demon slayer 07.5 - demon slayer

by fox, angie

  Table of Contents

  Date With A Demon Slayer

  Also by Angie Fox

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Complete Booklist

  About Angie Fox

  Copyright

  Contents

  Date With A Demon Slayer

  Also by Angie Fox

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Complete Booklist

  About Angie Fox

  Copyright

  Date With A Demon Slayer

  By Angie Fox

  Keep track of Angie's new book releases by receiving an email on release day. It's fast and easy to sign up for new release updates

  Most of the following Angie Fox titles are also available in print format.

  ALSO BY ANGIE FOX:

  THE BIKER WITCHES/

  ACCIDENTAL DEMON SLAYER SERIES:

  The Accidental Demon Slayer

  The Dangerous Book for Demon Slayers

  A Tale of Two Demon Slayers

  The Last of the Demon Slayers

  My Big Fat Demon Slayer Wedding

  Beverly Hills Demon Slayer

  Night of the Living Demon Slayer

  Date with a Demon Slayer

  THE SOUTHERN GHOST HUNTER SERIES:

  Southern Spirits

  A Ghostly Gift (short story)

  The Skeleton in the Closet

  THE MONSTER MASH SERIES:

  Immortally Yours

  Immortally Embraced

  Immortally Ever After

  SHORT STORIES:

  The Tenth Dark Lord 'A Leaping: Lizzie and Dimitri's first Christmas (a demon slayer novella)

  Gentlemen Prefer Voodoo

  Love Bites

  Murder on Mysteria Lane (from The Real Werewives of Vampire County anthology)

  What Slays in Vegas (from the So I Married a Demon Slayer anthology)

  Chapter One

  "What do you mean you sent my anniversary present back?" I stared at the silver haired biker witch. She wore chaps, a leather jacket with fringe, and had an obnoxious rhinestone skull do-rag knotted around her neck. Sue me when I felt the urge to yank it tighter.

  Yes, my Grandmother's gang of witches was…unusual. Word had it, they'd been a regular coven before a demon had kept them on the run for thirty years. After that, they'd had to move fast, stay on the road. They'd started riding Harleys. Then came the biker nicknames, the tattoos, and boyfriends named Lizard Lips. The rest was history.

  At the moment, I was tempted to call Ant Eater by her real name. Mildred.

  Her eyes widened behind her green tinted hippie sunglasses as I glared at her. She held up her hands. "I'm telling you, Lizzie, it looked like another box of empty beer cans."

  That got a definite frown from the hunky shape-shifting griffin to my right. "The package was addressed to me," he growled.

  Damn. I always liked having him on my side. Luckily, I'd been smart enough to marry him. Dimitri stood a foot above the tallest one of us, a wall of muscle and grit. And I'd never get enough of my husband's lyrical Greek accent, even now, with Ant Eater pulling one of her stunts.

  "Fairy mail usually requires a signature," I said.

  Fae paths were strictly regulated. Reliable, too. Fairy postal workers could find anyone, anywhere in two to three business days. It was the best way to get things while we were on the road.

  Ant Eater shook her head. "If you want to return something, you just gotta tell them it isn't for you." She blew out a breath. "I should have looked at the whole who it was addressed to thing," she said with a wince, which was as close to an apology as we'd get. She shot a glare at the blonde witch closing in on her left. "I was trying to save our asses. I don't care if Frieda collects what she drinks," she said, turning up the volume, "but if that woman doesn't stop ordering beer cans on eBay, we're going to be buried in rusty Schlitz cans."

  "Those cans are vintage," Frieda said, as if we were dissing her children. "You show me a 1954 Schlitz that doesn't have rust." She brought a bright pink painted fingernail to her chin. "And if we're cleaning up, maybe I should toss all those bras you have hanging down by the creek."

  That earned her a glare from Ant Eater. "Do it and you die."

  "What the frick, people?" I asked. And when did this become my life?

