by Angie Fox
She hit him again. And again. I squinted against the power and the light.
He broke apart, lost form as the cloud of smoke surrounding us began to break apart.
I ran to Pirate, who had started to roll over and open his eyes. I took him up into my arms as the phantom that was Hiram Peele screamed. He clawed and fought, but it did him no good. He was sucked back down into the grave.
Eva Peele stood in front of us. Tears streamed down her face. She appeared utterly exhausted. And she only had eyes for Pirate. "Is he all right?"
Pirate lifted his head, although it had to be hard for him after such a hit. "I think I could use a belly scratch."
Eva let out a small, happy cry and stroked Pirate on the head and down the neck. Both seemed particularly pleased when he turned all the way onto his back to help her get to the soft fur under of his belly.
Meanwhile Dimitri inspected the place where the phantom had gone down. "We have to act. Now. There must be a way to trap him here for good."
I reached into my utility belt for a biker witch distress flare. It was long, small and had a double set of wings. "Emergency!" I hissed, before launching it up into the air.
It shot up high, leaving a glittery silver trail, until it burst into a red shower of sparks overhead.
Chapter 4
The biker witches arrived with pork ribs in hand.
"What have you got?" Grandma asked, ducking past a leaning tomb.
We explained, and in mere minutes, we had an army of witches working at breakneck speed.
"Take Two Toed Harriett back into the woods to gather more dioscorea if we need it," Grandma hollered to Frieda, as she poured herbs from her fanny pack into her palm and began mixing them with her fingers.
"That sounds like a disease," Dimitri said.
Grandma made a sign of the cross. "Protective herb. Should be strong enough to plant that abusing asshole back in the ground."
The biker witches each commandeered a small piece of land and began laying hands on it, chanting and sewing it with herbs. Dimitri brought up torches and supplies from camp. Meanwhile, Pirate managed to commandeer a discarded rib bone or three. He was looking better. Weak, but happy.
I scratched him on the head. "How's it going, buddy?"
His ears drooped. "She says she has to leave."
I looked past him and could barely see the outline of Eva Peele. It was as if she'd begun to depart already. "It's her time," I said, to both of them really. She'd earned her peace. "I'll bet she'll always remember you."
"She will." Pirate paused in his chewing. "She's more powerful than she thinks. She just needed the love of a pet to bring her out of her shell."
We both watched as the outline of Eva Peele took on a beautiful golden glow. She smiled. Happy. Then she lifted her chin toward the clear sky, scattered with stars, and began to rise.
"Thank you," I said, hoping she heard me as she drew higher.
Pirate nudged me. "She said to tell you the same thing."
We watched her until we could barely make out a perfectly round white orb as it ascended to the heavens.
* * *
An hour later, the witches had completed their work. Warmth filled the night. The haze had lifted and the ground felt solid beneath our feet.
Ant Eater walked over to me and slapped a hand on my shoulder. "Well, the master of the house is pissed. But he's not going to be able to hurt anybody again."
"Hiram Peele is still here?" I asked. I'd half-expected them to banish him. Where, I had no idea.
Grandma gave a low whistle as she joined us. "He refused to budge. So we locked him up in his grave." She glanced back at the old mausoleum. "As long as nobody disturbs him, he'll be fine."
"I'll let the owner know," I said.
"Want me to go with?" Ant Eater offered.
I shook my head. "Not necessary."
I took Dimitri instead.
We grinned at each other, same as before, as we walked up to the old mansion.
"Let's make a deal," he said. "Next anniversary we're going to avoid supernatural entities bent on killing us. I mean, first the wedding and now this." He squeezed my hand. "I don't want it turning into a tradition."
I kissed him on the cheek. "Deal."
Marjorie stood on the front porch. Her red hair glowed against the heavy bronze light over the door. She raised a hand in greeting. "Is it safe?"
Dimitri and I exchanged a glance as we made our way over to talk with her.
"What do you think you saw?" I asked.
