Demon Hunting with a Dixie Deb

by Lexi George

  HANNAH INN, the sign said.

  Sassy stirred and opened her eyes. “What happened? Where are we?”

  Grim met her woozy gaze. “An inn, though I fear not much of one. You would be more comfortable staying with friends or family. That is the custom among humans, is it not?”

  “I don’t have friends or relatives in Hannah.”

  “Is there nowhere else you can stay?”

  “Trey’s house, but that is out of the question.”

  “Why? Was there discord between you and your brother?”

  “There was nothing between us. Trey wouldn’t have anything to do with me when he was alive. Leaving me a bunch of stuff won’t make up for that.”

  Pain laced Sassy’s voice. Her sibling’s indifference had hurt her deeply. It was a good thing Trey Peterson was dead. Were he alive, Grim would be tempted to return the favor.

  “The Hannah Inn it is,” he said.

  He strode across the lot and through the swinging glass door marked Office with Sassy in his arms. The room was small and cramped, and smelled of musty carpet and used food. Against the wall to the left of the entrance, a tall white box emitted a mechanical hum. A squawking cube on top of the tall box displayed a series of moving images.

  A man sitting behind a partition looked up as they entered. He was a slovenly creature, as disreputable in appearance as the lodgings he managed. Thin strings of black hair slicked across his balding pate and his dingy white shirt was sleeveless, exposing his flabby arms. The flimsy fabric of the garment stretched across the doughy paunch that rested on his lap.

  “She looks rode hard and put up wet.” The proprietor showed a mouth full of crooked yellow teeth. “She drunk? Don’t want no caterwauling. Police already been here once this week on a domestic dispute.”

  “She is not inebriated,” Grim said. “She swooned.”

  “She is right here,” Sassy said. “You can put me down, now, Grim. I’m all right.”

  Grim complied and Sassy smoothed her wrinkled dress. “Are you the manager?”

  The human worm behind the desk rolled his eyes. “Naw, I’m hanging around this shithole for my health.”

  “It is a bit depressing,” Sassy confided. “A fresh coat of paint and some new sofa cushions would do wonders.”

  “Do tell? I’ll get right on that.”

  Sassy gave him a brilliant smile. “Good. You might consider a wardrobe change while you’re at it. A man looks professional in a starched button-down.”

  “Uh-huh. Look, lady, this is a motel, not a makeover show. Whadda ya want?”

  “Your best room,” Sassy said cheerfully. “The honeymoon suite, if it’s available.”

  “Honeymoon suite?” The man chuckled. “That’s rich.” He pushed to his feet and looked Grim up and down. “That blood on your shirt?”

  “Yes. I killed a deer.”

  “Hunting out of season? Game warden won’t hear it from me, but don’t gut the damn thing in the room. Last customer did that, I had to Kilstain and repaint.” His eyes held an avaricious gleam. “You’re a big son of a bitch. Reckon you’ll need a king. It’s forty-five bucks a night, up front. No checks. No money orders.”

  “We’d like to inspect the room first,” Sassy said. “Please.”

  The man plucked a key from a hook on the wall. “Sure thing, princess. Y’all come this away.”

  They followed the man out the door and down a cracked sidewalk.

  “What is this bucks?” Grim asked Sassy in a low voice. “Surely the man does not expect an entire herd of deer in recompense for one night’s lodging?”

  “No, he means money.” Sassy worried her bottom lip. “What are we going to do? My purse is at the bottom of the creek. How will I pay?”

  “It is of no moment,” Grim said. “What passes for currency in this realm? Precious metals? Gemstones? Furs or spices, perhaps?”

  “Oh, dear,” said Sassy.

  The manager shoved a key into a dented metal door and flung it open. A blast of stale air from the darkened room hit them in the face.

  “King suite,” the inn keep announced. “It’s been hotter ’n whore nooky in July the last few days. You’ll have to run the AC full blast and hope it don’t freeze up.”

  Something crunched beneath their boots as they entered the room.