  Yes, I'd run off with my grandma's gang of biker witches. They'd taught me how to fulfill my destiny as a demon slayer. They'd also saved my butt more than once. In return, I'd hoped I could calm them down a little. I'd been a preschool teacher in my former life. I'd made my peace with chaos.

  This was a whole new brand of it. And somewhere along the way, they'd gotten me into wearing leather pants. And bustiers.

  I wasn't quite sure how that happened.

  In any case, we didn't need to be fighting about beer cans. Or dirty undies. I got that riding Georgia's winding back roads could make a person spit dust, but, "No unpacking. We're only stopping for dinner."

  Frieda snorted. "Damn, I hope you get more than that."

  "That's rude," I told her, ignoring Ant Eaters low chuckle. Although, frankly, I'd been hoping the same thing.

  A year ago, on this very night, I'd married the mostly sweet and always sexy Dimitri Kallinikos. We'd said our 'I do's' at a gorgeous estate on the coast. Of course, the Earl of Hell crashed the wedding, but you know, these things happen.

  This year, we found ourselves toning it down a little.

  Okay, a lot.

  As in right now, we were standing a field off Route 9. We hadn't seen anyone for miles.

  It was me, my sexy-as-sin husband and about thirty biker witches, who were busy tossing back beers, making campfires, and setting up dart boards against some pine trees by the creek.

  I turned to Dimitri. "You want to help me with this one?"

  But he'd retreated several steps and spoke urgently on his phone, tracking my present no doubt.

  We were headed out of New Orleans after defeating a necromancer who'd had a hard time letting the dead stay that way. We'd earned a break. And when we saw a neat looking old restaurant, we stopped. Never mind that it didn't open for another hour. Or that chains blocked the driveway. No doubt they did that to keep out trespassers. It was no problem to park the biker witches in the woods next door.

  The restaurant looked like it had been some kind of plantation house before. I loved the white columns out front, the long winding drive, the brick and iron entrance gates, dripping with lush green vines.

  It was perfect for what I had in mind: a date night with my husband. Alone.

  Frieda followed my gaze, which had pretty much moved to Dimitri's ass. "You think he got you some sexy lingerie?" she asked.

  Little did she know I was already wearing a hot red number I'd picked up in Baton Rouge.

  Ant Eater barked out a laugh. "He's got to do something to make up for the dinner." She nudged me. "A hoity-toity place like that is going to serve boring steak and chicken. They won't even have squirrel. Do you know how easy it is to hunt squirrel around here? Your grandma's already caught a half a dozen."

  Lovely. We could always count on Grandma to lead the charge.

  Then again, the biker witches had agreed to give us a night to ourselves for our anniversary. They could eat raccoon livers for all I cared.

  "Just don't get too comfortable," I told them, heading off to join Dimitri. Left to their own devices, there was no telling what the witches would do. "No enchanted animals, no beer can sculptures, and try not to hang your undies in view of the restaurant."

  "What part of campi
ng out don't you get?" Ant Eater hollered after me.

  Dimitri ended his call and shoved the phone into his pocket. He kissed me on the head. "No worries. We're going to have an amazing night. And," he wrapped an arm around me, "I just arranged for your gift to be delivered after dinner." I loved how he always tried to make things special, even out here.

  "I don't know what I did to deserve you," I said.

  I nestled against his warm chest.

  Behind us, a group of biker witches let out whoops and atta-girl cheers.

  I leaned my forehead against my man. "Someone must be tapping the pony keg."

  Dimitri brushed a kiss over the top of my head. "I think they're cat-calling us."

  We weren't even doing anything yet. I felt my lips quirk as I looked up at his handsome face. "You had your chance to run." I was stuck with the biker witches. He signed up for this when he married me.

  "Didn't notice." The side of his mouth cocked in a half-grin. "As soon as I saw you, I had to have you."

  I leaned up and touched my lips against his. It was supposed to be a thank-you, maybe even a little bit of a tease. But then his mouth slid over mine, and I forgot all about that. I pressed against his solid chest as he deepened the kiss. Mine. His hands slipped down my back, cupped my butt as I ground closer to him.

