by Angie Fox
“Demon slayers don’t do that,” Dad said.
Yet another thing I planned to change.
Dad raised himself up off the wall and came to stand next to me, stronger and more balanced than he’d been since I saw him in the wall of fire. I checked his skin tone, then mine. Both were pink as a baby’s butt. “You look…good.”
That should have been welcome news, but it wasn’t. This was wrong.
From the moment I’d first seen him, my dad had been hunched over, defeated. Now he stood erect, his shoulders back. There wasn’t any rational explanation I could think of for the return of his glossy black hair or smooth complexion.
A trickle of fear slid down my back. “Why are you better here?”
“Angelic good luck?” he ventured.
Oh lovely, a sense of humor too.
Speaking of angels… “What does being an angel mean? I’ve never met one.” Or if I had, I’d never realized it. Was it his full-time job? Had he followed people around as a guardian? Did anything pass to me?
His humor disappeared. “It’s complicated, Lizzie. Too sensitive to discuss in the open.”
It wasn’t the answer I wanted to hear, but I’d let it go for now.
“We will talk about it,” he said, his expression earnest. “I’ll explain everything. I promise.”
If we made it out of here. “Okay,” I said. “I understand.” I didn’t want to rush it, if for no other reason than this was a chance to truly get to know my dad.
We would have time, because I would get us out of here.
He still looked weak, but he wasn’t as afraid as he should have been.
I stared at him as the realization crept over me. “You’ve been here before.”
He didn’t bother denying it. “Come on,” he said, groaning as he stepped out of the alley. “I’ll take you for a coffee.”
Oh, no, no, no. This was wrong. “I don’t want to have coffee in purgatory.”
“Ice cream?” he offered.
“No,” I snapped.
“It’s vanilla,” he said, trying to tempt me.
“Why?” I asked slowly.
“All ice cream in purgatory is vanilla.”
Naturally.
He held his hand out toward me, and even if my hands weren’t full of makeshift weapons, I still wouldn’t have summoned up the nerve to take it.
“Be a sport, Lizzie,” he coaxed. “I never got to take you out for ice cream. It’ll be a nice father-daughter moment.”
Okay I admit I’d had fantasies about my real dad taking me out for a chocolate dip cone, but not in the dark realm between heaven and hell.
I watched the gray-toned people ambling behind him. “Why are you trying to pretend this is normal? This,” I said, waving my rock at the gray bleak world in front of us, “is not normal.”
He sighed. “Sorry. I just want to be a dad.”
Ouch. He had the guilt part down right.
“My apologies if I don’t want to sit around licking dip cones, but in case you haven’t noticed, we’re in trouble here. We’re trapped in purgatory and my weapons are gone and meanwhile someone up there is killing demon slayers and Zatar wants your soul and all I want to do is get us the frick out of here.” I paused to catch my breath. “Now.”
He winced. “I might be able to get out on my own power with a couple of days’ rest. Not you.”
Of course.
“But, Lizzie, I’ll stay here. I’ll protect you. With each passing minute, I’m more myself.”
“Um-hum. Yeah. It’s a bad sign when you get stronger the closer you get to hell.”
He didn’t deny it.
“It’s not as if you’re getting distance from Zatar. If anything, he’s closer.” It was wrong. It was utterly and frighteningly wrong. I pointed my trash can lid at him for emphasis. “I’m leaving.”
“Not without a portal.”
“Cripes.”
Rachmort would know how to get out of here. Roxie said he’d been taken to purgatory. “Do you know where Rachmort might be?”
Dad nodded. “Zatar has him at his compound.”
“Lovely. So your buddy’s got him.” That demon was really starting to tick me off. “We’ll rescue Rachmort and kill Zatar.” We might as well be efficient.
“He’s not my buddy,” Dad snapped like, well, a dad. “Zatar is building his strength by preying on slayers and lesser angels.”
“Fine,” I groused.
