Angie Fox: The Last of the Demon Slayers

Grandma trundled off to investigate while I swiped the key to Big Nose Kate’s from her chrome-studded saddlebag. It was the only way I could do this alone.

I kicked aside chunks of asphalt as I made my way to the bar.

I didn’t like this place. I stiffened as I caught a flicker of movement in the far left window. The haggard blinds began to sway. Maybe it was just a rat, or better yet, a ghost.

Somehow, I doubted I’d be that lucky.

“What are you?” I murmured, the back of my neck prickling as I trailed my fingertips along the barbed wire framing the front door. I felt the familiar hum of my grandmother’s wards, left to protect the building against intruders. Yet there was something else as well. It throbbed low and steady underneath.

I braced a hand on the old wood door and listened for subtle changes in the magic. I coaxed it out until I could almost see it.

“Gotcha,” I said, running both hands along the door, up to the edge of the barbed wire. This was the same touch of energy I’d felt when we first pulled up to the place. I could almost taste a smoky, burning presence. It was stronger here at the door. “Who made you?”

The barbed wire began to curl toward my fingers and I jerked them back. Just because Grandma’s wards recognized me didn’t mean I wanted them to get too friendly. Like most of her spells, they were a bit too prickly for my taste.

I took a deep breath and inserted Grandma’s key into the lock. The iron bolt opened with a creak and a poof of smoke and sparks.

Big Nose Kate’s was cold and dark. I wrinkled my nose at the smell of old bricks and a healthy dose of mildew. But there was something else in the bar.

It smelled like death.

Judging from the laughter and boot clomps echoing up the walk I had about two seconds to figure this out by myself.

I eased past an overturned barstool and shrieked as I walked right into a spider web.

“Hells bells!” I scrambled to snatch the sticky mess off my face. Yes, I’d gone eyeball-to-eyeball with a demon, a possessed werewolf and a virtual army of imps, but it didn’t mean I enjoyed getting bugs up my nose.

“Why, Lizzie Brown,” Grandma chuckled from the front door, “you’re hopping like a cricket in a frying pan.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” I said, forcing myself to stand perfectly still. I had a reputation to uphold, however shaky it might be.

I yanked at a piece of web tickling my nose. It ended up being the spider - a big, fat, bubbly-butted spider. This time, there was no mistaking the shriek as I launched it halfway across the bar.

Grandma bellowed in delight as I rubbed at my cheeks, my chin, my hair until I was sure the bug didn’t have any friends, and in the process, transferred the sticky mess of a web from my face to the leg of my brand new black leather pants.

Yuck.

Meanwhile Grandma was doubled over, tears in her eyes.

“Cut it.” We had real problems here.

“Sorry,” she said, trying to catch her breath. “Here you are this bad-ass demon slayer…”

It would take more than a spider to change that.

“Stay behind me,” I said as the hairs on the back of my neck began to tingle. I’d been feeling a disturbance for the past fifty miles.

“Look,” she said, straightening and wiping her eyes, “we stayed outside while you John Wayne’d your way in here. But take a gander. Our wards held.”

True. Still, “something’s wrong.”

“Tell me about it.” Creely planted a hand on the door jamb behind us. “I don’t know how we’re going to get the Ping-Pong table through the door.”

It was strange none of the witches could sense it. Grandma’s coven had spent thirty years on the run from a fifth-level demon. Any one of them could spot a hex from a half-county away.

An icy breeze whipped through the door behind us and I shivered. “I don’t like this place.”

“Are you kidding? It’s perfect!” Grandma said, tossing a Light ‘em Up spell. Bulbs flickered to life across the bar, even the ones that had broken in their sockets or fallen to the floor. Nice trick.

I scanned the window where I’d seen movement earlier. There was nothing but mangled blinds and a smudge in the dust.

And then I focused on the rest of the tavern…

A wreck of a Harley lay crushed on top of a wooden pool table in a snarl of green felt and shattered timber. Whiskey bottles covered in three decades of grime hunkered together behind a long oak bar. Pickled egg jars held up a handwritten sign advertising $1.00 drafts.

I wrinkled my nose. “You left it this way?”

“It was easier than cleaning,” Grandma said. She slapped me on the back. “Lighten up, Lizzie. The wards in this joint helped us hide from a fifth-level demon for almost a year. We’re safe. And we’re about to have a very good time.”

I surveyed the well-used barstools and peanut shells still strewn across the floor. “You say this place is soaked in protective magic.”

That meant whatever I was feeling had to be coming from outside. I hoped Dimitri was all right.

“Something’s been chewing on the Steel Trap wards, but we can fix that tomorrow. Meanwhile, we’ve got defensive spells above,” Grandma said, jamming a thumb toward the ceiling.

I followed her gaze. “Looks like graffiti to me.” Black marker scrawls streaked across the orange tiles.

Hell’s half acre.

Lusty Lucinda rides like a girl.

Midnight bugs taste best.

“It’s not always what you can see,” Grandma remarked.

Good point.

“Okay. Fine. Let’s stay the night.” I was about to let out the breath I’d been holding when a streak of red shot out from under the dusty jukebox and darted straight for my head.

“Incoming!” I ducked and heard it splat into Grandma’s leather jacket.

Ant Eater, Grandma’s second in command, guffawed behind her. “Hot Foot Spell!”

Grandma cursed, hopping on one foot. “You gonna help me get rid of it?”

“No. I’m going to enjoy it,” Ant Eater said.

I stared at Grandma. “You left live spells in here?” I couldn’t believe it. Then again, this was the Red Skulls we were talking about.

Grandma ground her steel-toed boot into the floor while she dug the sticky glob of a spell out of her jacket and flung it at Ant Eater.

I was about to tell her it served her right when a wet spell slapped me upside the head. “Ow!”

Ant Eater’s eyes widened. “Oh hell.”

“What?” I demanded. My forehead stung where it hit. I touched it and felt a hard knot.

She turned to the mess of witches behind her. “We have a situation!”

My scalp started to tingle. “What is it?” Some of these spells could be really dangerous. I couldn’t believe Grandma just let them fly around loose. Anybody could have walked in here over the years. What if the wards had weakened and some kids had wandered by? What if a homeless person had needed a warm place to stay? Heck, even a burglar deserved better than to be hit by random magical incantations.

“Hey!” I protested as Ant Eater mashed her fingernails against my forehead and pulled away a quarter-sized piece of flat rubbery goo.

“Ohhh…” A witch with a blond bouffant pushed her way through a growing number of gray-haired, leather-clad oglers. She planted a manicured hand on each of my cheeks and studied the point of impact. “Tar and feathers, Lizzie,” she exhaled, sending out a waft of cigarette and bubble gum breath. “I don’t know how we’re going to fix this.”

My stomach churned. “As long as it’s not deadly I’m fine,” I said.

“It won’t kill you. But it might just make you cry a little bit.” Chomping her gum, she dug through her white purse until the fringe at the bottom shook. “It’s more of a beauty-product emergency.”