  Behind them, the man touched a button. Lights came on, exposing a large bed with a sagging mattress, frayed coverlet, and lumpy pillows. The remainder of the furnishings—a bedside table, a lamp, and a chair—were utilitarian and showed signs of wear. The rug was faded and stained. A peeling brown cube on the floor emitted a soft drone, and a leaky tap trailed rusty stains on the wash basin mounted on the far wall.

  Sassy shrank back. “What kind of place is this? There are bugs on the floor.”

  “Aw, don’t get your undies in a bunch. Just a few dead roaches and grasshoppers.” The inn keep kicked an insect shell with the toe of his shoe. It flew across the dirty carpet. “Bug man was here last week and sprayed. Guess the maid forgot to vacuum.”

  Sassy’s face was reflected in the mirror over the sink. A welter of emotions flitted across her features: disbelief, revulsion, and, finally, resolve.

  “It’s not a five-star hotel,” she said, straightening her shoulders, “but beggars can’t be choosers.”

  Provider? Grim asked silently.

  She refers to a rating system whereby lodgings are ranked according to accommodations, services, and amenities, one-star being the lowest and a five-star a superior rating.

  A series of images flashed through Grim’s head, examples of plush, beautifully appointed lodgings that qualified for the superior rating.

  On a scale of one to five, the Hannah Inn was a zero.

  Grim did not mind for himself. He had slept in mud, rain, and snow in his pursuit of the djegrali, bunked in heated desert sand and steaming jungles. A roof over his head and a dry place to sleep more than sufficed for him.

  He would not, however, allow Sassy to stay in this vermin-infested, dreary and depressing, sorry excuse for lodging.

  A slim blond man materialized in the room with a spotted dog at his side. Their watery forms solidified.

  “Sassy, what are you doing here?” the blond ghost asked. “You can’t stay in this dump.”

  The dog barked in agreement.

  “I have to stay somewhere,” Sassy said, “and this appears to be it.”

  “Now, you’re talking, sister.” The inn keep rubbed his hands together. He seemed oblivious to the haunting. “I’ll bring extra towels and some of them little Camay soaps. Fancy thang like you’ll like ’at.”

  The manager oozed out the door.

  Grim stepped between Sassy and the apparition. “I am Grimford, a demon hunter and Sassy’s sworn protector. Who are you?”

  “Junior Peterson’s the name.”

  “You are the shade of Sassy’s father?”

  “I am.” The ghost regarded Sassy with something akin to horror. “What in heaven’s name happened to you, child? You look like something the cat drug up.”

  “Sassy has had a bit of an adventure,” Grim said, “but all will be well. You have my word. If you would be so good as to give us the directions to your son’s former residence, we will be on our way.”

  “I’m not staying at Trey’s.” Sassy stamped her foot. Her curly hair fluttered around her head, and she was glowing again. “I won’t.”

  “Trey can show you the way,” Junior said, ignoring Sassy’s sputtering. “Son, think you can go to the house and back without getting lost?”

  The mottled canine barked and wheeled around, front quarters vanishing into nothingness.

  Tossing Sassy over his shoulder, Grim followed the dog’s wagging tail into the void.

  Chapter Seven

  For the second time that day, Grim picked Sassy up and slung her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. The blood rushed to her head. The dingy motel slid out of focus and everything went dark. Ribbons of st
reaming starlight whirled around her.

  Sassy closed her eyes against a wave of nausea. When she opened them again, they were back in the woods. An owl hooted, and a light breeze carried the scents of honeysuckle, pine, and water.

  “How dare you,” Sassy said when Grim set her down. “Take me back to the motel.”

  “No. The place is a cesspool of vice and carousing. I saw it in the proprietor’s thoughts.”

  “I don’t care. I am not staying at Trey’s.”

  “Then we have reached an impasse, for you are not staying in that brothel.”

  He turned and stalked off without waiting for a response.

  Sassy watched the shadows swallow his broad, muscular frame, torn between disbelief and outrage. He’d done it again. Handed her an order and walked away. Never had anyone treated her with such peremptory arrogance. Hot pink sparkles of irritation shot from her skin and buzzed around her head. She hated him. He was the most infuriating, pompous man she’d ever met.

