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Holy Smokes

Katie MacAlister

  Praise for Katie MacAlister’s Aisling Grey, Guardian, Novels

  Light My Fire

  “Crazy paranormal high jinks, delightful characters, and simmering romance.”


  “Once again Katie MacAlister knocks one out of the box with the third book in the Aisling Grey series. Light My Fire…takes you on a nonstop thrill ride full of sarcastic wit, verve, and action right to the end. Clear your day, because you will not put this book down until it is finished.”

  —A Romance Review

  “I simply adore Aisling…. Get on over to the bookstore and pick up your copy of Light My Fire today. You don’t want to miss it.”

  —Romance Reviews Today

  Fire Me Up

  “[A] wickedly witty, wildly inventive, and fiendishly fun adventure in the paranormal world.”


  “MacAlister’s ability to combine adventure, thrills, passion, and outlandish humor is fast making her a superstar. Unstoppable fun!”

  —Romantic Times BOOKclub

  You Slay Me

  “Smart, sexy, and laugh-out-loud funny!”

  —Christine Feehan

  “Graced with MacAlister’s signature sharp wit and fabulously fun characters…wickedly sensual and irresistibly amusing.”


  And praise for Even Vampires Get the Blues

  “Cheerful mayhem and offbeat characters enliven another MacAlister gem. Witty banter that sparkles with humor and a plot that zips along make even the most outlandish situation seem perfectly reasonable. MacAlister is a rare talent.”

  —Romantic Times (41?2 Stars)

  Other books by Katie MacAlister

  Men in Kilts

  The Corset Diaries

  Hard Day’s Knight

  Blow Me Down

  Even Vampires Get the Blues

  The Last of the Red-Hot Vampires

  Aisling Grey, Guardian

  You Slay Me

  Fire Me Up

  Light My Fire

  Katie MacAlister

  Holy Smokes

  An Aisling Grey, Guardian, Novel



  Published by New American Library, a division of

  Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, USA

  Penguin Group (Canada), 90 Eglinton Avenue East, Suite 700, Toronto, Ontario M4P 2Y3, Canada (a division of Pearson Penguin Canada Inc.)

  Penguin Books Ltd., 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

  Penguin Ireland, 25 St. Stephen’s Green, Dublin 2, Ireland (a division of Penguin Books Ltd.)

  Penguin Group (Australia), 250 Camberwell Road, Camberwell, Victoria 3124, Australia (a division of Pearson Australia Group Pty. Ltd.)

  Penguin Books India Pvt. Ltd., 11 Community Centre, Panchsheel Park, New Delhi-110 017, India

  Penguin Group (NZ), 67 Apollo Drive, Rosedale, North Shore 0632, New Zealand (a division of Pearson New Zealand Ltd.)

  Penguin Books (South Africa) (Pty.) Ltd., 24 Sturdee Avenue, Rosebank, Johannesburg 2196, South Africa

  Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

  First published by Signet, an imprint of New American Library, a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  ISBN: 1-4295-4474-0

  Copyright © Marthe Arends, 2007 All rights reserved


  Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.


  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party Web sites or their content.

  The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.


  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28


  “‘I’m gettin’ married in the morning! Ding-dong, the bells are gonna riiiiiiiing!’”

  “Will you stop that!” I whapped Jim on its furry black shoulder, sending a quick glance across the small room to make sure no one had heard my demon in doggy form singing. “So help me god, Jim, if you let anyone catch you talking—”

  “What was that, dear?” Paula, my stepmother, turned from where she was chatting to the others. “Where can he be? Did you need something? Oh, Aisling, no, sweetheart, a bride doesn’t sit on her wedding day. Lean against the wall if you’re tired. Does your dog need to go out to do its business? David, can you take the dog out? Although why you insist on having a dog as part of the ceremony…dog hair is impossible to clean up, everyone knows that. Oh, where can he be? It’s half-past already!”

  My stepfather, the personification of the absentminded professor stereotype, wandered over wearing his usual befuddled expression as Paula muttered to herself while brushing black dog hairs off my lovely gold and green lace dress.

  “What dog?” he asked, clearly overlooking the gigantic black Newfoundland standing next to me.

  I smiled fondly and patted him on the arm. “It’s OK, Dad, Jim doesn’t need to go walkies. And I’m fine, too. We’re both fine. In fact, I’m so fine, why don’t you all go out with the others so you can at least enjoy yourselves? I’ll just lean against the wall here and take a quick nap while I wait for Drake to show up.”

  “We couldn’t leave you alone,” Paula said on a horrified gasp. “That wouldn’t be fitting at all…goodness, what would people say? And dresses wrinkle so badly nowadays. Girls these days just take everything so casually, not at all like it was in my day…where can he be? David? Where is he?”

