Demon Hunting In Dixie

by Lexi George

  Ansgar cleared his throat. “Allow me to offer a supposition, brother. I believe BBQ may be a shortened term for meat that has been cooked over an open fire. My hunter’s nose has detected the tempting aroma of roasted meat wafting southward this past hour and more. If that be the case, I would not be averse to partaking of sustenance myself. Evangeline and I will accompany you.”

  “Which in warrior speak, means let’s eat,” Evie whispered in Addy’s ear. “Whew, he talks funny, but he’s way cute.”

  “Blondy? He’s a gigantic pain in the butt. I can’t believe you’re attracted to him.”

  “Believe it. I mean, look at him! He’s gorgeous.”

  “Hmm, I suppose so, if you’re into the ‘fair haired Viking prince surfer boy’ type.”

  “Surfer boy? No, no, Adds, you got it all wrong. He’s the Legolas type, only taller and way brawnier than the dude in the movie.” Evie gave a soulful sigh. “He can munch on my lembas any day.”

  “Eww, is that some kind of euphemism? ’Cause if it is, Tolkien just rolled over in his grave.”

  Evie giggled. “I’m just saying . . .”

  “Well, stop saying. I’m getting a mental picture of you and Blondy doing the wild thing, and it’s giving me a full body huzz.”

  Evie giggled again. “You are so funny. Where’d you find the kitten?”

  “Duh, in the tree. Don’t kittens grow there, or something? Cute little thing, isn’t he?”

  “How do you know it’s a he?”

  Addy shrugged. “I assumed. I didn’t check his engine, if that’s what you mean. We just met.”

  “Are you talking about Brand or the cat?”

  “Very funny. I was talking about Mr. Fluffy.”

  “Mr. Fluffy? Uh oh, you’ve already named the cat.”

  “Yep. His full name is Mr. Fluffy Fauntleroy Corwin,” Addy said. “What do you think?”

  The world shifted as Brand lifted her in his arms. “I think it a remarkably silly name. I greatly fear for your future progeny.”

  “Hey, put me down. I can walk.”

  Brand strode down the sidewalk in the direction of the Sweet Shop. “No, you are lightheaded and those ridiculously flimsy things you wear on your feet have been damaged. You will sprain an ankle and not be able to flee should the djegrali attack.”

  “Sweet, big guy, but I broke a heel. No big deal. You don’t have to carry me around like a sack of flour.” She gave him a shove to the chest. “Put me down, Brand. I mean it. If you’re so all-fired worried about my shoes, then break off the other heel so they match. Problem solved.”

  “A surprisingly sensible solution and one I should have thought of myself.” Brand lowered Addy to the sidewalk. “I must be in need of nourishment also. My thought processes seem somewhat muddled.”

  “Your thought processes have been muddled since making the acquaintance of a certain female,” Ansgar said with a knowing smirk.

  Addy rolled her eyes. “Oooh, careful, Brand. Looks like Blondy’s had a humor chip added to his hard drive. Too bad it’s a dud.”

  Brand held out his hand. “Hand me your sandal, Adara, and stop tormenting Ansgar.” He snapped off the heel with ease and handed her back the shoe. “I would consider it a personal favor if you two would cease this incessant bickering. Should it continue, I might have a—what did you call it?—ah, yes, a hissy fit myself.”

  “Fun sucker.” Addy looked up at Brand. “I think it might be kind of interesting to see you lose that cool of yours, Ice Man. You’re wound way too tight, if you ask me.”

  She gave a startled yelp as Brand jerked her into his arms and kissed her.

  “Do not tempt me, Adara.” He released her with a growl. “Lest I demonstrate exactly how I would like to relieve my tension.”

  “Please, brother, not on an empty stomach,” Ansgar said.

  Addy stiffened. “Oh, why don’t you go—”

  Brand took her by the arm and pulled her down the street. “Ansgar is right. We need to eat.”

  “Wait, what about Mr. Fluffy?” Addy dragged her feet. “We can’t take a cat in a restaurant. It’s a health code violation.”

  Brand halted. Reaching up, he plucked the kitten from his shoulder. “In truth, I had forgotten about the creature. I would advise you to put the troublesome flea bag back in the tree and walk away.”

  “I can’t do that! Something might happen to him. He’s so cute and helpless. I’m going to keep him.”

