by Angie Fox
We still didn't have all the facts. "Why would the demons want Phil to knock out the lights?"
"Beats me," Joe replied. "But it gets their rocks off. Word is the succubi have been hacking the power system out West for decades. They're the ones responsible for most of the rolling blackouts. And the 2003 blackout that hit the East Coast."
"Okay," I said. It still didn't make sense. "I hate to think what could happen to Uncle Phil after they're done with him." Their needing him was probably the only thing keeping him alive.
"You'd better figure it out quick," Joe said. "The way he's been running it, the turbine timing system could blow."
"Soon?" I gaped. We needed time on this.
"It could have gone today. As it stands, he's got another shift tomorrow," Joe said.
"Tomorrow?" I braced my hands on the sides of the tunnel. It was too soon. I couldn't fix this by tomorrow. Even if I could get to the DIP office before six o' clock, they'd be so tangled up in their bureaucratic hoo-ha, they'd wait for an actual demon invasion to step up. And the nonmagical authorities weren't going to believe me, at least not in time to get an inspection crew in here tomorrow. And what could I possibly say to convince them?
Hey, I've come to tell you that two ghosts warned me that a half fairy is tinkering with the Hoover Dam to the point where we'll lose power. It's all part of a demonic plan to trigger Armageddon when the lights are out.
"It's too soon," I said.
"The West Coast will be the first to go, right after some kind of concert," Joe said, hovering close enough for me to smell the dampness on him. "I heard him talking with his lady friend on the phone."
Joe looked immensely sorry as he shrugged.
I had to figure out how they planned to bring the demons in. I had to shut off their power source, if you will. The problem was, Phil held the answers and he was brain-warped.
Serena had been clear. I could still feel her rage. Leave us alone, demon slayer, and I'll only kill him when I'm finished. Push me and I'll take his soul.
My stomach dipped when I realized it wasn't even a matter of rescuing his soul anymore. Sacrifice one for the many. I just wish I wasn't the one who had to make that choice.
Well, I refused let her win. I braced a hand on my switch stars and asked the ghost, "How good are you at getting into places most of us can't?"
He nodded thoughtfully. "I can hold my own."
"If we can find Phil…" I began.
Joe grinned. "They'll be at Club Viva." He said, "Phil's been talking about it all day."
"Okay," I said, letting out a breath I'd barely realized I was holding. "Let's go save the world."
Excerpt from The Dangerous Book for Demon Slayers:
Meeting a ghost reminds me of the time I bought my gold Saturn. I thought it was unique, until I had one and started noticing every gold Saturn on the road. I'd assumed the first ghosts I met were the only ones I'd see for awhile. Then I opened my eyes and found them everywhere. Fortunately, most people don't bother looking for them. Perhaps if they did, the McDonald's drive-thru wouldn't be so popular. Some drive-up customers seem to notice the slight chill in the air. But they never seem to notice the ghosts filching one or two of their french fries.
Chapter Twenty
I've never been good at sneaking. I hate spying. I don't even like playing Secret Santa. So why, oh why did I think it was a good idea to spy on my Uncle Phil and the demon who'd stolen his mind? Simple—lack of options.
The demons were putting their plan into motion sooner rather than later. I'd sent Dimitri away, Grandma, Max, anyone who could help me. It was time to see what Ezra and I could do. It had better be enough.
Meko had retrieved my things from the trashed thirteenth floor and we'd stopped by the lobby-level executive's lounge so I could shower. Afterward, I changed into a black leather skirt and a black corset top so clingy it would have given me hives a few months ago. Ezra found a Gucci shopping bag for Pirate, who protested heartily. I didn't blame him one bit. But we all had a price to pay.
Traffic whizzed past on the road out front of the club. It wasn't even nine o'clock at night, far too early for the Las Vegas club scene. Most folks were probably still on their way to dinner.
"What do you know about the devil's mark?" I asked Ezra as I cut the engine on my Harley and backed it into a dark, weed-strewn corner right outside the exit of Club Viva.
