The Dangerous Book for Demon Slayers (2 page)

I blew out a breath.

Problem was, I was still fine-tuning my supernatural compass. That meant my
apocalyptic-danger radar also tended to zone in on poisonous snakes, rabid bats
and telemarketers.

And now a dirty kitchen, a pot of poached eggs and—Grandma.

A wave of suspicion swept over me. "What are you up to in here?"
Knowing Grandma, it didn't stop at breakfast. She believed in a loosey-goosey
fly-by-the-seat-of-your-pants magic. For the longest time, she hadn't had much
of a choice. Her coven had spent the last thirty years on the run from a
fifth-level demon. They'd gone from borderline hippie to, well, biker.

I'd recently killed the demon who'd chased them all over kingdom come.
Still, I supposed old habits died hard. If Grandma thought that meant I'd let
her get away with this, she'd been breathing diesel fumes for too long.

Grandma blustered like I was the one driving her crazy.

I ignored her and slid past a can of cooking grease. "What were you
grinding in the sink?"

"None of your beeswax," she said, cutting me off with a flick of
the disposal on-button. The machine screeched to life.

I kicked my way past a trash can. Grandma blocked me with her butt. Too bad
for her stubbornness ran in the family. I thrust a leg past her. She maneuvered
her body between me and whatever she had going in the sink.

Her hair tangled over her shoulders and hid her face. "Lizzie, I hate
to say it, but scram," she bellowed above the grinding as she shoved an
ominous wad of
something
down the disposal.

"Grandma," I warned.

"I'm fixing your problem." She grabbed another wad of yellow from
her back pocket and jammed it down the drain. "Thirty seconds and the
clanging in your head will be gone."

Why did I get the feeling that was more bad than good? I flicked off the
machine. "They have four trash cans in here," I said. All overflowing
with beer bottles from the night before. "Why is it so important to mash a
wad of—oh help me Rhonda."

The gold seal of the Department of Intramagical Matters (DIM) clung to the
top of the soggy, chewed-up mess of paper. I'd only been a demon slayer for two
weeks, but I knew you didn't want to tangle with those guys.

I inhaled sharply. "Are those tickets?"

Grandma puffed her hair out of her face and the phoenix tattoo on her arm
sagged like the jowls of a bulldog. "Told ya you shouldn't have
looked," she said. "Now why don't you mosey along and let me get rid
of these for you?"

I about choked. "Those are mine?" I scrambled past her to dig the
mangled mess out of the sink. I nicked my fingers on the blades of the
disposal, knocked my wrist against the drain. My stomach knotted.
"Impossible!" These couldn't be mine. I'd never even had a speeding
ticket before. I'd never had a library late fee. I always showed up at least
thirty minutes early for my teaching job at Happy Hands Preschool. I did
everything right.

Until I became a demon slayer.

Hands shaking, I pried apart the sopping wet charges:
Unlicensed
Exorcism
, two counts of
Unsanctioned Demonic Warfare
, at least
eleven counts of
Unauthorized and Overt Magical Destruction
.

God bless America.

"Now don't you wish I'd shredded 'em?" Grandma said, flicking part
of a ticket from the sleeve of her T-shirt. She coiled a thumb through the
silver-studded belt at her waist. "You wouldn't have passed the licensing
exam anyway."

"Licensing exam?" I was supposed to have a license? Two weeks ago,
I hadn't even known my family was magical, much less come face to face with
demons, werewolves and that particularly nasty creature who lived in the back
of my demon slayer utility belt. "How am I supposed to pass a licensing
exam? You haven't taught me anything."

Most slayers trained their whole lives. I got zip.

"Hey." Grandma brought a finger up. Her silver raccoon ring
glinted with the rising dawn. "I'm a big believer in on-the-job
training."

"Fan-frickin'-tastic," I said, panic rising, water from the
tickets dripping off my elbows. "I'm glad that works for you. But let me
ask you one very, very important thing—how is that going to help
me?"

Grandma's eyes darted toward the doorway and I followed her gaze just in time
to see Dimitri, my strong-as-sin boyfriend, lean up against the doorframe, his
large hand wrapped around a steaming mug of coffee. He raised a brow. "Is
there a problem in here?" He ran a rough hand through his tousled hair and
my body warmed as I remembered exactly how it had gotten that way.

