Demon Hunting In a Dive Bar

by Lexi George

The next morning, the back door slammed and someone tramped into Brenda and Jason’s kitchen.

  “Becky? Kids?” Jason hollered. “I’m home.”

  “In here, Daddy,” Beck said.

  She rolled off the pallet and crawled out of the makeshift tent she and the girls had made using Brenda’s dining chairs, a bedspread, two quilts, and a butt load of safety pins.

  Her father walked into the den. “Rise and shine, sleepyheads.”

  “What time is it?” Beck got to her feet, sandy eyed from lack of sleep. Conall had built a fire in Jason’s metal fire pit and they’d stayed up late roasting marshmallows and hot dogs, and telling stories.

  “Almost seven.”

  “How’s Brenda doing?”

  “Fretting and complaining, which means she’s on the mend,” Daddy said. “I saw Toby’s truck on the street.”

  “Yeah, he came back for leftovers and ended up spending the night. We built a fire and Toby told the kids the story about the Howling Hag of Catman Road. You remember that one?”

  Daddy chuckled. “Sure do. Toby used to scare you silly with it. What about Evan? Did he stay too?”

  “Evan took off yesterday afternoon. I think he left town.”

  “So soon? We were just getting to know him.”

  No you weren’t, Beck thought with a twinge of sadness. He doesn’t even know himself.

  “I think he had some things to work out.”

  “But, he’s coming back, right?”

  “I don’t know. He didn’t say.”

  “You okay with that, chickpea?” Daddy asked. “You look upset.”

  Of course, she was upset. She and Evan had parted on bad terms. Part of her grieved to think she might never see him again, but Evan had more issues than National Geographic, and she had Annie to think of now. Bottom line, Beck didn’t trust Evan. But it wasn’t something she wanted to talk about with Jason. It was too complicated. Daddy was doing his best to be open minded, but he had his limits. How did you explain to your oh-so-normal father that his long lost son ran around with demons and played with dead things? You didn’t.

  Conall would understand. Okay, maybe he wouldn’t understand. He’d never had a twin, he was overprotective as hell, and he didn’t like Evan worth a damn, but she could talk to him about it and he would listen.

  And he wouldn’t think she was off her rocker or go all bug-eyed at the mention of magic, because he was magic.

  In more ways than one, she thought, shivering with delight at the memory of the hot and heady good-night kiss he’d given her a few hours earlier.

  “Becky?” her father said, frowning in concern.

  “Sorry,” Beck said. “I’m not awake yet and I’m a little stiff from sleeping on the floor. The girls and I decided to let the guys rough it in the backyard.”

  “You call that roughing it? Fanciest tent I ever saw.”

  “What?”

  Beck looked out the French doors and into the backyard. A black and red striped pavilion sat on the yellowing autumn grass. Flags fluttered from the peaked top. It was something straight out of King Arthur, large enough to sleep several armored knights. The bright cloth parted and Conall strode out, looking every inch the hard muscled warrior, albeit a modern one in jeans and a short sleeve tee shirt. His arms and feet were bare in spite of the chill—the outdoor thermometer hanging next to the birdfeeder read 40 degrees.

  Beck caught a glimpse inside the tent before the flaps closed, and it was plush, with a table and chairs, a glowing brazier, several cots, and soft bedding. Oh, yeah, the men folk had really suffered.

  Conall turned his head and looked straight at her, as if sensing her regard. The expression on his lean face was positively wolfish, and just like that, she was hot and bothered.

  Jeez, she really needed to get a grip. She was in a hormonal haze, and her daddy was standing two feet away.

  She took a calming breath and willed her raging libido to cut it out now. She and her inner slut were still having a come to Jesus, when Conall materialized in the den and yanked her into his arms. He smelled of wood smoke and some kind of spicy scent, and he radiated heat like a furnace.

  “I missed you,” he said, nuzzling her neck.

  “I missed you, too.” Putting the palms of her hands flat against his chest, she smiled up at him. “Daddy’s here.”

  Conall turned to face him, keeping one arm draped possessively around her. “Well met, Jason. How fares your lady wife?”

