Angie Fox - ADS 01 - The Accidental Demon Slayer

“Your grandma likes to do things up nice.” She stepped back. “There.”

“Frieda,” Grandma warned.

Frieda slipped back into place next to me. Grandma snuffed the fire under the large pot. A tall, red-haired witch with ruby rings on her pinkie fingers rushed forward with a large platter. It held a crystal goblet with handles on the sides. Grandma ladled a portion of boiling liquid into the cup. It steamed with the heat. The amber liquid continued to boil for a few minutes, sending up chunks of what looked to be meat. Roadkill and crystal. How very…them.

I couldn’t drink that.

I locked my knees with dread and wondered how I could possibly get out of it.

Grandma held out the cup to the group. “As we drink, we are one.” She inhaled the vapors above the goblet and took the first sip.

Frieda went next. She accepted the cup from Grandma and brought it to her lips. Ugh. The chunks looked even bigger up close, with bits of membrane and who knows what floating around.

I wanted to hug Frieda when she passed the cup to the witch on the other side of her. I scratched at my steamy leather pants. She calmly watched the other witches drink from the goblet.

This ceremonial stuff might be no sweat to her. For all I knew, she did this every Saturday night. I didn’t. I’d had enough excitement for one day—battling a demon, meeting my mysterious protector and joining a coven of witches. Now was not the time to quaff down a goblet of roadkill surprise. I appreciated what these people were doing for me. And of course I would never do anything to offend them or dishonor their traditions. At the same time, I had my limits.

When the cup came to me, I forced myself to take it. Heat radiated from the swirling brew. I wished it would stop moving. I held my breath and brought it to my lips. The pungent odor of mint rose with the steam.

I can’t. I just can’t .

I tipped the cup, moved my throat and pretended to sip. I felt the group exhale. They’d doubted me too, it seemed. I wiped the excess from my lips and handed the goblet to Grandma, who solemnly drank the remainder.

I wanted to sigh with relief. Maybe now I could be bestowed with my protection and get to bed.

The lights flicked on above us and I suddenly had to squint.

“E-yow,” Frieda threw a hand over her eyes. “I hate when they do that.”

A tangle of voices rose from the crowd. The show had ended, it seemed, and I wasn’t protected.

“Wait a second,” I said, grabbing Frieda’s wrists by the bracelets. “It can’t be over.” It couldn’t be. “What about my protection? Am I covered?” Grandma hadn’t said anything about it during the ceremony, and I certainly hadn’t felt anything magical happen after they sealed the door. “Don’t tell me I had to wear raccoon liver for nothing.”

Frieda giggled. “Relax, honey. You are protected. And just in time. Look, there goes your grandma to meditate.” We watched Grandma break the seal and climb out into the bar above the ceremonial room. “The demon that’s been chasing us, Vald, we think he knows about you.” Frieda shivered. “He’s coming.” Worry flashed across her face before she forced it aside. “But don’t worry. We have you. That potion, it sealed you to us. You don’t have to be alone anymore. You have all our magic working for you.”

My stomach did a backflip. “Potion? You mean the one with the chunks?” I didn’t drink it. Why didn’t I drink it? Because I’m an idiot, that’s why.

“What can I say? We like our squirrel. But that wasn’t the magic ingredient. We use bakki root. Smells like Wrigley’s gum.”

Of all the ways for me to screw this up, this was, well, this was not good. “I’ve never heard of bakki root.” Maybe we could get some more.

It’s magical. Takes forever to grow. Ant Eater is our resident gardener. “Mmmm…it tastes like heaven, doesn’t it? Gives me a bit of a buzz, too.”

I didn’t want to ask, but I had to know. “How hard would it be to make some more?”

Frieda giggled. “Sorry. I am buzzed. Believe you me, I’d die for more, but we used up the whole kit and caboodle on you, dearie.”

Oh no.

She smiled. “Don’t look so upset. You’re worth it! Where are we going to find another long-lost demon slayer sister?”

I didn’t know if they’d want me when they discovered what I’d done.

“Beast Feast!” Sidecar Bob hollered down into the ceremonial room. The witches snuffed the candles and stampeded to the exit in record speed.

“Wait. Hold it!” I fought against the current of the crowd, struggling to reach the remains of the protective stew, growing cold on the portable camp stove.

“Bottoms up!” Ant Eater quaffed the last few drops from the silver pot. She wiped her chin as I screamed, “No!”

“Gotta be quicker than that, sport.” She wiped down the pot with a blue bandanna.

She had no idea what she’d done. There went my protection, my insurance policy against the demon Vald, who—according to Crazy Frieda—was at this very moment on his way to see us. I had to fix this. “Is there any more? What about that bakki root? Did you save any of that?” Please!

She swallowed a minty burp. “ ’Scuse me.” She fanned the air with her hand. “Greedy little cuss, aren’t ya? Well, I hate to break it to you, but when it comes to magic, we don’t keep leftovers.”

Holy hexes.

I had to find Grandma. She’d know what to do, after she kicked me into next Thursday. Why didn’t I just drink the potion?

The thwump, thwump of heavy-metal music blared in the bar above me, accompanied by the whoops and cheers of the coven. I scrambled out of the hole and nearly fell into a cheap, metal-backed chair with a vinyl-padded seat. Every table in the bar had been lined up to form a massive banquet table.

It would have smelled heavenly—roasted potatoes, onions and garlic—if I hadn’t known the other ingredients. The tiny blue-haired witch next to me flopped into the nearest empty place. “Liquid appetizers!” she hollered, as she reached for a pitcher of beer. Two of her friends sidled up, mugs in hand.

A buffet line ten witches deep formed in front of the steaming dishes set out on the bar. Sidecar Bob pulled up to the table with two heaping plates of roadkill surprise. Pirate bounced on his lap, nearly out of his skin with anticipation. “Lizzie! It’s people food! And I have a plate. Lookie there. Food! On a plate. For me! Me! I’ve made it, I tell you. I’ve finally got a seat at the table!”

Sweet squirrels. My stomach rolled over. “That’s roadkill, Priate.”

“Oh, no,” Bob piped in. “We wouldn’t waste roadkill on a banquet. Roadkill’s special magic. It goes straight into a spell jar. This here on the table is hunted meat.”

Okay, that was a relief. But still, Pirate should have been eating his Healthy Lite dog chow. Of course that disappeared off the bike along with my clothes. I watched him eat an entire slice of meat in two bites. Pirate loved to eat. And despite his enormous energy and complete willingness to chase anything that moved, he tended to have weight issues. Pirate peeked up from his plate, took one look at me and started to eat even faster.

Lucky for him, his weight was the least of my concerns now. “Bob, Grandma got out of the pit before I could talk to her. Frieda said she was heading off to meditate. Do you have any idea where she might be?” I ignored his disapproving look. “This is serious,” I said over the thwump, thwump, thwump of the speaker above us. “I have to talk to her before she gets too involved with whatever she does in there.”

Bob sopped up some gravy on a piece of bread and fed it to Pirate. “Listen to this guitar solo,” He closed his eyes and felt the music. “You hear that? That’s Marty Friedman, the old Megadeth axeman. Oh yeah.” He played air guitar against his chest. “Yeet, yeet , yeet!”