  Oh yes, I couldn't wait to be alone with this man.

  "Time out," my Grandma called, jogging over to us.

  Right. I pulled away. Although Dimitri still managed to keep a hand on my ass. Is that true love or what?

  Grandma had tied back her long gray hair into braids and was grinning like a mad woman. "Before you disappear," she said, slightly out of breath, "we've got some anniversary presents to give you." She held out a hand as a smart aleck witch named Creely caught up to her. The heavily tattooed witch barked out a laugh as she gave Grandma a recycled jelly jar filled with pinkish-blue goo. Grandma waggled it at us like a tease. "This is to ramp up the passion. Get all wild and crazy. Right?"

  "Like we were before you interrupted us," Dimitri said.

  "At least we caught you early," Creely said, tossing a red Kool-Aid dyed lock of hair out of her eyes as she reached into her bag again.

  Grandma shoved the Passion Spell into my hands as Creely handed her a second jar. This one was filled greenish-brownish sludge and reminded me of a swamp I'd go out of my way to avoid. Grandma held it up proudly. "Break this jar if you want to hold off the passion. Like if you just ordered one of them pricey ten dollar hamburgers from that restaurant over there and you want to get your money's worth." She handed it to me.

  I tested the lid, making sure it was sealed tight.

  "Guard that," Creely said, "he's going to try and hide it."

  Grandma let out a guffaw.

  "Speaking of that restaurant," Dimitri said, eyeing the mansion, "I just saw them open the driveway gate. We should think about heading over."

  "Wait," Grandma held up a finger. "One more treat for you tonight." She drew a small baby food jar from the leather pouch at her belt. It twinkled with a thousand tiny sparks, like trapped stars. "I just perfected this," she said holding it up and admiring her work. "It's a new and enhanced sneak spell." She winked. "In case you want to get off somewhere. Alone."

  Ah, like we were about to do before she interrupted us. "This is great," I said, looping all three spells into the demon slayer utility belt at my waist. "Thanks."

  "We appreciate you thinking of us." Dimitri gave Grandma a Greek double kiss on the cheeks, which must have surprised her because she started blushing.

  He looked at the spells on my belt and his smile wavered. He had to be thinking about my limited success with spells in general. Still, these were simple. And they were good for us. I was sure it would all work out.

  "Go have fun," Grandma said, ushering us out of camp. "Pretend we're not even here."

  They'd be hard to miss. A cemetery stood between the house and us but that's not much when you're talking about biker witches. Not to mention the huge bonfire they'd started putting together.

  You know what? It wasn't our problem.

  Dimitri offered me his arm. "Want to go?"

  I brushed a kiss along his jaw. "I do."

  ***

  Since a hike through the cemetery wasn't my idea of a romantic time, we doubled back and walked along the road. The historic home seemed to glow in the soft evening light. I leaned close to Dimitri. Something told me tonight would be different. Fun.

  I was just about to tell him so when I heard an anguished voice behind us.

  "Lizzie!" It was my dog, Pirate.

  Ever since I'd come into my demon slaying powers, Pirate could talk to me. It was one of the side effects.

  Only those in tune with the paranormal could understand him, which included Dimitri and every biker witch on the planet.

  "Hold up," Pirate said, when I had the gall to keep walking. "Stop. Don't leave me!"

  He dashed up next to us like he was on fire.

  My wiry Jack Russell terrier stood about as tall as my shin, but he didn't take that into account when it came to being fierce. He was mostly white, with a dollop of brown that spotted his back and covered his left eye. Hence his name.

  "Pirate," I said, trying to be tactful, "this is our anniversary dinner. We can do it without you."

  He turned in a circle and sat down on the dirt shoulder in front of us. "I don't understand."

  "Go back," I said.

  Dimitri leaned down and gave him a scratch between the ears. "The witches need you to guard their camp."

  Pirate cocked his head as we made a detour around him and started walking again. "I get it," he said, following. "You're trying to keep all the steak for yourself."

