Demon Hunting with a Dixie Deb (12 page)

S
assy sagged against the bedroom door, her legs trembling from reaction. She'd played it cool in front of Grim and Conall, but the episode with Evan had given her the shakes. Monster Evan was big and scary, and not very bright. He couldn't help it if the witch had mickeyed his food.

Things had been touch-and-go for a while. Still, she thought she'd handled the situation well, considering it was the first time she'd de-hulked anyone.

Grim obviously didn't agree. Grim was a big old grouch.

Grim, her sigh-worthy god of gloom and doom, her self-appointed bodyguard. If she weren't engaged, she'd have her wicked way with him. Erotic images of Grim's big, hard body moving over her, in her, filled her thoughts. No use trying to squelch them. The Pandora's box of her secret thoughts and desires had been opened.

And none of them involved Wes.

Poor Wes; what was she going to do about him? What was she going to do about any of this?

Bunny rabbits, what a crazy F5 tornado of a day. She should be shell shocked and hyperventilating, doubting her own sanity; a quivering mound of emotional Jell-O ready for massive intravenous doses of Xanax and Thorazine.

Fairies were real. Witches were real. Demigods were
real.
One of her new best friends was a dude with tats and piercings. A dude with megaton anger-management issues who turned into a comic book character at the drop of a hat.

Her other bestie was a super-intelligent noncorporeal voyeuristic telepath.

She'd had her first heart-to-heart with her father, the Jude Law of the afterlife, and she'd finally gotten to meet her sister-in-law. Her oh-so-
dead
sister-in-law. Mama always said people get more so as they grow older. Did the same rule of thumb apply to the dearly departed? If so, Meredith would collapse one day in a black hole of cranky.

Sassy's estranged brother was the directionally challenged Spotted Ghost Hound of Hannah. As if that weren't enough, she herself wasn't completely human. Had never been completely human, which explained a lot, now she thought about it. She was part Muggle and part dementor, with a heaping helping of Tinker Bell thrown in, thanks to a high-octane fairy cocktail.

She mustn't forget the Dalvahni transfusion she'd gotten from Grim. She was a supernatural Heinz 57.

Mama would be horrified. Eleanor Champion didn't believe in mixing designer apparel, much less species. Had Mama known what she was getting into when she married a Peterson? Had she found out and fled to Fairhope before Sassy was born?

Sassy doubted she'd ever know. Mama wasn't much of a talker. She was more of the silent sufferer type. She was silent and you suffered.

Gracious that smacked of self-pity. A good night's sleep should set her to rights. First, she needed something cooler to wear. Trey's robe was heavy and much too hot.

Sassy crossed the spacious room to Trey's dresser. Taking a deep breath, she opened the top drawer. It felt invasive and weird, going through Trey's things, like opening him up and scrambling around his insides.

The drawer contained Trey's underwear, folded in precise rows. Big bro was a neat freak and wore Hanro silk boxers.

TMI, she thought. She slammed the drawer and moved on to the next.

More Hanro underpinnings: tee shirts sorted by color, black and white. She grabbed a white one off the top. Tissue paper rustled, a happy crackle Sassy associated with shopping and new clothes. Pushing the shirts aside, she found a large bundle buried at the bottom of the drawer. She peeled back the layers of paper and discovered half a dozen pairs of wispy panties. There were bras to match. The tags were still on them.

How romantic. Trey must have bought them for Meredith before she died, shoving them to the back of the drawer in his grief.

Sassy hesitated, reluctant to paw through a dead woman's things. This, however, was an underwear emergency. She held up a hot pink and black lace panty to check the size. A piece of stationery covered in a feminine pink scrawl fluttered out. Sassy unfolded the paper. The message was from someone named Gwen, and the note described, with crude enthusiasm and in graphic detail, the things Gwen wanted to do to Trey.

Ew. Inappropriate squid, awkward turtle, and shady tree rolled into one. Sassy threw the piece of paper down and picked up a black floral lace-front thong. The thong came with a naughty black cage demi bra and an even naughtier note. Trish Russell, whoever she was, had wanted in big brother's Swiss undies, too.

Somehow, Sassy did not think Meredith would approve.

She snagged a bright coral lace G-string out of the pile and went into the bathroom, where she scrubbed her feet in the tub. Rescuing monsters was dirty work. Drying off, she tossed the towel and the muddy robe into the hamper and slipped into the panties and Trey's white tee shirt.

She found an unopened toothbrush and toothpaste in the cabinet, and brushed her teeth. First order of business tomorrow would be to buy new clothes. How would she get to town with no car?

No worries. She'd call Dab Holt, the Realtor. She'd give Sassy a ride to town.

Oh, poop, she didn't have a phone. Cue swelling disaster music: Sarah Peterson was marooned in Backwoods, Alabama, without a credit card or a means of communication. Heroine swoons in horror.

Sassy shrugged it off with a yawn. She was too tired to worry about it tonight. Things would work out. Daddy Joel didn't call her his lucky charm for nothing.

Padding out of the bathroom, Sassy climbed into Trey's big bed, crawled under the covers, and conked out.

 

“Sassy should leave Hannah.” The room spun, and Grim put one hand on the wall for support. “She is impulsive and without heed for her safety. She could have been killed tonight.”

“But she was not,” Conall said. “I would not worry overmuch. Hannah has a way of finding its own. I'll wager your Sassy is one of them.”

“—she is not my—”

“Report to me tomorrow when your head is clear,” Conall continued, cutting Grim off. “And bring Evan with you.”

“Give me leave to kill him instead. I would relish the deed.”

Conall sighed. “Tempting, but Evan may yet be of use. At any rate, his death would pain Rebekah.”

