by D. G. Swank
“Nifty party trick,” I said, nodding toward the flame. “You’re like a six-foot tall lighter.” But that tiny flame worried me. Could he make fire?
I felt Jack’s hand on my shoulder and then his flinch when he saw the demon.
“I think we should regroup, Piper,” Jack said in a hushed tone. “This one’s three times as big as the one you faced last night.”
“I’ve been waiting for you, demon slayer,” the demon said, confirming my fear. Its voice was deep enough to shake the shelves, and its wide mouth spread to reveal a mouthful of teeth. Why did they always have to have sharp teeth?
Oh, wait. I knew the answer to that one.
“How did you know I’d show up?” I asked, still standing in the threshold.
“I found a powerful ghost, then gave her power of my own to draw you to me. I knew you’d be here soon enough.”
“So you baited me?” I asked. Just like the one at Tommy’s house, only this one had given power to Not-Beatrice. I hadn’t realized that it was possible for demons to give ghosts energy rather than just take it from them. “Why?”
“I am following the Great One’s instructions.”
“Why does the Great One want you to find me?”
“You have great power. You carry the blood of the curse.” It shrank deeper into the corner, draping itself in shadows. The flame in its hand grew larger, about the size of an avocado, burning a brilliant blue, which didn’t thrill me. I was no expert on fire, but I was pretty sure the blue part of the flame was the hottest.
The demon smiled. “You may enter. He may not.”
Suddenly the door slammed shut behind me, pitching us into darkness. The only light came from the tiny glow of the demon’s flame.
“Piper!” Jack shouted, and I could hear him jerking on the doorknob, trying to open the door.
Panic pulsed through me, but the mark on my palm grew hotter and the dagger in my left hand began to glow, casting enough light for me to see the demon stalking toward me.
Oh crap.
While I’d originally thought the floor was empty, I realized there was junk piled against the wall on my side. I kicked a plastic bucket in my attempt to move away from the demon. I held Ivy in a defensive position—my arm extended, the blade parallel to the ground—while I wielded St. Michael over my head at a downward angle.
“Okay,” I said as my heel hit something that made a hollow metallic sound. “I’m here. You’ve got me alone. I suppose this is when the interview starts?”
It laughed, tossing the flame in its hand into the air and catching it with its other hand. “Yes.”
“I take it you’re not interested in my GPA or that I was secretary of the debate club in high school?” I took a step to the side, keeping the demon dead center in front of me.
“No.” It tossed the flame again, but this time sent it directly toward me.
I leaned to the side, dodging out of the way while keeping my daggers at the ready. The flame hit the wall and then extinguished.
St. Michael was still glowing, and its position next to my head allowed me to see even more of the garage. The clutter behind me was comprised of several garden tools and buckets, while the shelves around the demon were stacked with paint cans and painting supplies as well as several cardboard boxes.
The demon blazed another flame to life and wasted no time before flicking it toward me, dead center.
I didn’t think I’d be able to dodge it in time. Instinctively, I held up Ivy and batted the flame away with the blade.
The demon laughed. “Is this all you can do, slayer? Hold your spelled blades and play with my flames?” Then it laughed again as though it had told a joke.
“Why do I get the feeling that was some kind of euphemism?” I asked.
It responded by generating a larger flame, then hurled it toward the double-width garage door. The flame took hold this time and the doors caught fire.
Did it plan to burn me alive?
“Do you not fight?” it asked, sounding amused. “What kind of slayer are you? The Great One will be disappointed.” It flicked another large flame over its shoulder, igniting a second fire next to the shelves. It wouldn’t take long for this enclosed space to fill with smoke, and somehow I didn’t think this fiery hell beast would die of smoke inhalation.
“Jack!” I shouted.
“I’m out here!” he replied, sounding frantic. “I can’t get through the door.”
The demon was no doubt holding it closed by no mortal means. I was on my own, which meant it was time to go on the offensive.
Another flame filled the thing’s right palm and suddenly I knew what to do—I lunged forward with my right blade; then as I got closer I swung St. Michael down with all my strength across the demon’s wrist.
I expected the blade to get hung up on bone—and was fully prepared to kick the demon’s gut to gain the leverage to pull the dagger out—but the glowing blade sliced through demon flesh and bone as though it were soft butter. It would have sickened me had there been time to dwell on it.
The hand tumbled to the floor, its four fingers still waggling, but the flame had snuffed out.
The demon screamed and lunged for me, giving me exactly the opening I needed. I jabbed Ivy up to its gut, pushing until the hilt hit skin, then twisted and pulled out the blade, jumping backward several steps.
The demon growled as a thick dark substance oozed from the wound on its gut. “The slayer knows how to use her blades after all.”
I wished some witty retort would come to mind, but my heart was pounding too hard and it was a struggle to slow my breathing.
“Are you too incompetent to finish me off?” the demon asked as more smoke filled the room. A line of fire shot up the wall, and the speed and perfect symmetry indicated that while the demon’s fire-making days might be over, it was still controlling the two fires it had already started.
“I’ll finish you off soon enough,” I said, my throat and nose burning. “I want some answers first.”
