My Big Fat Demon Slayer Wedding (20 page)

Rachmort whistled under his breath.

He didn’t know the half of it. “This guy who owned the house, Russell, was seriously into the occult. He had hundreds of books on it in the library, a bunch of messages from a Ouija board, and a black chapel underneath it all.”

That surprised him. Hades, it had shocked me, too. Rachmort scrubbed a hand over his mouth, thinking.
 

“So what do we do?” I asked. Now was the time for action.

The necromancer walked a few paces toward the kitchen table, then back. Then away, then back.

Oh, come on.

“Patience,” he reminded me, rubbing at his chin. “We have to think.”

“I’d rather destroy the markers.”

He sighed, as if he’d given up on something. “If he was reading how-to books, it doesn’t seem like he was magical at all. I’d peg him as a novice. A poser.”

Of all the… “I am
not
dreaming up any of the weird things happening in this house. This is real. Besides, you saw the dress.”
 

My mentor held up a finger. “What I’d meant,” he began, then paused to think again. I opted to grind my teeth as he kept his finger aloft for an extra few seconds, no doubt to drive me nuts. “Is that an individual who is connected to the magical world would not need the Ouija board.”
 

“That’s exactly what I thought. Why didn’t he use the dark marks?”

Rachmort tapped his finger against his lips. “If our home owner was not a magically gifted individual, he would need to rely on outside learning as well as an outside power source. Hence the library and the dark marks. Apparently he was a
learn as you go
sort of man.”

“Right,” I said, chastened. That made a lot of sense, actually. I joined him on the other side of the kitchen island, planted my back against it. “Russell didn’t have power of his own, so he had to create the dark marks. Still, he couldn’t use them by himself.”

“To power those dark marks, he’d need to have help from a demon. Then our occultist could do magic.” He folded his hands over his chest, pacing again. “If wasn’t careful— which I doubt he was, a demon could very easily escape. It’s not like one of his little books would warn him of that possibility. Research is fine, but in this case, it would fall woefully short.”

Dang. “You think he let a demon escape?”

“I’m almost sure of it,” Rachmort said solemnly. “Well, that is, as long as he powered his markers.”

Wait. I walked over to my mentor. “You said the demon would add the power.”

“Yes, but our occultist would need a soul connection in order to create an opening.”

“You mean sacrifice,” I said, dread creeping over me when I remembered the skulls we’d seen in the chapel. “I saw a human skull down there.”

Rachmort nodded, solemn. “Then it seems he found his victim. You must break the soul connection in order to break the markers.”

I had a pretty good idea who the victim had been.

She had been young, less affluent, a sacrificial lamb from the start.

Then again, I didn’t want to assume too much. That kind of thinking got people killed—or worse. This time, it wasn’t only me on the line, but also the life and soul of my possessed wedding guest. I needed facts. For all I knew, the dead woman could have been in league with the demon to get revenge on her murdering husband.

Help me
could have been short for, “Help unleash this demon.”

I needed answers. Now. Before things got worse.
 

“I think I need the Cave of Visions,” I said to myself.

Rachmort barked out a laugh.

Yeah, I knew my track record wasn’t great.
 

The Cave of Visions was basically an express line to the other world. It opened up all kinds of possibilities—from finding the answers you sought, to losing your soul, and pretty much everything else in between.
 

The last time I’d tried to go in, I’d been sucked through by a bunch of sex demons in Las Vegas. But I’d learned so much since then. I was a better demon slayer, stronger. I wouldn’t let my guard down again.

Of course, convincing the witches was another thing.

The Cave of Visions was a last resort, which seemed to fit our situation perfectly. I didn’t know what else to do.

Rachmort wasn’t exactly cheering my decision, but he didn’t argue with me either. He placed a large hand on my shoulder. “While you’re in there, do try to see who wants to kill you.”

“Good point.” I’d do that.

How bad was it when discovering the identity of my potential killer was the least of my problems?

***

“Absolutely not,” Grandma said.
 

I’d found her on the back porch, brewing up a large pot of leaves, sticks, dead bugs and from the smell of it—mint.

