Demon Hunting In Dixie

by Lexi George

  “Addy?” Evie stared at her open mouthed. “You busted the shield.”

  “I didn’t mean to. It just happened.”

  They both turned at the sound of hoofbeats from the north. Whooping at the top of his lungs, Shep galloped over the hill on Sildhjort’s back, a makeshift club in one hand. He swung it back and forth like a polo mallet, scattering gobblers left and right, an avenging angel wearing faded jeans and a Polo shirt. Sildhjort’s antlers shone with sapphire light, like a ship’s mast ablaze with Saint Elmo’s fire. He lowered his shining white head. Blue light spread out from his antlers in waves, pulverizing the mud gobblers. Dust and grit rose up in a choking cloud.

  Enraged at the destruction of their rapacious army, the demons attacked Brand and Ansgar. Earth and sky groaned beneath their assault. The demons clouted the warriors with lightning. Brand and Ansgar caught the bolts and flung them back. It was like watching an epic battle, the Titans against the young gods of Olympus or the Frost Giants at war with the Aesir. But the demons were outgunned and outclassed, Addy soon realized with a dawning sense of awe. The demons called forth fire and the Dalvahni doused it with rain. Wind howled, and Brand and Ansgar swept it aside. The demons rained down a hailstorm of black ice daggers, and Brand and Ansgar ground them to powder.

  Frustrated and furious, the demons loosed their wrath on Sid and Shep, hurling molten balls of flame at them. Sid snorted, his breath steaming from his nostrils in enormous white puffs. The vapor struck the demons’ burning orbs, and they spun across the park. One of the fireballs took out the Conecuh Sausage stand, and another one rolled into Shep’s coffin car. The car burst into flames and exploded in a shower of parts.

  “My car! That was my car, you son-of-a-bitch.” Swinging his mallet, Shep jumped off Sildhjort’s back and charged the nearest demon-man.

  “Shep, no!” Addy shrieked.

  The demon lifted his hand in a negligent manner, blasting Shep with a burst of energy. He flew through the air like a rag doll and landed hard on the ground, rolling to his side with a groan. Grinning in triumph, the demon stalked toward him.

  Oh, God, Shep was in big trouble. Frantic, Addy looked around for something, anything, to use as a weapon. The park had been cleaned for the festival. Not so much as a stick lying around. The demon was almost on top of Shep. Time, she was out of time. She spied an aluminum pole on the ground amid the shambles of the sausage stand. She beckoned. The pole flew through the air and into her hand.

  “Addy?”

  She hefted the pole like a lance. “Stay put, Evie.”

  “Addy, I know that look. You’re fixin’ to do something stupid.”

  Addy took off at a run. Grinning, the demon raised his hand to finish Shep.

  “Adara, no,” she heard Brand shout.

  She rammed the demon with the aluminum pole. He reeled back.

  She stood between Shep and the demon. With shaking arms, she raised the pole. “Leave my brother alone.”

  The demon straightened with an evil leer. “Hello, Addy.”

  A cold shiver of recognition slithered down her spine. Brain-numbing fear slammed through her, and the aluminum pole slipped from her grasp. That voice . . . that horrible, raspy voice. It was Mr. Nasty, alive and in the flesh. He said he was coming for her, and he was here.

  She couldn’t move, couldn’t think; watched helplessly as he raised his hand to strike her.

  Lightning danced from his fingertips. “Time to die, pretty girl.”

  She heard Brand’s shout of alarm as the demon drew back his arm and flung a ball of flame at her. Too fast, she thought, watching the comet streak toward her like a miniature sun. It was coming too fast. She was going to die and never see Brand again. Grief flashed through her, agonizing and sharp, and then she was flung aside. The flaming comet slammed into the ground a few feet away from her, pelting her with rocks and dirt. Bruised and shaken, she rolled to her feet. Sildhjort stood over Shep. The stag lowered his head and charged, catching the screaming demon-man on his antlers. With an angry snort, Sildhjort flung the demon to the ground and stamped it beneath his sharp hooves, crushing the human vessel into a bleeding, unrecognizable thing. A thin stream of black smoke puffed out of the body and wafted away.

  Sildhjort tossed his head and cantered out of the park. Addy staggered toward Shep. Before she could reach him, strong arms caught her in a crushing embrace.

