The Dangerous Book for Demon Slayers ds-2

by Angie Fox

  “Jesus, Mary, Joseph and the mule,” I said, staring at the coffee table in front of me.

  A mess of picture frames crowded the long wood table. Which wouldn’t have been strange, except for a certain person in almost every picture—me.

  I was so shocked I almost slid right down onto the glass-covered couch. There was no way Phil could have been there to take pictures of my college graduation, my stint as a molar in Tommy and the Toothbrush, the time I’d trashed my dollhouse in the name of science.

  Impossible.

  Illogical.

  The glass crunched under my bronze butt plate as I leaned over as far as I could. There I was at the sixth-grade science fair, powering up my dollhouse with a potato, and was that my old retainer, on his bookshelf, encased in glass? Of all the things I could have expected, this wasn’t it.

  I braced my hands on the pillow and concentrated on taking long, even breaths. There had to be a logical explanation for this.

  Yeah, right.

  I’d never even seen Uncle Phil, technically my great-uncle. He was part of the package that came with meeting my real family. And that had only started happening a few weeks ago.

  Legs shaking, I scrambled off the couch to inspect a picture of Pirate right after I’d picked him up at the Paws for Love pet adoption event. Phil had been there.

  Grandma hadn’t known how to find me until I’d grown into my powers. You’d think Phil would have helped out, or heck, introduced himself. In an eerie way, I didn’t know whether to be wigged out at the idea of him following me all of these years or to be glad someone, anyone—besides my parents’ housekeeper—had actually made it to some of the most important events in my life. My adoptive parents, it seemed, always had a party or a charity function or a tennis match. Unless it was a “see and be seen” kind of event. Then they’d spend the whole time talking to other people.

  From the look of it, Phil had been there for everything. And he’d certainly brought plenty of film. But why hadn’t he said anything?

  More albums crowded two tall bookcases that flanked the entrance to the kitchen. I walked over to take a closer look and—holy moly. He had copies of my diaries. Every journal I’d kept since I’d learned how to write. I pulled one off the shelf.

  Pages and pages of badly drawn horses—mine—from the days when I’d wanted to be a jockey. That was before I grew hips. And a butt.

  I slammed the book closed.

  “Aw, hell.” Grandma poked her head through the window behind me, her long gray hair tangling around her shoulders. “I was wondering what took you so long to open the door.”

  I turned to her, diary in hand. “You’re not going to believe this.”

  “Try me.”

  I unlocked Phil’s door and flung it open. “Uncle Phil is an insane, lunatic stalker.”

  Grandma didn’t look convinced. “Nah. He’s just your fairy godfather.”

  “Fairy what?” I asked, scarcely believing what I’d heard.

  “Not that kind of fairy.”

  “Excuse me?” This didn’t make any sense.

  “You need me to draw you a picture? Uncle Phil is your fairy godfather. You know, a guardian type, a do-gooder, bibbity bobbity boo and shit.”

  I opened my mouth, then closed it. I didn’t know what to think.

  A flicker of warmth caught hold of me. I thought I’d been all alone. For years, it was simply me. Then it was me and Pirate. I didn’t know anyone else had truly cared.

  “I have a fairy godfather,” I said, letting it sink in. I was sooo not Cinderella.

  A black and silver Mind Wiper buzzed past Grandma’s ear and dive-bombed me. I dodged and flicked it back into the front yard. “Out!” I told the wiper. Those things better leave my dog alone. Pirate chased spells like they were fireflies.

  Dread tickled the back of my neck. “Where is Pirate?”

  She snorted. “Playing rescue dog.”

  I stared at her incredulously. “You mind-wiped my dog?”

  Grandma looked offended. “Of course not,” she said. “He ate Peter.”

  Dang it. Reason #512 why live spells are a bad idea. I scanned Phil’s barren front yard for any sign of my dog. When I didn’t find any, I squeezed past Grandma and dashed for the back of the house.

  “Oh, come on, Lizzie. Pirate’s having a ball.” Grandma jogged behind me. “My Mind Wipers make you forget everything but who you’d most like to be.”

