Night of the Living Demon Slayer

by Angie Fox

  Ant Eater clicked on her flashlight. "I'm pretty sure one of them killed her."

  "Hah," a voice chided behind me. I spun around and saw only the glow of light from the front door, and the outline of a hall bench draped in fabric.

  Ant Eater's light danced over the ornate velvet curtains. A thick layer of dust clung to the heavy fabric. "Steady."

  "I'm fine," I said, drawing a switch star. The weapon warmed in my hands, the blades churning. Although I wasn't sure what good it would do against something that was already dead.

  The only sound came from the ticking of the grandfather clock on the wall by the stairs. It didn't do me any good to see the clock face broken and the insides torn out.

  The lines on Ant Eater's face deepened as she searched the shadows. She kept a firm grip on the spell jar in her other hand.

  Silence settled over us. It was as if we'd entered a tomb. Only the slow, rhythmic tick-tock of the broken timepiece cut through the deathlike stillness.

  Ant Eater stepped into a parlor on the right. Intricate lavender and gold wallpaper still clung to the walls. She ran her flashlight beam over a pink stone fireplace. Fading sunlight spilled from between heavy silver velvet curtains covering the Palladian windows at the side of the house.

  "How did Grand-mère Chantal die?" I asked, breaking the silence.

  "Drowned in her bath," she answered simply, continuing back to the dining room. "I hadn't seen her much that year," Ant Eater huffed, "even though she was the only one who hadn't given me hell for quitting college to join up with a coven." A rose glass chandelier dripped with crystals. "You didn't do that in those days. Or ever in my family." Her light danced over the empty table, seeming to look for something. "But Grand-mère? She was different. She understood."

  She paused in front of an ornately framed portrait of a raven-haired woman decked out in a white ball gown. A gold plate underneath read: Chantal Cerese Le Voux, 1936.

  "Could have been an accident," I said. I hated to think of anything terrible happening to this woman.

  Ant Eater turned away. "My mother found her. Called me straight away, even though she wasn't officially talking to me." She winced. "Said something attacked her when she tried to pull Grand-mère out of the tub."

  I could swear I saw the diamonds on Grand-mère Chantal's tiara glitter. "Maybe this isn't such a great place to stay," I murmured, studying the portrait of the dead woman. She seemed to be watching me as well.

  Ant Eater stood behind me. "Grand-mère loved this house. There's magic in that."

  True. As long as we could avoid what had killed her.

  We continued on through a small butler's pantry, crammed with china and boxes of who-knew-what. A low rattling sound came from the kitchen beyond.

  I held my breath as we continued toward it.

  We crossed into the 1960's style kitchen and I realized the sound came from the thick knife block on the Formica counter top. It was as if the knifes itched to leave their holders and find themselves buried in something else.

  "I think Frieda packed some anti-energy spells," Ant Eater muttered, giving it a wide berth. "We'll try to drain some of the hijinks out of this house."

  "Or you could end up ticking it off."

  A hot snort sounded behind us and I whirled around.

  The dragon hunkered on the patio outside, his pink nose pressed to the glass, his nostrils expanding and contracting as he fogged up the window.

  I let out a breath. "Flappy, you just took a year off my life."

  The dragon perked up, eager for attention. His head smacked an iron plant hanger near the door, sending it skittering into the yard. "Eeeyow, grable, grable."

  Yeah, well, I didn't speak dragon. "Stay out there and do whatever Frieda tells you," I ordered, glad the witches had us surrounded. This place was creeping me out.

  When I turned back, Ant Eater was nowhere to be found.

  "Wait up," I said, rushing headlong into the shadowy room ahead, walking straight a life-sized, snarling bear. I gave a startled shout.

  "What are you doing?" Ant Eater demanded from behind me.

  The bear was a head taller than I, with its claws raised and its teeth bared. Worse, "I swear it wasn't there a second ago."

  She treated me to that condescending, hacked off look that never failed to tick me off. "You saying it walked out in front of you?"

  "What if it did?" It sounded ridiculous, but I wasn't going to put anything over on this place.

