by Angie Fox
I jogged over to Battina and found her huddled over two six-packs of soda bottles and a half dozen empty sun tea jars. She was with Spinebreaker, Jan Elkins, the library witch. Actually Jan preferred to be called the Library Hag. She wore her hair in pink braids today. The witch refused to go gray, and changed her hair color to anything but on a regular basis.
Jan lifted a bottle of chocolate-flavored Jones Soda out of the case like it was liquid gold. Then I noticed the cork in the top. That wasn’t soda.
“What’s up?” I asked. “Did you guys find Dimitri?”
Jan dug through the rest of her bottles until she found another one she wanted. “Ant Eater tracked him down,” she said, holding up a bottle of Grape. “Phoned it in to your Grandma right before we headed over here.”
She handed it over to Battina, who uncorked it.
Phew, my nose burned. “What’s in that thing? Lighter fluid?” My heart stuttered when she lit a match.
Wait a second. “You think that’s a good idea?” I asked.
Battina chuckled as she tossed a match into the bottle and planted the cork back on top. “It’s not really grape soda. We wouldn’t ruin a good bottle of Jones. These are pickled turtle’s knees. Very good in antidemonic wards. Only you have to toast them.” She rattled the bottle. “Like this.” A small curl of smoke escaped from the top.
Jan picked up a cork-topped bottle of ginger ale. “And this here is fresh Georgia creek water.” She dumped it into a sun tea jar. “Nothing but the best.”
“No kidding.” I’d never seen these two at work before. “What’s in the bottle that says Gravy?”
Jan tucked a lock of pink hair behind her ear. “Oh that actually is gravy soda,” she said. “It’s a special flavor. They only make it at Thanksgiving, so I stock up.” She popped it open and took a long swig. “Mmm… gravy-licious. Want to try it?”
“I’ll pass. Now what about Dimitri?”
Jan shrugged. “He said he’s got things to do and he’ll be back tonight.”
That’s it? Things to do? I’d like to do a few things to him right now—none of which he’d enjoy.
“So… what?” I asked. “You let him go?”
Battina took a peek into the turtle knees bottle before dumping out the gloopy black contents—match included—on top of the creek water in the sun tea jar. “What did you want us to do? Sit on a one-hundred-eighty-pound griffin? Actually, Ant Eater tried, but he shifted and flew off.”
“Jerk,” I muttered.
Battina shrugged. “He’s your boyfriend. Now you mind helping us lug these spell jars over to the hotel? We had to toast the turtle knees over here. They’re not very stable when you mix them with kerosene. But really, they’re for the outside walls of the place.”
“Extra protection?” I hoped.
“It sure ain’t for the smell.” Jan snickered.
Pirate joined us as we spent the next twenty minutes throwing protective wards at the walls of the hotel. They weighed a ton and smelled like the inside of a gas tank. It’s a wonder we didn’t get arrested.
“How long will these hold?” I asked Battina.
She rubbed her fingers along the wall and sniffed them. “Oh we’ll be out here every two or three hours checking. You can’t be too careful.”
“You want a helper?” Pirate danced in place.
“Why not?” Battina said. “You need to get out of the hotel every once in awhile. Jan and I could use a guard dog.”
Jan rubbed him on the head. “You can be in charge of guarding my bottles.”
“Hear that, Lizzie? I’m in charge!”
“Thanks,” I said. These witches might be rough around the edges, but every one of them had a good heart. “I owe you one.”
Battina studied the wards, and glanced back at Jan’s soda-bottle cases of ingredients. “Get us out of here by tomorrow and we’re even.”
Excerpt from The Dangerous Book for Demon Slayers:
Fairies tend to be at least five feet tall, sweet smelling, and glittery at times. They love gambling but can’t stand bells. Grandma says it’s no coincidence that the casinos are full of ringing bells, as fairies can manipulate time and influence the future—not what you’d want in a casino. Fairies are a feared, outcast class in the magical world. Still, I think having a full-blooded fairy on your side could come in quite handy.
Chapter Nine
We’d barely made it back to the room when a hollow knock sounded at the door.
