Angie Fox - The Last of the Demon Slayers

FIRST EDITION

THE LAST OF THE DEMON SLAYERS

copyright © 2010 by Angie Fox.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions.

By payment of required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen.

No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented without the express written permission of Angie Fox.

CRITICS PRAISE NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLING AUTHOR ANGIE FOX!

“With its sharp, witty writing and unique characters, Angie Fox’s contemporary paranormal debut is fabulously fun.”

— Chicago Tribune

“This rollicking paranormal comedy will appeal to fans of Dakota Cassidy, MaryJanice Davidson, and Tate Hallaway.”

— Booklist

“A new talent just hit the urban fantasy genre, and she has a genuine gift for creating dangerously hilarious drama.”

— RT Book Reviews

“In the uber popular genre of paranormal romance, just about everything has been done before, yet The Accidental Demon Slayer keeps it fresh and unique, carving out a place for itself.”

—CK2S Kwips and Kritiques

“Fox is back and serving up a second helping of high-octane mania. The world according to new demon slayer Lizzie Brown is full of major potholes and irritating biker witches, and the gaps in this heroine’s demon-slaying education are both hilarious and dangerous. The phrase Sin City never rang truer than it does in this supernatural ruckus!”

— RT Book Reviews

“ The Dangerous Book for Demon Slayers has an entertaining story line with paranormal action and adventure at every turn. Fans of The Accidental Demon Slayer won’t want to miss Lizzie’s latest escapade.”

—Darque Reviews

“Filled with humor, fans will enjoy Angie Fox’s lighthearted frolic.”

— Midwest Book Review

“This book is a pleasure to read. It is fun, humorous, and reminiscent of Charlaine Harris or Kim Harrison’s books.”

— Sacramento Book Review

The third outing in Fox's wacky supernatural saga continues to vividly demonstrate why this author is on the fast track. The combo of chills and hilarity is delicious, and Lizzie's internal musings are highly entertaining. Hang on for a rollicking good ride!

— RT Book Reviews

She may have been The Accidental Demon Slayer, but in spite of her lack of experience, Lizzie Brown proved that a preschool teacher can kick butt.

— Harriet Klausner

Ms. Fox does a marvelous job of developing her characters - providing additional insights into those returning and creating wonderful new villains and allies.

— Bitten by Books

If you're looking for a funny paranormal romp with a little heat and lots of action, this book is for you.

— Fresh Fiction

Other books by Angie Fox:

THE ACCIDENTAL DEMON SLAYER

THE DANGEROUS BOOK FOR DEMON SLAYERS

A TALE OF TWO DEMON SLAYERS

Here’s some advice: when a gang of geriatric biker witches tells you they’ve cleared out all of the spells they left at Big Nose Kate’s Biker Bar in 1977 – don’t believe them.

I was on edge that cold-as-death March afternoon, and it wasn’t just the biker witches and their Jack Daniels brand of magic. Something in the air didn’t feel right.

Like smoke on the horizon.

I killed the engine on my Harley and planted the toes of my black leather boots on the cracked blacktop. The early spring breeze melted through my riding jacket, sending goosebumps skittering up my arms.

We were on the hunt for a new headquarters for the Red Skull witches. And while I’d suggested a cute bungalow on the shore or perhaps a progressive retirement community, Grandma and the gang had their hearts set on this boarded-up wreck of a place near the New Jersey turnpike.

Dimitri pulled up on my right, handsome as sin in a black leather jacket and shades. “Trouble?” he asked, studying me.

“How’d you know?”

The side of his mouth cocked into a grin. “I know you.”

Did he ever. Heat pooled low in my belly at the thought of exactly how well this man knew me.

The witches hooted and hollered as they dismounted behind us.

“I don’t know where it’s coming from,” I told Dimitri.

I reached out with my demon slayer powers, trying to get a grip on the energies that threatened us.

The low-slung brick building sagged with age. Old beer signs and jumbled blinds crowded the windows. A hand-painted sign read: Big Nose Kate’s – The more you drink, the better he looks .

It was the last holdout at the end of a long-abandoned road. Woods surrounded the bar on three sides, like an impenetrable barrier. A light fog swirled, making the whole place seem even more isolated and empty.

I held still, on high alert. “I think it’s everywhere.”

He eased off his bike. “Okay. I’ll fly around the perimeter. You check out the bar.”

I tried to hide my surprise. “You trust me?” Dimitri was forever trying to protect me.

“I do,” he grinned. He knew. “You can handle it.”

Dimitri could handle himself too. “Be careful.”

His eyes met mine. “Always.”

He strolled toward the woods, motioning to Flappy, an adolescent dragon we’d adopted a few months back.

I tugged off my helmet and hung it from the right handlebar of my bike, fully aware of the churning in my gut.

Whatever was wrong here, I’d find it.

Grandma lumbered toward me, gravel crunching under her Drill Sergeant-style motorcycle boots.

“Told you it was a beaut.” Her long gray hair tangled over her shoulders. She squinted against the setting sun, making her wind-burned cheeks bunch and look even rosier. Grandma wore suede chaps, an American flag bandana and a black leather jacket with Kiss My Asphalt written across the back in rhinestone studs.

“Something’s up,” I said. The air held a sizzle of anticipation.

“I don’t feel anything,” Grandma said.

I watched a winged griffin soar from the trees and toward the setting sun. A gangly dragon tottered behind.

“Why don’t you all stay outside for a minute?” I asked, expecting an argument.

Instead I got a wink from a tattooed witch named Bettina. “You heard the demon slayer.” She let out a whoop and dashed toward a broken-down Ping-Pong table in the parking lot. A dozen others followed.

Grandma peeled off her black fingerless riding gloves. “What is it, Lizzie?” she asked, her voice gravelly as if she’d spent the last century breathing semi-truck exhaust. She adjusted her chunky silver rings. “Because I tell you, Big Nose Kate’s is warded like Fort Knox.”

I had faith in Grandma and her magic. But I had to trust my instincts too.

The biker witches shouted to one another as they scavenged along the tree line.

“It’s hard to say what’s wrong yet,” I said, “other than the fact that Creely is about to chop down some pool cues.”

I nodded toward the giddy engineering witch as she headed for a spindly evergreen, toolbox in hand.