Angie Fox - ADS 01 - The Accidental Demon Slayer

A quick online check showed American Airlines had a flight leaving in two hours. We needed to be on it. I hated to fly, but when the alternative was driving four hundred miles with Grandma, a talking terrier, and twenty-seven Smucker’s jars filled with heaven knows what, I was ready to make an exception. Besides, we didn’t need to be out on the open road with demons on our tail.

“What?” Pirate yelped, dropping the Mickey Mouse panties he’d just stolen. “Are you leaving without me? You can’t leave without me. I’m your watchdog. I watch out for you. You need me.”

“I’m not leaving you,” I assured him. “And honestly,” I said, scooping up the panties and tossing them in the direction of the bathroom hamper, “you need to tone down the watchdog shtick.” His face fell and I found myself working hard to recover. “Not that you aren’t great at it. You are. I feel very safe.” At least I used to feel safe. “But you have to learn to pick your battles.”

Pirate blinked twice, seemed shocked at the thought. “What? You don’t think I can handle it?”

With shaking hands, I yanked three pairs of khaki pants from their hangers. “Feel free to protect me from butterflies, the vacuum cleaner, my hair dryer,” I said. “But please. No demons.”

Pirate considered my advice while I folded two pairs of pants and left the third pair out to wear. “I could take a demon.” He twitched his ears, daring me to tell him he couldn’t. “You should have seen me today. I wasted the Phantom Menace. Been after him my whole life. And today—whammo! So don’t tell me I can’t bust a demon. Oh yeah. I can bust a demon.”

I tossed an armful of button-down shirts into the case. “The Phantom Menace is from a Star Wars movie. Not a real person.” Pirate liked to yip at every shadow in the yard.

“He’s real,” Pirate insisted. “I left teeth marks.” He growled and showed me his canines. “Good? Yeah? What about this?” He sprung into a stalking stance and bared his teeth, his whole body shaking. “I’m an animal!”

“And you caught your own shadow.”

“No—a phantom. He flies! Likes to watch over the yard. Bet he’s after my squeaky frog. Today, he tried to give me something gold and shiny. Completely inedible. So I chomped him.”

Technically, Pirate’s rubber toys were supposed to be inedible too. I sighed and wrestled a simple white top off its hanger. Normally, I would have ignored a rant like that. Wait, who was I kidding? Normally, I wouldn’t be having this—or any—conversation with my dog.

Holy hand grenades, I sure hoped Pirate was imagining things. I didn’t want to think of shadowy figures hanging out in my yard. Watching me . To be safe, I said, “Promise me, if you ever see Phantom Menace again, you will not go anywhere near him. Understood?”

Pirate attacked his tail.

I eyed the little beast I’d shared my bed with for the last three years. “Pirate.” I stroked him behind the left ear and he turned to mush in my hands. “Are you listening to me? Remember what we learned in obedience class? A good watchdog also listens.”

“Ahhh…anything you say, Lizzie. Just keep hit-tin’ the sweet spot.” The instant I stopped scratching, he jumped to his feet and began nosing around the semifolded clothes in my suitcase. “You know, we would have passed that class if that sexy Pomeranian hadn’t winked at me. Lost it on that one. Dames.”

“Pirate,” I warned. “Don’t attack any yard spooks. You come get me.” He treated me to the innocent doggy look, but we both knew he wasn’t fooling anybody. I pulled on a pair of khakis and, yanking down my top, plowed through my closet for the comfortable, lace-up shoes I wore at the preschool.

I plunked down on the bed to tie my shoes and while I was there, gave Pirate a quick rub on the head. “Let’s motor. I’m going to try to convince Grandma to head to the airport, but we have to hurry if we’re going to make the next flight to Memphis.” My stomach roiled at the thought. Flying gave me hives, but all I had to do was look out into the driveway and there sat my courage, with chrome wheels and silver flames painted down the sides.

“Give me a frosty Pet-sicle and I’ll tell you where I hid your wedge sandals.” He burrowed between two pillows.

I rolled my eyes and attempted to clip the clasps on my bulging suitcase. “You’d just better hope we can convince Grandma to get off that hog of hers.”

“A hog?” Pirate shrieked and pillows flew. He raced to the window behind my bed and shoved his nose against the glass. “Oh, biscuits! I could zoom down the highway, wind in my face. Checkin’ out the babes.”

So he hadn’t processed anything I’d said about bike versus plane. Peachy. I had a talking dog, not a listening dog.

Good to know, I decided, as I tried to force the suitcase shut with the weight of my butt. My socks and underwear bulged out from between the clasps. “I expect you to back me up on this one.” I’d tell him later that he’d have to fly cargo.

If we took the hog, Pirate would have to be fastened to me. Grandma had this contraption that was basically a glorified strap-on baby carrier. Pirate would hate it. It wouldn’t be fun for me, either. Pirate hadn’t had a bath in a week or two, and besides, he tended to have digestive issues.

We had to fly. Please . I shoved my clothes farther into the case and tried again.

My Saturn would have been my second choice, but Grandma already told me the demons probably had spotters looking for it. Besides, she was married to that hog. But a plane would be faster. She couldn’t argue with that.

“You ready yet?” Grandma charged up the stairs holding a sandwich and one of the apple juice bottles I kept on hand for school lunches only. “Lizzie! Stop farting around.”

“You have to be kidding me.” The woman expected me to wrap up my life in the time it took her to make a cheese sandwich. All I wanted was a simple, stable life. I liked to have things I could count on—my friends, my job, and even Cliff and Hillary. Heaven knew they’d never change. My spontaneity came from Pirate, and when that miniature problem with paws ran amok, I could just pick him up. Crisis averted. There was a reason I’d avoided people like Grandma.

She shook her head, her long, gray hair tangling over her shoulders. “Time’s, up, Lizzie. We’ve got trouble.”

Because we hadn’t had enough of it lately.

My stomach dropped. “Don’t tell me you blew up my bathroom.”

“Worse. Remember my purple emergency spell? It turned blue. Demons sucked the red right out of it. They’re coming. Fast.”

Yikes! I attacked the case with renewed vigor.

“Stop!” Grandma commanded. “What do you think this is, Spring Break at Daytona Beach? Ain’t no suitcases on a Harley. One backpack.” She held up a single finger, with a silver snake ring wound around it. “One.”

“Let’s just fly,” I pleaded, hearing the desperation in my voice. “It’ll save time!”

She threw her hands out, sloshing apple juice onto the hardwood floor. “I can’t protect a whole plane! You want demons camping out on the fuselage?”

Oh my word. We were a human tragedy waiting to happen. I shoved the image out of my mind. “Fine,” I said, yanking my school pack from its peg. “This will barely fit a tube top and a pair of socks.”

Grandma raised a brow. “Well, won’t the truckers enjoy that?”

I packed a change of clothes and a hairbrush, then dashed to the kitchen for Pirate’s Healthy Lite dog chow and a spare water dish. The bathroom was indeed glowing an incandescent blue. The haze spilled out into the hallway, carried on an invisible cloud. It had a palpable presence. A demonic one. It crept up to the ceiling and inched down across the floor like a slow, steady breath of evil. Holy he-double hockey sticks.