Pirate about hurt himself dashing for the door. “It’s company!”
The good kind, I hoped.
I opened the door to a scowling little man who could have been Danny DeVito’s brother. He was shorter than most, balding, with a round body and hair that circled his head like a wiry black halo. Glitter tumbled onto his shoulders like a bad case of dandruff and he reeked of bubblegum.
He held on to a cheap gray document case with one hand and flashed a badge with the other. Beige lettering splashed across the silver emblem—SID FUZZLEBUMP, DIP INVESTIGATOR. He gave Grandma a onceover. “You Lizzie Brown?”
She should be the one with the learner’s permit. I spoke up. “I’m Lizzie Brown. And what do you mean DIP? Are you here about the succubi?” Officer Reynolds had said they’d send someone.
Maybe he knew something. Maybe he’d seen something. Frankly, I didn’t know what to make of this strange man with glittery ring-around-the-collar. I braced a hand on my black utility belt, in case we ended up needing a switch star or two.
He scowled at my defensive posture. “I’m with the Department of Intramagical Procedures. I’m the expendable guinea pig, here to see if you got off your precious demon slayer tuchis long enough to get a count of the succubi in Vegas.”
Oh great. A bureaucrat. “What do you know about the demon love slaves running around town?”
He had the nerve to look offended. “Lady, what you do on your own time is your business.”
Now I really did want to switch-star the little weasel.
I ushered him inside and after a quick look down the eerily vacant hallway, I closed the door. “We have a situation here. Does your department monitor enslaved people? Demonic kidnappings?”
The officer looked at me like I had a screw loose. “You think we want to get close to a demonic kidnapping?”
Of course not. They simply made me get a permit if I wanted to do anything about it.
Officer Fuzzlebump rolled his eyes. “I don’t know what you’re yammering about, but Officer Reynolds with the DIP office sent me over to get the official demon level. That’s it. Kaput. Finito. I need to have my report in by six o’ clock on the dot or there won’t be anybody around to read it. So what do you say?” he asked, resting his briefcase on the floor and pulling out a stack of powder blue documents as thick as a paperback novel. “I’ll need you to sign off on your official number. It’s more than thirteen, isn’t it?”
I took a deep breath. “Try twenty-five.”
His bushy brows shot up, deepening the cascade of wrinkles etched into his forehead. “Hold up,” he said, straightening back up, moving slowly from the shock of it. “Are you talking demons—in Vegas?”
“Yes.”
He shook his head. “That can’t be right.”
“Their power is growing. I can feel it,” I said, fighting off a shudder. “One just kidnapped my uncle and drank from him, but that’s not the worst part. You know they’re killing people, don’t you? They’re taking everything now. What do you imagine they’re going to do with all that life energy?”
He glanced at Grandma. “I don’t think I want to know.”
I could feel the pressure build. “Something is trying to break through as we speak. It’s time to call in the troops and deal with it. Now.”
“Listen. I see plenty of this town. I drive an airport cab on the side. I also drive a Budweiser truck.”
“So?” Grandma interrupted.
The fairy bristled. “So this town is crazier than ever, bu
t it’s not twenty-five-demons crazy.”
“I didn’t set the number,” I said. “I’m just telling you what you’re dealing with.”
“Yeah? Well what if you’re wrong?” he demanded.
“What if I’m not?” I might not know how to pass some of the Dragon Lady’s tests, but I knew what I felt in my gut. So far, that had been the one thing keeping me and everybody else alive.
His sweat-slicked forehead betrayed him. “You’re scared, aren’t you?”
He wouldn’t look at me. “Sign here.” He handed me a stack of unbound papers and a cheap plastic pen.
I braced the mess on my leg and filled in the official demon count on Form 233A, Form 666Z and, well, I lost track there were so many sheets and attachments. It didn’t help that the number of succubi changed halfway through. I jerked the pen across the page. “Twenty-six,” I gasped.
The portly fairy tried to clear his throat and choked instead. “Oh, like another demon just popped up from where?”