  The biker witch followed me into the room. "Grand-piere liked to hunt."

  The curtains hung in shreds, some torn completely from their rods. The décor in this room trended toward creepy antique hunting lodge. It appeared as if the stuffed and mounted animals had been here for ages. There was the moose head over the fireplace, the brown bear towering in front of me. All sorts of deer and other Bambi-type heads lined the walls. Large chunks of fur had rotted out and worn away, making the animals appear ghoulish.

  Oh, and the wall at the back ran with rusty red stains.

  "The walls were bleeding," I said, as if this place weren't creepy enough.

  Ant Eater studied the stains. "Yeah, but these blood stains look old."

  I stopped in front of a console table decked out with a stuffed squirrel in a canoe. It was weird. "What if this place is more than haunted? What if these things are alive?"

  Ant Eater barked out a laugh. "Now who's crazy, Lizzie?"

  "I'm serious," I said, refusing to back down. I'd seen plenty of whacked out stuff since I'd come into my powers. "And you, where did you go when I first walked in here. I lost all sign of you."

  "I fell down a trap door," she said.

  I spun to face her. "What?"

  She held up her hands. "Just kidding. You really are freaked out." She moved past me, checking out the squirrel in the canoe. "I backtracked to the butler's pantry. Grand-mère always kept unusual ingredients."

  Good for her. We had more pressing matters to deal with. Maybe nothing had attacked us yet, but if a spirit had murdered Ant Eater's grandmother, it could be only a matter of time. "It might be luring us in."

  The crazy lodge room led us straight back into the foyer and it was all I could do not to walk out that front door.

  Ant Eater huffed. "Now you sound like my mother."

  The mention of her made me curious as to what sort of woman it took to raise a witch like Ant Eater. "Are you going to call her while you're in town?" I wouldn't mind meeting her.

  "No," she shot back.

  "Is your mom gone?" I pressed, unable to let it go. Ant Eater was in her seventies, so her mother would be in her nineties at least.

  "She's still around."

  This could be her last chance.

  The older witch shifted at my answering glance. "Believe me, it's a kindness that I don't call her," she said, heading up the stairs.

  That made me kind of sad, but I also knew she was done talking about it. At least with me.

  "Wait up." I gripped the bannister tight, not at all confident that something wouldn't try and shove me off. A tingling started low in my gut. "It feels darker upstairs."

  She slowed at the top, in front of a bedroom with a pink door. "Grand-mère Chantal died in there," Ant Eater said quietly.

  "Okay," I said, trying to figure out the best way to handle it. She didn't make a move, so I did. I braced myself as I tried the door.

  It was locked.

  "The real bad energy's coming from higher up," Ant Eater said low under her breath. "Can you feel it?"

  "Yes." I could sense the dark tendrils reaching for us.

  Chantal's bedroom felt heavy, but not overtly malicious. The energy coming from above was another story entirely.

  Still, we had to be smart. Methodical. "Let's check out the rest of the floor. Then we'll deal with whatever is lurking above us."

  We found two open bedrooms on the hallway to the right of the stairs, and another two on the left. They were dusty. Empty. But they held no quiv
ering knife blocks, unexplained sounds, no attack bears (I'm still standing behind my first impression on that one.)

  That left a narrow door at the end of the second floor hallway. "This is the way up," Ant Eater said.

  "Is it an attic?"

  "A tower." She opened the squeaking door to reveal a narrow stairwell.

  Of course. Why did I expect anything different?

  The witch didn't seem all that eager to proceed. I rested a hand on my switch stars. "What do you know about…whatever's up there?"

  Her raspy breath filled the space between us. "Not much. It never felt like this before…" She gave an involuntary shudder.

  "…before Chantal died?" I finished.

  Ant Eater ground her jaw. "Yeah."

  I braced myself and started up the steep, narrow stairs. My chest constricted with every step, my footfalls sounded stark and hollow. A ways up, the stairs turned abruptly. I followed them around the corner and stopped. The final three steps led to a wooden door painted over in florid gold.

