Demon Hunting with a Dixie Deb (14 page)

He was attempting to rectify the matter when the Kirvahni appeared.

The Dalvahni and the Kirvahni were created by Kehvahn to hunt the djegrali. There any similarity ended. The Dal had their Great Hall, the Kir their Temple of Calm. The Dal were ferocious, relentless battle machines, unflagging in their fervor to seek out and destroy the enemy. They wielded sword, mace, and axe with equal skill and zeal.

The Kir were death in female form. They favored the short sword, bow and arrow, throwing stars, and knives.

Especially knives; the Kir were stealth itself and very, very good with knives. Their eyesight was keen, their aim deadly.

They were also meticulous, exacting, supercilious, and exasperating. Why Kehvahn had brought them into existence was a mystery.

Tall, lean, and strong of form, the Kirvahni wore her ruby red hair in a loose plait that hung below her waist. She was clad in brown doeskin breeches, a sleeveless tunic of the same, and boots. In one hand she carried a short sword. It was not her only weapon; of that Grim was certain. The Kir were fierce warriors, and this one appeared to be no exception. The ruthless intelligence in her hard gray eyes made Grim uneasy.

“What are you doing, warrior?” She spoke in the local language, her tone cool and superior.

“Putting out a fire.” Grim kicked himself for being unable to think of a cleverer retort.

“You are doing it wrong. Would you care for assistance?”

Grim sighed. Add critical to the list of things he disliked about the Kirvahni. The Kir exuded disdain. He'd
like
her to go away. Given the way his day had begun, he doubted fortune would favor him.

He stepped aside and waved his hand at the spreading wildfire. “By all means, instruct me.”

She made short work of it, dousing the fire with scrupulous efficiency. To her credit, she made no further comment once the job was done.

“You have my thanks,” Grim said. “What is your name, huntress?”

His politeness seemed to surprise her.

“Taryn. And yours?”

“I am called Grimford.”

She inclined her proud head. “Well met, Grimford. There is good sport here?”

“I tracked one of the djegrali here yestermorn.”

His statement startled him. It had been but the span of a few hours since his arrival. Yet the past hundred years were but a blur while the events of the day before were etched upon his mind.

Vivid and unforgettable, like Sassy.

Sassy—dear gods, what mischief had she gotten into while he tarried in the woods?

“I must go.” Grim gave the Kir his back. “I bid you good hunting.”

“Hold. I sense others of your kind nearby. What are their numbers?”

The question astonished Grim. He turned to face her once more. “Since when does the leopard question the wolf?”

“Since the leopard pulled the wolf's tail from the fire.”

How like a Kir to taunt him with his mistake.

“The captain of my ‘kind' is here.” Grim's tone was curt. “Direct your inquiries to him.”

“Such is mine intention.” She looked him up and down, her sharp gaze taking in his modern garb. “You arrived here yestermorn? You acclimate quickly.”

There was a hint of steel in her fluid voice . . . and suspicion.

“A warrior must be prepared.” Grim bowed. “Farewell.”

Grim strode off. Instinct more than sound told him she had followed. The Kir were sure-footed and silent as elves.

He whirled about to find her at his heels.

“Is there something else you require?” His patience was wearing thin. Sassy was unattended, an alarming state of affairs. The woman could unhinge the sun from its celestial moorings whilst he wrestled with this Kirvahni thorn.

“I would know where you are going.”

“To rescue a damsel from a tree.”

“They grow on trees hereabouts?”

A crop of Sassys? Perish the thought.

“No, by Kehv, they do not,” Grim said. “For which I am supremely thankful.”

“You blaspheme.” The Kirvahni looked down her nose at him.

“Kehvahn should smite you for your insolence.”

“Perhaps he finds it a refreshing change from the Kir's ceaseless caterwauling.”

“We do not caterwaul. We lift his name in song.”

“Is that what you call it? I could have sworn someone was boiling a clutter of cats.”

Her lips tightened. “You are trying to goad me. A waste of time. Escort me to your captain. I would have his counsel.”

“Find him yourself.”

Taryn shrugged. “Easy enough. The Dalvahni leave a trail a blind man could follow.”

“If your strategy is to persuade me with flattery, huntress, you fail.”

“My strategy, sirrah, is mine own affair. Will you take me to your captain?”

He considered the alternatives. He could allow this haughty female to find Conall on her own and cause, no doubt, a great deal of botheration in the process. Or he could deliver her to Conall himself.

The prospect was tempting. After all, Conall had saddled Grim with Evan, and turnabout was fair play.

“Very well, I will take you to him,” Grim said, “but I would ask a small boon in return.”

Her eyes narrowed. “What sort of boon, warrior? I am in no mood for games.”

“Nothing too onerous. Tell me, huntress, what do you know of milk cows?”