She watched me as if she were trying to see into me. "I saw a bunch of vandals in my cemetery. Until the ghosts by the fire dropped their tea cups and bolted for the light."
She was more aware than I'd realized.
"They went to a better place." Dimitri said. "Hiram Peele has been put to rest as well."
"He was the troublemaker, wasn't he?" she asked.
I nodded and relief washed over her features. "This is going to sound crazy, but I could almost feel him leave." She paused. "Do you think it will be safe to open up the bed and breakfast again?"
"It should be." The house felt lighter. Clean. "Bring a priest through to bless the place. And don't disturb his grave," I warned her.
She nodded. "Not a chance."
"You might also want to hire some help," Dimitri told her. "I think you're going to have a lot more customers from now on."
We'd have the witches whip up a spell to draw some extra customers. Marjorie worked hard. She deserved it.
"Let's head out," Grandma called, approaching from the cemetery. "We're missing the rest of the barbeque,"
Our hostess frowned. "You are with those bikers?" She seemed genuinely confused. "But you said…" She halted. "But you're so nice."
"They are too," I said, as Grandma joined us on the porch. "The biker witches just took care of your poltergeist problem for you."
"Well darn it," the owner said, fretting all the more. "Now I wish I hadn't called the sheriff on them."
Grandma smiled and clapped her on the back. "No sweat, we get that a lot." She turned to me. "Ready to go?"
We said our goodbyes and headed off through the cemetery with Grandma. It looked like the other witches were back at their party already.
"They sure don't waste time," I commented, as we made our way through the graves.
Grandma snorted. "Yeah well when you get up there like us, you don't have a lot of time to fritter away."
"So are the police coming?" I asked when we'd almost made it. Music blared across the field. You Really Got Me by Van Halen. Now that the crowd had spread out, I could also see they had a hog on the grill.
Grandma planted her hands on her hips. "Already took care of the law. The sheriff is drunk over by that tree. We hit him with a barbeque-craving spell. The rest is on him." She gave me a sideways glance. "Anyhow, it appears we're spending the night after all."
"Good." Dimitri wrapped an arm around me. "Let's go find your present. It should be here by now."
Grandma let out a curse. "That was for you?" She said. "I sent him away."
"Ask me if I'm surprised," Dimitri mused. He was used to fixing messes. "It's a good thing we have other ways to keep busy," he added, edging me back toward the pine forest.
Grandma hesitated. "You don't want to stick around and celebrate?"
"We will later," he said cryptically.
Grandma appeared confused for a second, before she started laughing.
I ignored her, and drew closer to my husband. "You're still in the mood?" I asked. "After all this?"
Not that I minded a romp in the forest with my man, but he'd been through a lot tonight.
He nuzzled my cheek. "Biker anti-passion spells don't last long on me. At least not when you're around."
Damn. "That just totally got me in the mood."
He turned to me, his sharp features accented by the moonlight. "I love you, Lizzie. I'll always want you, no matter what."
His wor
ds soaked through me, warming me like nothing else ever world. "That's the best gift you could ever give me."
And then I kissed him, contented to know that he was mine. To love, to hold, to grow old with. For better or worse. For the rest of our lives.
* * *
Enjoy more of Lizzie and Dimitri’s adventures in the Accidental Demon Slayer series by Angie Fox
Some Like It Hexed
Chapter 1
The Red Skulls biker gang, made up of Harley-riding witches, had never thrown a Halloween party before.
Sure, they'd gathered the coven at midnight on Samhain. They'd communed with the spirits on the other side. They'd reached beyond the veil in the light of the full moon.
But a party? With themed-out napkins and paper plates? I'd never seen it before.
I clutched the phone as my grandmother described the napkins she'd bought this afternoon, the ones showing green-skinned women with questionable fashion taste, riding broomsticks under a full moon. Aside from the fact that a witch flying like that would make an easy target for any demon, banshee, or evil warlock, I didn't get how this particular coven of powerful witches could act so blasé.
