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Authors: Lexi George

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BOOK: Demon Hunting In Dixie
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Ansgar's chilly hauteur was noticeably absent in his dealings with Evie, Brand noted. Perhaps he was not the only warrior affected by these damnable feelings. The knowledge cheered him.
He sought and found Adara once more on the dance floor. Her partner's grinning pod head bent closer to her shining head as though whispering something in her ear. Brand's hearing was unusually keen, but he could not hear the creature for the music.
“ 'T would be much simpler, brother, if you claimed the next dance,” Ansgar said, sounding bored once more. “Or you could skulk in the shadows like a lovesick boy and allow one of these other drooling jackals to claim her instead.” He shrugged. “I daresay it would be better if you did. It is not the nature of the Dalvahni to love.”
Love?
Once during a battle centuries before in the Kingdom of Alba, a demon-possessed soldier attacked him from behind, striking him in the head with a mace. The blow had stunned him. He felt the same way now. He
loved
Adara? No wonder he had not been able to put a name to this baffling condition. What did he or any other Dalvahni warrior know of love? But, since he'd met Adara . . .
He thought of his life before her. The long years blurred behind him, empty and meaningless—a dreadful, unchanging drudgery of grim purpose and duty. He imagined the future without her. Endless, lonely years . . . unbearable. How pitiable a creature was he that one female could shake him loose from his moorings and send him drifting rudderless into an unknown sea? He was a warrior, focused, dedicated, determined in the eternal fight against the enemy. These feelings the woman stirred in him left him as weak and helpless as a newborn babe blinking in the light of a bewildering new world. He had no defenses against such an opponent, no previous experience to fall back upon, no one to counsel him. Ansgar and their brother warriors, the closest thing to family he knew, could not extricate him from this coil. The Dalvahni were unburdened by sentiment, had no concept of it. He sailed alone on uncharted waters, tossed about on a treacherous ocean by an everchanging current of emotion, something his brothers would find incomprehensible, even contemptible.
Love? Unthinkable.
He
loved
her.
The knowledge blazed through him, certain, cleansing.
Right
.
He should be holding Adara in his arms and whispering in her ear, not the grotesque human with the unnaturally large head. Enough was enough.
He strode out onto the dance floor to claim his woman.
Chapter Thirty
T
here are some social situations that no amount of mothering or all the lectures in the world can prepare a girl for. Dancing with a demonically possessed giant peanut is surely one of them.
“
D-i-i-e,
” her partner said in a rattling hiss that shivered along her nerve endings.
Classic horror movie stuff, though the big peanut head kind of ruined it for him. Hard to take a supernatural malefic being seriously when he was dressed like a gi-normous goober pea, even if he was the Legume from Hell.
Addy blinked at him. “I'm sorry, could you say that again?”
“Tomorrow you die.”
“What
is
that smell?” She wrinkled her nose. “Like rancid butter. Yuck. Is somebody burning popcorn
at a ball
?”
She winced as his hand tightened painfully over hers.
“Heed me, Addy. I have marked you. You are mine, and tomorrow I will come for you.”
Addy was terrified. Not that she was about to let him know it. Clowns and mimes and that creepy Burger King guy gave her the willies. And now she could add vengeful, possessed peanuts to the list. She stiffened her spine and donned her favorite armor, smarminess, to disguise her fear.
“Yeah, I heard you. Tomorrow's the big day,” she said. “But, why wait? Is the big, bad demon scared of a woman? And what have you done with Pootie? This is his big night. Did you
ask
him if he wanted to be possessed by a soul-sucking fiend from hell? Because if you didn't that's just rude. And speaking of rude, when are you going to get that statue off my aunt's lawn? It's killing the grass.”
Violet light flashed behind the round, dark eyeholes of the Grand Goober mask. She'd pissed him off. Her alter ego, Miss Smarty Pants, had that effect on others. Nice to know her abilities extended to the vegetable world.
The curved head bent closer to her ear. “Even for one of your kind, you are singularly annoying, Addy Corwin. I look forward to your death with pleasure.” He jerked upright in sudden alarm. “The Dalvahni approaches. Despair, for tomorrow you die.”
He flung her away and strode off. She stumbled back into a pair of strong arms.
“Thanks,” she murmured, regaining her balance.
She looked up at her rescuer, and her knees buckled. It was Brand, decked out in formal wear. The last time she saw him before they left the house he was still wearing jeans. Tweedy must have dropped the tux off while she was getting ready, God bless him. The evening clothes clung to Brand's muscular frame like a lover's caress, black tailcoat, matching trousers, white shirt and tie—the whole nine yards. Hot damn, he was gorgeous. He made her mouth water. He was a great big Dalvahni all-day sucker, and she was dying to see exactly how many licks it took to get to the center of his Tootsie Roll Pop.