  “Damn you, Adara.” Brand hugged her close. “Of all the foolish, hardheaded females . . .” Tremors racked his big body. Holding her away from him, he gave her a little shake. “I thought you were dead. I saw the demon raise his hand to strike you. I died a thousand deaths in that moment, knowing I could not reach you in time.”

  He jerked her back into his arms as though he could not bear to let her go. And that was fine with Addy. She didn’t want to let him go, either. She buried her face against his hard chest, soaking up his glorious strength and the warmth of his arms around her. The salty odor of sweat and the spicy, masculine scent that was all Brand tickled her senses. He was alive. Oh, God, he was alive, and so was she.

  And Mr. Nasty was dead.

  “I was scared for you, too.” She ran her hands down his hard muscled back to assure herself he was all right. “It was awful.”

  “Scared? Scared is too paltry a word to describe what I felt when I saw the djegrali raise his hand against you.” His arms tightened around her. “Why did you not do as you were told and stay where it was safe?”

  “The shield broke.”

  “Broke?” His brow creased in a black scowl. “Ansgar and I bound that shield with our blood. Such a thing is not possible. The djegrali could not break that spell.”

  Oops, someone had their masculinity bound up in a certain little shield spell. Time to change the subject. “What happened to the other demons?”

  “Ansgar slew one with his arrows. The last one surrendered and is in our custody.”

  Curious, she lifted her head to take a look. A dead convict lay on the ground, his body pierced by a dozen or more silver arrows from Ansgar’s bow. Something black drained out of the corpse, hardened, and turned to powder. The empty body collapsed and melted away.

  The last convict sat on the ground, head and shoulders bowed, his hands and feet bound with sturdy rope. He rocked back and forth, mumbling to himself. Addy didn’t bother to ask where the rope came from. She probably wouldn’t like the answer, anyway. Ansgar stood over the prisoner, his icy, detached demeanor back in place, a poster child for the giant frozen hemorrhoid.

  She eyed the hostage with unease. “Suppose he gets loose? That rope won’t hold him for long.”

  “The demon has relinquished its human receptacle. We have the djegrali in custody.”

  She took a quick glance around the park. “Oh, yeah? Where you keeping him, your shirt pocket?”

  “I do not have a shirt pocket. At any rate, such a mode of transport would be highly inefficient. The djegrali is over there.”

  Brand pointed. On the ground beside the mumbling man was the delicate glass container Brand had earlier when he gave the demons his “stop in the name of the law” speech.

  “You’re kidding. You got a demon in a wussy little perfume bottle?”

  “It is not a perfume bottle, Adara. It is a djevel flaskke, a special container that holds the djegrali.”

  “Oh, yeah, a devil flask. I knew that.”

  Shep grunted in pain and sat up, his expression dazed. “What happened?”

  Addy slipped out of Brand’s arms and hurried to his side. Poor Shep. He had two black eyes, a split lip, and a busted nose. And those were the injuries she could see.

  She knelt beside him and put her hand on his forehead. “Take it easy, Shep. That was a nasty wallop you took. I wouldn’t be surprised if you have a concussion.”

  He gave her a groggy look. “Real slobberknocker, huh? Are we winning?”

  “Yep.”

  “Good. That’s real good. My head hurts, Coach. But I can still pl
ay. Put me back in. I wanna whup some Wildcat ass.”

  Good grief. Shep thought she was Coach Latham and he was back in high school playing for the Blue Devils again.

  A shadow fell over them, and a pair of booted feet appeared at her elbow.

  “Adara, where is Evangeline?” Ansgar asked.

  She flapped a hand in the direction of the sweet gum tree. “Over there.”

  He moved off, and she returned her attention to Shep, who was pale and sweating.

  Ansgar reappeared a moment later. “I do not see her.”

  Ansgar’s grim tone sent a frisson of uneasiness through her. She jumped to her feet. “You’re benched, Corwin,” she told Shep sternly.

  “Aw, Coach, I wanna play.”

  She hurried after Brand and Ansgar. They looked all around the tree. Evie was gone. A low, tortured groan sent chills up and down her spine.

  “There!” Addy pointed to the steps that led from the park down to the river.

