Miller paced the length of the short hall, his loafers silent on the thin charcoal carpeting.  He threw anxious glances at the closed double doors leading to a small meeting room.  Inside sat the Elders, three of the oldest and most respected witches of their House.  He had known his entire life that he would be the next one to rule his House.  But the idea of primogenitor succession and authoritarian governance had given away to a small council of Elders.  They had the power to deny the successor and replace him or her.
            As a boy, he hadn’t thought much of what he was entitled.  He would succeed by simple fact of his birth order.  As knowledge of his talents spread through the realm, his hold on the succession became stronger.  Now with the safety of the auspicious one secured, the Elders had wanted to quickly name a successor before things in Hell got out of hand.  Before they lost their chance to have a formal leader at the brink of war.
            War.  He didn’t fear the imminent chaos and massacres.  He didn’t care if his life were cut short.  He was a human, after all.  And in this supernatural world, their chance to play at the game always ended earlier than the others.
            For the hundredth time, Miller went over everything he planned the say.  Unease tucked into the folds of his stomach.  He had called the Elders quite suddenly last night, asking for a meeting.  To his surprise, they said they needed to see him also.  Why would they need to see him unless they had suspected what he wanted to discuss already?  He bit his lip.  They knew.
            Had they called him over to depose him before he had even succeeded?
            It had happened twice before in the House of Witches recorded history.  The Elders had declared the heir at the time unfit to rule.  But that was in the old days.  Once had been a coup by one of the Elders and another time the main branch of the Lang family had produced an individual later discovered to have poisoned his older sister.  A cousin had been chosen instead.
            Those were extreme cases.  His powers in witchcraft were known throughout the realm.  Perhaps he wasn’t the most personable witch ever produced by his family, but he certainly hadn’t done anything that would give cause to lose his rights.  At least not yet.  If he said what he planned to say today, it would be cause enough.  He supposed he had always known it could come to this.
            The door opened and Miller knew this was his signal to enter.  He strode inside, hoping his tangled nerves didn’t show on the outside.
            Elder Patrick, James, and Sebastian sat around the circular table and motioned for Miller to sit also.  Patrick, with the snow-white hair and friendly smile led the fold at seventy-nine but it was James, the second eldest who clung to life by a wheezing thread.  A green pallor suffused James’ face and the once tall man barely filled his chair.  Sebastian was the youngest of the Elders and Miller had always considered him a trusted friend.
            Miller pulled out the plastic chair and sat down gingerly, eager to hear why he had been summoned and to say his piece.  That’s when he noticed the book.
            A large, leather-bound tome sat in the center of the table.  Its brown binding darkened at the edges, likely from years of handling.  The thick pages showed yellowing in the center.  The book’s age spoke of its importance, but he had never seen it before in his life.
            Patrick spoke first.  “Tomorrow is the day of your succession and as is customary for all those who ascend to rule the House of Witches, we pass the Book to you.”
            Miller again glanced at the book but said nothing.
            “Rule comes with a price,” James added, his voice barely above a whisper.  “It’s a price that all those who have headed the House of Witches have paid.  It’s a price you too, must pay.  But only if you want to.”
            “The Book contains the origins of your family,” Sebastian clarified.  “Only those who succeed are allowed to read the contents inside. We hope it will help you.”
            Miller stared in skepticism at the book.  If they expected him to finish reading that thing overnight, it was a tall order, but certainly not impossible.  Especially for him.
            “Help me with what?” Miller asked.
            The Elders exchanged sad looks before Sebastian said, “To break the curse.”

            The clang of swords drowned the gentle splash of water falling from the fountain and echoed along the corridors of Luke’s villa.  Candy formed an energy ball in one hand as the other slashed down her sword.  Daria blocked and Candy hurled the ball.  A strangled scream escaped Daria’s lips as she dove to the left, landing against the concrete with a moan of pain.
            “I need a break,” Daria cried, palms spread against the ground as she tried to sit.  “You need to take it easy on me.  I’m not going to be as good as you in just a few days.”
            Sweat beaded along Daria’s dark brows as she glared at Candy, who bit her lip in contrition.  Maybe she had been too hard on Daria.  Though Daria was the auspicious one, she was still human and they’d been training for the last hour.
