by Angie Fox
“Of course, Meko.” I hated to cut the poor thing off, but we were in the middle of a crisis here. “I should have known you’d have it covered.”
Meko glowed.
Why couldn’t I meet a normal person with good information? Someone who wasn’t a biker witch, eighty years dead or a half demon? Someone who hadn’t been wandering the bowels of Hoover Dam since its construction. A real source like any other normal frickin’ woman-on-a-mission would have?
“Field trip!” Pirate declared, launching himself off the chair and rushing for the door. He turned in a circle and sat. “You know you’re going to need a ghost sniffer along. We canines have a sixth sense about us.”
I hated to admit it, but… “You’re right. We could use you.” I certainly wasn’t going to leave him alone.
It would be nice to have someone along who wasn’t creeped out by the devil’s mark on my hand. I adjusted my switch stars and slid my new hotel key card into an empty slot on my utility belt.
“Lighten up, Lizzie,” Pirate said, practically dancing in place. “It’s not like Joe’s gonna marry a demon or start a big succubi invasion or give you a devil’s mark or—”
“No, of course not,” I said, before Pirate could cheer me up any more. For all I knew, Joe could be far worse.
Joe Lipswich lived in one of the tunnels used to inspect the dam during the half a century it took for the concrete to cure. Naturally, Joe’s residence had to be sixty feet below the towering edge of Hoover Dam. Since he wouldn’t come to us, we went to him, via the two o’clock Deluxe Hoover Dam Tour.
“Did it start yet?” Pirate’s nose tickled me from where I’d hidden him in an oversized purse. I’d bought the thing at the Paradise Hotel gift shop. Made of woven straw, it made everywhere it touched itchy.
“Hush,” I said, arranging the purse flap over Pirate’s prying nostrils. There were no dogs allowed on the tour—or anywhere on the dam for that matter. Pirate shifted inside my purse.
Voices tended to carry in the sparse lobby below the observation deck. Our tour group was small, less than twenty of us in all. I tried not to fidget as the tourists checked their cameras and flipped through their guide books. I wished we’d had more of a crowd. It would make it easier for me to disappear into one of the inspection tunnels. I flipped through the guide book, one eye on Ezra. Luckily, no one seemed to be looking for a ghost squeezed behind the bronze statue dedicated to the men who built Hoover Dam.
People liked to see what they wanted to see.
Still, I motioned for Ezra to tuck in his elbows.
At last our guide introduced himself and led us into an immense elevator.
“Hoover Dam was begun in 1931 and dedicated by President Franklin Roosevelt in 1935,” the guide said as the elevator dropped seventy feet into the concrete bowls of the dam. It made my stomach dip to think of being surrounded by six million tons of concrete, steel and darkness.
We exited into a tunnel that grew narrower as we went. And where was Ezra? I craned my neck to see behind doors and into dark corners. I looked behind fellow tourists and even past a “restricted” door. Maybe I did like it better when he had his elbows sticking out.
We saw intake valves and turbines before our deluxe guide led us through round tunnels smelling of concrete and old steel. The passageways were barely taller than I was, their light bulbs dangling above us, casting shadows and daring me to depart down a lonely dark tunnel.
A soft voice touched behind my ear, nearly scaring me out of my gourd. “It’s time,” he whispered.
I whipped around to find Ezra poking his head out of the top of the tunnel. “Where have you been?” I hissed.
He nudged his head back to a particularly dark artery we’d passed. “Follow me.”
I glanced at our guide up front, showing my fellow tourists the chalk inspection marks left behind in the 1930s and ‘40s. When he turned his back to us, I slipped into the side tunnel.
My heart echoed in my chest. I couldn’t believe I was doing this. The light quickly vanished, and I had to reach out to the cold walls of the tunnel to guide myself. Ezra glowed faintly ahead. It was a strange feeling, this deliberate breaking of the rules. I didn’t even like to walk on other people’s lawns, much less cut out on a tour group at a major national landmark. A lot of the things I’d had to do in the last few weeks, I’d done because they were forced upon me. I’d had no choice, or at least that’s what I’d told myself. But now I had a choice. And I was still doing it. I think sometimes when you change, the last person who knows about it is you.
