nasty.

“What’s so funny?” Michael asked when I laughed.

“My dad and his claims of parenting.”

He pulled into his driveway without comment. Only after we’d traversed the quarter mile to the cabin and parked did he speak. “You wanna tell me what’s going on between you and your dad?”

The smell of brisket filled the car, and I latched onto the excuse. “We should eat first, before it gets cold.”

“Says the girl with the fingertips of fire.” But then he let it go, and we had a nice meal. A little early for lunch, but I was hungry and the brisket was amazing.

Michael grinned as I scarfed down the last bit of meat. “He cooks it for something like twelve hours. Or maybe it’s seventeen. I can’t remember.”

“It’s amazing.”

Michael watched me as I wiped my fingers. And he waited. How had I missed that he was so patient? He’d been more than reasonably patient. And I was feeling good and mellow after consuming half a pound of meat.

“Fine. You know my dad pushes my buttons.”

“Right.” And still he just waited.

“My mom raised me. By herself, no support from him, financial or otherwise.”

Now that sparked a reaction. Michael frowned. “That’s odd. More than odd, it’s quite surprising.” I raised an eyebrow and Michael flashed me a sympathetic look. “Your dad has a certain reputation. It’s well-known that he has quite a few children, but I don’t think I’ve ever heard that he was shy about claiming or supporting them.”

“Dad says he didn’t know about me until I was older, around twelve or thirteen, because that’s when my magic showed up and I, correspondingly, popped up on his radar.”

“You don’t believe him?”

“Maybe? Actually, no. You saw how hooked into the system he and Don are. Bureaucracy is not confounding to demons. It’s barely even a challenge.” Twelve going on thirteen had been a terrible time for me. My mom was great, but she was a single working mom with no magic. When weird things started to happen, she didn’t really know what to do. “I didn’t meet him until I turned eighteen. Having someone around with a magical clue when I was thirteen, just discovering I had magic and flipping out, would have been nice. ”

“I really don’t understand.” Michael leaned back in the kitchen chair and crossed his arms. “He admits that he let five years go by before he tried to make contact.”

“Michael, you don’t understand because you have two decent parents who love you.”

“I’m just telling you that something is off about that. Have you talked to your mom about any of this?”

My throat tightened. “You think she wouldn’t let him see me. Michael, the man is the king of hell. If he’d wanted to see his kid, I think he could make that happen.”

He lifted his hands, but I could tell he wasn’t convinced or conceding my point.

“So we meet a few times. It doesn’t go all that well, because he’s basically a stranger and he immediately starts telling me how I should live my life. We yell a lot, I burned a few choice mementos—which is why we started to meet on neutral ground—and I start to avoid him except for a few visits a year. When I can’t avoid him, I avoid the arguments. And here we are today.”

“So your engagement to Don was just another argument avoided?”

“Sort of.” Michael’s eyes narrowed and I added, “Mostly.”

He crossed his arms.

“Right.” I glared at him. “Maybe I was worried that increasing his power base might be more important to him than me being happy in my marriage. Maybe I was too scared to say no to the engagement and find out I was right. Maybe.”

At least I didn’t cry. No girl liked to say out loud that she wasn’t sure if her dad loved her, and I’d managed it without a tear.

“So you’re not sure about your dad’s feelings and you hate arguing, so it seems like a simple solution: just stay silent and let things fall where they may.”

I frowned at him. “It sounds a little terrible the way you say it, but it was actually working out just fine until…” I shrugged.

“Until it wasn’t.” Michael sighed.

“Also, it’s not just that I hate arguing, it’s the accidental fires. Before my run-ins with Dad, I had a few things happen as a kid, hard to explain things. I burned my friend’s library book to a crisp, for one.“

It sounded a little funny. It hadn’t been.

“How old were you the last time something like that happened? Eighteen, nineteen?” Michael asked. I thought back and nodded. Sounded right. And he said, “Who has complete control at that age? Especially with all those hormones running around.”

When he said hormones, I tried not to blush thinking about our hormones run amok. Blushing was for sissy girls, virgins, and my dear friend Livy. I did not blush.

Michael grinned that all-male, cat-ate-the-canary grin that men get when they think they’ve rocked your world.

“Don’t start.” I pointed a finger at him.

He shrugged and just grinned all the wider. “You want me to throw your clothes in the dryer. You know, so you’re not running around bare-bottomed all day.”

