The Dangerous Book for Demon Slayers (5 page)

"Do griffins know about this? What succubi can do to them?"

"Of course. Griffins avoid them at all costs."

Except my griffin.

Forget the succubi—I was going to kill Dimitri myself.

I stormed out of the DIP office, a Demon Slayer Learner's Permit in my back
pocket and fire in my eyes. Dimitri had a lot of nerve to put himself at risk
without telling me. Sure, I wanted to help my Uncle Phil, but not at the
expense of the man I think I might love. Not that I was in the mood for any
romantic confessions. Right now, I'd just as soon chuck Dimitri off the Dragon
Lady's ladder as kiss him.

Biker witches jammed the parking lot roasting weenies and burning rubber.
Some joker was playing Van Halen's
Runnin' with the Devil
on a boom
box. I didn't see Dimitri right away. If we wanted to work together—heck,
if we wanted to
be
together, he'd better start leveling with me.

Pirate, my Jack Russell terrier shot out of the crowd like a miniature
thunder clap. "Lizzie!"

Ever since I'd grown into my powers as a demon slayer, I could hear my
terrier talk—and talk and talk.

Pirate ran smack into my knee, bounced off and jumped up again. "I'm
Sidecar Bob's barbeque helper! Want a hotdog? They come in two
flavors—raw and cooked."

I scooped him up before he could hurt himself. He wriggled against me as I
planted a kiss on the back of his neck. Pirate was the one thing in my life
that always made sense.

"Have you seen Dimitri?" I asked, brushing Cheetos dust off his
back. Leave it to the witches to feed him junk food. When Pirate wasn't half
orange, he was mostly white, with a dollop of brown on his back that wound up
his neck and over one eye.

"Dimitri? Sure! Dimitri taught me blackjack! It would have been easier
if I could count. Want me to show you? I know you always wanted me to be able
to do tricks."

True, although I'd been aiming more along the lines of sit and shake. Maybe
a nice roll over that didn't take place within the picketed confines of my
adoptive mother's award-winning Daisy Bess rose garden.

"So where's Dimitri?" I asked, scanning the hot parking lot. With
the witches so spread out, not to mention the strip mall's regular customers,
it was hard to see who went where.

"Ohhh—you mean now," Pirate said, jamming his wet nose into
the crook of my elbow. "I don't know where Dimitri is now. I
was
with him, and then Bob opened up a bag of Flamin' Hot Cheetos and after that,
things get a little hazy."

"Come on." I ran a hand through Pirate's wiry fur as I pushed my
way through the crowd. Dimitri had to be here somewhere, although it would have
been nice of him to be there for me half as quickly as my dog.

If possible, the biker witches had multiplied since I'd left. They'd taken
over an entire section of the parking lot, lounging around their mini-Weber
grills, playing cards and—oh my word—they'd duct-taped their
traveling dart board to a metal light pole.

Had I really been inside that long?

"Lizzie!" Grandma waved from her perch on the hood of a silver
BMW, her motorcycle boots planted on the front bumper.

She directed her attention back to a blindfolded witch in pink leather
pants, currently aiming a dart at a parked highway patrol cruiser.

"Go left! You got it," Grandma hollered. "Fire!"

"Stop!" I called to the blonde witch, known as Crazy Frieda, who
was about to take out the fuzz. "Grandma's going to get you
arrested!"

Frieda dug a pink fingernail around her blindfold. "Wouldn't be the
first time." She blinked her eyes twice, sunlight glittering off her
rhinestone-tipped lashes.

"What is this? Las Vegas Bikefest?" I said to Grandma, who looked
entirely too amused. I'd bet anything they'd whipped up some kind of cover
spell to keep the party going.

She stretched her arms over her head. "What can I say? Life is about
catching that magic moment."

Ah, yes. The Van Halen life philosophy. Come to think of it, I didn't really
want to know if they'd voodooed the lot or not. "Where's Dimitri?"

"You pass the test?" she countered, sliding off the car and
doubling back behind me. "Ah hah!" Grandma plucked the permit from my
back pocket and holding it up for everyone to see. "Call Oral
Roberts—it's a miracle! Lizzie passed!"

I felt the pink rise to my cheeks.

The Red Skulls let out a series of whoops and cheers. Frieda enveloped me in
a hug that smelled like Bengay and cigarettes.

