Angie Fox - ADS 03 - A Tale of Two Demon Slayers

“She was here. With that cat. See? Cat hair here and cat smell here and cat hair here.” He shoved his head under the dresser. “Mmm…crumb. I tell you, I don’t like that cat one bit.”

Pirate was excitable anyway, but this was like Pirate on Starbucks. His entire body quivered.

“Wait,” I said to his stubbly little tail. “Who was here?”

“Ohh…Lizzie. Amara and that no-good Isabelle, although I should call her Fang Breath.” He yanked his head out from under the dresser. “Don’t you worry because I chased them off, watchdog-style.”

“Good.” Amara had no business coming in here. Whatever she had to say, she could have said downstairs. She sure didn’t seem like the type to hold back. Besides, knocking on the door was one thing. Sneaking in was another.

Pirate cocked his head to the side. “Can I bite her next time?”

“No,” I said, not really meaning it.

“She gave you a book,” Pirate said, hopping on the bed and leaning to sniff a rich blue journal on my nightstand. “She said it was her mama’s and that you needed to see what was inside.” He let out a wet doggie sniffle over the leather-bound volume. “Personally, I think the entire thing smells like trouble.”

As if we hadn’t had enough of it lately.

I took the straw-wrapped stone from my utility belt and placed both it and the belt on the nightstand next to the bed. “Ohh.” He paraded straight across my lap, his paws digging into my thighs. Pirate, of course, didn’t notice. “Pretty!” he said, inspecting my find.

“Right,” I replied, rubbing him on the head. “But no sniffing, chewing or licking. I’m not sure what it is yet.”

“Aw, now that’s no fun.” Pirate lost interest almost immediately. He pawed at the thick white bedspread, curling up at my side as I picked up Amara’s gift.

“So this was her mother’s,” I said to myself. Though it would have been hard for Amara’s mother to dislike me as much as her daughter did, I was sure I wouldn’t be doing cartwheels at whatever the book had to say.

As I opened the front cover, I realized it was a journal. The title page read, Predictions of Alana.

Perfect. Mom was psychic too.

Or at least she thought she was.

I slammed the book shut and scooped up Pirate. “Come on. We’re going to have a talk with Amara.”

“You take Amara. I’ll do a growly-dog number on the cat. I might even throw in a snarly bark. That move is not just for the UPS guy!”

“Pirate,” I said, storming out into the hall. “Let me do the talking.”

“Now that’s no fair. You always get to talk.”

Amara answered on the first knock. She wore a silky white nightgown and an amused expression.

“Why were you in my room?” I demanded.

She tilted her head. “To lend you my mother’s journal, of course. Have you read it?”

“I’ve been more concerned with you picking my door lock.”

She feigned surprise. “I’m good, but I’m not that good. You left your door open,” she said. A white Persian cat yowled at her feet. She scooped it up and stroked it, watching me. “Just read the book. I think you’ll find it fascinating.”

Pirate’s entire body vibrated as he growled.

“Oh please,” she said to my dog. “It’s a scandal we only have one cat around here. We griffins have an affinity for cats. And birds. Although that can prove troublesome.”

“Just stay out of my room,” I told her.

I should have returned the book as well. But I didn’t. Like I said, I’m not one to refuse a tool.

Pirate and I trudged back to our room and plopped down on the bed to take a better look at Amara’s “gift.” I’d decide for myself whether the journal proved useful.

The edges of each page were lined in gold. A torn piece of parchment marked a place near the end of the book. I opened it and found an illustration of a gorgeous sunset done in watercolor. Below it on the thick, unlined paper was an entry in flowing black script.

There shall be a woman who comes between what should be and what is. She wears the emerald and her name is on the lips of the beloved. She will be lost at the Callidora, the first time in joy, the second time in death. She will be split in two.

Oh lovely. Another death prediction. My fingers went to Dimitri’s emerald at my neck as my gaze fell on the armoire with my mother’s training bar locked inside. Let’s see, I could either be gutted or chopped in half. Choices, choices…

Pirate rubbed his muzzle against my hand. “Oh now, Lizzie, don’t be sad. We can get you a different book.”

I slipped my fingers behind his ears, rubbing until his back leg began to quiver.

Yeah, well I had a better idea.

I knocked on the door to Dimitri’s room.

He opened it wearing a pair of green plaid boxers and nothing else.

The man was temptation in the flesh. Too bad we didn’t have time for that right now. I placed the book in his hands. “Take a look at this.”

I ignored the way he undressed me with his eyes. Instead, I scooted past my personal Greek god and flopped down on his bed. He cocked an eyebrow and sat down next to me, book in hand.

Dimitri’s room was the same size as mine, with slate gray walls and a cherrywood sleigh bed. The furniture was more masculine, but arranged the same. It was tidy and comfortable. Still, it didn’t feel like him.

“This isn’t your room,” I said, almost to myself.

“No,” he murmured, slipping his hand into the book and finding the parchment marker. “I moved to be closer to you and my sisters.”

Dimitri angled his head. “What am I looking for?” he asked, opening the book.

I blew out a breath I didn’t even know I was holding. “Just read the passage.”

His face darkened as he opened the volume. “It’s a journal,” he said dryly, as if he already knew what it was and wasn’t quite ready to admit it to me. He leaned over it, feet planted on the floor, a lock of black hair falling over his forehead. I watched him frown as he read the passage predicting my downfall.

“Chopped in half,” I said, in case he hadn’t read fast enough.

He ran a finger over the page, contemplating it like an academic. “Split in two,” he murmured, focused on the book in front of him.

Oh please. He was far too calm about this. “What’s the diff erence? This is the second death prediction in forty-eight hours.” And the next time Grandma asked me to open something of my mother’s on the way out of town, I was going to drop her mystical bar straight into checked luggage.

He closed the book with one hand and pointed to me with the volume. “I know where you’re going, and you need to stop.”

He had to be kidding. “Why? I consider this fair warning.”

“No,” he said, drawing my hands to my sides. Shoot. I’d been gesturing like an Italian grandmother. Dimitri studied me carefully. “You can do something about a warning,” he said. “This is merely fearmongering.”

“Merely?”

He leaned close enough to kiss, his chocolate brown eyes fixed on mine. “You are in control.”

Had he read the passage? “No, I’m not.”

I hadn’t been in control since my grandma showed up on my doorstep with jelly-jar magic and a demon on her tail. “I haven’t survived by being stupid. I’ve had two warnings. Two. The first one I could put down to my mom’s crazy magic. The second one I have to start taking seriously.”

His fingers tightened on my arms. “You decide your own destiny, Lizzie. Don’t let anyone take that away from you.”

Oh, so I was supposed to sit around, ignoring the warnings, pretending I was in charge. Not happening. I was a demon slayer. Besides, what part about being chopped in half did the man not understand?