  Brand sighed. “Of course you are. Already the creature has ensorcelled you. You are too soft-hearted, Adara.” Looking the kitten in the eye, he said sternly, “You will stay where I put you. Is that understood?”

  “Meow,” the kitten said, and disappeared.

  Chapter Twelve

  Addy looked between Brand’s feet and all around for the missing cat. “Hey, where’d Mr. Fluffy go?”

  “Do not be troubled.” Brand strode down the sidewalk. “Mr. Fluffy is quite safe.”

  Addy hurried after him. “But, Brand I—”

  “Adara, he is in a safe place. Do you want me to explain the particulars to you?”

  “You did something freaky, didn’t you?”

  “I do not consider it freakish. It is quite simple. There are pockets of space between dimensions, and I have placed the creature there—”

  “Stop!” She clapped her hands over her ears. “Don’t say any more. It makes my head want to explode. Promise me you can find him again.”

  “I can find him.”

  Evie and Ansgar caught up with them. “Hey, what’s the big hurry?” Evie sounded out of breath. “It’s ninety-five degrees in the shade, and you two are running a race.”

  Addy felt a pang of guilt. She hadn’t noticed the heat. It didn’t seem to affect Brand or Blondy, either, but poor Evie looked done in. Her pale face was flushed and her damp curls clung to her brow.

  “I think Brand’s hungry,” Addy said.

  “Yeah, I’m getting that idea.” Evie glanced around. “Where’s the kitty?”

  “Don’t ask.” Addy hooked her arm through Evie’s. “Come on, sweat ball. Let’s get you inside.”

  “Ladies don’t sweat. They glow,” Evie said primly.

  “Well then, you must be radioactive.”

  They halted at the entrance to the Sweet Shop. A neon sign in the window blinked the words AIR CONDITIONED. The air conditioner was sacred in the South, right up there with duct tape.

  They pushed open the door and stepped inside. A bell jingled overhead, announcing their arrival. Addy looked around with satisfaction. The Sweet Shop was a constant in an inconstant world. The building that housed the restaurant had once been a warehouse, and the scarred plank walls and metal ceiling remained. Worn wooden booths lined the walls along both sides of the rectangular dining space, and round laminated tables filled the remaining space. On the walls, tin signs advertised everything from cigarettes to soda pop and filling stations. The signs competed with folksy sayings, the backend of an old car, outdated calendars, and ancient rusted farm implements that looked like medieval torture devices.

  It was early, the start of the lunch hour. The restaurant was empty except for a scattering of breakfast holdovers and a lean, gray-haired man in a back booth. The man hunched over the remains of his meal, muttering to himself.

  “Amasa John Collier,” Addy murmured in response to Brand’s raised eyebrow. “The town drunk and crazy as a loon besides.”

  They seated themselves at one of the big round tables and waited. Before long the kitchen door swung open and Viola Williams, the Rubenesque owner of the Sweet Shop, hurried over.

  Her smooth, brown cheeks split in a warm smile. “Morning, folks, welcome to the Sweet Shop.” Her smile widened when she saw Evie sitting between Ansgar and Brand. “Oh, hey, Evie, I didn’t see you sitting between these two big fellows. You look like a lost ball in high weeds.” She shifted her curious gaze back to Brand and Ansgar. “You gentlemen hungry? If so, you’ve come to the right place. Best
food in town. What can I get you folks to drink?”

  “We’ll have sweet tea all around, Miss Viola,” Addy said.

  Viola started in surprise. “Lord have mercy, that you, Addy? I didn’t recognize you. What on earth have you done to yo’ hair?”

  “I changed it up a little, Miss Viola. That’s all.”

  “Hmm, I expect you did at that. What’s yo’ mama think about it?”

  “Oh, well, you know . . .”

