Angie Fox -The Accidental Demon Slayer

by The Accidental Demon Slayer (lit)

  The bike swayed as we rounded our way to the back parking lot. I could feel every muscle and tendon in Dimitri's back as I gripped him tightly. The blood on his T-shirt had dried, making the material crunchy. The gashes on his back had already begun to heal. Impossible, yes. But I'd been staring at the proof for darned near an hour. Well, hadn't I known he wasn't quite human?

  I eased away from Dimitri as the bike slowed. This place gave me the heebie-jeebies. A minicity of beaten-down trailers huddled at the edge of the lot. Near them stood a haphazard carport with a dozen bikes stashed inside. We pulled up to the end of the row.

  As soon as Dimitri killed the engine, I poked him in the back. "Did you find any sign of Pirate?" If he saw my doggy in that awful house, if something had hap­pened to Pirate, I needed to know.

  "He wasn't in there," Dimitri said, shutting down the bike.

  "Are you sure?" I asked. I had to know, because if I was going to hope ...

  "He's okay," he reassured me. "I looked everywhere." He took a deep breath. "I saw a lot of things, but no Pirate. And I didn't see your grandma either. Both of them must have made it out. I'll tell you more once we get inside. This is the safe house. It's run by some friends of mine. The Red Skulls were slated to meet here if something happened at the bar. Come on," he said, reaching for my hand. "Let's go on in."

  I ditched his grasp and a flash of pain crossed his fea­tures. Well, tough. No way was I letting him near me.

  Side-by-side, yet universes apart, we crunched through the gravel parking lot. My ankle throbbed and my legs felt woozy after that hour on the bike. In a lot of ways, stepping off a bike was like getting off a ride at an amusement park.

  I tested the armor on my chest. Solid as steel and just as impossible to remove. I fought back a wave of claustrophobia. It was as if the bronze plates been welded onto me. "Mind telling me what you did to me?" I asked, almost angry I had to say anything to Dimitri at this point.

  He walked beside me, his eyes straight ahead. "I gave you the gift of protection. Ancient magic, designed to defend you. Your panos will always be what you need it to be."

  "Well, take it back. This is creeping me out." I didn't need body armor. Please don't let me need body ar­mor. Lord, I couldn't do this. I didn't want this.

  "It isn't my choice to make," he said, leading me to the front entrance.

  "You are such a jack—" For the first time, I almost let something nasty slip. But then he opened the glass door and my mouth dropped open.

  I hardly heard the tinkling of the bell as Dimitri ushered me inside. A woman leaned against the host­ess's desk. She wore red button earrings and a match­ing bandana. Only it wasn't a woman. It was a werewolf.

  Chapter Nine

  The werewolf's ears pricked as we entered the restau­rant. She had a thick coat of streaky yellow hair and flashed claws that could tear your heart out. She growled, low in her throat.

  I went on instant high alert. "Dimitri!" Some pro­tector. He'd led me into the wolves' den.

  "Steady." He placed a firm hand on my back. "She's just trying to scare you."

  Yeah, well it was working. Never in a million years would I have expected to walk in on a werewolf, and at Shoney's, no less. This was supposed to be a family restaurant, one where people came to eat, not to be eaten.

  The air around the werewolf shimmered and—cursed canines—she began to change. If I hadn't seen it with my own eyes, I wouldn't have believed it. Her body shifted and her hair receded until she was left with smooth tan skin, a sassy blonde pageboy haircut and cherry red fingernails to die for. Her body was sculpted, her breasts perky and she lounged against the hostess stand with the practice of a Price Is Right model. Un-fricking-believable.

  The formerly furry sex goddess dipped her chin to­ward Dimitri. "Hiya, babe. I knew I'd see you back here one way or another." From the way she said it, it was obvious these two had a history. And judging from how she undressed him with her baby blues, their relationship hadn't exactly been rated PG.

  Lovely.

  Dimitri ignored it, either oblivious or a good politi­cian. "Andrea, this is Lizzie," he said. "Lizzie, this is my friend Andrea."

  I didn't like how he said the word friend. Andrea didn't either. Her face twisted into the kind of snarl perceptible only to women. And I swear her fingernails grew half an inch.

  Don't worry, honey. I don't want him anyway.

