The Last of the Demon Slayers ds-4

by Angie Fox

  My legs had turned to rubber. I hoped I wouldn’t trip over a clump of scrub, or fall in a hole. A demon slayer has to keep up appearances.

  Roxie fell into step next to me. “You have some strange friends.”

  I sized her up. “And even stranger enemies.”

  Danged if she didn’t look like a 1950s Hollywood starlet, or a Banana Republic model. Not bad for a girl who had to be at least 112 years old.

  What was she anyway?

  It bothered me to no end that figuring it out wasn’t even on my top-ten list of things to do today.

  So you’re some kind of supernatural creature. So what? We have work to do.

  Grandma’s yellow school bus shifted as we climbed the stairs. Privacy, at last. I wrinkled my nose at the smell – dust, mildew and spiced orange incense.

  If Grandma thought her Wild Ass Gertie’s Citrus Combustion sticks were covering anything up, she needed to re-tool her sniffer. I held a blue and yellow tie-dyed curtain back for Roxie.

  She paused. A furrow creased the perfectly smooth skin between her eyebrows. And dang, that woman had the longest, thickest eyelashes I’d ever seen. “You first,” she said, peering into the bus, switch star drawn.

  Yes, I supposed it could be a dusty, orange-scented trap, although I didn’t know where a bad guy would hide in this mess.

  Grandma had unpacked her essentials, which meant, well – everything. The small table at the front of the bus held a goat’s skull, a twelve-pack of mouse traps and an empty, obviously used ten-gallon aquarium. A menagerie of pink and red candles burned in every space that remained.

  There was no way Grandma had fit more than her goat’s head and a few dozen spell jars onto a Harley. She had to have gotten at least some of this from the other witches, and most of it from Neal.

  I whistled under my breath.

  There was no denying those two had a history. It was written in black sharpie all over the beat-up cardboard boxes crowding the bus, and every chair at the table.

  Cauldrons, vats and kettles

  Dried turtle innards (miscellaneous)

  Pelts, skulls and toothy ingredients

  My ankle brushed a stack of jars under the table. They clattered against each other, but dang, you couldn’t take a step in here without running into random jars or boxes.

  Anti-Mephistophelian experiments, caustic

  Anti-Mephistophelian experiments, benign

  John Wayne DVDs

  A flicker of dread sparked in my stomach. She’d even mashed the bed full of boxes.

  Grandma had better be sleeping in her own bed tonight.

  I shivered at the thought of her with that annoying hippie. We’d deal with that later.

  Roxie took in the mess around us, her eyes flickering back to me.

  “Don’t ask,” I said.

  She gave me a mocking smile. “Believe me, I have better things to do.” She looked me up and down. “You’re the made slayer,” she stated.

  “Yes.” What about it?

  “How?”

  I shook my head. “I don’t know.”

  I didn’t even know I was a slayer until this past summer. I’d come a long way since then, but our little party in the yard showed me how much farther I had to go. Roxie would make a good mentor, if she didn’t kill me first.

  Neither one of us was willing to take our eyes off the other. Still, I let her move, get comfortable.

  Roxie used the opportunity to circle back around me and take the spot nearest to the door. A wave of claustrophobia hit me and I fought it down, ignoring the way the boxes seemed to crowd closer. The incense burned sweeter. The air itself felt heavier. I’d give her the exit. If that’s what it took to get her talking, I could handle it.

  “How do we save my sister?”

  “Have you ever heard of a demon named Zatar? I think he’s behind the dregs.” And a lot of other things.

  She tapped a finger against the switch stars at her belt. “That bastard took Rachmort too.”

  I about fell over. “The Earl of Hades has my mentor?”

  “Mine too,” she said defensively. “I thought Zatar wanted him out of the way because he’s been freeing black souls. Now I’m wondering if it has something to do with us.”

  “You trained with him?” I asked.

  She nodded. “He was like a father to me.” Her wistful smile turned to a frown. “Then, thirty years ago, the dreg attacks started. It was awful. All of a sudden, demon slayers started turning on each other. No one was safe.” The regret and sorrow in her voice shook me. “So many were killed,” she said quietly. “The only way to save our race was to give up our powers,” she gave a small laugh, “which is impossible.”