  “Better, thank you,” Daddy said, making a visible effort to control his shock at Conall’s sudden appearance. Beck made a mental note to remind Conall that people didn’t teleport in Hannah. “Came home to pick up a few things and check on the kids. I sure appreciate y’all looking after things for me.”

  “Nonsense,” Conall said. “Rebekah and I have enjoyed ourselves immensely. We built a fire and toasted marshmallows. You are familiar with this confection?”

  “Uh, sure,” Daddy said. “I’m more of a circus peanut man, myself.”

  “Circus peanuts?” Conall looked intrigued. “Do you skewer and roast them, as well?”

  “Nah, you just open the bag and eat ’em.”

  “It is different with marshmallows,” Conall confided. “There is more challenge to the thing. The trick is to caramelize the outer skin whilst retaining the molten sweetness at the center. I sacrificed six to the flames ere I mastered the art of it.”

  “You don’t say?” Daddy said.

  Toby came inside. “Morning, Jase. Did Becky tell you about the fire?”

  “What fire?”

  “That turkey buzzard Earl Skinner burned down the bar.”

  Daddy’s face went slack with shock. “What?”

  “Yep, nothing left,” Toby said. “Total loss.”

  Beck left Toby to explain things and slipped into the bathroom to wash her face and brush her teeth. She scraped her hair into a pony tail and went into the kitchen to start the coffee. When she reentered the den a few minutes later with a tray and cups, Toby was finishing his tale of woe.

  “—and then the little sneak went and got himself killed,” Toby was saying. “I don’t even get the satisfaction of ripping him a new one.”

  Daddy accepted a cup of coffee from Beck. “That’s terrible news about the fire. Y’all going to rebuild?”

  “Yes.” Beck studied the steaming contents of her mug. “But not right away, and maybe not another bar.”

  “Say what?” Toby yelped in surprise.

  “I was thinking maybe we’d open a restaurant,” Beck said. The words tumbled out, surprising her. But as soon as she said them, they felt right. The idea had been there for a while, she realized, percolating in the back of her mind. She was tired of wrassling drunks and cleaning up vomit and soured beer. “If Hank agrees to stay, that is, and I think he will. He seems smitten with Verbena. What do you think, Tobes?”

  He rubbed his jaw, looking thoughtful. “I don’t right know. What if we can’t prove Earl started the fire? If we can’t collect on the insurance, we’re screwed.”

  “That will not be a problem,” Conall said. “I will be your backer.”

  “No, you won’t,” Beck said. “How many times do I have to tell you I don’t want your money?”

  “As often as you like,” Conall said calmly. “Nevertheless, you shall have it.”

  “Sounds like a man who knows his own mind.” Her father set his cup on the tray. “Guess I’d better grab a shower and head back to the hospital. Brenda’s sister’s staying with the kids today. Doc says Brenda can come home tomorrow.”

  Annie and Darlene crawled out of the makeshift tent.

  “I don’t want Aunt Terri.” Darlene’s face puckered. “I want Annie and Beck and Conall to stay with us.”

  “They need to get home, shug,” Daddy said. “Mr. Dalvahni and your big sister have things to do.”

  Big sister; Beck decided she liked the sound of that. All this time, she’d been avoiding her norm family because she was afr
aid they wouldn’t accept her, that she wouldn’t fit in. Maybe it was time she gave them a chance.

  Beck smiled at her little sister. “He’s right. We have to go. But, we’ll see you again, real soon. I promise.”

  “Tomorrow?”

  “We’ll see.”

  Darlene groaned. “That means no.”

  Beck laughed. “Okay, tomorrow. I promise.”

  Conall cleared his throat. “I would like to make an announcement. Rebekah and I are to be wed.”

  “Well, I’ll be doggoned,” Daddy said. “Hear that, Toby? Becky’s getting married.”

  “Huh.” Toby crossed his arms on his chest. “I don’t recollect nobody asking my permission. What about you, Jase?”

  “No, now that you mention it, I don’t.”

  A warm feeling bloomed inside of Beck. “I didn’t know I needed permission.”

  “Course you do,” Toby said. “You may be grown, but you’ll always be my baby girl.” He gave Conall a measuring look. “So, when did you propose?”

  “It wounds my masculine pride to admit it, but I did not do the asking.”