The ghost seemed startled by the question. "You mean you don't? Oh," he said, trying to be smooth and doing a lousy job of it. "Those who wear the devil's mark have chosen a," he chewed at his lip, "how shall I put it? An unholy alliance."
But I hadn't—
I ground my right palm into the leg of my too-tight leather skirt. I'd used the mark for good—to stop the demons, to give me the strength I needed.
Max didn't seem to think there was anything wrong with it, although he'd probably been the one to curse me with it in the first place. To say Max was morally ambiguous was like saying the Unabomber might need to get out more.
The top of Ezra's head shimmered and went transparent, along with a large chunk of his left side. "It's a brand," he said, his eyes darting back and forth as if the devil himself would leap out from behind one of the scraggly bushes lining the walk. "It's their way of recognizing one of their own. I've seen it make men do terrible things. It heightens your powers," he said, practically whispering. "You must have seen that."
I had. And I took it out on Grandma's phone. Problem was, I had trouble sorting my new powers from what had been in my demon slayer tool kit all along. When it came right down to it, I'd had my DVD player for five years and I still hadn't figured it out.
Taking extra care not to touch my doggie with the palm of my right hand, I dug Pirate out of his motorcycle harness. "Are you saying whoever marked me can control me?" For some reason, the very idea ticked me off.
I'd had a temper lately. And freakish strength. I'd taken it to mean I was growing into my powers, changing for the good.
Ezra hesitated. "I don't know."
"Fine." If nobody wanted to answer my questions, I'd do what I'd been doing for the last month—figure it out on my own. I relaxed my guard a little, let the power flow. Call it a test drive. For a moment I let my new strength surge through me, mmm… heady and alive.
Ezra shrank back. "Um, oh my. Please don't do that."
"What?" I said, grinning at my belt, watching my switch stars spin on their own.
He cleared his throat hesitantly. "Some believe the mark fosters the evil within."
Anger surged through me. My pulse pounded in my ears. "I didn't choose this." My voice rumbled in a way it never had before and, dang it, I had to suppress a chuckle when Ezra flinched. Yeah, well the days of Lizzie the doormat had passed.
Pirate dipped his ears forward and whined at my feet. Oh for the love of Pete. "Aren't you supposed to be my fearless dog?" Rage surged inside me and boiled over when Pirate, my Pirate, backed away.
"Why would I choose this?" I demanded advancing as Ezra scuttled backward. "I dare you to tell me."
Ezra went completely transparent, his words floating on the warm night air. "I don't know."
Pirate made a mad dash for the alley behind the club. He'd always had a nervous bladder. Yeah, that's it. He's not terrified of me.
I felt the anger drain out of me. I'd never even been able to summon fear from the squirrels that ate my tomato bushes every year. How had things gotten this messed up?
With a flick of the wrist, my switch stars churned to a stop and an empty feeling settled over me.
Ezra's voice floated from somewhere above. "If you please, excuse me while I investigate the situation inside."
My throat had closed. "Sure," I said, unwilling to attempt more.
If you please?
That's what you get for scaring the poo out of him.
I leaned against my Harley and ripped a snippet off one of the scraggly bushes that brushed my bare legs.
I was th
e pleaser. Disturbingly so. I tore the flat leaves off the wiry branch and tossed them to the ground. Up till a month ago, I was the girl who put her cans and bottles through the dishwasher before they hit the recycle bin.
I tossed another leaf to the ground. I'd like to think I'd turned into a badass, but I knew better. Unholy powers or not, I'd write an entire encyclopedia on demon slaying if it helped me understand exactly what I needed to do in the magical world. Even now, I certainly wasn't skulking in shadows for my health.
"Pirate?" I ventured into the pool of light at the entrance to the narrow road. A collar jingled somewhere in the darkness. "Stick close." I tossed the remains of the branch I'd been tearing and took a second look when it jangled on the pavement. It wasn't a branch. Shock trickled through me. I'd been tearing barbed wire that had leaves tangled in it.
I inspected my hands, stomach tickling because I already knew what I'd find—not a scratch on them. Damn it.
Focus on what you can control, which didn't seem to be much at the moment.