            Candy extended her hand to help Daria up as a servant appeared with a tray of refreshments.  They each grabbed a glass of lemonade.  Daria plopped to the floor, leaning back against the lower siding of the fountain.  Candy sat at the fountain’s edge.
            The sound of falling water mixed with the chirping birds among the gentling heaves of Daria breath.  Nature’s melody lulled Candy as the sway of the neighboring tree’s branches blocked the heat from the afternoon sun.  The atrium lay at the center of her father’s villa and had become a hub of family activity since Jason had been welcomed back into the family fold with Daria, his new love.
            She hadn’t meant to train Daria so hard.  She just had a lot on her mind with the party tonight.  A party that she didn’t want to go to.  A party that she was still trying to get out of.  Would it really be so bad if she didn’t attend the succession announcement for the House of Witches?  Her brothers would already be there.  No one ever said everyone from the ruling House had to go.  Surely, no one would miss her.
            “Want to tell me what’s going on?” Daria asked after swallowing a gulp.
            Candy swirled the sweet-sour liquid around her tongue, putting off answering the questions and imminent discussion.  Candy had to plan her words carefully.
            Daria was the auspicious one and had begun to develop the uncanny power of sensing motivation and possibly could predict the future.  And her powers were growing by the day.  It was worse than the mind-reading powers of her father and everyone on that side of the family. 
            “Your powers have grown?” Candy asked tentatively.
            Daria rolled her eyes.  “I don’t need to have powers to know you have something on your mind.”
            That was even worse. Was it really that obvious?  She had always prided herself on her ability to hide her feelings, keeping her face impassive, emotionless.  Yet somewhere along the way, her carefully schooled features had failed her.
            “Is this about Miller?”  Daria twisted around and looked up at Candy.
            Candy stopped the sigh from rising to her chest.  Miller.  The bane of her long, immortal existence.  Strange, that he had only been alive for thirty-five years.  He was on her mind a little too much lately.  Had been on her mind since she had learned Miller stayed by her beside while she lay unconscious.
            After barely escaping with her life from a mysterious shadowed demon, Candy had managed to warn Jason of the attack before the injuries rendered her unconscious.  When she awoke a day later, healed through Jason’s powers, Miller had sat on the bed gazing down at her.
            If she hadn’t known better, she would have thought she was still stuck in a dream.  His hand held hers while worry marred his brow.  That’s why it had to be a dream.  Miller never voluntarily got near her.  And it was because she knew he hated being near, that she chose to sidle up whenever the opportunity presented itself.  She enjoyed torturing him.
            As soon as he had realized she was awake, he had dropped her hand like poison and stood.  He had asked how she felt.  And in her weakened and likely delirious state, she had actual thought she saw tears in his eyes and heard a sob choke his voice.
            It was all in her mind, of course.  Miller would never be upset over her.  He’d only be upset with her.  The only face she ever saw was one of aggravation and anger.  That’s why he always tried to shove her as far away from him as possible.  He wanted nothing to do with her.  And the more he did that, the more he wanted to tease him.  Mercilessly.
            “Or maybe one of you can finally tell me why it is that neither of you can stop looking at the other.”
            “That’s not true,” Candy denied, bristling at the accusation.  It was preposterous, really.  She didn’t look at Miller.  Not that much, at least.  She just enjoyed making his life hard.  She looked at him the way a hawk flew over a rabbit.
            Daria began to protest and then stopped as footsteps approached.  They stood and saw Candy’s brothers enter.  Jason and Alastor were as different in coloring as their personality.  Where Jason was considered warm, Alastor was a bully.  Where Jason was dark, Alastor was fair.  But the two seemed to have developed a comfortable peace after Alastor had tried to fulfill Jason’s potential as one of the most powerful fallen angels ever to grace the realm.
            “How’s training?” Jason asked.
            “Candy is killing me,” Daria joked.  “What are you two doing here?”
            Jason swung his arm around Daria’s shoulder as Alastor explained, “We’re heading to Miller’s house early to check on security.”
