Angie Fox -The Accidental Demon Slayer

by The Accidental Demon Slayer (lit)

  Tears burned the back of my eyes. Poor Grandma! I felt so helpless. She was suffering horribly and it was my fault and I didn't know how we were going to get her out of there. And to twist the knife further, I still couldn't understand why she ended up there in the first place. "What does that demon want if he doesn't want her soul?" I asked, trying to hitch my voice above a whisper.

  "He wants you to go after her. And you can! You can defeat him, Lizzie. You have the power. You just need to learn how to use it."

  Frieda burst into tears. There was something she wasn't telling me. And if it was even more mortifying than Grandma being tortured in hell, I couldn't imag­ine what it could be. "We need you trained yesterday. You're the only one who can enter the second layer of hell and defeat Vald."

  "Me?" Holy Hades. "Grandma was supposed to be the one to teach me," I said, rapidly losing all hope. "Who else is there?" Please don't let it be Ant Eater. She'd shoot me in the kneecaps every time I made a mistake. And I knew I'd make plenty.

  Frieda took a deep breath, not liking her answer any more than I probably would. "That's the thing. No one else is qualified to train you. Except him."

  We both cast a glance at Dimitri. He towered over the booth, his arms crossed over his chest. "I said I'd do it. Lizzie is safe in my hands. As long as we do it my way." He shifted his stance. "Now what is this I hear about Lizzie working for the werewolves?"

  Oh no. This was no time to bargain. I couldn't help resenting him for trying to be practical at a time like this.

  Frieda frowned, clearly uncomfortable in her role as the coven spokesperson. "We worked out a deal with the werewolves in exchange for their help this morn­ing. Think of it as a training run, Lizzie. It'll be good practice for you."

  I nodded, my head bobbing while my brain spun furiously. I had to train to be a demon slayer and work a job for a mercenary group of werewolves, all the while my grandmother fought Vald as he tried to suck her into the second layer of hell. Oh geez. I couldn't do this. I'd never had this much responsibility in my life, not to mention this many people counting on me.

  I had to ask the question burning the back of my brain. Maybe if I asked it out loud, it wouldn't be as scary.

  "What if I screw up?"

  Frieda eyed me, as serious as death. "You can't, Lizzie. You just can't."

  I was afraid of that.

  Chapter Ten

  I jogged after my new trainer—the only man who could help me save Grandma—as his boots crunched across the parking lot. One hushed conversation with the red-headed witch and instead of training me, Dimitri made a beeline for the bike we rode in on.

  "Where in Narnia do you think you're going?"

  He slammed to a halt, and I nearly ran into the back of him. "Back to hell," he growled. "Or at least as close as we've got to it around here."

  What had Scarlet said to get him riled up like this? I didn't know and, frankly, I didn't care. Well boo frickin' hoo. "You're not going anywhere."

  "You don't own me, Lizzie." He stalked toward the bike, yanking on his black leather gloves. "Besides, we're not going to get too much training done without your switch stars. They're back in my wreck of an SUV, along with something else I have to retrieve." His eyes bored into mine. "Now."

  "Don't you give me that," I said, keeping pace with him. If anyone had a right to be annoyed, it was me. Everyone was counting on me, on us. "You're a selfish jerk, you know that?" A muscle in his jaw twitched. "Um-hum. And you know what? That's fine. When you're finished training me, you can build a tent and camp out there for all I care. But right now, your job is to help me get Grandma back. So get your buns back here and teach me, damn it."

  He appeared to think about it for a nanosecond. "No," he said, checking the knife at his hip. And the knife in his boot. And the dagger in his back pocket. Holy Hades.

  "Dimitri!" We didn't have time for this. Grandma was in the first layer of hell—and sinking. Ant Eater lent me out to the werewolves on what sounded suspi­ciously like a demon hit job and now Dimitri—my protector, my trainer—was about to ride off.

  "This Harley's not leaving until I say so." I dashed around him and climbed up on the bike, my tiger-striped pants catching on the leather seat, my feet not quite reaching the running boards.

  Yeah, yeah, he could have lifted me off like an af­terthought. But I had a feeling he was a closet gentle­man. Or at least not the type of guy to toss me Jerry Springer style off the bike.

  I was right.