Before long, the back door clicked open. Ezra's head popped out of the brick wall nearby. "This way. Quickly."
"Pirate!" I held open the Gucci bag and he scampered in without so much as a high-pitched doggie whine. It was exactly what I wanted—and it wasn't. I felt like a stranger in my own skin. My dog of six years was afraid of me.
At the same time, I was more powerful than I'd ever been. And I'd need every bit of strength in the battle ahead. The third demon slayer Truth bubbled to the top of my mind. Sacrifice yourself.
I rubbed at the tears burning the back of my eyes. I hoped it would be worth it.
The bag rustled as Pirate situated himself. You'd think with everyone and their brother craving my powers, I wouldn't feel so alone all the time.
The more I figured out, the more confused I was about what I was even doing here. Yeah, well that and fifty bucks might get me a bus ride out of town. In the meantime, I buried my emotions, drew back my shoulders and hustled for the red light illuminating the door at the back of the club.
Inside, a dark purple hallway led endlessly to the right and to the left. A hard bass beat thumped from deep inside the building. In its stillness, the hallway felt like a harbor, a final refuge before the point of no return.
A burning, twisting feeling seized my gut. There were demons in this club. I was so tired of running into demons. The sulfur burned clear over the combined stink of bleach and spilled beer.
"You smell that?" I picked up on something else. A sweetness in the air, like seduction.
My Gucci bag shifted and rattled. "Oh, Lizzie, I never thought I'd say this, but let's just go home." Pirate's nose popped out of the bag, then an ear. "I want my bed and my squeaky frog. And I want to curl up on the couch and eat popcorn and watch girlie movies. I'll even let you rent Beaches. Let's go home. You and me."
I wanted that too. Now, more than anything. But… "It's too late, Pirate."
Ezra's face appeared, his eyes seeming to scan into the wall in front of me. "Hurry." He shrank into a miniature orb. "Follow the hellhounds."
"Hell-what?" My voice caught in my throat as I made out a pair of ghostlike dogs far down the passageway. Three heads snarled from each sleek, coal black body. With long snouts and empty sockets for eyes, they almost seemed to wait for us.
With effort, I summoned my voice. "They're not guards, are they?" I asked, ready to trade Pirate for a switch star. For the first time, I was glad I had him trembling, safe in my bag.
"Whenever I've seen them before, they've been omens," Ezra said stiffly.
"Well then," I said, watching their doggie drool sizzle on the concrete floor, "I'm guessing they don't foretell bright sunshiny days." Good Lord, the paint started to bubble. Would it have been too much to ask to get a good omen once in a while?
Ezra looked at me like I'd grown a second and third head.
"They foretell events that impact all of mankind," Ezra said.
I nodded one too many times. My head hurt. I didn't want to impact all of mankind. I came here to finagle my uncle out of a bad marriage. That's all. We didn't want a she-demon in the family. Instead, I'd gotten a devil's mark, a potential showdown at the Hoover Dam and now this.
Ezra couldn't seem to tear his eyes away from the hellhounds. "Look at those teeth. Some ghosts go their entire existences without seeing one hellhound, much less two."
"Lucky you," I said, wondering how I'd save the world when I wasn't quite sure I had a handle on what was happening in this second-rate nightclub. I wondered if this is where the succubi had been luring men and killing them. It was remote enough.
The dogs seemed to be waiting for us. Sure enough, when we moved, they did too. They kept a steady pace in front of us, never even looking back, as we followed them down the left corridor. The beat of the music grew stronger and so did the sulfuric stench of demons. The final turn landed us behind a red curtain as a performer on stage crooned the first words to "Mi Amor."
I need you. I want you. Wrap my world around you.
The three-headed dogs turned in circles and dashed off into thin air.
"Where'd they go?" I asked, as disturbed by their disappearance as I was by seeing them in the first place.
Ezra shook his head. "Not good," he said, almost to himself.
I glanced toward the stage curtain. The singer belted out a set of lyrics I knew all too well.
Take me. Please me. You know you need me.
