Angie Fox - The Last of the Demon Slayers

It still didn’t look like much from the outside. The witches warded it extra tight this time, careful not to leave any live spells behind. As the morning mists rose off the woods, I could feel the comforting whispers of the magic we’d left in our wake.

Every single witch had chosen to come with us. It was a humbling show of support – one that I would never take for granted. I just hoped that sooner rather than later, the Red Skulls could return. They deserved a place to call home.

Right now, it was probably better we were leaving. I doubted they wanted their home overrun by banshees. Just the thought of tangling with them again made my stomach clench. The fairy paths would protect us only for so long.

We cruised up Service Road D until Sid called us to a halt on a dirt shoulder littered with rusty soda cans and holes. A wooden fence twined with barbed wire ran the length of the road, separating us from an empty farm field. The shorn stalks of last year’s crop huddled close to the ground as far as the eye could see.

My front tire caught on an extra deep rut and I started skidding sideways. I caught myself – barely.

Meanwhile Frieda had run her sidecar into a prickly bush. “Sorry, Bob!” She winced at her passenger.

Bob put a leather clad shoulder to the worst of the brambles. “What’s the idea, Sid?”

“A thousand apologies, mister prickly pants.” Sid lumbered off his bike. “Next time, I’ll make sure the fairies in these parts landscape the highway entrances. What else do they have to do? Maybe they’ll plant some petunias or lay out pillows for you guys.” He rolled his eyes and muttered something under his breath.

Sid planted both hands on a section of the fence. He spread his fingers, making sure he had a solid grip.

“Nether Wallup Way,” he said, laying on the Jersey twang, “land of fairies. Path of fae.” He scowled with his entire round body, daring me to so much as crack a smile. “Release the latch upon this door. That we may wend forth evermore.”

The fence cracked open to form a door. Green grass spilled out, inching out over barren rocks and dirt.

“What?” Sid waved his arm. “Are you just going to stand there?”

Ant Eater and I slid off our bikes and helped him pull the heavy gate back. Sunshine flooded out, warming my hands and face.

Where there had been dead grass, a rich black road wound its way through a canopy of trees. Tiny purple flowers cropped up in the grass on either side of the path and around the low stone wall mounded on either side. The flat rocks – stacked as if laid by hand - formed intricate patterns. Ivy climbed the trunks and moss dripped from immense green conifers.

The air smelled sweet, although not in a nature-type way but in a bakery way.

Amazing.

I’d had a fairy godfather once. When I first met him, I imagined him showing me hidden fairy places like this. He’d died before I could even get to know him. As strange as it sounded, I felt Uncle Phil here. Seeing this trail, this fairy magic, made me feel closer to him somehow.

Too bad opening the path hadn’t affected Sid in the least. “Lookie here,” he said, “a demon slayer with nothing to talk about. You’d better get a move on. I can’t keep this thing open all day.”

The witches grinned at each other as they revved their bikes and took off down the fairy trail. I cranked my motorcycle and joined them. As soon as my bike hit Nether Wallup Way, it picked up speed. Trees whizzed by. The road was so smooth it felt like glass under my tires.

“Yyy-yes!” Pirate whooped.

My dog had a need for speed.

I tried to slow down, but it was no use. We zoomed straight for a slate stone fairy bridge. I detected a slight sizzle of energy as we passed up and over a deep, narrow creek.

Riding a Harley is the nearest most of us get to flying, but in this case, I could feel my tires lift from the ground.

My stomach dipped and I held on tighter.

We made it through Tennessee and into Arkansas and Oklahoma. Now and again, we’d pass a minivan load of fairies, or fairies on ten-speed bikes. They flew past in a blur of color, light, and I brake for squirrels bumper stickers.

You’d think someone could have mentioned fairy paths were faster than regular roads. Sometimes, I think they just liked to see me squirm.

We passed a pair of fairies on rollerblades, headed the other way. No one blinked an eye at Flappy. And we didn’t even have to stop for gas.

I couldn’t help but think of what fairy paths could do for the energy crisis. If only the fairies would be willing to come out of the closet.

Maybe I’d have a talk with Sid when this was over.

As evening neared, we stopped in Colfax, New Mexico, which blew my mind because we’d basically covered half of the United States in a day. One day. My route would have taken at least three times that long.

Sid had us pull over in an abandoned heap of a town just north of Cimarron. It sat on a grassy plain with a spectacular view of red mountains in the distance. The sun was beginning to set, which meant the Red Skull’s magic would be the strongest if they wanted to set up wards around here.

Then again, maybe they shouldn’t because, er, this place was a dump.

Sid eased his bike to a stop outside the Colfax Hotel, a two-story wood structure with a second-floor balcony overhanging a wide porch.

A plaque on the side of The Colfax said it had been built in 1872. I didn’t doubt that for a second. From the look of the place, it was being held up by fairy magic and good intentions.

Half the white paint had chipped off and where it was missing, rotted gray wood lay exposed to the elements. The front bay window sported several broken panes of glass and the dented front door knob held on by a single rusty screw. A wooden half-circle sign on the roof read Hotel in faded block letters.

Grandma and Dimitri eased their bikes onto the dirt patch that passed for a parking lot and we shut off our engines.

“So this is it?” Grandma scowled, not taking off her helmet. The dust of the town swirled around us.

“I’ve seen worse,” Dimitri said, easing one long leg over the seat of his bike.

Of course, we’d all seen worse. We’d been to hell.

Then again, this place probably had cockroaches the size of demons.

“I told you to trust me,” Sid said, with no small amount of pride. “You wanted to make good time and we did. You want a place guaranteed to be free of people in case we get the banshees, here you go.”

“Ohhh…” Pirate trembled in his harness, his tail thumping against my chest. “It looks like a ghost town!”

“That’s because it is a ghost town,” Sid said. “Well, a fairy town. Intra Magical Matters Charter number Five-o-Three says we can take over if nobody else is using the place.”

“I wonder if they have an ice cream parlor!” Pirate said, struggling against his carrier and making it quite clear he was a bit hazy on the details of a ghost town.

Sid led us up the crumbling brick steps of the Colfax Hotel. He paused in front of the rough wood door, hunting in his pocket until he pulled out a handful of what looked like dirt.

“Do you mind?” He glared at us.

We stepped back and Sid stuffed a pinch of dirt into the rusty lock and muttered a low chant.

“Cow's beestheens, nettles, tweenies and twine, ye be to open and be mine.” The door clicked open.

“Let me down,” Pirate said, scrambling against his doggie carrier.

“We could have just busted it,” Grandma said, first in the door.

“Just a sec,” I said, reaching for the flashlight on my demon slayer utility belt.

But there was no need. Gas lamps shed warm light over a turn-of-the-century lobby. Rich floral wallpaper in pinks and greens gave way to high plaster ceilings. Padded benches and intimate seating areas were clustered throughout the cozy room. A boxy piano in the back began to play Down By The Old Mill Stream.