Coming this summer: Demons are raising hell on the border of Kentucky and West Virginia in Red Devils and Rednecks
They say the devil is in the details, but I’ve never been too detail oriented, which might explain why, when the Prince of Darkness came calling one Friday night, I had no idea who I was dealing with. Or rather, with whom. Yeah, that detail I get. The Grammar Maven, that’s me. No, really, it is. At least, during my day job as the classified ads editor at the Milford Herald. (But just between us, I like to leave work at work, ya know? So don’t hold this against me. Well, also just between us, I’m really not that good at my job to begin with, so don’t hold that against me either.)
Now, where was I? Oh, yeah. Dancing with the Devil. He strode up to me in Billy Goatz Bar-n-Grill pretty as you please and told me to dance with him. That’s right, he didn’t ask. He commanded. And struck as I was by those big blue eyes with long, dark lashes, and deep, deep dimples next to the sexiest smile you’ve ever seen, well…what’s a girl to do?
Because of him.
As the night wore on, he told me his name was Rob, which turned out to be true. Because before daybreak, he’d robbed me of both my virtue and my sanity. See, while I was boogying with Beelzebub, one of his henchmen stole my little sister.
Now, even if I have to die and go to Hell to get her back, I’ll do it.
And. Make. Him. Pay.