by Angie Fox
I stayed with Grandma and Frieda, watching over Mom. We moved her upstairs to my old room—it was lucky that Hillary was light—and laid her down on my white ruffled bed. Grandma and Frieda conferred on ways to boost the defensive spell already on her. And I was frankly feeling pretty useless. I’d reached out again, trying to feel something, anything with my awesome demon-slayer powers, but I might as well have been using them to predict the weather. I had nothing.
“Oh, Mom,” I murmured, the bed dipping as I sat next to her.
All the time I was growing up, it felt like Mom was completely in control of my life. I’d hated it, and it had made me feel safe at the same time. Now to see her pale and lifeless, it was as if my anchor to what was right and good and sane had broken loose.
She was one of the busiest people I knew. Every moment was an elegant bustle from one perfectly planned event to the next, always taking care with presentation, always seeing and being seen. My wedding had proven a real trial for her once she realized that I wasn’t going to be manipulated into doing everything according to her plans.
Finding out I was a demon slayer who hung out with a gang of biker witches and was marrying a shapeshifting griffin might have had a bit to do with it too.
This was the first time I could remember just seeing her…idle. Even her eyes were still beneath her eyelids, and that wasn’t just because they’d been painted with a thick, gooey spell.
It was a relief when one of the witches called up the stairs, “Hey, Lizzie! Better go back up your husband. Looks like he’s been cornered.”
Cornered? Cornered by what?
“Watch Mom,” I said to Frieda.
I ran downstairs, one hand hovering over a switch star, and rushed out onto the front porch before I realized it wasn’t an emergency. Dimitri stood on the lowest step, blocking the stairs as best he could, arms crossed over his chest. It was his “I’m intimidating” pose, and it sent most people packing, but this time?
I glanced over his shoulder and sighed. He was cornered, all right. By an overly interested soccer mom whose hairspray skills put Frieda’s to shame. Even as I watched, she extended one long-nailed hand and gently ran her fingertips down his forearm. “I didn’t know deliverymen came in such an attractive package,” she purred.
Dimitri wasn’t impressed, and neither was I. “I’m not a messenger,” he said, his tone firm.
She didn’t get the hint.
“A handyman, then?” She smiled coyly. “I’ve got some pipes that could use an experienced hand. Or—” her eyes lit up “—where’s your truck?”
On the one hand, I was relieved that Dimitri was all she was asking about. It meant one of the witches had cast a See Me Not spell over the bikes, not to mention the van. The spells were only good for inanimate objects at rest, but they could be surprisingly thorough.
On the other hand, I was intensely annoyed that Mrs. Hildebrand thought she could make a play for my husband. I popped up from behind him, beaming at her. “Hi, Jacqui!”
“Oh—oh my goodness, is that Lizzie Brown?” She placed her free hand on her chest. Dimitri removed the other one from his arm, but she put it right back on. The woman was an octopus. “Why, I haven’t seen you for years, especially not in such a…daring getup. I thought you’d moved and sold the place! You surely needed the money, didn’t you? That darling little job of yours can’t pay much.”
Aaand here we went, tumbling hip-deep into the pseudo-polite crap talking that was the way of the South. I put on my sweetest smile. “No, I’ve been too busy to sell.” Not to mention that niggling concern about the demon smoke in the bathroom. “And by the way, it’s Lizzie Brown-Kallinikos now.” I beamed at my husband. “My husband, Dimitri, and I spend most of the year in California now.”
Her smile had gone forced, and when Dimitri pushed her hand off this time, she didn’t move it again. “Well, I see you married up, then.”
“Actually,” Dimitri interjected, “Lizzie is the head of the business. I just come with her to make sure her work happens as smoothly as possible. She’s very in demand, after all.”
“O-oh.” Jacqui’s aplomb had totally disintegrated by now, but she gathered herself as best she could. “And what is that business, if I may ask? Certainly not preschool.”
It felt like preschool sometimes with the biker witches, but I didn’t think she’d want to hear that.