The music ended, but she hardly noticed. She stood on the dance floor staring at him, her mouth open.
He frowned down at her, six feet plus of glorious male. “It is fortunate your friend left when he did, Adara, else I would have done him an injury. I do not enjoy seeing you in the arms of another man, even Pootie.”
Brand was jealous of Pootie. Only Pootie wasn't Pootie anymore, but a soul-sucking, flesh-eating fiend that wanted to kill her.
It all came crashing down on her. Her blind panic when she realized her enemy lay hidden behind the frozen features of the grinning mask, the sick terror that filled her when the demon whispered in her ear. She heard again that chilling, raspy voice promising death and worse. The whole thing was downright spooky. Spooky, hell; she was scared out of her wits.
Heedless of her surroundings, she launched herself into Brand's arms. “I wasn't dancing with another man.” She buried her face against his hard chest. His spicy, masculine scent filled her senses, calming her and making her horny as all get-out at the same time. “It was the demon. The demon has Pootie.”
With a low curse, he swept her out of the ballroom, through the French doors, and onto the veranda. He reached behind him and drew his sword. The silver blade gleamed in the moonlight but did not burst into flame. Apparently satisfied they were in a demon-free zone, he sheathed Uriel.
“What did he say to you?” He gave her a little shake. “The djegrali. I saw him whisper something to you. What did he say?”
“He said I'm going to die tomorrow.” Tears filled her eyes. Angrily, she blinked them away. Badass Addy may have taken a powder, but that didn't mean little Addy Corwin had to be a total wus. “Cheerful, huh?”
He jerked her into his arms, crushing her against his broad chest. “I should not have let you come here tonight. It is too dangerous. If anything happened to you . . .” His arms tightened around her, the expression on his handsome face fierce. “Adara, I—”
She heard a faint cry over the noise of the river and put her finger to his lips. “Shh. Did you hear that?”
“Adara, I am trying to tell you—”
“Help.”
“There, you heard it that time, didn't you?” She slipped out of his embrace and went to the railing, peering out into the darkness. “I think somebody fell in the river.”
The old Addy had terrible night vision, but the new and improved Addy could pick fly shit out of pepper. Below them, clinging to the branches of a fallen tree in the river, was Pootie Jones. The river was deep at this point, and the current pulled at his legs. The Grand Goober had lost his peanut head. He looked small, wet, and bedraggled.
“Oh, my goodness, it's Pootie!” She leaned over the railing. “Hang on, Pootie. We'll get help.”
Brand yanked her back. “By the sword, are you trying to kill yourself?”
“Oh, pooh. The bank's not that steep. What are we going to do about Pootie?”
Brand frowned. “Why must we do anything about Pootie? Cannot the foolish human extricate himself from the river?”
“He can't swim,” Addy said. “We took swimming lessons together at the club when we were kids. Pootie flunked.”
“Is this not the same human that threatened to kill you but a moment ago?”
“That wasn't Pootie. That was the demon. Pootie wouldn't hurt a flea.”
“Help,” Pootie yelped again.
“He doesn't
sound
possessed. He sounds like plain old Pootie.” She gazed anxiously up at Brand. “Maybe the demon has gone.”
Brand shrugged out of his jacket. “Very well.”
“What are you doing?”
“I am going to remove the Pootie human from the river. Is that not what you desire?”
“Y-yes. No. I changed my mind.” She twisted her hands together. “What if the demon is playing a trick? Maybe we should get somebody else, like the fire department.”
She whirled around to rush back inside.
Brand stopped her. “I do not think that is the case. I think the demon, having delivered its message and knowing that Pootie cannot swim, left Pootie in the river to drown. It is their way to dispose of their victims once they have no further use for them. I will collect him for you.”
He motioned with one hand.
“No, wait, Brand. I'm worried—” She stopped. A glowing circle of light surrounded her. “What are you doing?”
“I have placed a spell around you to protect you from the djegrali in my absence. Do not leave the circle.”
“But Brand—”
Pfft,
he disappeared. Addy tiptoed to the edge of the circle and peeked over the railing. Brand materialized on the partially submerged tree trunk at a point downstream from Pootie. His white shirt gleamed phosphorescent in the dark. Brand, the glow-in-the-dark Dalvahni warrior. Better than a light stick.
“Who are you?” Pootie demanded shrilly.
