Angie Fox - The Dangerous Book for Demon Slayers

Dimitri wasn’t pleased. He retrieved the object and held it up between his thumb and pointer finger—a shard of barbed wire.

I winced.

“Open ground, Lizzie,” he said as if I should have listened better, which I should have.

“Oh, wow, I’m really sorry, Sid,” I said to the fairy, who was busy shaking another barb out of the other pant leg.

He shot me a dirty look. “Gee, thanks. Now the barbs in my underwear don’t hurt so much. Maybe next time, you can summon me over a pile of broken glass or maybe a vat of used hypodermic needles.”

“I didn’t realize open ground meant—”

“Save it. What do you want?”

Dimitri towered over the fairy’s squat frame. “We need you to take us to the Red Skulls.”

“Already?” Sid riffled a chink of barbed wire out of his wiry black hair, sighed heavily and dug his cell phone from his back pocket.

“What?” I asked. “You’re going to call them?”

He shot me a stink eye. “Unless you want to saddle up your dog, I need transportation.” He spoke with Gossamer Cab Dispatch and a cab pulled up within minutes. The door swung open and out slid a pudgy, muumuu-wearing fairy with stacked red hair and way too much blue eye shadow.

“You look like shit, Fuzzlebump.” She nodded at Sid, ignoring us.

I wasn’t sure how I felt about another fairy along for the ride. Luckily, I didn’t have to worry long. With a loud pop, the red-haired fairy morphed into a firefly. Her empty dress floated to the ground as she fluttered off into the night.

Sid wadded up the dress and stuffed it in the backseat. He looked back over his shoulder, his round bottom holding open the cab door. “What?”

“Nothing,” I muttered, heading for my bike. Dimitri, blast him, had climbed onto the front seat of my bike. Why did men always have to drive? But my heart softened when I saw he’d harnessed Pirate onto his chest. I had a thing for men who wore baby carriers, especially when this one happened to hold my dog.

“Hey, Lizzie.” Pirate’s legs pawed at the handlebars on my bike. “I got taller.”

Hitching my leg over the rear of the bike, I settled up against Dimitri’s firm backside. There were worse ways to travel. I slid my hands up under his leather jacket and around the waist of his Levis. For the first time, he felt cold. I shoved myself against him and for the first time since we’d been in Vegas, didn’t feel my energy seeping away. I didn’t know what had changed, but I knew it was bad.

Sid Fuzzlebump drove like a fairy possessed. He flew down Highway 95, weaving in and out of traffic with otherworldly precision. Served me right for hacking him off, although I had a feeling Sid would be no ray of sunshine in even the best circumstances.

Dimitri took to the shoulder to stay with Sid, which made for a teeth-rattling ride. It’s like the man tried to hit every pothole and anthill.

We drove at butt-numbing speeds, veering off the highway and onto a series of smaller roads. Finally, we ended up on a dirt path leading to—according to the beat-up wooden sign—Rancho Verde. I’d believe it when I saw it.

The bike lurched and jarred behind Sid’s aquamarine cab. And, phew, there was no escape from the massive dust cloud Sid’s cab hurled at us. From the slight cotton-candy taste, I’d say he’d made it as large as he could. I closed my eyes against the grit and buried my head against Dimitri’s back.

The bike jerked to a stop outside a series of rough wooden buildings. Moonshine Bart’s Old West Town lay straight ahead, dark and silent. The Critter Corner Petting Zoo, lit with red and white holiday lights, veered off to the right, past a wooden bridge that looked like it belonged on a playground.

I yanked off my helmet. “Are you serious, Sid?”

The fairy leaned his head out the window, “Past the petting zoo and the Wild West restaurant.”

Dimitri wrapped my hand in his. “Come on.”

Pirate struggled against his doggie carrier as we jogged past clucking chickens, the fattest pig I’d ever seen, and an armadillo. Some zoo. Off a side path, we saw light coming from a series of low-slung wooden cabins. Horses whinnied in a pasture behind them. Other than that, I couldn’t see much—except a certain witch barreling toward us, her flashlight bobbing in the dark. Ant Eater. She’d tried to kick my butt on several occasions—and nearly succeeded. That was before I drew a demon attack on the coven. Not that it was my fault, but coolheaded logic was not one of Ant Eater’s strong suits.

“Before you say it—” I didn’t have time to deal with her WWE people skills.

She lobbed the flashlight at my head and frowned when it whistled past my ear. “What the hell do you want?”

I swallowed down my annoyance and tried to look at the bright side. At least she hadn’t kicked me in the shins. “I need to see my grandma.”

She looked at me like I’d told her I wanted to eat the woman. “Screw you. She’s busy.”

Prickles ran from my marked hand up my arm. I found it easier and easier to feel the power from the mark. Not good.

“Can you just tell Grandma we’re here?” I asked, fighting the urge to rub my hand up and down my leg.

Ant Eater planted her hands on her hips, her wide face twisting into a sneer. “You got about ten seconds to run—not walk— run back to your bike or I’m spelling your skinny ass to West Texas before this place blows up, too.”

“You listen to me,” I said, my finger bouncing against something hard and fluttery. I shoved it back at Ant Eater and she jumped sideways. That jerk had tried to sneak-spell me.

Quicker than I’d ever moved, I grabbed her hands and pinned them behind her. “Don’t.” I tightened my grip. “Screw. With. The demon slayer.” I twisted her pinkie fingers, in case she hadn’t quite gotten the point.

Ant Eater groaned. “Son of a bitch,” she gasped. “Your left ball finally dropped.” She flicked her head at the dirt path behind her. “Go.”

I eased up and she stepped back, shaking out her hands, her eyes lingering on my devil’s mark. “Third cabin from the right. Your grandma’s brewing up some stealth technology in the bathtub.”

I nodded. The tingling had grown worse, like my entire arm had fallen asleep. Dimitri fitted his hand into the small of my back. I could tell he sensed something was up. Bless him for letting me handle it my way. Together, we made our way toward the cabins.

“Another thing,” Ant Eater hollered, still flexing her fingers. “Don’t touch the door frame.”

Of course not.

Since I knew better than to ask questions that I really didn’t want answered, I made my way to see Grandma.

I opened the door to a third-rate hotel room decorated in contemporary biker witch. Silver thumbtacks bit into the brown paneling on the walls, supporting long swaths of dental floss that crisscrossed the room like party lights. The floss sagged with the remains of a colorful quilt, butchered into long strips, hanging in jagged rainbows, dripping, well, who knew what. The place reeked of mildew and cherry Kool-Aid.

Covering my head, I ducked under the wilting jangle of sorcery and went to find Grandma.

It wasn’t hard. I could hear her singing a Prince song from the bathroom.

“Grandma?” I desperately hoped we weren’t walking into a Pretty Woman moment.

I exchanged a glance with Dimitri. His green eyes twinkled as he dodged a low-hanging string. Leave it to Dimitri to be amused.

Not to mention my dog. “Pirate, stop dancing.”

Grandma began humming the melody and I heard something else—growling.

She’d better not have summoned any creatures in there. “Grandma.” I banged on the door, leaping sideways as a scalding drip caught me right in the forehead. “Son of a mother!”