“Fine,” Dad replied. “You should be glad Zatar can’t get a read on me down here. I can actually help.” He turned and started walking down the street, into the gray city. “Let’s go find some real weapons.”
“That’s what I’m talking about,” I said, right behind him. “Where are we going?”
“I know a guy. He’s not far.”
Dad waited for me to catch up, then put his hand on my back as he led me down the narrow walk. It was the same as any other main street except half the people didn’t seem to be going anywhere. They walked, eyes straight ahead.
“These are lost souls, aren’t they?” I asked.
“Yes.”
It was creepy. And sad.
We passed several shuttered businesses, a few open ones.
Fast food seemed to be the most popular. Leave it to Taco Bell to find markets in other dimensions.
“Okay,” I said, giving in to the need to plan, “after we get our weapons, how do we find Rachmort?”
“Keep your voice down.” My dad gave me a guarded look. “He’s in Zatar’s compound. I can take us there.”
“No kidding.” That was good news, but how did my dad know so much?
His mouth quirked, as if he could tell what I was thinking. “There are advantages to being tied to a demon. You learn things.”
Score one for Dad.
We stopped at a crosswalk and Dad pushed the walk button. He realized too late what he’d done. “Sorry,” he said, as we started up again. “Habit.”
“So are these souls doing penance?” I asked.
“Some,” he said. “Others will stay for eternity.”
“Ouch.”
“It’s better than hell.”
Good point.
I waved at the guy behind the Toasty Almonds cart. At least you could get roasted nuts down here.
Dad saw me pause. “Would you like some?”
“No.” Go figure. This place didn’t give me an appetite.
“We can eat by the fountain.” He pointed down the street to what looked to be a park. An expanse of gray grass featured black benches and a dry, gray stone fountain with an immense gargoyle in the middle.
Festive.
I understood Dad’s need to be, well – a dad, but we didn’t have time for bonding in the netherworld. “Let’s keep moving. How much farther?”
“Right down this way.” He led us across one street and then parallel to the next block to a drab storefront with a spray painted sign over the door. Rae Rae’s Re-Usables.
Dad opened the creaky, dirty door. “Down here, we barter for supplies.”
“With what?” Even my World Visa card had its limits.
He touched the lavender hair on my shoulder. “Color is very valuable,” he said, a note of apology in his voice. “Stay behind me.”
We stepped inside a small shop lit by candles and a busted out part of the roof, now covered in makeshift glass and duct tape.
“How’s it going Rae Rae?” Dad asked.
A freakishly tall woman slid out from behind a dingy curtain. She wore a brown and orange flowered dress and looked like a black Vin Diesel. Rae Rae wasn’t fooling anybody. She didn’t seem too worried about it.
“Doing fine, sugar,” she said in a deep velvety voice. “Long time, no swap.”
“You got me some more Luckies?” she asked, gliding into place behind the counter.
Dad hesitated. “Not this time. I have something better.”
I stepped out from behind Dad and Rae Rae gasped. “Aunt E
m, we are not in Kansas anymore. It’s the mother lode!”
She slid from behind the counter and practically purred as she ran her French-manicured fingers through the ends of my hair.
“Doesn’t fade,” Dad said proudly.
She clucked. “Magic?”
“You could say that,” I replied.
My dad stood over the counter. “We need two night crystals, a pair of razor cutters, neutralizers -”
“Cosmic or proton?” she asked, focused on my head.
Dad scratched his chin. “Better go for cosmic.”
“You have any switch stars?” I ventured.
“Hell, no,” she crooned.
It was worth asking.
Dad stared her down. “I also need demon dust,” he said low under his breath.
Rae Rae whistled. “You could break into a demon’s hold with all that.”
Dad tilted his head. “Now why would I want to do that?”
“I have no idea,” she said, hitching up a muscled, hairy leg and slipping a key out of her garter belt, “I don’t want you telling me either.”
She opened up the dingy glass case and pulled out a plain black box. As soon as she opened the lid, light streamed out like a Bahamas beach in July.
“Nice,” Dad said as Rae Rae counted out two crystals and placed them each in a black leather bag.