  “Uh huh,” Viola said. “I know yo’ mama. Well, today we got fried chicken, hamburger steak, or baked catfish, and, of course, barbecue. Slow-cooked pork ribs, Del’s specialty, or you can have a chopped pork sandwich, if you’ve a mind. Lunch special is a meat and three. The sides today are mashed potatoes and gravy, fried corn, collards, sweet potatoes, field peas, cabbage, fried okra, baby limas, fried green tomatoes, sliced tomatoes, cole slaw, pear salad, and deviled eggs. Chocolate pie and banana pudding for dessert.” She leveled her dark gaze at Brand and Ansgar. “Addy and Evie already know this—Lord, they been eating here since they was in pull-ups—but this being your first time and all—and, I know it’s your first time, ’cause I’d have remembered two fine-looking gentlemen like you—I’ll tell you flat out everything is made from scratch. None o’ them boxed taters or tasteless canned veggies or powdery box macaroni and cheese served at the Sweet Shop. Del and I do all the cooking, and we make it fresh. I drive over to the farmer’s market in Paulsberg twice a week and buy my produce there. Hand picked and Bama grown, every bit of it. Might as well warn you, I cook with bacon fat and real butter, and you can’t make good biscuits and dumplings without using a little lard. Why put that fake stuff in yo’ body anyway? Did you know you can set oleo out in the yard and the ants won’t touch it? Why anybody would put something in their body the ants won’t eat is beyond me. No, when it comes to eatin’, it ought to be Godmade, homemade, and man-made, in that order, I always say. Well, y’all think about what you want while I get your tea.”

  She bustled over to the drink counter, returning with four jumbo-size brown plastic tumblers filled to the brim with iced tea and garnished with a lemon wedge. “Four sweet teas with lemon.” She plunked the glasses down on the table and removed an order pad from her apron pocket. “What’ll you folks have?”

  “I will sample a generous portion of your roasted meat, without the accompanying herbs,” Ansgar said in his silken voice.

  “The same for me,” Brand rumbled. “A very large portion of roasted meat, Mistress Viola. My friend and I have not partaken of sustenance in some days, and our appetite is sharp.”

  “You don’t say.” Viola gave Addy a questioning look. “Ain’t from around here, are they? What’s he talking about, herbs?”

  “I think Blondy’s talking about the sides, Vi. Something tells me these guys don’t eat a lot of vegetables. Bring on the animal flesh and maybe something to sop up the sauce with.”

  Viola nodded. “Hog wild, high on the hog, or whole hog?”

  “I do not understand,” Brand said.

  “She’s asking you how much barbecue you want.” Addy looked down at the menu. “Hog wild is a slab of ribs, high on the hog is two slabs, and whole hog is four slabs. Feeds four to six people. That’s a lot of meat, big guy.” She indicated a group of pictures hanging over the register. “Anyone that scarfs down a whole hog gets their picture on the wall. See that guy on the end there covered in sauce looks like he wants to hurl? That’s Skeeter Johnson. Had him a heart attack right after he finished a whole hog. Took him out of here on a gurney. All that protein in one sitting is bad on the old ticker. Better start off with a hog wild or a high on the hog. You can always order more.”

  “I will take a whole hog,” Brand said without hesitation.

  “I also,” Ansgar added.

  “Or you could ignore me, and go with the coronary bypass special.” Addy slid the menu back behind the napkin holder. “You heard them, Viola. Mr. Cholesterol and his twin brother, Clogged Arteries, will each have a whole hog. I’ll have the fried chicken, mixed, mashed potatoes, collards, and fried green tomatoes. You, Evie?”

  “Sounds to me like you’re working on your own arteries, Addy.” Evie studied the menu for a moment. “A veggie plate for me, Viola. Sweet potatoes, cabbage, and . . . Oh, heck, can’t let my friends here go to Heart Attack land alone, bring me the fried okra and fried green tomatoes.”

  Viola scribbled some notes on her pad. “Got it. Y’all be sure and save room for dessert.” The door jingled, and four men wearing farmers’ tans and overalls entered the restaurant. “Oh, Lordy, the lunch crowd’s started,” she said. “I’d best get Pauline out here to wait tables and go help Del. He gets bent outta shape when things get busy.”

  She shooed the four men toward a table and disappeared into the kitchen. A short while later, the door swung back open and Pauline, the Sweet Shop’s rawboned, harried-looking waitress, brought them their food. Pauline had worked at the Sweet Shop as long as Addy could remember. In all that time, the woman had not changed her hairstyle, scraped back in a bun so tight her eyebrows met her hairline. Lifting their plates in her gnarled, blue-veined hands, Pauline handed Addy and Evie their food, and set a huge platter of smoking ribs in front of the men. She slammed two rolls of paper towels on the table. Blowing a stray wisp of graying hair out of her face, she glared at Brand and Ansgar. “You want regular or drunk sauce with that?”

  “Give ’em the drunk sauce, Pauline,” Addy said.