The man had groped my tush, so naturally he knew I was bare down there.

“I have no idea what you mean,” I said in the primmest tone I could muster.

And that’s when my dad popped in. Literally. Into the living room. No warning, no nothing. Just bam, right there in the middle of my very embarrassing conversation with my fake fiancé.

“Why is my daughter running around half naked with you, Michael Kelly? You know, she’s an engaged woman.”

CHAPTER NINE

Michael looked surprised enough that I’m guessing he thought the place either unfindable or protected from such incursions.

Forget surprised, I was pissed. “Why are you here? This is a private home. You can’t just pop in wherever, whenever you like.” I could hear the blood rushing in my ears. “You need to leave. Now.”

How could he? All these years, he’d been fine with a few visits a year while I dodged Don and kept on with my life. Now, all of a sudden, he invades my life, my privacy. My pulse ticked up a notch—Michael’s privacy. Michael’s secret shack wasn’t going to be a secret any more. Not if Dad had found it and popped in. And that made my blood boil.

“Leave? I don’t think so. You bronzed Don! What were you thinking? He’s your fiancé, for crying out loud.” His face was flushing an unattractive bright red. “And this…this…” He waved a hand dismissively in Michael’s direction. “A leprechaun? What are you thinking, child?”

And the world stopped spinning for the barest of seconds when Michael stepped in between us and said, “Mr. Smith, why don’t you take a step back.”

I hadn’t even realized how much Dad had encroached on my space. Actually, I think it had been mutual. The unattractive image of two territorial hounds facing off against each other, posturing and growling, came to mind. And that image had me taking a nonchalant step or three backwards.

But I couldn’t believe Michael had just spoken to my father like some kind of referee at a kids’ sporting event. Especially since the mental image I had of the rabid dogs was probably more accurate.

Dad’s eyes glowed a fiery red when he looked at Michael, but he said, “I am calm, focused, and relaxed.” He took a step back, all the while pinning Michael with his glowing red gaze.

My eyeballs about bugged out. Someone, something, had possessed my dad. The glowing red eyes? No problem. The weird uber-calm and following someone else’s lead? Possessed. The bizarre response—calm, focused, relaxed? Definitely possessed.

Looking at my dad, Michael said, “You need anger management, and a little more respect for your daughter. She’s a grown woman, sir.” Then he turned to me. “And you,” he moved to stand next to me and put his arm around my shoulders. That’s all. No admonishments for my own display of temper.

I melted. Not in a panting, I want to have your babies or my ovaries will burst kind of way. In relief.

I was exhausted by the fighting. I hated it. And I hated not knowing how my dad felt about me—but his reaction seemed an indication that Don fell higher on the priority list than I did.

I took an imperceptible step closer to Michael. Michael made me feel safe—whereas my father made me feel like a rabid dog.

“Why are your hands all over my engaged daughter?” Not a peep about the anger management comment. Or respecting his child. Surprising.

“Because your engaged daughter is engaged to me.”

The red in Dad’s eyes flared even brighter. “I am calm, focused, and relaxed.” He shot Michael a nasty look. To me, he said, “You and I will be speaking shortly.”

Then he disappeared.

“That was…odd.” Michael rubbed my arm. “Any idea what’s with the ‘calm-focused-relaxed’ comment?” Michael asked.

“Not a clue…unless he’s possessed.” And then my knees wobbled. Michael propped me up until I made it to the best arm chair on the planet and sunk into its downy softness.

Several minutes went by with Michael puttering around. He washed our lunch dishes, tossed my clothes in the drier, wiped off the counters and table—all without comment. And then he grabbed a book and settled into the chair next to me.

A girl had to love a guy who could give her a little space. I didn’t delve too deeply into that thought, because I fell asleep.

Falling asleep in the middle of the day wasn’t typical for me, but I also didn’t usually zap a guy with more magic than I knew I had or have a fight (a near fight?) with my dad. I guess I’d been worn out. I do know I hadn’t felt so safe in a long time. Or maybe it wasn’t so much safe, as I just felt less alone.

Michael flipped a page, not commenting though he must have known I’d woken. He read another page or two then glanced at me.

That’s what I get for staring. But I didn’t mind getting caught. It was worth it to see him in such a private moment. It was more intimate in some ways than bumping into him half-dressed earlier that morning.

“What has you grinning?” He marked the page and set the book aside.

