Angie Fox - ADS 01 - The Accidental Demon Slayer

Beyond the large picture windows at the back, I could see the ship’s balcony, flanked by a bright red railing. According to the emergency exit map, three floors rose above river level, one below. And of course, we had Ant Eater’s mysterious visitor on the main deck, right above the massive, red water wheel.

A slot machine whirled and chimed, odd since the plug was nowhere near the electrical outlet. Instead it swished like a three-pronged tail. “Two in one day!” The machine’s Lucky 7’s spun around and landed on 7-7-7. “Tell me, young lady. You feelin’ lucky?”

I hoped it was a pre-programmed voice. “Are you talking to me?” Please don’t be possessed. I didn’t have the time.

“Funny you should ask. Nobody’s ever asked me that before. But I tell you, it’s been lonely around here. Just the other day, or was it year? I was—”

Enough. I plucked a freeze spell from behind the roulette wheel and chucked it at Lucky 7. His voice, thank the heavens, groaned to a stop.

I couldn’t believe I was wasting time on this boat when I should have been getting ready for my trip to hell. Or at the very least, I should have been in Dimitri’s bed. If he hadn’t been such a liar. Hell’s bells, I was dumb. I heaved a fistful of betting chips. They clattered on the parquet floors. Everybody needed me for something. For as long as I could remember, Cliff and Hillary needed me to round out their perfect-looking family, like a wall prop with a manicure. Dimitri needed me to end the curse. The witches needed me to stuff a bunch of jars with magical wildlife. Why couldn’t anybody just want me ?

I stomped through the casino and toward the main deck, plucking magic from behind the round Dixie Queen life preservers and under poker tables. I learned to avoid itch spells, got caught up in a few transport spells. I had my suspicions about who planted those, since they always sent me to the men’s john. And eyow—love spells tended to bite. None of it made me feel any better. If anything, by the time I made it to the back of the ship, I felt worse.

The main deck seemed empty. Leave it to Ant Eater to chase phantom strangers. She’d probably lied to keep me off the boat. Really, though—ever since I’d faced down the black souls, I felt pretty good about my odds with the average human. A gooey spell clung to the underside of the huge, red paddlewheel. I leaned under the railing to snag it with my fingers.

“Stop!” A pair of shiny red pumps clacked across the back deck of the ship.

I snapped upright. Oh my word. My voice dried up as I stared at a cheap imitation of my adoptive mother. The woman wore the same fashionable crimson glasses, as if she’d decided to be Hillary for Halloween. She’d styled her hair into blonde waves, like Hillary. Her gray pantsuit, although not as expensive as Hillary’s (I hoped) accentuated her figure. Unlike my adoptive mom, it looked like this woman could put away a cheeseburger. Still, I noticed an unsettling resemblance, right down to her French-tipped fingernails. A green-and-white flecked choking spell zoomed for her neck.

“Watch out!”

She flicked it away and I watched it land with a plop in the river. “Oh don’t worry,” she said, misjudging my open-mouthed horror, “it can swim.”

I felt my concentration falter. The gooey spell tried to sneak behind me. It’d be heck to catch if it made it under one of the tables. I lunged for it.

“Lizzie, no!”

Terror seized me as I watched my hands disintegrate. There was no pain, only a horrible numbness. Blood poured from my wrists. It too faded, along with my forearms, my elbows, my—oh my God!

“Elizabeth Gertrude Brown! Stop that immediately!”

The spell blew away on the breeze. Bit by bit, like a macabre puzzle, my hands came together again. I swallowed hard and flexed my fingers, trying to get a grip on what had happened.

I stood there for a long moment, stunned.

“I’m sorry I yelled, but you should be immune to those spells. I don’t know what’s gotten into you,” she scolded.

It couldn’t be. “Mom?” I asked shakily, forcing myself to tear my eyes away from my arms and hands. How else would she know my middle name?

A single tear slid down the ruddy blush line on her cheek. “It’s me, baby.”

This was so not the Oprah-style family reunion I’d dreamed of as a kid. I stood slowly, apprehension prickling my spine. “Are you dead?”

She wiped at her cheeks. “Not that I’m aware,” she said, reaching into her pocket, then thinking the best of it. She withdrew her hand slowly.

I froze, every nerve on high alert. The devil takes on many forms .

“How do I know you’re my mom?”

Her expression softened. “Do you still have that strawberry birthmark on the back of your left thigh?”

Cripes. After all these years—how did she get here? And why? “What do you want?” It came out harsher than I’d intended. Blame it on shock, or pure self-preservation.

“You’re leaving with me. Come on,” she said, heels clickety-clacking as she tried to lead me off the main deck.

Say what? I held my ground. “I don’t think so.” She couldn’t just show up after thirty years, from the dead no less, and expect me to start following orders. And what about I missed you, Lizzie. I love you, Lizzie .

I regret abandoning you, Lizzie .

She turned, her hands thrust on her hips. “You have no idea what kind of danger you’re in,” she said, desperation mixed with annoyance.

And she did? “Why are you in such a rush to save me?” I asked. After Xerxes the demon, imps, werewolves, black souls, Harley witches and a lying…whatever Dimitri was, “Why now?” I asked, reaching for my switch stars. I grasped the cool metal handles with my fingers.

“I thought I’d hidden you from this kind of life. These people. And those terrible switch stars. Please stop spinning that.”

“What?” I glanced absently at the switch star on my finger. “Wait. You knew where I was all these years?” When Hillary put me in a fat camp for being five pounds overweight, when I wasn’t allowed to wear jeans, even in the house, when I had to pose at those stupid society picnics when all I wanted to do was run around like a normal kid.

I’d dreamed about this moment—about meeting my birth mom. And it sucked.

“Lizzie,” she said, and held up her hand. “We have to leave. Now.” She made her way toward the pilot house, beckoning me to follow. What? Was she going to try and launch the ship? I could see us now, sailing down the Yazoo, mother and daughter on a bewitched boat.

I followed, mainly to bag a particularly nasty-looking lose your keys spell. I plunked it in the jar. If only we could rid the world of those things. I’d be willing to bet they reproduced like rabbits.

Oh, who was I kidding? I had a question I’d been wanting to ask for decades.

Mom said a few incantations over the door and the lock clicked open.

Now or never. The question burned in the pit of my stomach. “Why did you leave me?” I asked. Please let it be because you loved me .

She paused, doorknob in hand. “We don’t have time for this.”

“We do,” I told her, my voice sounding steadier than I felt. “Because I’m not going anywhere until I get some answers.” No matter how much it hurt. She owed me a heck of a lot more explanations than this one.

She shifted from one sky-high pump to the other, the thick, humid breeze blowing her overstylized hair up in wings around her head. “Lizzie, you have to understand. I gave you up precisely so I’d never find you again. And so these people wouldn’t either. Do you know what they want you to do? Of course you do. You draw those switch stars like a gunfighter. But it’s not fun and games. You could lose your soul.”