  Pauline’s gimlet stare shifted from Brand to Addy. “You want pepper sauce with them greens?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Rolls or cornbread?”

  “Both, please.”

  “Huh.” Pauline thumped a bottle of pepper sauce and two Jim Beam bottles of Del’s special drunk sauce on the table and left.

  “Whew, she’s been ticked off since the house fell on her sister,” Evie said.

  Brand grabbed a smoking hot rib off the platter and tore off a chunk of meat with his teeth. “I can understand how such a tragedy would sour your outlook on life. Was the house deposited on the female’s unfortunate sister by an act of nature, or an angry behemoth?”

  “Dude, it was a joke,” Addy said. “Pauline doesn’t have a sister. It’s from a movie called The Wizard of Oz.”

  “I am relieved.” Brand chewed thoughtfully. “A movie is a form of human entertainment that enacts a story through a series of images that give the illusion of movement, is it not?”

  Addy shook a few drops of pepper sauce on her greens. “I guess that’s one way of putting it, but it sure sucks all the fun out of it.”

  Brand picked up a Jim Beam bottle and dumped some drunk sauce on his mound of ribs. He took a bite of rib. His eyes widened. “I must say, this sauce is most pleasing to the palate. What is in it?”

  “Oh, that’s Del’s secret recipe. Nobody knows everything that’s in it, not even Viola,” Addy said. “But, the secret ingredient is whiskey. Not a whole lot, mind you, just enough to give it that extra little kick.”

  “You are frowning, Evangeline,” Ansgar said around a mouth full of pork. “Is your food not to your liking?”

  “No, dang it, I forgot to ask Pauline for hot sauce. I don’t dare ask that old grump pot for it. She’ll bite my head off and hand it to me.”

  Ansgar slathered his ribs with drunk sauce. “You require this hot sauce to enjoy your repast?”

  Evie sighed. “Yeah, I’m a real nut about it. I eat Texas Pete on just about everything, eggs, toast, pizza, greens. They usually have it on the tables, but I guess they forgot. It’s all right. I’ll live.”

  Ansgar stilled, a half-eaten rib in one hand. There was a look of abstraction on his face. “Ah, I think I see it. Is it a red liquid in a slender glass bottle with a picture on the front of it depicting an odd creature brandishing some kind of rope?”

  Evie gave him a look of surprise. “Yeah, that’s it. How’d you—”

  “There are a number of such bottles
on a shelf in the cooking area of this establishment. I will procure one for you.”

  “Oh, no, I don’t want to be any trouble.”

  “No trouble at all.”

  Ansgar went back to his food.

  Evie made a what the? gesture to Addy, who shrugged. There was a startled shriek from the kitchen. The door swung open, and a bottle of hot sauce floated through the air and made a wobbly landing on the table beside Evie’s plate. Evie stared at the bottle of Texas Pete like it was a snake. Viola flew out of the kitchen, her husband Del at her heels.

  “Call the pastor, Del, and tell him to get over here double quick,” Viola said. “We got us a haint.”

  Del, a big, handsome man with graying hair and the beefy physique of a former football player, seemed baffled by his wife’s outburst. “Vi, I don’t know what you think you saw—”

  “I don’t think I saw. I know I saw, Delmonte Lorenzo Williams. I saw a bottle of hot sauce fly through the air.”

  “Honey, we been in this building for thirty years. Why would a ghost decide to haunt us now and pick a bottle of hot sauce to do it with? Why not pepper sauce or drunk sauce, or plain old ketchup, for that matter? It don’t make sense.”

  “You mean you didn’t see it?”

  “I had my eyes on that fryer. I didn’t see no hot sauce fly through the air.” Del looked around the room. “Anybody else see it?”

  To Addy’s relief, the rest of the customers shook their heads. Thank God the restaurant wasn’t crowded yet and the food at the Sweet Shop was so delicious. All the other diners must have been too busy stuffing their faces to notice the floating bottle of hot sauce.

  “I know what I saw, Delmonte Williams.” Viola’s voice rose. “And I saw that bottle of hot sauce float off the kitchen shelf and go right out the door like it had wings or something.”

  “Vi,” Del pleaded. “Think about what you’re saying.”

  “I don’t have to think. I saw what I saw.” Wild eyed, Viola looked around the room. She marched up to them like an avenging fury and pointed to the bottle of Texas Pete. “Where’d you get that hot sauce?”