  “Popped the question herself, did she?” Toby grinned. “Can’t say as I’m surprised. Becky’s always had a mind of her own.”

  “Indubitably,” Conall said. “Although I believe the correct term in this realm is ‘bossy.’ I dared not refuse her.”

  “Me?” Beck gasped in outrage. “You’ve got a nerve.”

  Conall pulled her into his arms. “You know I love you madly.”

  “Huh,” Beck said. “Don’t think that’s going to get you off the hook.”

  He smiled down at her. “Termagant.”

  “Termagant, is it?” She thumped him on his chest. “You’re gonna pay for that one too. Big time.”

  “Promise?” Conall said, and kissed her.

  “Ew,” Darlene said. “They’re smooching.”

  “They do it all the time,” Annie said. “Grownups are weird.”

  Chapter Forty

  Five months later

  It was springtime in Alabama and everything was in bloom, including Beck. She rested her hand on the slight swell of her belly, still marveling at the life inside her. Conall had healed her—in so many ways, though he argued the matter differently. He claimed she’d saved him, but she knew better. She’d used the bar as her safe house, walling herself away from her family and the world out of habit and fear of being rejected. Until her shadow warrior had come along and broken through her defenses.

  Smashed them down, more like, she thought with a smile.

  The day after Thanksgiving, Conall had swept her away to the Hall of Warriors. She caught a fleeting glimpse of a cavernous space with columns marching into blackness and a starry canopy above, and then they were in a library filled with scrolls and books. A frozen waterfall on one wall displayed an ever changing slideshow of strange and wonderful images. When Beck tried to take a closer look, the whirling pictures made her dizzy.

  A slim, bespectacled fellow with thinning brown hair and the distracted, studious air of a scholar rose to greet them. To Beck’s surprise, Conall introduced the man in the wrinkled brown robe as Kehvahn, the creator of the Dalvahni. He looked more geek than god.

  “You’re not what I expected,” she’d said, without thinking.

  Kehvahn turned to regard her. His gaze was penetrating, fathomless. Beck squirmed, feeling stripped bare, like Kehvahn saw her, really saw her, all the way through, the good and the bad.

  “Neither are you,” he said at last with a nod. “I had my reservations, but I believe that you will do. Yes, I believe you will do quite well.”

  His form shifted and swirled like smoke, and he disappeared.

  “Where’d he go?” Beck asked, looking around. “I thought we came here to get his permission.”

  “We have it,” Conall said. “He approves of you. How could he not?”

  Taking her by the hand, he led her over to an enormous leather bound tome and handed her a bronze quill. She looked around for an ink well, but didn’t see one. She pressed the nib of the quill tentatively against the page, jerking her hand back as sparks flew from the end of the pen.

  “What the hell?” she said.

  “Try again,” Conall said. “You have the right of it.”

  Beck shrugged and scratched her name on the parchment with the quill. The letters burst into flame and burned away, leaving her signature shining on the page. Conall took the pen from her and signed his name with a flourish. A bell gonged somewhere in the distance, deep and sonorous. The room dissolved around them and the next thing Beck knew, they were home.

  “That’s it?” she had demanded. “I expected a test or a trial by fire. An argument at least. Something besides scribbling our names in a stupid guest book.”

  “It is not a stupid guest book,” Conall said. “It is our most sacred text. The history of our race lies within those pages, along with the signature of every Dalvahni warrior sworn to service. By signing our names in the Great Book, we are bound together as one.”

  “You mean we’re married?”

  Conall’s lips twitched. “That is the human term for it.”

  “I don’t feel married,” Beck said.

  “You do not?”

  She shook her head. “No, I don’t. I want a wedding. It doesn’t have to be anything fancy, but I want a wedding.”

  “Then you shall have it.” Conall took her in his arms and kissed her. “It will be the grandest wedding Hannah has ever seen. You will be reading about yourself in the paper, for once.” Satisfaction and challenge gleamed in his dark eyes. “But make no mistake about it, Rebekah. Wedding or no wedding, you are mine.”

  Beck had protested but, secretly, the thought of her picture in the Hannah Herald alongside the society muckety mucks tickled her to pieces. And she was determined to make everything perfect.

