The Dangerous Book for Demon Slayers (23 page)

But I hadn't—

I ground my right palm into the leg of my too-tight leather skirt. I'd used
the mark for good—to stop the demons, to give me the strength I needed.

Max didn't seem to think there was anything wrong with it, although he'd
probably been the one to curse me with it in the first place. To say Max was
morally ambiguous was like saying the Unabomber might need to get out more.

The top of Ezra's head shimmered and went transparent, along with a large
chunk of his left side. "It's a brand," he said, his eyes darting
back and forth as if the devil himself would leap out from behind one of the
scraggly bushes lining the walk. "It's their way of recognizing one of
their own. I've seen it make men do terrible things. It heightens your
powers," he said, practically whispering. "You must have seen
that."

I had. And I took it out on Grandma's phone. Problem was, I had trouble sorting
my new powers from what had been in my demon slayer tool kit all along. When it
came right down to it, I'd had my DVD player for five years and I still hadn't
figured it out.

Taking extra care not to touch my doggie with the palm of my right hand, I
dug Pirate out of his motorcycle harness. "Are you saying whoever marked
me can control me?" For some reason, the very idea ticked me off.

I'd had a temper lately. And freakish strength. I'd taken it to mean I was
growing into my powers, changing for the good.

Ezra hesitated. "I don't know."

"Fine." If nobody wanted to answer my questions, I'd do what I'd
been doing for the last month—figure it out on my own. I relaxed my guard
a little, let the power flow. Call it a test drive. For a moment I let my new strength
surge through me, mmm… heady and alive.

Ezra shrank back. "Um, oh my. Please don't do that."

"What?" I said, grinning at my belt, watching my switch stars spin
on their own.

He cleared his throat hesitantly. "Some believe the mark fosters the
evil within."

Anger surged through me. My pulse pounded in my ears. "I didn't choose
this." My voice rumbled in a way it never had before and, dang it, I had
to suppress a chuckle when Ezra flinched. Yeah, well the days of Lizzie the
doormat had passed.

Pirate dipped his ears forward and whined at my feet. Oh for the love of
Pete. "Aren't you supposed to be my fearless dog?" Rage surged inside
me and boiled over when Pirate,
my Pirate
, backed away.

"Why would I choose this?" I demanded advancing as Ezra scuttled
backward. "I dare you to tell me."

Ezra went completely transparent, his words floating on the warm night air.
"I don't know."

Pirate made a mad dash for the alley behind the club. He'd always had a
nervous bladder. Yeah, that's it. He's not terrified of
me
.

I felt the anger drain out of me. I'd never even been able to summon fear
from the squirrels that ate my tomato bushes every year. How had things gotten
this messed up?

With a flick of the wrist, my switch stars churned to a stop and an empty feeling
settled over me.

Ezra's voice floated from somewhere above. "If you please, excuse me
while I investigate the situation inside."

My throat had closed. "Sure," I said, unwilling to attempt more.

If you please?

That's what you get for scaring the poo out of him.

I leaned against my Harley and ripped a snippet off one of the scraggly
bushes that brushed my bare legs.

I was the pleaser. Disturbingly so. I tore the flat leaves off the wiry
branch and tossed them to the ground. Up till a month ago, I was the girl who
put her cans and bottles through the dishwasher before they hit the recycle
bin.

I tossed another leaf to the ground. I'd like to think I'd turned into a
badass, but I knew better. Unholy powers or not, I'd write an entire
encyclopedia on demon slaying if it helped me understand exactly what I needed
to do in the magical world. Even now, I certainly wasn't skulking in shadows
for my health.

"Pirate?" I ventured into the pool of light at the entrance to the
narrow road. A collar jingled somewhere in the darkness. "Stick
close." I tossed the remains of the branch I'd been tearing and took a
second look when it jangled on the pavement. It wasn't a branch. Shock trickled
through me. I'd been tearing barbed wire that had leaves tangled in it.

I inspected my hands, stomach tickling because I already knew what I'd
find—not a scratch on them. Damn it.

Focus on what you can control
, which didn't seem to be much at the
moment.

Before long, the back door clicked open. Ezra's head popped out of the brick
wall nearby. "This way. Quickly."