The unspoken message was clear: Conall would spare his demon wife pain.

“Keep him close and have a care,” Conall said. “Evan is wily and full of tricks.”

Grim shook his head. “Get someone else.”

“Guard Evan and do not kill him. That is an order. You are resourceful and your skill at arms and courage in battle are unmatched. You will find a way to keep Sassy from harm.”

“I could not save Gryff.”

The words tumbled out, surprising Grim. He never spoke of Gryff, especially to the captain. Though centuries had passed, the anguish was too fresh, his sense of failure too keen.

Conall squeezed Grim's shoulder. “No one could save Gryff. It is time you accepted that fact.”

Grim would never accept it. He would not, however, fail again. He
would
keep Sassy safe.

“I must leave. I wish you joy in your charge.” Conall turned to go, and looked back. “And, Grim?”

“Yes, Captain?”

“No more chocolate.”

Conall disappeared.

Grim stumbled to the kitchen sink, turned on the tap, and doused his head in cold water. The Provider said many humans enjoyed intoxication. Went so far as to seek it out, which Grim found baffling. A warrior needed his wits about him to survive.

“Still pounded?”

Grim started and banged his head against the tap.

“Oops, that's gonna leave a mark.”

Grim gritted his teeth. He hated that mocking voice. Shoving his wet hair out of his face, he turned to face Evan. Dressed and fresh from the shower, the demonoid lounged against the granite island, arms folded across his chest. He reminded Grim of a satyr, with his sly manner and knowing smirk.

An idle race, satyrs, in Grim's experience, roguish and deceitful.

Evan lifted a pierced brow. “You don't like me much, do you, Big 'Un?”

“I do not like you at all.”

“Ditto. What say we call a truce, for the Lollipop's sake?”

“If you were truly disquieted on Sassy's behalf, you would leave.”

“Ain't gonna happen.”

“Very well.” Grim crossed his arms, mimicking Evan's stance. “What do you propose?”

“I know Hannah. I know demons and demonoids. And I hate that frigging witch.” Evan's eyes glowed. “The enemy of your enemy is your friend. You can't be everywhere at once. I can be your eyes and ears when you're off slaying dragons.”

“There are dragons in Hannah?”

“God, I hope not.” Evan shuddered. “Saw one once. Scared the bejesus out of me. I'm saying I can keep Sassy out of trouble.” He made a face. “Or help, anyway.”

“I will take care of Sassy.”

Evan snorted. “Oh, yeah, like you did today? That worked out well.”

Grim was silent. Evan had a point, damn him. From the satisfied expression on the demonoid's face, Evan knew it, too.

“Think about it.” Evan strolled for the door.

Grim reached a decision. In truth, he had no choice. Conall had ordered him to keep an eye on Evan, and a Dalvahni warrior did his duty. Let the demonoid think they were reluctant allies on a mission to keep Sassy unharmed.

“Very well,” Grim said. “I accept your offer.”

Evan turned, his eyes narrowed in distrust. “What's the catch?”

“Catch?”

“When a demon hunter makes nice, I get nervous. Why do I get the feeling this is going to come back to bite me?”

“I do not know. Perhaps you are suspicious by nature.”

“It's called self-preservation. I watch out for myself, and I don't trust anyone, especially demon hunters.”

“Watch out for Sassy, and you and I will have no quarrel.”

“We're already in a fight. I've seen the way you look at her, like she's a pork chop and it's Meatless Monday.” Evan shrugged. “Not that I blame you. Sassy's special.”

“Too special for the likes of you.”

“Guess we'll see about that, won't we?” Evan yawned. “I'm whipped. I'm hitting the sack. Why don't you be a good little demon hunter and boost us a ride? Sassy will want to go to town tomorrow. We need wheels.”

He ambled out of the kitchen with easy grace.

“What do you make of that, Provider?” Grim asked when Evan had gone.

Grim said something foul in Yarthac.

“Spare me. Evan wishes me to fetch some sort of conveyance for Sassy?”

Grim pushed away from the counter. “Nay, I will do it now. I will fetch the carriage from the creek.”

“You are mistaken.” Grim made it to the kitchen door and grabbed the jamb for balance. “The Dal regenerate at an accelerated rate. Even now, the chocolate is leaving my system.”

“I am not pixilated,” Grim said. “I will dematerialize and return forthwith. Sassy is a-bed?”

The Provider heaved a sigh of resignation.
Yes.

“And Evan?”

“Good. Watch them while I am gone.”

Grim disconnected and staggered out of the house, passing through the shield without incident. Taking a deep breath of the night air, he concentrated. To his satisfaction, the familiar pulling sensation swept over him. The woods around him stretched and thinned like molasses candy.

He materialized in a clearing. His brain spun and his gut roiled. Swaying, he looked around. Huge trees crowded the glade, dark green giants hunched against the dark sky, but he did not recognize his surroundings.

Perhaps a stroll would clear his head. Help him get his bearings.

He took a lurching step and lost his balance, landing on his back like an upended crab. He tried to get up, but his muscles refused to cooperate.

“Something is seriously amiss,” he remarked aloud.

The process of dematerializing and rematerializing has exacerbated the effects of the chocolate. No doubt the fairy dust has worsened your condition
. The Provider's dusty voice was reproving.
I warned you how it would be.

“Party pooper.”

“Par-ty poop-er. It is an expression. It means you are not amusing.”

“I prefer not to.”

“I am content.” Grim folded his arms behind his head. Stars wheeled overhead. “The night is soft and perfumed with pine, and I rest upon the earth's downy breast.”

“Spoken like the soulless engine of knowledge that you are.”

Grim launched into a song, an old ditty about a fox on a chase on a moonlit night.