by Angie Fox
“Okay, okay,” she winced, “don’t get all Red Skull on me.” Frieda brightened. “Hey, you’re acting like one of us and now you look like one of us -”
“Frieda!” We didn’t have time.
She sighed, as if I was the difficult one. “Okay, darling, here’s the poop: you’re going to be gray from here on out unless we can get your head under the sink and brew up a counter spell in the next two minutes. Does the water run in this place?”
Soon after, I had my head under a rusty faucet in the ladies room while Frieda rubbed oily gunk into my hair. I’d stripped off my coat and stood freezing in a purple leather bustier, which was my demon slayer trademark of sorts. Although right now I doubted I’d impress too many bad guys with my shivers.
“There’s something glowing in the corner,” I said, straining to see.
“Head straight,” Frieda said, adjusting my neck. “It’s only a Lose Your Keys spell and we’re already staying put.” Her fingers dug into my scalp as she rubbed. “You just be glad your dog was able to get us some dragon feathers, or you’d be a silver-haired beauty for the next seventy years.”
“I didn’t even know dragons had feathers,” I mumbled to the rusted sink.
“That’s ‘cause you never petted one behind the ears!” I nearly jumped sideways when my dog ran a cold nose under my pant leg and above my sock. “I have a whole collection. Gray ones and blue ones and white ones…I even have a pink one, but it’s kind of smushed.”
“Pirate!” My Jack Russell Terrier had started talking to me the day I came into my demon slayer powers. Real words. Call it a side effect. Pirate liked to say he’d always talked and it was me who never listened.
He gave a wet doggie snort against my shin. “Why are you getting a bath in the sink? Did you roll in something good? Was it stinky? ‘Cause I found a dead chipmunk outside and I don’t mind sharing.”
“Go get a hair net,” Frieda told my dog. “And ask Bob to pour a shot of Jack.”
E-yak. The black muck and dragon feathers were bad enough. “You’re going to pour whiskey on my head?”
“Nah. I’m just thirsty.”
Ten minutes later, I stood with what looked to be motor oil glooped through my hair, with half my split ends stuffed through a two-sizes-too-small hair net. Then Frieda handed me a cowbell.
Oh yes, I was hot date material. I glanced at the door. He should be back soon.
“Is the bell really necessary?” I sighed at the parade of biker witches clomping past me. Most of them were holing up at the bar – Frieda included. The others were gathering the last of the renegade spells and other flying surprises, a little too late in my opinion.
Frieda tossed back a swig of beer and grinned. “That may look like an ordinary old cowbell. But I enchanted it like a genuine egg timer. The dragon feather cocktail must stay on your head for exactly thirteen minutes thirty-seven seconds or I’m not responsible for what happens next.”
She paused expectantly. “Okay. You got me, Lizzie. Want to know what happens next?”
“Not exactly.”
Besides, I’d already set my Swiss wrist watch. It had been a gift from my anal, adoptive parents to my equally anal self. It was silver, tinted pink, which is how I used to like things. My watch told precise time, was waterproof up to 12,800 feet and I didn’t go anywhere without it.
“At 5:20 or thereabouts,” Frieda began.
“5:20 and twelve seconds,” I corrected.
She waved me off. “You will dunk your head in the sink and I will douse it with water. Capiche?”
At least she couldn’t drink much more in the next six minutes.
“Okay. Well try not to get it on the leather.” I looked down to my mussed black leather pants. I had some clean ones in my saddlebag, but I’d rather save them for tomorrow. Besides, I’d be changing soon into this slinky red sweater dress I’d found at the Ann Taylor Loft Outlet while the biker witches rode the SeaStreak Ferry, looking for mermaid scales. Evidently, we’d arrived during molting season. Lucky us.
Some days, I couldn’t believe the things I had to put up with. But then there were the times that made everything worth it. Take tonight, for instance.
