Demon Hunting with a Dixie Deb

by Lexi George

  Being around Sassy was a special kind of high, the melting sugary goodness of a hot glazed doughnut combined with the breathless excitement of love’s first kiss. Mary Poppins and the Blue Fairy were a couple of loser skank hos compared to the Lollipop. Sassy made him forget the things he’d done. The things that had been done to him. She made him forget what he was: death dealer; petty criminal and con man; former slave and torture victim.

  He’d been raised by a couple of demons. Hagilth and Elgdrek were their names. Real sweethearts. Not.

  The demons had found him in a flophouse, a baby abandoned by his demon-possessed mother. His demon blood had kept him alive through the years of captivity, healing him over and over again to take the abuse dished out by the fiends. Ward and June Cleaver his demon parents were not.

  Evan had given up hope of release. He was Bill Murray in Groundhog Day, reliving the same shitty butthole of a day umpteen times.

  Then the unexpected happened, and Hagilth and Elgdrek got vaporized. Evan was free. No more pain or terror. No more shame and self-loathing.

  Then reality had smacked him upside the ass. He had no skills—unless you counted the kind that get you in trouble with the law—no trade, and no formal education. Hell, he could barely read and write.

  He had family in Hannah: a norm father he hardly knew, a norm stepmother who looked at him like she expected him to break out in VD or serial killer—or both—at any moment. Two prepubescent norm half siblings he had no interest in.

  Oh, yeah, and Beck, his long-lost sister. His twin, the reason he’d come to Hannah. But, instead of welcoming him with open arms, Beck had married a demon hunter.

  And not any old demon hunter; Rebecca Damian didn’t do anything by half. Hell no. She married Conall the Almighty, the holier-than-thou, pain-in-the-ass captain of the frigging Dalvahni.

  So much for the family reunion. He was on his own; nothing new about that.

  He’d drifted around for a while before landing back in Hannah. There was something about this pisspot little town that pulled him in. He’d settled into a crappy trailer in a scuzzy part of town. Maintained a low profile. Kept under the radar of the two d’s: demons and Dalvahni. He’d snuck out of hiding for his sister’s wedding. Watched the ceremony from across the river. Uninvited and unnoticed, a starving kid with his face pressed against a bakery window.

  The witch had caught him, unsuspecting and unawares. She’d pulled a Granny Good Witch on him. Stuffed him with scones and hot tea that had been mickeyed, and threw him in the shed to fatten him up.

  The witch’s talent was growing things. Something she’d put in his chow had changed him, turning him into God knows what.

  Add that to the laundry list of things he had to be cheesed about.

  Evan picked up the pace to outrun the rage. His life had been one long everlasting gobstopper of suckage until Sassy dropped into his lap. Her gift for feel-good was priceless, a gold mine, and she was running around clueless. What a fucking waste. The sheer unfairness of it made him want to spit nails and shit bullets. If he had a gift like that, nothing would stop him. Life for old Evan had been one supersized shit sandwich served up on maggoty bread.

  It was about time the universe tossed him something besides a kidney punch and a kick in the teeth. Sassy Peterson was his golden ticket. Everyone could use a little Sassy picker-upper. He and Sassy would open an office and take in patients, adding satellites as their business grew.

  Nah—that was chickenshit thinking. Television was the way to go; a reality show like that psychic chick from Long Island. The Sassy Sunshine Show had a nice ring to it. They’d be nationwide. There’d be endorsement deals and product lines. The possibilities were endless.

  He did two more laps around the house and stopped to catch his breath. The exercise had helped, but anger and the monster rode him hard, pushing at his skin and cramping his organs until he thought he would burst out of his skin. He threw his head back and breathed deeply to tamp down the rage. The night sky was studded with stars. In the river, a fish splashed. The forest formed a dark curtain around the house, insulating them from the rest of the world.

  It would be easy with someone like Sassy to forget the big ugly that waited beyond the fringe of trees, but it was there, a hungry gator eager to chomp you in the ass.

  He ought to know. He had the bite marks to prove it.