Since telling him that I’d been thinking of him bare-chested and tangled up in my arms would blow his ego even more out of proportion than it already was, I landed on another reason. “Images of Don being used as a bird bathroom.”

“You know, at some point you’ll have to try to unbronze the guy.”

“Not today, though.” I stretched and yawned.

“No, not today.” He took a second to respond, and I realized he’d been staring at my breasts, the little lech. My grin broadened.

And then I remembered, my dad. “Has the king tried to call?”

“Texted, me not you.” He pulled his phone out, unlocked the screen, and handed it to me.

An address in Austin, tomorrow’s date, and a time, along with a directive to be there and to bring his wayward daughter.

A sliver of fear snaked through me. “Is this some bizarre punishment? And he’s expecting us to deliver ourselves?”

“Ah, no.” Michael rubbed the back of his neck—which made me want to rub his neck.

All fine and dandy, except that thought led to some imagined shoulder-rubbing which led to his back, his bum, and then other delicious body parts. Somewhere amidst my heated thoughts I caught the words “family” and “therapy.” “I’m sorry—what did you say?”

A broad grin was plastered to his face. “A little distracted?”

He stood up, and his book fell forgotten to the floor. Before I could more than stutter, “Family what?” he’d scooped me up.

In the blink of an eye, he was back in the twin to my armchair with me deposited in his lap. I considered protesting, realized only a crazy person would be so silly, and then snuggled closer.

We kissed, we cuddled, we touched, we played. I discovered that a certain leprechaun had magic in his fingers and that maybe panties should be optional when making future clothing choices.

But that’s where it ended.

I panted more, and he said marry me.

“What?” I panted, trying to focus on words and not the wonderful sensations pulsing through my body.

“You heard me. Marry me.” He smacked my thigh.

I think that was supposed to have the effect of making me pay attention to his words, but his hand on my thigh in any capacity was always going to make me squirm. And when I wiggled, he gasped.

Twining his fingers with mine, he said it again, “Marry me.”

But there was nothing teasing in his tone. In fact, he sounded deadly serious. “You mean it.”

“I do.”

Holy hell.

CHAPTER TEN

“Not tomorrow. Or next week, or even next month. I’d rather not wait a year, but I will. So long as you say you might.” Michael handed me my coffee, light no sugar.

And just when I thought we’d dropped that conversation yesterday like the hot potato it was.

My heart secretly fluttered at the idea. But no way. Not like this. “I’m not a damsel in distress.”

He crossed his arms.

“Okay, I am a damsel and in distress. But I’m not a damsel in need of rescuing.” I considered everything Michael had done for me. “In need of much rescuing.” I frowned at him. “Not the marrying kind of rescuing.”

“I don’t want to marry you to rescue you. Do I look like an idiot?” With his arms crossed in a way that made him look all buff and manly, I had a hard time thinking straight.

This is what came of the supposed common sense we’d applied last night. He’d slept in his bed, me on the sofa, and never the two shall meet—not even if the hardwood floor had started to look good around midnight. No hanky-panky had ensued.

Okay, hanky-panky had absolutely ensued prior to our migration to separate beds, but no sex. If I didn’t know better, I’d say Michael was holding out for a wedding…but that was ridiculous. I’d known him long enough to know he “dated” a lot. I wouldn’t call him a player, especially recently, but the guy was no virgin. No way he was saving himself for marriage.

Long story short, no sex meant sexual tension. I didn’t care how many orgasms I’d had (a lady never tells,) there was still that simmering take-me-now vibe twanging between us.

Michael lifted an eyebrow. “I do look like an idiot?”

“No, of course not.” I chucked a tea towel at him. “I’m just distracted, because someone is keeping his equipment locked up.”

Someone I adore. I’d almost said it, too. My lust-crush had blossomed into more over the last two days. Although, I suspected it had always been a bit more than a lust-crush. Those don’t usually last years.

“Sex complicates everything, and our situation is currently complicated enough. Don’t you think?”

I eyed him suspiciously. “If sex complicates everything, then maybe we shouldn’t have…” I lifted my eyebrows and glanced at his glorious package, now sadly encased in a pair of well-fitting jeans. “You know.”

“Hey, let’s not be hasty.” He flashed me another of his oh-so-charming grins.

I glanced at the clock. “I can’t believe I’m meeting my father at a therapist’s office.”

“At a human therapist’s office.” Michael looked intrigued by the prospect. He seemed to think that Dad was actually trying.

