by Deb Logan
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I spent that evening trying to convince myself Warwick James was a scam artist or a serial killer. Anything to erase the exceptionally abnormal future he'd outlined for me. What did I know about demons? Why would I want to hunt them? As far as I knew, no demon had ever harmed me or mine. Wouldn't Mom counsel me to live and let live?
And what about Mom and Dad? How were they supposed to take the news that their only daughter would never be the epitome of graceful femininity they desired? That she was instead destined to be a warrior charged with protecting the human race? They didn't want a guard dog; they wanted a pampered Pomeranian.
I stalked from room to room of our comfortable home, unable to settle anywhere. The kitchen taunted me with visions of the girl I’d never be. If I were more like Allie, I'd be warm and welcoming like its terra cotta red walls and pale lemon curtains, nourishing like the contents of its hickory cabinets, accomplished like the woman who ruled the heart of our home: my mother.
The great room, usually my retreat of choice, repelled me tonight. My brothers and their friends had gathered to watch a pre-season football game on Dad's awesome eighty-inch high-definition television. I could fit in with a roomful of guys, no problem. I'd been fitting in with guys since birth. But tonight I needed to think, and the guys’ rowdy antics would kill higher brain function.
The formal living room mocked me. Every piece of furniture in that room knew its place and function better than I did, same with the elegance of the rarely used dining room. One of the bathrooms? No. Unless I wanted to settle in for a soak, someone would be beating on the door in a matter of moments. Bedrooms? All were off limits except my own, and I felt like a caged animal pacing round and round my bed. I briefly considered sitting on top of the washer in the laundry room, but the white enameled metal looked cold and uncomfortable.
My restless wandering finally drove me outdoors — not far out, I remembered Wick's warning — onto the wide, covered porch that wrapped three sides of our two-story home. I settled on a cushioned patio chair and stared across the street into the familiar shadows of Loomiller Park.
Big mistake.
On an ordinary night, I could've stared for hours at the well-known tree shadows, the mirror smooth lake that was really little more than a pond, the winding walkways and seen no more than the outline of an occasional Canada goose. Heard no more than the peaceful chirping of crickets or the breeze sighing through the foliage. But tonight was no ordinary night. Tonight I possessed the senses of a demon hunter, and the normally quiet park teemed with life of a type I hadn't known existed until yesterday.
Demons of all shapes and sizes crowded the edges of our property. They crawled across the streets, climbed on the kiddie play equipment, splashed in the shallows of the lake, and hung from branches of the evergreens. But mostly, they stared at me. Hundreds of pairs of eyes gleamed in the darkness of the still August night.
A paralyzing chill clenched my spine in an icy fist. An impulse to jump and run seized my brain, but my feet and legs refused to act. Like a rabbit charmed by a swaying snake, I stared into their eyes and drowned in fear. I was no demon hunter. I was prey. How could one untrained teenage girl hope to survive when the night teemed with such ... such ... filth?
Filth? I shook my head, breaking eye contact and laughed. Not a happy giggle, but a terrified, ironic chuckle. Something deep inside had challenged the thought the demon horde had tried to plant. Yes, I was young and untrained, but an unacknowledged spark in my soul recognized them for what they were, filthy vermin to be hunted from the face of the earth.
"Thanks, guys," I murmured, rising and walking to the door with a newborn calm. "You've convinced me. I'm a demon hunter in need of training." I smiled, waved a salute to the unholy creatures only I could see, and strode to the great room to join my brothers. "See you in the morning, Mr. James," I murmured to myself as I grabbed a handful of popcorn from Jamie's bowl.
Settling into my favorite chair, I smiled as the buttery goodness of popcorn melted on my tongue. I finally knew who I was. Never again would I see myself as a clumsy, too-tall imitation of Allie. No, I was exactly who I was meant to be. Dani Heleen Erickson: Demon Hunter Extraordinaire!
About Deb Logan
Deb Logan specializes in fantasy tales for the young at heart. She loves mythology and is especially fond of Celtic and Native American lore. She writes about faeries, dragons, and other fantasy creatures for the younger set as herself, and for adults as Debbie Mumford.
Visit Deb at Deb Logan Writes to learn more about her currently available work.
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Also by Deb Logan:
School Daze
(Short Story)
Dani Erickson is a hereditary demon hunter. The seventh child of a seventh child, she was born to battle the nasty monsters she sees infesting her small Colorado town. With the help of her best friend Allie and her sensei Warwick James, she's getting into fighting trim -- just in time for her first day of high school.
Demons beware. Dani's on the prowl!
Faery Unexpected
(Novel)
Claire Murray, an aspiring teen diva, inherits a dragon, discovers she's a faery princess, and battles the king of faery for control of her future ... and the life of the dragon she's come to love.
Thunderbird
(Novel)
Native American twins Janine and Justin Prentiss protect and defend a thunderbird hatchling from Unktehi, the demigod of chaos, while lost in Montana’s Absaroka wilderness.
Lilah’s Ghost
(Short Story)
Twelve-year-old Hannah Barnes is just like all the other girls in her small town, except for one little detail: Hannah’s best friend is a ghost. When the annual Sweet Pea Festival arrives, Hannah discovers the secret to freeing Lilah from her earthly bondage. Hannah has a big decision. Will she help Lilah move on, or will she cling to her best friend?
Includes Bonus story: Angelic Voices.