  A malformed shape shambled out of the trees and onto the manicured lawn. The witch’s body was bent and her arms dragged the ground. Her skin sagged, a flesh suit several times too large for her bony frame.

  “Goddamn, you’re ugly, bitch,” Evan said. “Who’d you piss off to rate a kisser like that?”

  “I’m the one you need to worry about pissing off, pretty boy.” The witch’s voice was a sandpaper rasp. “Hand over the girl and we’ll let bygones be bygones.”

  “I don’t think so, not after what you’ve done.”

  “You are such a little whiner. I’ve had it rough. Life is so unfair.” The witch hawked up a loogie the size of a baseball and let it fly. “Grow a set. Your sister has bigger balls than you.”

  Anger burned inside Evan. It had been banked there, smoldering below the surface for years with no release, not with Hagilth and Elgdrek ever ready with a smackdown.

  Dear old Momsie and Popsie were dead. Halle-freaking-lujah. The bindings were broken. The fury Evan had suppressed his entire life bubbled inside him, a hot, rising magma of resentment and hate.

  “What did you feed me?”

  “Put a little formula of mine in your food and water—something that makes things grow.” The witch lifted her crooked shoulders. “You should thank me. You needed fattening up.”

  “You try that shit on a demonoid before?”

  “Come to think of it, no. You were my first.”

  “Epic mistake, ass mug.”

  Evan flipped the cap on his rage and let it spew.

  Chapter Ten

  Angry voices roused Sassy from slumber. Evan . . . he sounded upset about something. A door slammed and he was gone. She should check on him, but she was so tired.

  Grim’s arms tightened around her. She gave in to temptation and snuggled closer to him, burying her nose against his muscular neck. His long hair brushed her cheek, threads of shampoo-scented silk. The guy might be irritating as new shoes on a blister, but he made a darn good pillow. And he smelled three kinds of wonderful.

  I could eat him up with a spoon, she thought, and drifted back to sleep.

  An interesting idiom, though I prefer “never bite off more than you can chew.” I find human phraseology fascinating. “Hesitate before you break off a greater amount than you can masticate” means the same thing, but it lacks flavor, does it not?

  The detached voice in her head startled Sassy and sent her spiraling toward consciousness.

  “What is this female to you, Grim? Your interest in her is evident,” she heard someone say.

  Conall; that voice, cold and treacherous as black ice, belonged to Captain Scary.

  “I am sworn to protect her.”

  Conall chuckled. The unexpected sound startled Sassy. Tall, Dark, and Deadly had a sense of humor?

  “That is how these things usually start,” Conall said.

  “What things?”

  Grim’s words were slurred.

  “No matter,” Conall said. “We will discuss it when you are sober. Be on your guard with Evan. He consorts with demons.” The deep freeze crept back into his voice. “And he tried to hurt Rebekah.”

  “Rebekah?”

  “My wife.”

  “It is true then? You married one of them?”

  “Oh, yes.”

  There was a wealth of pride and satisfaction in the two words, and Sassy felt a twinge of envy. Whoever Rebekah was, she was one lucky gal.

  “What quarrel has Evan with your wife?”

  “He is Rebekah’s twin. He arrived in Hannah in the company of two djegrali. They plotted to enlist the kith in a war for ea
rth.”

  “Kith?”

  “A term used by demonoids to refer to their kind,” Conall said. “The kith vary in talent and strength, depending on how much demon blood courses through their veins. They make powerful enemies . . . or valuable allies. Evan wanted Rebekah at his side in the coming battle. When she refused to cooperate, Evan tried to kill her. That I cannot forgive.”

  Sassy’s insides did a queasy somersault. Evan tried to kill his sister? There must be some mistake. Evan was a little rough around the edges, but he wouldn’t do that.

  Pay them no heed, Sassy Peterson. The dry voice inside Sassy’s head distracted her from Grim and Conall’s conversation. I would converse with you.

  There was a light touch on Sassy’s mind, and she dropped back to sleep.

  Much better, the calm voice said.

  Are you the Provider? Sassy floated in a comfortable drowse.

