by Deanna Chase
She shook her head. “Doesn’t work that way, Lizzie. You come from a line of powerful women. Every third generation, we are honored to produce a demon slayer. You.”
But I didn’t want to be a demon slayer.
I also didn’t want any more demons showing up in my bathroom. Or at sushi night with the girls. Or at the Happy Hands Preschool where I worked. That last thought chilled me to the core. I couldn’t imagine what would happen to my class of innocent three-year-olds. I had to stay far away from them until I could get rid of Xerxes, and anything like him, for good.
“If I come with you,” I began, “will you teach me how to get rid of any demon complications, once and for all?” I needed to learn how to have my normal life. Let Grandma have her voodoo-hoodoo. As long as I could get this thing under control enough to teach preschool.
Her bracelets dangled as she leaned toward me, resting her chin on her hands. “I will show you everything you need to know. But we need to meet up with the coven in Memphis. It’s not safe here.”
Not safe? Try mixing me with a Harley.
It was looking like I had less and less of a choice. “Okay, Grandma. If I do go with you to Memphis, will you tell me what to do about Pirate?”
I followed her gaze to the Jack Russell sniffing her Smuckers jars. “I’m here to teach you magic, Lizzie. The dog is your problem.”
Chapter 3
“Don’t worry, Pirate,” I said, shoving a mountain of underwear into a pink plastic overnight case I’d yanked from the closet in my small, loft bedroom. “I have a plan to get us a half dozen counties away from that Harley.”
A quick online check showed American Airlines had a Memphis flight leaving in two hours. We needed to be on it. I hated to fly, but it was quicker and safer. Besides the alternative was driving four hundred miles with Grandma, a talking terrier, and twenty-seven Smuckers jars filled with heaven knew what.
“Hold up,” Pirate yelped, dropping the Mickey Mouse panties he’d just stolen.
I jumped too. I was used to talking to my dog. I did it all the time. Him answering was another matter.
“Are you leaving without me?” he asked. “You can’t leave without me. I’m your watch dog. I watch out for you. You need me.”
It took me a moment to form the words. This was just a conversation, a regular talk—with a dog.
I tried not to think about that last part.
“I’m not leaving you,” I assured him. “And honestly,” I said, scooping up the panties and tossing them in the direction of the bathroom hamper. “You need to tone down the watch dog shtick.” His face fell and I found myself working hard to recover. “Not that you aren’t great at it. You are. I feel very safe.” At least I used to feel safe. “But you have to learn to pick your battles.”
Pirate blinked twice, seemed shocked at the thought. “What? You don’t think I can handle it?”
With shaking hands, I yanked three pairs of khaki pants from their hangers. “Feel free to protect me from butterflies, the vacuum cleaner, my hair dryer,” I said. “But please. No demons.”
Pirate considered it while I folded two pairs of pants and left the third pair out to wear. “I could take a demon.” He twitched his ears, daring me to tell him he couldn’t. “You should have seen me today. I wasted the Phantom Menace. Been after him my whole life. And today—whammo! So don’t tell me I can’t bust a demon. Oh yeah. I can bust a demon.”
I tossed an armful of button down shirts into the case. “The Phantom Menace is from a Star Wars movie. Not a real person.” Pirate liked to yip at every shadow in the yard.
“He’s real,” Pirate insisted. “I left teeth marks.” He growled and showed me his canines. “Good? Yeah? What about this?” He sprung into a stalking stance and bared his teeth, his whole body shaking. “I’m an animal!”
“And you caught your own shadow.”
“No—a phantom. He flies! Likes to watch over the yard. Bet he’s after my squeaky frog. Today, he tried to give me something gold and shiny. Completely inedible. So I chomped him.”
Technically, Pirate’s rubber toys were supposed to be inedible too. I sighed and wrestled a simple white top off its hanger. Normally, I would have ignored a rant like that. Wait, who was I kidding? Normally, I wouldn’t be having this—or any—conversation with my dog.
Holy hand grenades, I sure hoped Pirate was imagining things. I didn’t want to think of shadowy figures hanging out in my yard. Watching me. To be safe, I said, “Promise me, if you ever see the Phantom Menace again, you will not go anywhere near him. Understood?”