  And he was right, darn it. If venereal disease had a color palate, the Hannah Inn would be gonorrhea green. The thought of staying there made her skin crawl.

  But the thought of accepting anything from Trey, dead or alive, galled her. Through the years, Sassy had quietly reached out to him without their mother’s knowledge. Her chatty letters and vacation postcards had gone unacknowledged, her high school graduation invitation returned unopened.

  She didn’t bother to send him a college graduation announcement. She got it, message received loud and clear. He wasn’t interested.

  And now she was supposed to stay in his house? Technically it was her house now that Trey was dead, but that made it worse. She wanted a brother, not things.

  The owl hooted again. It was dark, except for the light of the moon. Somehow, Sassy the City Girl was in the boondocks. Again.

  She needed to get hold of herself. Her emotions were all over the place. Mother-of-pearl, had she really punched Grim in the nose? She’d never hit anyone in anger before. It was this place, this nutty, wacko place. The sooner she got out of Hannah, the better.

  She took a deep breath and exhaled to release her hostility. The bright pink glow surrounding her faded. She smiled. That was more like it. Sassy Peterson was sunny and serene, a priestess of positivity. She would make the best of this. She excelled at making the best of things.

  She would stay at Trey’s tonight. One night—she could stand it for one night. Her decision had nothing to do with a certain know-it-all demon hunter and everything to do with common sense.

  She was petite, but practical.

  Not that she was letting Grim boss her around. Oh, no. She was just too tired to walk back to town.

  Tomorrow she’d meet with the lawyer and arrange to sell the mill. Then she’d go back to Fairhope, back to the real world, the sane world. Her world, where there were boundaries and routine, and she knew her place.

  Plans made, she trudged down the paved driveway. The house sat half a mile off the road and overlooked the river. Sassy had hired a local real estate agent to move the property, but this was the first time she’d been here. Too painful to see where her brother had lived—too many what-ifs and wonder whys.

  The motion sensor lights came on as she neared the end of the wooded drive, lighting up the sprawling, two-story, European-style home. Good heavens. That explained why the property hadn’t sold. It was too ostentatious, a monstrosity of stucco and stone, with dark wood detailing, a steeply pitched roof, two fireplaces, and wrought-iron railings. It was too much house for most people, especially in a small rural town with no industry.

  She yelped as Grim materialized in front of her.

  “I searched the dwelling and the surrounding environs,” he said in his deep silken voice. “There is no sign of anyone, human or supernatural. I will place a shield spell around the property to be sure.”

  Tilting her chin, he looked into her eyes. His fingertips were warm against her skin. “Rest easy, Sassy. No harm will come to you while you are in my care.”

  Sassy’s heart gave an uneven thump and her skin tingled at his touch. Less than a minute ago, she’d been furious with him. Now she was glowing like a bloom of jellyfish, her body pulsing with a soft flush of light. Goodness, she might as well have a sign around her neck that said, Take me. I’m easy.

  Edging away from him, she concentrated on bringing her hormonal reactor under control.

  “Thanks,” she said. “How’d you get inside the house without setting off the alarm?”

  “What alarm?”

  The Dalmatian bounded out of the darkness and pranced ahead of them up the wide stone walk. Double square columns supported the arched portico over the front entrance. The massive double doors were framed by a paneled transom and sidelights.

  The dog led the way, tail wagging. Sassy gave the Dalmatian a wide berth. Her big brother had returned from the Great Beyond as a dog. That took weird to a whole new level.

  The front doors swung open without a sound and the lights in the entry hall blazed on. How nice, Sassy thought, squinting at the sudden brightness. The interior lights must be sensor programmed as well. She stepped inside and looked around in dismay. The foyer was a grand space with pale marble floors and a sweeping staircase. A wrought-iron chandelier descended from the soaring ceiling like a huge black spider on a silken thread. A large mirror had been taken off the hook and tossed aside. Shards of broken silver glass were scattered across the smooth floor. A burl walnut table lay on its side among the shattered remains of a large vase.

  “Someone’s been here,” Sassy said. “That’s why the alarm didn’t go off. We’ve been burglarized.”