  Evie wavered at the top of the stairs and staggered back down again, an expression of stark terror in her eyes. Her movements were jerky and strained, as though she was no longer in control of her own body.

  “Evangeline,” Ansgar shouted, breaking into a run.

  Evie struggled up the steps once more, panting like she’d run a marathon. Tears streamed down her cheeks.

  “Evie!” Addy cried, lunging for her friend.

  Brand pulled her back.

  “Let me go!” Addy struggled to break free of his grasp. “Something’s wrong with Evie.”

  “You cannot help her, Adara,” Brand said. “The djegrali has taken her.”

  “No, that’s not possible! You told me they were all dead.”

  “I was wrong. The human that Sildhjort slew, did you see anything rise from the body?”

  “Oh, my God,” Addy whispered. Sick with horror, she saw it all again. Sid’s hooves crushing the convict’s body to a bloody pulp, the curling wisp of smoke rising from the smashed and bleeding husk and wafting away.

  Evie was possessed, and it was all Addy’s fault. She broke the shield and left Evie alone. It was all her fault.

  “Ansgar, please,” Evie pleaded, reaching out to the blond warrior. Claw marks marred the porcelain skin on her cheeks and neck. “I can’t stand it. It burns. Help me. I can’t fight it much longer. Don’t let it take me.”

  Ansgar stood silently in front of her, his face an icy mask.

  Fury gripped Addy. How could he be so cold when Evie was in agony?

  “What’s the matter with you?” she screamed. “Help her.”

  “She should not have left the shield,” Ansgar said, his words toneless and without emotion. “She was safe there.”

  “That was my fault.” Addy flung herself at Ansgar, but Brand held her back. “I broke the shield. I thought you cared about Evie. But you don’t care about anybody, you heartless bastard.”

  “Adara,” Brand said. “You do not understand.”

  “I understand plenty. He can help her, but he won’t.”

  Evie’s face twisted. “Ansgar, please.”

  A muscle twitched in Ansgar’s jaw, the only sign that he heard her.

  “Very well,” he said.

  In one smooth motion he drew a silver arrow from his quiver, fitted it in his bow, and shot Evie through the heart. Blood bloomed on the front of her blouse and spread. She clutched the arrow in her chest, her wide-eyed, startled gaze fixed upon Ansgar. The light in her hazel eyes flickered and dimmed. She sighed and crumpled to the ground.

  “Evie,” Addy screamed.

  She felt herself falling away, tumbling down a long, dark tunnel. Someone was screaming. The sound went on and on. Through her tears, she saw a trail of black smoke drift out of Evie’s body, saw Ansgar fire a silver arrow into the dark mist. Watched as the arrow pierced the black shadow and splintered into a million silvery shards. Heard the long, keening wail of despair as the djegrali vanished into the nothingness.

  The djegrali was dead. But Evie was dead, too.

  Brand still held her, Addy realized, floating out of the blackness. Ansgar clasped Evie’s limp form in his arms, his expression impassive.

  Rage washed away her grief. He had no business touching her. He had no right to touch her.

  “Let me go,” she said, twisting in Brand’s arms.

  “No.”

  Unable to break free of Brand’s iron grip, Addy watched, seething with fury, as Ansgar tenderly smoothed Evie’s hair from her brow. Grasping the arrow, he pulled it from her chest and tossed it aside. He bent over her, one hand resting upon her wounded breast, the other hand grasping the back of her head, and kissed her. Light pulsed around them, soft and luminous, pale as the milky gleam of a new moon on a lake, and was gone.

  Evie opened her eyes and gazed up at Ansgar. “What happened?”

  “You were hurt.” Ansgar touched her cheek with the tip of one finger as though she were something fragile and infinitely precious. “You do not remember?”

  Evie straightened and stepped back. “No. Who are you?”

  His arms dropped to his sides. “I am Ansgar.”

  She looked down at her shorts and blushed. “Why am I dressed like this? What happened to my clothes?”

  Brand released Addy. She ran over and flung her arms around Evie. “Evie,” she cried, bursting into tears.

  Evie patted her on the back. “Addy, you’re crying. You never cry.”

  Addy wiped her eyes and hugged her again. “I’m so glad you’re all right.”

  “Well, of course I’m all right. Why wouldn’t I be?”