  Yes.

  Why can I hear you? I’m not Dalvahni.

  I suspect your fae infusion may be at the heart of it. Grim also imparted some measure of his essence to you when he repaired your broken limb. It is for this reason the Directive discourages the Dal from healing mortals, lest they be altered. Tampering with the order of things is seldom wise.

  I’m fay-vahni? Oh, spiffy.

  A witty term for it, though imprecise, as it does not account for your demon blood.

  I’m not a demon.

  No, you are demonoid, which is altogether different. The djegrali—or demons, as you would call them—are amorphous beings. They crave physical sensation. To satisfy their carnal appetites, they prey upon humans and other temporal creatures. Their victims are possessed, their bodies spent. Then the demon moves on to the next.

  How horrible.

  Indeed. A demonoid is the offspring of a demon-possessed human. Your father was a demonoid. I believe your demon blood is the source of your effervescent effect on others. It is your “gift,” as it were.

  Nice never hurt nobody.

  False, Sassy Peterson. I have examined your memories. It takes every ounce of your considerable energy to cheer others, especially your female parental unit. You have devoted your life to lightening her despondency.

  You’ve been poking around in my head? Sassy was indignant. That’s wrong. A person’s thoughts should be their own.

  Why? I frequently read Grim’s thoughts. He does not seem to mind.

  That’s his little red wagon.

  An amusing image, but I sense you are offended. I did not mean to overstep. I find your thought processes fascinating. Vastly different from Grim’s.

  That I can believe.

  Do not judge him too harshly. He has been much alone.

  Maybe if he tried being a little more pleasant, he’d have more friends.

  Grim’s solitude is self-imposed. It has spanned centuries.

  Centuries? That’s impossible.

  How old are you, Sassy Peterson?

  Twenty-five.

  And in your twenty-five years, you have seen enough of the universe to say with authority what is and what is not?

  Sassy thought about her day and the deep-fried vat of weirdity she’d taken a dip in.

  No, I’m starting to think I don’t know anything.

  The beginning of wisdom, the Provider said.

  Why does Grim keep to himself?

  He blames himself for his brother Gryffin’s death. They were twins, you see, created by Kehvahn, the god of the Dalvahni, from the same spark of life essence. The Dalvahni hold one another in esteem, but the bond between Grim and Gryff was special. They were inseparable. Though the Dal mourned Gryff’s passing, Grim took his twin’s death hard. He has remained aloof from his brothers out of guilt. Single-minded in his dedication to avenge Gryff’s death upon the djegrali.

  How many brothers does Grim have?

  The Dal were once some two hundred strong until Kell was beheaded by a demon in the form of a giant. Thorkall fell into the Never-ending Chasm of Yarth, and Gryffin was slain in battle.

  Two hundred? That’s not—

  Sassy caught herself.

  Possible? The Provider chuckled. The Dalvahni are not a family in the human sense. They were created for a single purpose, to hunt the djegrali. Their task has spanned thousands of years.

  Thousands of years? Goodness me, I can’t imagine doing anything that long, not even shopping.

  The Dalvahni take pride in a job well done. They do not know boredom, for their emotional spectrum is limited, the Provider said. Their courage and loyalty know no bounds. Their sense of honor and commitment to duty is unswerving. They take pride in the hunt. They have endless patience when it comes to completing an appointed task. Rage, sexual desire, battle lust... These are emotions they know, but not guilt.

  In an impassive race, Grim’s guilt set him apart. Guilt Sassy understood. Guilt kept her tied to her mother’s apron strings. Guilt was the reason she’d gone to college in Mobile, close to home, rather than in Tuscaloosa, like she’d wanted.

  Guilt was the reason she still managed the pickle factory gift shop.

  Grim’s loneliness is what forged our unique bond, the Provider said.

  The other guys don’t talk to you?

  We do not converse. They access my data and move on.

  Sassy digested this. Grim had been alone for centuries with only a nameless, formless voice inside his head for comfort.

  That’s Harry and the Hendersons sad.

  I do not understand the reference.

