Angie Fox - The Dangerous Book for Demon Slayers

“Lizzie!” Dimitri rushed for me, rubbing the acid away with his bare fingers. “Are you okay?”

“Are you?” I asked, trying to get a grip as the pain subsided into a dull throb. “I’m fine,” I said, when I realized he wasn’t going to stop inspecting me.

Dimitri planted a swift kiss on my forehead. “Step back.” He leaned against the old brown door, ready to force it when it flew open on its own.

Grandma stood with a drafting pencil tucked behind her ear and a towel bar under her arm. Chunks of drywall clung to each curved end of the bar. She’d tied reddened quilt strips to her wrists like poor man’s sweatbands and had even fashioned a homemade necklace out of the things. “You’re late,” she said, ushering us into the tiny bathroom with peeling cowboy wallpaper and an extra toilet bowl propped up against a 1970s yellow tub. It had to be at least ten degrees hotter in here—and muggy. I don’t know why we always had to end up in the bathroom.

“Now where are my barriers?” Grandma muttered, digging through the cabinet under the sink. She peered into the bottom of a pink and brown crocheted tissue holder. “I had some dry ones…”

Pirate stuck his head under the sink with Grandma, while I worked my way past their protruding behinds and next to my agile, yet admittedly smushed griffin. He tried to make room for me and accidentally stepped on the furry red tail of a fox. The animal screeched and darted behind a stained wicker trash can.

“Argh.” Grandma handed Dimitri the towel bar and went digging for the fox. “I need the toenails of a happy fox, which is hard enough because foxes hate having their toenails clipped.” She bent down and wrangled the animal into her arms. “That’a boy,” she cooed, stroking the fox. “Yes. You’re all right, Zippy.”

“Zippy?” Pirate tilted his head.

Grandma rubbed her fingers into the downy white fur under the fox’s neck. “Yeah, well the gal who runs this place is a little zippity-do-dah herself. But I ain’t complaining, seeing as the DIP office gave us a place to stay while we clear out some of the gargoyles.”

“Gargoyles?” I instinctively checked the high corners of the bathroom. No gargoyles. Just lots of flaking paint.

“Well, yeah. You can keep a few to ward off the evil spirits, but the things breed like rabbits.” Grandma scratched Zippy under his chin and he started growling again. Or, I supposed, purring. “Believe me, we’re taking our time. The longer this place is shut down, the better. You know how hard it’d be to spot a demon in a Wild West town full of tourists?”

I shuddered to think.

Dimitri inspected the tub. “Mind telling me what you’re brewing, Gertie?” A pale red liquid filled the lower third. In it floated tree bark, some kind of flowers and, I assumed, fox toenails. He dipped a finger into the gunk and held it up to the light, his features clouding as he took stock of Grandma’s scowl.

“No time, Sherlock. We gotta get you protected.” She tucked the fox under her arm and hauled an old trash can full of quilt guts from under the sink.

Dimitri frowned at her back. At least they weren’t fighting.

“Mmm,” Pirate scampered up on his hind legs to see inside the tub. “Smells like strawberries and leafy bits.”

Dimitri removed Pirate gently, while aiming a hard stare at Grandma. “You’d better not be brewing up any Mind Bender spells in here. Even if you could generate enough firepower to bend a demon, you don’t have the equipment or the proper ventilation.”

“I know that.” Grandma shot back. “We almost blew up Scarlet’s cabin trying. That there’s an invisibility spell, so the demons can’t get an aura-lock on the coven.”

She checked the medicine cabinet on the wall. “Well, I don’t see any dry barriers. Bob must’ve used ‘em. Wanted one for every spoke on his wheelchair.” Grandma let the fox curl up on a bed of towels and motioned for us to clear out of the bathroom. “Now hurry up or I might as well paint a big target on your foreheads.”

I touched her arm. The stress of the trip had gotten to her. She had dark circles under her eyes and a fatigue about her that wasn’t there before. “I’m sorry for what happened at the hotel.”

She shrugged. “Past is past,” she said, shoving me out the door. “Truth be told, I didn’t mind you showing a little backbone.”

She led us into the drippy room. “Grab some barriers,” Grandma plucked a handful of sodden quilt strips from a line above her head and shoved them at Dimitri. “The demons won’t be able to detect you until they see you. Tie them at your pulse points, where your blood flows the hottest. Grab extras, as many as you can carry.”

I hoped these things had cooled off a bit. I grabbed the end of a strip and felt like I’d dunked my fingers in a pot of liquid nitrogen. “Son of a daisy eater!” I yanked my hand back. There went my Wicked in Westchester fingernail polish, along with the first layer of skin. Holy hoo-doo. “What did you put in these things?”

Grandma’s lack of reaction betrayed her as much as the flush that crept up her neck. “I used an antidemonic spell.”

“Oh hell.” Fighting not to cringe, I turned my palms up.

Grandma ignored the angry red burns on my fingertips as she gripped my wrist and studied my marked palm. The swirling 6-6-6 had eaten its way deep into my skin, like a heavy scar, the edges still wrinkled and pink.

“You knew about this?” she shot at Dimitri.

The muscles in his jaw worked. “Of course I knew,” he said, his voice clipped. “I stayed with Lizzie.”

“Tell me about the mark,” I said, before this turned into a boxing match. “I’m counting on you to be straight.”

Her fingers bit into mine. “You want straight?” Her blue eyes burned hot and angry. “Here’s straight. What the fuck were you thinking?”

I snatched my hand away. “I didn’t do this.”

Grandma searched my face. “You sure?”

I held my palm over her, daring her to push me. “I think I would know if I chose to absorb demon powers or a devil’s mark or whatever the frick is happening to me.”

She shoved her chin forward, glaring at my upturned palm.

Grandma pursed her lips, blowing a long breath out of her nose. “I can’t believe I’m saying this to my grandbaby.” She shook her head, her anger draining. “I don’t know how or why you did it, but facts are facts. You opened a pathway.”

“There’s no way to prove that,” Dimitri countered. “We don’t know they’ve tagged her.”

Grandma raised a brow. “She reacted to my spell.”

“I’m also invisible to demons now,” I said, remembering the way they couldn’t detect me when they hadn’t seen me in the theater.

Grandma backed off like a doctor after a physical. She reached for a handful of Kool-Aid red quilt strips and scrubbed her hands. “When were you going to tell me about this?”

Like my favorite learn-on-the-job witch was going to tell me anything. Besides, I’d been trying to get her away from me, not involved more.

“Look, we aren’t here for protection.” At least I wasn’t. I glanced over at Dimitri, tying strips of fabric to each of Pirate’s legs. Something inside me fractured a little. I couldn’t even help my dog. “We need to channel Phil.”

“Ha! Is that all?” She tossed the strips onto the bed. “Can’t do it. Not after what happened when we called up Bloody Mary. They can see us,” she snorted, “me, anyway. It’d be suicide.”

Maybe she could teach me. I wouldn’t normally risk it, but we were running out of options here. “The demons are gathering because they have a portal open. They’re planning a power surge tomorrow night.”