Angie Fox - ADS 01 - The Accidental Demon Slayer

“Bob!” I’d tell him where to shove his yeet . “This is a matter of life or death.”

I really hoped I was exaggerating.

“Where’s Grandma?” I asked again.

He hung his head. “Aw, Lizzie. Don’t ask me that. The Cave of Visions is sacred ground.”

“I wouldn’t be asking you if it wasn’t absolutely necessary.” We didn’t have time to haggle. “I mean it, Bob. You’ve gotta trust me on this one.”

Bob rubbed Pirate’s back absently as Pirate climbed halfway onto the table and began to lick his plate clean. “Okay.” He scratched at his arms. “But if she chews out my ass, I’m sending her after you next.”

“My butt is yours.”

Pirate leaned too far over his plate and nearly knocked over Bob’s beer. Bob snatched up his wobbling brew and took a long swallow, watching me.

Pirate sniffed at his empty plate. “I’m sorry. My manners are rusty. I haven’t been using my table manners when I’ve been forced to eat out of a dog bowl.” He sniffed at Bob’s full plate. “You don’t mind, do you?” Pirate started in on Bob’s dinner.

Bob slipped Pirate, and his plate, onto the floor. “Come on,” he wheeled backward, away from the table. “It’s out back. Looks like a cheap storage shed. What the hell am I saying? It is a cheap storage shed. We needed to get her someplace quiet, and this bar didn’t cut it.”

“Thanks.” I patted his shoulder as we wove our way through the crowd toward the back door.

“Lizzie.” He captured my arm. “Don’t go barreling out there. Your grandma’s under guard. Approach slowly. Tell them who you are. Be prepared to prove it. Demons can take on many forms.”

“Right,” I said. I could handle this. I hoped.

The back door clacked on its hinges as I stepped out behind the bar and onto a small patio, crowded with rusting bar chairs. Sheesh. And I thought they’d dumped all their junk into the hole. Crushed beer cans littered the narrow parking lot that led into the alley beside the bar. Tufts of grass and weeds poked up between and around the faded yellow lines. A rusting Camaro sat stranded on concrete blocks.

At the edge of the parking lot, just beyond the Dumpster, stood a plastic storage shed framed by scraggly trees.

Bob nodded to the tall, red-haired witch standing guard. I recognized her from the protection ceremony downstairs. “Go on out. If she can, I’ll bet Gertie will be more than glad to hear what you have to say. If not, well, there’ll be time later.”

Yeah, well maybe. Maybe not.

The chilly night air tore at my hair and whipped the dried leaves and grass into circles. I crunched over a mashed Budweiser can as I made my way to the storage shed. I could see a faint light between the plastic swinging doors and I chose to focus on that, rather than at the hawk-nosed witch standing guard. She hadn’t looked too friendly down in the hole and she looked even less glad to see me now.

“Hi. I need to talk to my grandmother.” When she didn’t move, I added, “It’s a matter of life and death.” How terrible to realize I wasn’t exaggerating at all.

She stood her ground in front of doors imprinted with the word Yardsaver . “Leave,” she said automatically, “or I’ll be forced to have you removed.”

An eerie creek sounded from inside the storage unit. A blast of air shot out between the doors, chilling me to the core.

“What was that?” I smelled sulfur, evil. Oh my word, I hoped Grandma was okay in there. “You’d better check on her,” I told the tall witch. “Grandma?” I hollered. “Do you need me in there?” Like I could help her, I thought automatically. Wait. It was time to get out of that habit. I could help her. Somehow.

The tall witch blocked me. “No, Lizzie,” she said, low and serious. “She’s meditating. No one disturbs her when she’s out of body. It’s dangerous.” Her eyes traveled to a spot over my shoulder. “Ant Eater, see that Lizzie makes it back inside. And keep her there.”

“What? Oh, come on,” I said, as Ant Eater’s grip practically wrung the blood from my right arm. “Ow!” Where had she come from? “Look, I made a mistake. We need to straighten this out,” I said, as Ant Eater practically dragged me back into the bar. “Damn it.” I tried to shake her grip. “Let me go! You don’t understand.” I tugged at the black, spiked bands crisscrossing her wrist. “I screwed up. Royally.”

She dragged me through the back door and bulldozed me against an old-fashioned phone booth. Pain laced through my shoulder blades. I could smell the bakki root on her breath. “Don’t you ever push me, bitch.” She shoved me again, hard. “I don’t care whose grandbaby you are or what you can do. I will fuck you up.”

What the frig was wrong with these people? “Okay, okay,” I said, trying to catch my breath. Her last slam had knocked the wind out of me. “Are you done? We don’t have time for this. I need to talk to Grandma.”

She brought her fist back. Holy schneikies! I braced myself, sure she was going to haul off and hit me.

My salvation came in the form of a blonde bouffanted Frieda waving a roasted leg of…something. “God almighty, E!” Frieda yanked me so hard my arm about stretched out of its socket. “What the hell are you doing?”

Ant Eater stood there with her fist cocked, breathing heavily. “That bitch almost killed Gertie.”

“What?” Frieda exclaimed.

“No!” Never. “I need to talk to Grandma,” I insisted. “This is important. Hugely important. I was trying to explain myself out there when this jerk went all Naomi Campbell on me.”

Frieda glared at Ant Eater. Then she leveled the same contempt at me.

What the heck did I do?

“Come on,” Frieda said as she hustled me out of Ant Eater’s reach. I met at least twenty pairs of eyes as the witches stopped their feast to watch the show. Frieda dragged me through the crowd and back into the kitchen.

Industrial pots bubbled with stews and sauces. A rust-stained sink labored under a mountain of dirty dishes. Bob loaded up a fresh tray of barbequed squirrel while Pirate snatched up every scrap Bob tossed down to him.

“I swear I’m gonna kick some ass!” Frieda dragged me toward the stairs.

“You said it. I can’t believe the way she manhandled me. That woman needs professional help!” I tried to catch Bob’s eye, but he took a sudden interest in his oven mitts.

Frieda dragged me up the stairs. “Lizzie, I love ya. I really do. But if you pull something like that again, I’ll strangle you myself.”

Wait, she was on Ant Eater’s side? “You’ve got to be kidding.”

She pulled me into a room at the end of the hall and slammed the rough, wooden door. Homemade bunk beds lined each wall, with room for little else. Frieda blinked her rhinestone-tipped lashes, fighting for control. “Lizzie. Oh, Lizzie. You could have killed your grandmama tonight.”

I felt myself pale a few shades.

“Sit.” She plopped my butt down onto a saggy mattress and, straightening her back, arranged herself next to me. “When Gertie is in a meditative state, any interruption can be dangerous. Fatal.” She paused to take a breath. “To see into the evil that surrounds us, she needs to draw herself closer than any of us would ever dare. Any breach, any break in her concentration, well—it would be like walking through the ghetto waving a wallet full of fifties. You’re just asking for trouble.”

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I had no idea.”

She patted my hand. “I know, sweetie. Ant Eater does too. She’s an overprotective sort.”

Overprotective like a Mack truck. “How long does Grandma stay in her trances?” I asked.

“A few hours, a few days—however long it takes.” She knitted her brows. “I worry about her. It’s not like she goes out to the shed often, but when she does, she usually prepares. Gathers her strength. Tonight, she ran in there like Rambo. At her age, it’s just not smart.”