"Aw, now that's nice," Pirate said, wedged in the middle. Frieda's
bracelets dug into my raw left side and I pulled away.

She chomped at her gum, beaming at me. "I'm proud of you,
sweetie," she said. "Now excuse me while I kick your grandmama's ass."

"First things first," I said, raising my voice for the benefit of
the parking lot crowd. I was starting to worry. "Has anyone seen
Dimitri?"

"Kiss him in Vegas," Grandma said to a cascade of whistles and at
least one catcall from some smart aleck in the back. She winked at her friends
and clapped me on my good shoulder. "Just don't do it in front of
me."

A tickle of fear ran up my neck. "What do you mean Vegas?"

He couldn't. He wouldn't.

"Can your pumpkins," she said, accepting a charred hotdog from one
of the witches. "Dimitri decided to ride ahead."

Sweet mother. And nobody stopped him? "You let a griffin go into Las
Vegas?"

"Sure." She shrugged, taking a bite. "He's a big boy.
Besides, he was getting on my last nerve."

Oh great. Grandma, my esteemed instructor, didn't know what a succubus could
do to a griffin. I was screwed two ways to Sunday. "Listen," I said,
trying to keep Pirate from jumping into her arms. "I talked to a
Department of Intramagical Welfare guy in there. He said the she-demons will
corrupt Dimitri, suck him dry."

Grandma's eyes widened to saucers.

Frieda gasped. "Maybe that's why he couldn't stand still while you were
in there. It was like he had termites in his pants. Couldn't stop looking down
the highway."

This was bad. "He must have sensed them. There are at least thirteen
succubi."

"At least?" Grandma scoffed. "Dammit, Lizzie. You'd better
count them and make sure."

How did everyone know about that but me?

I dialed Dimitri's cell number, but it went straight to voice mail.

"Round up the Red Skulls," I said. "We're leaving."
Maybe we could overtake Dimitri before he reached the city.

Yeah, and bats ride bicycles.

"Not so fast," Grandma said. "We need to get your Uncle Phil
first. Dimitri can take care of himself."

I knew Dimitri was good in a fight, but still… "He's up against
multiple demons."

"Yeah, but he's not the target. Phil is. Besides, if anybody can avoid
a demon, it's a Red Skull. Ant Eater!" Grandma called over her shoulder,
eyeing me the whole time. A monster truck of a witch with curly gray hair and a
red leather halter jogged up. Her gold tooth glinted in the sunlight as she
smiled and gave Grandma a mock salute.

Thank goodness Grandma was beyond fun and games. "Ant Eater, I need you
and the Red Skulls to catch up with Dimitri. Lizzie and I will take care of
Phil."

"Fine," I said, heading for my bike. She was right. Annoying, but
right.

"That's what I'm talking about," Pirate said as I buckled him into
the glorified baby carrier that served as his bike harness. The black leather
contraption looked like it belonged in an old Kiss video, but it worked. Pirate
wasn't the only Harley biker dog out there, but he considered himself one of
the most stylish.

"You know I was thinking I might learn how to drive," Pirate mused
as I dialed Dimitri again. It went to voicemail. Of all the dumb things for him
to pull, heading into a mess of succubi had to be at the top of the list. I was
mad. I was worried. If they so much as breathed on him…

Pirate wriggled in his harness. "Yeeeeeesss!" he hollered as I
gunned us out into the open road.

The drab brown of the desert whipped past at speeds that would have made me
go pale a month ago.

Doubt crept over me. Who was I kidding? I still didn't know what I was
doing. And after the debacle with Dimitri, I wondered how much Grandma knew.

She acted like I'd asked to be a demon slayer. Like I'd chosen it. Okay,
well I did have a chance to get rid of my powers and I didn't take it. But
still, none of this would have happened if the original Demon Slayer of Dalea,
my mom, hadn't foisted her powers off on me. My mom had received detailed
instruction from a range of top teachers. I got what we could do on the
run—what Grandma remembered.

This whole thing—me being a demon slayer—had been a complete and
utter accident. I'd never felt it as keenly as I did today—knowing I was
expected to levitate, to know the science of switch stars—heck, to know
when I was leading my lover into a trap. Now Dimitri might be in mortal danger.
Uncle Phil certainly was, along with the citizens of Las Vegas if we drew a
demon attack, and I still didn't know what I was going to do about it.