I peered at the other objects in the case. There were more black boxes, some crystals and, “crayons?” Two stubby red crayons were lined up on black silk next to a broken green one and the tip of a yellow.
“A newbie, huh?” Rae Rae crooned. “Don’t worry, luv. I could tell by the hair.”
“The portal strips color,” Dad said. “If you keep it close enough to your body, you can sometimes get something through.”
“Tell it. You’d be surprised what folks will trade for a fast-food fix,” Rae Rae said.
“Is this a dryer sheet?” It was folded carefully next to two used and curling Snoopy stickers.
“There aren’t any smells down here,” Dad said, “except for the rotten ones. Dryer sheets are like gold.”
“And out of your price range,” Rae Rae added.
“We’ll manage,” I said, watching Dad test the weight of the crystals.
“I have Armstrong cutters. They’d slice through an ox.” She shook out a brown paper bag. “You get two neutralizers. Oh, Marcus?” she called to the back.
The curtain shimmied and a few minutes later, a burly man placed two pistol-type weapons on the counter.
Dad ran a finger along the blade of the cutters. “Do you mind?” he asked, poised over the neutralizers.
Rae Rae shrugged.
Dad lifted the weapon and shot it into his hand.
“Dad!” I felt the energy whom-whom off him and through the room before he smiled and placed the weapon back on the counter.
“It’s good magic,” Rae Rae stated. “You know good magic don’t come cheap.”
Dad nodded. “What’s it going to cost, Rae Rae? We need to keep moving.”
“Fine,” she said, her gaze wandering over me and stopping at my hair. “It will cost you the entire head.”
“What?” I protested.
Dad was busy inspecting the other neutralizer. “Don’t worry. She only means your hair.”
Obviously Dad didn’t have any experience raising daughters.
“No,” I said. It was bad enough my hair was purple. I was not going to shave my head for Rae Rae, the cross-dressing weapons broker.
“This is no time to debate, Lizzie,” Dad said, his tone grave.
Actually, this was the perfect time to negotiate. And I knew who I wasn’t taking to buy my next Harley. “I’ll give you two inches,” I told her.
Dad stormed over to me. “What she’s giving us is worth at least eight,” he hissed in my ear, loudly enough for Rae Rae and her sixteen closest relatives to hear.
He was the worst negotiator ever.
Rae Rae stilled. “Ten,” she countered.
“Four,” I hitched my chin, doing my best to look down at her.
She didn’t take her eyes off me. “Eight.”
“Lizzie,” my dad pleaded.
“Not now.” Heavens to Betsy. No wonder the man was about to lose his soul. He shouldn’t be bargaining with a six-year-old much less a demon.
“Four is my final offer,” I said. “Take it or we’ll go to that other pawn shop Dad told me about.”
Rae Rae frowned. “Who else you doing business with?”
“Nobody,” Dad protested.
I believed him.
Good thing Rae Rae didn’t. Her eyes narrowed. “Are you talking to Lenny? He can’t give you what I’m giving you, sugar.”
“And he stinks,” I added, figuring it wouldn’t be too far off. “Come on,” I said. “Look at this.” I tried to do my best impression of a shampoo commercial model. “Where else are you going to find such glorious hair?”
Rae Rae watched every flutter of my lilac mistake.
“Five,” she said.
“Deal,” I replied.
Twenty minutes later, I had a Dorothy Hamill bob cut and we had our weapons. She’d taken more than five inches, and I’d never had my head fondled quite like that, but since my goal was to come out of this with some sort of a hairdo, I let it slide.
The barrels of neutralizers slapped at my stomach as we hurried out of the shop.
“Keep them under your shirt at all times,” Dad warned.
“I know.” I wasn’t about to lose these.
As it stood, I had two guns in my pants, the crystal pouches in my bra and a pair of cutters tucked in at my hips. I trusted Dad. Mostly. But I still wanted to hold all of the weapons.
He hadn’t protested, which made me trust him a little more.