Grandma gave a low whistle. “Where? Now that’s the question. No way she took the bus. Only way they could pop up like that is if they’re coming straight from hell.”
My stomach belly flopped. I hated when she was right.
I looked Officer Fuzzlebump straight in the eye. “You have to have somebody who deals with this,” I said, because I sure couldn’t handle that many.
Officer Fuzzlebump didn’t look optimistic. “We don’t have anybody but you.” He scoffed at my dismay. “What? You think demon slayers grow on trees? We didn’t even know you existed until you showed up. And I hear you’re on a permit…”
I felt my face flush. “Exactly.”
I’d try to make whatever difference I could, but right now that meant getting Dimitri and Phil out of here. Not to mention Battina, Jan and the rest of the witches. I had obligations of my own.
He rubbed his chin. “We’ve got a vigilante running around. A rogue hunter. The guy’s half nuts from what I hear.”
“But is he a slayer?” We couldn’t afford to be picky at this point.
Grandma cleared her throat. “Hunters are a different breed. Right, Sid?”
The DIP officer nodded.
“I’ve heard of them,” Grandma continued, “but I never saw one before. I say keep your distance.”
Sid scoured a hand over his forehead, visibly shaken. “The lady’s right. This one’s dangerous and unlicensed. Ly wants to shoot him, but so far, nobody can catch him.”
Dangerous or not, I couldn’t help wondering whether this “hunter” could help me with Phil. As far as I could tell, if he was hunting succubi, he was on our side—and doing more than the official magical establishment. He might even be able to tell me more about Serena. I had a feeling she was special.
“How would I find him?” I asked.
The fairy cocked an eyebrow at me.
“What’s it matter to you? You’ve got your number.”
He shot me the stink eye. “Suit yourself. His name is Max Devereux, a real dandy boy. He hangs out at the Pure nightclub in Caesar’s Palace. You’ll know him when you see him.”
I nodded, hoping he was right.
Officer Fuzzlebump zipped his briefcase. “All right,” he said, backing out of the door. “I’m out of here.” He paused, like he was thinking twice about what he was about to say. “Just so you know, I’ll keep an eye out on my cab run tonight.”
He shrugged, stuffing his badge into his pocket. “Six was okay. Thirteen we could handle. But twenty-five?”
“Twenty-six,” I corrected. “The Department of Intramagical Procedures needs to address this.”
He gave me a look that suggested it was my fault before he turned and splashed down the hall, scattering schools of fish as he went.
“What are you going to do?” I called after him.
Officer Fuzzlebump cursed under his breath. “You’re asking the wrong person, demon slayer,” he called back to me. “What are you going to do?”
Excerpt from The Dangerous Book for Demon Slayers:
All demons, no matter the breed, seem to be fond of deception. Succubi, however, take the act of deceit to a new level by becoming their target’s fantasy. While searching for a new victim, or in their “predatory mode,” they are faceless, formless beings similar to department store mannequins. This blank-slate approach doesn’t seem to be noticed by nonslayers. As soon as a succubus has her target in sight, she morphs to become her victim’s ideal woman and commences the seduction. Succubi prey on both humans and magical beings. Further study seems improbable as I intend to kill the next succubus I see.
Chapter Ten
I couldn’t believe it. Grandma decided to sleep on the issue. Sleep! As if I could even sit still. I refused to think there was nothing we could do about it tonight.
The Red Skulls poured themselves into their rooms shortly before midnight. They’d had the nerve to go gambling and, from the smell of it, drinking again. On the upside, Ant Eater and the gang had trailed a flying griffin for thirty miles down Highway 95. That had to drive Dimitri nuts. On the down side, they lost him somewhere.
He’d told the Red Skulls he had pressing business. “Business?” I asked Pirate for the third time in less than a minute. “What business?”
“Something important enough for him to go flying down Route 95. Good thing them nonmagical folks can’t see that. It’d be pan-de-monium. Like my new word? Pan-de-monium.” Pirate circled twice before curling up on the carpet, his chin resting on his paws.
“Lovely,” I said.
What kind of business could Dimitri possibly have with a succubus? Much less a whole army of them?