Ezra halted and I had to make a quick stop myself to keep from barreling straight through him. “Joe does like to wander,” he said with an apologetic glance over his shoulder. “Fortunately, he’s not going too far.”
Yeah, well those two might have all the time in the world, but I didn’t.
“You ready, babe?” I dug Pirate, warm and snuggly, out of the bag.
“Hee-yah. I was born ready!” Pirate’s nails scratched at the concrete as I eased him down next to me. He took the curve of the tunnel NASCAR-style.
Pirate took a quick left, with Ezra and I right behind. I cringed as the soles of my sandals hit a hollow metal grate. “Hold up, everybody.” My voice echoed down the round passageways. “How sturdy is this?”
“It’s hard to say,” Ezra said. “But I’ve seen inspectors in here.”
“What? In 1952?” I said, fighting a twinge of panic. I could see it now. Lizzie Brown, survivor of multiple demon attacks, taken out by a tunnel. This Joe person had better be worth it.
“Come on, Lizzie.” Pirate took off, his tags jingling. “Follow me. I can take the pressure. I was bred to take the heat.”
I pried my hand off the wall. The eerie red light revealed a metal grate with nothing underneath. The emptiness under my feet seemed to stretch into oblivion.
We took a series of twists and turns, more than I wanted to think about. Still, I tracked them like my life depended on it—which it would if Pirate lost his way.
Near the end of a shaft that I swear curved unnaturally to the left, Pirate hitched up on his back legs. “Hey! Nice hat.”
Ezra let out a whoop. “Joe, you clown!” He clapped at a glowing, yellow orb. “I’ve got visitors for you.”
The orb lengthened and grew into a lanky construction worker in dusty 1930s-style overalls. His white shirt stretched around muscular arms streaked with dust and sweat. He wore a crude-looking hat covered in what looked to be black goo.
He lifted his head and grinned as if he hadn’t seen a woman in years. Joe had a rawboned, friendly face, with a hooked, Roman nose and a dimple at the chin. “Well, dang, aren’t you a sight?” he said, eyeing me a bit too appreciatively.
“Joe,” Ezra said, embarrassed. “She’s about seventy years too late.”
Joe shook his head, as if to clear it. “My apologies, ma’am. It gets lonely down here. Add that to the fact that nobody can see me, hear me, talk to me. ‘Cept Ezra here. And Mad Mertle, who jumped in ‘62.”
“And Farsworth,” Ezra added.
Joe rubbed his hand against his chin. “Nah. He gave up. Went to the light.” His eyes searched as if we were outside instead of in a narrow tunnel deep in the dam.
“Aw, now that’s too bad,” Ezra murmured.
“I was hoping you could answer a few questions for me,” I said to Joe. “I have an uncle who works here. Phil Whirley. I’m not sure what he does, but whatever it is, he’s got demons after him.”
Joe winced at the mention of demons. “Used to be I could go years without even smelling one. Now I have to work to avoid them.”
“At the dam?” Now we were getting somewhere.
“How much do you like your uncle?” Joe asked.
“What do you mean?” I asked slowly.
Pirate wound his stubby little body around my legs. “Enough that she got the devil’s mark,” he said.
Joe’s gaze swept over my body and rested on my glowing palm.
“So I see.” The muscles in his jaw worked. “In that case, you’d better act fast. Your man is sabotaging the dam’s turbine timing system.”
A shiver ran through me. “Not Phil.” He wouldn’t.
Ezra shot me an apologetic glance. “You said he married a she-demon.”
“I said?” I hadn’t told Ezra anything. “You’ve been telling him our business?” I asked Pirate.
He shot me an innocent doggie look. “Oh, this and that. In between high-stakes, winner-take-all Scrabble trash talk.”
Ezra cleared his throat. “It’s unnatural, a succubus marrying a half fairy. She probably hooked the human side of him, but with her ability to enhance people’s powers, I’m willing to bet your uncle could do some serious damage.”
Oh frig. I hadn’t thought about the succubus giving Phil power.
