Angie Fox - The Last of the Demon Slayers

“Thanks,” I said, a little unsteady, “I needed that.” I needed him.

His breath came quickly. His eyes were closed and when he opened them, the warmth in them nearly melted me into a puddle on the floor. “My pleasure,” he said, making it clear there would be more to come.

My inner vixen did a little happy dance.

“First I have something I need to tell you.” He wound his hand in mine.

Pirate jumped up against our legs. “Is it about Flappy?” he asked. “I told him to stay away from your boot laces. I’ve been training him, see?” Pirate thumped his butt on to the floor. “Flappy’s not good at ‘sit’ and he doesn’t know how to ‘fetch.’ I thought I had him at ‘play dead,’ till I realized he was sleeping. But I know for a fact I told him to stay away from your boot laces.”

To his credit, Dimitri barely cringed. “The way that dragon can spot an ambush, the shoelaces are on the house.”

I knew it. “What happened?”

Dimitri bent and rubbed Pirate between the ears. “Look over there,” he said, as if letting my dog in on a big secret, “Sidecar Bob ordered extra bacon on his burger, just for you. I’ll bet he can find something for Flappy too.”

Pirate dashed away, toenails clacking and tail wagging. Dang griffin knew my dog. Seemed everyone did. Pirate was a lot thicker around the middle than he’d been when we started our adventures. Perhaps a doggie diet was in order.

“We found something you need to see,” Dimitri said against my ear.

He led me through the maze of witches crowded around tables to the back door of the bar. It was flanked by two rusty lanterns with green floss wound between. One of Grandma’s protective spells, I’d be willing to bet. I wondered why she felt the need to re-enforce the back wards rather than the front.

An unearthly howl erupted from the other side of the door. It was a female voice, like a caged animal, only worse.

I rubbed at my arms, and at the goose bumps prickling my skin.

Noticing my discomfort, Dimitri slipped off his coat. “Take this,” he said, sliding it over my shoulders.

It felt warm and comforting. Better still, it smelled like him.

“Before we go out there, let me tell you that given the choice, I wouldn’t show you this.”

“Have some faith,” I said, in part to stomp out the dread swelling inside me. “I’ve scorched imps, fried curses, beheaded a werewolf. I ripped out the blackened heart of a fifth-level demon, for Pete’s sake.” And I’d potty trained a bus load of three-year-olds. I was actually more proud of that than anything else. “Or wait. Did Grandma tell you about the spider?”

I wouldn’t put it past her.

There was no shame in it. I liked things clean, which meant I hated spiders and their webs.

Dimitri ran a hand through his hair, his shoulders stiff. “This isn’t about bugs. This is about our agreement that I tell you everything. Always.”

Good. Dimitri had tried to protect me for far too long. It was in his nature as a griffin – fierce, vigilant and loyal to a fault. Still, I had a right to know what was going on, even if the things I’d seen so far in the magical world hadn’t been what you’d call pleasant.

Dimitri opened the door to a green-skinned, blue-haired creature chained to the concrete patio. Its gangly fingers and limbs curled as it reared back. A second later, it leaped straight for me.

I whipped out a switch star as chains caught it in midair, holding the monster taut as it hissed and swiped at me, an arm’s length from my neck.

Sweet heavens. I clutched my switch star in one hand and braced against Dimitri’s wide forearm with the other. “What is that thing?”

It had an almost human appearance, save for an overlong face with sunken eye sockets and razor cut teeth.

“She’s an Icelandic banshee,” Dimitri said, his voice tight. “They’re native to the mountains and glaciers of the high land. When the ice cliffs began thinning out a few years ago, they started migrating south.”

The creature shook with predatory menace, her entire body straining against the chain around her neck.

The emerald at my throat began to hum, its bronze chain warming against my skin. Its energy flowed through me like a soft touch.

My stomach twinged. I stood motionless as the bronze metal slid over my skin, snaking down my chest, my hips, my legs and reforming into a pair of soccer-style shin guards.

Against a banshee. I shuddered.

The protective necklace had never been wrong before.

I glanced back into the bar, at the biker witches feasting on Burger King, at Frieda with a cigarette dangling from her lip as she told a story, Pirate eating French fries from Sidecar Bob’s unfolded Whopper wrapper. I closed the door, feeling the wards sizzle into place. It would be a disaster if this thing got loose in the bar.

“How strong is the chain?” I asked, watching the rusted metal plates rattle where they attached to the porch.

“It’ll hold her,” Dimitri said, not sounding as confident as I would have liked.

He couldn’t have had much experience with these things. I know I’d never seen one.

“Flappy killed two. I got three. And then we captured this beauty.”

“That’s a dangerous souvenir.”

“I’m hoping your Grandma can take a look at it, tell us who sent it.”

The banshee spit. I jumped back, but not before a hissing glob of black tar landed on my shin, right on the copper guard. It sizzled like a fried egg.

“Don’t move.” Dimitri had one eye on the creature as he made it to my side.

I let the banshee slobber burn itself out on my armor-plated shin as my attacker stalked me with hungry purple eyes.

My breathing quickened. “This thing is seriously messed up.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” Dimitri said, favoring his side. I hadn’t noticed before.

“What happened? Are you hurt?” He let me push his shirt away to reveal a fist-shaped gash in his lower abdomen.

“Banshee bite,” he said.

“It looks awful.” It was red and raw, his skin seared around the edges from the banshee’s saliva.

“Thanks,” Dimitri groaned. “The cold air makes it sting even worse.”

That wasn’t a sting. That was real pain. The creature had sunk its teeth into Dimitri. It was like nothing I’d ever seen before. “It tried to eat you.”

He cringed against another wave of pain. “They’re feral creatures, Lizzie. Eating things is what they do—animals, pets, people.”

The banshee struggled against the chain, stretching it tight. It watched me. It wanted me. I could see it in its eyes. I cringed as the rusted metal plate ground eerily on its hinges. “Tell me why we’re keeping this one?”

I had a split second of oh no as the chain snapped.

It leapt straight for me.

Lizzie!” Dimitri threw himself between me and the creature.

It attacked in a blaze of fury, lunging for Dimitri’s throat as I fired a switch star.

Dimitri reared back just as the churning blades of my weapon caught the creature between the eyes. The switch star sliced a clean hole through its head. Wet brain matter splattered onto the patio as the banshee fell on top of Dimitri. The creature’s jaws slackened and released him.

“Nice aim,” he grunted, throwing the corpse off. Black saliva ate at the threads of his torn T-shirt.

“Are you all right?” I rushed to him, with half an eye on the banshee.

Dead wasn’t always dead.

Dimitri eased his shirt off smeared the toxic spittle off his shoulder and arm, his skin firm and strong.

“The saliva doesn’t affect you?”

“Just the bites,” he grunted, inspecting the one on his stomach. It could have been a whole lot worse. “That’s why I wear leather.”