I wasn’t so sure. Or rather, I was sure he was trying, but trying to do what? Manipulate me? Pull one over on me? I sipped my coffee as so many scenarios, none good, played through my mind.

“At least you know he’s not possessed. All of that calm focus stuff must be a trick his therapist gave him.”

I nodded. That was an upside. Dad might be king of the demons, but it wasn’t a guaranteed thing. Positions in hell were all about power and connection, not birthright. There were struggles for power aplenty, and I wouldn’t put it past some demon to try something so underhanded as possession to undermine the king.

“I don’t actually wish possession on anyone, even Dad.”

Michael took my coffee cup and put it on the kitchen counter, then he wrapped his arms around me and tucked my head under his chin. “You might consider that your perspective in regards to your father has been shaded by your upbringing. A human mother struggling to raise a daughter she might not entirely understand and resenting the man who’d fathered you—perhaps for his differences, perhaps for his inability to commit to her.”

“Right. So how do you explain my engagement to Don? What father thinks that’s a good idea?” I didn’t even touch on the fact he’d abandoned me to sort out the magical side of my life all on my own.

“Don’s a player, but who’s to say he won’t settle into marriage well? Don’t get me wrong. I’m going to make sure any settling he does is with someone else. But the right woman might be the making of Don.”

Snuggling closer, I admitted, “I don’t actually know much about him except that he’s arrogant—”

“He is a prince of hell.”

I sighed. “Okay. But it’s still obnoxious. My point is, all I know of him is his arrogance and his terrible reputation with women. Which means my dad knows those things—and he still chose him. And that’s not even touching on the fact that the man arranged the marriage for personal gain.”

“That you could have refused to acknowledge from the beginning.”

I would have smacked him, but his arms were still firmly wrapped around me and he kissed the top of my head. So I fessed up instead. “Right. But then we’d have had World War III demon-style.” Or worse—I’d have discovered exactly how much my father didn’t love me.

“Really, that bad?” he said in a wickedly sexy tone. Then he kissed my neck.

“No fair. You’re going to get me all hot and bothered, and then refuse the goods.”

“I’m not a tease, I’m just using the leverage I have.” He bumped one of my favorite parts of his anatomy against me. “Marry me.”

And I groaned. I probably would marry the foolish leprechaun at this rate, and then where would we be? I tipped my head up and kissed him, hoping I might convince him to give just a bit of that leverage away.

Twenty minutes later I was a puddle on my favorite arm chair. Leprechauns had magic fingers and mouths as I’d just discovered. And marriage was looking less terrible.

Michael returned from the bathroom looking his normal relaxed, easy-going, charming self.

I gave him a narrow-eyed look. “How do you manage that?”

He tucked his hands in his jeans pockets. “It’s about the long game, Smith. All about the long game.”

When he approached and I didn’t even twitch a muscle, he reached down and pulled me to my feet. “You’ve got twenty minutes to freshen up before we have to leave.”

That got me moving. Wouldn’t want to be late to the therapist’s office. For family therapy. With my dad the devil, Mr. King of Hell himself.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

“He stays, or I go.” I crossed my arms—much like Michael does when he’s being all firm and resolute. That thought made me glance his way in hopes that I hadn’t just over-stepped by further ensnaring him in the ongoing daytime drama, The Devil and His Daughter.

And, sexy, sweet beast that he was, he winked at me. “Happy to be here, honey.”

The way he said “honey” had me tingly in all the right places.

“This is all highly unusual.” Mr. Nutterman, our unfortunately-named therapist, frowned in displeasure.

His name aside, I’d thus far had the impression that Mr. Nutterman might be good at his job. Normally. When he was dealing with actual human people.

As it was, we weren’t human, and we’d thrown Mr. Nutterman in a tizzy. He hadn’t expected me, and he certainly hadn’t expected my…whatever Michael was. When we’d all appeared at the allotted time, Michael and I discovered that Mr. Nutterman was Dad’s regular therapist. As in, the man known as the devil was seeking guidance on a regular basis for family issues.

We’d also discovered that this was a regularly scheduled appointment, not a family session. Poor Mr. Nutterman wasn’t expecting me and certainly not my as-yet-undefined other.

But the surprises just kept rolling. It appeared I was only one of a number of issues dear Dad was dealing with, because the beleaguered therapist asked, “Which daughter is this?” Making it quite clear that Dad had issues with more than one of his kids.