I gave it a brave whiff and regretted it. It smelled like road kill and chewing gum. “Don’t tell my mom you have spiders in her soup pot.”

Grandma sighed, tossing her gray hair over her shoulder. “First of all, she’s renting. Second, she knows.”

“Who do you think helped us carry it out here?” Creely asked. She opened a cooler and pulled out a couple of beers.

“You’ve got to be kidding.”
 

I watched Grandma crack the beer open, thinking it would go in the pot. I should have known better. “Your mom’s okay,” she said, taking a long drag, wiping her mouth on her sleeve. “She said she wanted to help and she is. Now if we could get her into some better clothes.”

“Don’t even try it.” Hillary wore heels to the grocery store.
 

“How does that look?” Grandma asked, glancing into the pot.

Creely took a look. “Needs more spiders.”

The engineering witch ambled off the porch, presumably to go catch some.

I turned to Grandma. “I find it interesting that you’ll brew up spells to protect us, but you won’t build a Cave of Visions so that I can see who is trying to kill me.”

“She does have a point,” Creely called. “We’d be attacking the source of the problem.”

“She’d want to go,” Grandma said, her eyes boring into me.

I met her harsh glare. “I need to go in.” I didn’t have a choice.

Grandma gave a long look, stirred the pot, then caught my eye again. “I’ll make you a deal. We’ll build it. I go in.”

“I’m the demon slayer,” I told her.

She drew her chin up. “My coven.”

I’d have to figure out a way to get in around her.

“Frieda!” Grandma called. The blonde witch’s head popped up in the rose garden. “I need some turtle knees on the double. Send Ant Eater after the lizards and the Girl Scout Cookies. See if you can get Thin Mints. Meanwhile, I’ll recon some shelter.”

Fantastic. It was really happening. For the first time, I felt like we were on the right track. “Thanks, Grandma. I feel better.”
 

She gave me a stern look. “You won’t in a second.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

The door banged open behind me. “Lizzie Brown.” My mother stood, hands on her hips, a disapproving glare directed at me. “Your wedding shower was supposed to start two hours ago.”

As if I had time for presents and party talk. “I was dealing with demon slayer things, mom.”

It didn’t appease her in the slightest. “Are you finished?” she prompted.

I glanced at Grandma. “Pretty much.” At least until they built the Cave of Visions. “How long is it going to take to get the cave going?”

Grandma sipped her beer. “Two, three hours.”

“Well then come in the house,” mom ordered, “I’ll get everyone back together and get a new batch of coffee going.”

Grandma snarfed as I followed my mom into the house. “Have fun with your tea towels.”

Ha. I’d just be happy if nobody tried to poison me.
 

I should have known to be careful what I wished for.
 

Chapter Eighteen

My mom had decorated the sitting room in true Hillary Brown style. She’d dressed the coffee tables in lace and scattered several generations of silver-framed family wedding photos over them. She’d topped end tables with vases of white roses, tied with aqua bows. Several decorative dress mannequins, upholstered in silk, wore mom’s collection of vintage lingerie.
 

Because, you know, that’s exactly what I needed right now.

Most of Dimitri’s relatives were already seated, and about half of the biker witches gathered on the low-slung couches and chairs. I guess you didn’t need an entire coven to build a Cave of Visions.

“This is your place,” mom said, leading me through the various seating groupings to a chair across from the bay window.
 

Our guests were talking among themselves, excited even. Everything felt so
normal
, at least for me. I was used to living in Hillary’s world. Still, I couldn’t help but glance at the spot where I’d nearly been killed the last time we’d all gotten together like this.
 

“There’s too much sun over by the window,” my mom said, mistaking my interest. “We don’t want you back-lit in the photos.”

The horror of it.

Dimitri entered from the foyer as I was getting ready to sit. He wore a rich blue button down with black pants and looked, in a word, delicious.

I dodged my chair and went to give him a quick kiss, which turned into a longer kiss. He felt great.

A few of his in-laws giggled and I could feel my mom’s disapproval boring into my back.

The saucy grin he gave me made it all worth it.
 