  Sure enough, right past the rusty barbeque pit, Pirate had already dug a hole the size of his head. Dirt flew up behind him as he burrowed into Phil’s backyard. “Don’t worry, Timmy! I’ll save you!”

  I knew I shouldn’t have let him watch Lassie on TV Land.

  “We’re running short on time,” I told Grandma.

  “I might have hit the old man with a Mind Wiper,” she said, kicking the door closed behind her. “It’s hard to tell.”

  I fought the urge to roll my eyes. “Well if you didn’t,” and if this block had any sort of a neighborhood watch, “the police could be here any time.” My stomach dropped at the idea of being handcuffed in the back of a police car, having a mug shot taken, having a record. It would be the end of my dignity, not to mention my teaching career.

  Bits of glass crunched under my feet as I stalked through my uncle’s cluttered living room. “We have to find something in here that tells us how to find Phil. You take this room.” I’d already seen enough. “I’ll go back to the kitchen. Then if we don’t find anything out front, we can check the bedroom in the back.”

  I headed straight for Phil’s refrigerator and began scanning past the year’s worth of pizza coupons, newspaper clippings and, egad, pictures of me plastered all over the door.

  “Come on, Phil,” I muttered, fingering the mess on the refrigerator and sending a couple of slot-machine magnets clattering to the floor. All we needed was a phone number, a calendar, anything to tell us where he might be.

  “You never told me you wrote poetry!” Grandma hollered from the next room. I could hear her clomping around on the hardwood floor, from display to display. Phil had more mementos than my own adoptive parents. Although to be fair, my adoptive mom, Hillary, did have mounted displays of my report cards, until she’d opted to use the antique wood frames for her equestrian certificates.

  “Focus,” I said, rifling through a stack of lunch receipts and pay stubs from the Hoover Dam. “I can’t believe you knew about this.”

  She’d dragged me halfway across the country without all the facts. If she wanted to have me as a partner, she’d better well start treating me like one.

  I stared at the decade’s worth of dance recital photos crowding the side of Phil’s fridge. My adoptive parents hadn’t even made all of those performances. He’d been there for me, even if I hadn’t realized it at the time. I just wish I knew how to save him.

  My stomach dipped when I saw the jar on top of the refrigerator. Were those my baby teeth?

  Couldn’t my parents even handle being the tooth fairy?

  On the other hand, it explained why my friends had gotten silver dollars and I’d gotten inspirational notes and fairy beans. No wonder my adoptive mom hadn’t been pleased when I planted my fairy beans behind her Carolina jasmine arbor. But most of my wishes had come true, except the one about Luke Duke coming to my birthday party. And even as a six-year-old, I knew that was a stretch.

  I blew out a breath in frustration. Nothing in this kitchen gave me the barest hint to where Phil had gone. Until I saw the St. Simmions Church calendar tacked up next to the yellow wall phone, and what was scrawled across today’s date. “Grandma, he took today and tomorrow off work at the dam.” A knot formed in my throat. “For a wedding.”

  Something shattered in the next room.

  No kidding.

  “Where?” Grandma demanded.

  I raked a hand through my hair. “I don’t know.” This didn’t make any sense.

  Grandma burst into the room and began riffling through the
calendar herself.

  “Do succubi even get married?” I asked.

  “No,” she said, staring at the entry I’d found. “Never.” She looked at me, eyes wild. “Let’s see what else we can find.”

  Grandma hurried back to the front room and I kept at it in the kitchen until there was nowhere else to look. I’d gone through the last of Phil’s junk drawers when Grandma appeared in the doorway. “Bad news, Lizzie,” she said, holding up a massive Las Vegas Wedding Guide. Post-it notes sprouted from the book.

  She tossed the guide onto the kitchen counter with a thunk. “Forty-three chapels, every one marked as a possibility. We’re screwed.”

  So he was getting married.

  Why?

  I reached for the book. We couldn’t possibly check out that many places. Unless—”What are you doing?” She’d begun chanting quietly to herself.

  Balancing the book on my knee, I began flipping through the entries. Phil had indeed marked everything from the Little White Wedding Chapel to Cupid’s 24-Hour Drive-Thru Weddings. I stared at the pages until I found myself looking right past them. This was bad. In fact, I had a feeling that I couldn’t begin to comprehend the awful event that could be taking place at this very moment.