“If I told you,” I said with a wink, “I’d have to kill you. Bye now!” She finally took the hint, and a few moments later Dimitri and I were alone on the porch.
He shook his head ruefully. “She moved on me faster than a succubus in a Vegas nightclub. Southern hospitality, huh?”
“At its finest,” I agreed.
“How’s your mom?”
“Still unconscious.” I rubbed my hands over my arms. “I’ve never had to fight a demon that’s inside someone I care about. If and when I figure out what kind it is, how do I kill it without killing her?”
He took over the rubbing, and I instantly felt ten degrees hotter. It was impossible not to feel a little warm under the collar when my husband was touching me. “We’ll figure it out. I promise.”
“I hope.” I blew out a breath. “If I knew which one I was facing, I’d have a better idea of what to do. I defeated the Earl of Hell, for crying out loud. But this one isn’t showing itself. I don’t know how to fight it.”
“Yet,” he amended. “You don’t know how to fight it yet, but you will.” He captured my gaze with his intense, rich brown eyes. “And you’ve got all of us here to help you out. We’ll get hold of this thing and send it packing. I promise.”
I hoped he was right. “You’ve got a lot of confidence in me.”
He tilted my head up and kissed the very tip of my chin. “All completely deserved.”
We might have gone on to give Jacqui a show right there on the porch if Grandma hadn’t called out, “Lizzie! Hillary’s awake!”
Thank the Lord.
My mom was indeed sitting upright on the bed by the time I clattered up the stairs, her legs straight out in front of her, most of her weight leaning back on her hands. She still seemed a little dazed, but when she saw me, she broke into a smile. “Lizzie, honey, you’re here.” Then she frowned. “Oh, darling, a hot pink bustier? With your complexion? It makes you look like you escaped from a circus.”
I gave a sigh of relief. Yep, she was back all right. I sat down next to her and clasped her hand. “How do you feel?”
“Oh, fine, just fine. A little woozy, maybe. I’ve been cutting down on carbs,” she said, patting my hand as she pulled away. “I might have overdone it, but it’s nothing to worry about.”
“What do you remember about what happened?”
She frowned. “I was on the phone with you,” she said, speaking slowly as she worked to recall. “There was smoke,” she added, as if remembering for the first time. “It wasn’t my diet at all. Oh, that’s a relief.”
“Mom,” I pressed.
She swallowed. “I was going to open the sliding back door to try to let the smoke out, but I don’t…I don’t think I made it that far. It smelled terrible”—she winced, remembering—“like rotten eggs.”
“That could be any demon,” Grandma said under her breath. “Did you feel rage?” she asked my mom hopefully. “Or maybe overly sad?”
Mom drew her brows together. Well, as much as she could. Her forehead didn’t move much. “I…” She sat with her mouth open.
“Maybe you feel horny,” Grandma prodded.
I shot her a look. “I doubt it’s an incubus.” We’d know if my mom had a sex demon inside her.
“It never hurts to ask.” Grandma shrugged.
“I feel…” My mom drew a hand to her brow. “I feel…” She glanced up at us. “Tired.”
Of course she did. The entire morning had been awful for her. Still, we needed more to go on.
“Did you see anything else?” I pressed my mom. “Did you hear anything?”
> Mom touched her forehead. “There was a voice, but it was far away. I don’t even know what it was saying.”
“Think,” Grandma urged.
“You said it was a male voice,” I added, trying to help her remember.
“Did I?” Mom asked, with a bit too much uncertainty. “I don’t know.” She looked up at us. “It was like a dream.”
What did that mean? I was about to ask when my mom finally turned her gaze on her pants. Her eyes went wide. “What the—what?” She was upright in a flash, ignoring the hangover effects of bending forward as she inspected her pants. “Jesus, Mary, Joseph and the mule, this is a two-thousand-dollar suit!”
I would point out that polished leather bustiers were easier to clean, but I decided to let that one slide.
“What did you do to me?” my mom demanded.
Grandma was already heading for the door. “I’ll just let you two work that out,” she said. Frieda was hot on her tail.