            Candy pursed her lips at the implication.  With news of the uprising in Hell still unknown, the number of demons roaming the mortal plane had increased.  It was becoming a full-time job just to maintain mankind’s ignorance of the supernatural.  And there was risk that uninvited guests would show up to Miller’s succession party.  Even Daria and Jason had postponed their wedding until the situation in Hell got under control.
            “We’ll see you girls tonight,” Jason said.  With a quick wave, the two brothers stepped into the shadows and disappeared.
            That was her cue to leave.  But before she could rise from her seat, Daria grabbed her arm.
            “Not so fast.  You haven’t answered my question yet.  What’s wrong?”
            There were so many things awry lately.  She didn’t know where to begin.  She should be worried about the trouble in the supernatural realm, but instead, she was too caught up thinking about herself.
            “I don’t really want to go to the party,” Candy whispered.
            She felt Daria stiffen beside her.  “Why?”
            “I don’t like parties.”
            At least that much was true.  Candy never thought of herself as a people person.  She much preferred being a recluse.  A hermit in her father’s villa.  She’d conduct patrols, kill renegade creatures in the supernatural realm, and she hadn’t even minded protecting Daria along with everyone else.  But Candy drew the line at large gatherings.  She hated clubs, bars, and parties.  Anywhere where she had to be with a lot of people in close proximity was an automatic no.
            With furrowed brows, Daria stared at her as though she had grown another head.  “Why?” she repeated with a hint of annoyed wonder.  “You certainly aren’t going to tell me you have nothing to wear, right?  Or that you’re worried you won’t be the most gorgeous woman there?”
            “Now you’re mocking me,” Candy chided in her usual soft purr.
            Daria grabbed her shoulders so they faced each other.  “You are without a doubt, one of the most beautiful women I have ever seen.  You have long legs that I would die for and you have perfect features.”  Then under her breath, she added, “Like the whole damn family.”
            Candy smiled.  As members of their House and children of Lucifer, it was well known across the realm that they were all blessed with decent physical appearances.  But she had never heard it from a human until today.
            “And your hair usually only comes in a bottle after hours at the salon.  What’s wrong with you?  People like you should love parties that give you the chance to show off!”
            But Candy didn’t.  She just wanted to be alone.  “But I have no reason to show off.”
            “For Miller!” Daria practically screamed, hands raised in exasperation.
            Candy blinked, surprised at Daria’s outburst.  The latter groaned and took another drink from her glass.
            “Maybe I shouldn’t go because of Miller.”
            Face scrunched in confusion, Daria cried, “What are you talking about?”
            “You know Miller hates me.  He probably prefers if I didn’t go.”
            Yet even as Candy said it, she remembered Miller asking her if she would be attending.
            “And why would you think that?” Daria asked as though choosing her words carefully.
            “He’s always pushing me away.”
            Daria blinked once.  Twice.  Her jaw dropped and then clamped shut.  “Um, I think that’s because he’s embarrassed.”
            Candy shrugged and stood.  Far be it from her to ask what was going on in that witch’s mind.  It didn’t matter.
            Still carrying that bemused look but now with a liberal sprinkle of exasperation, Daria barked, “Are you a sadist?”
            Candy looked down at her thigh high boots, black leather mini, and black vest.  She threw Daria a wry smile.  “I think I’m missing a whip and handcuffs.”

            Miller Lang cringed as soon as he saw what came in through the front door of the little Italian restaurant tucked away in Wilmette.  The woman wore a cream halter dress that ended at the knees.  The cut showed off her shoulders and displayed legs that seemed to go on for miles to end in matching spaghetti strap sandals while her hair cascaded down her back like a golden waterfall.
            His jaw clenched and he gritted his teeth, knowing the evening was thoroughly ruined before it ever had the chance to begin.
            “So tell me more about estate law,” Miller’s date said from across the little table.
            Pulled away from his thoughts, he turned back to stare dispassionately at the petite brunette whom he had bumped into at the café the other morning and had subsequently asked out.  They had chatted after they reached for a stirrer at the same moment.  She was cute, funny, and seemed interested.
