Angie Fox -The Accidental Demon Slayer

by The Accidental Demon Slayer (lit)

  I grabbed my underpants from the side table and saw they'd been ripped in half. Dimitri's story would explain why the Red Skulls hadn't wanted to answer any of my questions about my mom. But Grandma? It had to be an accident, or a mistake—anything but cold­blooded murder.

  That had to be it. I leaped out of bed and started yanking my pants on. "It was a long time ago, Lizzie." Dimitri followed me, trying to get me to face him. I felt the hot tears coming and knew that if I looked at him I could lose it. Growing up, I'd had this picture in my mind of what my biological parents would be like. I never had much hope for ever meeting my dad. My birth certificate listed him as "unknown." But my mom? Call it a stupid gut feeling, but I always felt like I'd meet her someday.

  Suspicion clawed at me. I wondered why Dimitri had decided to tell me now. Twenty minutes ago, I would have thought he was concerned. After the whopper he'd told about his sisters, "What do you want me to do now? Save your sisters instead of my murdering grandma?"

  "No. Of course we'll get Gertie. Vald has them all."

  I glared at him through a haze of tears. And why was a fifth-level demon following us around anyway? "It's your fault he got her, isn't it?"

  "No, Lizzie. He's been holding out for you, wanting your powers. Sure, I followed you, but so did he. Re­member the imps on the road? You may not like how I helped you, Lizzie, but you needed me to teach you as much as I need you to save my sisters tonight."

  "Let's say it plain. You used me."

  "Yes."

  There. He admitted it. He'd used me for my powers, and my body.

  He had the nerve to look exasperated. "We couldn't have a future with lies between us, and I want a future with you."

  He stood there with a pained expression, waiting—for what I couldn't imagine.

  "Forgive me," he said.

  "When hell freezes over."

  I tripped over a corner of the bed and he caught me. "Lizzie." He wrapped me in a bear hug.

  "Don't touch me," I said, extricating myself. I found my bra wadded up next to the TV stand.

  "Okay. Fine. Hate me. I hate myself right now too. But I was desperate to save Diana and Dyonne. It was the only way."

  "Fuck you." There. I said it. And it didn't feel nearly as good as I'd imagined.

  He stood, looking helpless and forlorn. "Despise me, Lizzie. But it ends as soon as we hit the Dixie Queen. We need you focused for tonight. Vald has your grandma, but what he really wants is you. You have more raw power than any slayer I've ever heard of, but you're still learning. Think about what happened with the black souls."

  "Move." I had to find my scarf-belt.

  "Vald thinks he can take your power. You can't let him, Lizzie."

  "Oh, now you care about what happens to me?"

  "I've always cared, Lizzie," he said softly.

  I delivered a scalding look as I tried to button my white shirt. Hard to do when there were only two but­tons left. I hurled the ruined shirt across the room.

  "Okay. That's not true. I admit it. In the beginning, I only needed a slayer. I've been training my whole life to defeat this curse, to save my sisters. You have no idea how rare your skills—" He shot me a guilty look. "How rare you are," he corrected, a little too late. "When I sensed you, I went for you."

  "How long did you follow me?"

  "Lizzie, let's not get into this."

  "How long?" I demanded.

  "About a week. I sensed your powers through your grandma. She would have found you sooner, but her emotions blocked her. She cared about you. I only wanted to find you."

  I'd asked for the truth. Too bad I never realized how bad it would hurt. But how could I have really pre­pared myself for him, or this?

  "Vald wants you, Lizzie. Your grandma suspected. It's probably why he took her."

  So now it really was my fault Grandma was burning in hell. "Well aren't you full of sunshine and donkey feathers."

  "If a demon can harness power like yours, there's a good chance he can break out of hell."

  "What? And walk the earth or something?"

  "Yes," Dimitri said.

  "So technically, we'd be better off forgetting the whole thing."

  "What?"

  I didn't mean it. I'd said it just to shock him. But af­ter I said it, the truth of it stuck with me. If I did go down there and fail, the world would be in much worse shape than it was now.

  And who was I kidding? I probably needed Dimitri down there with me. He'd certainly up my odds of suc­ceeding.

  If I didn't hate him.

  I dunked his boxers in the soggy remains of last night's ice bucket.