"Pirate!" I held open the Gucci bag and he scampered in without so
much as a high-pitched doggie whine. It was exactly what I wanted—and it
wasn't. I felt like a stranger in my own skin. My dog of six years was afraid
of me.

At the same time, I was more powerful than I'd ever been. And I'd need every
bit of strength in the battle ahead. The third demon slayer Truth bubbled to
the top of my mind.
Sacrifice yourself
.

I rubbed at the tears burning the back of my eyes. I hoped it would be worth
it.

The bag rustled as Pirate situated himself. You'd think with everyone and
their brother craving my powers, I wouldn't feel so alone all the time.

The more I figured out, the more confused I was about what I was even doing
here. Yeah, well that and fifty bucks might get me a bus ride out of town. In
the meantime, I buried my emotions, drew back my shoulders and hustled for the
red light illuminating the door at the back of the club.

Inside, a dark purple hallway led endlessly to the right and to the left. A
hard bass beat thumped from deep inside the building. In its stillness, the
hallway felt like a harbor, a final refuge before the point of no return.

A burning, twisting feeling seized my gut. There were demons in this club. I
was so tired of running into demons. The sulfur burned clear over the combined
stink of bleach and spilled beer.

"You smell that?" I picked up on something else. A sweetness in
the air, like seduction.

My Gucci bag shifted and rattled. "Oh, Lizzie, I never thought I'd say
this, but let's just go home." Pirate's nose popped out of the bag, then
an ear. "I want my bed and my squeaky frog. And I want to curl up on the
couch and eat popcorn and watch girlie movies. I'll even let you rent
Beaches
.
Let's go home. You and me."

I wanted that too. Now, more than anything. But… "It's too late,
Pirate."

Ezra's face appeared, his eyes seeming to scan into the wall in front of me.
"Hurry." He shrank into a miniature orb. "Follow the
hellhounds."

"Hell-what?" My voice caught in my throat as I made out a pair of
ghostlike dogs far down the passageway. Three heads snarled from each sleek,
coal black body. With long snouts and empty sockets for eyes, they almost
seemed to wait for us.

With effort, I summoned my voice. "They're not guards, are they?"
I asked, ready to trade Pirate for a switch star. For the first time, I was
glad I had him trembling, safe in my bag.

"Whenever I've seen them before, they've been omens," Ezra said
stiffly.

"Well then," I said, watching their doggie drool sizzle on the
concrete floor, "I'm guessing they don't foretell bright sunshiny
days." Good Lord, the paint started to bubble. Would it have been too much
to ask to get a good omen once in a while?

Ezra looked at me like I'd grown a second and third head.

"They foretell events that impact all of mankind," Ezra said.

I nodded one too many times. My head hurt. I didn't want to impact all of
mankind. I came here to finagle my uncle out of a bad marriage. That's all. We
didn't want a she-demon in the family. Instead, I'd gotten a devil's mark, a
potential showdown at the Hoover Dam and now this.

Ezra couldn't seem to tear his eyes away from the hellhounds. "Look at
those teeth. Some ghosts go their entire existences without seeing one
hellhound, much less two."

"Lucky you," I said, wondering how I'd save the world when I
wasn't quite sure I had a handle on what was happening in this second-rate
nightclub. I wondered if this is where the succubi had been luring men and
killing them. It was remote enough.

The dogs seemed to be waiting for us. Sure enough, when we moved, they did
too. They kept a steady pace in front of us, never even looking back, as we
followed them down the left corridor. The beat of the music grew stronger and
so did the sulfuric stench of demons. The final turn landed us behind a red
curtain as a performer on stage crooned the first words to "Mi Amor."

I need you. I want you. Wrap my world around you.

The three-headed dogs turned in circles and dashed off into thin air.

"Where'd they go?" I asked, as disturbed by their disappearance as
I was by seeing them in the first place.

Ezra shook his head. "Not good," he said, almost to himself.

I glanced toward the stage curtain. The singer belted out a set of lyrics I
knew all too well.

Take me. Please me. You know you need me.

