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

We, on the other hand…

I stopped dead when I ducked around the branches of a prickly, flowering bush and spotted an ancient oak like the one I’d seen last night. To the right of it, I found a narrow path, almost invisible among the crush of bougainvillea bushes and overgrown olive trees.

“This is it!”

Pirate danced in place. “Oh, Lizzie. You think so?”

The branches scratched at my arms as I followed the besieged trail from my dream. Pirate dug his nose into the ground as he launched into full protective mode. His body stiffened and his stubby tail quivered. Lucky for me, he took his job as a guard dog seriously.

“You okay, buddy?” I asked as I swatted gnats away from my face.

“Are you kidding? I am on duty. Hole!” he hollered.

I looked down and saw a crater in the ground, deep enough to turn an ankle. “Nice watch-dogging.”

Pirate puffed out his chest. “I know you need me.”

I was about to reach down and pat him on the head when I saw a wooden bridge around the bend—exactly where I expected it to be. This was no longer a coincidence.

“Come on,” I said, clearing the hole in a single leap. “Let’s move.”

We crossed the bridge and came to a secluded spot where the knapweed and wild orchids buzzed heavily with insects. The strangest sense of déjà vu overtook me, although I knew it wasn’t just a feeling. I had been here before.

Straight ahead, at the base of a wild pomegranate tree growing crooked against a rock, I’d find Diana’s stone.

I found a broken tree branch and started digging.

Pirate slipped in at my elbow. “Oh, no, no . Allow me.”

His front paws went to work like a mini–trench digger, the volcanic soil flying out behind him. I knelt to the side, watching, until his paws hit pay dirt. “It’s slippery!”

“It’s the stone!” I lifted Pirate out of his hole with one hand and used the other to pull the brilliant blue Skye stone from its hiding place. Even caked in grime, it was majestic. I wiped it against my pants and it shone even brighter.

Amazing.

“Now how’d you know to look here?” Pirate asked with a tilt of his head.

“You’re not the only one who’s going to ask me that,” I said grimly.

Right then, a chill slid up my back as I spotted the dark-haired woman watching us from the trees. “You!” I struggled to see her face through the leaves.

She turned and fled.

“Wait!” I shouted, charging after her.

She must have been some kind of Amazon, because she moved through the dense foliage like water. I, on the other hand, tripped in the tangled underbrush, banged against every trunk and tree branch and even managed to catch a spiderweb in the face.

“Hold up!” I called, yanking the gooey mess from my mouth. I hate spiders. “I just want to talk.”

Which was a lie. I was pretty sure she’d stolen my magic, which meant she deserved a switch star up the butt.

I slowed and came to a stop in a puddle of goo. She was long gone.

Pirate charged ahead of me. “Whee! What are we looking for?”

“The woman. Can you follow her?”

My dog spun twice, his tongue lolling out. “What woman? I thought you saw a rabbit!”

“You chase rabbits. I chase people who want to kill us.”

He shoved his nose into the underbrush. “Yep. We sure do have fun. Now what is that smell?”

“Evil,” I said.

“More like dead bird with a hint of mouse. Mmm…odiferous.”

“Odiferous?”

Pirate nodded. “Thirteen-point Scrabble word.”

“Right,” I said, wishing the ghost who taught Pirate Scrabble was handy right now. I couldn’t believe the dark-haired woman could just disappear. Again.

It creeped me out to no end that she’d been watching me.

At least I had the stone.

We filled in the hole because, well, I like to leave things how I find them. Then we headed back for the house.

If I were in a soul-searching mood, which I was not, I would have realized I was avoiding going back. I let Pirate sniff his way to bliss on the trail ahead. We stopped to inspect the bridge and I kept an eye out for our dark-haired spy. We didn’t see her again—not that day, at least.

Diana cried and the biker witches whooped and cheered when I returned the stone. Talos watched me with barely contained fury. I didn’t blame him. I couldn’t explain how I’d known the stone would be under a remote tree, or how I’d known where to dig.

A chill slid up my spine. I’d tapped into something evil. Or worse yet, it had sunk its claws into me.

I’d have given anything to talk to Dimitri, or simply to hug the man. But he was doing what needed to be done and so was I.

At least he had Amara there to support him. My stomach hollowed at the thought. I wished it could have been me.

But facts were facts. I couldn’t begrudge him the space he needed to rebuild his family. After all, the Dominos clan and Amara seemed to be a better fit than me and the biker witches. Perhaps they’d return soon, flags flying. In the meantime, I’d do my best to fight our battle on the ground.

Grandma handed me a Pabst Blue Ribbon. Don’t ask me where she found it on Santorini. Knowing the witches, they’d brought their own stash.

“That was weird,” she said.

“Understatement of the year,” I replied, holding the welcome cold of the can against my forehead, actually considering a swig. I’d never had beer before breakfast, but this whole thing was wigging me out.

“You going to be able to do your job?” she asked, taking a sip of her own can, more serious than I would have liked her to be.

“Of course,” I said too quickly, lowering the can. An unholy being had stolen part of me. This time, it had helped us. But that’s usually how evil got a foothold, by posing as something you could control.

I refused to be fooled. I’d keep my eyes and ears open—and my dreams closed.

“You gonna drink that?” Ant Eater asked. I hadn’t even seen her walk up. She cocked her head at a puff of smoke beyond the stone house. “’Cause Rachmort just popped in. Literally.”

“Good,” I said, handing her the beer and heading for the educational equivalent of ground zero.

Maybe he’d have some answers. I was more than ready to meet my destiny.

The legendary demon slayer instructor Zebediah Rachmort, who was also a cursed-creatures consultant for the Department of Intramagical Matters’ Lost Souls Outreach program, stood under an apple tree and dusted off his black top hat. He wore a burgundy waistcoat and brown pants with pinstripes. When he was satisfied with the state of his hat, which was still billowing modest clouds of white dust, he spun it once in his fingers before planting it squarely atop his head.

“Lizzie Brown,” he said, greeting me with all the pleasure and familiarity of a long-lost friend.

The wrinkles around his eyes and the angle of his cheekbones gave him an air of jocular authority. His white hair reminded me of Einstein’s, while his Victorian-era clothes, neatly clipped sideburns and large gold watch fob looked like something out of a Dickens novel.

It was impossible to tell how old he was. The man seemed almost timeless.

He gestured me over with no small amount of glee. On his middle finger, he wore a humongous gold and copper ring that looked more like a compass than a piece of jewelry.

“You’re taller than your Great-aunt Evie,” he said, leaning way too far into my personal space. “But you have her eyes.”

A pungent odor, like ammonia and sulfur, rolled off him. Perhaps he’d been in purgatory too long. “Er…” I resisted the urge to step away. “You know my Great-greatgreat-aunt Evie died in 1883.”