  “Who?” my stepdad asked, looking as confused as ever.

  “The groom, of course. Drake. It’s very bad luck for a groom to not show up for a wedding. Not that he’s going to jilt you, my dear, heaven knows I’m sure that’s the furthest thing from his mind. I wonder if he was in a car accident? People drive so fast here, and on the wrong side of the road, although I’m sure to them it’s the right side, but still, they go so fast! Drake could be lying dead on the side of the road, and we wouldn’t know it…”

  Long experience with my stepmother had me shooting a look of utter desperation over her head to where my uncle stood in the corner, legs braced wide, arms crossed over his chest, a cigar clamp
ed tightly between his teeth in blatant disregard both of the smoking laws and of the fact that we were in one of the oldest churches in London.

  Uncle Damian, as ever, accurately read the plea in my glance and marched over to where my stepmother fussed around plucking and tweaking my dress.

  “That’s enough, Paula,” he said in his usual gruff voice. “You go tend the guests. They’ll be wondering what the delay is. And take your husband with you.”

  She looked toward the door leading out of the vestry to the church proper, clearly torn between a desire to do her duty and remain at my side until my groom showed up, and the need to be social. “Well…I’m sure they are wondering what’s taking so long…”

  “I’ll watch Aisling,” Uncle Damian reassured her as he gave her a none-too-gentle shove toward the door. “David, escort your wife. Tell everyone that there’s a slight delay, but the wedding will get going soon.”

  “I can’t imagine what they’re thinking…this wedding isn’t at all what I would have arranged, although it’s very nice, dear, with lovely flowers, and the bouquet is exquisite, but I would have made sure that people arrived on time…” As she left, she bumped into the rector scheduled to perform the ceremony, scattering apologies and vague half-finished sentences behind her.

  “Go sit out in the first row, Dad,” I said, giving my stepfather another smile I felt far from feeling. “I’ll be out there shortly.”

  “I’m sure Draco isn’t dead,” he said, patting my hand. “He probably just can’t get his tie done. I had a devil of a time with mine. Your mother had to do it for me.”

  He toddled out of the room after Paula. I was tempted to send Jim along to make sure he arrived at the pew where my close family members were to sit, knowing full well he was capable of wandering off to who-knew-where, but Jim was currently in a giddy mood due to an extended weekend spent in Paris visiting Amelie, who owned the elderly Welsh corgi upon which Jim had a massive crush.

  The rector spoke in undertones to Uncle Damian, shooting me a sympathetic glance that contained more pity than reassurance before hurrying off to resume the watch for Drake.

  “I don’t hold with men jilting women at the altar,” Uncle Damian said abruptly, giving me a gimlet eye. A little jingling noise came from his pocket. He pulled out a cell phone, looked at the number, and said something about having to take the call.

  “And I thought Drake’s mom was bad,” Jim said in a low voice.

  I glanced over to my uncle, but he was across the room, grunting into the phone and barking orders to some poor underling.

  “Your family takes the cake, though. Why didn’t you tell me your uncle was Ernest Hemingway?”

  I whapped Jim again. “Don’t be facetious. He’s not even remotely like Ernest Hemingway.”

  Jim cocked a furry eyebrow.

  “Well…all right, there’s a slight similarity. Very slight. Uncle Damian isn’t a boozer and doesn’t like to shoot innocent animals, although he was in the army and makes dark references to wanting to shoot a few of his superior officers. And I can’t help my family—as far as that goes, Paula has been very good for Dad. He was lost when my mom died, and since I was only fourteen at the time, Paula was a godsend to us both. She drives me nuts sometimes with her ditziness and her endless chatter, but she’s always been fond of me, and she takes care of Dad so I don’t have to.” I eyed the clock sitting on the rector’s desk, trying to quell the butterflies that were threatening to twist my stomach into a knot. “I don’t suppose it would do me any good to ask if you know where my errant groom is?”

  Jim shook its head. “I’m a demon, not a seer. I told you we shouldn’t have left home last night.”

  “I didn’t really have a choice. Uncle Damian is a bit like a steamroller in that opposition just gets flattened before him, and my argument that his silly notion about brides having to spend the night separated from the groom was out dated and unrealistic didn’t stand a chance. Besides, the hotel was pretty nice.”

  “That’s not what I meant, and you know it,” Jim answered, making a face.

  I sighed and fretted with the lace on my wrist. “I know, but I’m doing the very best I can to hang on to my sanity. It hasn’t been an easy month, you know, what with Fiat disappearing, and the red dragons continuing their war on us, and having to organize this wedding. I’d have gone stark raving mad if it hadn’t been for Traci.”