"Oh, and Lizzie, I need you to bring a snack to share," my grandmother instructed.
I gripped the phone tighter.
Grandma Gertie was the leader of the Red Skulls. She walked around in leather chaps with a sagging tattoo of a phoenix on her arm and purple sparkles in her hair. She ate pork ribs off the bone, drank whiskey straight out of the bottle, and hadn't touched an oven mitt since the Carter administration. "Whip up some of those cupcakes I saw in that magazine at your condo, the ones with the licorice legs that look like spiders. See if you can get gumdrops for the eyes."
Just because I read Good Housekeeping didn't mean I knew what to do with the recipes. I sent in the subscription card on one particularly optimistic day. After that, I enjoyed looking at the pretty pictures. It had been innocent. Harmless.
Until now.
"You seem to forget that I'm the anointed demon slayer of Dalea," I told her. There was only one of us born every three generations, for goodness' sake.
I'd learned about my powers on the night of my thirtieth birthday, when Grandma in her full biker glory showed up unannounced on my doorstep and informed me I wouldn't be teaching preschool anymore. She then inadvertently locked me in the bathroom to battle a demon with a bottle of air freshener. It had been a wild ride ever since.
"Are you fighting a demon right now?" she asked, her voice sounding even rustier over the phone.
"No," I groused.
"Then those should be some damned good cupcakes."
I groaned. Trapped. Like a rat.
So I headed to the grocery store, as requested, and even without my supernatural powers, I managed to figure out what size gumdrops made the best spider eyes.
If I take on a job, I do it right.
Then I returned home and did my best impression of Martha Stewart, if the homemade diva wore leather boots and a Kiss My Asphalt T-shirt.
After I'd finished baking, I dressed in a black leather dress, my demon slayer weapons belt, and a cute pair of spider earrings I found on a rack by the checkout lane.
It was time to party.
"Come on, Pirate," I said to my Jack Russell terrier.
I hoisted a box full of treats that would make my friends on Pinterest proud and led my dog out of the condo. I locked the door behind us since my sexy-as-sin plus-one, Dimitri, had gone into the city this afternoon to meet with visiting dignitaries from the griffin clans of Santorini. He was the liaison here in North America.
No doubt he would have found the idea of a biker witch Halloween party as odd as I did.
It was barely four in the afternoon.
Pirate trailed behind me, sulking. "I don't know why I followed you outside. I ain't going anywhere until you get me out of this straitjacket."
Did I mention one of the side effects of my awesome powers was that I could also understand my dog?
Sometimes it was a gift. Other times, a curse.
"You look darling," I told him. He did.
He was mostly white, with a dollop of brown on his back that wound up his neck and over one eye. I'd named him Pirate for that reason. And thanks to the Internet, I'd found him a little doggy pirate outfit, complete with a red-and-white-striped shirt and a black belt with a stuffed sword hanging from it. Precious.
"Admit it. I look stupid," he grumbled.
"That's because you're not wearing the hat," I told him, "but don't worry. I already packed it. We'll strap it on when we get there." Too bad the outfit didn't come with an eye patch.
"I'd better get a cupcake," he muttered as I picked him up and set him on the leather seat of my Harley.
Ever since I'd learned to ride, my furry friend had become a biker dog. Until recently, I wore him close to my body with what can best be described as a leather baby carrier.
A biker witch named Bob had made my dog a permanent doggy seat in front of me. Pirate liked being the first one to catch the breeze as we rode. I secured him snugly and fastened his canine riding goggles, also known as doggles.
Pirate stared at the box of goodies I'd strapped to the luggage rack of the Harley, as if he could make a cupcake fall out by willpower alone.
I'd tell him later I packed some yummy doggy dental chews.
"Okay, buddy," I said, climbing on behind him. "You ready?"
"Oh, yeah," he said, forgetting his wardrobe issues as I fired up the engine. Going on a ride always perked my dog up. Claiming a seat at the front of my bike was like sticking his entire body out the car window.