Pirate attacked his tail.
I eyed the little beast I’d shared my bed with for the last three years. “Pirate.” I stroked him behind the left ear and he turned to mush in my hands. “Are you listening to me? Remember what we learned in obedience class? A good watch dog also listens.”
“Ahhh…anything you say, Lizzie. Just keep hittin’ the sweet spot.” The instant I stopped scratching, he jumped to his feet and began nosing around the semi-folded clothes in my suitcase. “You know, we would have passed that class if that sexy Pomeranian hadn’t winked at me. Lost it on that one. Dames.”
“Pirate,” I warned. “Don’t attack any yard spooks. You come get me.” He treated me to the innocent doggie look, but we both knew he wasn’t fooling anybody. I pulled on a pair of khakis and, yanking down my top, plowed through my closet for the comfortable, lace up shoes I wore to teach school.
I plunked down on the bed to tie my shoes and while I was there, gave Pirate a quick rub on the head. “Let’s motor. I’m going to try to convince Grandma to head to the airport, but we have to hurry if we’re going to make the next flight to Memphis.” My stomach roiled at the thought. Flying gave me hives, but all I had to do was look out into the driveway and there sat my courage, with chrome wheels and silver flames painted down the sides.
“Give me a Frosty-Pupsicle and I’ll tell you where I hid your wedge sandals.” He burrowed himself between two pillows.
I rolled my eyes and attempted to clip the clasps on my bulging suitcase. “You’d just better hope we can convince Grandma to get off that hog of hers.”
“A hog?” Pirate shrieked and pillows flew. He raced to the window behind my bed and shoved his nose against the glass. “Ohh, biscuits! I could zam down the highway, wind in my face. Checkin’ out the babes.”
So he hadn’t processed anything I’d said about bike versus plane. Peachy. I had a talking dog, not a listening dog.
Good to know, I decided as I tried to force the suitcase shut with the weight of my butt. My socks and underwear bulged out from between the clasps. “I expect you to back me up on this one.” I’d tell him later that he’d have to fly cargo.
“You ready yet?” Grandma charged up the stairs holding a sandwich and one of the apple juice bottles I kept on hand for school lunches only. “Lizzie! Stop farting around.”
“You have to be kidding me.” She may have been willing to jump in front of a demon for me, but I didn’t appreciate how she thought I could wrap up my life in the time it took her to make a cheese sandwich.
All I wanted was a simple, stable life. I liked to have things I could count on—my friends, my job, and even Cliff and Hillary. Heaven knew they’d never change. My spontaneity came from Pirate, and when that miniature problem with paws ran amok, I could just pick him up. Crisis averted. I didn’t want to be special. As far as I was concerned, it was overrated.
Grandma shook her head, her long, gray hair tangling over her shoulders. “Time’s, up, Lizzie. We’ve got trouble.”
Because we hadn’t had enough of it lately.
My stomach dropped. “Don’t tell me you blew up my bathroom.”
“Worse. Remember my purple emergency spell? It turned blue. Demons sucked the red right out of it. They’re coming. Fast.”
Yikes! I attacked the case with renewed vigor.
“Stop!” Grandma commanded. “What do you think this is, Spring Break at Dayto
na Beach? There aren’t any suitcase racks on my Harley. One backpack.” She held up a single finger, with a silver snake ring wound around it. “One.”
“Let’s just fly,” I pleaded, hearing the desperation in my voice. “It’ll save time!”
She looked at me like I had two heads. “I can’t protect a whole plane! You want demons camping out on the fuselage?”
Oh my word. We were a human tragedy waiting to happen. I shoved the image out of my mind. “Fine,” I said, yanking my school pack from its peg. “This will barely fit a tube top and a pair of socks.”
Grandma raised a brow. “Well, won’t the truckers enjoy that?”
I packed a change of clothes and a hairbrush, then dashed to the kitchen for Pirate’s Healthy Lite dog chow and a spare water dish. The bathroom was indeed glowing an incandescent blue. The haze spilled out into the hallway, carried on an invisible cloud. It had a palpable presence. A demonic one. It crept up to the ceiling and inched down across the floor like a slow, steady breath of evil. Holy h-e-double hockey sticks.
