Angie Fox - The Dangerous Book for Demon Slayers

Overwhelmed, I closed my eyes for a moment, and woke to find him gone.

During my short time in this magical world, I’d learned that first impressions can mean everything. They can buy the respect you need to survive or set you up for a whole lot of hurt. I dressed carefully the night I went to meet the hunter. He might be on his home turf, and he had more experience. But he had no idea what I could do to him.

Neither did I.

I scored a lavender dress in the hotel shop downstairs—shorter, silkier, brassier than anything I’d ever owned. The neckline plunged between my breasts and into a band of glittering silver beads. Some would have gone for red or black, or gothed it up. Sue me, I hadn’t quite been able to give up my pastel roots.

The silk skirt lapped at my legs as I walked. I could run too. My low sandals, in glossy silver, crisscrossed my feet like my Adidas Supernova Cushion 6 trainers. I felt amazing. And I looked good too.

Pirate weaved between my legs like a cat, his tags jangling against one another. “Say, you’re awfully dressed up. You sure you’re going to the vet?”

My demon slayer utility belt felt cool against my hips. “You want to go to the vet with me?” I asked, securing the crystal buckle below my navel. I probably didn’t need to lie when an organic doggie food bribe usually did the trick. Still, I didn’t want to take any chances tonight.

Pirate sized up the mound of Paw Lickin Chicken Biscuits I’d dumped onto our bed. “You know what? I think I’ll stay in for a change.”

“Praised be,” I said, tamping down a coil of guilt. I hated to leave him alone, but Pirate would only be a liability tonight.

The same went for Dimitri. While he could be downright lethal in a fight, he was compromised. I didn’t want to get him any closer to the she-demons. Tonight would be about negotiation. Mission one—make contact with the hunter. Mission two—well, I had a feeling that with all the succubi in town, the hunter might know a way to get Uncle Phil back, body and soul.

And since negotiation required actual talking, it was best I go it alone. Judging from the marks on Dimitri last night, he hadn’t exactly sat down for a cup of coffee with the man. The last thing we needed was for the two of them to go at it again. And Grandma? She had the people skills of Genghis Khan.

My hair brushed my shoulders as I gave it a final toss and a coat of finishing spray.

“Pirate, you stay here and don’t open the door for anybody, okay?” I hoped no one would bother a twelve-pound Jack Russell terrier.

I kissed my dog good-bye and checked the door locks twice before I headed out.

As if locks would stop them.

The Paradise felt eerily quiet. I’d half expected to see Grandma sending out concierge Skeeps in the hallway or tracking demons down in the lobby, but she was nowhere to be found. In fact, I hadn’t seen Grandma all day—or Dimitri.

I took a deep breath as I stepped out into the warm desert night. Groups of tourists, some dressed for the evening, some still in shorts, streamed past. Traffic jammed The Strip, and I could detect a faint trace of sulfur in the air. Something was going down.

Okay. I smoothed my dress. I could handle it. Probably. Times like these, I wished there were more than three Demon Slayer Truths. Look to the Outside. Accept the Universe. Sacrifice Yourself . Maybe they should add, Watch Your Back . Because, really, that’s the only thing I could do until this shadow of a threat decided to reveal itself.

When it did, it was my job to get the hunter on our side.

According to Officer Sid Fuzzlebump, the hunter frequented Pure, a popular night spot at Caesar’s Palace. As I walked through the tall glass doors of the club, I caught a flicker of the supernatural. It didn’t even try to hide. My breath quickened and my palms began to sweat.

Pure billed itself as “two floors of decadence,” which didn’t even begin to cover it. Blue and green lights splashed over a backdrop of white, ivory, cream and silver. Toned, expensively perfumed twenty-somethings graced lush, oversized beds and flitted between towering columns and flowing white curtains. A hip-hop mix thumped with a heavy bass dance beat. Bodies bumped and ground against each other, both on and off the dance floor. I opened my mind and let my senses spread like invisible fingers throughout the opulent space.

How far would I be willing to go to get my friends out of Vegas? With any luck, I wouldn’t have to find out.

The hunter wasn’t obvious among the partyers on the main level and immense terrace above. It didn’t mean he wasn’t here. As I made my way through the crowd on the main level, two polished businessman-types toasted me while hunkering over a low, candle-strewn table. I straightened my spine and felt my skin flush. I should be offended. I wanted to be. But, frankly, I found the attention as flattering as it was shocking. I’d never been the kind of girl to draw stares. Of course, I’d never been to a place like this, either.

I found myself inexplicably lured to the long, curving bar, backlit with frosted white glass. Odd, because I didn’t really drink. If anything, I should make a lap of the bar until I found my quarry, or at least determined the best place to hold to the shadows and wait. But something was about to happen here.

Fighting the urge to glance behind me, I squeezed in next to an ordinary-looking man wearing a gray dress shirt and cuff links shaped like old-fashioned water faucets. The one near me said, “cold.” I’d bet the other side said, “hot.” I resisted the urge to compliment him on them. Who knew what constituted flirting? Not me.

Lights from the dance floor echoed off the white and chrome bar—green, white, blue—they pulsed to the beat of the never-ending dance track.

The bartender—who wasn’t quite human—rattled a martini shaker, his eyes fixed on a point above the flowing curtains covering the back exit. He topped out at around seven feet, and if I wasn’t mistaken, seemed to be of Hawaiian or Polynesian descent. I followed his gaze, and when I didn’t detect anything strange, used his distraction as an opportunity to focus on the odd slant of his ears, and was that a five o’clock shadow… on his forehead? I couldn’t quite tell in the dim light of the club. He felt smoky , not demonic. Not exactly friendly, either.

He caught me watching, and I managed a smile. Eyes narrowing, he thunked a Long Island Iced Tea down in front of the hot/cold man and bypassed me for a patron at the other end of the bar. Just as well. I wasn’t here to drink.

The party girl on the other side of me squealed at something her date had said, nudging her bare tanned back against me. I was about to put some space between us when the man on my other side stiffened.

A pale, bony woman in a shimmering silver gown trailed her arm across his shoulders and glided into place on the other side of him. Gauzy hair wisped about her face and her entire body seemed to glow around the edges. Her features were as frighteningly regular as a plastic doll’s. Seduction hung heavy in the air, along with unmistakable, infectious evil.

Succubus. I reached for my switch stars and felt them warm against my hand. Every instinct I had screamed at me to bury one in her chest. And I would—if she attacked. Problem was, if I struck, I’d be announcing my presence to every demon in Vegas. That’s the trouble with slayer powers—they’re like a bomb going off.

Add that to the two demons approaching outside, and one in the parking garage next door. I didn’t want to reveal myself unless I had to.

The man groaned, arching like a cat, as she fed off the briefest contact. What would she do when she really got going?