Angie Fox - The Dangerous Book for Demon Slayers

“Um, Lizzie,” Pirate nosed my wrist. “I don’t mean to interrupt your thinking there, but I have some business to attend to as well.”

It took me a second to even know he’d spoken. “Say what?” I asked.

“Oh you know what. I spotted a nice grouping of palm trees next to the pool.”

I took him to an empty lot behind the hotel. It clung to the very edge of the parking lot, a forgotten smidge of land—big enough for Pirate, but too small to do much else with.

Night had fallen, and Pirate danced in and out of the circles of light from the parking lot. I rolled my shoulders as I double-checked my switch stars.

Pirate sniffed at a tuft of weeds with tiny yellow flowers. “Oooh, now these are nice.”

“You mind shaking a leg?” I asked. The menace in the air hadn’t let up. If anything, it had gotten worse.

Pirate let out a long, wet snarf. “I’m just appreciating my environment. That’s the great thing about being a dog. We know when to stop and sniff the flowers. And the rocks. And the dirt. And the grass. And ooh and here’s a lovely crushed-up can of… hmm… I don’t know what that is.”

I stared up at the clear night sky. I tried to use the moment to clear my brain, focus my energies. But all I could think about was Dimitri—where he was right now, and why he wasn’t here with me. I pulled my phone out of the top front right pocket of my utility belt. I’d begun to text him. Again. When I heard a sandy voice behind me.

“You call those turtle knees? These here are turtle knees.”

“Battina?” Grandma’s head apothecary specialized in hard-to-find ingredients.

“Who’s that?” Battina’s head popped up from behind a white PT Cruiser. Red glasses perched on the end of her nose and her ash blonde hair fluttered in the night.

“It’s Lizzie,” I called.

She plucked her glasses off and let them dangle from a silver chain around her neck. “Oh hey, Lizzie. You mind giving us a hand over here?”

“Pirate,” I said to my dog, who stood completely immobile for no particular reason. “You stay here.”

“Mmmmm,” he said, savoring the air, his nose pulsing like a heartbeat. “Done and done.”

I jogged over to Battina and found her huddled over two six-packs of soda bottles and a half dozen empty sun tea jars. She was with Spinebreaker, Jan Elkins, the library witch. Actually Jan preferred to be called the Library Hag. She wore her hair in pink braids today. The witch refused to go gray, and changed her hair color to anything but on a regular basis.

Jan lifted a bottle of chocolate-flavored Jones Soda out of the case like it was liquid gold. Then I noticed the cork in the top. That wasn’t soda.

“What’s up?” I asked. “Did you guys find Dimitri?”

Jan dug through the rest of her bottles until she found another one she wanted. “Ant Eater tracked him down,” she said, holding up a bottle of Grape. “Phoned it in to your Grandma right before we headed over here.”

She handed it over to Battina, who uncorked it.

Phew, my nose burned. “What’s in that thing? Lighter fluid?” My heart stuttered when she lit a match.

Wait a second. “You think that’s a good idea?” I asked.

Battina chuckled as she tossed a match into the bottle and planted the cork back on top. “It’s not really grape soda. We wouldn’t ruin a good bottle of Jones. These are pickled turtle’s knees. Very good in antidemonic wards. Only you have to toast them.” She rattled the bottle. “Like this.” A small curl of smoke escaped from the top.

Jan picked up a cork-topped bottle of ginger ale. “And this here is fresh Georgia creek water.” She dumped it into a sun tea jar. “Nothing but the best.”

“No kidding.” I’d never seen these two at work before. “What’s in the bottle that says Gravy?”

Jan tucked a lock of pink hair behind her ear. “Oh that actually is gravy soda,” she said. “It’s a special flavor. They only make it at Thanksgiving, so I stock up.” She popped it open and took a long swig. “Mmm… gravy-licious. Want to try it?”

“I’ll pass. Now what about Dimitri?”

Jan shrugged. “He said he’s got things to do and he’ll be back tonight.”

That’s it? Things to do? I’d like to do a few things to him right now—none of which he’d enjoy.

“So… what?” I asked. “You let him go?”

Battina took a peek into the turtle knees bottle before dumping out the gloopy black contents—match included—on top of the creek water in the sun tea jar. “What did you want us to do? Sit on a one-hundred-eighty-pound griffin? Actually, Ant Eater tried, but he shifted and flew off.”

“Jerk,” I muttered.

Battina shrugged. “He’s your boyfriend. Now you mind helping us lug these spell jars over to the hotel? We had to toast the turtle knees over here. They’re not very stable when you mix them with kerosene. But really, they’re for the outside walls of the place.”

“Extra protection?” I hoped.

“It sure ain’t for the smell.” Jan snickered.

Pirate joined us as we spent the next twenty minutes throwing protective wards at the walls of the hotel. They weighed a ton and smelled like the inside of a gas tank. It’s a wonder we didn’t get arrested.

“How long will these hold?” I asked Battina.

She rubbed her fingers along the wall and sniffed them. “Oh we’ll be out here every two or three hours checking. You can’t be too careful.”

“You want a helper?” Pirate danced in place.

“Why not?” Battina said. “You need to get out of the hotel every once in awhile. Jan and I could use a guard dog.”

Jan rubbed him on the head. “You can be in charge of guarding my bottles.”

“Hear that, Lizzie? I’m in charge!”

“Thanks,” I said. These witches might be rough around the edges, but every one of them had a good heart. “I owe you one.”

Battina studied the wards, and glanced back at Jan’s soda-bottle cases of ingredients. “Get us out of here by tomorrow and we’re even.”

We’d barely made it back to the room when a hollow knock sounded at the door.

Pirate about hurt himself dashing for the door. “It’s company!”

The good kind, I hoped.

I opened the door to a scowling little man who could have been Danny DeVito’s brother. He was shorter than most, balding, with a round body and hair that circled his head like a wiry black halo. Glitter tumbled onto his shoulders like a bad case of dandruff and he reeked of bubblegum.

He held on to a cheap gray document case with one hand and flashed a badge with the other. Beige lettering splashed across the silver emblem—SID FUZZLEBUMP, DIP INVESTIGATOR. He gave Grandma a onceover. “You Lizzie Brown?”

She should be the one with the learner’s permit. I spoke up. “I’m Lizzie Brown. And what do you mean DIP? Are you here about the succubi?” Officer Reynolds had said they’d send someone.

Maybe he knew something. Maybe he’d seen something. Frankly, I didn’t know what to make of this strange man with glittery ring-around-the-collar. I braced a hand on my black utility belt, in case we ended up needing a switch star or two.