The girl blinked, uncertain. "Sauteed what?"

"Never mind. We'll start with a bottle of your best champagne. And one of them gets the bill." I gestured between Monica and Vanessa. "I don't care which one. Whichever annoys you more."

"But they haven't..."

"They will," I a.s.sured her. "Don't worry; I'll make up for it in your tip."

The demons just sat there demurely, looking as harmless as Easter eggs. Brother, I thought.

We made it all the way to dessert before the trouble started. I suppose that was some kind of record, considering the personnel. But trashing the restaurant, on Christmas Eve day...

Well, it didn't look good.

Monica started it. Debra had flounced out to see how I was doing, not that she cared, and we'd both been excruciatingly polite. She'd even pretended not to notice that Vanessa had the same dress on. (In perfect truth, it looked better on Vanessa.) She was just leaving when Monica decided to have some fun.

"You knew Devlin in high school, did you?" she asked Debra, all deceptive innocence.

The woman smiled too brightly. "Not well, but yes, I did."

"Not well? Does that mean you didn't sleep with her?"

Ca.s.sie almost snorted coffee. I looked around for a trap door in the floor.

"Of course not," Debra said, offended. "I had boyfriends."

"So did your boyfriends," Vanessa piped up.

Monica scowled at her. "Keep out of this. I'm working here."

"Oh, working, h.e.l.l; you're just trying to guilt Devlin out. Again." Ca.s.sie's demon tossed her head. "So she wanted to sleep with that little b.i.t.c.hkitty in high school. So what? She's got better taste now."

Everyone looked at me -- everyone at my table and at every other table within earshot. The people at the next table actually moved their chairs closer. I tried to look outraged, but it was too hard to be outraged and guilty at the same time.

"You didn't," Ca.s.sie informed me. "You told me..."

"Of course I didn't!"

"I'll say," Debra barked. "Just so you know, Devlin Kerry, I'd sooner sleep with a goat."

A goat? I shoved my chair back. Now I was outraged.

"What kind of goat?" Vanessa asked, interested.

Debra and I were both standing now, glaring at each other. We ignored the question.

"Don't flatter yourself," I told Debra. "I'd sleep with a cow first."

"No cow is that hard up," she shot back.

The room found that cute. Ca.s.sie did not. She jumped to her feet and to my side, menacing the woman with her worst dare-you expression.

But Vanessa just looked petulant. "What kind of cow? I need details."

"I think you should leave," Debra said icily. "And take your...friends with you. How much did they rent for, anyway?"

Ca.s.sie slapped her face so hard, one of her earrings flew off. Attagirl. I didn't get a chance to congratulate her, though; Debra was trying to slap her back, and I was having a devil of a time keeping between them.

"You get your hands off," Debra snarled at me. "If you think you're going to cop a feel this way..."

Was she crazy? Even if I'd wanted to, even if Ca.s.sie wouldn't have killed me for it, I wouldn't have done it in front of an audience. The whole restaurant was paying rapt attention now; even the staff had stopped work to goggle at the spectacle. A couple of the cooks were standing in the kitchen doorway, wiping their hands. I recognized one of them, and vice versa; he waved at me. Great. Our mothers were in a few clubs together, which meant this would be the talk of the town for months.

Then everything went completely to h.e.l.l. Before I could stop her, Debra dodged around me, grabbed Monica's dessert, and smashed it into Ca.s.sie's face.

That would really irritate Ca.s.sie; she didn't like meringue. Without really thinking about the consequences, I straight-armed Debra into the table behind her. It collapsed with a crash as I turned to help Ca.s.sie.

The next thing I knew, the very air was alive with flying things -- food, tableware, even wine bottles, whizzing in all directions. It wasn't even us; the other patrons had snapped. Ca.s.sie and I watched, appalled, as they brawled like beasts. What was it with us that this sort of thing kept happening when we were around?

Check that -- I knew exactly what it was with us. We had demons. The demons in question were still sitting at our table, looking bored now. Good. I'd meant it about giving them the check.

"Let's get out of here," I told Ca.s.sie.

"Right behind you, sweetie."

At the door, she told me to hold up while she dug in her purse for her sungla.s.ses. Reluctantly, I put mine on too.

"They already know who we are," I reminded her.

"That's not the point. The point is looking dignified." Frowning slightly, she pulled her sungla.s.ses down to study me. "You have mashed potatoes in your hair."