  A distinct presence radiated from the room behind it. It held darkness, power, and something else. Curiosity, perhaps. Then I detected something from the other side that made me even more uncomfortable…a palpable interest, in me.

  It felt it like an invitation, one I wasn't so eager to accept.

  I'd of course check out the room. I'd promised to keep my friends safe. But I would be on guard.

  I pushed open the door.

  Dust motes swirled in the circular room, in the light filtering in from tall, dirty windows at the back. Framed ink drawings of a palm, an owl, an anatomically correct human heart hung in carved wood frames against ornate gold and mauve wallpaper. A crystal ball nestled in velvet atop a small table near the door.

  The circular chandelier held a dozen black wax candles, twisted in cobwebs, their wicks dusty and dark.

  A rich gold tasseled cloth draped over a sturdy round wood table at the center of the room. Two chairs, nice enough for any dining room, stood across from each other.

  As I drew closer, I saw an old, Victorian-style Ouija board. An ink-drawn eye dominated the center of the board, with rays streaming down to ornate black letters laid out across the faded yellow background. A triangular-shaped pointer lay on top. It had a see-through crystal at the center.

  Ant Eater caught me checking it out. "That's a planchette. You touch it and it moves. It's supposed to spell things out."

  "Do you believe?" I asked.

  She huffed. "I know enough to stay the hell away."

  Just then, the planchette vibrated.

  "You see that?" I hissed.

  Ant Eater nodded, refusing to take her eyes off it.

  I drew in a sharp breath as the planchette slowly skittered across the board on its own, and landed on the letter L.

  "Could be just a coincidence," I said, almost to myself. But the pointer wasn't done. It moved again, faster this time, just a few letters to the left and settled on the I. Ant Eater and I shared a glance. It shot down and to the right, to the bottom row of letters, landing on Z, spinning, landing on Z again. I glanced to the door and found it open, as we'd left it. That was the only thing that kept me from bolting.

  Yes, I'd faced down demons, and imps, and all manner of creatures that went bump in the night, but I had no idea what this was, or what it could possibly want.

  It spelled the rest of my name with startling efficiency, and then zipped to the lower left portion of the board, and settled on a word: Hello.

  "Goodbye," I stepped back. I didn't have time for séance rooms or Ouija boards or whatever spirits may haunt this place. We were here to bunk over for as long as it took to rid New Orleans of an alligator with a black soul.

  "Wait," Ant Eater pressed. "What if it's my Grandma?"

  "Is it?" I had to think she'd be less creepy about this.

  "Are you Grand-mère Chantal?" Ant Eater asked.

  The planchette didn't move.

  "You say it," she prodded.

  "I already spoke to it once," I said. I'd opened the door. "Do you really think it's a good idea to start addressing this thing?"

  Ant Eater cringed, but held firm. "I have to know, Lizzie."

  This was her family we were talking about. "Okay." I gathered up my courage. It's not like I was a special snowflake. If the board didn't answer Ant Eater, it probably wouldn't listen to me, either. "Are you Grand-mère Chantal?" I asked.

  The planchette quivered and slid diagonally, across to the complete opposite side of the board, and rested on the word No.

  Ant Eater appeared as stricken as I felt. "We're sealing off this part of the house," she muttered.

  "Good idea," I said, heading out the door.

  She beat me to it, but not before I saw the planchette slide straight down the board. Goodbye.

  That's right. Goodbye forever. I closed the door.

  "Give me some space," Ant Eater said, as we crowded together on the narrow stairs outside. She reached down into her bra and pulled out a wriggling black spell.

  I slipped behind her, down a few stairs. "You come prepared."

  "You wouldn't believe the number of high-power protection spells we packed," she said, releasing it. It sprouted a thin set of wings and fluttered to rest on the aged wood. "It may look pretty, but we brewed it potent. This type acts as a barrier as well."

  The witch held her hands out and lowered her head slightly, although I could tell she kept her eyes on that door.

  Darkness, danger, black as night. Be ye blocked by witches light.