I heard glass shattering behind me. Fresh air rushed through the newly broken window as Jack shouted my name.
“What does the Great One want?” I asked.
“Your blood.” Then the double-width garage door exploded into hundreds of pieces, bursting outward into the alley as the fire instantly died.
The demon fled through the opening, but its hand remained on the floor.
Moments later, Jack rounded the corner of what had been the double-width door. He was covered in black soot and his eyes were wide with terror.
Detective Powell appeared behind him seconds later, her mouth gaping as she took in the sight of me and the destroyed garage.
“Good news,” she said, the startled look fading. “I found out Beatrice’s name.”
Chapter 13
Jack looked around the garage, ignoring the detective. “Did you kill it?”
“No. It took off after it destroyed the door.”
He picked his way over the debris and reached for me. “Are you okay?”
I nodded, then slipped my daggers back into my bag.
“Was that knife glowing?” the detective asked.
“Yeah,” I said as I walked over to the hand on the floor. “I need a bag.”
“Why?” she asked.
“Because I chopped off the demon’s flame-making hand and I want to keep it.”
Detective Powell started to laugh nervously.
Jack trailed after me and touched my side. “Um…she’s not kidding.” Retreating, he walked over to the shelves.
“What?” she said, practically vaulting over the debris to reach me. She placed a hand on my arm and leapt backward as she pointed. “There’s a hand there!”
“Yes,” I said as patiently as I could. “That’s what I just said.”
“We need to keep that for evidence.”
I put my hands on my hips, pulling away from her. “Can you see it now?”
“No…”
“
Then how do you propose to present it as evidence? The only way anyone can see it is through me, and I don’t plan on hanging around with the hand.”
“What are you going to do with it?” she asked.
“I don’t know yet, but I’m taking it with me.”
“Do you think that’s a good idea?” Jack asked as he handed me a small canvas bag he’d pulled from the rubble.
I opened the bag, placed it over the hand and scooped it up. “No, but I can get rid of it later if I need to. Right now, we need to figure out how to explain this”—I gestured to the wreckage around us—“how Mrs. O’Keefe’s garage got destroyed, and I need to get rid of Beatrice.”
Detective Powell was still surveying the wrecked garage in astonishment. “There was a fire in here—smoke was pouring out the top of the roof, and when Jack broke the window…” She stared at the fire-damaged walls. “And now there’s nothing. Absolutely no fire. No smoke. That’s not possible.”
“It is with the supernatural. The demon created the fire with this hand,” I said, giving the bag a tiny shake.
“Our immediate concern is how to explain this,” Jack said. “We need to call the police, but where do we even start?”
Detective Powell shook her head. “I’ll take care of it.”
I handed the bag to Jack and headed toward the house’s back door, not surprised to see it was open. I turned back to face the detective. “You said you found out Beatrice’s real name?”
“Edna Cook. Her husband killed her. Hit her in the back of the head with a cast-iron skillet back in 1964.”
Well, that solved the final mystery of our ghost. Edna Cook had likely spent a good portion of her life in her kitchen and she’d died there too. It was no wonder she lingered there as a ghost.
I’d learned that some spirits were tied to places that held personal significance, and it seemed Edna was tied to this place that had served her in life, and in death.
“Thanks,” I said. “The demon said he gave some of his power to Beatrice—I mean Edna—so hopefully she’ll be weaker now that he’s gone.”
“She could still move things without his help, Piper,” Jack said, “and she’s not ready to leave, so you need to be careful. I’ll go with you.”
“No,” I said. “You stay out here with Detective Powell to meet the police. I can’t risk you getting hurt by Edna.” I could see the worry in his eyes, so I gave him a reassuring smile. “I’ll let you know if I need you, but don’t come in unless I call for you or you think I’m in trouble.” Lowering my voice, I added, “I’m going to salt the doors and windows to keep her from getting out, and I don’t want you to disturb it.”
He didn’t look happy, but he nodded and stood back as I took off for the house.
I had no idea how Detective Powell was going to explain that garage incident to her superiors, but she was proving herself useful, again, after getting Edna’s real name. Maybe Jack had been right about her after all.
To my relief, the smudging supplies were still on the back step. Edna hadn’t tried to hide them.
The smudge stick was still burning, but I lightly blew on it to get the smoke billowing again…as if I hadn’t had my fill of smoke.
I walked through the back door, bold as I pleased. I might have been hesitant to take the offensive with the demon, but I felt one hundred percent more confident dealing with a surly ghost. “Edna, I’ve come back to finish our chat.”
She instantly appeared in front of me, fear filling her eyes. The demon had failed to dispatch me, and now I knew her real name.
“Are you sending me away?” Her voice quavered, and I wondered if the demon’s power had supercharged her aggressive tendencies—like an athlete hopped up on steroids.
“You terrorized poor Mrs. O’Keefe. You destroyed her kitchen. You nearly killed her, for heaven’s sake. And you cooperated with a demon!”
“I know.” She pulled a handkerchief from her apron pocket and dabbed at her nose.
