Night of the Living Demon Slayer (4 page)

Yes, I was a planner. And it's not like I wanted to touch anything inside an evil alligator's mouth.

A few jackets and dresses later, I turned to the bed and wondered just where I'd gotten all this stuff.

"I used to travel with a belt full of switch stars and the clothes on my back," I said to no one, because my trusty canine sidekick had made a circle of friends back at the coven house and had opted to stay behind and help Sidecar Bob make lunch-to-go. That meant Pirate would steal slices of ham while Bob made sandwiches.

"You done?" Grandma asked from the bedroom doorway, scaring the be-Jesus out of me.

"What are you doing here?" I grabbed a stack of undies out of the drawer and shoved them quickly into my suitcase.

She strolled into the bedroom. "You gave me a key," she said, as if it were obvious. "Coven's moving faster than I predicted. Habit, I suppose." She crossed over to the window overlooking the parking lot out front. "I told them I'd hurry you up. They should be right behind me."

"Oh, no." I mean, I'd had the witches over for a holiday party once, but I didn't want my neighbors to see the entire coven of biker witches pulling up all at once. And in the middle of an otherwise peaceful Sunday.

"Too late," she said, as we heard the rumble of dozens of Harleys.

I cringed, heading back to try and close my suitcase. "It's hard enough hiding a dragon," I said, fighting with the zipper.

Grandma pushed the top down for me. "Loosen your bra straps. Your neighbors can't see Flappy."

I knew that. Non-magical people couldn't see supernatural creatures. But, "believe me, they do notice things." Like when the dragon started my barbeque pit by snorting fire. Most people have to use lighter fluid and a match. I just look at my barbeque and it flames to life. "I didn't even tell you about the time Flappy and Pirate decided to dig for dinosaur bones near the carport." The neighbors watched what they thought was my fifteen-pound terrier digging a hole the size of a truck. "They unearthed two azaleas and a palm tree." Pirate had been so proud. The Home Owners Association had been livid. "I'm still on probation," I told her.

"You need to relax while you can. Live a little. It's just a few bikes," she said, as the senior witches began rumbling into the formerly peaceful parking lot. Ant Eater led the way, the wind tossing the fringe on her black leather jacket.

A dozen witches followed her, along with a clattery old school bus painted in a way that would make the Grateful Dead proud, then at least twenty more witches behind it.

"Look at that," Grandma said, proud. "Our recruitment drive at the senior center really paid off. The coven's never been healthier."

I let out a groan as my neighbor, Sarayh, and her brown poodle, Moxie, rounded the corner and stopped cold.

Dimitri and I were going to have to move for sure.

"Look at the bright side," Grandma said, "at least Pirate's not riding the dragon."

We'd been working on that. Pirate didn't always listen. I scanned the motley crowd and saw my dog snuggled in Bob's sidecar. Sarayh's brand new Prius shook as Flappy landed on the roof.

That was bound to leave a mark.

The witch driving the bus let out a
honk-ta-da-honk-honk
and I wanted to lock myself into my condo and never leave again.

Briefly, I wondered if I could somehow manage to pretend I didn't know the Red Skulls, but no, that was impossible. Everyone around here had seen Dimitri and I on similar bikes. And they'd run into a few of the witches before, although not like this.

I finished securing my suitcase, gave the bedroom one last quick glance, and began heading out.

"Wait," Grandma said. "Before you do, I need to tell you something."

"Can we do this later?" I really didn't want them to start honking again outside. And if even more of my neighbors started gathering, I'd have to explain some things to them that I really didn't know how to put into words.

For all my demon slayer bravado, I'd much rather pretend to be a normal girl, at least in public.

But from the look Grandma gave me, I knew this couldn't wait. "I've been thinking a lot. Now, I'm behind you on this mission one hundred percent, but you need to understand. Wicca is light magic," she said, "at least our path is. It leaves room for interpretation and aids you in accessing the higher good." She touched my arm. "Voodoo takes you down a different road. It's fixed. You can't go into it with the same kind of attitude you see from us. Voodoo magic is easy to screw up. You can invite the wrong thing in, and if you do, you can find yourself attached to things that will haunt your children's children."