Joe nodded. “He’s got something going on. I’ve seen it myself. Now I’m no engineer, but I’ve been around long enough to know Phil Whirley’s working on a massive power outage. This place lights up a good chunk of the West Coast.”
We still didn’t have all the facts. “Why would the demons want Phil to knock out the lights?”
“Beats me,” Joe replied. “But it gets their rocks off. Word is the succubi have been hacking the power system out West for decades. They’re the ones responsible for most of the rolling blackouts. And the 2003 blackout that hit the East Coast.”
“Okay,” I said. It still didn’t make sense. “I hate to think what could happen to Uncle Phil after they’re done with him.” Their needing him was probably the only thing keeping him alive.
“You’d better figure it out quick,” Joe said. “The way he’s been running it, the turbine timing system could blow.”
“Soon?” I gaped. We needed time on this.
“It could have gone today. As it stands, he’s got another shift tomorrow,” Joe said.
“Tomorrow?” I braced my hands on the sides of the tunnel. It was too soon. I couldn’t fix this by tomorrow. Even if I could get to the DIP office before six o’ clock, they’d be so tangled up in their bureaucratic hoo-ha, they’d wait for an actual demon invasion to step up. And the nonmagical authorities weren’t going to believe me, at least not in time to get an inspection crew in here tomorrow. And what could I possibly say to convince them?
Hey, I’ve come to tell you that two ghosts warned me that a half fairy is tinkering with the Hoover Dam to the point where we’ll lose power. It’s all part of a demonic plan to trigger Armageddon when the lights are out.
“It’s too soon,” I said.
“The West Coast will be the first to go, right after some kind of concert,” Joe said, hovering close enough for me to smell the dampness on him. “I heard him talking with his lady friend on the phone.”
Joe looked immensely sorry as he shrugged.
I had to figure out how they planned to bring the demons in. I had to shut off their power source, if you will. The problem was, Phil held the answers and he was brain-warped.
Serena had been clear. I could still feel her rage. Leave us alone, demon slayer, and I’ll only kill him when I’m finished. Push me and I’ll take his soul.
My stomach dipped when I realized it wasn’t even a matter of rescuing his soul anymore. Sacrifice one for the many. I just wish I wasn’t the one who had to make that choice.
Well, I refused let her win. I braced a hand on my switch stars and asked the ghost, “How good are you at getting into places most of us can’t?”
He nodded thoughtfully. “I can hold my own.”
“If we can find Phil…” I began.
Joe grinned. “They’ll be at Club Viva.” He said, “Phil’s been talking about it all day.”
“Okay,” I said, letting out a breath I’d barely realized I was holding. “Let’s go save the world.”
Excerpt from The Dangerous Book for Demon Slayers:
Meeting a ghost reminds me of the time I bought my gold Saturn. I thought it was unique, until I had one and started noticing every gold Saturn on the road. I’d assumed the first ghosts I met were the only ones I’d see for awhile. Then I opened my eyes and found them everywhere. Fortunately, most people don’t bother looking for them. Perhaps if they did, the McDonald’s drive-thru wouldn’t be so popular. Some drive-up customers seem to notice the slight chill in the air. But they never seem to notice the ghosts filching one or two of their french fries.
Chapter Twenty
I’ve never been good at sneaking. I hate spying. I don’t even like playing Secret Santa. So why, oh why did I think it was a good idea to spy on my Uncle Phil and the demon who’d stolen his mind? Simple—lack of options.
The demons were putting their plan into motion sooner rather than later. I’d sent Dimitri away, Grandma, Max, anyone who could help me. It was time to see what Ezra and I could do. It had better be enough.
Meko had retrieved my things from the trashed thirteenth floor and we’d stopped by the lobby-level executive’s lounge so I could shower. Afterward, I changed into a black leather skirt and a black corset top so clingy it would have given me hives a few months ago. Ezra found a Gucci shopping bag for Pirate, who protested heartily. I didn’t blame him one bit. But we all had a price to pay.
Traffic whizzed past on the road out front of the club. It wasn’t even nine o’clock at night, far too early for the Las Vegas club scene. Most folks were probably still on their way to dinner.
“What do you know about the devil’s mark?” I asked Ezra as I cut the engine on my Harley and backed it into a dark, weed-strewn corner right outside the exit of Club Viva.