  Oh yeah? She should ask my mom about that. The knowledge stung. Her betrayal was complete. My mother didn’t just foist off her responsibilities, she’d given me a death sentence.

  Roxie’s eyes held the pain of the memory. “My family faked my death and my sister’s as well. They claimed we turned on each other,” she shivered, “killed each other. It was a believable story.”

  “Then you hid from the other slayers.”

  “Rachmort too,” Roxie said, her voice dripping with regret, “nobody could know we were alive.”

  “So Rachmort really did believe it when he told me I was the last of my kind.”

  “He thinks that. The rest of us are in hiding, even from the people who could help us. It’s the only way to stay completely safe.”

  “How many others survived?” I asked. I had to know.

  “In the years since, I’ve learned of only four other slayers.” She gave me a once over. “And then you.”

  “We could save Rachmort.” We owed it to him.

  Roxie balked. “Never. He’s on his own. Just like we are.”

  No. “Consider this. What if it’s time to unite again? What if Rachmort can bring the others out of hiding?”

  He’d dedicated his life to training slayers and saving lost souls – which, at times, could be one and the same. The other slayers would have to see how much trouble he was in. Rachmort had been taken by a demon that, according to my dad’s books, had sixty-six legions of dark angels.

  “No,” Roxie said. “It’s impossible.”

  “Why?” I challenged, stomach churning, “Do you think he’s in hell?” Because I had some experience with Hades. Not that I was in any hurry to re-live it.

  Roxie looked as wretched as I felt. “Last I heard, he was in purgatory. Zatar hadn’t had a chance to move him yet.”

  “Purgatory,” I said, trying to work up a plan. Okay. “We can do that, right?”

  She stepped backward, colliding with a box. She kicked it away. “Are you nuts?”

  I didn’t hear her offering up any better plan. “We’ve got to do something.” Rachmort had never left us hanging.

  “We survive,” she snarled. “Or we die so that the others can live.”

  Geez. You could play a drinking game to this woman. Take a shot every time she wants to off somebody.

  “Fine. At least let me contact the other slayers.” They could choose, as she had.

  “No,” she snapped. “They stay hidden. If I die, I die. I’m not going to compromise the entire demon-slayer race.”

  “We’re not compromising them. We’re rescuing them. We’re allowing them to actually be who they were born to be.”

  It was the only way. I could set this right. I could save my dad, my mentor and the last of the demon slayers.

  Roxie watched me with disdain and a smidge of hope. “You think we can do this.” She shook her head. “I can’t stop thinking about Max. I want to kill him. It would feel so good to fire a switch star through his heart.” Her breathing deepened. “I want to. I want his blood. I want –”

  “Control it,” I snapped before she talked herself into slicing up Max. “Stand up to it. This is not the natural order of things.”

  If she didn’t fight this, we were looking at damnation, destruction and
death. “This might well be the most horrific thing we ever have to face, but it’s not impossible.” I refused to believe it could be.

  I may not be able to control my dog or what the biker witches did or Dimitri’s need to run around and keep griffin secrets, but demon slaying was my destiny. I’d been given this power for a reason.

  Roxie rested a hand on her chest and bowed her head, taking her eyes off me for the first time since we’d met. “You don’t have a dreg in you. I do.” Her voice cracked. “I can feel it. I don’t know how long I can control it.”

  “You’re a demon slayer,” I said, wishing I could reach out to her, knowing she wouldn’t welcome it. “You can’t choose to do this. You simply have to do it.” For the first time, I truly understood what the last demon slayer Truth meant. “Sacrifice yourself.” It wasn’t about what you thought you could do or what you wanted to do. It wasn’t about us at all.

  She took a ragged breath and nodded.

  I grabbed two of my grandma’s all-purpose spell jars. She’d never miss them.

  “Come on,” I said, brushing past Roxie, “let’s go find Zatar.”