“Is it Pootie?” Addy yelled over the sound of the water.
“Yes,” Brand said.
“How can you be sure?”
“He does not stink, and his eyes are not purple.”
Wha? Purple eyes? Later, he would explain that remark, but at the moment she was remembering the rancid odor that had emanated from Demon Pootie on the dance floor.
“Burnt popcorn,” she shouted triumphantly. “The demons smell like burnt popcorn!”
“I am not familiar with this popcorn.” Brand paused. She could almost hear him thinking. Probably checking his internal Dalvahni guidebook, something she imagined as a sort of GPS and encyclopedia all rolled into one. “Ah, yes,” he said at last. “Corn is a cereal grain, also known as maize. This ‘popcorn' you speak of is popular with humans. I do not understand the appeal of a food that reeks of demon.”
“It only smells like that when it's burned,” Addy said. “I noticed it when I was dancing with—”
Pootie interrupted them. “Hey, people. I'm freezing my butt off here.”
Pootie sounded petulant. The Devil River was fed by a series of underwater springs, and the water was
cold.
Brand said something to him in a low voice. Pootie shook his head and clung tighter to the tree branch. Brand clenched his jaw. She heard his deep voice rumble again and saw Pootie shake his head a second time. In the darkness, Brand's eyes glowed like green coals. The big guy was getting cranky. Not a good thing. She'd better think of something quick before Brand exhausted his limited store of patience.
She cupped her hands around her mouth. “Hey, Pootie.”
Pootie looked up, his face the color of bleached bone in the moonlight.
“Tell Brand the joke about the string that walks into a bar.”
“Addy, I don't thi—”
“Do it, Pootie.”
Teeth chattering, Pootie mumbled something to Brand. Nothing.
“Okay, he didn't get that one. My bad,” she said. “Try the one about the penguin, the hippo, and the one-legged nun.”
“Addy, I'm trying to keep from drowning. I don't think—”
“Just tell him the damn joke, Pootie.”
Addy heard Pootie mutter something else to Brand. Brand grinned. Even at a distance, Addy was sucker-punched by that smile. It had the same effect on Pootie. His face went slack, and he let go of the branch. Brand caught him as he swept past.
Pfft,
they vanished. A second later, Brand reappeared on the terrace with Pootie slung over one shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Brand looked as elegant as before. Pootie looked like a drowned rat.
“Oh, my goodness, he's soaked.” Addy rushed forward and slammed onto an unseen barrier. She banged her fist against the invisible wall. “Okay, joke's over. Let me out of here.”
Brand dumped Pootie on the veranda. “I should have locked you up the first night. It would have saved me no end of trouble.”
She felt like a bug in a jar. “Ha ha, very funny. Let me out, Brand. I mean it. I'm claustrophobic.”
“Relax, little one. The spell is temporary. You are Dalvahni now. I could not really keep you imprisoned for any length of time, much as I might like to for your own good.”
As he spoke, the glowing circle faded.
Addy bent over Pootie. “You all right, Poo—uh—Bruce?”
Pootie sat up with a groan. “What happened? I feel awful.”
“Brand pulled you out of the river.”
“Thanks, mister,” Pootie said. He removed his wet shoes and socks. “I owe you one.”
“Think nothing of it.”
“How'd you get in the river in the first place?” Addy asked.
Pootie gave Brand a nervous glance. “Don't know. I remember feeling small and sort of squished. And there was this voice in my head.” He shuddered. “A horrible, evil scratchy voice that gave me a headache. When I woke up, I was in the river.” He shoved a hank of wet hair out of his face. “My peanut head! What happened to my peanut head?”
Poor Pootie. Being Grand Goober was the highlight of his existence, and so far, he pretty much sucked at it. It was swim lessons at the club all over again.
“I guess it went in the river,” Addy said.
Pootie groaned. “The mayor's gonna kill me. That costume came all the way from Chicago, Illinois. It was custom made, one of a kind. Cost the City fifteen hundred dollars. Some Grand Goober I turned out to be. How am I going to pay for this?”
Addy patted him on the back. “Don't worry, we'll think of something. Right, Brand?”
Brand gave a noncommittal grunt and helped Pootie to his feet.
The three of them stood on the dark terrace, looking through the long windows into the brightly lit ballroom. The orchestra music drifted through the doors. The dance floor was crowded with women in brightly hued gowns and their penguinesque partners. A tall man whirled past with a curvaceous redhead in his arms. The redhead had a look of abject misery on her face.
BOOK: Demon Hunting In Dixie
5.48Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
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