  She sniffed at my borrowed clothes in disdain. "Nice pants."

  Now I really wanted to be a demon slayer so I could fire some switch stars, or maybe a bolt of lightning, up her butt. As it stood, I simply nodded to the bitch (the word bitch being a technical term for her condition, of course).

  The hostess area stood apart from the main restaurant by a wall of paneling that might have looked classy if it hadn't been cheap, faded and strewn with used ticky tack. An ancient M&M candy machine didn't quite cam­ouflage the splintered hole behind it. The rest of the area was bare except for two bodyguards, who stood directly behind Andrea. They stared at me, heavy-lidded and suspicious. As if they had anything to fear from the non-demon-slaying demon slayer. They could rip my arms off without breaking a sweat.

  Behind the wall, I could hear the murmur of conver­sation and the clinking of silverware. Sausage, pota­toes, and eggs should have smelled heavenly, but after the night I'd had, the mere thought of food made my stomach sour.

  "Don't tell me you're going out with this pop tart," Andrea sniggered, proving beyond a doubt she was no lady herself. "She wouldn't know what to do with a man like you."

  Oh puh-leeze.

  "Watch yourself, Andrea," Dimitri warned.

  "Don't worry. I'd pick this one to be all bark, no bite," I commented, just to taunt her. Yes, it was shal­low, but she deserved it. "Now are we done playing Melrose Place"? Where is everyone?"

  Andrea scowled at me. She hitched her head back and called to whoever was behind the paneling. "We got two more!"

  A cascade of voices and a smattering of applause greeted her announcement. Frankly, I didn't know what we had to cheer about. The coven's hideout was destroyed, some of the witches were missing and a fifth-level demon could be popping by at any moment.

  Pirate skittered around the corner and suddenly, noth­ing else mattered. Thank you. Thank God he got out of there. That moment was worth every second out there in those dark woods. I rushed to my doggy, scooped him up and hugged him tight. "How are you doing?" I asked, stroking him, inspecting his back, his paws, his tail, everything. His paws were black with mud and— phew—he could use a bath, but otherwise he seemed to be all right. "You okay?"

  He licked my arms, my elbows, everywhere he could reach. "Damn, Lizzie. Don't you ever scare me like that again. I mean I was scared. I was more scared than when you went to Florida and left me at that doggy day spa with the shaking pet pillows."

  I buried my nose in his hair, so glad to see my little dog. Someone had even made sure he had fresh ban­dages for his back.

  "Aye-eee!" I heard Frieda approaching before I ever saw her. I could smell her too—cigarettes with a hint of cinnamon gum.

  She hugged me from behind. "You disappear again and I'm going to kick your butt into next Sunday." She emphasized her threat with a pop of her gum. "So now," she said, chewing as she talked, "you feeling all right?"

  I nodded. Talk about a loaded question. I couldn't go home, the coven was destroyed. I had no idea what to do with my utterly cool yet completely frightening de­mon slayer mojo and now I'd given Dimitri enough power over me to make me very, very uncomfortable. "Where's Grandma?" I asked. I couldn't wait to see her. She'd tell me what to do.

  Frieda locked her elbow in mine. "Well, I'll say one thing. It was a hell of a fight. Come on back to the din­ing room and we'll tell you all about it."

  We followed Frieda around the divider and into the main restaurant. Immediately, I could see there were two different groups of people occupying the space. The werewolves dominated the center of the dining roo
m and had set up the Rootin' Tootin' Breakfast Buffet. At least that's what the sign declared in big block letters. That morning, they'd opted to stick with the basics— sausage links, breakfast potatoes and scrambled eggs. A pimply teenager nodded at me as we passed. His gangly arms led down to massive, hairy wolf claws. Built-in pot holders, it seemed as he clutched a steam­ing platter of undercooked bacon.

  Pirate wriggled in my arms. "Oh lookie there. Ba­con! I couldn't eat any before. I didn't have any appe­tite before, but now I think I'm over it."

  I stroked the wiry fur on his head. "Later, Pirate. Right now, we have to find Grandma."

  "Oh now, Lizzie," he began reluctantly. "She never liked me much and besides I don't think you need to be hearing about the deal them witches made with those werewolves. You won't be in the mood for no bacon after that."

  Deal? What deal?

  "Pirate," Frieda growled.