  "You don't get it, princess." He glowered at me. "This isn't about us."

  "Then what's it about?" This was not the time for Dimitri to be holding out on me. Again.

  "Look," he snapped. "We had a deal, remember? I train you. You do as I say."

  In his dreams. "Our deal is simple. You train me. Now."

  He dug a hand through his thick dark hair. "Fine," he said. "I'll get you started. But then I'm out of here." He brought up a finger. "Now, listen. If you want to help your grandma, you need to master the Three Truths." He counted them off on his fingers like he was the preschool teacher. "Look to the outside. Ac­cept the universe. Sacrifice yourself."

  Oh, help me Rhonda. I knew this drill. Give the demon slayer a bunch of busy work while Grandma suf­fered and he raided the Red Skull for some hoo-ha bit of dangerous magic Ant Eater probably had brewing in the men's toilet.

  "I'm not trying to pull anything over on you," he said, the corner of his mouth twisting into a wry smile. "Trust me."

  "Like I did right before you chained me to a tree?"

  "Hey," he barked. "I was out of options." His eyes soft­ened and he gripped my wrist, sliding his thumb over the sensitive skin underneath. He leaned close enough to kiss. "Besides, it wasn't all bad, was it?"

  He'd held me against that tree and done delicious things. I fought back a blush just thinking about it.

  "In your dreams." Dang, he was 100 percent male and he was going to be a pain in my rump if I didn't watch it. For some girls, it would be the ultimate fan­tasy to receive a huge, honking emerald from a man like Dimitri. But I knew all too well about the strings attached.

  I'd felt his kiss right down to my toes. Right before he chained me to a walnut tree.

  Well he wasn't going to schnooker me this time. I ducked out of his embrace. "You are not getting on this bike."

  He threw one leg over the Harley and slid in front of me before I knew it. He tossed a wicked grin over his shoulder before he slowly, intentionally used his firm backside to nudge me into the passenger's seat. I could feel the heat rolling off him. He held me there, against the back bar of the bike, the stitching of his Levi's practically burning a brand into my leather pants.

  Sweet switch stars.

  "Are you two done?" asked Scarlet. I felt the color rise to my cheeks. I hadn't even seen her walk up. "We don't have much time before there's nothing left to save." She frowned. "And Lizzie, you need to go get your dog."

  Pirate had the worst timing. "What's he doing?" I fought back visions of a ruined Rootin' Tootin' Break­fast Bar.

  She looked at me like I'd sprouted wings. "How should I know? Frieda took him to the trailer where you'll be staying."

  New visions of a trailer full of shredded toilet paper. "Did he eat first?" Pirate liked to shred things when he was hungry, or bored, or excited or really whenever he felt like it.

  "I don't even want to know what you're talking about," she said. "Just get over there. Your roommate can't stand dogs."

  Roommate? Well, it made sense. The werewolves did have to take in a whole coven. "I would have thought a werewolf would like dogs, you know, due to the whole species thing."

  Dimitri blanched.

  Scarlet rushed to explain. "We'd never put you with a werewolf. Do yourself a favor right now, Lizzie, and don't trust a single one of them. Especially Rex. He's gunning for the alpha slot and you do not want to be within ten miles when that happens." She glanced at Dimitri. "Hopefully, we'll be out of here before the shit hits
the fan. Just remember, coven stays with co­ven. You're in the second trailer behind the Dumpster. You can't miss Ant Eater's bra rack out front."

  "What?" It was my turn to blanch. "You put me with that crazy woman?"

  She seemed unaffected by my naked distress. "Ant Eater is in charge now, and that's the way she or­dered it."

  "She pulled a gun on me in a crowded restaurant! What's she going to do when we're alone? No. I won't do it." Come on. Dimitri had to back me on this.

  Scarlet shook her head. "It's a done deal, Lizzie. Do what Gertie would have done," she suggested. "Buck up."

  "Oh, no you don't. Don't start preaching my grandma back to me." If she thought for a minute she'd sway me with a low-down, dirty tactic like that, she was crazier than Ant Eater.

  "Consider it your first test," Dimitri said, eerily con­fident in my questionable abilities.