We were making a big mistake. I could feel it. I paced between Dimitri’s room and my own a few dozen times. Naturally, he hadn’t returned. He wasn’t answering his cell phone, and whatever he was doing certainly wasn’t worth risking his life. Jerk.
Pirate followed me, two steps behind. Luckily, he’d given up on offering solutions.
My leather bustier itched with sweat, and I wondered for the twentieth time why I even bothered with it since I seemed incapable of wearing it without a T-shirt to make it more modest—or dumpy, depending on your opinion and my mood, which was pretty rotten right now.
When I’d had enough of stomping, I decided to do something a little more constructive. I planted myself at the writing desk by the window.
Forcing down my frustration, I tried to work on The Dangerous Book for Demon Slayers with a half-dead hotel pen and a few sheets of Paradise Hotel notepaper, but gave up almost as soon as I started. Number one—I was done half-assing anything. Number two—I was too mad to think straight. I yanked off my Don’t Mess with Texas T-shirt and hurled it into the corner near the bathroom. Then because, okay, yes it was driving me crazy, I stalked back over, yanked it up and, hands jerking, folded it neatly.
Grandma snorted and rolled in her sleep. She’d taken the bed closest to the door, her face smashed into the down pillow.
Instead of smothering her with it, I ripped open the curtains and stared out at the lights of The Strip.
If I really wanted to think about it—which I didn’t—I knew I should have taken charge before this happened. We should have cut Phil’s ties to Serena immediately. Then I should have taken Phil with me and gone after Dimitri myself. I’d had my suspicions about the wards protecting this place. I could blame Grandma for making a bad decision, but I hadn’t trusted my gut and pushed for anything else. I stood by, like most people do when there’s trouble around, thinking Grandma knew what she was doing. But I was a demon slayer now, and, yeah I might be on a permit, but I couldn’t afford to hold back.
It wouldn’t happen again.
I wound my fingers into the cool leather belt at my waist. Grandma couldn’t help. The magical bureaucracy wouldn’t help. I had to start trusting myself. It might not make life easier, but then again, I doubted demon slaying was supposed to be a cakewalk.
A voice trilled from the hallway,
dragging me out of my thoughts. “Miss Lizzie!” A warm glow shone under the door before a bright orange Skeep wriggled underneath.
He burned like a miniature fireball. “Meko at your service. Forgive the intrusion,” the mystical concierge said, hovering under the knob, “but you did tell me to fetch you the minute the griffin in 1302 entered his room.”
I nodded, edging past the dead-tired dog curled at my feet, saying a quick prayer of thanks that Dimitri made it back okay.
Meko glowed with pride. “I assume it has been a minute and a half, roughly, since I had to fly down the hall and summon you.”
“Thanks,” I said, wondering how to tip an orb.
He tittered and shot back under the door. I stuffed my key card into the back pocket of my kick-ass demon-slayer pants and hurried down the hall.
The splish-splash of the water in the hall felt cool and eerily dry against my naked toes. And even though it was half past two in the morning, someone had ordered pizza.
I’d barely knocked on Dimitri’s door when he yanked me inside.
“Quickly,” he said, closing the door behind him with the swish of something that sounded like Velcro. Had he been expecting me? Knowing him, I wouldn’t doubt it.
Thick, dark hair tumbled onto his forehead, setting off his angled features and giving him a deceptively GQ look. I knew better. The man was 100 percent raw power.
I gasped as soon as I got a good look at him. Red cuts marred the taut olive skin of his chest. “You’re hurt!” He looked pale, almost gaunt, which was impossible considering I’d given the man a thorough inspection the night before and found him in amazing health. My body warmed at the thought.
Square jaw clenched, he turned from me, but not before I saw the crimson stains on his jeans. He’d bled heavily, or someone else had.
“We need to talk.” I followed him past the bed. “I can’t believe you ran off like that,” I said to the angry purple bruises on his back as he dug through his traveling case. “I was half out of my mind. I didn’t know if we’d find you dead or sucked dry or possessed or—” I captured his arm. “Are you even okay? Look at me.”