  The moment the name left my lips, I realized what I’d done. I slapped a hand over my mouth but it was too late—the air in front of us shimmered for a second before collecting itself into the form of a middle-aged man of nondescript features.

  “You summoned me, my lord?” the demon asked, its expression the usual one of mild annoyance.

  I glanced hurriedly over to my uncle, praying he hadn’t noticed the sudden materialization, but the determined way he snapped a good-bye into the phone before jamming it into his pocket and marching purposefully toward us pretty much killed that particular hope.

  “Well, now you’ve done it,” Jim said in a cheerful little voice. “Uncle Damian at twelve o’clock!”

  “Jim!” I shouted, wrapping both my hands around its muzzle.

  Uncle Damian’s firm step hesitated for a second as he looked at Jim.

  “Sowwy,” was my demon’s muffled reply from beneath my hands.

  “I think you have some explaining to do, Aisling,” Uncle Damian said in his no-nonsense voice as he stopped in front of me, his steely eyes taking in all three of us.

  I felt like I was ten again and had been caught using my uncle’s Cuban cigars as miniature canoes in the toilet.

  “Um,” I said, trying to kick-start my brain into thinking up a brilliant explanation that would completely bypass the truth.

  “My lord, would you like me to deal with this mortal?” Traci asked, a note of weary resignation in its voice.

  “My lord?” Uncle Damian asked, a puzzled frown pulling down his bushy black eyebrows. “Who is this man? How did he just appear out of nothing? And just what the hell is going on with that monstrous dog of yours?”

  I looked at Jim. Jim looked back at me and winked. A familiar black, warm presence nudged my awareness. You can show him the true extent of your powers. You will have his respect for what you have become.

  “Shut up!” I snarled through gritted teeth, hurriedly adding, “Not you, Uncle Damian. I was talking to…er…”

  “She hears voices in her head,” Jim said succinctly. When I glared at it, it shrugged. “He’d already heard me talk. I think you’re going to have to tell him what’s going on.”

  “Which I wouldn’t have to do if you’d kept your lips zipped like I asked!”

  “Asked, but not ordered,” Jim pointed out, trying hard to adopt an angelic air.

  “A mistake I won’t make again. No, Traci, thank you, I don’t need you. I didn’t intend to summon you. Er…how’s everything in Paris?”

  The demon’s lips thinned. “Unpleasant.”

  “Good. I’ll talk to you in a couple of days, as we planned. Bye-bye.”

  Traci opened its mouth to no doubt continue its protest at being put in charge of the European Otherworld, but I didn’t have time to listen to its complaints, not today, not on what was supposed to be the happiest day of my life. I waved my hand at Traci, and the demon disappeared.

  Uncle Damian’s eyes narrowed. “What the devil is going on, Aisling? I want an answer, and I want it right now.”


  “Right, you want to know what’s going on? I’ll tell you what’s going on.” I took a deep breath, dreading what was to come.

  “Uh-oh,” Jim said, backing away from me. “You may want to get a little distance between you and Ash, Uncle Damian. When she freaks out, stuff happens.”

  “I’m not going to freak out. Not yet, anyway.” I had hoped to keep the truth from my uncle, but I’d had a feeling all along that he wasn’t going to buy the story Drake and I had concocted. I fixed him with a determined eye a
nd said, “I’m a demon lord, a prince of Abaddon, which is more or less Hell. I didn’t want the job, and I’m going to be trying like the dickens to get out of it without causing some massive rift whereby people from Abaddon can come into our world and wreak…well, hell. Jim is not a dog, not really. It’s a demon I inadvertently summoned, although it’s not really bad, it’s kind of a former angel-like being who got sent to Abaddon and was kicked out of another demon lord’s legion. And Drake is the leader of a dragon sept. I’m also a Guardian, which as you’ve seen, is kind of a demon wrangler. Got all that? Good. Now can we move on to the part of the day where I have a nervous breakdown because Drake hasn’t shown up to marry me?”

  I had expected questions, lots and lots of questions, and sadly, I wasn’t mistaken.

  “Demon?” Uncle Damian asked, looking at Jim.

  “Yes. Sixth class, which is the least obnoxious of all demons.”

  “Hey! Standing right here!” Jim said.

  We both ignored it.

  “Demon lord?” my uncle asked, eyeing me from toes to nose.

  “Yeah. It’s kind of a long story, but I’m not bad either, because I’m really a Guardian, and those are the good guys.”

  “The demon lord stuff is just a hobby,” Jim added from the safety of the other side of the room.

  “Not…helping,” I said through gritted teeth, waggling my eyebrows at it to let it know I was a few seconds away from commanding it to silence.

  “Dragon?” Uncle Damian looked thoughtful as he glanced toward the door.