He tucked a stray lock of hair behind my ear, growing serious. “How are you doing? I heard the witches are working on the Cave of Visions.”
 

I rested my hands on his chest, feeling the warmth of him under his crisp shirt. “Only once I’d like to try and get something past you.”

“I’m going in with you,” he said, as if it were a done deal.

Never in a million years. But I wasn’t about to get into it with him in front of a room full of people. “We’re doing my bridal shower first,” I said, hoping to put him off. Maybe I’d be finished with the witches before he even realized it.

But he didn’t leave, like he usually did at the start of most any estrogen-inspired pre-wedding event.

“Sounds good to me,” he said, exchanging a wave with Aunt Ophelia as he led me to a chair festooned with bows.
 

I didn’t get it. “What’s your angle?” I asked, sitting. He stood behind me, showing no signs of an imminent escape.
 

Dimitri leaned close, his lips against my ear. “I have a rule,” he said, his warm breath caressing my skin. “I stick close when my fiancé is about to open a present from someone who wants to kill her.”

Good point.

My mom stood watching us, chewing at her immaculately glossed bottom lip. “This is really a girls’ event…The rest of your male relatives are,” she struggled to sound casual, “well, they’re drag racing. In the sky. Or so I’m told.” When Dimitri showed no signs of budging, mom—bless her heart—decided to roll with it.
 

“All right,” she said, addressing the guests, “we are so glad to have you ladies here at our last big event before Lizzie and Dimitri walk down the aisle. While this isn’t exactly how we’d planned it, what with it being four hours late, and the mini smiling bride ice sculptures having melted and the hors d’oeuvres eaten hours ago…when we thought we were going to start…” She looked a bit lost before regrouping. “It doesn’t matter. None of it matters. We are all together now, and we have so many wonderful gifts for Lizzie and Dimitri.”

I tried to smile at the smattering of polite applause. In truth, it made me a little uncomfortable to be the center of attention. A bit guilty, too, because my guests didn’t need to get me anything. A lot of them had already spent a fortune coming here. They’d stayed, even after my mom had unveiled her party schedule. And they wanted the best for me. There was nothing else I could ask. Besides, it’s not like Dimitri and I were setting up house. We were still holed up at a safe house/hippie commune owned by Grandma’s friend, Neal.

Mom had stacked our gifts onto a small table. The dress mannequin behind it wore her wedding dress, with the one bared arm and the silk skirt. It was a subtle, yet direct barb. I chose to ignore it. I’d sooner wear the antique lingerie down the aisle.

The eyes of the room were on me as mom handed me the first gift, a large and heavy box wrapped in silver paper.

It had to weigh at least fifty pounds, and it took up my entire lap. “Thank you,” I said, determined to enjoy it. I noticed the wedding bell pattern on the wrapping paper. How sweet.

Aunt Ophelia stood, “It is from the entire Rhodos clan!” She announced to stomping feet and cheers.

Dimitri moved in next to me, his hands curled into fists, his body tense.
 

This was his own clan. Still, if he was worried, I needed to proceed with caution as well.

My breath came a little quicker as I opened the box. I dug through the tissue paper to reveal a bronze, triangular-shaped shield, as long as my arm and as wide as my entire chest.

The Greeks let out a collective, “Ooooo.”

I tried to hold it up, but frankly it was difficult with the box on my lap and the sheer size and weight of it. The metal was decorated with fancy scrollwork and pictures of deer, and it didn’t have any handle inside that would make it a shield. Instead, buckles dangled from the edges.

“I love it!” I said.

“You do?” Ophelia pressed.

“I do!” I said, wondering how rude it would be to follow up with a
What is it?

Diana rescued me. “This is a piece of griffin armor,” she said, turning it around in my hands, so that the point end was toward the top. Lovely. I’d been holding it upside down. “It’s meant to protect the right wing in battle,” she added, taking it from me with an apologetic glance.

“I have never owned anything like it,” I said, truthfully.

“What is she going to do with that?” I heard a few of the biker witches muttering.

“It’s tradition,” Ophelia shot back. “A bride gets her armor before the wedding. How else is she supposed to have it for her wedding night?”