Any moment now, my sexy-as-sin boyfriend would be walking in the door. Dimitri and I had been to hell and back – twice – but we’d never been on a real date. Tonight would be the first time.
If we made it that far.
Last time we thought we could relax, we were attacked by an army of imps. Then we spent four months in Greece. You’d think we could have squeezed in a date somewhere. But we spent most of our time re-building Dimitri’s estate. Then every time we tried to leave, one of the biker witches blew something up. Or my dog got loose with his dragon. Or Zebediah Rachmort, my mentor, decided he needed me right then because conditions were perfect for me to levitate or slow down time or visualize.
That last one really got me. It didn’t make any sense to sit around and ponder my abilities. And before you say anything, pondering is different than planning. When I outline a strategy, I have a clear goal in mind. I’m not just sitting around wondering about things.
Now that Rachmort had gone back to Boca Raton and we’d landed here, I could move from visualizing my hot-as-sin griffin without his jeans – or anything else - and start realizing it.
In fact, Dimitri and I promised ourselves once we got back to the States, we would ditch the witches and the dog for at least one night a week. We’d talk, we’d cuddle – we’d date.
Although frankly, right now I’d be relieved to see Dimitri whole and unharmed.
He had a habit of picking dangerous assignments and then trying to do them by himself. Yes, he was a big, bad griffin and did just fine on his own. Still, I didn’t want to think of him getting into trouble out there.
I rubbed at the tension in my shoulders, my wrist brushing the cold sludge in my hair. Focus on what you can control. I simply needed to wait for the bell to jingle, rinse out the spell and get back to normal.
If only things were that easy.
Three loud knocks sounded at the door.
It wasn’t Dimitri. He wouldn’t have knocked for one thing. And I’d have sensed him for another.
I looked to the witches at the bar. They hadn’t noticed, which was strange. I focused my demon-slayer powers and detected the unmistakable scent of death on the other side of the door, like rotten cherries and burned hair.
My throat went dry.
Relax. I was the Exalted Demon Slayer of Dalea. I could deal with this. Even if I’d only inherited the job less than a year ago.
I flung open the door and was hit in the face by the same smoky, burning sensation from before, only this time it was a hundred times stronger. A black crow stood on the porch. The thing was massive – the size of a house cat with a shiny black body. It spread its wings wide and screeched.
“Holy Hades,” I gasped, my fingers dropping to the razor-sharp switch star I always kept on my utility belt. That’s when I realized the bird was dead. Its eyes were milky and vacant rather than black and beady. As it turned from the porch, I saw it had been run over. The back of its skull caved in and its spine twisted at an impossible angle.
My heart sped up.
“A zombie crow,” I whispered, unable to take my eyes off the thing.
It turned back to me. “Reeeaaawrk!”
The dead bird’s cry sent new shivers up my spine. “What do you want?”
It uttered another unearthly shriek.
Before I could decide what that meant, a tower of flames shot up from the woods beyond the bar. “What the—?” It blasted us with a wave of hot wind and flecks of dirt. The crow stumbled against my leg, and I took a quick step back. I rubbed the grit from my mouth and eyes as the fire crackled orange against the bare trees of the forest.
Caw! Caw! The bird beat its wings and urged me to follow.
Sure. A zombie bird wanted me to ditch Big Nosed Kate’s Biker Bar and head out into the woods toward
a tower of flame, which – I was starting to notice – did not seem to be burning any of the trees.
The door remained closed behind me. It seemed no one in the bar had noticed.
Okay, well, I had five minutes.
Chapter Two
I set my watch alarm to give me a two-minute warning and strode off across the parking lot after the zombie bird.
This wasn’t a high point in the history of ‘great moves.’ For one thing, I’d left my coat slung over Ant Eater’s barstool. There’d been no way to get it without drawing attention. For another, my hair was sopping wet and slathered in a now-icy spell around my head. I usually – no, strike that - I always planned better than this.
At least I was armed.