            The bustle within the small cottage sans restaurant seemed to soften to a hum.  A Hole in the Wall had photos of the owners with dozens of celebrities plastered across the walls at the entrance.  It had one of the best handmade pasta within a hundred mile radius.
            And this was where he had decided to go on his first date in months.
            With the danger around his friend Daria, Miller had put his life on hold.  But now that she was under the protection of the House of Fallen Angels, he thought he could spend time on his personal life again.
            Obviously, he was wrong.
            A brush of cream flicked across his vision and he sat back, the old, familiar dread invading every cell of his body, shortening every muscle along his back until he was nothing but a wad of tension.  He bit his lip.
            “Miller?” came a breathy whisper.
            Should he look up?  Would it be better if he ignored her?  But no, he kind of wanted to see if there were any changes.  Otherwise it would be like watching a rerun.  The same awful show.  Too predictable.
            Miller turned and raised his eyes, regretting it the second he did.
            Tears brimmed her blue eyes and she brought her hands to her mouth in a gasp.  A thin black band decorated each wrist and a large, almost blinding diamond ring glinted on her finger.  He grimaced.  Nice.  That definitely wasn’t there last time.
             The woman choked on a sob.  “It’s our anniversary, Miller.  How could you?”
            Miller didn’t even have the chance to turn to his date before he felt the cold liquid splash all over his face.  Curses filtered through the now diminished white noise of the restaurant.  He heard something about his parentage and where he should travel to after he died, before a flurry of footsteps left him sitting alone.
            Though he had been the unwilling actor in this play many times now, he couldn’t stop the sigh from escaping his lips as he blinked back the liquid from his lashes.  He calmly picked up his cloth napkin from his lap and dried his face, glad to see the cloth come away clean.  Water was much easier to clean out of the clothes than wine.  Red wine especially.  It really ruined his shirts.  And he had lost enough shirts over time.
            He looked back up at the woman standing next to the table, ignoring the glares and shaking heads from neighboring diners.  And he really needed to look up.  She stood five-eight in flats and enjoyed wearing heels that brought her close to six-feet.  Thankfully, he was taller.  When they actually stood side-by-side, he still had the option to look down at her literally while doing it figuratively too.
            “Have you had enough fun, Candace?”
            No emotion laced his words.  Not even resignation.  It was a simple question really.  They had gone through this so many times now that he didn’t have any feelings left.
            She peeked through her fingers, eyes twinkling, before dropping her hands and plopping into the recently vacated chair.  Her usual blood-rid lips had changed to a gentler auburn tone as fitting of her current outfit.  She began to laugh, hearty guffaws to say she had bested him once again.
            Miller tapped his finger on the base of his wineglass, glad his now, ex-date, had preferred simple water with a lemon.  “How many times has it been now, Candy?”
            Her eyes widened in mock innocence.  The dim lighting in the restaurant had enlarged her pupils, turning the sapphire blue eyes into pools of blackness.
            “I’ve lost count,” she replied in her usual sultry voice.
            Candy always had a breathy, smoky voice.  The kind porn stars had.  Where one syllable left men with an ache in the groin, one word made them hard, and one sentence had them begging for release.  She could never just speak like a normal person.  Her words slipped through the air in feather caresses, taunting the listener.  He hated that voice.  Had an absolute visceral abhorrence for that voice.  He avoided talking to her as much as humanly possible.
            “So have I.”  Miller raised his glass to her, toasting her for yet another successful evening of mischief-making, and finished his drink.
            He kept his comments to her as short as possible.  He worried that if he spoke too much, everything that he really thought would pour out of his mouth the way a burst faucet spewed water.  All unwanted and unwelcomed.  And regretful.  It was really better to keep his thoughts to himself.  No one wanted to know what he really thought.  Least of all himself.
            Still, he couldn’t stop his next scathing remark.
            “You have ruined every single f---ing date I have had for the last decade.  I hope you’re happy with yourself.”
            Something passed over Candy’s eyes briefly before she broke into that seductive smile which would make priests break their vows of celibacy.  She rested her elbows on the tablecloth and clasped her hands beneath her chin.