Ricardo Zarro, the King of Love? I couldn't believe it. I'd seen Ricardo
Zarro performing "Mi Amor" on
The Tonight Show
last week.
The man was famous for singing the kind of songs that put people in the mood.
He lived at the top of the Billboard charts. And he looked quite striking in
person, like a young Elvis.

But why would he sing in such a dinky club?

As quickly as I dared, I inched over to stage right and pulled back the side
curtain. He'd tucked a yellow silk club shirt into buttery leather pants that
(I'd be willing to bet) had never seen the hard seat of a hog. Zarro twitched
his hips and belted out the lyrics.

Take me. Have me. Put your arms around me.

Sweat glistened on his brow, against the shock of black hair tossed artfully
over his forehead. He grinned at the nonexistent audience, showing off a set of
perfectly capped teeth.

I tried to understand exactly why he'd be performing here. Half the people
in Vegas probably didn't even know about this place.

Then it hit me—privacy. The succubi were working on something.

A demonic presence floated up the empty staircase leading under the stage.

"Back!" I reached for Ezra and came up with a handful of frigid
air. "This way!" I motioned to him as I darted behind a stack of
black-light boxes. Sure he could go invisible. But dang it, I needed him around
and it would be nice to have a clue where to find him.

Feet clomped up the staircase like the next invasion of the heavens.

"Excellent," said a scratchy voice, a demonic one. I knew it as
sure as I had to fight the overwhelming urge to attack it. "And tomorrow,
the crew knows when to cut the lights."

Serena cackled.
Serena
? I fought the urge to thrust my head around
the side of the black-light boxes.

"We're set to take over all major network and cable stations. According
to the Nielsen ratings, we'll get about thirty million viewers on the West
Coast. Ricardo will handle the audience. I'll give the signal to trigger the
blackout," Serena said. "Then it's up to America to take the
hint."

The demon snickered, the ruby in her ear casting brilliant light. "I
don't think they'll have any trouble. Zarro could put a nun in the mood. Kill
the lights, and it'll be like Sodom and Gomorrah all over again. Without the
donkey shit."

The footsteps halted. "Harness the power well," the demon warned.
"I want the final six hundred and forty-two sisters out of hell in one
glorious wave."

That would put them at six hundred sixty-six demons. I glanced at the dark
mark on my hand. Not a good number.

"It shouldn't be a problem," Serena said, nails clacking against
the hardwood as they began walking again. "Every freak in hell knows that
once we get all our girls here, they can follow."

Sweet heavens. I couldn't fight the demons we had in Vegas now, much less
the rest of hell.

I risked a peek around the boxes and nearly fell over backwards. The succubi
didn't even try to look human. They loped like blackened orangutans, with
rough, cracked skin hanging from their scraggly frames and cadaver-like skulls.
Serena was taller than her companion, broader. Hair sprouted in wiry clumps
from Serena's chin and above her clawlike hands. I'd never seen anything like
her and I never wanted to again.

They had my uncle to sabotage the power systems. They had Ricardo Zarro to
trigger a massive, power-inducing lovefest. Would sex be enough? Could it
really beat killing? I didn't want to find out. Because if they got to six
hundred sixty-six, I had a feeling their "killer prize" was
Armageddon.

The creature hissed a trail of yellow sulfur.

"I hear Satan himself is monitoring our progress," the shorter one
told Serena. "Promotions all around, I'm sure."

Their voices faded until the only thing I could hear was Ricardo's voice
pounding out "Long, Hot Lovin'."

"Did you see that?" I whispered into thin air.

Ezra didn't answer. Bless him, he must be following the diabolical duo. I
didn't envy the ghost one bit. The air felt positively electric and they'd only
walked past.

I reached inside the Gucci bag and scratched Pirate's head. "What are
we going to do?"

Pirate exhaled, a warm doggie sniff where he'd wedged his head into the
corner of the bag. "I just want to go home."

I couldn't agree more.

As Pirate and I lurked behind the light boxes, waiting for Ezra's report, a
terrible thought hit me. The demons should have sensed me.

When I'd gone to hell last week, when I'd followed Max down into the
basement of the old prison a few nights ago, the demons had clamored for me.
They
knew
. I couldn't think of one solid reason why they wouldn't swarm me now
except—my entire body recoiled at the thought—I'd somehow blended
with them.