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Authors: Lexi George

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BOOK: Demon Hunting In Dixie
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“That was
my
fault.” Addy flung herself at Ansgar, but Brand held her back. “I broke the shield. I thought you
cared
about Evie. But you don't care about anybody, you heartless bastard.”
“Adara,” Brand said. “You do not understand.”
“I understand plenty. He can help her, but he won't.”
Evie's face twisted. “Ansgar,
please
.”
A muscle twitched in Ansgar's jaw, the only sign that he heard her.
“Very well,” he said.
In one smooth motion he drew a silver arrow from his quiver, fitted it in his bow, and shot Evie through the heart. Blood bloomed on the front of her blouse and spread. She clutched the arrow in her chest, her wide-eyed, startled gaze fixed upon Ansgar. The light in her hazel eyes flickered and dimmed. She sighed and crumpled to the ground.
“
Evie,
” Addy screamed.
She felt herself falling away, tumbling down a long, dark tunnel. Someone was screaming. The sound went on and on. Through her tears, she saw a trail of black smoke drift out of Evie's body, saw Ansgar fire a silver arrow into the dark mist. Watched as the arrow pierced the black shadow and splintered into a million silvery shards. Heard the long, keening wail of despair as the djegrali vanished into the nothingness.
The djegrali was dead. But Evie was dead, too.
Brand still held her, Addy realized, floating out of the blackness. Ansgar clasped Evie's limp form in his arms, his expression impassive.
Rage washed away her grief. He had no business touching her. He had no
right
to touch her.
“Let me go,” she said, twisting in Brand's arms.
“No.”
Unable to break free of Brand's iron grip, Addy watched, seething with fury, as Ansgar tenderly smoothed Evie's hair from her brow. Grasping the arrow, he pulled it from her chest and tossed it aside. He bent over her, one hand resting upon her wounded breast, the other hand grasping the back of her head, and kissed her. Light pulsed around them, soft and luminous, pale as the milky gleam of a new moon on a lake, and was gone.
Evie opened her eyes and gazed up at Ansgar. “What happened?”
“You were hurt.” Ansgar touched her cheek with the tip of one finger as though she were something fragile and infinitely precious. “You do not remember?”
Evie straightened and stepped back. “No. Who are you?”
His arms dropped to his sides. “I am Ansgar.”
She looked down at her shorts and blushed. “Why am I dressed like this? What happened to my clothes?”
Brand released Addy. She ran over and flung her arms around Evie. “Evie,” she cried, bursting into tears.
Evie patted her on the back. “Addy, you're crying. You never cry.”
Addy wiped her eyes and hugged her again. “I'm so glad you're all right.”
“Well, of course I'm all right. Why wouldn't I be?”
“Brother?” Brand's expression was solemn as he addressed the other warrior. “Her memory can be restored.”
“It is better this way.”
“Ah,” Brand said. “I see.”
Addy was glad somebody did, because she sure as hell didn't understand any of it. Not Ansgar's strange, cold behavior or what had happened to Evie. Blondy shot her with an
arrow,
for God's sake. Addy felt dizzy and sick from the emotions roiling within her—terror, anger, grief, sadness—and an overwhelming, knee-weakening relief that Evie was alive.
A horn sounded in the distance, tinny and faint.
Ansgar lifted his head like a hound to the scent. “Brand.”
“I heard, brother.”
The horn sounded again, this time closer. Three leather-clad warriors materialized in the square, big, muscular and armed to the teeth. And drop-dead gorgeous, bless their hearts. They had to be Dalvahni. No human looked like that.
They surveyed the square, a trio of hunky guys wearing identical wooden expressions. Brand had worn that same expression only a few days ago. A lifetime ago.
A warrior with long red hair and the unblinking, flinty gaze of a hawk spied Brand and Ansgar and strode over to them. “Brothers,” he said curtly. “We have come to escort you back to the Hall. Conall is desirous of speech with you.”
Ansgar inclined his head. “As you wish.”
Addy's heart squeezed painfully in her chest. “Brand?” she whispered.
He looked at her. His bleak expression told her all she needed to know.
“Adara,” he said.