  “Brother?” Brand’s expression was solemn as he addressed the other warrior. “Her memory can be restored.”

  “It is better this way.”

  “Ah,” Brand said. “I see.”

  Addy was glad somebody did, because she sure as hell didn’t understand any of it. Not Ansgar’s strange, cold behavior or what had happened to Evie. Blondy shot her with an arrow, for God’s sake. Addy felt dizzy and sick from the emotions roiling within her—terror, anger, grief, sadness—and an overwhelming, knee-weakening relief that Evie was alive.

  A horn sounded in the distance, tinny and faint.

  Ansgar lifted his head like a hound to the scent. “Brand.”

  “I heard, brother.”

  The horn sounded again, this time closer. Three leather-clad warriors materialized in the square, big, muscular and armed to the teeth. And drop-dead gorgeous, bless their hearts. They had to be Dalvahni. No human looked like that.

  They surveyed the square, a trio of hunky guys wearing identical wooden expressions. Brand had worn that same expression only a few days ago. A lifetime ago.

  A warrior with long red hair and the unblinking, flinty gaze of a hawk spied Brand and Ansgar and strode over to them. “Brothers,” he said curtly. “We have come to escort you back to the Hall. Conall is desirous of speech with you.”

  Ansgar inclined his head. “As you wish.”

  Addy’s heart squeezed painfully in her chest. “Brand?” she whispered.

  He looked at her. His bleak expression told her all she needed to know.

  “Adara,” he said.

  That was it, her name and nothing more. But the aching, hollow way he said it spoke volumes. A yawning chasm opened at her feet.

  Two guards flanked Brand and Ansgar, one on either side. The grim-faced warrior with the red hair fell in behind them. Moving as one, the five Dalvahni strode across the green. They flickered briefly in the summer sunshine, like a mirage in the desert heat, and disappeared.

  Chapter Thirty-six

  He was gone.

  Grief settled like a leaden weight around Addy’s heart. Gone. Gone. Gone.

  The unbroken litany pounded in her brain as she cared for Evie and Shep. It played beneath the clamor of the crowd as folks drifted over the bridge and back up the hill exclaiming about the first-rate fireworks they’d seen by the river. In broad daylight, no less. Mass hallucinati
on. The entire town of Hannah had drunk the Sid Kool-Aid.

  Mama and Pootie came back, jabbering excitedly about the light show. Lenora was with them. She didn’t say anything about the fireworks. She looked a little green around the gills, though, like someone who’d eaten three Thanksgiving dinners. Someone had glutted herself on the Post-Sid euphoria. Like a kid in a candy shop. The whole damn town was high, and all that bliss had given Lenora the mother of all bellyaches.

  When Lenora saw Shep lying on the ground, she seemed to forget her own discomfort. Exclaiming in dismay over his injuries, she dropped to her knees beside him, the strands of her dress fluttering around her. Jeez, she looked like one of those alien barbarian warrior chicks straight off a Boris Vallejo cover. Shep opened one swollen eye and gave the thrall a crooked grin.

  Oh, man, he was eating this stuff up. And he really liked the string dress. Addy could tell.

  Mama hurried over to see about Shep, too. Mama, of course, wanted to know what happened. Addy considered telling Mama the truth . . . for about a millisecond, and pointed to the coffin car. Or what was left of it. That seemed to sober Mama right the hell up. Pootie pulled the Goober Mobile over the curb and onto the grass, and Addy helped Mama and Lenora load Shep into the car so they could take him to the hospital. She waved good-bye with a promise to check on Shep later.

  No one could see her bruised heart, of course.

  Gone.

  The knowledge throbbed inside her, a wound that would not heal.

  Numbly, she watched the chief and Officer Dan arrive, and Sheriff Dev Whitsun right after them. They found the inmate sitting on the grass where Brand and Ansgar left him. The ropes around his feet and ankles had vanished, but he made no move to escape. He sat there, carrying on a conversation with the six human heads lined up in a row in front of him. A one-sided conversation, thank God. Addy looked around, noting with dull surprise that all traces of the battle were gone, except for the demolished coffin car. The grass was once more a pristine green carpet, and the Conecuh Sausage stand looked good as new. The Dalvahni must have cleaned up before they left. She was too busy having her heart ripped out of her chest to notice.