Angie Fox - ADS 01 - The Accidental Demon Slayer

“Hole?” My voice caught in my throat.

She gave me the same look she probably used to comfort animals and small children. “It’s nice.” Her voice trailed off. “For a hole.”

Did I want to know? Probably not. It couldn’t be any worse than what I’d already been through. Could it?

I ducked under the wonderfully strong shower and let the hot water pound my aching muscles. What I’d give for a steaming hot chocolate followed by a soft, warm bed. Or a nice, warm man. I groaned. Where had that come from?

Oh, who was I kidding? I grew melty just thinking of Dimitri’s kiss.

He’d given me the kiss of my life right in front of an entire bar full of people, and I’d enjoyed it. I didn’t know what was wrong with me. It’s not like I was into public displays of affection. But I couldn’t get around how heady it felt. I liked a man who knew what he wanted.

Honeysuckle soap sloshed down my body as I lathered my shoulders. It didn’t make any sense. We barely knew each other. It was crazy even to think about him. He was a complete unknown, and besides, I knew he wasn’t quite human. Dimitri had shown up right on the heels of the griffin who’d rescued us. Coincidence? I wouldn’t bet on it. Besides, those eyes of his—I’d have been perfectly fine with green, but orange and yellow? No. I wished I could have remembered what color the griffin’s eyes had been.

Add that to my list of questions for Grandma. I washed my hair twice with a half-full dish-soap bottle labeled Wild Ass Gertie’s Homemade Sage Shampoo . What would Dimitri do if I refused to meet him tonight? Or—my cheeks flushed—what would he do if I did let him climb through my bedroom window?

Yow.

When my sore body had enough, I reached for the ancient towel Frieda had left on the peg next to the door. After being so utterly stinking, dirty, clean felt amazing.

“Hey, babe!”

I about leapt out of my skin as Frieda poked her head past the flowered sheet. “Gertie says you lost your luggage. We’re about the same size, so I put a few of my things on your bed. Third door on the right.”

A draft snuck past Frieda and chilled my damp skin. Oh wow, I hadn’t even thought of my backpack since we threw it in one of the saddlebags on the side of the Harley. I clutched the towel around me. I’d lost everything. My wallet, my credit cards. Every stitch of clothing that wasn’t in my demon-infested house. “I need to make a phone call. If anyone finds my Visa, they can go on the shopping trip of the century.” I hardly used the thing.

“Don’t worry. Gertie cancelled everything.” Frieda took in the expression on my face and shrugged. “We researched your background as soon as we found you. Social security number, credit history, education, criminal background check, any phobias or complications that could endanger the mission. Standard practice.”

How could these people do in-depth background research when they couldn’t even buy a shower door?

Everyone had their priorities, I supposed. Doubt crept into the pit of my stomach. Good thing I trusted Grandma or else I would have been very, very afraid.

Frieda patted her bouffant. The steam from my shower wasn’t doing anything for her hairdo. “I don’t know what Gertie was nattering on about. You talk less than a witness taking the fifth.” She tucked a few stray hairs behind her ears. “But never you mind. Just get dressed. I’m going to go check on the ceremonial whosits and whatnots. We don’t want Niblet to get away.”

Niblet? My fingernails dug into the damp towel.

Focus on what you can control .

I checked to make sure there was no one in the hallway before I tiptoe-ran to my room. At least this one had a door. The space was the size of some people’s walk-in closets, and mostly bare. Nevertheless, I managed to trip over a cardboard box poking into the entryway. I slid it to the side with my foot. A beat-up child’s dresser painted white with gold trim stood by the window.

My new clothes were spread neatly on a mattress on the floor: a pair of tiger-striped black leather pants and an orange tank top with a diamond cutout between the boobs. Lovely. To make matters worse, there was no bra in sight. Instead, Frieda had draped a pair of black underwear across the tank top. The tiny wisp of fabric looked like it was designed to fit a munchkin. I clutched my towel and leaned closer. There was some kind of writing on the panties. I gingerly picked up the underwear by the black ribbons on the sides. Eek. My first thong. The front was embroidered with a dainty announcement in pink, scrolling letters: My vibrator has two wheels .

No way.

No how.

No.

Grandma burst through the door and frowned at my towel-clad body. “Aww! Frieda told me she let you shower. Dang it, Lizzie. We gotta get you to the hole. Now.”

“Oh, I don’t think so,” I said, holding the panties as far away as I could. “Where are my old clothes?”

She threw up her arms like I was the crazy one. “Out in the trash heap, buried under deer guts and various other entrails.”

“I don’t care. Go get them.”

“Fat chance,” she said, meeting my glare head on. “Cripes, Lizzie, stop being dramatic. I know you had a tough day. Hell, I smashed my hog. But these people stayed up to wait for us and now they’re staying up later to give you the mystical protection you need to survive the night. So move your keister.”

Survive the night? Now who was being dramatic?

When I didn’t budge, she sauntered over to inspect the clothes. “This ain’t bad. Be glad she stayed away from the zebra pants. I’ve seen those in action.”

I tossed Grandma the offensive panties that—let’s face it—should have come with a warning label. I didn’t want to know where any of these clothes had been, especially the underwear. This was not me. Of course, neither was going commando, so Grandma had better come up with a solution, or at least some underwear that wasn’t sold with a brown paper wrapper. “There’s not even a bra in here. I wear bras. Most normal women wear bras. And I’m not going to wear someone else’s underwear.”

“So then why are you bitching about a bra?”

“Grandma!”

She hooked the edges of the black underwear under her thumbs and whistled when she held it up to the light. “Isn’t she a beaut? Frieda bought this special in Lubbock. Been saving it for a special occasion.” She pointed the thong at me like a finger. “She must have taken a shine to you or she’d never have gifted you with these jockeys. Don’t you insult her by refusing.”

Oh lord. “But this isn’t me!”

“Newsflash, Lizzie. This isn’t about you.” She dug through the box next to the door. “Here.” She tossed me a plain white sports bra. “Buck up. At least you got to shower.”

That wasn’t the point. “Grandma, listen to me. Before we do anything else, we need to talk.”

“You want answers? You’ll get them.” Hands on her hips, she regarded me like an impatient mother. “This is an important ceremony for everybody. Be downstairs in two minutes or I’m sending the Ant Eater after your ass.”

I struggled into the black leather pants while the thong gave me the wedgie of the century. “Oh yeah, Lizzie,” I muttered to myself. “Leave your home, your job, your family—dysfunctional as it may be. So you can hop on a Harley and follow Grandma Thong to the freak show of the century.” The too-tight sports bra mashed my boobs and showed through the diamond cutout in the orange tank top. Thank goodness. It was certainly better than showing more skin.

Because there was some luck left in the world, the witches had spared my oxfords, stained and smelly as they were. I ignored the wet squish as I slipped my feet into what was supposed to be a pretty comfortable pair of shoes.