  If I knew what I was doing, if I were a better demon slayer, I’d be able to handle this. As it stood, I didn’t have a clue.

  I heaved the book onto the counter and to reassure myself that something good was happening in the world, pushed aside Phil’s kitchen curtains. The kitchen overlooked the backyard and sure enough, I saw lots of flying dirt and a tail. Give him long enough, and Pirate would dig a hole to China.

  Grandma clomped up behind me. “I tried to summon Phil’s spectral trail.”

  “What?” I had no idea what that was.

  “It’d take a day to explain.”

  Fine. “Did it work?”

  “Not that I can tell.”

  We headed for Uncle Phil’s simple white-walled bachelor bedroom, praying for a break, a hint, a clue as to where he might be. A mattress hunkered in the corner under a mess of green-striped sheets. More picture frames crowded a single dresser. But there was no trace of my uncle.

  No clues.

  No more rooms.

  No way to find him.

  I stared at the dust bunnies on the floor.

  “Try to look at the positive,” Grandma said.

  “What’s that?”

  “I don’t know. You’re the one who’s good at all the pansy-ass shit.”

  I plopped down onto Phil’s bed, elbows on my knees. At least we hadn’t been arrested for breaking and entering. Yet.

  Grandma started rooting through the mess of pictures on Phil’s dresser. “We’ll go back to the hotel and channel him.”

  Oh sure. Why not?

  I looked at her sideways. “Channeling scares me.”

  “Why? Because last time I ended up in hell?”

  “Bingo.”

  The mattress sagged as Grandma sat next to me. “It’ll be okay. You’ll see. Besides, Phil is worth the risk. He’s a hell of a guy.”

  “So if Uncle Phil’s always supposed to be here for me, where is he now?” I was getting pretty miserable pretty fast. Speaking of tough times, “Where was he when we ran into Vald, the fifth-level demon, last week?”

  “Oh he’s been living it up. When you turned thirty, his job was done.”

  My heart sank. I’d lost him before I even knew I’d had him. It wasn’t fair.

  “What’d you want?” Grandma asked. “Demon slayer powers and a fairy godfather too?”

  I didn’t want anything, except to help out the guy who’d obviously put a lot of time into looking out for me. “Uncle Phil and me, we have to have some kind of a connection, right?”

  “Nope.” Grandma shook her head. “He’s free as a bird.”

  “And now he’s in mortal danger.” I scooted off the bed. “Okay,” I said, pacing the small room. There had to be a way. “He has to have some ties to me, right?” Or else why all the pictures? The diaries? The shrine to my retainer? If I were him, I would have boxed that nasty thing up the minute the clock struck midnight.

  Maybe I could use that. He hadn’t been able to let go completely. I had to reach the part of him that still held on, before it was too late. I closed my eyes and wished with all of my might that my fairy godfather would appear. I clenched my fists until sweat pooled in my palms, I focused on my fairy godfather, on my family, on my need to see him right now. It had to work.

  My bangs fluttered as the air around me hissed.

  Grandma chanted off to my left, “Vis fero tuli latum, vis fero tuli latum,” deep and hard. Whatever she was conjuring, she’d better belt it out with everything she had. We were in a battle for Phil’s life and I refused to let him down.

  Come on, Phil.

  I focused, pushed, reached out to the guardian I’d never even met. Hope bubbled through me as I clung to the thought of the one family member who could be there, who was there for me.

  Let me see you, Uncle Phil. Come back. Just this once.

  Ffffzz-bit!

  I jumped two feet as Phil the fairy landed in front of me in a puff of silver sparkles. At least, I hoped it was Phil. Through the haze of glitter, he reminded me of Andy Rooney, from his bushy eyebrows to his red nose to the way his pointy ears looked like they’d been crammed on as an afterthought. He caught his balance and straightened his sugar-white tux over his round stomach. In his other hand, he held two rings, looped around his pointer finger, as well as a cup from Taco Bell.

  “What the… ?” He stared at the cup before setting it on a mud-brown dresser. “Must have grabbed on to it when I felt myself going,” he muttered to himself. “Never felt anything like it. Helluva tickle.”