  A petite blond female appeared on a gust of tangy perfume. She wore a sleeveless black silk dress with a jewel neckline and a green and white floral design on the front. A pair of mustard yellow four-inch Alexander Wang crisscross sandals finished her stylish ensemble.

  “We?” The blonde’s blue eyes narrowed. “Who the hell are you?”

  Oh, bunny rabbits, another ghost, and this one seemed cranky.

  With an effort, Sassy summoned a smile. “I’m Sassy. That’s a darling dress you’re wearing—Phillip Lim, isn’t it?—and I adore your shoes. Heels do wonderful things for a girl’s legs, don’t you think?”

  “Cut the BFF shit, Army Boots, and haul your raggedy ass out of my house.”

  Sassy flushed. “Gracious, there’s no need to be hostile.”

  “You think this is hostile, Frizz Bucket? I’m barely getting started. Leave. Now—before I ectoplasm your butt.”

  Grim drew his sword. “Threaten her again, shade, and you will regret it.”

  The ghost clasped her hands to her chest and batted her eyelashes. “Ooh, somebody save me from the feh-wochuss demon hunter with the gwate big sword.” She dropped the pretense with a scowl. “Give me a break, asshole. I kicked a pack of Skinners to the curb. You don’t scare me.”

  Junior appeared without warning. “Oh, good, I see you found the place.”

  The Dalmatian on the porch barked at them through the open door.

  “What’s that, son? They haven’t been formally introduced? Dear me, where are our manners?” A sly smile tugged at Junior’s lips. “Meredith, this is Sassy. Sassy Peterson, my daughter and Trey’s sister.”

  The stylishly clad ghost put her fingers to her temples and closed her eyes, her expression one of utmost concentration.

  “Trying to care,” she said. “Trying to . . .” She dropped her hands and glared at them. “Nope, don’t give a shit. Out of my house. And take that stupid dog with you.”

  Junior’s smile widened. “It’s not your house anymore, Meredith. Trey left everything to Sassy.”

  “What?” Meredith’s face contorted into a ghoulish mask. She leveled an accusatory glare at the Dalmatian. “This is your fault, you mangy mongrel. First your psychotic grandmother murders me. Then you screw around with demons and get yourself killed—which was fine by me, because I thought we coul
d finally be together again, except you decide you’d rather go through eternity as a dog—and now this. I hate you, Trey Peterson. I really, really hate you.”

  The Dalmatian tucked his tail and ran. Shrieking like an air raid siren, the ghost flew after him.

  “By the gods, that is a disagreeable creature.” Grim sheathed his sword. “Is it a banshee?”

  “She was Trey’s wife,” Sassy said, shrugging at Junior’s questioning look. “We got the wedding announcement and I saw the pictures in the Hannah Herald.”

  Junior’s brows rose. “You read the Herald?”

  Sassy’s cheeks heated. “It’s a free country. Who are the Skinners?”

  “Local bottom feeders,” Junior said. “Why?”

  “Meredith mentioned them.” Sassy kicked a piece of broken glass. It skittered across the floor. “I think they did this.”

  “I wouldn’t be a’tall surprised,” Junior said. “The Skinners ran moonshine until the head of the clan got himself murdered a few months ago. With Charlie dead and Verbena gone, things went from bad to worse for the rest of the family.”

  “Who’s Verbena?” Sassy asked.

  “The one Skinner with any talent. She’s an enhancer—magnifies the talents of others—although the family had no idea. Morons thought she was worthless. Tried to sacrifice her to a bunch of demons.” Junior chuckled. “Verbena hightailed it, and left them high and dry. The Skinners can barely manage a decent shift without her.”

  Demons and shifters, and enhancers? Sassy’s brain was starting to spin again. “I can’t listen to any more of this. My brain will explode. I’m going to take a bath.”

  “That’s right,” Junior said. “I keep forgetting this is new to you. Get some rest. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

  “I don’t think so,” Sassy said. “I’m going to meet with the attorney in the morning, take care of business, and go home.”

  “You are leaving?” An expression of relief flashed across Grim’s face. “That is probably for the best.”