Angie Fox - ADS 01 - The Accidental Demon Slayer

Dimitri’s warm hand seized mine and pulled me away from the crowd, toward the pinball machines. His dark eyes studied me. “I’m serious. I need to talk to you.” His fingers rubbed at the sensitive spot between my thumb and my forefinger. “Leave your bedroom window open.”

Well, when he put it that way…“No.”

“Do it,” he said under his breath as Grandma hurried toward us, her posse in pursuit.

I stared up at the massive hunk of man in front of me. “I’ll open my window when you come clean about who you are and why you think you’re my protector.” In the meantime, he could stay outside with the troll hitmen, the demons and maybe a few regular old criminals.

“Thank you, Dimitri,” Grandma said, attempting to sidle between us. “But I think your services are no long er needed.”

He refused to budge.

“Good-bye, Dimitri,” Grandma said, irritation tingeing her voice.

The corners of his mouth tugged into a devilish grin.

He reached down and kissed me, a brief brush of the lips. But still, I felt him shudder, or maybe that was me.

It was over before I knew it. Heck, it was enough, with everyone watching. But he didn’t stop there. I went rigid with astonishment as he came back for more. He ran his thumb along my chin, tilting my head back for a kiss that sent molten heat coursing through my body. Claimed. In front of everyone. A wicked heat wound through my body, along with a little hum of pleasure. My first touch of goodness in a horrid night. That jarred me back to reality and I broke away.

What a presumptuous, forward, ungentlemanly— “Jerk,” I whispered.

His eyes burned. “You win,” he said, his lips inches from mine. “I’ll tell you everything. Tonight.”

I touched my hand to my mouth as he pulled away. His mouth curved into a predatory smile.

Dimitri ignored the gaping crowd of bikers, except for one. He nodded to a tall, bald fellow with a Ride Like You Stole It tattoo before he turned his broad back and strode out into the night.

“I declare,” Crazy Frieda checked out my bloodied arms. “Lizzie Brown, you look like you picked a fight with a briar patch.”

At least she was kind enough not to mention Dimitri’s kiss. I didn’t know what to think, much less how to explain it to anyone else. He’d been gone ten minutes and I still found myself stealing glances at the door.

Don’t trust Dimitri , I warned myself. Don’t trust Dimitri . Maybe I should write it on my hand so I wouldn’t forget.

“You okay?” Frieda cocked her head. Geez, it was like she was the biker reincarnation of Flo from Mel’s Diner. Or maybe I’d watched too much Alice as a kid. “You don’t look so good.”

Said the woman whose fashion choices included a paisley dog collar and a canary blonde bouffant. The rhinestones on her lashes sparkled in the glow of a neon tribute to Milwaukee’s Best. I did feel rotten, though. The few hours of sleep in the car had been a tease. Even then, I’d slept with one ear open, waiting to hear if Grandma confronted Dimitri. I still didn’t know why he wanted to help us. I didn’t trust him, even if his kiss made my toes curl.

“I need to talk to my grandmother,” I said to Frieda.

“You will, sweetie,” Frieda’s white plastic hoop earrings dangled practically to her shoulders. “But first I’m gonna help you out.”

Well, what would it hurt? Ant Eater had Grandma in a headlock and didn’t look like she’d be letting go anytime soon. Pirate was perched on the bar, sharing a basket of popcorn with Betty Two Sticks. I followed Frieda to the back.

It irked me to admit it, but Dimitri was right about one thing. I needed to learn more about Grandma’s past. There hadn’t been time before. Now that I was officially hiding out with the Red Skulls, I deserved to know if Grandma had killed someone, and exactly what the members of her coven had done that kept them on the run for thirty years.

Frieda led me to a door marked EMPLOYEES ONLY. “How long have you known my grandma?” I asked. And is she a murderer? I wanted to add.

“Oh, sweetie, I’ve known Gertie since before you were born.” She held the door open for me, and I snuck one last look at Grandma. I could barely see her flowing gray hair behind a crowd of bikers. I’d never had that many friends in my life, much less in one room. And the kicker was, Grandma had to be feeling as bad—or worse—than me. My back throbbed, my legs ached. I plucked at my muddied khakis. They were starting to dry stiff and smelly.

“Now, stop that,” Frieda said, patting at my arms. “Don’t you worry your pretty little head. Come along and we’ll get you cleaned up.”

We passed through a small industrial kitchen and up a narrow, back staircase. Sticky booze residue clung to the concrete floor. The place smelled like pork rinds and beer.

“Too bad you missed dinner,” Frieda said, the heels of her boots echoing on the hollow stairs. She stopped abruptly and I nearly ran into her. “Skunk surprise.” She rubbed a manicured hand over her almost flat tummy. “We don’t hardly get it, but when we bag one or two, it’s certainly a surprise. Phew! You hungry?”

“No,” I snapped. “I mean, no thanks. My stomach is still pretty shaken from the ride over here.”

Frieda lit a cigarette and the smoky fumes poured into the claustrophobic space between us. The rhinestones on her cotton candy pink nails flickered along with the bare bulb dangling above our heads. “At any rate, we set fire to the Beast Feast as soon as we heard you were coming. Like I could eat another thing. But you’re gonna love it.”

The smoke burned my lungs. “Beast Feast?” I choked. My mind raced back to the etiquette classes Hillary had forced me to take. I scrambled for a polite—or heck, less than utterly offensive—way to decline. But in no way, no how, no universe was I ready for a heaping helping of roadkill surprise.

Frieda took a long drag off her cigarette and blew the smoke out her nose. “Don’t fret if anybody nods off,” she said, a few smoke curls lingering above her pink-glossed lips. “We’re used to turning in by ten o’clock or so.”

“Why tonight? You don’t need to be staying up for my sake.” I’d never be able to have a real discussion with Grandma in the middle of a party, even if I could talk my way out of a plate full of skunk flambé. Besides, my head hurt. It was after midnight. I needed to get some answers and get my aching butt into bed.

Frieda’s eyebrows shot up and practically collided with her poofy bangs. “Oh, honey, it has to be tonight. We can’t offer you our protection until we complete the Covenant Rite. Besides, you don’t want to miss the Beast Feast reception after the ceremony. Possum pâté, rotisserie raccoon…” she said, like she was rattling off the courses at a four-star restaurant. “We’ve got a squirrel cacciatore that’ll make your head spin. Now chop chop.” She clapped her hands together as best she could with a cigarette dangling between two fingers.

Frieda led me down a narrow hallway. Well-traveled photos lined the bare plywood walls, jammed into place with silver thumbtacks. Most had been folded at one time. Two, often four creases marred the images.

Frieda kissed her hand and plastered it over a gnarled photo of a bald man with a thick, braided beard. Humor sparked from his heavy lidded eyes and he had the look about him, like he was getting ready to tell a whopper of a story. Frieda didn’t say who he was. She sashayed down the hall, her silver bracelets clinking, all the while humming “Love in an Elevator.”

She knocked twice on the wall outside a doorway draped with a yellow, flowered sheet. “Bathroom’s clear.” She pulled the makeshift door aside to reveal an industrial shower. It didn’t have a curtain, no real floor even. The water drained into a metal pipe that pushed up about an inch out of the concrete floor. “Don’t dawdle.” She treated me to a conspiratorial smile. “I was supposed to take you straight into the hole.”