  "What the hell are you—?" He rushed to rescue his drowning underwear.

  "Let's just assume I'm crazy enough to go and face Vald. How do I know you won't bolt and leave me down there as soon as we save your precious sisters?"

  "You can't possibly think—"

  "I don't know what to think," I said, ducking into the bathroom, finding his keys next to his wallet. I stuffed them both into my pants and yanked my hair into a ponytail. The griffin hairpin clattered to the floor and I left it there.

  While he went to retrieve the hairpin, I threw his pants off the balcony. Since my shirt was ruined, I took his black T-shirt instead. I regretted it immediately. His musky scent overwhelmed my senses.

  Damn the man.

  But I wasn't about to walk out in nothing but my bra. And make no mistake, I was leaving.

  I threw my oxfords into the saddlebag and fired up the hog. The motorcycle shook and groaned, as if it was trying to throw me off. I squeezed the handlebars until my knuckles went white. Piece of cake. If I could ice Rex, save JR and battle a demon in my bathroom, I could do this.

  Dimitri yelled something as he came tearing out of the room in dripping wet—and hopefully ice-cold— boxers.

  Get out of my life.

  I kicked the bike into gear. It lurched forward like a drunken horse. Didn't matter. The only thing that counted was getting away, far away from him.

  Chapter Seventeen

  According to Dimitri, the Dixie Queen was a four-hour ride. Hopping mad, it took me just under three.

  He'd lied to me, and I fell for it.

  Was I that desperate for affection?

  Yes.

  If he'd been honest earlier, we might have stood a chance. Now? He could rot back there for all I cared. At least it would be finished tonight—for better or for worse. And if I survived hell, I'd make sure Pirate and I never saw these people again. I wasn't stupid. There was probably more to Dimitri's story—which I didn't want to hear. And I knew there was a lot more to the story about my mom's death—which I did want explained. The witches had known all about my mom and my grandma. You'd think they could have been honest too.

  Scarlet stood guard over the entrance to the long dirt driveway leading to the mothballed riverboat. I punched the bike and hurtled past her. Liars, all of them. Pond cypress and black gum branches reached out to snag my arms and swamp maples twined over the road. The marshlands radiated wet warmth and I could smell the river in the air.

  If Dimitri had waited to give me any last-minute instructions, he was out of luck. I knew he'd slither his way to the Dixie Queen eventually. But I wasn't about to wait for him and I'd have a heck of a time listening to him now that I knew he was a two-faced lying jerk. Make that a using two-faced lying jerk. My stomach roiled at the mere thought of that man.

  I swerved around a pothole and tried to think. Ant Eater could help set me up for tonight. I'd also duck into the Cave of Visions to try to contact Grandma. I didn't know how much she'd be able to help me while Vald held her prisoner.

  Past a row of overgrown buckeye bushes, the Dixie Queen riverboat lurched on its moorings. The Yazoo River rolled upon itself as it rushed downstream, but not enough to cause that kind of rocking. The boat's rusted black smokestacks spewed a mustardy smoke and water poured out of the third floor in waves, like a wayward foun­tain. The clearing smelled like b
urned hair and dead ani­mals. And—bad sign—the Red Skulls crowded the swampy ground out front. What had they done now?

  The witches worked a crude assembly line in front of the boat. Frieda led a group as they scrubbed glass jars in several saddlebags filled with soapy water. Bob, with Pirate riding shotgun, transported the jars to Ant Eater and another group of witches, who seemed to be baiting them like traps.

  "Lizzie! I'm here, Lizzie!" Pirate splashed through the puddles and leaped into my arms. I shut the hog off just in time to catch him and bury my face in the crook of his neck. Mmm .. . wet dog. My wet dog. I squeezed my puppy tight.

  "You miss me? I missed you." Pirate wriggled in my arms.

  "What's with the flooded boat?" I asked.

  "Urn, yeah. You might not want to mention that. Frieda is sensitive about that as it is. She tried to clear out some of the cobwebs with a wind spell and, well, you know how tricky that can be."

  I had no idea, but I'd take his word for it.

  "Lizzie." Ant Eater jogged over to me, as she un­wrapped a fun-sized Snickers bar with her teeth and plunked it into the jar under her arm. "Glad to see you're not dead."

  "Me too."