That was it, her name and nothing more. But the aching, hollow way he said it spoke volumes. A yawning chasm opened at her feet.
Two guards flanked Brand and Ansgar, one on either side. The grim-faced warrior with the red hair fell in behind them. Moving as one, the five Dalvahni strode across the green. They flickered briefly in the summer sunshine, like a mirage in the desert heat, and disappeared.
Chapter Thirty-six
H
e was gone.
Grief settled like a leaden weight around Addy's heart. Gone. Gone. Gone.
The unbroken litany pounded in her brain as she cared for Evie and Shep. It played beneath the clamor of the crowd as folks drifted over the bridge and back up the hill exclaiming about the first-rate fireworks they'd seen by the river. In broad daylight, no less. Mass hallucination. The entire town of Hannah had drunk the Sid Kool-Aid.
Mama and Pootie came back, jabbering excitedly about the light show. Lenora was with them.
She
didn't say anything about the fireworks. She looked a little green around the gills, though, like someone who'd eaten three Thanksgiving dinners. Someone had glutted herself on the Post-Sid euphoria. Like a kid in a candy shop. The whole damn town was high, and all that bliss had given Lenora the mother of all bellyaches.
When Lenora saw Shep lying on the ground, she seemed to forget her own discomfort. Exclaiming in dismay over his injuries, she dropped to her knees beside him, the strands of her dress fluttering around her. Jeez, she looked like one of those alien barbarian warrior chicks straight off a Boris Vallejo cover. Shep opened one swollen eye and gave the thrall a crooked grin.
Oh, man, he was eating this stuff up. And he really liked the string dress. Addy could tell.
Mama hurried over to see about Shep, too. Mama, of course, wanted to know what happened. Addy considered telling Mama the truth . . . for about a millisecond, and pointed to the coffin car. Or what was left of it. That seemed to sober Mama right the hell up. Pootie pulled the Goober Mobile over the curb and onto the grass, and Addy helped Mama and Lenora load Shep into the car so they could take him to the hospital. She waved good-bye with a promise to check on Shep later.
No one could see her bruised heart, of course.
Gone.
The knowledge throbbed inside her, a wound that would not heal.
Numbly, she watched the chief and Officer Dan arrive, and Sheriff Dev Whitsun right after them. They found the inmate sitting on the grass where Brand and Ansgar left him. The ropes around his feet and ankles had vanished, but he made no move to escape. He sat there, carrying on a conversation with the six human heads lined up in a row in front of him. A one-sided conversation, thank God. Addy looked around, noting with dull surprise that all traces of the battle were gone, except for the demolished coffin car. The grass was once more a pristine green carpet, and the Conecuh Sausage stand looked good as new. The Dalvahni must have cleaned up before they left. She was too busy having her heart ripped out of her chest to notice.
Why leave the coffin car? she wondered. Maybe the Dalvahni didn't know what to do with a coffin car. Whatever the reason, she was glad they left it. She'd have been hard pressed to explain Shep's injuries without it.
It provided an excuse for her and Evie as well. The chief and Sheriff Whitsun had a ton of questions, which neither of them answered. Amnesia from the explosion, Addy explained. Evie's was genuine, hers feigned. A little amnesia would have been a blessing at this point. She remembered everything. That was the problem.
He was gone.
The park was enclosed in crime scene tape, the grisly evidence of the murders photographed and collected, and the raving inmate loaded into the sheriff's car.
“Crazy as a loon.” Chief Davis shook his head. “Babbling on about demons and avenging angels. There's one murderer who won't see the inside of a prison again. Headed for the nut house and a straitjacket, if you ask me. Thorazine City. Too bad. No closure for the victims' families.”
Sheriff Whitson grunted. “Yeah, I'll be surprised if that one stands trial. But his buddies are out there somewhere. I'll find 'em. Those sons-of-bitches are going down. We got the whole thing on video at the store. I think they knew they were being filmed and didn't care. It was like they were posturing for the camera.” He looked at Addy, his expression unreadable behind the sunglasses. “You sure you don't remember anything?”
“I remember drinking lemonade and the chief and Dan going off to check on the bank alarm. That's it.”
The sheriff turned his attention to Evie. “What about you, ma'am?”
