Angie Fox: The Last of the Demon Slayers

I looked to the witches at the bar. They hadn’t noticed, which was strange. I focused my demon-slayer powers and detected the unmistakable scent of death on the other side of the door, like rotten cherries and burned hair.

My throat went dry.

Relax. I was the Exalted Demon Slayer of Dalea. I could deal with this. Even if I’d only inherited the job less than a year ago.

I flung open the door and was hit in the face by the same smoky, burning sensation from before, only this time it was a hundred times stronger. A black crow stood on the porch. The thing was massive – the size of a house cat with a shiny black body. It spread its wings wide and screeched.

“Holy Hades,” I gasped, my fingers dropping to the razor-sharp switch star I always kept on my utility belt. That’s when I realized the bird was dead. Its eyes were milky and vacant rather than black and beady. As it turned from the porch, I saw it had been run over. The back of its skull caved in and its spine twisted at an impossible angle.

My heart sped up.

“A zombie crow,” I whispered, unable to take my eyes off the thing.

It turned back to me. “Reeeaaawrk!”

The dead bird’s cry sent new shivers up my spine. “What do you want?”

It uttered another unearthly shriek.

Before I could decide what that meant, a tower of flames shot up from the woods beyond the bar. “What the—?” It blasted us with a wave of hot wind and flecks of dirt. The crow stumbled against my leg, and I took a quick step back. I rubbed the grit from my mouth and eyes as the fire crackled orange against the bare trees of the forest.

Caw! Caw! The bird beat its wings and urged me to follow.

Sure. A zombie bird wanted me to ditch Big Nosed Kate’s Biker Bar and head out into the woods toward a tower of flame, which – I was starting to notice – did not seem to be burning any of the trees.

The door remained closed behind me. It seemed no one in the bar had noticed.

Okay, well, I had five minutes.

I set my watch alarm to give me a two-minute warning and strode off across the parking lot after the zombie bird.

This wasn’t a high point in the history of ‘great moves.’ For one thing, I’d left my coat slung over Ant Eater’s barstool. There’d been no way to get it without drawing attention. For another, my hair was sopping wet and slathered in a now-icy spell around my head. I usually – no, strike that - I always planned better than this.

At least I was armed.

I had five switch stars and a demon slayer utility belt made by my Great Great Great Aunt Evie. The leather had cracked in places and I’d had to repair some of the side pockets and flaps. But this belt fit as if it were made for me. I liked having something passed down from a great slayer. Besides, who was I kidding? The last time I’d made anything from leather was when I made a wallet at Girl Scout Camp. We won’t even talk about how that turned out.

I’d loaded the side pockets with crystals my mentor had given me – most of them designed to help me sit and ponder. Then I’d added a vial of mace, a cell phone and a GPS system.

Too bad I’d left off a flashlight holder.

My emerald necklace warmed against my skin. It was loaded with defensive magic from Dimitri and tended to morph into an interesting shield right before the bad guys flung something at my head.

For now, though, the teardrop emerald merely slapped against my chest as I jogged to the edge of the parking lot. It was as if it had no defense for what was out here.

Lovely.

At least I had my demon slayer instinct for running straight toward danger. Most people avoided large bears, poisonous snakes and angry trolls. I was drawn to trouble like a preacher to Sunday supper. I’d learned to control it in the last few months. I no longer made a beeline toward pushy mall salespeople. Instead, I headed straight for supernatural fire storms.

Dead leaves and sticks snagged at my boots as I made my way through the woods. Every few feet or so, I had to duck around spindly branches and brush. The crow fluttered from one skeletal tree to the next, stopping once in a while to caw at me as if I were cramping its style.

I shot it a dirty look as I stumbled over a root in true horror-movie style. I was going as fast as I could with only the light cast by the wall of flame ahead. Heaven knew I had no reason to take it slow. It’s not like I had much time. I glanced at my watch. Four more minutes. I’d make it out in three.

The glop on my head began to itch. I was never late for anything. And truly, if I was going to be on time for doggie day camp and my manicurist, not to mention my last root canal, I was sure going to be there for Frieda to finish her fix-it spell on my hair. I checked my watch. Three minutes.

As we approached a break in the trees, the bird dropped to the ground. It landed in a ruffle of feathers before tottering the last several yards into a small clearing. I stayed a safe distance behind.

A wall of orange fire fanned out from a bluish-purple center. It towered high into the night, snapping and spitting. I raised my hand in front of my face, expecting more heat, but the air around me remained cool. A tingle ran up my palm and my throat burned from smoke, even though I couldn’t see any. I squinted into the blaze of the fire, amazed that the flames didn’t touch the trees or even char the ground.

The zombie crow shrieked as it broke the barrier of the flames and lumbered toward its master. It nuzzled up against the leg of a dark-haired man at the center of the inferno. He wore jeans and a white button down shirt. And although his strong features put him at about fifty years old, you wouldn’t know it by the way he held himself. He opened his hands to me, demonstrating that he was unarmed. Like that was going to make me trust him.

I stopped at the edge of the clearing next to a fallen log and resisted the urge to wrap my arms around my chest for warmth. I needed to be able to unhitch a switch star. Fast.

“Who are you?” I demanded. Faint traces of sulfur hung in the air. If he wasn’t demonic, he was close to it.

“My name is Xavier,” he said, as if I should recognize him.

“Xavier the demon lord?” I usually killed the spawn of Satan before I learned their names.

“What?” he asked, genuinely puzzled. “No.” He straightened. “I’m not a demon.”

Yeah, well he didn’t look too far off. “Fine. Whatever. ‘Shady character of the underworld.’ Either way…” I didn’t have the time to argue vague semantics.

I sighed. Since time was ticking and I didn’t really have enough of a reason to kill him, I began backing up, feeling my way through the woods. I could very well trip and end up on my rear, but I was not about to turn my back on this guy.

His eyes widened. “Wait!”

“No.”

“You have to understand, Lizzie,” he said as if he were my teacher or something, “I can’t hold this portal open much longer.”

He knew my name. Peachy.

“Too bad,” I said, continuing my backward walk. “Normally I’d love to stand outside on a cold night and chit-chat with a guy inside a fire wall who may or may not have semi-demonic tendencies,” My watch alarm beeped. “But I’m busy right now.”

If he wasn’t going to kill me, then he could move to the back of the line.

At the moment, all I wanted was a normal head of hair, followed by a night on the town without biker witches, zombie crows or entities who got their kicks standing around in towers of flame, gobbling up my time.

He grinned. “You are absolutely gorgeous.”

That stopped me. “Are you hitting on me?” That was new. I reached for a switch star. Maybe I’d give him a warning shot.