“You and me are about the same size, Hillary,” Frieda said over her shoulder. “I’ll bring up a few of my spares for you.” She chuckled. “You’re probably gonna want to burn the stuff you’re in.”
“Burn it?” Hillary clutched at her blouse, which audibly crinkled under her hand. “I can’t burn this suit! This is Dior.”
Ha, I’d called that one. My sense of relief was quickly overruled by growing apprehension as my mother turned narrowing eyes on me. “Elizabeth Gertrude? Would you care to explain what’s going on?”
I figured the best thing to do was just to go for it, like ripping a Band-Aid off. My mom wasn’t one to dance around unpleasant subjects, and neither was I.
“Mom, the simplest explanation is that there was a demon lying in wait here in the condo—that was the smoke you saw and smelled. It attacked you while we were on the phone and tried to possess you. Grandma and the other witches contained it, but we haven’t managed to cast it out yet. We have three days to figure out how to defeat it, or…” My voice trailed off, but I cleared my throat and powered ahead. “Or it’s going to take you over completely. Apparently.”
“Apparently?” My mom’s voice was faint.
“Yes.”
“I feel fine,” she protested.
“I’m not sure you are,” I said gently.
“I lied,” she said, sitting down on the bed. “I feel like my head’s been split open. And I can’t think straight.”
I joined her. “I’m sorry.”
She nodded and then kept nodding. “Possessed, you say.”
“Yeah.”
“By a demon. Really?”
I sighed. “Yes. Well, we don’t know what kind of demon it is exactly. There are nobility, like the Earl of Hell that I defeated when I first became a slayer. You have generals with legions—”
“Stop.” She held up a hand. “Are you positive I’m not just shamefully drunk and dreaming this whole thing up?”
“I wish you were,” I said truthfully. “But this is real life.”
“Yes,” she murmured. “It must be. There’s no way I’d dream my own daughter in that wretched shade of pink.”
“Mom.”
She winced. “Darling, just…if you could speak a bit more softly, please? My ears are ringing.”
I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Okay. I could handle this, I could chaperone my mom through this experience. “There’s more. The witches laid a spell on you that will protect you for a while, but it required some very—let’s say, some very organic ingredients.” As in, made from organs. “Frieda wasn’t joking about maybe burning this suit.”
She arched one perfectly plucked eyebrow at me. “Lizzie, I have coaxed pinot noir stains out of a white chenille carpet. I refuse to be defeated by whatever this is.”
In her defense, Hillary was a whiz when it came to getting stains out. She was the one who’d figured out how to turn my hair from lavender back to brown after I’d left a Color-Changing spell on for too long. Still, this was more than just a little red wine.
“Why don’t you look at the rest of it before you decide?” I extemporized.
Hillary’s mouth tightened. “What do you mean, the rest of it?”
There was no getting out of it now. I helped her off the bed—her legs were as wobbly as a newborn colt’s—and into the tiny en suite bathroom that consisted of a toilet, sink, and economy-sized shower stall. There was a mirror set above the sink, and I held my breath as I flicked on the light.
Hillary stared wide-eyed at the mess that was her reflection. Her pale blond hair was streaked with red and gray, and a chunk of gristle stuck out over one ear. Her forehead, cheeks and chin were all smeared with the same substance, and as we watched, a piece of it flaked off, leaving a little pink hole in the glob above her eyes. Which—wow, Grandma had been thorough, even her eyelashes had a coating on them.
Her blouse and jacket looked like a serial-killer-inspired Jackson Pollock painting, and her pants weren’t much better. Her shoes had escaped the worst of it. Her necklace as well, but that was about all that could be said.
“Some spell, huh?” I joked.
“Some spell,” she said flatly. “Is this demon supposed to be so disgusted that it just flies out of me? Is that the idea?”
“Mom, I know it’s disturbing, but these things really work.” I met her eyes in the mirror. “It’s gross, but it’s saving your life.”
“I’m not sure it’s worth it.”
