Luck of the Devil (19 page)

Not even Dad.

She narrowed her eyes at him and he narrowed his at her. “Ruth Anne Wannamacker, you will not step one single toe out of line today. There will be no crazy chatter about Gaia or the Great Stream of Life. You will not try to soul-cleanse your daughter’s new boyfriend. In short, you will behave with all the good manners I know your mother raised you to have. Are we clear?”

I knew I was gaping at the two of them, but I couldn’t help myself. My father had used my mother’s given name to bind her into behaving appropriately. I smiled, pride warming in my chest.

Dad had gone badass.

She hissed at him.
He’d laid one hell of a binding spell on her if she couldn’t even protest. Hope and Tolliver would want to see this firsthand. And then I’d call Matt so he could see, too. Hell, I almost wished there was a way to set up a webcam to capture the rest of their visit.

I pointed absently toward my bedroom. “I’m going to go… ”

“Call Matt and take a shower,” my father said. “Meanwhile, your mother and I will sit here and enjoy the silence.”

Chapter Twenty-three

“She’s so quiet,” Hope whispered as she and I walked into Primanti Brothers for lunch. We stopped to stare at Mom, who was silently seething alongside Dad. “It’s spooky.”

“But nice.”

“It is,” she agreed.

I slipped my hand into Matt’s, lacing our fingers together. I’d like to lie and say it was to reassure him, but he seemed perfectly calm. The bastard. Why wasn’t he a nervous wreck about this like I was? Didn’t he realize the consequences would be severe if this little meet-and-greet didn’t go well?

“We have a reservation under Morningstar for eight,” my father said to the hostess. I had to physically restrain myself from stomping on his foot for sounding so damn calm. He was about to play high inquisitor on the object of my affection and he didn’t appear distracted.

“Have I mentioned I’m sorry about this?” I whispered to Matt.

He smiled and tightened his fingers around mine in a brief show of comfort. “Maybe a few times. Six or so over the phone, about ten times in the car, and just now. It’s cool.”

This? This was definitely not cool. “No, it’s not.”

“It’s good he’s so concerned about you.” He kissed my cheek. “He’s your dad.”

“Are you coming?” the dad in question bellowed.

We immediately unlinked our hands and wiped them on our pants legs like a couple of junior high school kids worried about cooties.

“Yes, Dad,” I said, and followed him to the table.

He sat down at the head of the table, and motioned for me to sit next to him. Matt helped me into my seat, and sat in the one beside me. He laced his fingers with mine underneath the table, and we waited for Hope, Tolliver, Mom, and Lisa to take their seats. Malachai still hadn’t shown up, so we left a spot for him next to Mom, who sat at the opposite end of the table from Dad.

My father took my other hand, glaring possessively at Matt. None of us spoke or moved, waiting for Hell to break loose.

This was cozy. Not.

“Isn’t this nice?” My father smiled broadly, showing a mouthful of brilliant, perfectly straight, bright-white teeth. Hell has an amazing dental plan. “This is probably my favorite local restaurant. There are four or five of them, and each looks like a hole-in-the-wall neighborhood joint, but they’re always packed. Just absolutely packed.”

Hope, Tolliver, and Lisa nodded with almost robotic movements. Mom’s lips scrunched. She looked around and sniffed at the various bits of sports memorabilia on the wall.

“It is.” Matt returned Dad’s smile and squeezed my hand. His hand wasn’t even sweaty. How could he be so cool about this, when I’d rather dine in Purgatory? “I’m honored to finally meet the man behind the legend.”

“I would say the same, but Faith here is notorious for trying to keep the rest of us out of her life. I know very little about you, son.”

Danger! Danger! The warning bells in my head blared like a submarine warning system. Abort conversation! Abort conversation!

“Dad—”

“I don’t blame her,” he continued. “Before now, I imagine it was a bit awkward to bring young men home to meet her parents. My guess is it won’t be much of an issue for you, however.”

“No, sir,” Matt said, his voice not wavering even a little, “I don’t think it will. Since we come from such similar family dynamics.”

“That you do,” Dad said. If I didn’t know better, I’d think he was enjoying this. And when I sneaked my foot his way and stomped on his toes, he didn’t have the decency to flinch. All he did was smile and pat the back of my hand.

A perky redhead in a black T-shirt and jeans approached, and stood next to my father. So she’d figured out right away where the alpha sat at this table. “Hello, Yinz. Welcome to Primanti Brothers. I’m Jen and I’ll be your waitress. Have you been here before?”

“A few times,” I said, trying not to gag at the anticipation rolling off of her in bubblegum-scented waves.

