Angie Fox - The Dangerous Book for Demon Slayers

“Fan-frickin’-tastic,” I said, panic rising, water from the tickets dripping off my elbows. “I’m glad that works for you. But let me ask you one very, very important thing—how is that going to help me?”

Grandma’s eyes darted toward the doorway and I followed her gaze just in time to see Dimitri, my strong-as-sin boyfriend, lean up against the doorframe, his large hand wrapped around a steaming mug of coffee. He raised a brow. “Is there a problem in here?” He ran a rough hand through his tousled hair and my body warmed as I remembered exactly how it had gotten that way.

Dimitri couldn’t help—not with this. He’d already taught me what he could. Grandma was supposed to be my true mentor, the family member I needed to fulfill my heritage, grow stronger, avoid demon-slaying violations.

She gave Dimitri the stink eye. The man was six feet of raw Mediterranean heat and power. He also happened to be a shape-shifting griffin and—don’t ask me why—witches loved griffins. Well, every witch except Grandma. She popped open her claw-shaped pinkie ring.

“We don’t have time for this,” I told her as a skunk-like scent filled the air.

Naturally, she didn’t listen. Grandma dashed a fine yellow powder at Dimitri. “ Superio casuico retractum !”

Dimitri had the nerve to be amused. He crossed his arms over his chest and challenge shone in his eyes. “Even if it shrank, it’d still be quite formidable.”

I didn’t want to know. “Can we get back on topic here?” I asked.

“Aw, for the love of…” Grandma rushed over to the stove and yanked the lid off the pot. Steam billowed out as she poked at the eggs with a fork. “Dammit. They’re overcooked.”

“We don’t have time for breakfast anyway,” Dimitri said. “I’ve got the witches lining up. Except for about ten stubborn souls, everyone’s relatively cognizant. We need to get moving. Lizzie, your dog wants to ride with Crazy Frieda.” He must have seen my spirit deflate, because he winked and added, “She’s been slipping him beef jerky.”

It did make me feel a bit better. Pirate tended to think with his stomach.

My fingers went to the emerald pendant Dimitri had given me. “Why didn’t you tell me about the Demon Slayer Licensing Exam?”

“Exam?” He seemed genuinely puzzled. Well of course he didn’t know. How could he?

How could I?

Dimitri eliminated the space between us and folded me into his arms. I closed my eyes, letting his warmth wash over me.

“We’ll worry about it later,” he said, kissing me on the top of the head. “You can’t plan everything.”

No, but I could sure try.

He gave me a squeeze. “I’m going to unlodge the Defiance road captain from under the pool table so I can thank him for his hospitality. You two, be out in ten.”

“Fine,” I snapped, suddenly cold and royally annoyed that he had everything under control. As always.

Meanwhile, the all-powerful demon slayer didn’t know what she was doing. “How am I supposed to pass this test?”

Grandma brushed past me, dumping the ruined eggs onto a platter, presumably for the bikers who were too hung over to know better.

“You won’t pass the test,” Grandma said, sliding the platter into the fridge. “Forget about it. We’ll head to Vegas. You’ll be in and out before they even know you’re there.”

“I think they know I’m here already.” I clutched the sorry-looking tickets until even more water dripped out. “What am I going to do?”

Grandma eyed the garbage disposal.

“Except that,” I said.

I didn’t have money for a bunch of fines, even if the instructions to pay hadn’t been recently pulverized. My eye caught a particularly troublesome line: All unlicensed demon slaying activity, must cease, or … I gulped. “They’re going to shoot me on sight?”

Grandma pried a pair of silver-framed reading glasses from the back pocket of her skinny jeans. Rhinestone clusters in the corners twinkled as she peered at the death threat. “Oh, yeah. I forgot about that part. Maybe you do need to get your license.”

That afternoon, I stood in line at the Greater Nevada Department of Intramagical Procedures (DIP) office, about a half hour outside of Las Vegas. We didn’t have time for me to get caught standing in line to fill out forms to get permission to stand in a different line. Then again, I didn’t want to get shot, either.

I’d changed into one of my new demon slayer outfits—black leather pants and a sleek lavender corset top. The top was a nod to the purple prairie flower, the symbol of my demon slayer line. Told you I was a planner.

I wiped a smudge of axle grease from my wrist. I didn’t know what I was going to do if I didn’t pass their exam.

DIP officials had enchanted the office to look like a dry cleaner’s from the outside. Inside, I’d immediately gotten flashbacks to my last visit to the DMV. The air smelled like metal folding chairs and industrial cleaner. The entire facility consisted of one room, done in gray, beige and more gray, with a plastic desk that ran along the back. A few magical posters dotted the walls. Safe Shifting Is Everyone’s Responsibility. Don’t Jinx Yourself: Alcohol and Witchcraft Do Not Mix .

A burst of Harleys thundered past, rattling the glass doors behind me. Leave it to the Red Skulls to be having fun.

I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. If only I’d had time to prepare. I didn’t even like to go to Target without a typed list.

A few manuals sagged in a brochure stand. Most of them had to do with basic witchcraft. Nothing for demon slayers. It figured. We were rare. It had taken Dimitri years to find me when he’d needed me. I didn’t even know where I’d look for another one of my kind. In a world where everybody tries to stand out and be special, what no one really thinks about is how lonely it can get, especially when the pressure is on.

I focused on deep, even breathing as I clutched my Demonic Licensing Exam paperwork.

“Now that’s just wonky,” said the round-faced witch behind me. The wooden beads on her dress clacked together, and one of her blonde dreadlocks tickled my neck as she checked out the official forms I’d brought. She huffed like a steam engine. “You think they could have called it the Demonic Slayer Licensing Exam.” She looked me up and down with a critical eye. “You are one of the good guys, right?”

A doe-eyed woman behind her took a step toward the door and nearly ran into the large, woodsy-looking fellow at the end of the line. Yeah, well with the Red Skulls popping wheelies in the parking lot, she and the mountain man were much safer inside.

“I am most definitely one of the good guys,” I said, folding my wad of paperwork and stuffing it into my black leather utility belt. I never hurt anybody, except for a homicidal werewolf and a fifth-level demon, but that was self-defense.

She sized me up before evidently deciding to give me the benefit of the doubt. “I’ve been here three times for my Express Voodoo License. ‘Cause you know folks these days can barely wait to microwave a burrito at the Quick Trip, much less hang around for a full-fledged magical incantation. I would have passed the first time, but I keep getting the old Dragon Lady.” She pointed a long, gold fingernail at a five-foot-nothing Vietnamese woman with poufy black hair and wide glasses straight out of the ‘70s.

The Dragon Lady’s plain beige uniform didn’t have a wrinkle on it, not even at the matching cloth belt. She stood ramrod stiff and blended with chameleon-like precision into the colorless office. Even the other workers gave her a wide berth.