  It’s a movie about a Sasquatch.

  The Provider was quiet; Sassy could almost hear the wheels clicking as he cross-referenced the strange term.

  You refer to a large, hairy, humanoid beast that inhabits the deep wild. Correct?

  He didn’t say a large, hairy mythical beast. Holy smokarooneys, Bigfoot was real.

  Um, yes.

  This Harry and the Hendersons is a tragic tale?

  The worst. Harry is taken in by humans. They learn to love one another, in spite of their differences. At the end of the movie, Harry has to leave and go back to the forest and the other Sasquatches. I cried for three days. After that, I wasn’t allowed to watch sad movies anymore.

  Your tender heart does you credit. I am glad Grim found you, Sassy Peterson. You will be good for him.

  Grim and I are not a couple.

  Grim is attracted to you. You are attracted to him as well.

  I most certainly am no—

  Denial is pointless. I have seen your thoughts.

  Oh, gosh, how embarrassing.

  Why? Sexual attraction between two healthy specimens is perfectly natural. If I were corporeal, I should find it vastly interesting. I anticipate with great relish the opportunity to study you and Grim when you engage in sexual congress.

  I’m not having sex with Grim. If I did—which I am SO not, because I’m engaged and—well, I’m not. Besides, he hasn’t offered. Even if we did—you know—you would not be watching. That would be aco-taco.

  Why? I expect the experience to be highly enlightening.

  No, absolutely not. Grim and I are not having sex.

  You are certain?

  Positive. What’s more, if we’re going to be friends, you can’t spy on me anymore.

  I would like to be your friend, Sassy Peterson. Must I refrain from reading your thoughts? I find you intriguing.

  No peeking. Stay out of my head unless invited. Deal?

  Agreed, the Provider said with obvious reluctance.

  Good. I could use a friend around here.

  Hannah is a remarkable place, is it not?

  Oh, yes. I thought fairies and wicked witches were nothing but stories.

  Most stories have some basis in reality.

  I suppose so. Guess I missed the one about the giant glowing deer.

  Giant deer? Was this before or after the fairies?

  So he hadn’t seen all of her memories. Yay. Sassy tried to stay upbeat, but there were a few not-so-sparkly thou
ghts floating around inside her head she’d rather keep to herself.

  Before, Sassy said. He was big as a horse and white, and there were these clever little lights floating around his antlers. Birds and flowers, and fuzzy whirly things . . . and, oh, the most beautiful butterfly. It landed on my palm and melted into my skin.

  I see. Grim is presently intoxicated on something called chocolate.

  Chocolate, really? I thought maybe it was the sugar.

  The Dalvahni are unaffected by drugs or alcohol. Not so with chocolate.

  Grim had glugged down more than a quart of Hershey’s syrup. That explained why he’d broken into song and had the mush mouth.

  Tell me, Sassy Peterson, do you indulge in mind-altering substances?

  Certainly not.

  Then I must surmise from your description you encountered Sildhjort, a minor deity who favors the form of a stag. There have been recent sightings of him in the area.

  I had a close encounter with a god? Mother-of-pearl.

  An odd combination of words. What does it mean?

  Nothing in particular. It’s something I say when I’m startled.

  An exclamation of surprise? I study expressions. Here are a few of my favorites from your language.

  The Provider launched into a rapid-fire recitation of expletives that would make a crew of sailors blush.

  Goodness, Sassy said, taken aback. That’s quite a collection.

  That is nothing. The Yarthians pride themselves on the art of insult. The Provider’s dry voice warmed. Do you know there are over a thousand expressions for dung eater alone in Yarthac?

  Um, no. I don’t speak Yarthac.

  Of course you don’t. Remiss of me. Allow me to elucidate you. A particularly clever one is—

  Provider, do you have another name? Sassy asked to stem the flow. I was wondering, you know, now that we’re friends.

  Provider is the name Grim gave me. It does not please you?

  It’s not a name. It’s a job description. Wouldn’t you rather be called something more personal? Harold or Ralph, or Cecil, perhaps?