“How did you—is this some kind of joke? Did Mark put you up to this?”
The man looked offended. “He most certainly did not.”
“Who are you?”
“I told you.”
“Andro-something,” said Erin.
“Andromalius, a mighty Great Earl of Hell. But you can call me Andy.” He inclined his head.
“A great earl of what?”
“Hell. Great Earl of Hell. But I don’t believe in standing on ceremony. You don’t need to curtsy, or make a sacrifice, or anything.”
Was he trying to look modest? “You’re not from hell. You’re just some maniac who broke into my house.”
“Is that so? Watch this.” He snapped his fingers and wings—impossibly large, gray wings flecked with white—exploded from behind his shoulders, filling the width of the kitchen and making a sound like an oversized umbrella snapping open.
Erin staggered backward. “Oh, my God!”
“Wrong direction,” said Andromalius, Great Earl of Hell, and pointed downward.
Nancy Drew barked and tottered in a circle.
“Put them away, you’re scaring the dog,” said Erin, her voice shaking.
“Oh! Sorry, dog.” He snapped his fingers and the wings retracted, then disappeared. He retrieved a dog biscuit from the jar and held it out to the dog.
Nancy Drew took it and lay down, crunching the biscuit happily.
“He’s probably hungry,” said Andromalius, Great Earl of Hell.
“She,” said Erin, absently. “Nancy Drew.”
He stared at her for a very long moment. “So, she’s Nancy Drew, you’re Erin, and I’m—”
“From hell.”
“Just call me Andy.”
“Andy. And you’re the devil,” she said.
“Not the devil. A demon. Can I get you a chair? You look a bit peaky.”
Erin glanced down at herself. Her pajamas and slippers were soaked in red wine. She was probably puffy-faced, too, from the wine of the night before. She pressed one hand to her throbbing head.
“Fear not, a demon is here to help you out!” He gently removed the wine bottle from her hand and steered her into a chair next to the kitchen table. Then he made jazz hands, as if to say “Ta-da!”
“But demons don’t really exist. And if they do, they’re evil. They make people do bad things.”
“Wrong! Humans don’t need any help doing bad things. How about that coffee?” said Andy.
“I don’t want your demon coffee.”
Andy examined the coffee bag. “It’s not my fault you buy pre-ground. And anyway, you summoned me.”
“I did not,” Erin said.
“You did so. When you cursed your lover.” He waggled his eyebrows at her.
Erin picked up the wine bottle from the table and pointed it at him. “Ugh. Don’t call him that.”
“Your beau? Your inamorato?”
“Are you insane?”
“I don’t socialize much,” admitted Andy.
“So, I called up a demon to curse my ex-husband and now he’s here in my kitchen and won’t leave.” She set the wine bottle down with a bang.
“In a nutshell. What were you thinking about in terms of the devil taking him? I’m assuming something really big and splashy. Hang on, let me get my notebook.” He reached into his inside coat pocket and pulled out an expensive-looking notepad and an old-fashioned pen. He flipped open the notebook. “Okay, go.”
“I don’t want demon help, Mr. Demon.”
“It’s Andy. Or Andromalius if you’re feeling formal. And of course you want help, you laid the curse in the first place. What type of revenge shall we start with? Boils? An unscratchable itch? That’s always a good one.” He looked at her hopefully.
“I’ll pray you away.”
“Go ahead and try,” he said cheerfully.
Erin eyed him skeptically. She folded her hands and closed her eyes. “Dear Lord, please remove this demon from my kitchen. Amen.” She opened her eyes and gazed upon the very much still-present demon.
Andy cleared his throat. “Sorry about that.”
“Why didn’t it work?”
He poured water into the coffee machine. “There’s a part of you that wants me to fulfill my duty.”
“Your duty? Demon duty?” Erin laughed with a hysterical edge.
He pointed the coffee scoop at her. “You’re the one who called for demonic help.”
“I didn’t know the universe would take me seriously. So, what, you help me get revenge on Mark somehow, and then you’ll leave?”
The coffee burbled into the pot. Andy didn’t respond until he had filled a mug and placed it in front of Erin. “Exactly.”
Erin picked up the mug and looked inside it as if she expected it to contain spiders. “Cream, two sugars,” she said.
He wordlessly collected the mug, added a shot of half-and-half, stirred in two teaspoons of sugar, and returned it to her. He slid into the seat across from her at the kitchen table. “Do we have a deal?”
She sipped her coffee and looked into his eyes, which were a deep brown color with almost imperceptible flecks of garnet. “Do I have a choice?”
“You always have a choice,” he said.
She set down her mug. “What? I told you to get out when I first laid eyes on you.”
“You told me that before you had a chance to think about it.” His voice slid into a lower register, which did strange things to her ability to think clearly. “Ask me to go and I will. I’ll never darken your doorstep again. But I think”—he ran one fingertip around the rim of his own mug of coffee—“I think we might have some fun with this.”
Erin stared at the demon seated at her kitchen table. Her gaze swept over his ridiculously combed hair, his well-trimmed beard, and his absurd red bow tie. “I got rid of my husband,” she said. “And I suppose I could get rid of you, too. If I needed to.”
“You certainly could,” he murmured.
“But you can’t do anything without my approval,” she added.
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he said, flashing his perfect teeth.
“And you’d have to stay out of my hair.”