Oddly, that made me feel better.

So much better that I was almost cheerful when Mr. Nutterman, with a harried look in his eye, instructed his administrative assistant to shift his schedule to accommodate us.

From the appalled look on the admin’s face, I had to assume one did not reschedule therapy appointments. That was Dad, assuming the world would shuffle itself to accommodate him. Unfortunately, it frequently did, and the little stinker was rewarded for his bad behavior.

I slipped into Mr. Nutterman’s office with Michael close behind. At the last minute, I reached behind me and grabbed his hand. He held my hand all the time, so it was probably okay—right?

Michael gave my fingers a reassuring squeeze.

Maybe I could do this.

Ten minutes later I wasn’t so sure. Affirmation or no, my dad was not calm, focused, or relaxed. The man was a ball of tension, and I didn’t care how many times he said aloud that he wasn’t.

“I am not a ball of tension. I have terrible, willful children.” Dad did manage to keep his eyes from glowing the flickering red-orange of flames.

I guess I wasn’t filtering from my brain to my mouth any better with Dad than I was with Michael. Oops. I glared at him. “You win the worst dad of the year award, which might explain the willfulness of your children.”

Mr. Nutterman ground his teeth. “Let’s try not to label here, folks. Focus on specific actions and how those actions make you feel.”

We all ignored him. Michael even went so far as to start texting, even though Mr. Nutterman had explicitly forbidden the use of cell phones during the session.

Michael’s phone pinged with a response, and I thought the poor therapist was going to lose it when Michael opened the text.

Once he read it, Michael leaned back in his chair and assumed that supremely relaxed demeanor that I recognized. Something was afoot. “Here’s the thing, Mr. Nutterman, you’re at a disadvantage because you don’t have all the facts. I think you’re a good guy and you’re trying to do the right thing.”

Mr. Nutterman, Bill as he kept telling us to call him, clasped his hands together and gave Michael a serious look. “It’s difficult to work with people who are both hiding important information and failing to follow simple procedures and policies. I do understand that you didn’t have an opportunity to complete the appropriate paperwork, but—” He looked at Dad with some censure. “Simon has read and agreed to our policies and claims to understand how important honesty is to the therapeutic process.”

“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 eyed 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 over-done 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.”

She didn’t share the plan, just my part, which was simple enough. All I had to do was leave Don just as he was.

It was a relief on so many levels. No angry idiot chasing after Michael and me, so we wouldn’t be looking over our shoulders for the foreseeable future. And Don was just part of the equation. Minions were nasty little things. They hide under your bed and pee, drop crumbs amidst the sheets, and terrorize your pets. I could do without Don’s head-lopping or his nasty little minions and their dirty habits.

“You’ll let us know when he’s free?” Michael asked.

“No need.” Baba Yaga turned to bronzed Don. “He won’t be interested in either of you once he’s unfrozen. Will you, darling little Don?” And then she gave him another affectionate pat on the ass.

She turned the full force of her attention on us, and I tried not to cringe. With a predatory smile, she said, “We have a deal?”

I nodded, wide-eyed. “Don’t unfreeze Don. Got it.”

I’d have to be sure to update Dad, because he’d been the one hustling me back out to the country to make sure his colleague got unstuck.

And she was gone, just like that. Well, not exactly just like that. A purple haze floated in the air, and a tiny disco ball hung from Don's extended arm.

“What just happened?” I tapped the little shiny ball.

“I’m not entirely sure. For someone who outed your secret location, she seemed awfully content with you not falling into the arms of your estranged fiancé.” Michael gave Don a critical look. “You think she planned this somehow?”

“You’re kidding. Who could plan my unprecedented use of magic? I’m still not a hundred percent on how I did it.” I shivered. “And that crack of thunder when it happened. It was just creepy.”

“Hm.” He spun the little disco ball with a thoughtful look on his face.

I had to ask him. I couldn’t not ask him. So I asked. “When did you know?”

My heart must have been in my eyes, because Michael looked up and he grinned. He knew exactly what I meant. “I knew I loved you when I saw you thrown over Don’s shoulder. Probably before then, but that’s when it smacked me so hard in the face I’m surprised I didn’t see stars. How about you?”

My heart got all melty—and so did some other places. “Oh, I’ve had a lust-crush for ages.”

Michael crossed his arms. “You get a declaration of love. I get a declaration of lust-crush. Why do I feel like this is setting the tone for our relationship?”