Oh, hell no. Fifteen minutes ago, she’d been throwing things at me, and now she was trying to tug at my heartstrings? Even if the demon’s power had changed her, there was no denying how giddy she’d been when she told me that the demon planned to kill me. Edna had to go.
“When did the demon show up?” Even as the words left my mouth, I knew it was a stupid question. Since ghosts had such a loose concept of time, years could be days for them.
“A week ago.”
I blinked in surprise, but then it sort of made sense. While most ghosts lived in their own version of reality, Edna was aware enough of her surroundings to grab things in Barb’s plane of existence. “How did it approach you?”
“It told me it would help me get my house back. I had to cause as much chaos as possible so you’d show up, and after you did, it would make the woman leave my house.”
“Edna, you can’t own a house when you’re dead.”
She got indignant. “Why not?”
“Who’s been paying the real estate taxes here? The mortgage?”
Some of her attitude faded. “Oh.”
“Edna, you were going to let that demon kill me. That’s just wrong.”
“But I was going to get my house back.”
A wave of sadness washed over me, for the woman Edna was, for all that woman had lost. But Edna—the real Edna—was gone. All that remained was her ghost, and she was dangerous. According to Helen, several lesser-powered demons had already crossed into our world. There was a chance another one would latch on to Edna, which meant I had to send her on her way. “I’m sorry you were murdered by your husband. And I’m sorry you feel like strangers have taken over your home, but you’re dead, Edna, and your house is the only thing holding you here. It’s time to go.”
Anger filled her eyes. “You can’t make me leave my house!”
“I didn’t want to do this the hard way,” I said, “but you’re forcing my hand.”
Sirens wailed in the distance, which meant I needed to hurry this along. I set the abalone shell with the smoking smudge stick on the kitchen table and pulled the container of salt from my bag.
“What are you doing?” Edna asked, sounding worried.
“Just making the room a little cozier,” I said, pouring a line across the threshold from the kitchen to the dining room. Experience had led me to believe most ghosts didn’t leave their houses, so the only exit to the rest of the house took priority.
Edna made a strangled sound and my resolve began to erode. I reminded myself that she was dangerous, and that I was doing what I’d been hired to do. Mrs. O’Keefe was paying me to remove this ghost from her home, and for good reason.
I headed to the back door and poured a line of salt in front of it. Then, to make sure I had my bases covered, I poured more salt along the window over the sink and the window by the kitchen table. As I finished, I realized that Edna was firmly in my world with no sign of hers superimposed over mine.
“You can’t make me go.” She watched me with wild eyes as I set down the salt and picked up my smudging tools.
“Edna,” I pleaded. “I don’t want to force you. You’ve been here over fifty years. Don’t you want to go somewhere that will make you happy? I have a hard time believing that you want to stay in the room where your husband killed you.”
Indecision flashed in her eyes.
“It’s beautiful on the other side of the light,” I said. “You’ll be so much happier there.” And yet doubt niggled at me. Would the light come for her? She would have happily helped the demon kill me, and she’d almost hurt sweet Mrs. O’Keefe.
As if sensing my thoughts, Edna shouted, “You’re a lying bitch!”
She grabbed a kitchen chair and threw it into the window by the kitchen table. The legs got stuck in the glass, straddling the metal frame.
Great. How was I going to explain that to the police?
I moved to the corner of the kitchen by the door to the dining room and wafted smoke into it. “Fire, earth, air, water. Cle
anse this place of negative energy.”
Edna’s wails pierced into me. I’d only used the smudging tools twice since discovering my ability to see ghosts—once with the poltergeist, which disappeared in an unnatural blaze after I dropped a smudge stick on top of the clock it was attached to, and the other time with a ghost that left on its own halfway through the smudging. How was this going to end?
I moved down the wall of cabinets, wafting the smoke along it. “Fire, earth, air, water. Cleanse this place of negative energy.”
“Stop!” Edna screamed. I shot her a quick glance and saw her face was twisted as though she was in pain.
The poltergeist Jack and I had dealt with in Evelyn Crawford’s house was the closest I’d come to encountering an evil spirit worthy of eternal torment, but it had simply disappeared into a puff of black smoke. This was different, though. Edna wasn’t just angry about leaving. She was terrified.
Oh crap. What if hell was coming for Edna now? I wasn’t sure I could handle that.
I was making my way to the corner, waving the smoke as I chanted, when a black swirling hole appeared in the doorway to the dining room. I could hear muffled moans and screams coming from the vortex.
Ignore it, Piper. Keep going. You can’t let her stay here.
But could I live with being the one who sent her to hell?
“Jack!” I shouted at the top of my lungs, even as I continued to waft the burning sage smoke along the perimeter of the room.
“I won’t let you do this!” Edna shouted and every cabinet door flew open at once, one of them smashing into my thigh.
Pain shot through my leg, and I jumped back but continued my chant. Jack’s face appeared in the kitchen window over the sink, and I hollered, “I need you!”
I moved to the third corner, trying to ignore what Edna was doing, only to realize I’d once again broken Abel’s number one rule for dealing with ghosts and spirits—don’t turn your back on them.