I had five switch stars and a demon slayer utility belt made by my Great Great Great Aunt Evie. The leather had cracked in places and I’d had to repair some of the side pockets and flaps. But this belt fit as if it were made for me. I liked having something passed down from a great slayer. Besides, who was I kidding? The last time I’d made anything from leather was when I made a wallet at Girl Scout Camp. We won’t even talk about how that turned out.
I’d loaded the side pockets with crystals my mentor had given me – most of them designed to help me sit and ponder. Then I’d added a vial of mace, a cell phone and a GPS system.
Too bad I’d left off a flashlight holder.
My emerald necklace warmed against my skin. It was loaded with defensive magic from Dimitri and tended to morph into an interesting shield right before the bad guys flung something at my head.
For now, though, the teardrop emerald merely slapped against my chest as I jogged to the edge of the parking lot. It was as if it had no defense for what was out here.
Lovely.
At least I had my demon slayer instinct for running straight toward danger. Most people avoided large bears, poisonous snakes and angry trolls. I was drawn to trouble like a preacher to Sunday supper. I’d learned to control it in the last few months. I no longer made a beeline toward pushy mall salespeople. Instead, I headed straight for supernatural fire storms.
Dead leaves and sticks snagged at my boots as I made my way through the woods. Every few feet or so, I had to duck around spindly branches and brush. The crow fluttered from one skeletal tree to the next, stopping once in a while to caw at me as if I were cramping its style.
I shot it a dirty look as I stumbled over a root in true horror-movie style. I was going as fast as I could with only the light cast by the wall of flame ahead. Heaven knew I had no reason to take it slow. It’s not like I had much time. I glanced at my watch. Four more minutes. I’d make it out in three.
The glop on my head began to itch. I was never late for anything. And truly, if I was going to be on time for doggie day camp and my manicurist, not to mention my last root canal, I was sure going to be there for Frieda to finish her fix-it spell on my hair. I checked my watch. Three minutes.
As we approached a break in the trees, the bird dropped to the ground. It landed in a ruffle of feathers before tottering the last several yards into a small clearing. I stayed a safe distance behind.
A wall of orange fire fanned out from a bluish-purple center. It towered high into the night, snapping and spitting. I raised my hand in front of my face, expecting more heat, but the air around me remained cool. A tingle ran up my palm and my throat burned from smoke, even though I couldn’t see any. I squinted into the blaze of the fire, amazed that the flames didn’t touch the trees or even char the ground.
The zombie crow shrieked as it broke the barrier of the flames and lumbered toward its master. It nuzzled up against the leg of a dark-haired man at the center of the inferno. He wore jeans and a white button down shirt. And although his strong features put him at about fifty years old, you wouldn’t know it by the way he held himself. He opened his hands to me, demonstrating that he was unarmed. Like that was going to make me trust him.
I stopped at the edge of the clearing next to a fallen log and resisted the urge to wrap my arms around my chest for warmth. I needed to be able to unhitch a switch star. Fast.
“Who are you?” I demanded. Faint traces of sulfur hung in the air. If he wasn’t demonic, he was close to it.
“My name is Xavier,” he said, as if I should recognize him.
“Xavier the demon lord?” I usually killed the spawn of Satan before I learned their names.
“What?” he asked, genuinely puzzled. “No.” He straightened. “I’m not a demon.”
Yeah, well he didn’t look too far off. “Fine. Whatever. ‘Shady character of the underworld.’ Either way…” I didn’t have the time to argue vague semantics.
I sighed. Since time was ticking and I didn’t really have enough of a reason to kill him, I began backing up, feeling my way through the woods. I could very well trip and end up on my rear, but I was not about to turn my back on this guy.
His eyes widened. “Wait!”
“No.”
“You have to understand, Lizzie,” he said as if he were my teacher or something, “I can’t hold this portal open much longer.”
He knew my name. Peachy.