Dimitri couldn't help—not with this. He'd already taught me what he
could. Grandma was supposed to be my true mentor, the family member I needed to
fulfill my heritage, grow stronger, avoid demon-slaying violations.

She gave Dimitri the stink eye. The man was six feet of raw Mediterranean
heat and power. He also happened to be a shape-shifting griffin and—don't
ask me why—witches loved griffins. Well, every witch except Grandma. She
popped open her claw-shaped pinkie ring.

"We don't have time for this," I told her as a skunk-like scent
filled the air.

Naturally, she didn't listen. Grandma dashed a fine yellow powder at
Dimitri. "
Superio casuico retractum
!"

Dimitri had the nerve to be amused. He crossed his arms over his chest and
challenge shone in his eyes. "Even if it shrank, it'd still be quite
formidable."

I didn't want to know. "Can we get back on topic here?" I asked.

"Aw, for the love of…" Grandma rushed over to the stove and
yanked the lid off the pot. Steam billowed out as she poked at the eggs with a
fork. "Dammit. They're overcooked."

"We don't have time for breakfast anyway," Dimitri said.
"I've got the witches lining up. Except for about ten stubborn souls,
everyone's relatively cognizant. We need to get moving. Lizzie, your dog wants
to ride with Crazy Frieda." He must have seen my spirit deflate, because
he winked and added, "She's been slipping him beef jerky."

It did make me feel a bit better. Pirate tended to think with his stomach.

My fingers went to the emerald pendant Dimitri had given me. "Why
didn't you tell me about the Demon Slayer Licensing Exam?"

"Exam?" He seemed genuinely puzzled. Well of course he didn't
know. How could he?

How could I?

Dimitri eliminated the space between us and folded me into his arms. I
closed my eyes, letting his warmth wash over me.

"We'll worry about it later," he said, kissing me on the top of
the head. "You can't plan everything."

No, but I could sure try.

He gave me a squeeze. "I'm going to unlodge the Defiance road captain
from under the pool table so I can thank him for his hospitality. You two, be
out in ten."

"Fine," I snapped, suddenly cold and royally annoyed that he had
everything under control. As always.

Meanwhile, the all-powerful demon slayer didn't know what she was doing.
"How am I supposed to pass this test?"

Grandma brushed past me, dumping the ruined eggs onto a platter, presumably
for the bikers who were too hung over to know better.

"You won't pass the test," Grandma said, sliding the platter into
the fridge. "Forget about it. We'll head to Vegas. You'll be in and out
before they even know you're there."

"I think they know I'm here already." I clutched the sorry-looking
tickets until even more water dripped out. "What am I going to do?"

Grandma eyed the garbage disposal.

"Except that," I said.

I didn't have money for a bunch of fines, even if the instructions to pay
hadn't been recently pulverized. My eye caught a particularly troublesome line:
All unlicensed demon slaying activity, must cease, or
… I
gulped. "They're going to shoot me on sight?"

Grandma pried a pair of silver-framed reading glasses from the back pocket
of her skinny jeans. Rhinestone clusters in the corners twinkled as she peered
at the death threat. "Oh, yeah. I forgot about that part. Maybe you do
need to get your license."

That afternoon, I stood in line at the Greater Nevada Department of
Intramagical Procedures (DIP) office, about a half hour outside of Las Vegas. We
didn't have time for me to get caught standing in line to fill out forms to get
permission to stand in a different line. Then again, I didn't want to get shot,
either.

I'd changed into one of my new demon slayer outfits—black leather
pants and a sleek lavender corset top. The top was a nod to the purple prairie
flower, the symbol of my demon slayer line. Told you I was a planner.

I wiped a smudge of axle grease from my wrist. I didn't know what I was
going to do if I didn't pass their exam.

DIP officials had enchanted the office to look like a dry cleaner's from the
outside. Inside, I'd immediately gotten flashbacks to my last visit to the DMV.
The air smelled like metal folding chairs and industrial cleaner. The entire
facility consisted of one room, done in gray, beige and more gray, with a
plastic desk that ran along the back. A few magical posters dotted the walls.
Safe
Shifting Is Everyone's Responsibility. Don't Jinx Yourself: Alcohol and
Witchcraft Do Not Mix
.