            Normal people would want to know why.  Why had Candace Angel, one of the most powerful in the supernatural realm, the second child of Lucifer, bother to endlessly harass and torture a mere human, a simple witch, like Miller Lang?  Surely it wasn’t merely sadism.  It couldn’t be the favorite pastime for fallen angels.
            But Miller didn’t ask because he knew why.  This was payback.  And apparently her revenge never ceased.
            “I’m kind of hungry,” she murmured.
            “I didn’t know fallen angels needed food,” he mumbled.  Miller retrieved his wallet and pulled out some cash.  “We’re not staying here.  They might spit in my food after your latest stunt.”
            He stood and threw her an expectant glare.  Well?  She was going to go with him, right?  He certainly wasn’t going to beg the torturer to follow.
            As he turned, he heard Candy stand also.  They left the restaurant and once outside, she asked, “Where are we going?”
            Miller shoved his hands into his trouser pockets and whirled around in annoyance, barking, “Didn’t you say you were hungry?”
            He stalked to her car and wrenched open the passenger door, waiting with impatience for her to get inside.  Did she expect him to shove her inside?  He would.  He might even derive great pleasure out of it too.
            “We can travel by shadow.”
            “No, we can’t,” Miller bit out, the edge in his voice growing ever sharper.  “My car is here.  In a private parking lot.  I’m not going to have it towed.”
            When she still didn’t step forward, he snapped, “Are you upset that I didn’t drive the Lamborghini?”
            At that, she smiled and strode toward him in that predatory way of hers, hips swaying gently, gaze never leaving his face, alluring smile still playing on her lips.  God, he wanted to kill her.  If homicide were legal, if it wouldn’t bring the wrath of the realm’s ruling family, he would reach his long limbs out and strangle her.
            She stopped by the open car door and his grip tightened on the metal sheet of the car, asking for divine patience while simultaneously imagining what he gripped was her slender neck.  Her hands began to reach for him, getting dangerously close to his chest.
            His heartbeats pounded against his ribcage, drumming in his ears.  Don’t do it.  He had to stop her.
            “Don’t even think about touching me after what you did,” he hissed.
            Surprise lit her eyes and then vanished.  She arched a brow and slid inside the car.
            Miller slammed the door of his Porsche and stomped to the driver seat.  He barely remembered pulling out of the lot and getting on the highway.  They had driven for a few minutes in a silence when Candy’s fingertips touch his arm.
            He practically jumped out of his skin.
            “It actually is an anniversary of sorts.”
            With pursed lips, he snapped, “No.  We met in the fall.  It’s still the summer.”
            The moment he said it, realization hit him.  The summer.  That summer.  He gripped the steering wheel, knuckles going white at the memory.  Seconds trickled by.
            “I don’t like cars,” Candy whispered.
            “Why?” he grunted.
            “They go fast and I’m not in control.”
            That’s when Miller noticed the speedometer.  He had almost reached ninety.  Easing his foot off the gas pedal, he leaned back and murmured, “Don’t worry, we’re almost home.”
            When he saw the amused smile from the corner of his eye, he knew he had slipped again.  What the hell was he saying?  It wasn’t her home.  They weren’t really married.  This was all just a big farce.  A stupid act she put on to ruin his evenings, his personal life, and every chance he attempted to begin a relationship with normal people.
            A long silence stretched between them and as the tension in his body eased, he finally said, “You’re right.”
            “About?”
            “The anniversary.  Only it’s not today.  It’s tomorrow.”
            Candy turned to stare out her window and Miller suddenly wondered if she didn’t want him to see her face.  Now that he thought about it, they always did spend a few hours together around this time of year.  They rarely saw each other the rest of the year.  With the exception of her showing up to ruin his dates, of course.  Their recent interaction was only a result of the mutual interest in protecting Daria.  He had thought things would go back to the way it was after that.
            The occasional obligatory appearance at some political function.  The short note by oven mail when the House of Fallen Angels needed something.  All impersonal and infrequent.  That’s how it had always been.  He liked it that way.  Predictable.
            “Tomorrow is your party.”  Then a pause.  “You shouldn’t be having dates anyway.”