  Her fingers shook as the spell split lengthwise and released a million little specks of light. They filled the space between her and the door, bursting over it.

  Coven strong and power bright.

  The hinges of the golden door rattled as the glittering spell pressed over it, winding into the cracks and through the narrow keyhole, fusing it with pure energy.

  Keep thee out of mine own sight.

  The hinges of the door came to rest, and I felt a lightening of the darkness in the stairwell, as if the spell had blocked whatever lay beyond, and sopped up some of the negative energy already in the air.

  "How long will it hold?" I asked.

  Ant Eater backed down a step, then another, her eyes fixed on her handiwork. "Months, years. Just to be safe, we'll check it every day we're here. No sense getting cocky."

  "You spoke in English," I said. Usually, the witches did their spell work in a language I didn't understand.

  "Felt right," she said simply.

  "Okay." I caught a glimmer of the spell in the keyhole and braced myself in case it didn't take. But the door remained quiet, the hallway less dark.

  We eased down the steps, all the while sneaking glances back at the door.

  "How did it know me?" I asked. I couldn't recall Ant Eater addressing me by name as we searched the house.

  She leaned heavy on the bannister. "Powerful spirits don't need to be introduced," she said, shooting me a worried glance, "they just need you to acknowledge them."

  And I had.

  She shook her head, resigned. "Don't worry about it. Nothing to do now. We'll keep an eye on it."

  "Right," I said, as we closed the door at the bottom of the stairs. I hoped it would be enough.

  Chapter Five

  Ant Eater stood at the front door. "Come on in!"

  It didn't take much more than that. Biker witches barreled up the front. In fact, I hoped some of the tourists outside, with their drinks-to-go hadn't heard.

  Grandma was the first inside. "All clear?" She paused. "It still feels a little off in here."

  "Yeah," Ant Eater agreed. "We'll need some Dispel the Darkness spells, a few jars of Anti-Energy in the kitchen and the lodge room. Sage in all the corners…" she said, as if she were making a mental list.

  She left out all the details. "There's a trembling knife block, evidence of bleeding walls." Grandma took my revelations in stride, until I added. "There's also a spirit in the towe
r room who knew my name."

  "I sealed it in," Ant Eater added. "Could even be good camouflage. Nobody will want to mess with this house."

  Grandma nodded. "Show me." I started for the stairs and she grabbed my arm. "Not you. You stay away from it, you hear?"

  Ant Eater nodded as she popped the gum in her mouth and started chewing. "Come on."

  "Frieda, come with us." She turned to the skinny witch who'd whipped the cover off the settee near the front door. "Edwina, take a crew and set up wards outside. Creely," she added, pointing to the engineering witch. You couldn't miss her. She had Kool-Aid red streaks in her ponytail, "see if you can't rig up an escape hatch through the backyard fence. Something subtle."

  I barked out a laugh. Subtle? The Red Skulls couldn't even ride down the street without it feeling like a parade.

  Grandma leaned close to Creely. "Set up a hatch that gets us out, but don't let nothing we don't want inside. We need all the bikes secure in the back tonight."

  "You got it," the engineering witch nodded.

  The sun was starting to go down. That was my cue. "I told Carpenter I'd meet him when dark hit," I said to Grandma, "unless you need me here."

  She drew off her leather jacket, exposing the sagging tattoo of a phoenix on her arm. "You've done plenty already. We got this next part handled." She tossed her jacket onto the settee.

  Good. And if I could solve the alligator problem tonight, maybe we wouldn't have use for Creely's escape door. Or Grandma's work to reinforce the tower, or any of it.

  I could say Goodbye to that spirit in the tower before it barely had a chance to say Hello.

  Grandma drew an arm around me as she walked me out to the porch. "Be careful," she warned, giving me a tight squeeze.

  I pulled away. "Come on now." I gave her a quick smile. "It's me."

  Her voice drifted over the garden as I strolled out into the dark. "That's what I'm afraid of."

  I shook her off, although she had a point. I'd always been the focused one, the planner. In the beginning, I thought that would keep me out of trouble. Now I realized it usually helped me find more.