  The wedding plans kept her busy for the next few months. There was so much to do; a date to be decided on, as well as a thousand other details, including the selection of her wedding dress, the bridesmaid dresses, flowers and music—the list went on and on.

  Hank had suggested a caterer out of Mobile. Food was very important. The captain of the Dalvahni was getting married, and in Dalvahni Land, that was a Really Big Deal. The Dal would be there in numbers, and they were all about the chow.

  “But, no chocolate,” Evie had cautioned Beck. “I know it’s traditional for the groom’s cake to be chocolate, but take my advice and choose something else, unless you want a bunch of schnockered super beings at your wedding. The Dalvahni can drink an ocean of beer without getting a buzz, but a handful of M&Ms or a few Raisinettes and the big guys are wasted.”

  In addition to planning the wedding, Beck and Conall had set the paperwork in motion to adopt Annie.

  “Don’t get your hopes up,” the harried social worker at DHR had told them at her office. “It’s a slow process, and the court system is backlogged.”

  Beck wasn’t worried. She and Annie had a very determined demon hunter on their side.

  Toby had been right about Beck’s. There was nothing left but a few charred beams and a half melted Budweiser sign, but the insurance company had coughed up the money. The day of the fire, Bill, the sound guy from Beelzebubba, had stopped by Beck’s to check on some equipment, and he’d seen Earl sneaking out a back window. A phone call that his wife was in labor sent Bill scurrying to the hospital in Paulsberg, but he’d told the police about the break-in. Earl, of course, was never found for questioning.

  Construction was scheduled to begin on the restaurant the week after the wedding. To Beck’s delight, Hank had agreed to be their chef. He suggested they call the new place Fleuve Magie, but Toby had set up a howl.

  “Floove may-gee?” Toby said. “What kind of fancy ass lah-dee-dah name is that?”

  Hank scowled. “It’s French. It means river magic.”

  “Huh,” Toby said. “If you’re so all-fired set on naming the place after the
river, why not call it Devil’s Food, and be done with it?”

  That nearly sent Hank packing, and it had taken both Beck and Verbena to soothe the bear’s ruffled fur. After much discussion, they’d settled on Chez Beck’s, a name elegant enough for Hank and Junior and not too difficult for Toby to pronounce—in theory, at least. He managed to mangle the name on a regular basis, mostly to annoy Hank, Beck suspected.

  Junior had moved back to the Episcopal church for the time being, taking a certain Dalmatian with him, but not without leaving detailed instructions about the kind of piano he wanted for the bar at Chez Beck’s. As for Meredith, she appeared to have shuffled off this mortal coil.

  “I hope she found her door to the Beyond, and took it,” Evie confided to Beck one day with a shudder. “I know it’s mean of me, but she’s so unpleasant.”

  Unpleasant? Meredith was a world class pain. Beck doubted she was gone for good. Meredith was somewhere in an ectoplasmic snit, biding her time. She’d show up when least expected, and spew ugly all over the place.

  But not today, Beck thought, checking her reflection in the oval, full length mirror. Nothing and no one would spoil her wedding day.

  She was waiting inside a specially built gazebo for the ceremony to start. In the distance, she heard the low murmur of the wedding guests. Trees surrounded the little building on three sides, offering Beck and her attendants, Evie, Latrisse, and Verbena, privacy and seclusion. A gentle breeze stirred the bright green leaves outside the pavilion and the sultry perfume of the river mingled with the scent of the climbing roses outside their shelter.

  It was late afternoon, Beck’s favorite time of day, that magical time known as the gloaming, when the veils between the worlds thin and anything seems possible.

  Even true love, Beck thought with a surge of happiness. The stern, unforgiving captain of the Dalvahni had fallen in love with a tough, prickly demonoid be-yotch, and she loved him right back, something fierce.

  The world was a strange and wonderful place.

  Latrisse placed a flower in Beck’s hair, a pale peach rose to match her sherbet tulle ball bridal gown. The bodice of the dress was pleated silk satin organza with a sweetheart neckline, secured at the waist with a floral jewel encrusted band. A chapel train embellished the full skirt. It was an over-the-top romantic, girly-girl gown, and Beck loved it. It more than made up for a childhood and adolescence of missed parties, spend-the-nights, playing dress-up, dances, and proms.