Angie Fox - The Last of the Demon Slayers

I turned back to the charred spot on the floor.

Grandma might have been able to tell me more about this imp, but I doubted it. I was getting pretty good at spotting evil. She and the others needed their sleep. The last thing I wanted was a biker witch meeting about a creature I’d already eliminated.

Besides, it hadn’t been after them. It had called me by name. This thing had waited for me alone. I just needed to find out why.

I tried to get a few hours sleep before it was my turn to stand watch, but it was no use. It’s hard to close your eyes when the rug smells like burnt minion.

With the sigh of a true martyr, I stuffed a pillow under my lumpy demon-slayer utility belt and studied the outline of the iron chandelier hanging above my bed.

Why was I even trying to take it easy?

I blew out a breath. Because I needed to rest or I wouldn’t be good for anyone.

Dimitri was standing guard. He wouldn’t let the boogeyman in. I should be able to close my eyes. Every time I did, the smell of bitter ashes grew from acrid to overpowering.

I didn’t know much about supernatural soot, but I’d seen it come back to life in a jar. Why not on a carpet?

That was it. Wrestling with the covers, I scrambled out of bed. I turned on the light and stared at the charred Aztec carpet. I was tempted to toss it into the hall, or even out the window. If we’d been staying in a regular hotel, I would have.

Oh, who was I kidding? I would have taken it to the dry cleaners. But that was beside the point.

There was nothing I could do in an enchanted hotel. It was hard to know what gave power to these kinds of places or what would upset it. We had enough trouble.

I needed to get some sleep. If it was going to come back to life, it would have by now.

Right?

I sat with my back to the headboard, a hand on my switch stars, as the snake-like creature tap-tap-tapped its stubby end against the top of the jar.

The glass jar rattled on top of the dresser.

“I’m not letting you out, you know.”

He responded with a tap-tap-a-tap.

“You’re like a woodpecker.”

Maybe I should call him Woody.

No. I would not name it.

I wouldn’t even think about it – or my dad, or what it meant to be a half-angel or what could happen if we didn’t make it to California in time.

And so I waited.

I supposed it was a positive sign that I couldn’t just ignore my zombie friend, or skewer a smoky imp and then go right to sleep with potentially enchanted ashes on the rug. If I wasn’t on edge, I wouldn’t be good at my job. I just wished demon slaying powers came with a little peace – or at least a vacation. Maybe even a date.

It wasn’t happening tonight.

Relief swamped me when my watch alarm beeped at 1:30 a.m. By that time, I was groggy and stiff. I sat up and planted my feet on the floor. What little rest I’d gotten was more of a tease than a refresher.

Sometimes it’s better not to sleep at all. I’d just have to let my fear of the unknown keep me alert.

After what had happened in the last forty-eight hours, it wouldn’t be hard.

“What do you think?” I asked my undead buddy, wincing as I turned on the light. “You want to go on guard duty?”

I wasn’t leaving it alone.

Letting my eyes adjust, I ran my toes along the floor, searching for my boots. They’d been the only thing I felt comfortable removing.

I pulled them on, checked my switch stars and one yawn later, was ready to go.

“Come on,” I said, stuffing the jar into a holder on the side of my utility belt. I was going to clank like a biker witch. And I really shouldn’t be talking to a piece of zombie rope. Call it a habit. I missed my dog.

Pirate was still there for me, of course. He always would be. Yet over the last year, he’d also become a part of the Red Skulls. He was the coven’s dog too. It made me grateful and a touch sad.

At least he hadn’t been with me when I arrived at my room tonight. I paused over the charred remains of the Aztec rug. Pirate was always the first one in the door. Even if he had to wait for me to turn the lock, he’d squeeze past as soon as it cracked an inch.

He would have run straight into my attacker.

I shuddered, locking my room behind me. I should have listened to my instincts tonight. I’d known something was wrong. That churning in my stomach, that heaviness in the air, it told me I was in deep trouble.

I’d felt it before we’d walked out to see the banshee too.

Hold on a minute.

My mentor told me I needed to get out of my own way and let my abilities surface. I had more power than I could imagine, confined only by what my mind could see. I’d spent my life knowing my limits, making sure not to cross the line.

What if I had the ability to sense attacks before they happened?

My heart swelled. Finally, something that could help keep the people I loved safe.

I strode through the darkened lobby with a new purpose. Maybe I really could change things. I at least had to try.

The heavy front door squeaked as I opened it. Dimitri stood where I’d left him on the ruins of the building across the street. The bright moon outlined his form—and that of another.

I stiffened. He was arguing with a man. Both were obviously agitated and equally large. The stranger gestured wildly, making some kind of a threat.

My feet hardly touched the stairs. “Dimitri!”

Both of them turned.

“Lizzie,” he said, not at all welcoming as he stepped away from the stranger.

I hurried across the dirt road.

The man watched me with glowing yellow eyes. He wasn’t human.

Then again, I’d stopped expecting it.

“What’s going on here? You have a problem?” I asked, ready to draw weapons. Dimitri’s adversary faced me. Oh my word. He was stark naked. He didn’t even seem to care. A long collar of red jewels set in gold hung low on his muscled chest.

He turned back to Dimitri. “Think about the stakes,” he said, with a heavy Greek accent that punched every word.

My griffin glared at him and I realized that I wasn’t helping. I was interrupting.

The other man practically snarled, his bare shoulders quivering with tension. A tattoo of a gold sword wrapped in fire wound up his neck and disappeared underneath his shaggy black hair. “My terms are non-negotiable,” he said, low and menacing. “You know it is the only way.”

He turned his back on both of us, bent his head and shifted.

Feathers cascaded down his back, catching in the moonlight, shining eerie shades of gold and red. Claws erupted out of his hands and feet, and thick lion’s fur raced up his arms. Bones snapped and reformed as his body expanded. An immense set of wings unfolded from his back.

I’d seen griffins shift before – from men and women into creatures with the bodies of lions and the heads and wings of eagles. It was a powerful, awesome sight to watch these beasts emerge.

The stranger took off on a massive set of wings. He flew east, toward the coast, calling out like a giant predator.

“Damned fire griffins,” Dimitri muttered.

“Who was he? What did he want?” I asked, realizing I’d been holding my breath.

“He’s a pain in my ass.” Dimitri clenched his jaw as he watched the griffin fade into the night. “You’re early.”

Ha. “You’re surprised?”

He checked his watch. “I shouldn’t be.”

It was a half hour before I was set to relieve him, which was early even by my standards. I usually arrived only twenty minutes before schedule.

“Look, you don’t have to give me details if you don’t want, but I really would like to know who just flew away.”