Angie Fox - The Last of the Demon Slayers

Dad hesitated. “Not this time. I have something better.”

I stepped out from behind Dad and Rae Rae gasped. “Aunt Em, we are not in Kansas anymore. It’s the mother lode!”

She slid from behind the counter and practically purred as she ran her French-manicured fingers through the ends of my hair.

“Doesn’t fade,” Dad said proudly.

She clucked. “Magic?”

“You could say that,” I replied.

My dad stood over the counter. “We need two night crystals, a pair of razor cutters, neutralizers -”

“Cosmic or proton?” she asked, focused on my head.

Dad scratched his chin. “Better go for cosmic.”

“You have any switch stars?” I ventured.

“Hell, no,” she crooned.

It was worth asking.

Dad stared her down. “I also need demon dust,” he said low under his breath.

Rae Rae whistled. “You could break into a demon’s hold with all that.”

Dad tilted his head. “Now why would I want to do that?”

“I have no idea,” she said, hitching up a muscled, hairy leg and slipping a key out of her garter belt, “I don’t want you telling me either.”

She opened up the dingy glass case and pulled out a plain black box. As soon as she opened the lid, light streamed out like a Bahamas beach in July.

“Nice,” Dad said as Rae Rae counted out two crystals and placed them each in a black leather bag.

I peered at the other objects in the case. There were more black boxes, some crystals and, “crayons?” Two stubby red crayons were lined up on black silk next to a broken green one and the tip of a yellow.

“A newbie, huh?” Rae Rae crooned. “Don’t worry, luv. I could tell by the hair.”

“The portal strips color,” Dad said. “If you keep it close enough to your body, you can sometimes get something through.”

“Tell it. You’d be surprised what folks will trade for a fast-food fix,” Rae Rae said.

“Is this a dryer sheet?” It was folded carefully next to two used and curling Snoopy stickers.

“There aren’t any smells down here,” Dad said, “except for the rotten ones. Dryer sheets are like gold.”

“And out of your price range,” Rae Rae added.

“We’ll manage,” I said, watching Dad test the weight of the crystals.

“I have Armstrong cutters. They’d slice through an ox.” She shook out a brown paper bag. “You get two neutralizers. Oh, Marcus?” she called to the back.

The curtain shimmied and a few minutes later, a burly man placed two pistol-type weapons on the counter.

Dad ran a finger along the blade of the cutters. “Do you mind?” he asked, poised over the neutralizers.

Rae Rae shrugged.

Dad lifted the weapon and shot it into his hand.

“Dad!” I felt the energy whom-whom off him and through the room before he smiled and placed the weapon back on the counter.

“It’s good magic,” Rae Rae stated. “You know good magic don’t come cheap.”

Dad nodded. “What’s it going to cost, Rae Rae? We need to keep moving.”

“Fine,” she said, her gaze wandering over me and stopping at my hair. “It will cost you the entire head.”

“What?” I protested.

Dad was busy inspecting the other neutralizer. “Don’t worry. She only means your hair.”

Obviously Dad didn’t have any experience raising daughters.

“No,” I said. It was bad enough my hair was purple. I was not going to shave my head for Rae Rae, the cross-dressing weapons broker.

“This is no time to debate, Lizzie,” Dad said, his tone grave.

Actually, this was the perfect time to negotiate. And I knew who I wasn’t taking to buy my next Harley. “I’ll give you two inches,” I told her.

Dad stormed over to me. “What she’s giving us is worth at least eight,” he hissed in my ear, loudly enough for Rae Rae and her sixteen closest relatives to hear.

He was the worst negotiator ever.

Rae Rae stilled. “Ten,” she countered.

“Four,” I hitched my chin, doing my best to look down at her.

She didn’t take her eyes off me. “Eight.”

“Lizzie,” my dad pleaded.

“Not now.” Heavens to Betsy. No wonder the man was about to lose his soul. He shouldn’t be bargaining with a six-year-old much less a demon.

“Four is my final offer,” I said. “Take it or we’ll go to that other pawn shop Dad told me about.”

Rae Rae frowned. “Who else you doing business with?”

“Nobody,” Dad protested.

I believed him.

Good thing Rae Rae didn’t. Her eyes narrowed. “Are you talking to Lenny? He can’t give you what I’m giving you, sugar.”

“And he stinks,” I added, figuring it wouldn’t be too far off. “Come on,” I said. “Look at this.” I tried to do my best impression of a shampoo commercial model. “Where else are you going to find such glorious hair?”

Rae Rae watched every flutter of my lilac mistake.

“Five,” she said.

“Deal,” I replied.

Twenty minutes later, I had a Dorothy Hamill bob cut and we had our weapons. She’d taken more than five inches, and I’d never had my head fondled quite like that, but since my goal was to come out of this with some sort of a hairdo, I let it slide.

The barrels of neutralizers slapped at my stomach as we hurried out of the shop.

“Keep them under your shirt at all times,” Dad warned.

“I know.” I wasn’t about to lose these.

As it stood, I had two guns in my pants, the crystal pouches in my bra and a pair of cutters tucked in at my hips. I trusted Dad. Mostly. But I still wanted to hold all of the weapons.

He hadn’t protested, which made me trust him a little more.

“Rush, but don’t draw attention,” he said. “We want to get across the city by nightfall.”

“Which is in?”

“Two hours,” he said, almost punching a Walk button before holding back. “Zatar is holding Rachmort at his compound on the north side.”

“Compound? A little pretentious don’t you think?”

“He’s a demon. What do you expect?”

An hour and a half later, we reached the edge of the city. The air was different here, heavier and laced with fried food, ammonia and sulfur. I peered around a Chick-fil-A on the edge of civilization and saw Zatar’s stronghold, about a hundred yards out in no-man’s land. It was a monster, like Dracula’s castle on crack.

Gray stone walls towered high into the sky. Red banners adorned with golden snakes fluttered from the walls. It was the first time I’d seen any color other than my hair.

I counted at least seventeen turrets and only one way in – a black door flanked by a half dozen imps, slavering in formation. A half dozen more patrolled the skies, their batlike wings outlined against the coming darkness.

“How are we going to get in there?” I asked.

“I know a way,” Dad said, settling in next to me.

My nerves tangled in my stomach. It had better be a very, very sneaky way.

“We want to attack at sundown,” he explained, “when demons are their strongest.”

It was possible my dad wasn’t very good at this.

“We need to surprise them,” he said, looking out at the castle. “And what better way then by letting them feel secure?”

Maybe he did have a point.

He nudged me. “Take a deep breath. Relax. We have a few minutes.”

Oh sure. Let’s whip out a game of Parcheesi. Or those ice cream cones.

“What’s the plan?

“You are definitely my daughter.”

“Why? I don’t see how you have a plan.”

“Oh, I do. Here we go,” he said, excited and proud. “I sift us in -”

“What do you mean sift?”

“I can disappear in one place and re-appear in another. As long as the places are fairly close together. And in the same dimension. I’m an angel,” he said, as if that explained everything.