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

“So I know.”

“Then why are you still holding the box?”

Why indeed?

Heaven help me. The worst part was I knew how to open the box without a latch or a lock. I touched each of the fingers on my right hand to each of the five switch-star adornments on the box. They warmed under my fingers and my stomach filled with dread.

I wasn’t kidding Grandma about the “getting arrested” part. My short time in the magical world had taught me that unexpected things could—and always did—happen to me.

“Hold on to your britches.” I pulled away the iron bars around the box.

The wood made a low, crackling sound. Grandma let out a whistle as a hairline fracture worked its way across the side of the chest.

Pirate’s collar jingled as he danced in place. “Ooh…smoky!”

A thin stream of vapor flowed from the narrow slit, giving way to delicate rings.

Fingers stiff with anticipation, I lifted the lid.

Lavender velvet cushioned the inside of the box. Three loops made of the same material lined the bottom, supporting—nothing.

“It’s empty,” I said, surprised, confused and—I’ll admit it—a bit relieved.

“No it’s not,” Grandma said, huskily. “Touch it.”

“Touch what?” I brushed my fingers over the velvet insides of the box. Down lower, close to the empty holders.

“Touch it.”

I did. My breath caught in my throat as my fingers scraped a smooth, invisible bar.

“What is it?” I asked, gathering the courage to touch it again. It wasn’t any longer than my hand. Round, from what I could gather. It felt like glass, only slicker.

“Is it hot?” Grandma asked.

“No.”

“Cold?”

“No. It doesn’t feel like anything.”

“Or smell like anything,” Pirate said.

Grandma whistled. “I think it’s a training bar. Your mom used to use one with her instructors. Your Aunt Serefina too. Only theirs I could see. Usually.”

“But I don’t have any instructors.” I didn’t even have Aunt Serefina. She’d died trying to save the coven. “I just have you.” Sure, Grandma did what she could, but she seemed as much in awe of this thing as I was.

“Yeah, well that’s about to change too,” she said, unable to keep a smile out of her voice.

I flicked my eyes up to find her looking at me like it was my birthday. “Now?” I’d been asking for this kind of training for weeks, and she picks now.

“Of course. You had—what? Two days off in Vegas while we planned this trip.” She said it as if she couldn’t imagine what I’d been doing.

“I was recovering from an almost-Armageddon.”

“With your hot, sexy griffin.”

“We slept most of the time!”

“Oh come on, Lizzie—you’re a demon slayer. What’d you think it would be? Sunshine and cupcakes?”

“No. But I could use a week off.” Or even one more day.

“Time off is for pussies. I wrangled up a kick-butt instructor for you. Better than the entire team your mom had. Formal training begins in Greece.”

Dimitri would love that. “And this is for training?”

“Maybe.” She looked inside the box. “I don’t know. I didn’t plan this part. But there’s a way you can find out.”

I didn’t want to know.

“I saw your mom do it. Serefina too. Hold it. Wrap your hand around it and it’ll tell you what you need to do next.”

Sure, why not take advice from an invisible bar that had once belonged to my crazy mother?

Problem was, it played to my weakness. I love to know exactly what’s going on.

“So this will tell me what I need to do in terms of training?”

Grandma rubbed at the phoenix tattoo on her arm. “For you, probably yes. For your mother, it foretold the attack on our coven.” She dropped her hands. “It predicted her sister’s death, but hell, it also predicted mine. You don’t see me going anywhere, do you? Nobody can tell exactly what is going to happen. Free will is always in play.”

Yeah, except for the smoker she’d spelled.

I ran a finger along the bar and felt nothing.

“Try it,” Grandma said. “For me. I want to be here when you use it for the first time.”

Oh geez. I rubbed Pirate on the head and let out a breath I didn’t even know I was holding.

“Okay.” I might as well figure out what I had to do next. There would be brainstorming to do, lists to write. Dimitri had a laptop, which meant I could even type my lists. This was sounding better all the time.

I eased the bar out of the velvet loops and paused for a split second before wrapping one hand around it.

Grandma’s breath brushed my shoulder. “Clear your mind.”

I did. At that moment, I let go of everything and focused all my energy on the smooth glass in my hand. It felt solid, comforting. Warmth flooded my palm and crept up my arm. My breathing quickened as a door opened in my mind. I gasped.

“What is it?” Grandma asked.

“Wait,” I said, catching glimpses of a hazy picture. I squeezed my eyes shut and reached for an image just beyond my grasp. I gripped the bar tighter. It was like I was an inch away from opening another door.

“What is it?” Grandma held my arm.

I made it. The door fell open and I saw Dimitri. He knelt among the ruins of a great stone building in the middle of a forest. Sweat coated his broad back and glinted off his olive skin. He turned to me, his hands covered in blood. I sucked in a breath. This wasn’t real.

“Lizzie!” he called, his face twisted in anguish.

Please don’t let it be real.

My heart raced and I fought the urge to go to him.

This isn’t real.

And then I saw myself lying on the ground, my chest ripped open and my head twisted at an impossible angle.

“Enough!” I smashed the bar onto the floor and heard it shatter.

Grandma yawped. “Damn it, Lizzie!”

I didn’t care. My eyes flew open. I braced my hands against the airport bench and forced myself to take deep, even breaths. I was back.

Grandma’s worried eyes met mine. “Whatever you saw, you don’t have to do it, Lizzie. You hear me? You don’t have to do it.”

“I know,” I said. I didn’t want to die. I didn’t want Dimitri to have to watch, or find me later, or whatever had happened. I had no idea what I’d just seen. I’d never used an object like the bar before. For all I knew, the thing was cursed, damaged, on the fritz.

“What’d you see?” Ant Eater crouched in front of me.

“I don’t want to talk about it.” It was a twisted vision. It didn’t mean anything.

Besides, no good could come of Grandma and Ant Eater analyzing a prophecy of my death. Grandma had said herself it wasn’t always right.

Still, I couldn’t get the horrible image out of my mind. Being a demon slayer was dangerous work. I knew that. And yes, people had tried to kill me before—but I’d never had to see, in high-definition detail, exactly what could happen.

This bar had predicted the death of the demon slayer before me. Now it was supposed to tell me what the near future held for me.

Mouth dry, I stared straight ahead, willing myself to focus on the travelers rushing past.

“Stop.” I told myself. I was at the airport. I ran my hands up my arms, over my unbroken chest. I was fine. Dimitri was handling paperwork instead of my blood and guts. He would be meeting me at the gate soon. “Stop it.” Think of something else.

At least the bar was gone, reduced to a million invisible little pieces.

“Um, Lizzie?” Ant Eater stood and began backing away slowly, her motorcycle boots treading light, as a chorus of tiny shards began crackling all at once. It sounded like an ice storm on a tin roof.

“What’s it doing?” Grandma demanded.