  He ran a familiar hand down my leg as I climbed off the bike. He only got away with it because I was in shock. Then he settled on a meaningless demon slayer Truth that wouldn't help me rescue Grandma and cer­tainly wouldn't do me any good now. "Accept the uni­verse, Lizzie."

  "Oh yeah. That's exactly what I wanted to hear."

  He fired up the engine and peeled off down the road.

  "What am I supposed to do with that?" I asked Scar­let as she buckled her helmet. She shrugged, gunned her engine and took off after him.

  I couldn't believe it. Dimitri insisted he was my pro­tector, demanded to train me and as soon as I actually wanted him around, he took off.

  As for his demon slayer Truths, he might as well have handed me a cross-stitched doily with Don't worry. Be happy! for all the good three lousy sayings would do me right now. I'd never save Grandma with him as my men­tor. Heck, I might not even survive ten minutes in a trailer with Ant Eater. Accept the universe.

  "Screw the universe." I needed some switch stars.

  Dimitri had better get back quick because there was no way I would wait a second longer to start training and no way I'd live long anyway in a rusted-out trailer with Ant Eater. Clouds rolled across the sky and the air felt like it was going to rain any minute. I stomped over tufts of weeds and various other lawn junk as I zeroed in on the trailer with a front porch full of bras. No tell­ing why Ant Eater had fled with her motorcycle bags full of bras rather than her über-rare herbs. No telling why Ant Eater did anything.

  The magical do-it-all breastplate began to hum. Even Dimitri's emerald knew I was in trouble. I kicked an empty Budweiser can across the field. "Frickin' Dimi­tri and his two-ton emerald. If I could do it again, I'd tell him to stick it in his ear." The metal warmed against my skin. I held my breath. It was doing it again.

  The hum turned into a steady vibration. Creepy, creepy, creepy. Think of something else. Yeah, right.

  I stood motionless as the bronze metal slid over my skin, reforming into—what? I cringed to think what I needed now. I closed my eyes and wished for a full suit of medieval armor. That could come in handy against Ant Eater.

  Alas, my mystic emerald had a mind of its own and I soon found myself the proud owner of a metal helmet that refused to come off. Goody. I couldn't keep my hands off my head as I walked the rest of the way to the trailer. It felt like a baseball cap without the brim. It wasn't uncomfortable, just unnerving.

  Ant Eater better not try to whack me in the grape with a baseball bat. My fingers probed the intricate designs of the helmet and skittered over the teardrop emerald embedded front and center.

  "Okay, stop fiddling with the hat and face the mu­sic," I told myself as I stood in front of the trailer I was going to share with Ant Eater.

  The wood of the front porch had cracked and grayed with age. The entire thing rocked slightly as I hoisted myself up the stairs. Along with Ant Eater's enormous red bras, as well as a leopard-print teddy I refused to think about, the porch sagged under the weight of a rusted washtub full of discarded beer cans, the front bumper of a car and too many petrified hand towels to even count.

  I paused, blew out a breath as I contemplated the holes in the front screened door. Shotgun blasts? No ques­tion about it, this was the worst roommate situation I'd ever faced. Ant Eater scared the beeswax out of me. Part of it was the fact she'd tackle you first and ask questions later. But most of it stemmed from the sheer rage I'd seen in her eyes this morning. We'd have to find a way to make peace or it would be a lot harder to help Grandma.

  I smoothed a few stray hairs out of my eyes and pulled them behind my ears. Well, she hadn't thrown me off the front porch yet. I supposed that was some­thing to celebrate. The sun peeked out from the clouds and I caught a glitter out of the corner of my eye. Tiny rhinestones clung to each red bra, forming little skulls at the center of each cup. I swallowed hard and opened the front door.

  "Lizzie!" Pirate popped up from where he'd been curled up, watching the front door. "Am I glad to see you. I've been dying for some company and this lady is no company at all." Pirate's collar jingled as he skit­tered toward me. I scooped him up in my arms, revel­ing in his warm little body.

  Ant Eater tossed me an acidic glare and went back to stacking glass jars in a small pyramid next to a beat-up brown couch. She'd tied a black leather skullcap over her short silver curls. Chocolate brown furniture cluttered the narrow front room. Ant Eater had shoved most of it toward the back hallway in order to make room for stacks and stacks of pickle jars. Roadkill magic. Well, I'd seen Grandma's jars. They shouldn't surprise me by now. Except—my heart hiccupped—the goo in Ant Eater's jars seemed to be alive.