Ricardo Zarro, the King of Love? I couldn't believe it. I'd seen Ricardo Zarro performing "Mi Amor" on The Tonight Show last week. The man was famous for singing the kind of songs that put people in the mood. He lived at the top of the Billboard charts. And he looked quite striking in person, like a young Elvis.
But why would he sing in such a dinky club?
As quickly as I dared, I inched over to stage right and pulled back the side curtain. He'd tucked a yellow silk club shirt into buttery leather pants that (I'd be willing to bet) had never seen the hard seat of a hog. Zarro twitched his hips and belted out the lyrics.
Take me. Have me. Put your arms around me.
Sweat glistened on his brow, against the shock of black hair tossed artfully over his forehead. He grinned at the nonexistent audience, showing off a set of perfectly capped teeth.
I tried to understand exactly why he'd be performing here. Half the people in Vegas probably didn't even know about this place.
Then it hit me—privacy. The succubi were working on something.
A demonic presence floated up the empty staircase leading under the stage.
"Back!" I reached for Ezra and came up with a handful of frigid air. "This way!" I motioned to him as I darted behind a stack of black-light boxes. Sure he could go invisible. But dang it, I needed him around and it would be nice to have a clue where to find him.
Feet clomped up the staircase like the next invasion of the heavens.
"Excellent," said a scratchy voice, a demonic one. I knew it as sure as I had to fight the overwhelming urge to attack it. "And tomorrow, the crew knows when to cut the lights."
Serena cackled. Serena? I fought the urge to thrust my head around the side of the black-light boxes.
"We're set to take over all major network and cable stations. According to the Nielsen ratings, we'll get about thirty million viewers on the West Coast. Ricardo will handle the audience. I'll give the signal to trigger the blackout," Serena said. "Then it's up to America to take the hint."
The demon snickered, the ruby in her ear casting brilliant light. "I don't think they'll have any trouble. Zarro could put a nun in the mood. Kill the lights, and it'll be like Sodom and Gomorrah all over again. Without the donkey shit."
The footsteps halted. "Harness the power well," the demon warned. "I want the final six hundred and forty-two sisters out of hell in one glorious wave."
That would put them at six hundred sixty-six demons. I glanced at the dark mark on my hand. Not a good number.
"It shoul
dn't be a problem," Serena said, nails clacking against the hardwood as they began walking again. "Every freak in hell knows that once we get all our girls here, they can follow."
Sweet heavens. I couldn't fight the demons we had in Vegas now, much less the rest of hell.
I risked a peek around the boxes and nearly fell over backwards. The succubi didn't even try to look human. They loped like blackened orangutans, with rough, cracked skin hanging from their scraggly frames and cadaver-like skulls. Serena was taller than her companion, broader. Hair sprouted in wiry clumps from Serena's chin and above her clawlike hands. I'd never seen anything like her and I never wanted to again.
They had my uncle to sabotage the power systems. They had Ricardo Zarro to trigger a massive, power-inducing lovefest. Would sex be enough? Could it really beat killing? I didn't want to find out. Because if they got to six hundred sixty-six, I had a feeling their "killer prize" was Armageddon.
The creature hissed a trail of yellow sulfur.
"I hear Satan himself is monitoring our progress," the shorter one told Serena. "Promotions all around, I'm sure."
Their voices faded until the only thing I could hear was Ricardo's voice pounding out "Long, Hot Lovin'."
"Did you see that?" I whispered into thin air.
Ezra didn't answer. Bless him, he must be following the diabolical duo. I didn't envy the ghost one bit. The air felt positively electric and they'd only walked past.
I reached inside the Gucci bag and scratched Pirate's head. "What are we going to do?"
Pirate exhaled, a warm doggie sniff where he'd wedged his head into the corner of the bag. "I just want to go home."
I couldn't agree more.
As Pirate and I lurked behind the light boxes, waiting for Ezra's report, a terrible thought hit me. The demons should have sensed me.
When I'd gone to hell last week, when I'd followed Max down into the basement of the old prison a few nights ago, the demons had clamored for me. They knew. I couldn't think of one solid reason why they wouldn't swarm me now except—my entire body recoiled at the thought—I'd somehow blended with them.