"Let's get this party started," I told him.
My dog threw his head back and howled in triumph as we blazed out onto the open road.
Chapter 2
The late-afternoon sun blazed in a cloudless blue sky as we drove up the Pacific Coast Highway to Long Beach and followed Grandma's directions through a quaint residential area near the water.
We passed a neighborhood of Spanish-style stucco houses with colorful tile house numbers. We saw a white-painted crab shack, an ice cream shop, and a crowded farmers' market. Palm trees lined the street, their leaves rustling as they swayed in the breeze.
This couldn't be right.
It was too…normal. And I wasn't detecting any clear magical hot spots.
The witches liked to party with fairies and necromancers. They hung at hole-in-the-wall bars with warlock bikers and banshee hunters.
Then again, the one thing I've learned about the Red Skulls over the years—there was no telling what they might do. These were hard riding, no-guff senior ladies who'd been in love with Harleys for longer than I'd been alive. They seized every day with no apologies and seemed determined to eke every bit of pleasure from life.
Even still, I was really surprised when Grandma's directions led me to the Ocean View Senior Living & Rehabilitation Center.
This had to be some kind of mistake.
I passed blue-painted benches under groupings of palm trees as I drove up the circle drive. I stopped my bike at the top and shut off the engine. "We're in the wrong place, little doggy," I murmured, rubbing Pirate on the head.
My dog's tail thumped against the seat. "It looks good to me." He eyed an older gentleman in a heavy jacket sitting on a bench by the door. "See that guy? I think he wants to pet a dog." Pirate tried to leap off the bike and I was glad I'd strapped him in good.
"Hey mister!" Pirate hollered. "I'm cute and I'm soft. You want to pet my head? I'll let you rub my belly."
The man smiled. I doubted he was a warlock, which meant he didn't understand my dog's actual words. Still, Pirate was about ready to spring out of his skin with excitement. No way to miss that.
"You are shameless," I said, returning the man's grin as I reached into my back pocket for my cell phone.
Pirate craned his neck to look up at me. "I have learned to ask for what I want. Not everybody can say that."
"I'm going to call Grandma," I said, dialing. Hopefully, we were close to the fairy highway that would take us to the secret magic party.
Just then, I saw Grandma's second-in-command walk out of the front entrance.
"Ant Eater?" I kicked on my engine and pulled my bike up closer to the witch with knee-high black boots, a black greaser wig, and a red cape. She wore black leather chaps and the most obnoxious belt buckle I'd ever seen. "What are you supposed to be?"
She waved at me, her red cape trailing in the breeze. "Elvis." She grinned, her gold tooth gleaming. "You can't park here. This lane is for pickup and drop-off only. Go along the side of the building. You'll see a line of bikes. We're just grabbing a couple of things. Party's already started."
"At a senior center," I said, as if maybe she hadn't noticed.
The Red Skulls were one of the most powerful covens on the West Coast. They practiced a dynamic, healing white magic that could be stunning in its complexity—even if they did tend to use items most of us could find around the house, or on a drive through town.
Ant Eater waved at two witches carrying a giant black cauldron in from the side parking lot. People were going to notice.
I dismounted and pulled her aside. "Why are you doing this here, of all places, on the eve of Samhain? Surely you could have found a more private place for a ritual." Even my condo would have been preferable to this.
They couldn't possibly expect to go undetected here.
Skinny Loretta passed us. She wore a Minnie Mouse costume and carried a karaoke machine.
"Put it by the piano," Ant Eater instructed. "We may need it." The gold-toothed witch turned to me. "Who said anything about a ritual? This is a party!"
"I'll be right in," I told her. I had to see it for myself.
Pirate and I drove the bike over to the side lot. Then I unstrapped him and grabbed my cupcakes.
"I hope they have bacon treats," he said, shaking off.
We made our way toward the front door. It hurt to break it to him, but, "I doubt they'll have doggy snacks on the food table."