Grandma had already dragged Pirate out front to fit him for his riding gear. He’d have to be fastened to me. Grandma had this contraption that was basically a glorified, strap-on baby carrier. Pirate would hate it. It wouldn’t be fun for me, either. Pirate hadn’t had a bath in a week or two and besides, he tended to have digestive issues.
I stuffed his food and bowl into my purse, checked the back door lock and dashed through the living room toward the front door.
“Akkk!” Pirate dashed circles in the yard while Grandma chased him with a black leather harness that looked like it came straight out of the Ozzy Osborne Pet Gear Catalog.
“Damn it all.” She tossed the contraption to me. “You try it. Lucky Bob built it for his late ferret, Buddy.”
Pirate went shock still. “Why late? What happened to Buddy?”
We didn’t have time for this. “Pirate! Sit!” I said, summoning up the voice I learned in doggie obedience classes.
“Like hell!” He took off in a dead run.
“Pirate! Ditch the drama before Grandma zaps you in the butt with one of her demon spells.”
He dug in his front legs to stop, but his back legs kept going and he flipped over. Pirate popped back up, shaking with doggie indignation. “She’s going to tie me up! Look at that thing. It’s a doggie straight jacket!”
Grandma loomed over him, fear burning in her eyes. “If we don’t get on this bike in two minutes, you’ll be wearing your intestines as a necklace.”
Pirate released his bladder. I didn’t blame him.
“Sorry.” Grandma wound her thick hair into a bun and stuffed it under her helmet. “Your dog’s not too good at listening.”
“Tell me something I don’t know,” I said, fighting to untangle the black leather straps of the carrier.
The Harley roared to life. She pumped the engine until the kickback rattled my teeth. “Lord help us,” I mumbled as I finagled Pirate’s hard little noggin through the ferret carrier. “It’s okay, sweetie,” I yelled, trying not to breathe in any of the choking exhaust billowing from Grandma’s chrome pipes. I hoped Pirate could hear me over the deafening roar. He lashed his head back and forth. I tried to summon the tone I used with my preschoolers. “It’s snug, but that just means I can hold you close and keep you safe.”
“Bullshit.” Pirate yelped, half in, half hanging out of the carrier.
I heaved us both up on the pink Harley with silver flames shooting up the sides. “Hold still,” I ordered as I lowered both terrier and carrier over my head. Not an easy task, considering he’d decided to escape. His stubby legs, grasped for traction as they dangled out of the baby carrier.
Grandma secured her bag of jars. “Strap him in!” She insisted, her worry evident. “We need to go. Now.”
“This is humiliating!” Pirate lamented to Grandma’s back as I wedged him in tight and fastened the straps around his tummy, his stubby tail poking me in the stomach.
Grandma reached around to tighten the straps. “You two okay back there?”
I adjusted my helmet and tried not to think about the deep scratch marks that marred its dull, black surface. How many wrecks had this lady been in? Maybe we could stop somewhere for an extra-heavy-duty helmet with a face mask. While we were at it, maybe we could rent a Volvo.
Grandma wore a sleek silver helmet. Hers didn’t have a safety mask either. What? Would it have broken some kind of biker code to fly down the highway and head smashing speeds while wearing full protective gear? She eyed me as she pulled on a pair of riding goggles.
“Hold on to my waist,” She instructed over the engine. “Lean when I lean and for God’s sake turn your helmet around. You’ve got it on backwards.”
My fingers dug into the strap under my chin. I didn’t know how I was going to survive this odyssey when I couldn’t even buckle a helmet right. And talk about scary instructions. Lean when I lean. How far? How much? I chewed at my lip. If we crash, please don’t let it be my fault. I felt so helpless.
Grandma eyed the blue smoke curling out from under my locked front door.
“What if Xerxes tears apart my neighborhood?” I asked, wrapping my hands around grandma’s thick waist. I never really met my neighbors. They never seemed to venture outside of their houses, but still… Pirate squirmed, his legs flopping in the air. All three of us lined up on Grandma’s hog like a warped version of the Three Musketeers.
“I’d never let that happen.” She reached in her pack for a mossy-looking Smuckers jar wrapped in masking tape. “Do you have any loose eyelashes?”
