Angie Fox - The Last of the Demon Slayers

This did not look good. For one thing, I could smell the sulfur. For another, Dad looked…off.

I stopped. Every stick of furniture in the room had been shoved aside to make room for the hideous altar.

It had been cobbled together with rough stones, masonry and animal bones. At least I hoped they were animal bones. Fluid oozed from cracks in the stone and fire had blackened one entire side of the structure. A bronze bowl at the top held a low-burning flame.

Holy hoodoo.

“Whatcha doing?” I tried to sound casual, but it came out more than a little panicked. Hells bells – what was he trying to pull?

This was starting to look like a Zatar love fest.

He’s been helping the demon.

Or had he just been trying to survive?

Dad wore a pair of blue striped pajama pants. Strange symbols snaked over his chest and arms. I tried to make them out, but they were nothing I’d ever seen before. As I drew closer, I realized they were sliced into his chest. Blood dried crisp on the edges of the wounds.

Over his heart, I saw a twisted sickle.

Dad followed my gaze. “The name of the demon,” he said, tears in his eyes.

“Did you put it there?” I asked breathlessly.

He shook his head hard and mouthed, “No.”

“We can fix this,” I said, feeling like scum. I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t even want to know this stuff, much less stand there unarmed at the altar of Zatar. “I have to get you out of here.” Maybe if he got out of this house, away from the altar and the dead things, we could fix him.

We could at least wash this junk off his chest. Then maybe Roxie would know what to do.

Dad seemed to be thinking the same thing. He reached a hand up to me.

“Can you stand?” I asked, moving behind him, trying to lift him off the wall. He was heavier than he looked, a dead weight.

“You came back,” he said, patting me faintly on the arm. A half run-over chipmunk clambered out from under the mattress.

“Of course I came back,” I said, lifting him. “Help me, okay? We’ve got to get out of here.”

He nodded his head weakly.

I felt the power building in the room. We were ticking somebody off. And if they noticed Dad standing, they were really going to feel it once I got him moving.

“Hurry,” I urged, as he wobbled on his feet.

“Lizzie,” he said, his breath pained.

The mattress shuffled against the wall.

“Don’t talk,” I said, leaning back so I could see his face. He looked so much older than when I’d first seen him. He held on to my arm, then reached out to me with the other hand, as if we were meeting for the first time.

“What?” I asked, taking his hand in mine. It was a comfortable gesture, familiar and yet as soon as his fingers closed around mine, I sensed a change in him.

Power surged through the room, shaking the walls.

“Dad!” I tried to pull away, but his hand locked around mine.

He gasped for breath, groaning under an unseen weight. “Don’t let go, Lizzie. Don’t ever let me go.”

I gasped as the floor cracked under our feet. Red light churned underneath.

“Jump!” I hollered as a portal opened directly below us.

It was too late. Dad fell.

He clutched me tightly, and I didn’t let go as the churning mass swallowed us whole.

The portal spit us out between two trash bins overflowing with old beer cans, fast-food wrappers and muck. The air was damp and smelled like rot and urine.

“Stay here,” I said, helping my dad brace himself against a cold brick wall. Sirens blared in the distance. The silver portal snapped shut, abandoning us in a narrow alley.

“God, I hope Roxie knows where we went.” Because I didn’t have a clue.

The vortex had a powerful suction. I’d lost the Maglite, my grandma’s jar, even my ponytail holder. Tucking my hair behind my ears, I pulled the GPS out of my back pocket and flipped it open.

Error.

Yeah, I needed a $112 computer to tell me that.

The GPS had been a long shot at best. Still, I needed to figure out where we were.

To our left, past a teetering pile of boxes, I could see figures in the street. We’d risk that in a minute, once Dad had a chance to rest.

To our right, the alley ended in a brick wall covered with drab gray notices.

Need an escape? Haunt Jamaica! Call Millennium Travel!

Not in a million years.

2 for 1 tacos at Taco Bell

Pirate would like that.

EZ Soul Counseling: Clean up your eternal credit score

My stomach tingled. “Dad, I think we’re in trouble.”

He stood with a groan.

“No,” I said, backtracking toward him. “Don’t move.” I didn’t want him to panic. I was close enough to it myself.

He looked awful. “You’re weak,” I said, feeling his forehead. “You were just at the altar of a demon.”

He rubbed at his eyes. “At least I was still at home.”

Now we were in some kind of supernatural slum.

“I feel better,” he said, testing his arms.

“No, you don’t.” I really didn’t want him to come out from between the trashcans and see this.

He blinked, orienting himself. “I do. I feel stronger. It must be something in the air here.”

“You’ve got to be kidding,” I said, watching black clouds billow over dank gray skies.

The zombie rope’s jar bumped against my leg. Naturally I didn’t lose him .

I tipped the jar to get a better look and he slid sideways into the lid. “What is this thing anyway?” I asked dad.

He shrugged. “A simple compulsion spell,” he answered. “My mom used to give them to me when I first started driving.” He softened at the memory. “They helped me find my way home.”

I watched as the zombie rope coiled along the bottom of the jar. “This one seems to have taken on a life of its own.”

Dad watched. “It was only supposed to help you to Pasadena.”

“What do you think, buddy?”

He stood on end and sniffed his nub at the air, the gray silent type. If I wasn’t mistaken, he seemed perkier too.

What was it with this place?

Something clanged out on the street. I handed the zombie rope to my dad. “You guys stay here.” I’d check it out. I grabbed a trashcan lid along the way. At least they had metal ones here. I also picked up a nice-sized rock. I could only imagine what my dad must think. Here was his demon-slayer daughter in Birkenstocks and torn leather pants, swimming in a black T-shirt and carrying urban cavewoman weapons.

What can I say? I was in it for the glory.

I certainly wasn’t in it for the clothes.

The alley opened up on a city street swirling with debris. There wasn’t a car in sight. Instead, people with grayish skin wandered up and down. A trashcan had toppled on its side, spilling empty cups and even more wrappers.

Nobody seemed to care. These people were like empty shells. They bumped against street lights, unused parking meters and even each other with barely a nod of recognition.

There were no birds, no plants, nothing but gray streets, stone buildings and an eerie quiet. Compared to this, our brick alley seemed positively cheery.

My mouth went dry and my palms started to sweat. “This isn’t cold enough to be hell,” I said to myself, trying to look on the bright side.

“It’s purgatory,” my dad said.

Shock rocketed through me. “What?”

I had the sudden urge to run back to where our portal had been. Operative word being had . Our exit was long gone. And I sure didn’t know how to summon another portal – or get us out of here.

Skill #673 that I wish I knew – portal manipulation.