Evie huddled in a knot on the bench under the sweet gum tree, her arms crossed over her chest and her legs drawn under her. The big bloodstain on the front of her shirt was gone. So was the arrow hole. She looked confused and embarrassed, and utterly miserable.
“The last thing I remember is coming into the flower shop.” Her brows drew together. “What was that, Addy, Friday morning?”
“Saturday,” Addy murmured.
Saturday morning Evie met Ansgar, and Tuesday night Evie burst out of her cocoon and danced at the Grand Goober Ball, a beautiful, soaring butterfly. And now she was a caterpillar again.
“Saturday morning, and what's this, Wednesday?” Evie asked.
“Right,” the sheriff said.
Evie tightened her arms across her chest, as if she could make herself smaller. “I don't know how I got here or why I'm dressed this way. These aren't my clothes. I don't wear shorts.” Her chin quivered. “I don't feel well. My chest hurts. I want to go home.”
“Of course you do.” The chief patted Evie on the shoulder. “Addy, you take Evie on home and call Doc Dunn. He still makes house calls. I think he ought to take a look at the both of you. A lick on the head is nothing to sneeze at. Y'all could have a concussion same as Shep.”
“Thanks, I'll do that,” Addy said.
“Your aunt Muddy went home with Mr. Collier,” Chief Davis said. “Wedding plans, you know.”
Addy felt a surge of relief. Thank God she didn't have to face Muddy. Not now, not when the pain was still so raw. She needed time alone. Time to grieve. Time to figure out how to go on without Brand. The future stretched ahead of her, a gray, meaningless void.
Somehow, she got Evie home and called Doc Dunn. Waited until the irascible old man completed his examination of Evie and prescribed bed rest. Thanked Old Doc and helped Evie into her pajamas and tucked her into bed. Addy refused treatment for herself. All the medicine in the world couldn't fix what ailed her.
She stopped by the hospital to check on Shep. He had a concussion, all right. Big bro was puking up his toenails. Lenora and Mama were with him. She and Mama seemed to have established an uneasy truce. Lenora had ditched the string dress and was wearing a pair of pink sweatpants and a matching T-shirt that said
HANNAH MEMORIAL HOSPITAL
across the front. Addy detected Mama's subtle influence at work here. As in Mama marched down to the gift shop and bought her son's new girlfriend-the-pole-dancer some decent clothes to wear. Too bad Mama didn't buy Lenora a bra while she was at it. The thrall's puppies were straining at the leash. A woman who dressed in yarn probably didn't rank undergarments high on her list of must-haves.
Addy drove home in the Van of the Sacred Hump in a fog of misery. Gone. Gone. Gone.
Dooley met her in the foyer.
“Addy home. Dooley miss Addy.”
The Lab ignored the flying kitten sailing around her head and stuck her nose in Addy's crotch.
“Addy home.”
Addy shoved Dooley's head away. “Dooley Anne, that is so rude. Lord.”
Dooley wagged her tail.
“Addy. Dooley love Addy.”
She pushed past Addy, feet scrambling on the wood floor and ran to the front door.
“Where Brand man?”
That was it. The tears started to flow and would not stop.
She cried, great wracking sobs that came from some bottomless well of grief. Dooley and Mr. Fluffy hovered around her, anxious and eager to please. Only this couldn't be fixed. Wailing like a banshee, she stumbled out of the foyer and into the living room. She caught a glimpse of her reflection in the foyer mirror as she went past. She was not a pretty crier. Her eyes swelled shut and her face turned red and scrunched up like a constipated Cabbage Patch doll. Who cared? Bump it. Nothing mattered. Brand was gone.
She staggered over to the couch. She would bury her face in the cushions. With any luck, she'd smother to death. Her heart hurt. Her chest hurt. Her damn brain was whirling with images and memories of Brand—his scent, his touch, his kisses. She could smell him. She could still taste him. She felt his body moving on her,
in
her. He'd left her drowning in an ocean of misery. She wanted to die. She wanted to—
A man stared at her through the double French doors that looked out on the backyard, a man with a familiar hollow-cheeked grin. The man from the parade. The doors burst open and he stalked inside, his horrible, wobbly purple Jell-O gaze fixed on her.