A burst of Harleys thundered past, rattling the glass doors behind me. Leave
it to the Red Skulls to be having fun.

I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. If only I'd had time to prepare.
I didn't even like to go to Target without a typed list.

A few manuals sagged in a brochure stand. Most of them had to do with basic
witchcraft. Nothing for demon slayers. It figured. We were rare. It had taken
Dimitri years to find me when he'd needed me. I didn't even know where I'd look
for another one of my kind. In a world where everybody tries to stand out and
be special, what no one really thinks about is how lonely it can get,
especially when the pressure is on.

I focused on deep, even breathing as I clutched my Demonic Licensing Exam
paperwork.

"Now that's just wonky," said the round-faced witch behind me. The
wooden beads on her dress clacked together, and one of her blonde dreadlocks
tickled my neck as she checked out the official forms I'd brought. She huffed
like a steam engine. "You think they could have called it the Demonic
Slayer
Licensing Exam." She looked me up and down with a critical eye. "You
are one of the good guys, right?"

A doe-eyed woman behind her took a step toward the door and nearly ran into
the large, woodsy-looking fellow at the end of the line. Yeah, well with the
Red Skulls popping wheelies in the parking lot, she and the mountain man were
much safer inside.

"I am most definitely one of the good guys," I said, folding my
wad of paperwork and stuffing it into my black leather utility belt. I never
hurt anybody, except for a homicidal werewolf and a fifth-level demon, but that
was self-defense.

She sized me up before evidently deciding to give me the benefit of the
doubt. "I've been here three times for my Express Voodoo License. 'Cause
you know folks these days can barely wait to microwave a burrito at the Quick
Trip, much less hang around for a full-fledged magical incantation. I would
have passed the first time, but I keep getting the old Dragon Lady." She
pointed a long, gold fingernail at a five-foot-nothing Vietnamese woman with
poufy black hair and wide glasses straight out of the '70s.

The Dragon Lady's plain beige uniform didn't have a wrinkle on it, not even
at the matching cloth belt. She stood ramrod stiff and blended with
chameleon-like precision into the colorless office. Even the other workers gave
her a wide berth.

"Gives me the heebie-jeebies just looking at her," my new friend
said, adjusting the gold and red shawl at her shoulders. "Bet she eats
steak with a spoon. They say she's been here for thirty years and only passed
two people."

"That's ridiculous." I hoped. Because unlike the witch behind me,
I couldn't afford to fail. I had to get into Las Vegas yesterday.

It seemed my Uncle Phil, who should have just signed up with eHarmony, had
taken up with the wrong woman. And, no, I don't mean a gold digger or the
flavor of the week at the Double Trouble Gentleman's Club. He'd fallen for a
she-demon. Literally. A succubus, who'd charm a man silly before draining the
poor guy of his life force and sometimes even his soul.

I tried to hide a grimace and failed. Succubi were the worst kind of demons
because you couldn't see them coming. Supposedly, they looked like beautiful
people, right up until the time they drained you. I'd like to
think—hope—I'd sense them. But right now, most of what I knew about
succubi, I'd learned on Wikipedia.

In fact, most of what I'd learned about the magical world, my powers,
everything—I'd learned through the back door. It had better be enough.
Uncle Phil couldn't afford to wait for me to master the Practical Demon Slaying
Exam.

"See now," the witch said, tapping me on the shoulder. "You
want the Yeti." I followed her chubby finger to a portly gentleman with
tufts of snow white hair bursting from the vee in his uniform shirt. The same
hair curled around the bald spot on his head and peeked out of his
shirtsleeves.

I nodded.
Come on, Yeti
.

The bored-looking clerk at the only open window motioned me over. I handed
my paperwork to Bradford, a mousy man whose name tag said he was happy to serve
me.

Now or never.

Without a word or even so much as a glance in my direction, Bradford slapped
a thin, pasty hand on top of the stack. "
Veritas probatum
,"
he said, like he'd been asked to read the dictionary, "
dedecus impedio
."
The area where his hand touched the paper glowed an orangish green. He sighed.
"This would be a lot easier if you wouldn't lie on your application."