With all the dignity possible under the circ.u.mstances, I opened the door and let her out.

Back at the hotel an hour later, showered and wrapped up in robes, we were lounging on one of the beds, watching an It's a Wonderful Life marathon on cable. It was the first peaceful moment we'd had all day.

So of course the phone rang.

Ca.s.sie muttered something about red-hot axes but snuggled closer. I reached over to answer. "h.e.l.lo?"

"Hi, Dev. It's Jen. What's up?"

She didn't really want to know. "Nothing. We're watching It's a Wonderful Life. What's up with you?"

"Nothing."

The conversation stopped at that point. What now?

"Jimmy Stewart just called Lionel Barrymore a scurvy old spider," I reported. "Lionel Barrymore doesn't seem to be impressed. So he's..."

"Your mom says thanks for the tablecloth and the centerpiece."

"Does she, now? Hang on." I put my hand over the receiver and turned to Ca.s.sie. "Mom says thanks for the stuff. Not herself personally, but through Jen. What do you think?"

"I think your mother is a scurvy old spider," she said.

I kissed the top of her head and got back on the phone. "Tell her she's welcome. What does she really want?"

Jen started laughing. "I hate this family -- you're all so smart. She wants to know if you're going to church tonight."

I told her to wait again.

"What kind of service is it?" Ca.s.sie asked.

"Candlelight service. Nothing religious; we're Methodists."

She sighed. "I guess it can't hurt. Can it?"

"Probably not," I told her. "What else could happen?"

(c) 2000, K. Simpson To Part 15 The Devil's Workshop (c) 2000, M.C. Sak Disclaimers, Credits, & E-Mail: See Part 1.

Chapter Notes:.

A narthex is a church lobby, at least in one United Methodist church of my acquaintance.

CHAPTER 15.

Christmas Eve *

We were in trouble from the minute we walked into church that night. There were many things wrong with the situation, but the wrongest was that the place was full of people who'd known me when I was little. Nice people. Well-meaning people. People who wouldn't know a clue if it pounced out of a tree and bit them. Before we'd made it past the first gauntlet of welcome-home hugs and kisses in the narthex, Ca.s.sie was having big trouble not rolling on the carpet laughing.

"It's not funny," I muttered.

She gave me her sweetest smile. "Of course it is."

"Don't let them fool you. They only look friendly. If they knew anything, they'd stone me."

"Not while I'm around, honey."

Abruptly, I pulled her off to one side -- as much privacy as I could manage in that crowd. "Don't call me 'honey.' Not here."

"What's wrong? Don't you love me anymore?" Wicked blue lights started dancing in her eyes. "Does this mean I have to fall asleep empty and unfulfilled tonight?"

I grabbed her coat lapel viciously. Then, politely, I started shoving churchgoers out of the way so I could drag her outside. Ca.s.sie was laughing so hard that she didn't resist. Only when we got to the very back of the parking lot did I feel it was safe enough to talk.

"This is the last place on earth you can do that," I snapped. "I grew up going to this church. I learned everything I know about h.e.l.lfire and d.a.m.nation here. If you don't cut it out, G.o.d's going to smite me."

She turned serious, finally. "I don't much like your G.o.d, Devvy."

"I don't either. But you know what the Jesuits say about getting a kid before he's seven. These people got hold of me when I was born."

"And what did they teach you? That love is evil?"

I said it without thinking: "No. Just s.e.x."

There was long, long silence in the parking lot. Then Ca.s.sie pulled me closer to the streetlight and studied my expression. Uncomfortable under the scrutiny, and freezing to death now that we were standing out in the open, I shifted from foot to foot a few times.

"Well, that explains the witch," she finally said.

Did it? Monica herself had suggested as much, all those months ago when she'd told me what she was. But...

Never mind. There wasn't time for theology now; we were due in church.

"It's not that simple, Ca.s.s."

"You were little. It had to be simple." She sighed in exasperation, her breath white on the calm air. "So does this mean you think I'm evil?"

"No. You're just high-maintenance."

Surprised by that answer, she laughed.

"Very, very high-maintenance," I added.

"You can stop any time."

"But I wouldn't have you any other way." Before she could say anything to that, I kissed her. "I love you, no matter how evil you are."

"You too, pookie."

"Now will you behave yourself in there? For me?"

She pretended to consider. "For you?"