I shrugged. But he was right and that wasn’t fair. Not with everything he’d done for me, been for me, over the last few days. I glanced at Don, and then took a few steps away from the glowering bronze figure that was my ex-fiancé . I dragged Michael with me, then pulled his head down and whispered a few words in his ear. A few lustful, loving words.

“Yeah, okay. That works.” And he was blushing. Which was just too adorable for words.

I nibbled his ear, then took a step back. With a naughty grin, I knelt on one knee. That earned me a chuckle.

“Will you, Michael Kelly, let me, Annabeth Smith, love you, adore you, and worship your body in scandalous ways until neither of us can move from sheer exhaustion?”

He laughed then tugged me to my feet. “I do. Absolutely. Preferably right now.” He scooped me up in his arms and delivered me to his car and drove like a bat out of hell back to what I will always think of as the love shack. Our love shack.

EPILOGUE

Patrick Kelly couldn’t help himself. He had to get a look at the bronzed demon in person.

And there it was, in all its bronzed glory, right in the town square. Some mischievous soul had hung a sign around the big demon’s neck: Lei me & I’ll bring you good luck.

“Fabulous.” Patrick snapped a picture. Couldn’t have too many pictures of a solid joke.

But the bronze itself was the cleverest piece of mischief. Credit where credit was due, young Annabeth could do some lively magic and had a bit of fun deep in her soul. He chuckled. He owed that girl a drink, even if she was twisting his son around her little pinky.

Which also made him chuckle. He could remember a time when Brigid had him just as ensnared. But then he sobered. Except Brigid was a good upstanding leprechaun woman, and he’d married her.

“Engaged to be engaged. What does that even mean?” he grumbled.

“It means they’re in love, and that should be enough for you, you stodgy old coot. Give it time. They’ll make their way around to it…eventually.”

Patrick knew that voice. He’d know it anywhere—it was That Woman. He turned to find Baba Yaga sitting on the bench next to bronzed Don. Baba Yaga, in all her colorful glory. The woman was an eyesore.

“And you’re welcome.” She pulled up her lace fingerless gloves.

“You…you’ve arranged this unholy match between a demon’s spawn and my eldest.”

Baba Yaga laughed. “Demon’s spawn? Please. You know you adore the girl—admit it. She has the soul of a leprechaun. You can see that as easily as I can. She just needed a little nudge to let her freak flag fly.” Baba’s eye wandered to the bronze’s rear, and she gave it an affectionate pat. “This is a clever piece of work, isn’t it?”

Patrick considered his options.

One child engaged to a warlock and on the cusp of marriage, another in an engaged to be engaged relationship, and, as much as it rankled to have his son tied into such an unsteady commitment, he had to agree that the two lovebirds were mad for each other.

Did he bemoan the fact that two of his offspring had wandered into foreign fields? Or did he celebrate the fact that they’d found love and happiness? His eyes narrowed as he took in the neon hues of Baba Yaga’s ensemble. Lycra tights, jelly shoes, and some odd dangly earrings—the woman was at least part lunatic. But maybe it was time to put this particular grudge on hold.

He planted himself on the bench next to Carol. He’d have to tell Brigid all about this. He might even get a reprieve from the sofa for his efforts.

“Now, I have three other boys,” he said conversationally. “Thomas, James, and Stephen. Good boys, all three of them, but not so sharp with the courting.”

Carol patted his leg. “I know, but they’ll have to wait their turn. I have another project I have to take care of first.” And Carol, Baba Yaga, gave the bronze’s rear one last appreciative look. “Unfortunately.”

Keep an eye out for Don’s adventures in love in the third Lucky Magic story!

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About Cate Lawley

When Cate’s not tapping away at her keyboard or in deep contemplation of her next fanciful writing project, she's sweeping up hairy dust bunnies and watching British mysteries. Cate writes and lives in Austin, Texas (where many of her stories take place) with her pack of pointers and hounds. She's worked as an attorney, a dog trainer, and in various other positions, but writer is the hands-down winner.

Cate writes paranormal cozies (Vegan Vamp and Death Retired) and romance (The Goode Witch Matchmaker & Lucky Magic) as Cate Lawley and paranormal (Lost Library) & urban fantasy (Spirelli) as Kate Baray.

For more information, visit her websites : www.CateLawley.com and www.KateBaray.com.