Angie Fox: My Big Fat Demon Slayer Wedding

Frieda raised her cup, a mischievous grin tickling her lips. “I never had sex on the kitchen table.”

My mom clinked her teacup against Frieda’s and drank.

“Awww…” I used to have breakfast at that table. “M-o-m,” I protested in a voice I swear I hadn’t used since high school.

An hour with her and I’d already reverted back two decades.

Hillary wiped a dribble of tea off her bottom lip. “What honey? I’m a woman with needs. Thank goodness your father has never been shy—”

“Enough!” I’d pry the teacups from their hands if I had to.

Doggie claws scrambled across the hardwood. “Lizzie!”

Pirate, my Jack Russell Terrier, bolted into the sitting room like he was on fire. He was mostly white, with a dollop of brown on his back that wound up his neck and over one eye.

Ever since I became a demon slayer, I could talk to my dog. In real sentences. He thought it was the greatest thing on earth. For me, it depended on the day.

He skidded on the rug at the entrance and nearly thwacked into a plant stand before rushing headlong for me.

“Not now, Pirate” I said, as he leapt up into my arms. I awkwardly adjusted my cup on the table so it wouldn’t get hit with a flailing dog leg.

“Oh, hell yes, now.” Pirate squirmed, digging dirty paws against my dress. “I can’t believe you’re in here clinking tea cups when we got problems.”

Okay, well it was a good thing non-magical people, like Hillary, couldn’t understand him. I managed to get my cup on the table. Barely. I then held my dog up and away from my dress. His knobby little legs dangled uselessly. “What’s wrong?”

Pirate looked at my mom. “Let’s just keep her away from the windows.”

Yeah, well I had a feeling an entire marching band could parade by and my mom wouldn’t notice.

Still, when I glanced at the big picture window, I didn’t see anything. Not even a dragon.

Hillary wrinkled her nose. “I forgot what yappy dog you have.”

“Oh, geez. He interrupted your game? I’m sorry.” Not.

“What’s he got?” Grandma asked, with a notable slur to her voice. She could understand Pirate, too. Most magical people could.

“I’ll say it to you plain.” Pirate struggled to get down. “I understand you have sandwiches. I am a big believer in food. But you need to see the creepy looking crazy bomb I found in the garden.”

I stood. “I need to take Pirate out.” He had a nose for trouble. And the will to find it. I buried my nose against the wiry fur at his neck. “You’re going to show me and only me.”

It’s not like I could count on the biker witches’ discretion at the moment.

Or their sobriety.

But before I left, I asked, “Can I borrow a quarter?”

Creely found one in her pocket. She handed it to me and I slammed it on the table.

“It’s my wedding party,” I announced, “and I say no more I Never . You can play Quarters instead.”

“Strip quarters?” Frieda asked, hopefully.

“Regular quarters,” I told her.

“Who knew she’d be such a bridezilla?” Frieda muttered to my mom.

I tucked Pirate under my arm and headed out.

On the way out, I grabbed my switch star belt off the hall table. I never should have walked in there without it. Damn fashion. It wasn’t just the weapons. The belt had pouches for various crystals, powders and any other concoctions the biker witches invented for me. Around here, it seemed I was going to need all the help I could get.

Pirate dashed ahead, his nails clicking against the slate tile. “It all started when I was digging in the rose garden.”

“Pirate,” I warned, slipping the belt around my waist.

That back garden was the only bright, non-Adams-Family spot in the house. I hoped.

I really didn’t want to have my wedding in the gothic sitting room.

He tilted his head. “Well, I wasn’t exactly digging. I simply happened to be there.”

The dog did not know how to lie.

His tail was up, his legs going a mile a minute. “But I have to warn you, there may be a few holes. You gotta remember it’s my instinct. It’s not anything personal.”

“Stick to the facts,” I said, as he stopped at the back door.

He turned in a circle and sat. “Okay. I smelled something good. I followed it. Then I saw the creepy shit.”

Good enough for me.

I opened the heavy wood door and Pirate led the way out into the garden. The late summer sun felt good on my face and arms. It was a relief to be outside where I had a chance to breathe, to think.

My utility belt was chilly around my waist. It was always ten degrees cooler than everything around it, which was a blessing in this case because I was sweating like a fiend.

We passed a sculpture of a crying mermaid as I followed my dog down a gray stone path through a series of low flowerbeds. The garden was laid out in a series of triangular plantings with paths criss-crossing them every so often.

In fact, we had to switch paths several times as we zigzagged deeper and deeper into the foliage. The constant hum of insects grew louder as the garden grew taller. Flowering wolf eye trees, their leaves streaked with red, hung heavy over us. They blocked the direct sun, making my skin chill.

Thorny rose bushes climbed to the left and right, their branches twisted, their foliage overlapping. Somebody needed to take a pair of pruning sheers out here. I had no doubt my mother would take care of it. Once she sobered up.

It could still be pretty. Bright.

“What exactly did you see?” I asked, as thorns reached out for my dress and arms.

“I’m getting to that.” Pirate stopped. “Over there,” he said, tilting his knobby little head to the left. “That’s where I heard the noise.” He growled low in his throat. “Sounded exactly like something that needed to be chased.”

Definitely not a squirrel. Pirate was terrified of them. I eyed the thick tangle of foliage. There was no telling what could be in there.

He took off through the mass of rose bushes. “Well, I heard it, and you know we can’t let that go.”

“Not when you’re obsessed with the mail man, delivery trucks, the neighbors walking by…” I followed. Barely.

“Do you see any of that around here?” he called through the bushes.

No. This place was downright macabre. Weren’t gardens supposed to be open, cheerful places?

He was hard to see through all the foliage, and he was definitely moving faster than me. Thorns tore at my skin, and I raised my arms to keep them away from my face.

“So right here. This is where I was when I heard the noise,” Pirate said, invisible in the tangle.

“Great.” I had to get out of here.

“And this is where I went.”

I heard a rustle up ahead and prayed it wasn’t too far because, darn it, I was not a camping type of girl and this? Well, it kind of counted. “Pirate, where are you?”

“Here!” He said, as I cleared one last bush that tried to snag my eye. When I emerged from the mess, my entire body itching, I found him next to a large, ornate garden gate.

It was designed to look like a spider web, with intricate iron bars spread from the center. It was beautiful, really, if you discounted the squik factor. I wasn’t a fan of spiders.

My necklace warmed against my throat.

Tall stone walls stretched out on either side. We’d somehow lost the path. Only a cleared patch of dirt led into this isolated part of the estate.

And then, briefly, I caught a glimpse of her—a pale woman among the trees.

“Pirate, look!” I hissed.

I didn’t know if she was a ghost. She certainly wasn’t a wedding guest.

“Where?” Pirate asked, wriggling through a hole in the gate.