“Rush, but don’t draw attention,” he said. “We want to get across the city by nightfall.”
“Which is in?”
“Two hours,” he said, almost punching a Walk button before holding back. “Zatar is holding Rachmort at his compound on the north side.”
“Compound? A little pretentious don’t you think?”
“He’s a demon. What do you expect?”
* * *
An hour and a half later, we reached the edge of the city. The air was different here, heavier and laced with fried food, ammonia and sulfur. I peered around a Chick-fil-A on the edge of civilization and saw Zatar’s stronghold, about a hundred yards out in no-man’s land. It was a monster, like Dracula’s castle on crack.
Gray stone walls towered high into the sky. Red banners adorned with golden snakes fluttered from the walls. It was the first time I’d seen any color other than my hair.
I counted at least seventeen turrets and only one way in – a black door flanked by a half dozen imps, slavering in formation. A half dozen more patrolled the skies, their batlike wings outlined against the coming darkness.
“How are we going to get in there?” I asked.
“I know a way,” Dad said, settling in next to me.
My nerves tangled in my stomach. It had better be a very, very sneaky way.
“We want to attack at sundown,” he explained, “when demons are their strongest.”
It was possible my dad wasn’t very good at this.
“We need to surprise them,” he said, looking out at the castle. “And what better way then by letting them feel secure?”
Maybe he did have a point.
He nudged me. “Take a deep breath. Relax. We have a few minutes.”
Oh sure. Let’s whip out a game of Parcheesi. Or those ice cream cones.
“What’s the plan?
“You are definitely my daughter.”
“Why? I don’t see how you have a plan.”
“Oh, I do. Here we go,” he said, excited and proud. “I sift us in -”
“What do you mean sift?”
“I can disappear in one place and re-appear in another. As long as the places are fairly close together.
And in the same dimension. I’m an angel,” he said, as if that explained everything.
“Gotcha.” We let the ‘fallen’ part slide.
“Can demons sense you sifting?” I asked.
“Of course. That’s why we throw out our light crystals and start shooting.”
“Oh great.”
“You have a better plan?” he asked.
“Unfortunately, no.”
“We cut Rachmort out of his bonds, or if he’s not attached to the wall, we take him lock, stock and barrel.”
“And we sift out,” I finished.
“Yes.” He practically clapped.
“Where?”
“I have a place I use when I’m here-” he began.
No good. “Zatar will know about that.”
“A secret place,” he assured me. “Of course Zatar will track us in an instant. The demon dust should slow him down. That’s where we count on Rachmort to give us a portal.”
It made me nervous. “I don’t know, Dad.” A lot had to go right - even if Rachmort was alive and conscious.
“You have a better idea?” he asked.
“No.”
I hated to admit it, but his plan was all we had. It was as simple as we could make it. Plus, if Dad was right about sifting and where to find Rachmort, we might be able to pull it off.
Unless we sifted into a room full of demons.
Focus.
I couldn’t control that. The only thing I could do was trust Dad and fight like Hades. I leaned my head against the dingy gray wall.
Oh for my days as a preschool teacher when the little demons left school at noon.
I couldn’t take my eyes off the castle. Suppose we did make it out of here in one piece… “What’s Zatar going to do to you if he discovers you broke Rachmort out?”
He didn’t answer. He just kept looking out over no-man’s land.
“Dad?” I pushed.
“It won’t be good.”
“Now I know where I got my gift for understatement.”
He turned to me. “You know what? I don’t care. For the first time, I’m meeting Zatar head on. I need to do this, Lizzie.”
“It’s brave. And stupid.”
“Kind of like you trying to be a demon slayer without any training.”
“How did you know about that?”
“You’re starting to get a reputation.” He broke into a smile. “This is…” he began, searching for the words. “I was going to say hell, but it’s not.” He looked at me with such warmth that I melted a bit. “This is not how I would have ever chosen to get to know you, Lizzie. But right now, I can’t think of anybody else I’d rather have with me.”