I glanced at Grandma on the bike behind me and motioned to her that I was
taking it up a notch. She'd be thrilled. It took anything over ninety miles per
hour to really blow her hair back. I, on the other hand, usually liked to work
under the assumption that speed limits were there for a reason. Besides, Pirate
tended to throw me off balance when we went full throttle. Pirate had a need
for speed. He liked to pretend he was running.

Pirate's tail thumped against my stomach as I hit the gas. "That's what
I'm talking about!" he cried. "Let's pop a wheelie!"

"Let's not." I ducked my head around a flailing paw and kicked it
up to ninety-five.

Ever since we'd gotten back from hell, I'd been on edge. I didn't know if it
was the sheer terror of facing a fifth-level demon or the fact that I'd quietly
given up part of my essence to save Dimitri's life. Probably both.

When I cradled Dimitri's bloodied head in my lap, when I made the choice to
bring him back, Grandma told me there'd be consequences. Unfortunately, she
didn't know what they'd be. At the time, I didn't care. Of course I'd do it all
again. Still, I felt like I was walking around waiting for the other shoe to
drop.

Maybe I should've told him I saved his life. Then again, that could open up
another whole can of worms.

As we stormed toward Vegas, I began to feel the succubi. It started out as a
heaviness, like a cascade of worries raining down. I gunned my engine harder.

Oh yes.

I wanted to feel them, needed to see them. The closer I came to Las Vegas
and its demons, the more I knew I had to be there. I could almost touch them
with my mind. And there weren't the original six devils anymore. Not even the
thirteen that DIP Officer Reynolds predicted. Oh no. There were at least two
dozen of them.

Excerpt from
The Dangerous Book foe Demon Slayers:

Beware of live spells. They may look cute, but most have minds of their
own. Case in point: a two-inch-tall flutter of black and gold named Beanie. His
job is to fetch Starbucks coffee for the bikers too embarrassed to be seen in a
place without neon beer signs on the walls. They like him. I don't
—
not
after he filled my favorite black leather boots with pumpkin spice latte
.

Uncle Phil lived in a working-class neighborhood about ten minutes south of
Las Vegas. Iron gates wrapped around gravel front yards. Mismatched 1970s ranch
houses sweltered behind the occasional brittlebush or chokecherry tree.

His modest gray home hunkered under a television antenna that took up half
the roof. Statuettes of the Seven Dwarves marched through a rock garden that
was more sand than anything else. A woman two doors down ushered her children
into the house as we shut down our Harleys.

Please don't let her know something we don't.

If we could get Phil out of here—fast—well, I hoped we could
avoid trouble.

Pirate inspected the lawn chair on the porch while I rang the doorbell once,
twice. I felt Dimitri's teardrop emerald warm against my neck. He'd given it to
me because it held protective magic. Too bad Dimitri was the one in need of
protection now.

The bronze chain began to hum as it slid down my neck. In a million years,
I'd never get used to Dimitri's go-anywhere, do-anything jewelry. In the past,
it had turned into a breast plate—right before a witch aimed a loaded
rifle at my chest. It had morphed into a bronze collar around my neck, right
before a werewolf used it for a handle. And I'd never forget the bronze cap
that had kept my head safe from a skull-shattering blow.

I held my breath as the metal slid down my side to form—a bronze butt
plate? I felt the heavy metal encasing my hindquarters. Maybe Dimitri's magic
was suffering along with him.

Don't think about it.

I leaned on the doorbell. "Please be home." We didn't have time to
hunt down Uncle Phil.

"Damned lying she-devil," Grandma muttered behind me. "I'll
bet she's got her hooks in him right now." She motioned me away from my
assault on the doorbell. "Hold your horses, Lizzie. Deep breath." She
held her arms out to the side, her silver bracelets clattering. "Now, open
yourself up to the universe. Let yourself go. Can you feel her?"

I glanced over Grandma's shoulder at the curtains fluttering in the window
of the house next door. She didn't know the half of it. I could sense each
demon that had invaded the Las Vegas metro area. All twenty-five of them.

No way I could kill twenty-five.

I blinked hard, tried to focus. "I can feel them. But I don't know
which one is her." How could I possibly get a lock on a demon I'd never
met? "Please say you can teach me."