Angie Fox - The Dangerous Book for Demon Slayers

Pirate clickety-clacked across the tile floor. “Say, that looks pretty, Lizzie! I always said you knew how to decorate.”

“Out,” Grandma ordered, sliding past him.

“Don’t worry. I won’t make a peep,” Pirate said.

“I’m sorry, baby dog,” I said, nudging him out the door. Whatever we were doing in the near-dark with the mint and the candles had to do with Phil’s unholy connection to Serena. Once Grandma found out what she could, we’d cut the demon off cold. I wasn’t sure how it would go down, but I’d rather not have Pirate anywhere near.

“Hold tight, Phil,” Grandma called before she closed us into the pitch-black bathroom.

I couldn’t see a thing. “You forgot to light the candles,” I said, hearing my voice take on a slight echoey tone.

“I’m getting to that, Lizzie,” Grandma said. “You follow my lead, okay?”

I nodded, as if she could see it in the dark. For all I knew, she could. Grandma might not be the smoothest person around, but she could do things I’d never dreamed about until I met her.

She struck a match and held it in front of her. Our reflections shone like apparitions in the mirror.

“In this looking glass,” she intoned, shadows falling into curves of her face, “I see more than there is to be seen.”

She dipped the match to light the thick red candle on the right. “I call to the spirits who guide us.” The wick caught fire and Grandma blew out her match. I could almost taste the sulfur. She glanced at me and I wondered if she was thinking the same thing.

“I call to the spirits of vision,” she said, lighting the second candle from the first.

Her hands warm and strong on my shoulders, Grandma positioned me next to her. Her breath tickled my ear. “Now chant after me. Three times.”

I nodded, watching my reflection in the light of the two candles.

“Bloody Mary,” Grandma said solemnly.

Oh she had to be kidding. I remembered playing that as a kid. But as I watched her clenched jaw and determined stance in the mirror, I knew this wasn’t a joke.

“Bloody Mary,” I said, as solemn as she had.

I almost didn’t want to know. I watched my nose wrinkle as we said it together.

“Bloody Mary.”

The temperature of the room plummeted.

Holy hoo doo. I about fell over sideways when a scarlet liquid streaked down the mirror—from the other side. I couldn’t have touched it if I wanted to, which I absolutely did not want to. I clenched my hands, my nails digging into my palms as I stared at my reflection through the murky red glaze.

Grandma slapped her sweaty hand around my chilled, shaking one. “Now for the money shot,” she said.

“Bloody Mary,” we repeated together.

My pulse pounded. The liquid on the mirror beaded and shifted like droplets of mercury until a narrow face appeared. Foul liquid streamed from the wide-set eyes and bubbled from the ugly gash in her neck. I held my breath, repulsed yet terrified to look away. Bloody Mary stared right back at us.

She opened her slash of a mouth. “What do you want?” she demanded in a thick, wet voice as crimson splashed from her lips, splattering the white sink and countertop.

The light from the candles cast deep shadows in the lines of Grandma’s face. “We need to see who controls Phil Whirley.”

Bloody Mary faded and we saw Phil’s living room. A shrunken, razor-toothed thing burst through the front window. A swirling gray cloud encompassed it as it clambered over the glass-strewn couch on black clawed feet. Serena? It had to be.

It smashed straight through the coffee table, heading for the bookshelf. The succubus punched through my retainer case, glass tinkling to the floor as it seized the framed photo behind it. It tore the frame like an envelope and ripped out the picture of my college graduation. It hissed, spittle clinging to its blackened lips. Rubies dangled from its scraggly ears. My picture crumbled into dust in its hands. Oh yeah, the demon knew who had Phil.

Well, too late now. “You lose,” I said, bound and determined to make that true.

It whipped its head around, as if I’d walked right into the room. Could it see me? Impossible. Still, I practically felt its scarlet eyes on me. It cackled, low and throaty and the image in the mirror faded away.

That’s when everything went to hell.

We heard the hotel door crash open. “What the—?” I searched for the demon in the mirror and found Bloody Mary instead. Terrified for Pirate and Uncle Phil, I scrambled for the doorknob.

“It’s locked!” I said, twisting hard, wrenching my wrist.

“Let me see.” Grandma barreled past me. She rattled the door with all she had while I watched the face in the mirror. What in the world had she summoned?

“Cookies!” Pirate said. I could hear his delight even through the door.

“Don’t eat anything!” I hollered out at him.

“Aw now, Lizzie…”

I wanted to claw my way past the door. We should have cut the tie immediately. If we had, this thing wouldn’t be in my room, with my dog. Why did I listen to Grandma?

“What’s happening?” Grandma barked.

“Now watch it. This is a rental,” Phil admonished.

It had to be the succubus.

“Phil!” I screamed.

Grandma pounded on the door. “Open up and fight like a woman!”

No one answered.

“Pirate!” I hollered. My stomach rolled over. If anything happened to him, it would be my fault.

“Phil!” Grandma yelled over me.

“Pirate!” I repeated. The apparition in the mirror chuckled, drops from its slashed neck sizzling down on Grandma’s fat red candles. “What do you know?” I demanded, not worrying anymore about something awful happening because our afternoon had gone to hell anyway.

The face disappeared into the mirror, replaced by a vision I could have done without. Gray stone steps led down to a circular room devoid of windows. Heaps of men’s rings, wallets and other jewelry choked the small space.

They weren’t stealing energy anymore—they were killing people.

Watches were strung up along the wall like war trophies, their faces smashed in, as if Serena stopped them the moment she murdered their owners. A brunette stood, her back to us, in a cloud of ash. A white minidress clung to her curves and a matching jangle of bracelets ringed her tiny wrist. “Phil, darling!” she called. Serena. I’d bet my last switch star.

Please don’t be there. Please don’t be there.

If I could call him to me, I hoped like anything I could also drive him away from her.

“Sugar lips!” Phil rushed down the gray stone steps. He wore the same white tuxedo I’d seen him in right before we’d corralled ourselves in the bathroom. The dried lavender drooped and fell from his coat pocket.

Son of a witch.

Phil’s nose glowed bright red, and he couldn’t stop smiling.

Tingles shot down my body. I wasn’t sure if they were from shock or from the fact that one of my favorite childhood television stars turned her head and winked through the mirror at me.

“Agent Ninety-Nine!” I stammered. I felt like I’d walked straight into a TV Land rerun. Serena was the spitting image of Maxwell Smart’s savvy brunette girlfriend, right down to her kicky 1960s hairdo and her kohl-lined eyes. Never mind that her eyes burned with an unearthly fire and sparks danced across her French manicure. I winced at the rubies dangling from her ears.

She stood next to a positively glowing Phil.

Grandma harrumphed. “He always had a thing for Barbara Feldon.”

Serena’s white plastic bracelets jangled as he dragged her to him for a sideways hug, “I missed you, babe.” Phil planted a kiss on his fiancee’s cheek.