"Wow. Okay." I hadn't realized it was that different. Maybe it had been naïve, but I'd assumed magic was magic, both light and dark.

Grandma cleared her throat. "If you get into trouble, we'll do our best to help you, but I can't guarantee anything."

I didn't like that at all. "You're scaring me, Grandma."
 

"Good," she said, serious as a heart attack. "You're used to going in switch stars blazing. You have to operate that way. I understand. But know that we might not always be able to bail you out."

I nodded. Grandma didn't make idle threats. "You think it's going to get that bad."

She didn't hesitate. "Yes."

I sincerely hoped she was wrong.

Chapter Four

Amazingly enough, our merry band of travelers made it to New Orleans in one piece and on schedule. I must have rubbed off on the biker witches.

We rumbled down Rampart Street, catching the sound of jazz musicians in Armstrong Park. Ant Eater took the lead as we turned right on Bienville, narrowly avoiding the busy French Quarter in favor of a quieter block of connected houses. Heavy iron balconies dripped with plants. Some sported dangling beads and hanging flags.

313 Burgundy Street stood apart, and not simply because it was one of the only structures that sat back from the main street, refusing to share walls with the others. Aside from the overgrown yard and the reticent placement, it held an explicit heaviness about it, a darkness that wrapped around its windows and barricaded the doors.

We pulled up in front and cut our engines. "Home sweet home," Ant Eater muttered.

Yeek. If she thought that, I needed to start leaving out a few Martha Stewart magazines for her.

A small, overgrown garden surrounded the white stone house, snarled behind a wrought iron fence. The head of a maniacally laughing cherub topped each post, impaled like a medieval prisoner on a pike. A swirling breeze scattered tiny pink flowers from the tree out front. One caught on my shoulder and I brushed it off.

Pirate wriggled in front of me in his new biker dog motorcycle seat. "I smell ghosts," he said, scrambling to dismount before I unhooked him from his doggie harness. "Wait. What?" he mumbled, forgetting his predicament in a way that only dogs could.

"Settle down, bub." We had to be smart. I didn't want to lose Pirate in a haunted house, at least not until we'd checked the place out.

"Flappy gets to do whatever he wants," Pirate protested, watching the dragon land on the roof of the house. Bats erupted from the chimney.

"Flappy's bad at asking permission."

Grandma removed her helmet, her hair tangling around her head, clinging to her cheeks. "I get the feeling something's watching us."

Nobody argued.

Old-fashioned gaslights flickered along the street. It would be dark soon.

All right. Then we'd be smart about it. "Let's check it out."

If this place was jacked up, we'd find somewhere else to stay. Maybe a hotel, although I shuddered to think of holing up in some sort of high-rise where we didn't have easy access to the bikes. A boutique-style bed and breakfast wouldn't be much better. Street parking sucked for fast getaways. This place at least appeared to have a yard in the back. We could line up our rides and be out of there lickety split.

Grandma heaved herself off her hog, watching the house as if it would reveal its secrets. "I can't put my finger on what it is exactly. Kind of feels like that time Hercules the siren infiltrated the lake hideout in '92. Damn that man and his abs. I never spent so much time treading water."
 

I stood next to her. "The spooky, 'get out' vibe could be good, as long as we're safe behind it." The private nature of the house would allow us to do our work in peace.

The witches parked their bikes along the street for now, and blocked the driveway with the bus.

Eater nodded, grim. "You ready?"

"Yep," I said, my hand settling on my utility belt. It held five switch stars, which were the weapon of choice for demon slayers like me. They were flat, round, and sharper than any blade. The belt also held crystals, a few incantations I'd whipped up myself, and a useless yet unfriendly creature I'd inherited from my great, great aunt. So far, all Harry did was growl, bite, and refuse to leave the very back pocket of my belt.

"We've got your back," Grandma said, as she and a bunch of others took up positions just inside the front garden. Creely handed her a spell jar. I recognized the pink and yellow sparkling liquid inside. It was a spell to banish the darkness.

"You got anything stronger?" I asked.

"Yeah," Grandma grinned, displaying two spell jars tucked into the pockets of her jeans. They swirled with a brackish brown and black sludge.

"I'll take a group and cover the rear of the building," Creely said to Grandma, who nodded.