  "Restaurants aren't for dogs," I reminded him, as we passed through the gates and began up the winding driveway.

  The weathered brick and stone had to be original. I was willing to bet the thick, gnarled oak trees on either side of the path were as old as the house. Moss clung to the trunks and dotted the lush grass. It felt like we were entering another world.

  Pirate dodged around us and trotted out ahead, nose to the ground. "I think you need me more than the witches do." He sniffed at the packed earth. "This place doesn't smell right."

  "It's gorgeous," I said. The pillars of the house stood tall and imposing. Yes, they'd been painted and re-painted over the years, but they were one-of-a-kind, with exotic flowers and creatures carved into the bases and up the sides. "Look. A gargoyle." I pointed toward a carving at the top. A thick white spider's web clung to its wings and stretched up to the antique brass lamp over the front door. Age had tarnished the lamp's ornate detailing, but it still hung with an air of majesty. I wondered just how many distinguished visitors had passed through this entryway.

  Pirate growled low under his breath. His neck bristled as he stared at a rocking chair on the wide wrap-around front porch.

  Dimitri moved up behind the dog. "What is it?"

  Pirate remained perfectly still, staring. "I don't know."

  I opened my demon slayer senses. Usually, I had an insane attraction to danger—anything that could attack me, skewer me or chop me in half. I focused my attention on the chair and the space that surrounded it.

  My powers reached out like fingers through the mist, searching.

  A shadowy presence lurked near the chair, possibly a lingering memory or a very weak entity. It was difficult to say, really. Ghosts weren't my specialty.

  I expanded my reach and searched inside the house, down long, crumbling corridors covered with fresh wallpaper. I felt a certain note of desperation inside, along with unresolved chaos. Upstairs, I could sense shadows of darkness and pain. But nothing demonic.

  "I think it's okay," I said.

  The bronze marker by the front door said the house had been built in 1830. I ran my fingers over it as it bled green onto the white brick underneath. "Anything this old is bound to have a few odds and ends lurking about."

 
; Dimitri's shoulders relaxed. "Then let's eat."

  He pushed open the large black door and we entered a narrow foyer. Rich burgundy wallpaper with gold vines scrolled past ornate sconces. It reminded me of a garden maze I'd once visited.

  Tonight had to turn out better than that little adventure.

  A round-faced woman with curly red hair scurried out of what appeared to be a dining room to our left. She wore a pretty green dress and if I didn't know better, I'd have thought she was one of the patrons. "Welcome to the Peele House Inn," she said with a fat Southern accent. Her smile faltered when her gaze fastened on my skin-tight bustier, then my leather utility belt, my short-ish skirt. Then she really stared at my shiny, knee-high black leather boots.

  "I picked this pair up in New Orleans," I told her, "as a treat, after…" Well, I probably shouldn't tell her about the trouble I'd had in that tomb.

  She tried to recover and failed. "Are you with," she made a swirly motion with her hand, "those people," she said the last part as if it were a secret, "down the road?"

  Ah. The witches. They always made an impression.

  Our hostess took refuge behind a small wooden stand, which would have been comical except I was pretty sure the woman actually felt intimidated.

  "Don't worry," I said, eager to let her know that we had not, in fact, brought any beer can collectibles or a pony keg to dinner. "We're not that way at all."

  Dimitri wrapped an arm around me and ran a warm hand over my shoulder. "We're here tonight to celebrate," he explained, directing a saucy grin at me. "It's our first anniversary."

  The hostess clasped her hands together. "Aww," she cooed. "Happy anniversary!" With newfound energy, she checked her book. "You're the couple with the reservation," she added, as if we'd done something special.

  Dimitri nodded. "Slayer. Party of two."

  It was how we ordered pizzas and everything. It was much easier than asking anybody to spell Kallinikos.

  "I am so glad you came," our hostess said, with a sincerity you could only find in the South. "My name is Marjorie and I'm going to do everything I can to make your night unforgettable."