            A sick pit grew in his stomach at her words and he found his mouth had gone dry.  He didn’t want to talk about this with her.  With Candy of all people.
            He needed to get onto safer topics.  Or rather, more familiar ones.
            “You look nice today,” his tone saying anything but.  “The ring was a new touch.”
            Candy stared at her hand and asked, “When you propose, Miller, will you also give her a big diamond like this one?”
            A pang struck his heart and he wondered if she said it on purpose to twist the knife in just a little more.  But when he stole a glance from her, she still stared at her ring.
            “You know I won’t,” he whispered.
            He had family jewels and would pick one amongst the collection to give to his wife as part of his proposal.  She knew that.  He had told her all of this.  Told her all of this all those years ago, that summer, tomorrow.
            He pushed the memories to the far corners of his mind.  Yet as soon as he did, he suddenly began to wonder if that summer was the only thing holding any civility between them.  If that was the sole reason for her visit today.  Perhaps it was the only thing that still bound them to each other.  Regret.  Guilt.  Revenge.
            Why did it have to revolve around that summer?  Why couldn’t they just act like the old acquaintances they were?
            Sometimes, he really wished he could have a normal conversation with her.  Besides her lurid voice, Candy was a woman of few words.  What she lacked in words, she made up for with facial expressions and body language.  She always managed to say more by saying nothing.  And her beautiful eyes reflected every possible emotion.  They were the only part of her that seemed to stay innocent.
            They said nothing more until they arrived back at his estate in Winnetka.  When they got out of the car, he noticed Candy lingering instead of following him to the house.
            “Still hungry?” he asked.  “I have some leftovers.  Or I can order in.”
            She didn’t answer, merely stepping to one of his other six cars.
            “Or we can go out?” he suggested hesitantly.
            What was wrong with her?  Why wasn’t she saying anything?  Just because she didn’t talk much it didn’t mean it was okay to not talk at all.  Maybe he had pushed her too far this time.  But she had never cared when he told her off or copped an attitude.  It was almost…expected.
            “I should go.”
            That dread began to spread through his body from his bowels again.  Except it was a different kind of drowning.  He had the distinct impression she didn’t mean she should go now.  But that she meant she should go always.
            They had their differences.  She made his life a living hell when she was around.  Embarrassing him by sidling up to him, forcing him to shove her aside.  It was the way it had been for…for over a decade.  He raked his hand through his hair.  Had it really been that long?  But he was so used to her torment now that he couldn’t actually imagine her leaving him alone.  She was like a scab on his arm that he picked at.  One that never healed because he never let it.
            Yet if she left him, what would he do?
            “You’ll be at the party tomorrow night, right?”
            Heat blanketed his face and he was glad her back was too him.  Could she hear the desperation in his voice?  The fear?  The last thing he needed was for her to laugh in his face.
            “I’ll think about it.”  Then she turned and flashed an evasive smile.  The old Candy had returned.
            She caressed the waxed black finish of his vehicle, circling it until the car stood between them, a physical barrier to keep everything unsaid.
            They stared at each other across the expanse of the garage and he wondered if her weary gaze came from her centuries-long existence or if they had just worn each down over the years.
            “Same time next year?” he joked.  At least, he tried to jest.  The half-hearted effort fell flat even to his ears.
            Candy cocked her head, studying him.  “No, I doubt it.”
            Miller stepped forward and then stopped, as though afraid to startle an animal.  “There’s always the fall.  When we actually first met.”
            This time her smile was small and sad.  “You were five when you first came to my father’s house.”  She shook her head again.  “No.”
            Every fiber of his body tensed, ready to spring for her should she try to leave.  And that’s what he felt she was trying to do.  Leave.  Forever.
            “Why?” he rasped, fear and anger coiling around his chest like a snake.  “Why now?
            Candy didn’t answer him, she merely patted the car and said, “I always did like the Lambo.”
            With that, she stepped into the shadows and disappeared.

            Candy thrust her sword behind her, feeling the metal shaft sink into the soft insides of the demon.  The gurgle of blood and the scratch of claws against the tree trunk were the only sounds among the quiet garden in Winnetka, a suburb north of Chicago.