The ghost seemed startled by the question. “You mean you don’t? Oh,” he said, trying to be smooth and doing a lousy job of it. “Those who wear the devil’s mark have chosen a,” he chewed at his lip, “how shall I put it? An unholy alliance.”
But I hadn’t—
I ground my right palm into the leg of my too-tight leather skirt. I’d used the mark for good—to stop the demons, to give me the strength I needed.
Max didn’t seem to think there was anything wrong with it, although he’d probably been the one to curse me with it in the first place. To say Max was morally ambiguous was like saying the Unabomber might need to get out more.
The top of Ezra’s head shimmered and went transparent, along with a large chunk of his left side. “It’s a brand,” he said, his eyes darting back and forth as if the devil himself would leap out from behind one of the scraggly bushes lining the walk. “It’s their way of recognizing one of their own. I’ve seen it make men do terrible things. It heightens your powers,” he said, practically whispering. “You must have seen that.”
I had. And I took it out on Grandma’s phone. Problem was, I had trouble sorting my new powers from what had been in my demon slayer tool kit all along. When it came right down to it, I’d had my DVD player for five years and I still hadn’t figured it out.
Taking extra care not to touch my doggie with the palm of my right hand, I dug Pirate out of his motorcycle harness. “Are you saying whoever marked me can control me?” For some reason, the very idea ticked me off.
I’d had a temper lately. And freakish strength. I’d taken it to mean I was growing into my powers, changing for the good.
Ezra hesitated. “I don’t know.”
“Fine.” If nobody wanted to answer my questions, I’d do what I’d been doing for the last month—figure it out on my own. I relaxed my guard a little, let the power flow. Call it a test drive. For a moment I let my new strength surge through me, mmm… heady and alive.
Ezra shrank back. “Um, oh my. Please don’t do that.”
“What?” I said, grinning at my belt, watching my switch stars spin on their own.
He cleared his throat hesitantly. “Some believe the mark fosters the evil within.”
Anger surged through me. My pulse pounded in my ears. “I didn’t choose this.” My voice rumbled in a way it never had before and, dang it, I had to suppress a chuckle whe
n Ezra flinched. Yeah, well the days of Lizzie the doormat had passed.
Pirate dipped his ears forward and whined at my feet. Oh for the love of Pete. “Aren’t you supposed to be my fearless dog?” Rage surged inside me and boiled over when Pirate, my Pirate, backed away.
“Why would I choose this?” I demanded advancing as Ezra scuttled backward. “I dare you to tell me.”
Ezra went completely transparent, his words floating on the warm night air. “I don’t know.”
Pirate made a mad dash for the alley behind the club. He’d always had a nervous bladder. Yeah, that’s it. He’s not terrified of me.
I felt the anger drain out of me. I’d never even been able to summon fear from the squirrels that ate my tomato bushes every year. How had things gotten this messed up?
With a flick of the wrist, my switch stars churned to a stop and an empty feeling settled over me.
Ezra’s voice floated from somewhere above. “If you please, excuse me while I investigate the situation inside.”
My throat had closed. “Sure,” I said, unwilling to attempt more.
If you please?
That’s what you get for scaring the poo out of him.
I leaned against my Harley and ripped a snippet off one of the scraggly bushes that brushed my bare legs.
I was the pleaser. Disturbingly so. I tore the flat leaves off the wiry branch and tossed them to the ground. Up till a month ago, I was the girl who put her cans and bottles through the dishwasher before they hit the recycle bin.
I tossed another leaf to the ground. I’d like to think I’d turned into a badass, but I knew better. Unholy powers or not, I’d write an entire encyclopedia on demon slaying if it helped me understand exactly what I needed to do in the magical world. Even now, I certainly wasn’t skulking in shadows for my health.
“Pirate?” I ventured into the pool of light at the entrance to the narrow road. A collar jingled somewhere in the darkness. “Stick close.” I tossed the remains of the branch I’d been tearing and took a second look when it jangled on the pavement. It wasn’t a branch. Shock trickled through me. I’d been tearing barbed wire that had leaves tangled in it.