  "All I'm saying is if Lizzie's the one who's got to schlep everywhere, getting rid of those black souls for a bunch of smelly werewolves, then she should at least get some breakfast first."

  Black souls? Pirate was right. My stomach had be­gun churning enough at that point to make breakfast impossible. I glanced back at Dimitri, hoping this deal wasn't another one of his tricks. From the murder in his eyes, I guessed not.

  "Frieda, care to enlighten me?" I was suddenly feel­ing quite murderous myself.

  Frieda cast a worried glance over her shoulder. "Come on back, honey. I think Ant Eater would like to have a word with you."

  "Oh, well if Ant Eater is behind it, I'm sure I'll love it." The last time I'd seen Ant Eater, she'd been holding me by the throat. It made sense she'd want to throw me to the werewolves. Grandma would straighten this out. She had to. It worried me that I hadn't seen her yet. Don't get ahead of yourself, Lizzie.

  As we weaved through the tables, I could feel the eyes of the werewolves on us. One in particular struck me hard. He stood with his back to the wall and a rifle on his shoulder. I did a double take. He was built lean and menacing, like a bad-boy drummer in a rock band. Tattoos wound up his arms and neck, past the blond hair that hung in over-stylized hunks almost all the way down to his shoulders. The only thing that gave away his species was the way he sniffed the air. That and he seemed more than comfortable in the middle of a Shoney's full of werewolves.

  Dimitri, walking behind me, touched me on the arm, his fingertips almost brushing the edge of the ar­mor that curved around my side. "That's Rex," he said, giving me a light squeeze. "Stay away from him."

  I could feel Rex's eyes on us. He reminded me of a predator, watching, waiting to discover a weakness. I glanced back and picked up the pace when I saw his fierce smirk. He looked like he'd won the lottery.

  The werewolves were the only ones eating. The witches stuck to the booths along the right wall, in­jured and shell-shocked. Sidecar Bob had set up a hap­hazard triage station on a few tables he'd pushed together at the end of the row of booths, out of sight yet close enough. It didn't look like anyone was in the mood to venture far.

  Frieda led me to the last booth, the one closest to the restrooms. Dimitri walked behind me, as if I wanted him around after what he'd pulled. Maybe Ant Eater would do me a favor and pound him into next Tuesday.

  "What happened back there, Frieda? It was Vald, wasn't it?"

  She wrapped a comforting arm around my shoulder. "Oh honey, let's hold off for now, okay?"

  Hold off? What could possibly be more important? "Do you think he'll try to follow us here?" I asked. "And where is here?"

  Frieda shook her head as we passed two booths of witches. I saw the tall, red-haired one, Scarlet. But no Grandma. "Come on now, hon."

  "Actually, Vald could have followed us quite easily," Dimitri said, making sure any of the witches we passed could hear him. Nice, considering these people were probably scared out of their wits as it was.

  Dimitri didn't seem to care. "Nowhere is safe," he said, anger and accusation seeping into his voice. "That's why you need to be trained. And protected."

  "Okay, Mr. Agenda. Point taken." I didn't care if he was mad. I touched the bronze armor molded to my chest. Dimitri had gotten what he wanted.

  Ant Eater wore the expression of a soldier who had just returned from battle. Her eyes were hollow, her features taut. She pounded a skinny red coffee stirrer against the restaurant table with the rat, tat, tat of a machine gun. Green soot dusted her curly gray hair.

  I slid into the booth across from her, wanting her to speak, but wary all the same. I knew it would be bad news.

  And I was right.

  "Your grandma has been taken," she said with about as much emotion as if she were telling me my car was wrecked or my condo needed a new air-conditioning system. It seemed Ant Eater was nothing if not prac­tical.

  I knew Grandma wouldn't have left the coven until every last witch made it out, but it hurt to hear she hadn't escaped. "What do you mean taken? By who? And why aren't you trying to get her back?" Grandma had been a member of the Red Skulls for decades. These people were her family. What were they doing sitting around Shoney's?

  Ant Eater slammed her hand on the table and the coffee stirrer went flying. "Don't you even start on me, hotshot. You're the reason we lost her."

  I willed myself to stay calm. "Pirate, why don't you go see if Sidecar Bob needs any help."