            Candy didn’t bother to turn around and face the creature.  She pulled her sword out, stopping just a second to watch the blood trail down the silver length as a metallic scent filled the night air.
            The number of demons crawling around the mortal plane had increased dramatically in the last three days.  Ever since the lesser demons had rose up against Hell’s ruling family, the House of Demons.  As the oldest son and heir to the House of Demons, her friend Damien Hellerman had gone to Hell to defend the rights of his family.  No one had heard from him since.
            The smell of death lingered around every street corner.  Candy’s lips curled in disgust as she stared out into the dark night made yellow by the street lamps.
            Her family had spent the last few centuries keeping balance in the realms.  That balance had tipped with the auspicious one.  Daria Mathews was born under all the right signs and stars, making her the first auspicious child to grow to adulthood and gain power.  Whoever drank her blood would gain immense powers.  Those who ate her flesh became immortal.  And whichever House claimed her, won the right to rule all the realms.  When Candy’s baby brother Jason had won her heart, their house had irrevocably solidified their place as ruler of the supernatural realm.
            And that made her an even more desirable match than she had been the last few centuries.
            She glanced at the skies.  Damn.  She was late to meet her father.
            Candy stepped into a shadow and arrived at the library at the House of Fallen Angels a second later.  Books filled the floor-to-ceiling shelves and behind a looming mahogany desk, sat her father Lucifer.  He crooked his finger for her to step closer.  She watched him slide a sheet of paper towards her and didn’t need to read it to know its contents.
            “This is getting old, Candace,” Luke told her as he leaned back in his chair.  “You can’t use Jason and Daria as an excuse anymore.”
            “I still have the uprising in Hell,” she murmured with a small smile.
            Luke scoffed.  “What do you want to say this year?  That you’re too busy killing demons?  Zerachiel will offer to help.”
            Candy pursed her lips, mulling over the right answer.  Every year for the last decade, Zerachiel had written a letter to her father asking for Candy’s hand in marriage.  For all intents and purposes, the marriage made sense.  Zerachiel watched over the children of parents who sinned.  And who was a bigger sinner than her father?  As the youngest of the seven archangels, he was closer in age to Candy than he was to Uncle Michael and her father.  Zerachiel hadn’t participated in her father’s falling and a marriage now would help to amend ties between Heaven and their House.
            At least, that was what she had thought before she learned that God still controlled her father like a master puppeteer did his dolls.  With the new information, she wasn’t more eager to agree to the proposal.  Quite the opposite, it made her even more adamant to oppose.
            “My answer doesn’t change,” she replied.  “I don’t want to marry him.  I certainly can’t live in Heaven.  He can’t live here.  We wouldn’t ever be together because we’re from two different worlds.”  She held her up wrists.  Heavy black shackles trailed from her wristbands to disappear into the ground.  The signs of her family’s punishment.
            “If we had children, would they be born with chains as we were or will they live in Heaven?”
            Her heart tugged at the thought of children and she quickly wiped the pain that she knew showed in her eyes at her father’s intense gaze.  Nothing ever slipped by her father.  And she doubted her excuses all these years had either.
            Luke said nothing for a long moment, merely tapping his fingers on the desk.  Then suddenly he asked, “Aren’t you running late for your next appointment?”
            She glanced at him surprise.  He knew.
            Candy stood and bent over the desk to give her father a kiss on the cheek.  “Thank you, Daddy.”

The second in the series will feature Miller Lang and Candace Angel.  You may remember Miller as the clever, wise-cracking witch who was born with a platinum spoon in his mouth and Candy as the beautiful heroine with the breathy whisper and knack for killing demons with one swing of her sword.

I had so much fun writing about Miller in Blood in the Stars.  He's brainy, rich, and becomes a bumbling fool the moment Candy is near.  What's not to love?  And the way he pines for her just makes my heart ache.  *Sigh*

Then we have Candy, a blonde bombshell who could have anyone she wants, assuming she doesn't wipe the guy across the asphalt for saying something rude.  She kicks butt literally and does it without breaking a sweat.

Stay tuned for Miller and Candy.  Really...what could possibly go wrong?