  “Uncle Phil?” I struggled to see him through the glistening embers surrounding him. “Oh my God.” Recognition slammed into me. “You were the one who pulled me out of Lake Newman when I was eight.” Goose bumps skittered up my arms. It was him. I’d been reliving that moment in my nightmares for the last twenty years. I’d almost drowned.

  “Lizzie!” His face lit up when he saw me. He batted his way through a cloud of fairy dust and pulled me into a soft, smothering hug that smelled like cinnamon buns. “At last! How’s my girl?” He chuckled, his laugh almost musical, as he took me in like a proud great uncle. “You’re even prettier than I remember.”

  Grandma sniffed. “What? From last month? I hate to interrupt the lovefest, but we have to get out of here,” she said, sneaking a glance out the front window.

  “Actually”—Phil captured me in a one-armed hug—”we’d better fetch my fiancee. Serena’s going to be sopping mad.”

  Just what we needed—an enraged she-demon.

  “Get on over here.” Phil dragged Grandma over for a hug, sprinkling her in fairy dust. “You’re both invited to the wedding.”

  Grandma wiped the glitter from the tip of her nose. For a second, I thought she was going to punch her half brother in the gut. “Over my dead body.”

  A puzzled expression crossed his features.

  “Come with us,” I said. He’d been mind warped by a she-demon, a succubus. From what I’d seen in the 1936 guide, his brain would be like a scratched-up CD, mostly intact but skipping over key parts. It should be fixable—if we could get him out of here.

  “We’ll explain everything,” I said, dragging him away from Grandma. He was going to be okay. I hoped. “Can your fiancee track you?”

  “Well, she has my cell phone number,” Phil said, confused.

  “Where is she?” Grandma asked.

  Phil drew his brows together. “Right where I left her. At the Love Eternal drive-through wedding chapel.” Phil’s eyes widened. “Holy smokes! I left her at the altar!”

  Grandma scowled. “She’ll get over it.”

  “I hope so.” He clasped the wedding rings tight. “She has an awful temper.”

  “About that,” I said, trying to broach the sub
ject of she-devils.

  “No time,” Grandma said, shoving him out the door. I hauled Phil out back to find my rescue dog while Grandma searched for her wandering Mind Wipers. Before we could get too far, I felt the sudden, intense, insane urge to run back into the house and see exactly what was shimmering along the baseboards. I could almost taste the evil.

  “Grandma,” I called, hustling Phil and Pirate down the driveway. “We have to get out of here. Now.”

  Excerpt from The Dangerous Book for Demon Slayers:

  Some things in life you just take for granted. They might not make complete sense, but life feels better when you believe them. Case in point: I never understood why a lot of hotels don’t have a thirteenth floor. It’s the twenty-first century. Surely we’re not that superstitious anymore. Well, we’re not. It turns out most every hotel does have a thirteenth floor—it’s the way they keep the magical folk away from everyone else. And that can be a very, very good idea.

  Chapter Six

  “Move, move, move!” I grabbed Phil by the belt loop of his white tuxedo as he tried to sniff the hibiscus along the circular drive of the Paradise Hotel. As far as I was concerned, it had taken too long to get Phil off the back of Grandma’s bike. The sooner we got him inside, the better.

  Wrought-iron railings lined the front entrance and the balconies of the art deco building. According to Grandma, this was one of the oldest hotels on The Strip. It also boasted a magical floor, not that I’d ever seen one of those. I hoped Dimitri and the Red Skulls would be waiting for us there.

  As curious as I was to see the hexed thirteenth floor of the Paradise, if we were lucky enough to find our friends in the lobby, I’d be even happier to skip out of town.

  Pirate nosed the inside of my arm. “You mind letting me down?” he asked, still dangling from the biker dog carrier strapped to my chest. “A dog feels better when he’s on all fours.”

  “Hold on, bub,” I told him as I took Phil’s elbow and squeezed the three of us into the same partition of the hotel’s revolving door.

  Pirate licked Phil’s hand. “Mmm, you taste like pancake syrup. Oh, shoot. You just gave me a craving for the Shoney’s breakfast bar.”