  "Hi there," I said to her. I was not going to let this woman intimidate me. I picked my way across a yellow-brown rug that probably hadn't started off that color. Lamps decorated with belching frogs topped white plastic end tables. Somehow, I'd expected these merce­nary werewolves to live better. Perhaps this was sim­ply an outpost where they stashed fugitives like us. I shuddered to think what kind of mission they had in store for me.

  She hunkered over the jars, her wallet chain swing­ing from her back pocket. "Go to your room. It's in the back. And stay the hell away from me."

  My stomach clenched. If there was one thing I couldn't stand, it was bullies. And she was one of the worst I'd ever met. I had to stand up for myself now, or she'd only get worse. "No," I said, a little more breath­less than I'd intended. "Let's get one thing straight. You are not going to treat me that way."

  She paused, her back to me. And that was another thing. The woman had to have at least two dozen jars stacked along the walls. How had she fled the coven with all of them? Perhaps Ant Eater had more notice of the attack than she'd let on. The thought made me very, very uncomfortable.

  Slowly, deliberately she reached for a jar with— ohmygosh—a preserved human ear inside. I braced myself, ready to duck if she tried to throw it at me.

  She held it up, her wide face flushed with anger. "Know what this is? This came from another smart­ass." Her bushy brows plummeted downward as she sneered. "I warned him. Said if he touched my motor­cycle again, I'd bite his ear off and keep it in a pickle jar." The distended ear bobbed in the grayish liquid. Ant Eater seemed to relish the fear tingling up my spine.

  A nudge at my leg nearly sent me jumping out of my skin. But it was only Pirate. He danced in place on his two front paws. "Now I think this might be one of those situations where we let the old lady have her way," Pi­rate said. He turned tail and hurried back through the trailer. "I'm all for fighting and all," he called from somewhere down the hall, "but that is just wrong. Ohh, water bed!"

  I wanted to follow him. I really did. There was no reason to provoke a crazy bully who would like noth­ing better than to whack me in two with the samurai sword in the corner, or the very large machete under the coffee table or the—geez, there had to be at least twenty shotguns stacked in there. Not to mention the pistols lining the counter by the sink.

  "Yeah, that's right, Lizzie," she said, daring me to push it. "Back away."

  I wanted to. But, "No
."

  "What?" she spat.

  I could feel my blood pounding in my skull, but this was no time to roll over. "If you want to share a trailer with me, there's no reason why I can't sit here on the couch and read a magazine." I eased onto the squishy sofa and practically sank down to the floor. The thing was worse than a beanbag chair. And there were no magazines. Fine. I'd relax and contemplate the Three Truths of the demon slayer. Look to the outside. Ac­cept the universe. Sacrifice yourself.

  Sacrifice myself? Please don't let it be today.

  Ant Eater charged me and slammed the couch over backward. Pain exploded in my head as it smacked against the linoleum floor. "You're the only one who can kill Vald, and you want to read a magazine?" She stood over me, fuming. "You worthless sugar-tit! You can't even spit, and you're the one who has to save Gertie. Time to feel some pain, princess. You'd better get used to it."

  She seized the toad lamp and yanked the cord from the wall. I scurried past the breakfast bar into the arse­nal of a kitchen as the lamp crashed into the mugs above me and sent a whole rickety shelf tumbling down. The rack pounded into me and the cups sliced at my back as they shattered. I reached for one of the guns. My fingers touched the cool metal, and I stopped. I didn't need to make this worse.

  There had to be another way.

  Look to the outside.

  What outside? Outside myself? Okay. I'd stop wor­rying about myself and focus on the problem. Every red jowled, overblown, lethal inch of her.

  I faced the crazy woman. Rage boiled in her eyes. "Stop!" I ordered. "Let's talk—" She reached under the coffee table, grabbed the machete.

  "Yeeee!" Pirate launched himself at her ankle.

  Oh my word. Where had he come from? "Pirate, no!"

  He chomped his teeth into her leather chaps.

  "Son of a bitch!" She whipped her leg around and launched him into the hallway.

  "Pirate!" Please don't be hurt!