Angie Fox: The Last of the Demon Slayers

She climbed up on the keg. It rattled with her weight, but Grandma was beyond caring. She stood, her black Harley flame boots planted firmly on either side. “We are in charge of what happens in this world. Not them. Never them.”

“Never!” Several witches bellowed from the back.

“We owe it to everything good to stand up and fight,” she bellowed. “So I will go to Pasadena. I will take that man back from the demons. And I will tell them to go to hell .”

The walls echoed and chandeliers swayed with the stomps and cheers of the biker witches.

Creely slapped me on the back. “I’m there.”

“Me too, honey.” Frieda hugged me from the side. “We’ll get your daddy back.”

The flood gates opened as the witches shouted out their support. The circle broke, gin glasses clinked and I stood there like a fool with a smile plastered across my face. I had a whole coven of bikers behind me.

“We’re in this,” Frieda brushed a lock of lavender hair from my shoulder, “whether you want us or not.”

I did. The decision was made. Dang it all. We were going to Pasadena.

Heaven help us when we got there.

I stepped out of the phone booth and let it slide closed behind me. Most of the biker witches were still celebrating downstairs, and probably would be for a while. Me? I had some things to figure out.

So far in my time as a slayer, I’d killed the baddies instead of trying to rescue them. I wasn’t sure how rehabilitation worked. Even if we could track down my dad, what would we do next? What would we be facing?

I took stock of what remained of my dad’s gift, still in the jar. Judging from what he’d given me, I wondered how badly Dad wanted to be saved.

The ashes had settled into a circular groove along the base. I shook it out so they spread across the entire bottom. Within seconds, the particles had flickered back to the edges.

Maybe it was just gravity.

Yeah, right.

Grandma said my dad’s creature couldn’t harm me now. She told me it was as dead as the zombie crow. I wasn’t so sure.

Before I became a slayer, a pile of ashes was a pile of ashes. Now a jar was a magical trap, a spell meant a new hairdo and I still wasn’t sure how the biker witches were playing “Freebird” on the jukebox when we technically had no power.

My Jack Russell Terrier bounded up to me amid tables crowded with Burger King takeout bags. Sidecar Bob was in charge of catering. My dog followed him everywhere.

“It’s a feast!” Pirate said, skidding right into my leg, his tail thwacking my shin at a hundred and eighty beats a minute. “We have French fries and cheeseburgers and double cheeseburgers and double bacon cheeseburgers…”

“Chow time!” Bob yelled down to the speakeasy. Boots thundered on the metal stairs.

“Bob, have you seen Dimitri?” I asked. He should have been back by now.

Bob tossed Pirate a French fry and shook his head ‘no.’ “Don’t worry,” he said, as the first of the biker witches clambered out.

Easy for Bob to say. I scooped Pirate up and buried my nose in the wiry hair of his neck. The heavenly aroma of flame grilled burgers and piping hot fries made my stomach rumble.

Pirate licked my fingers, my arm, my shoulder, pretty much anything he could reach. “You smell fantastic. Smells like you’ve been roasting meat. Of course you burnt that one,” he said, sniffing my jar, “but that’s okay. I’ll eat it.”

That wasn’t saying much. Pirate would eat anything. In this case, he couldn’t have my dad’s crispy minion.

The front door banged open. Everyone in the bar jumped, including me. Dimitri Kallinikos, my long-awaited griffin boyfriend stood in the doorway with a massive white dragon behind him.

“Oh thank God,” I said. He was here. He was safe and he was mine.

Dimitri was well over six feet, with the broad shoulders and sculpted body of an ancient Greek statue. He had a square jaw, olive skin and striking green eyes. Dimitri was out of place in this dingy biker bar, even though he wore jeans and a dark black T-shirt stretched over his broad shoulders.

He had the ability to hold perfectly still, which is lost on most people these days. Even now, his movements were precise as he peeled one of Grandma’s thorny wards away from his leather jacket.

I let the tension leave me as I started for him, amazed he still managed to look polished after flying for two hours. Maybe it was the way he carried himself, back straight and always alert. Or maybe it was simply the fact that he really was from another world.

“Flappy!” Pirate scrambled out of my arms and broke into a run the second his paws touched the concrete floor. My dog dashed straight for Dimitri and through his legs as he greeted the dragon.

Flappy’s happy squawk ended in an adolescent croak. As usual, Pirate blew the curve when it came to happy reunions.

Still, I wasn’t too shabby myself.

“Hey there,” I said to Dimitri, feeling my mouth quirk into a grin. Heaven knew I’d missed this man. I didn’t like him going out in search of trouble, and not just because it could be dangerous. I just wanted him with me.

“Lizzie,” he said with a slight Greek accent that made my name sound almost lyrical. He looked me up and down. “Nice hair,” he said without a trace of irony.

Heat crept up my cheeks. Yes, it was ridiculous. I was embarrassed enough. The last thing I needed was for him to remind me.

“I don’t want to talk about it.” I’d just found out I was part angel. That trumped the hair thing. Besides, it was good having him back. I’d been more worried than I wanted to admit.

“What happened out there?” I asked as he touched his forehead to mine and closed his eyes.

He’d been fighting. The emerald in his eyes betrayed him.

“I’ll tell you in a minute,” he said. “Not here.” We savored a quiet moment and when he opened his eyes again, they’d gone back to a rich chocolate brown.

I reached for him and noticed his ebony hair curled with moisture at the ends. I ran the damp strands between my fingers.

He replied with a melting brush of his lips on mine.

“Why do you always assume we have trouble?” he said against my mouth.

“Other than the fact that we usually do?”

He rumbled out a laugh and pulled me into his arms. “You’re just worried about our date.” He smelled like warm leather and campfires. I snuggled against him as a toasty feeling wound through me.

Yes, well I had every reason to worry. Ours hadn’t been what you’d call a typical relationship.

We’d met when he pulled me out of a hole. I’d wrecked my Harley in an encounter with seven imps and a particularly nasty water nymph. We’d ended our first fight with a trip to hell. Personally, I would have preferred make-up sex. And now we were in another mess. The more things changed, the more they stayed the same.

Call me an old-fashioned girl, but it would be nice to be officially courted.

And then his mouth was on mine, hot and possessive.

Okay, so maybe I wasn’t complaining too much.

I curled toward him as he slid hands up the exposed skin of my arms, up my shoulders to cradle my chin. It was a rash, claiming kind of kiss and I loved every second of it.

As if he knew what I was thinking, Dimitri drew me closer until I was flush against him. One of us groaned—I think it was me—as he nipped my neck.

This man was sin wrapped in leather. There’s no telling what I would have done if I didn’t sense half the bar gaping at us.

I eased back, as the cool air seeped between our bodies. No need to make a spectacle , even as my mind conjured up images of us heated and naked and sliding against each other. Sweet heaven.