She thought she had three available men to flirt with, which equaled a big tip. Idiot. Her only chance was Tolliver, and he never went for redheads. Although Lisa might decide to go the hair-pulling route if Jen of the Tight T-shirt even tried.

“Very good. Can I get some drinks for everyone?”

“Two pitchers of Yuengling?” Dad asked.

“And a glass of water,” Matt added.

My father arched his eyebrows. “Water?”

“I’ve got to go back to work this afternoon, and since I’m driving your daughters home, I’ll stick with the water.”

“Excellent choice,” my father said with a wry grin. He turned to the waitress. “All right, Jen, two pitchers of Yuengling and a glass of water for the young man who will be driving my daughters home today.”

“I’ll be right back with your beers and your water,” Jen said, and smiled at Matt.

I couldn’t help but tighten my grip on his hand. Just because her primary focus was on Dad, it didn’t mean I would let her try to steal Matt when her first plan fell through.

Matt’s breath tickled my ear and he chuckled. “Down, tiger. I haven’t forgotten your castration policy.”

My father relaxed somewhat, but didn’t loosen his grasp on my hand. “So, Matt, how are things? How’s your father? Bassano, right? Still carrying around the harp and wearing a toga?”

“Dad!” My face flushed at his lack of tact.

“No,” Matt said, his voice calm. “We persuaded him he would spend less time in the county lockup if he were more discreet. Unfortunately, he thinks discreet means red leather pants and karaoke at the local honky-tonk.”

I didn’t dare laugh. Still, my lips quivered until I had to bite them to make them behave.

A tiny Japanese woman took the seat between Tolliver and Hope and shot me an exaggerated wink. Malachi had definitely gone over the top with his getup this time. “I’m going to see it. Would you like to join me, Your Majesty?”

“Malachi,” I growled.

“Yes?” The demon in a female disguise leaned forward and rested her chin on her upturned hand before batting her eyelashes at me. She was cute, in an anime baby sort of way, and damned if she didn’t know it.

“Be good,” I said.

“Now, what would be the fun in that?”

“Faith is right, Mal,” Dad said. “Please try to behave discreetly. But I would love to join you.”

“We should make an evening of it,” Matt suggested. His palms were damp with sweat. He was trying to play along and let my father think he wasn’t rattled, but I could tell the last thing he wanted was any of us near his family. If even one person slipped up and told them where we lived, the Angale would be on us—and him—like flies on a dead body. “It does only seem fair. I’ve gotten to meet you. Faith should get the chance to put me on the hot seat with my family.”

“That’s okay. I think I can go without seeing Bassano and his off-key singing,” I said quickly, shutting down the idea before anyone pushed it. Besides, meeting the parents was something I definitely did not want to do. We had years before we reached that step. Didn’t we?

Jen returned to our table carrying Matt’s water and a tray of empty glasses. Another waitress followed with the pitchers of beer. With a thousand-watt smile, Jen placed a glass in front of everybody and poured the beer before handing Matt his water.

“I’ll be right back to take your orders,” she said, and scurried off.

“Bassano’s not so bad,” my father said. “His singing is a bit obnoxious—he goes on and on about his abilities as a lover—but he’s basically harmless. Let your hair down, honey, and he’ll be a total sweetheart.”

“Uh-huh.” I glared at my father and shot Matt the stink eye. “Order your food and we’ll discuss the family road trip later.”

“Spoilsport,” Malachi said, reading the menu. “What looks good?”

“Hush, you,” I said.

While everybody else was able to read their menus, my hands were held hostage by the two men in my life. I sighed. At least I knew what I wanted already.

Jen returned with her order pad and a pen, and smiled at my dad. “What can I get you?”

He stared at his menu, biting his lower lip and frowning. “You go ahead, Faith.”

“I’ll have the cheesesteak,” I said.

“Make that two,” Matt said.

“I’ll have the same,” Dad said, and squeezed my fingers.

“We’ll have the same,” Tolliver said, and motioned between him and Lisa. He was ordering for her now? This was serious.

“Me, too,” my mother muttered and fell silent again, chafing under the force of Dad’s binding.

“I’ll have the sweet sausage,” Malachi said loudly, and nudged Hope with his sharp little elbow. “So will she. God forbid, she needs it!”

I jerked around in time to watch my sister hurl a bitch-slap at the dread demon sitting next to her.

The waitress coughed. Apparently, we were more trouble than she’d expected from a routine lunch table.

“They’ll both have the cheesesteak,” I said quickly, and tried my hardest to get her to focus on me and not the two demons facing off across the table.

“O-o-okay,” she said, turned her back on us, and scurried away.

“Will you two please knock it off?” I hissed.

Malachi batted his bejeweled eyelashes. “What?” he asked sweetly. “I was simply stating the obvious.”

