Angie Fox: The Last of the Demon Slayers

In the distance, I could hear the disco beat of “Celebration.” That was a new one.

I buried my nose against Pirate’s wiry back fur. The witches had earned their right to let loose.

He squirmed. “You know there’s a party going on out there.”

“I know.” I didn’t feel like celebrating.

“I can help you,” Pirate said, standing up so I was faced with a dog butt.

“You can’t.” I rolled away. My eyes itched. My head hurt from crying. Nobody could help me but my dad and I wasn’t even sure I wanted someone like him in my life anyway.

“Your phone buddy can help you,” Pirate said, his tags clanking as he jumped down onto the floor.

“Who?” I asked, rubbing my eyes. They were swollen to the size of tennis balls, no doubt.

Pirate blinked. “Someone’s been calling you while you were sleeping.”

Maybe it was my dad. Hope flickered, painful as it was. I fumbled in the back of my utility belt for my cell phone. I clicked on the screen.

Hillary Brown.

I clicked to the next call.

Hillary Brown.

In fact, it was like a parade of one Hillary Brown after another.

I clicked the button to return the call. What would it hurt? Maybe I should just tell her everything. Then I could go through all of the rejections at once.

Maybe it would hurt less that way.

I didn’t know how it could hurt more.

“Hi, Mom.” I heard my voice crack as she answered.

“Lizzie,” she sounded surprised – and alarmed.

“What?” I asked, defenses at the ready.

“You called me mom.” She responded with warmth, wonder and a bit of voice cracking herself. Being Hillary, she rallied. “I had a feeling you were having a hard time. Are you okay?”

I drew a shuddering breath. “A lot’s been going on lately. I’m fine. But –” how could I say it? “-you may need to brace yourself.”

“Okay,” she said, some of the crispness returning to her voice.

“You may not want to see me.” She’d been watching over my old condo, planting bulbs, getting the newspaper. She’d been maintaining a life that wasn’t mine anymore.

“Honey, no matter what, I always want to see you.”

Tears flooded my eyes and dropped onto my pants leg. I was afraid to speak, or she’d know.

“Lizzie?” She paused. “Lizzie, come home.”

“I’ll try, Mom.”

“I’ll be waiting.”

I laid back and stared at the chipped paint on the ceiling of the bus. I was used to knowing what to do. I was the one who always had a plan. Now? I felt so lost.

Eventually, I forced myself to roll out of bed and join the ranks of the living.

I thunked down the front stairs of the bus, and saw Neal had been busy. He’d plastered the outside of my bus with messages scrawled in chalk. Heaven forbid he use paper – recycled or otherwise.

Wake up, sleepyhead!

Oh so Neal had seen me sleep.

Festival 2-nite!

That last word was worse than nails on a chalkboard.

Special events!

They’d better not involve weed.

No use stewing. Even I was getting tired of my mood. And Pirate had already wandered off somewhere, no doubt with Flappy. I grabbed the only clean thing I had left – the red wrap dress from the Ann Taylor outlet.

What the heck? It was a party.

I showered in an eye-searing yellow, orange, blue, purple, you-name-it paisley psychedelic contraption. It featured a hemp rope and pure (read: cold) rain water. I let my hair dry naturally while I swiped on some lip gloss, slinked on my new dress and headed for the party. I had to admit the dress made me feel better. It hugged my curves in the right places and as the lady in the dressing room said, ‘red brings you luck in love.’ I’d sure take that.

The Birkenstocks stayed on the bus as I picked my way barefoot past the prickly brush, keeping to the sandy soil. The late afternoon sun shone warm on my shoulders.

As I neared the cabin, I could see the witches and the griffins, along with Roxie and Max standing quietly in a circle. When I drew closer, I realized it was the memorial ceremony for Betty Two Sticks and Lazy Rita. The news lay heavy in my stomach. I hadn’t realized Rita was gone.

I swallowed and kept walking. This was war. This was destruction on a fundamental level. I almost felt selfish in my misery when those two witches had lost so much more than I.

Dimitri and Frieda opened up for me as I eased into the circle. The power of the witches ebbed over the small clearing by the picnic tables as we said our final goodbye.

When it was over, Dimitri squeezed my hand. “I have a surprise for you.”

“What?” I asked, taken back by his bemused expression.

He’d changed out of his orange towel, which was a shame. In fact, my hunk of a shape-shifting griffin now wore black dress pants and a dark blue shirt. They fit like they were made for him. And how he’d kept a crease for three thousand miles was beyond me.

“Eee,” Frieda threw her arms around me.

I hugged her soft, bony frame. “Okay…what’s up with you?”

When I’d extricated myself from the witch, Dimitri took my hand and led me toward the red cabin.

“What’s going on?” I asked, tucking a lock of lavender hair behind my ear. I was still getting used to how short it felt.

He opened the door to the cabin. “It’s time for our date.”

Shocked, I looked up at my handsome griffin.

“Go on.” He nudged me in the door.

Inside, the yellow-painted room was empty, save for a fold-out table covered with a white towel. Two chairs draped in hemp ribbon clustered around it and two wine glasses sat on top.

He’d even found a bottle of Santorini wine. Greek script curled around the blue label.

“A gift from the griffins?” I asked as Dimitri held out my chair.

“No.” His eyes sparkled. “I’ve been saving this for a long time.” His mouth quirked. “In fact, I bought it the first time I wanted to take you on a date.”

“In New Jersey?”

“In Memphis. About a week after I met you.”

“Aww…” Frieda simpered, digging into her white fringe purse. “Where’s my camera?”

“Out,” Dimitri walked over to the cabin door and closed it on a crowd of nosey witches.

I couldn’t help grinning. “We’re never going to get rid of them, you know.”

Dimitri wet his lips, his movements stiff. “I don’t want to.”

He poured the wine into my glass. It was Nykteri, a Santorini white. A few drops sloshed onto the table, which was very un-Dimitri-like. His hand shook slightly as he poured his own glass. It tickled me to think he’d be nervous for a date, and it warmed me to know how much this meant to him as well.

He dropped into his seat. “To beginnings,” he said, holding up his glass. We clinked our glasses and I savored the dry peachy notes of the wine.

“It’s really good,” I told him, noticing he hadn’t even taken a sip.

His eyes found the floor before they found me again. “I was going to wait, but I have to do this now.”

The door opened a crack. He ignored it. Or maybe he didn’t notice. Dimitri knelt down on one knee and I really didn’t want to believe what I thought was going to happen next.

My loyal, strong griffin knelt in front of us with an expression that nearly shattered me. “From the first time I met you, I knew you were special, but I never knew you’d come to mean everything to me. I understand our life isn’t easy and it isn’t always pretty, but I do know that I can’t imagine my life without you in it. I would never leave you. You keep thinking I want land or power or all these other things when, Lizzie, all I’ve ever wanted is you.”