A couple of tourists wearing beads and carrying green plastic drink cups crossed the street and headed straight for us. "Watch it," I said, nodding in their direction. We didn't need to scare them, or get caught unaware if they turned out to be something other than what they appeared to be.

Frieda raised a glittery pink and yellow spell jar in greeting. "Hiya."

They raised their drinks and I saw the bottom of the long cups were shaped like hand grenades. "Cheers," said a bald guy with a brown goatee.

Huh. I wasn't used to the biker witches blending.

This could be a better place than I'd imagined. Yes, it felt creepy and off, but so far I hadn't picked up the kind of evil that set off my demon slayer senses. Ever since I'd come into my power I was insanely attracted to anything that could slay me, gut me, or send me straight to hell.

A little more than half the witches took up positions on the back and sides of the house, effectively surrounding it. They weren't taking any chances. Good. I didn't mind going in with them covering me.

I entered the garden and immediately felt a chill whisper past on my left side. "We don't mean any harm," I murmured. "In fact, I'm sure Ant Eater is glad to be home."

The biker witch snorted.

The brick path buckled with age. Moss slickened it.

"Grab the key, will you?" Ant Eater asked, "It's hidden in the naked lady fountain."

The stone monstrosity rested near the center of the front yard, surrounded by spindly overgrown bushes. A statue of a water nymph rose from the center, her arms raised, her chest thrust out, her nose chipped off. Even so, she looked a lot nicer than the real-life water nymph I'd seen awhile back. That one had sharp teeth.

I approached it cautiously. "I hope the key is still there. Didn't your grandma die in 1962?"

Ant Eater shrugged. "That's not so long ago. Besides, it's enchanted."

I expected leafy sludge at the bottom, or maybe a cracked and empty relic. Instead, fresh, clear water glittered in the pool of the fountain. It teemed with goldfish and a silver key lay at the bottom. "Amazing." I grinned despite myself. I'd never get used to this magical world. I reached for the shiny key and as soon as my fingers closed around it, the goldfish shimmered and morphed into a mass of slithering green frogs. "Ohmygosh!" I jumped back, yanking my hand out and splattering my arms and cheeks with frigid frog-water.

"Ha!" Ant Eater barked. "I love that charm."

My heart hammered in my chest. Not that I'd admit it. "That's not funny."

"Yes, it is," she said, taking the key from my slimy, wet hand. "You screamed like a girl."

"I am a girl," I groused.

She wiped the key on her pants. "Oh, come on," she added, when she saw me frowning. "You'd have done it too if you had magic."

"Maybe," I grudgingly admitted. I
had
hit her with a Giggle Bomb. And a particularly festive Harlem Shake Spell. Sue me, it was kind of fun to watch the blistery old witch shake her booty.

Right now, we had to stay on our toes. She of all people should know that.

We climbed the front steps to the stone patio. White columns rose up on either side and a rotting wooden porch swing rocked back and forth on its own.

"Now comes the fun part," she said, slipping the key into the lock. The door creaked open and neither one of us moved right away to enter the darkened foyer beyond.

"Grand-mère Chantal?" Ant Eater called, passing over the threshold. "You still around?"

I joined her, my boots echoing off the hardwood.

White sheets cloaked the furniture and the place smelled of mildew, dust, and old wood.

Ant Eater shot me a quick glance. "She and her husband built this place in the late 1800's. After he died, she got into spiritualism."

"You mean like séances?"

"Yeah."
 

The hair on the back of my neck stood up. The air practically vibrated with energy. "Seems she invited all kinds of things in here."

Ant Eater clicked on her flashlight. "I'm pretty sure one of them killed her."

"Hah," a voice chided behind me. I spun around and saw only the glow of light from the front door, and the outline of a hall bench draped in fabric.

Ant Eater's light danced over the ornate velvet curtains. A thick layer of dust clung to the heavy fabric. "Steady."

"I'm fine," I said, drawing a switch star. The weapon warmed in my hands, the blades churning. Although I wasn't sure what good it would do against something that was already dead.

The only sound came from the ticking of the grandfather clock on the wall by the stairs. It didn't do me any good to see the clock face broken and the insides torn out.