  * * *

  Instead we found Dimitri. And I was right – he was hacked off. He stood at the door of the bus. Shadows played over his wide shoulders and a fine sheen of sweat coated his chest. He’d found his jeans. I still had his shirt. Two other griffins flanked him, wearing equally pissy expressions.

  I paused at the top step, not exactly thrilled to have my back to Roxie. “What is this, the greeting committee?”

  “Fuck yeah.” Dimitri rushed to me, kissing the living daylights out of me as he pulled me from the bus. Gee, I hoped his friends had my back because whoo-ya, the man could kiss. I gave in for a moment, just a moment and sank into the pleasure of it.

  I arched beneath his mouth, reveling in his strength and how easy it was to get to him. I slid my fingernails up his back and felt him shiver.

  Dimitri pulled away far too soon. “My god, Lizzie, I thought I lost you.”

  He was looking down at me as if I was the most precious thing he’d ever found and it took everything I had to remember that we were standing in a hippie field full of curious biker witches, not to mention Dimitri’s two new friends.

  “I’m fine.” I glanced behind me. “Roxie’s fine.” For now. “What’s going on?”

  He kept me close, which felt good. Frankly, I was still a little shaky from the kiss.

  The griffin at the right gave a short bow. It was then I noticed he had a golden wreath woven through his thick black hair. “I am Thereos, Prince of the Aries Clan.”

  “Say!” Neal sidled up next to him. “We could use some crop dusters.”

  The prince balked. “I am here to bring tribute. Weapons. Please, Dimitri of Helios,” he said, eyes on my man, “we must speak alone. I will not negotiate here.”

  Tension rippled through Dimitri as his arm tightened around me. He gave a slight bow. “I understand, Prince Thereos. I look forward to our meeting. However, we are in the middle of a crisis right now.”

  “So am I!” The other griffin nearly shouted. His companion drew a bronze sword.

  Sweet mother. What did these two need?

  “Your meeting is important as well,” I said more to Dimitri than to anyone else.

  He nodded, angry, tired and torn.

  “Do it,” I said, slipping away. “If you need to convene with these griffins, do it now. I’ll wait for you.”

  Roxie’s hand twitched over the switch star at her belt.

  She didn’t have much time. “Go,” I said to Dimitri. “I’ll be here.”

  What I said was mostly true. If it was meant to be, I’d be here. If not, I’d return to him.

  There was no way I was taking him on a mission to find Zatar if it would cost him with the griffins. These people were seeking him out. They were talking about negotiations, weapons, war.

  Yes, Dimitri loved me, and I loved him too but I wasn’t about to let him lose everything he’d spent a lifetime building just to stand outside my dad’s house while Roxie and I tried to find a way to beat Zatar.

  Dimitri couldn’t enter. He couldn’t help me with this. Rather, I could help him. I’d give him his old life back.

  And then, soon, he could choose.

  “I’ll make it fast,” he said, his expression softening as he bent to kiss me on the forehead. He brushed a lock of hair away from my forehead and tucked it behind my ear. “You are everything to me,” he said, with a ferocity that shot straight to my toes.

  “I know.” I hoped he could read on my face that he was my world too. “I love you,” I said, hoping he could forgive me for what I was about to do.

  Chapter Sixteen

  I found my last switch star – the only one that wasn’t ruined – gleaming next to the pink bus. I sheathed it, bracing myself as the emerald necklace began the slow transformation back into jewelry.

  Groups of biker witches wandered the battle site, murmuring over the destruction. Grandma hunched over her ruined fire, working up another spell. And Pirate? Well, he was teaching Flappy how to fetch grasshoppers. Naturally, Flappy was doing more eating than fetching.

  Guilt clawed at me as I watched Dimitri walk out into the scrub forest with the griffins. He’d gone with them because he trusted me to wait. I chewed at my lip, holding back until I was sure they’d begun their business. Then, I left.

  Roxie followed in my wake. “You’re cold,” she chuckled as I motioned for Pirate and Flappy.

  “You don’t know a thing about me.”

  “Back at you,” she said, bringing her fingers up to her mouth and letting out a shrill whistle. As if on command, a huge white horse trotted out from the shadows near the front gate. Big as a Clydesdale, it whinnied and pranced, stomping the ground with saucer-like hooves.