“What?” My mind failed to make the connection.
“Don’t worry about it.” She yanked off a section of tape, touched it to my arm. “Think of it like a Band-Aid,” she said, giving a swift yank.
It stung like blazes. “God Bless America!”
Grandma inspected the tape that held way too many of my arm hairs. “Perfect.” She stuck it back against the nasty looking jar. “Confuto aggredior!” She fired the jar at my house and it shattered on the front porch. Glass flew everywhere and greasy slime oozed down my top step and onto my red brick walk.
“They’ll be following us now.” Grandma gunned the engine, and my back slammed the safety bar as we peeled out into the gathering dusk.
***
“Yell if you see Xerxes or any of his hell raisers,” Grandma said at the first stoplight we reached. “We’ll make Evel Knievel look like a pussy.”
“Urgle.” I nodded, stomach churning. Two blocks and my butt throbbed from the vibrations. Maybe in another two, it would go blessedly numb.
“What? Why’d we stop? Did someone say stop? Pup-per-roni, we were flying! Wind in my face, wind in my ears, wind in my toenails. Wind whipping all up in my…”
“Pirate! If you keep whamming me in the gut with that tail, I’m going to heave.” Yeah, blame it on the dog. Nausea climbed up the back of my throat. I fought to ignore the smushed stink bugs on the front windshield. And the gas fumes from the cars surrounding us. And the pulsations that rattled every raw nerve in my body when I just wanted to lie down. Why did I ever think this would work? I could barely ride bumper cars without yarfing all over the place.
Pirate’s tail pounded my fragile stomach. “Your problem is you got no sense of adventure. Green light!”
Grandma cranked the gas and we lurched from zero to five hundred in two seconds flat. The wind stung my face and arms. Pirate flung his legs out in the air. “Eyyah! I’m king of the world!”
“Car!” I screamed as we slammed toward a Honda Prius.
“Yyy-yes!” Grandma swerved at the last second, zig-zagged between lanes and gunned it out into the open road.
I am going to die. What was worse? The road ahead of us or the demons we left behind? At that moment, I wasn’t sure.
***
Thanks to small miracles, we made it out of Atlanta alive. We zipped over the Georgia/Alabama border near Bowdon and caught the back roads
from there. Alabama had plenty of quiet, side roads where we could still rumble at butt breaking speeds without risking detection on the open highways.
In the darkness, the trees on the side of the road formed an army of shadows, breached occasionally by the light from a house. I breathed in the warm night air. It was a moment to savor because—sure as Grandma’s Smuckers jars—our luck had to run out sometime.
It almost didn’t seem real—the demon in my bathroom, my biker witch Grandma, any of it. And now we were out on the road with barely a change of clothes and a doggie bowl. This was so not me. I didn’t like to leave for the grocery store without a typed shopping list and my color coded coupon file.
Worry about things you can control, like…
Darned if I could think of anything.
Okay fine. I could still have a moment of peace. I tuned out the droning roar of the bike and focused on the good in my life. I nuzzled my little dog, his prickly hair warm against my cheek. It reminded me of when he was a puppy and used to like to curl up on my chest and listen to my heartbeat. I felt myself relax. Pirate too. He fell asleep somewhere after Talladega, his little legs dangling out of the baby carrier.
Sure enough, trouble found us at a QuikTrip just outside of Jasper. We’d stopped for gas, a clean bathroom and a Rooster Booster Freezoni for Grandma. While she parked herself in front of the self-serve slushy counter, debating the merits of adding a blue raspberry layer to her energy drink, I found a field for Pirate next to the station.
He sprinted across the small meadow, leaping here and there, just for the fun of it. “I was made for the open road. How come we never blew out on a road trip before?”
Because I’d never thought of it. The full moon illuminated my romping dog, as well as the road dust clinging to every inch of my body. Ugh. I smelled like a diesel gas pump. I brushed at the grime on my arms. “We were fine in Atlanta.”
“Fine does not mean alive!” he said, hurdling over a patch of weeds. “Tingly!” He hopped back the other way. “Oh yeah. That’s what I’m talking about,” he said, continuing his assault on the shrubbery. “Belly scratch!”