“Addy.”
That grating sibilant whisper made her shudder with dread.
“You're dead,” she said through lips stiff with disbelief.
“Hardly. I told you I would come for you. I always keep my promises.”
“But, I saw you! I-I
heard
you! It was you!”
Mr. Nasty chuckled. “Foolish girl, that was one of my minions, a lesser demon, not one of the
morkyn
such as I.”
“Morkyn?”
“A powerful, ancient race of demons far superior in strength and magic to the dross you saw today. You should be honored to be chosen by one of the
morkyn
.”
“Yeah? Well, before I do the superior dance, what exactly is this honor you're thinking of bestowing on me?”
“I have been watching you. You are no ordinary mortal. You proved that when you resisted me. You reek of Dalvahni. At first, I thought it was because you took one of the spawn as your lover. But soon I realized it was something else. The Dalvahni saved your life the other night after I stabbed you, did he not? He gave you part of his essence, making you something greater, something
more.
You are part Dalvahni, part human. The first of your kind. I have been drawn to you since I marked you. But, now that you are Dalvahni, you are irresistible.”
“Whoopee.”
“You jest, because you do not understand. I could kill you and feed upon your soul, but I have chosen you to be my vessel.”
“Wow, I'm flattered. Really, I am. But, it looks to me like you already got a vessel, so I'm going to say no.”
“This shell? It is nothing. Less than nothing. I will prove it to you.”
The man's body contorted and twisted, like a fleshy towel being wrung by unseen hands. Repulsed, Addy staggered back. She tripped over something and sprawled onto the floor. Dooley and Mr. Fluffy were lying in a furry heap under her legs.
She looked back at the demon. The once human body was a thing out of a nightmare. Muscle, tendon, and flesh shrank and dried up, exposing the skeletal frame underneath. As she watched, the bones crumbled to dust. A black mist rose from the pile of ashes and floated over the couch. Wind howled through the open French doors, scattering the powdery remains of the demon's victim into the night.
“The human body is too frail to contain the djegrali for long.” Mr. Nasty's voice slithered inside her head, a raspy, husky sound that made her shiver. “Aside from the obvious drawback of a short life span, mortals cannot sustain us for any great length of time,” he said. “A few years, a few decades if we are frugal, no more. Perhaps it is their fault. Perhaps it is ours. Our desire for physical sensation and pleasure is our great weakness. It leads us to excess and, too often, we consume our human vessels from within. Certainly, if we use any great magic or shape-shifting, the process of degeneration is hastened. I believe you saw evidence of that today. But you are part Dalvahni and thus imbued with their strength and immortality. You will be a fitting container for me. We will do great things together.”
“What have you done to Dooley and Mr. Fluffy?”
“The creatures are alive, lying in slumberous state. Cooperate, and I may let them live.”
“I get it. I let you possess me and eat my soul and turn me into a purple-eyed whoozit, and you
might
let Dooley and Mr. Fluffy live. But no promises.”
“Exactly,” Mr. Nasty said.
Addy got slowly to her feet. The demon was right about one thing. She was part Dalvahni now, part
warrior.
She needed a kick-ass weapon, something befitting a foe of darkness. She needed a weapon, something really cool. Something like . . . like . . .
She looked down. She held Muddy's portable mixer in her hand. It was top of the line as far as hand mixers went, but it was a mixer all the same. Brand got a flaming sword and Blondy got a bow and arrows . . . and she got a hand mixer. Jeez, the damn thing wasn't even connected to a socket. The cord and the three-pronged plug dangled at her feet.
She heard a dark chuckle inside her head. Mr. Nasty swooped down. She slid the power button to high. The stainless steel turbo beaters whirred to life. It wasn't a light saber, but at least it worked. Her own bit of magic, it would seem. She thrust her arm and the mixer into the dark mist. She screamed in pain. The demon was cold, the heart of an Arctic glacier, liquid fire. Her arm burned and went numb. The spinning blades caught the shrieking demon, whipped him to pieces, and flung him back out again. He floated in the air like bits of foamy licorice meringue.
BOOK: Demon Hunting In Dixie
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