Hellen fell into step beside me, gripping me by the shoulder. “It appears that the entire future of the Lucifer Empire is relying on your bit of fun with the humans,” she remarked, her voice too sweet to be anything but poisonous. “No pressure …”

9. Mount Those Horns of His

Chapter 9

Mount Those Horns of His

Jemma

I was down to the final, tiny scrap of moss green yarn when, with a little triumphant squeak, I tied off the last stitch on the zombie costume.

Okay, I did squeak a bit, didn’t I?

Stupid Satan Junior, casually bringing to attention an annoying habit I’d never noticed before.

My heart thrummed. How long would I have to wait before he showed up with whatever torment he had planned for me? I wondered just how awful it would be.

The very barest bones of my own plan had started to rattle around in my head as I’d worked. But I wondered if I’d have the wherewithal to torment him back? Would a bit of human flirtation, a bit of … titillation, even have much effect on him? And if it did, would it result in him breaking first? Was it even possible to break the Devil?

I leaned forward, balancing on the edge of the sofa, propping myself up with one hand and rummaging through my yarn for the mustard yellow that I used for zombie pustules.

The front door rattled.

I fell headfirst into my yarn basket with a squawk.

“Is this a new yoga pose?” Ezra’s amused voice wafted from the entry. “The yarnishranga?”

With a grunt, I rolled out of the yarn and lay, panting, on the satay-scented rug. Picking up a ball of beige yarn, I lobbed it at him. He watched with amusement as it fell far short of managing to hit him.

“You’re the yarnish ranga!” I snapped grumpily.

Ezra guffawed. “I walked right into that one, didn’t I?”

I squinted up at him, the afternoon light bright in my eyes. “You know I love your hair, Ez. But you ratted me out to Joe!”

Ezra had the good sense to wince. “Was it bad?”

I sniffed. “No worse than usual. He was being pushy … so I pushed him. Literally. And he did this acrobatic trip over himself thing that would have looked at home in an Olympic Break-Dancing performance. I wish you’d been here to see!”

Ezra chuckled dutifully, then sobered. “I’m sorry I got him involved. But seriously, Jem, that was a buttload of text messages to leave unanswered for almost eleven in the morning.”

I groaned. “My phone was out of battery, and I couldn’t check them until I got back from⁠—”

I snapped my mouth shut, my throat going tight, eyes wide. Holy … I’d almost told him I’d gone to Hell that morning.

Ezra eyed me suspiciously. “Got back from where? You never leave the house the Sunday morning after a market.”