Angie Fox - The Dangerous Book for Demon Slayers

These bureaucrats were insane. “You think it’s easier to ignore thirteen demons than it is to deal with them?”

His cheeks colored. “I don’t make the rules. I follow them. But it is true. I don’t know how we’d uproot the demons. To tell you the truth, I’m not sure the American public would want us to. They lend a certain air of unpredictability. What happens in Vegas…” He cleared his throat. “Anyhow, I’m certain you’re aware of this,” he said in a tone that suggested the opposite. “As a demon slayer, you can sense how many are in a single location.”

I wasn’t following.

“You can get a head count if you will.”

“Okay,” I said, unwilling to admit that was news to me. Then again, I’d never been in the presence of multiple demons. And of course telling me in advance wouldn’t help me to prepare because—let’s face it—I had no idea what I was doing.

“We’d prefer that you not contact any of the Greater Nevada Magical Governing Departments while you’re in Las Vegas. We’d rather not be involved if things get messy.”

“Oh sure.” Scary thing was I was used to this kind of thing. Be a good little demon slayer and help us out while we leave you high and dry . If I had a switch star for every time…

Well, unfortunately, I did.

Reynolds delivered a wan smile. Yeah, he knew what I was thinking.

“We’ll send a plainclothes representative to you. One of the fairies.”

I have to admit I lit up at that. I’d never known fairies existed, much less met one.

He smoothed his short gray hair. “If you’d be so kind as to tell us how bad the problem has gotten,” he said, sliding open the top drawer of his desk, “I’ll let you keep this, ahem, guide until your next exam. You can study up,” he said as he flipped through the official DIP Guide to the Demonic Licensing Exam, Volume 3 .

Guide? This was an antique, done in purple mimeo type. I picked it up and flipped through the yellowed pages. “Is this your latest version?” I asked. “There’s a diagram of a garter belt switch star holder in here.”

Officer Reynolds had the decency to look embarrassed. “The book was printed the last time we had a slayer in town. A pair of them, actually—back in 1936. After that?” He shrugged.

Yeah, yeah. I knew. Everybody wanted a demon slayer—nobody wanted to train one.

I knew there weren’t a lot of us out there, but, “Why is there no updated instruction book?” I asked. “How is it you have printed pamphlets out in the lobby for basic witchcraft, exorcism”—Reynolds snorted, but I kept going—”Heck, the library stocks spell books. Ever heard of Divination for Dummies ? I have. Then there’s Voodoo for Dummies, Druids for Dummies, Alternative Magick for Dummies . I can learn how to brew up “protective” bath bubbles, but when it comes to saving people from the scourge of hell, I have to wing it?”

He raised a finger. “You don’t wing it,” he said, the lines on his face deepening. “You listen to your instructor.”

If I’d listened to my instructor, I’d be in Vegas right now, probably being ambushed by about a dozen she-demons. We’d almost messed up. Bad.

I was tired of taking chances.

I always had a plan—except when we ran into scary magical creatures that wanted to kill us. No more. I was going to take control. I’d start a diary. No, a guide. I’d seen The Dangerous Book for Boys in every store from Mississippi to here. I’d create my own manual. The Dangerous Book for Demon Slayers .

In it, I’d record everything I knew (not much) and start filling in the gaps from there. The more I thought about it, the giddier I became. I could study how fast and far switch stars could go. There could be a whole section on magical creatures, forbidden and otherwise. I could make modifications to my utility belt, starting with the critter that lived in the back and liked to chew holes in my nightshirts. I could find other slayers. I knew we were rare, but it was all the more reason to stick together. When we supported each other, demon slayers across the world could fight harder, be more efficient.

I could control my life and my destiny — one color-coded binder at a time .

The 1936 handbook would offer a decent start. I flipped through the old book. Sure, I could probably lose the section on demonic jazz clubs and demon activity at the dedication of Boulder Dam. Maybe keep parts on how imps had been trained to drive cars. I hadn’t realized they were so smart.

I squinted. Lo and behold. “Are these recipes in the back?”

“Don’t let the outmoded wording fool you. There’s some good information in there.” He hesitated. “I know you’re desperate.”

“Look, I might not be able to levitate—” and maybe I’d seemed a bit frantic when I thought they were going to refuse to let me into town…

His smile was grim. “You’re bringing a griffin into Las Vegas. I know you’re desperate.”

“Never mind how you know about Dimitri,” because somebody was certainly a snitch, “but why shouldn’t I bring a griffin into Las Vegas?” As far as I could see, my strong, steady boyfriend was my best shot at getting out of there alive.

“Griffins are of the sun, the light. Energy, power flows from them.”

He had that right. My body warmed just thinking of Dimitri.

Officer Reynolds leaned across his desk, hands clasped, his expression somber. “Griffins are a succubus’s favorite snack.”

My heart slammed in my throat.

Dimitri had done it again. Maybe it was a griffin trait. I wanted to understand, but I couldn’t help it—it drove me crazy every time he’d run off and try to solve everything himself. It usually involved sacrificing himself for what he perceived to be the good of the group. He had no right to do it, especially when he didn’t even have the decency to tell me where he was going.

Reynolds looked at me like he was seeing me for the first time. “Ahh, so you’re not bringing a griffin into the city to act as a sort of locator beacon?”

“Stop it,” I said. I didn’t know what Officer Reynolds was, but enough was enough. “Why would anyone use a person like a locator beacon?” That’s horrible , I thought. On purpose. To test him.

At least Reynolds had the decency to look embarrassed. “It used to be standard practice. Griffins can even fight succubi, for a while. Surely you know the story about the two griffin clans that defended London back in 932 AD? The ones honored on the London coat of arms?” He shook his head. “Never mind.”

“Do griffins know about this? What succubi can do to them?”

“Of course. Griffins avoid them at all costs.”

Except my griffin.

Forget the succubi—I was going to kill Dimitri myself.

I stormed out of the DIP office, a Demon Slayer Learner’s Permit in my back pocket and fire in my eyes. Dimitri had a lot of nerve to put himself at risk without telling me. Sure, I wanted to help my Uncle Phil, but not at the expense of the man I think I might love. Not that I was in the mood for any romantic confessions. Right now, I’d just as soon chuck Dimitri off the Dragon Lady’s ladder as kiss him.

Biker witches jammed the parking lot roasting weenies and burning rubber. Some joker was playing Van Halen’s Runnin’ with the Devil on a boom box. I didn’t see Dimitri right away. If we wanted to work together—heck, if we wanted to be together, he’d better start leveling with me.

Pirate, my Jack Russell terrier shot out of the crowd like a miniature thunder clap. “Lizzie!”

Ever since I’d grown into my powers as a demon slayer, I could hear my terrier talk—and talk and talk.