“Too bad,” I said, continuing my backward walk. “Normally I’d love to stand outside on a cold night and chit-chat with a guy inside a fire wall who may or may not have semi-demonic tendencies,” My watch alarm beeped. “But I’m busy right now.”
If he wasn’t going to kill me, then he could move to the back of the line.
At the moment, all I wanted was a normal head of hair, followed by a night on the town without biker witches, zombie crows or entities who got their kicks standing around in towers of flame, gobbling up my time.
He grinned. “You are absolutely gorgeous.”
That stopped me. “Are you hitting on me?” That was new. I reached for a switch star. Maybe I’d give him a warning shot.
He laughed. “It’s…” He swallowed hard, grinning. “I know I’m screwing this up, but it was such a shock to actually see you. Lizzie, I’m your father.”
That stopped me cold.
“Xavier,” he said, as if that explained anything. “Your mom never told you about me?”
“No,” I drew the word out, shocked to the core. To be fair, my birth mom and I hadn’t been able to discuss much.
“Nothing?”
Like where he’d been for the last thirty years?
He stood looking at me as if he couldn’t quite believe it.
“No.” The one time I’d met mom, she tried to kidnap me. There hadn’t been much of a discussion.
He ran a hand through his hair, almost giddy. “I knew she was going to have you. But I just found out about this,” he said, indicating my switch stars.
At least one of us found this amusing. I planted my hands on my hips. “It was a surprise for me too.” I hadn’t known anything about demon slayers until I became one this past summer. Chalk that up to another discussion I needed to have with my mom. She’d shoved her powers off on me and split.
“I thought you were living a normal, happy life,” he said, almost to himself. “Phoenix never said…” The words seemed to be coming faster than he could manage. “You have to understand. Your mother is…different.”
No kidding.
Hope flared in his eyes. “But you’re not.”
I didn’t know what to say to that. If he didn’t consider a demon slaying preschool teacher to be different, I wasn’t about to argue.
He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. “I saw your mom this morning. For the first time since we broke up. And she told me what she did to you.”
“Okay.”
He was saying these things as if it was all so wonderful, but my brain felt like cotton. I tried to wrap my head around it. My parents had kept track of each other. They still talked, at least they had this morning. My dad was magical.
But I could still smell the sulfur.
What did he want?
My wrist watch dinged. I to
uched a button on the side. 5:20. “Time’s up.”
My dad didn’t notice. “Your mother and I were never meant to be. But you? I would have given anything to have you in my life.”
The tingling on my head eased into a slow burn.
It was too much.
“How do I even know this is true?” I asked. I had to get out of here.
”How do I know you aren’t some demon in disguise, telling me what I want to hear?”
He dipped his head. “Your mom said to tell you it’s okay about the portal. Although she misses her white heels.”
Shock zinged through me. Mom had been wearing white heels the day she’d tried to drag me through a portal and away from my destiny.
He was telling the truth. He was my dad. My body felt like lead. “Where were you?”
“I was,” he searched for a word, “busy.”
Oh help me, Rhonda.
“She thought she was hiding you. For your own good,” he added. “But she was wrong. I know you need a dad.”
I couldn’t say anything around the lump in my throat.
My dad wanted me.
He found me.
His eyes were glossy with unshed tears. “And now I need a slayer.”
Hold up.
“I went to your mother. She was supposed to be the Demon Slayer of Dalea. Then she told me she’d passed it on to you.”
Very convenient. “How did you find me?” Was the disturbance I felt from him? Or from something else entirely?
“Lizzie, I got mixed up in something bad.”
“Demonic?”
He cringed. “In a manner of speaking.” The zombie bird circled his legs like a cat. “But it’s not what you think. No deals with the devil or anything like that,” he said sheepishly.
“Just come out with it.”
He barked out a laugh. “Over an insecure transmission?” He saw my face and lost the attitude. “I need you to come see me in Pasadena. Will you help me? We can fight this thing together.”