  What the… “I’m not getting on that thing.”

  “I didn’t ask you.” She climbed onto its bare back.

  ”Right.” And while I had her, “you’re not human, are you?”

  She gave me a superior look.

  “Yeah, okay,” I said, wishing I could hop on my Harley. “I don’t want to know.”

  My bike was too loud for sneaking out of the compound.

  Flappy tottered up to me, two tons of power with a lolling tongue and bad breath.

  “Hey buddy,” I rubbed him under the chin, “you think you can help me out?”

  “Snarfle!” He licked at me like an overly friendly Labrador. I managed to dodge his first swipe, only to be caught on the bicep by the sideways-lick.

  Ew. I tried to ignore the warm dragon spit on my arm and the fact that he’d just been eating grasshoppers. I took hold of his neck ridges and hoisted myself up on his back.

  Pirate tried to jump up after me. “You said no riding the dragon.”

  “It’s an emergency.” No way I’d be doing it otherwise.

  Flappy smelled like a lizard and he would not stop dancing around. It was like a herky-jerky carnival ride. I was going to get dragon-sick in a second.

  Roxie sat on her glorious steed, gloating.

  “Wait!” Neal dashed toward us, skinny legs pumping, his ponytail flying out behind him.

  Oh lord. Flappy began beating his wings, itching to go. I knew the feeling.

  “Here.” Neal shoved a pair of hippie-looking cork-soled Birkenstocks at me.

  What was this? Some sort of a joke? I held the shoes by their buckled sandal straps. “You can tell Grandma -”

  Neal seemed way too pleased with himself. “She’s going to find you if you don’t go now.” He winked. “I don’t even need to open the gate, do I?”

  “You mean you’re just going to let me sneak out of here.”

  “Everybody’s gotta wander,” he called. “Just remember to eat organic and take care of your feet.”

  Hands down this was the weirdest place I’d ever been.

  “Ready?” I asked Roxie. She’d donned a steel battle helmet that covered her head
and the entire top of her face. A golden eye plate formed a medieval-style Batman mask, and wound around the side of the helmet to form stiff gold wings.

  Okay, then.

  I slipped on the Birkenstocks and – other than looking completely ridiculous next to my black leather pants – they did feel good. “Try to keep up.” I nudged Flappy with my heels and he started running, his head bobbing up and down like a giant bird.

  Roxie galloped past us on her white stallion. It had to be enchanted or mythical or – oh my. The beast lifted up into the air and began to fly.

  Impossible. It had no wings.

  Then again, who was I to judge?

  It let out a satisfied burst of flame from its nose as it climbed higher and higher.

  My dragon was still running like an overgrown ostrich. “Flappy, fly! Up!” I hoped I wasn’t too heavy for him. “Fly!”

  With a stumble, a bump and a small burst of flame, Flappy took to the sky.

  “G-g-g-ood dragon!” It felt like we were riding on rails.

  “Snurgle!” Flappy wriggled and tried to lick me.

  “Eyes on the s-s-sky!” I begged as he started to veer sideways.

  I set Flappy on a course for my dad’s house. This was nothing like riding a griffin. In fact, it was the difference between hitching myself to a rocket versus a souped up go-kart with four flat tires.

  Where Dimitri’s massive wings would beat in a steady rhythm of cool air on my legs, Flappy’s veiny wings fluttered hummingbird-style.

  At least we were airborne.

  I resisted the urge to pat the dragon on the neck, lest he try to kiss me again.

  Instead, I kept my eyes on the city below and wondered what had happened to my dad since our last visit, and what we would find when we visited him this time.

  Roxie kept pace next to us, following my lead. Her horse galloped on air as if it were dashing head long across a prairie. It snorted fire every few minutes.

  And I still couldn’t get over Roxie’s Norse battle helmet.

  What was she?

  Besides trouble.

  * * *

  My dad’s house looked even more desolate at night. His bare front lawn hung in shadows. The windows lay dark. A lone streetlight sputtered. The other two on the block had burned out entirely.