  She cocked a brow at my black T-shirt. Make that Dimitri's shirt. The thing felt itchy all the sudden.

  "Don't ask," I said.

  "Wasn't going to," she replied, smacking the black leather cell phone holder attached to her hip.

  I should have thrown Dimitri's phone off the bal­cony along with his pants.

  "Now stop farting around," she said, heading back to the stack of jars. "We got a problem."

  "What do you mean you cursed the boat?" I asked as we stood at the edge of the Dixie Queen's rusty gang­plank. The third-floor fountain splashed into the river on our right, tossing splatters of dull brown water that occasionally nipped at our legs and feet.

  "Unscrew this." Ant Eater handed me an airline bot­tle of Jack Daniels. I watched as she poured the whis­key into the jar with the Snickers bars. "We weren't planning on coming back. So we booby-trapped the thing. Problem is, we were a little preoccupied."

  "Drunk on dandelion wine," Bob added. I hadn't even heard him pull up behind us.

  Ant Eater sniffed. "And hell, it's been twenty years."

  "So we're not sure exactly what we booby-trapped." Bob navigated over the bumpy ground between Ant Eater and me. He reached into a bag slung over the back of his wheelchair and pulled out a ziplock bag of—ohmigosh—tails. Ant Eater offered him the jar, and he dropped two tails inside.

  "What are you making? A counterspell?"

  Ant Eater grunted out a throaty chuckle. "Oh no. That'd only make 'em mad. We lure the spells out, then, whomp" she clamped the lid shut, "back in the slammer."

  "Why are you creating new magic?" Or simply a big mess. "What happens to the old magic?"

  Ant Eater guffawed. "God, you are dense, Lizzie. This isn't magic," she said, shoving the Snickers-Jack Daniels rat tail mess under my nose. Ew. The pungent aroma of dead rat and whiskey stung my nostrils. "This," she said, screwing on the lid and shaking the thing up, "is a magical trap."

  Pirate leaped into Bob's lap and I cringed when Bob scratched Pirate's head. I knew where that hand had been.

  "Choking spells love Snickers," Bob said. "You can sometimes catch a Disintegration spell too. They go for most anything chocolate."

  "You're talking like these are live things here."

  Bob blinked. 'They are. Our magic is most definitely alive." Bob thrust his chair backward toward the witch assembly line. He moved forward a few feet, then spun around to face me. "Forget that and you could wind up hurt." I followed him to the stack of jars already swirling with colored muck. "We've cleared out two dozen of the little boogers already."

  "I helped with that one!" Pirate said, dancing in front of a Smucker's jar filled with a greenish haze. "I call him Larry." He spun twice. "See? Lizzie, Larry. Larry, Lizzie," he said, as if making an intro­duction.

  Frieda dashed up to Ant Eater and thrust a jar into her hands. "I think I found it. This has to get rid of the, um," she eyed me, "issue on the main deck."

  "What are you not telling me now?" Heck with magic spells. I needed a good old-fashioned lie detector around these people.

  "It's nothing," Frieda tittered about an octave too high and patted her canary yellow hair.

  "Ant Eater?"

  "None of your goddamned business." She held the jar to the light and studied the swirling contents. "Thing is, I hate to blast her out of here if we don't know where we're sending her."

  "I programmed it for the Poconos," Frieda told her. "Phoenix likes the mountains."

  "Phoenix?" I asked as Frieda practically jumped out of her platform sandals. How many Phoenixes did these people know .. . other than my mom?

  Frieda gasped. Ant Eater's fingers tightened on the jar as she continued to swirl the liquid inside.

  "Oh now, come on people," I said. "Aren't you going to say anything?"

  "Frieda, Bob. Leave us alone," Ant Eater said, still focused on the jar.

  Bob's wheelchair crunched across the leaves scat­tered on the ground. Frieda followed, reaching out to catch a ziplock full of mushed snake and stuffing it back into Bob's pack.

  Ant Eater stared daggers at me. "Your mother is dead."

  "Thanks for the sympathy." Couldn't these people be honest for five friggin' minutes? "Hey, I only want to know what's going on and nobody's answering my questions."

  "Because, hotshot, what happened to your mom is for you and your grandma to talk about. I'm not get­ting involved."