  "Oh, but Lizzie, I missed you." His large, black eyes pleaded with me. "And now I have you and you're right here and I don't want to leave you."

  "Pirate." I hated to be stern with him, and I wanted nothing more than to hold my doggy tight, but I had a feeling this was about to get ugly. Reluctantly, Pirate obeyed.

  I squared my shoulders and faced Ant Eater. From her accusation, you would have thought I'd trussed up my grandmother myself. No getting around it, though. / was supposed to be there. A wave of guilt crashed over me. They'd offered me their protection because they knew this was coming. I'd let them down. If I'd found a way to stay, I might have been able to prevent this. "I had no idea ..." I began.

  "Save it," she snapped. "Vald approached like a stale wind from the north. We're Southern witches. It's harder for us to detect a northern presence. But your Grandma Gertie, she knew. By the time she found us, every one of us was facedown in our possum stew." She planted her elbows on the booth table between us. "See, demons like Vald aren't all fire and brimstone. They're sneaky. Sure they enjoy the stark terror on your face before they steal your soul, but they'd just as soon swipe it from you when you're not looking."

  Incredible. "Is that what he wanted? Your souls?"

  "If he'd cared enough, he'd have had 'em." She paused, no doubt enjoying the stark terror on my face. "No." She shook her head. "He wanted you."

  "Me?" I practically stammered. I didn't know any­thing. Even if I was supposed to be some almighty demon slayer.

  "Don't play stupid." She banged her hand on the ta­ble and sent the salt and pepper shakers flying. "Vald is stronger than we thought. Our protection spell—that potion you drank—should have bound us all together. We would have known he was coming for you. You would have felt it too. We should have been able to beat him off, or at least stall him enough to escape. I don't know what happened," she said, eyeing me accusingly.

  Oh no. Dread swelled inside of me. It was my fault. Grandma had shown me nothing but respect and hon­esty since I'd met her, and this is how I paid her back. If it weren't for me, she'd be at the Red Skull bar with her friends, doing what she'd been doing for the last fifty years. Instead, I'd hopped on her bike and screwed up her life worse than she could have ever done to mine. And it happened because I was a cow­ard, because I couldn't accept her or her potion. I was the worst kind of hypocrite, and I really hated that. "I 'didn't mean ..."

  Ant Eater yanked a sawed-off shotgun from the seat behind her and leveled it at me. I lost my breath as I gaped down the enormous barrels of the gun. She jabbed it forward, and it nudged my left breast. A chill seeped from the cold metal
and crept right through me.

  "You fucked up," she said, low and deadly.

  Off to my left, I heard Dimitri cock a gun. I stole a glance. He aimed a pistol at Ant Eater's head. The res­taurant had gone silent as a graveyard. She'd shoot me. I knew she would.

  "You aren't fit to be family," she said. "I'd like noth­ing better than to put a cap in your ass right now."

  Frieda slipped into the booth next to me, shaking. That made two of us. "Put the gun down," she ordered, her voice steadier than her body. "You know Lizzie is the one person who can save Gertie. I don't care what you think about Lizzie. Shoot her now and you'll never see Gertie again."

  Tears welled in Ant Eater's eyes. She gritted her teeth, her gold cap gleaming with spittle.

  In one fluid motion, she launched herself out of the booth and stormed for the bathrooms. The ladies' door slammed behind her and every one of us breathed a sigh of relief.

  "Oh, Frieda," I said, wanting to hug her. Every bone in my body had turned to mush. "Thank you." I really hadn't wanted to test that armor.

  She slid into the seat across from mine, more serious than I'd ever seen her. "Save it for someone who gives a damn. I wasn't kidding when I said you were the only one who can help your grandma. I hoped Ant Eater would be able to put it a little better, but the truth is Vald has Gertie. He's taken her back with him—to hell."

  Frieda raised an eyebrow as my jaw fell open. "Oh yes, buttercup. Hell is real. And there is no escaping without a slayer. You."

  I blanched. No way was I ready for this. I didn't think I'd ever be ready.

  Frieda didn't seem to care. "Now Vald hasn't been able to get Gertie all the way into the second layer of hell. She's weak, but she's fighting like a double blast of dynamite. She's clinging to the first layer," she said, battling tears. "No question about it, your grandma is a fighter. But she can't hold out forever. No one can."