Angie Fox - The Last of the Demon Slayers

Rachmort spent six months out of the year in purgatory, ministering to lost souls, but he never told me how to get in – or out.

I tapped my rock against my trashcan shield, nervous. “I should have asked my mentor how to summon a portal.”

“Demon slayers don’t do that,” Dad said.

Yet another thing I planned to change.

Dad raised himself up off the wall and came to stand next to me, stronger and more balanced than he’d been since I saw him in the wall of fire. I checked his skin tone, then mine. Both were pink as a baby’s butt. “You look…good.”

That should have been welcome news, but it wasn’t. This was wrong.

From the moment I’d first seen him, my dad had been hunched over, defeated. Now he stood erect, his shoulders back. There wasn’t any rational explanation I could think of for the return of his glossy black hair or smooth complexion.

A trickle of fear slid down my back. “Why are you better here?”

“Angelic good luck?” he ventured.

Oh lovely, a sense of humor too.

Speaking of angels… “What does being an angel mean? I’ve never met one.” Or if I had, I’d never realized it. Was it his full-time job? Had he followed people around as a guardian? Did anything pass to me?

His humor disappeared. “It’s complicated, Lizzie. Too sensitive to discuss in the open.”

It wasn’t the answer I wanted to hear, but I’d let it go for now.

“We will talk about it,” he said, his expression earnest. “I’ll explain everything. I promise.”

If we made it out of here. “Okay,” I said. “I understand.” I didn’t want to rush it, if for no other reason than this was a chance to truly get to know my dad.

We would have time, because I would get us out of here.

He still looked weak, but he wasn’t as afraid as he should have been.

I stared at him as the realization crept over me. “You’ve been here before.”

He didn’t bother denying it. “Come on,” he said, groaning as he stepped out of the alley. “I’ll take you for a coffee.”

Oh, no, no, no. This was wrong. “I don’t want to have coffee in purgatory.”

“Ice cream?” he offered.

“No,” I snapped.

“It’s vanilla,” he said, trying to tempt me.

“Why?” I asked slowly.

“All ice cream in purgatory is vanilla.”

Naturally.

He held his hand out toward me, and even if my hands weren’t full of makeshift weapons, I still wouldn’t have summoned up the nerve to take it.

“Be a sport, Lizzie,” he coaxed. “I never got to take you out for ice cream. It’ll be a nice father-daughter moment.”

Okay I admit I’d had fantasies about my real dad taking me out for a chocolate dip cone, but not in the dark realm between heaven and hell.

I watched the gray-toned people ambling behind him. “Why are you trying to pretend this is normal? This,” I said, waving my rock at the gray bleak world in front of us, “is not normal.”

He sighed. “Sorry. I just want to be a dad.”

Ouch. He had the guilt part down right.

“My apologies if I don’t want to sit around licking dip cones, but in case you haven’t noticed, we’re in trouble here. We’re trapped in purgatory and my weapons are gone and meanwhile someone up there is killing demon slayers and Zatar wants your soul and all I want to do is get us the frick out of here.” I paused to catch my breath. “Now.”

He winced. “I might be able to get out on my own power with a couple of days’ rest. Not you.”

Of course.

“But, Lizzie, I’ll stay here. I’ll protect you. With each passing minute, I’m more myself.”

“Um-hum. Yeah. It’s a bad sign when you get stronger the closer you get to hell.”

He didn’t deny it.

“It’s not as if you’re getting distance from Zatar. If anything, he’s closer.” It was wrong. It was utterly and frighteningly wrong. I pointed my trash can lid at him for emphasis. “I’m leaving.”

“Not without a portal.”

“Cripes.”

Rachmort would know how to get out of here. Roxie said he’d been taken to purgatory. “Do you know where Rachmort might be?”

Dad nodded. “Zatar has him at his compound.”

“Lovely. So your buddy’s got him.” That demon was really starting to tick me off. “We’ll rescue Rachmort and kill Zatar.” We might as well be efficient.

“He’s not my buddy,” Dad snapped like, well, a dad. “Zatar is building his strength by preying on slayers and lesser angels.”

“Fine,” I groused.

“Fine,” Dad replied. “You should be glad Zatar can’t get a read on me down here. I can actually help.” He turned and started walking down the street, into the gray city. “Let’s go find some real weapons.”

“That’s what I’m talking about,” I said, right behind him. “Where are we going?”

“I know a guy. He’s not far.”

Dad waited for me to catch up, then put his hand on my back as he led me down the narrow walk. It was the same as any other main street except half the people didn’t seem to be going anywhere. They walked, eyes straight ahead.

“These are lost souls, aren’t they?” I asked.

“Yes.”

It was creepy. And sad.

We passed several shuttered businesses, a few open ones.

Fast food seemed to be the most popular. Leave it to Taco Bell to find markets in other dimensions.

“Okay,” I said, giving in to the need to plan, “after we get our weapons, how do we find Rachmort?”

“Keep your voice down.” My dad gave me a guarded look. “He’s in Zatar’s compound. I can take us there.”

“No kidding.” That was good news, but how did my dad know so much?

His mouth quirked, as if he could tell what I was thinking. “There are advantages to being tied to a demon. You learn things.”

Score one for Dad.

We stopped at a crosswalk and Dad pushed the walk button. He realized too late what he’d done. “Sorry,” he said, as we started up again. “Habit.”

“So are these souls doing penance?” I asked.

“Some,” he said. “Others will stay for eternity.”

“Ouch.”

“It’s better than hell.”

Good point.

I waved at the guy behind the Toasty Almonds cart. At least you could get roasted nuts down here.

Dad saw me pause. “Would you like some?”

“No.” Go figure. This place didn’t give me an appetite.

“We can eat by the fountain.” He pointed down the street to what looked to be a park. An expanse of gray grass featured black benches and a dry, gray stone fountain with an immense gargoyle in the middle.

Festive.

I understood Dad’s need to be, well – a dad, but we didn’t have time for bonding in the netherworld. “Let’s keep moving. How much farther?”

“Right down this way.” He led us across one street and then parallel to the next block to a drab storefront with a spray painted sign over the door. Rae Rae’s Re-Usables.

Dad opened the creaky, dirty door. “Down here, we barter for supplies.”

“With what?” Even my World Visa card had its limits.

He touched the lavender hair on my shoulder. “Color is very valuable,” he said, a note of apology in his voice. “Stay behind me.”

We stepped inside a small shop lit by candles and a busted out part of the roof, now covered in makeshift glass and duct tape.

“How’s it going Rae Rae?” Dad asked.

A freakishly tall woman slid out from behind a dingy curtain. She wore a brown and orange flowered dress and looked like a black Vin Diesel. Rae Rae wasn’t fooling anybody. She didn’t seem too worried about it.

“Doing fine, sugar,” she said in a deep velvety voice. “Long time, no swap.”

“You got me some more Luckies?” she asked, gliding into place behind the counter.