  Since when? "Funny, you don't seem to have any trouble involving me in your messes." As if it heard me, the riverboat groaned on its moorings. "Grandma could have told me the truth herself, but you know what? I didn't have much time with her until she was kidnapped and dragged to hell trying to save you." And me. "The least you can do is tell me the truth when I ask."

  "That's where it gets hazy."

  "No, it doesn't! Grandma is accused of killing my mom. There's no haze. There are the facts, and you owe me an explanation."

  She tossed the jar at my head, and I struggled to catch it. "Seems to me you're pretty good at figuring things out on your own, lover girl."

  "What? Did you know about Dimitri too?" Probably. Not like they'd tell me anyway. To them, I was just a walking, talking magical bag of tricks—to be used whenever they felt like it. They'd sold me out to the werewolves before I'd even begun my training. Sure, Lizzie will get rid you of a bunch of black souls, no problem! For them. How much worse was it going to be now? Well, I wouldn't be around to find out. As soon as I rescued Grandma, they could kiss my butt good-bye. A collar jingled, and I caught sight of Pirate out of the corner of my eye. He danced in circles, like he did ev­ery time his nerves got the best of him. "Pirate, take a walk."

  "Oh, but Lizzie. This is just getting interesting."

  "Pirate!"

  He dispatched a sullen glance before he trotted for a patch of wild ivy.

  "You done?" Ant Eater asked. "Because we gotta clear this place out, and you're not helping."

  "Fine. You want me to help?" I stalked toward the rusted gangplank. If all I was good for was to clear out spells, face demons and basically do their dirty work, I didn't belong here any more than I belonged in Cliff and Hillary's big empty McMansion, or in my small boring house. I was sick of trying to be everything to everyone and coming up short every time.

  "Lizzie, don't go in there!"

  "Or what? I might inhale a few death spells? Maybe meet whoever you have hidden on the main deck?"

  Ant Eater kicked the gangplank and nearly threw me in the water. I leaped the last two feet onto the boat and braced myself in the doorway as I caught my footing.

  Her face crumpled with fury. "We never believed that about your grandma."

  I turned to face her. "You didn't do anything about it, either." They were a bunch of observers. They ran, they hid. They couldn't even go on thei
r own friggin' boat.

  The dark spells churned in the musty ship behind me. They stomped and demanded my attention. I'd never been so attracted to danger in my life.

  Whether it was anger or my demon slayer instinct to run for trouble, I used my foot to shove the gangplank the rest of the way into the water. If Ant Eater wanted to annoy me now, she'd have to chuck a jar at my head. I didn't put it past her.

  A green-and-white flecked spell danced just inside the entryway. It zoomed for my neck and I swiped it out of the air. It buzzed in my hand like a fly. Choking spell. I crushed it in my hand. A second spell swooped from behind my left ear. I caught it. Giggle spell.

  Too perfect. Yeah, it was wrong, but Ant Eater looked so furious down there on the lawn. I hurled the giggler at her and she exploded in a squeal of delight. Her rough-and-tumble body vibrated with titters, her trunk­like legs stomped as if fighting it before they relented and hopped daintily in time to her peals of laughter. Oh yeah. That was the first time I'd felt myself smile since Dimitri and I... I didn't want to think about it. Ant Eater might try to kill me later, but it was worth it.

  The rest of the witches backed up ten paces. Except Bob. "Try to save a few." Bob tossed me some jars.

  "What? Can I put a bunch in one jar?"

  "Depends on the species."

  Yeah, well I wasn't about to stop for a lesson in Magic 101. I'd capture a few of the ornery ones and destroy the worst magic. I'd already seen what could happen when a death spell got out of hand.

  "Just don't trip any Giggle Bombs yourself," Bob hollered as I ducked inside. "We need you coherent for tonight."

  The ship rocked underneath my feet. Slot machines crowded the entryway, as if the Dixie Queen's original patrons couldn't wait to get started. To my right, a rou­lette table stood abandoned, chips stacked on some of the numbers. If I didn't know better, I'd think I had in­terrupted a game. The white wood facade, rotting at the edges and chipped by age, extended back to a matching bar. Old-fashioned gaslight lamps lined the walls. As I watched, flames ignited in the glass bowls. It made me jump enough to rattle the glass jars I held, but I tried to look on the bright side. Nothing had tried to eat me or possess me—yet.