I frowned. “Not funny.”
“No,” she said tiredly. “No, I suppose this isn’t the time for that sort of humor. All right then.” She straightened her spine, pulled out of my grasp, and turned to look at me. She had to lean on the sink a little to stay upright, but Hillary Brown the Unfazed was back in control.
“This is what we do next. You call your father, tell him to get the food in the fridge and dismiss the caterers, since I doubt we’re going to be home in time for your husband’s party.”
Oh, good point. And oh, dang it, how was I going to explain all this to Cliff?
“Don’t tell him anything about me being cursed or possessed or whatever it is, not until we can explain it in person, because I do not want to have to go through this twice. Your father is the type of man who nods and smiles over the phone and doesn’t remember a word you said five minutes later.”
“I’m sure he’d remember if we said you were possessed.” It wasn’t exactly like asking him to pick up milk on the way home from the store.
Her voice was as dry as dust. “You’d be amazed what a man can tune out after thirty-five years of marriage, Lizzie. It’s better to break the news in person. Anyhow, I want a fresh pair of pants—not leather, if you please—and another shirt up here as soon as possible. Pastels are preferable, but I’ll accept just about anything at this point.”
That was good, because Frieda didn’t really do pastels.
“My old clothes might fit,” I offered. The white oxfords and khaki pants I wore to teach preschool weren’t exactly my mom’s style either, but they were closer than anything Frieda could whip up.
“Your clothes were stained by that awful blue smoke.” Mom waved me off. “I’m sorry, but I had to toss them.”
Good riddance, really.
“I’m fine,” she insisted. “The only other thing I need right now is for you to leave the bathroom and make sure I’ve got total privacy for at least half an hour.”
I could certainly do that, but… “Are you sure you’re not sick or anything?”
The first time I had come under the fire of Red Skull magic, it made me nauseous. Come to think of it, I didn’t feel very hot now. I brought a hand to my forehead. That didn’t make any sense. I wasn’t the one covered in raccoon liver, and it wasn’t as if I hadn’t seen this all before.
“Leave,” she said, nudging me out of the bathroom and gently closing the door. “The only thing I need is a very, very long shower.”
Fair enough.
4
I stayed in the b
edroom to call my adoptive father. He deserved to hear about what had happened directly from me, and the last thing I needed for that conversation was a bunch of witches standing around giving me “advice” on how to break the news.
But as I stood looking out the window at the half-dozen Harleys parked on my lawn, I got to take the easy way out—the call went straight to Cliff’s voicemail, which, I noticed, worked just fine for him.
“Hi, Dad, it’s Lizzie.” I tried to think of how to say it, trying to ignore the roiling in my gut. “Things have gotten a little…chaotic here at the condo, and we’re not going to be able to make it home in time for the party. Mom says to cancel the caterers and put the food away for now. Mom is…”
I decided then and there that this wasn’t the type of problem that could be explained adequately in a message. I dropped my head. “Mom will come back with us later today. Everything is fine.” I hoped. “Totally fine,” I stressed, as if saying it would make it true. “We’ll see you soon.”
I hung up with a sigh. That was almost as bad as one of my late-night excuse phone calls from when I was a teenager.
I ran a hand through my hair, which had a streak of red in it thanks to Creely. I’d never been a bad girl—not even close—but the few times I’d missed my curfew, Dad had let me hear about it.
I headed toward the bedroom door. I should give Mom her privacy. She had the shower going full blast, and with her beauty routine, she’d be in there for a while. It wasn’t like I could help her by hovering. Still, I couldn’t find it in myself to walk away.
I heard the clamor of the witches downstairs and felt the effect of their defensive spells crawling the walls and seeping through the floor. No doubt about it, they were being thorough.
So why did I feel like we should be doing more? I ran a hand along my old dresser, past the perfume bottles now clouded and gathering dust.
We’d left the door open and given a demon the perfect opportunity to waltz right through. Mom, in her desire to keep up the place, was the perfect victim. But one thing puzzled me: why now?