“Malachi.” Dad’s voice was low.

The enthusiasm dropped off the dread demon’s face. “It was funny, Majesty.”

“Malachi.”

He held up his thumb and forefinger in a pinching motion. “A little funny?”

“Can it.”

“Fine,” he said and picked at his scarlet, inch-long nails. “But I’d like to state that once there was a time when a joke like that would have gotten me promoted.”

“It was sort of funny,” Tolliver said.

The corner of Lisa’s lip curled upwards in a half-smile. Seconds later, she chuckled, although she had the decency to cover her mouth with her hand.

That’s all it took for Tolliver to break and let out a loud whoop of laughter.

Matt and I shook with silent laughter, although mine ended when Dad’s hand nearly snapped my palm in half.

Only Mom sat in silence.

“I don’t see what’s so funny,” Hope said, her face an uncomely shade of red. Two tiny bumps formed on her forehead.

“It’s—” Tolliver laughed harder and the rest of us started to crack up, as well. “The waitress almost had a stroke when you bitch-slapped Mal. You should have seen her face.”

“It wasn’t that funny.”

“Yes it was,” Dad said, finally succumbing to his own laughter.

“You know what’s even funnier?” Hope said.

“What?” Dad asked.

“What’s funnier is watching Faith try to figure out how to drink her beer with no hands,” she said smugly. Leave it to Miss Bitch to bring up the obvious.

“Oh.” Dad looked my right hand and glanced over to see that my left hand was intertwined with Matt’s. “That does seem to be a problem, doesn’t it?”

“It does,” Matt agreed and squeezed my hand.

“I guess someone needs to let her go.”

“I guess someone would. Probably be more convenient if it was you,” Matt said.

“And why is that?”

“Faith’s left-handed,” he said.

My father’s eyes narrowed.

Two points to the nephilim.

“She’s going to need two hands to eat,” Dad countered.

“But not to drink her beer.”

Tolliver stared at my father pointedly, waiting for Dad’s counterargument.

However, Dad released my hand, reached for his beer, and took a long drink.

Had the Devil just given in gracefully? That had never happened before.

Tolliver turned his stare toward me, his eyes resembling those of a diabetic kid’s in a fudge factory without parental supervision. Apparently, he’d never seen Dad back down from a testosterone-fueled challenge before, either.

Still holding Matt’s hand, I reached for my beer, wondering how much I had to drink until I was completely plastered. I practically gulped the stuff, willing to find out.

“So, Matt,” Dad said with an easy grin. I knew that grin. It hid a potentially lethal line of questioning. “Faith tells me you’re broke from law school and stuck on a do-gooder kick.”

I coughed and my eyes bugged out. I had never said any such thing, but I knew of a whole lot of other things I was going to say once I had my father alone.

“Well, I did incur some expenses in law school, but I wouldn’t say I’m broke. I’ve managed to pay my rent every month without a problem. Haven’t I, Faith?” From the way he was acting, you’d think nothing had just happened between the two of them.

“He’s a perfect tenant,” I growled and narrowed my eyes at my father.

“And the do-gooder kick?” Dad asked.

“If you consider labor law a do-gooder kick,” Matt said.

“Fighting the good fight for the poor, oppressed working man? You don’t consider that a good thing?” Dad pressed.

“Sometimes. It’s not always so cut-and-dried.”

“Isn’t it?”

“Look,” Lisa said. “Our food’s here. That was really fast. Doesn’t it look good? I’m really hungry. Aren’t you hungry, Faith?”

“Uh-huh,” I said, and took a long drink of beer. “Absolutely starving. So hungry I doubt there will be much talking. Too busy shoveling in food to even think about conversation.”

“Me too,” she agreed.

“Not I,” Malachi said, resting his chin on his manicured fingernails. “I’m not very hungry. I’d much rather find out about your new boyfriend. I’m sure he’s full of interesting ideas and concepts your father will love.”

“Oh, Dad,” I said. “Did I mention I’m getting rid of my coffee machine?”

His mouth was open, poised to guzzle his beer. The moment my words registered, an expression I can only describe as sheer panic set in. With too much care, he set down his glass. “Really?”

I turned to smile triumphantly at Malachi, then returned my attention to Dad, ditching the smile. “Yep, decided to go ahead and take Hope’s advice and get a cappuccino machine. You know, the ones that only make one cup at a time and you have to push down really hard on a tiny lever to get it to work?”

“You wouldn’t dare,” Malachi said, his voice venemous.

Jen stopped at our table with another waitress and two trays of food. She eyed Hope and pointed, handing a plate to the other waitress. “This one goes to the blonde at the end of the table. And we’ve brought a refill of beer for everyone. Keep everyone nice and mellow.”