T
he titmouse flitted across the lawn and disappeared among the branches of a towering white oak. The tree was huge, at least eighty feet tall and four feet in diameter. Shattered trees lay in heaps, wooden corpses left by Monster Evan's tornado fit the night before.

Perfect egg?
The bird trilled from the green canopy.
Sassy see perfect egg?

“I'm trying,” Sassy said. “My fairy kit didn't come with wings.”

Thank goodness. Wings would
ruin
the line of a dress.

She surveyed the branches, mulling the best way to proceed. Even the lowest branches were over her head. She'd never climbed a tree. Mama said tree climbing was for dirty little boys, not young ladies.

Mama wasn't here.

On impulse, Sassy pressed her palms against the oak's fissured bark. Memories flooded her. The tree was old and measured time in seasons. In her mind's eye, Sassy saw endless hot summers, dry, crisp falls, and damp winters that mellowed into springs rife with golden pollen and the noisy burst of growing things.

And fairies; fairies had made merry in this tree for centuries. These limbs had been an oaken hall where they danced in warty acorn caps and hairy yellow catkins.

Breaker gone?
The oak's melancholy voice startled Sassy.

“Yes, the breaker is gone, but you mustn't blame him. It was the witch.” Sassy racked her brain for a way to explain. “She poisoned his sap.”

Bunny rabbits, she hoped she wasn't being indelicate. Talking sap to a tree could be the equivalent of mentioning her lady parts in mixed company.

Ahhhh
, the oak moaned wisely.
Blight.

“My friend has an egg she wants to show me. Mind if I climb up and take a look?”

“I'll try not to, though I can't promise. It's the toes, I would imagine.”

Tow-zes
, the tree agreed.

The tree roots on the other side of the oak splayed out from the base in a thick tangle that resembled elephant trunks. Maybe if she climbed up the roots, she could reach one of the lower limbs. She lifted her hands from the tree trunk to investigate and felt a slight pull.

Peter, peter, peter
, the titmouse chirped.

“Hold your tail feathers. I'm coming.”

Sassy placed the sole of her right foot and the palms of both hands against the bark. They stuck. Fairy Velcro—how creamy.

She scampered up the tree, quick and sure-footed as a squirrel, her toes and fingers finding purchase and clinging to the rough bark. The sense of power and freedom was exhilarating.

Mama was wrong. Girls did climb trees, and it was
fun.

The bird had made its nest in an abandoned woodpecker hole. Sassy sat down on a stout limb to admire it. The little shelter was cup shaped and made of moss and twigs. Something soft lined the interior. Animal hair, Sassy realized, leaning in for a closer look. Tucked inside the soft hollow were three cream and brown speckled eggs not much bigger than a dime.

The titmouse bobbed her head up and down.
Egg? Sassy see egg?

“Yes, I see them. They're beautiful.”

The bird whistled in delight and gave Sassy a bright, inquisitive look.
Sassy give shiny?

“Shiny? I'm sorry, I don't know what—”

The bird darted to Sassy's shoulder and pecked at her locks.
Shiny?

“Oh, of course.” Sassy plucked a few strands of her hair from her head and laid them next to the woodpecker hole. “Consider it a baby present.”

The titmouse set to work adding Sassy's blond curls to the lining of the nest. Dismissed, Sassy got to her feet and looked around. The river sparkled in the sunlight. On the opposite bank, the woods were a green smudge against the pale morning sky. So beautiful . . . it made her chest ache. She filled her lungs with cool morning air and committed the panorama and the earthy scents to memory.

As a child, she'd buried herself in books, longing for adventure and strange, magical places. She'd found them in Hannah, but that didn't mean she belonged here. Her life was back in Fairhope. She had a gift shop to run, and Mama and Daddy Joel would be worried sick.

Wesley would be worried, too. They were getting married in September. Her bridal gown was an absolute
dream
. Silver embroidered tulle with a swirling skirt. Everything would be perfect.

Then why did she feel queasy at the thought? Pre-wedding jitters; had to be.

She closed her eyes and thought of Wes. Grim's face rose before her instead. She saw the slash of his cheekbones and russet brows, his firm mouth and stubborn chin, his leonine eyes.

Sassy's eyes popped open. Mother-of-pearl, this was a disaster. It was one thing to have a crush on Grim. Who wouldn't? He was gorgeous. But this went beyond a crush and bordered on obsession.

It had to stop. She was an engaged woman.

She would march into that lawyer's office and sell the mill today. Then she'd leave Hannah. Away from the crater, her fairymones would fade. Life would resume its familiar rhythm. She would marry Wes. Have his babies. They'd live in a house near her mother. They'd go to parties and the club.

She would be a model wife. No more talking birds and trees. No more witches or ghosts. No more purple-eyed bad boys who turned into the Incredible Hulk.

No more golden-eyed demon hunters.

It would be awesomesauce.

Then why did she feel like flinging herself out of the tree?

She shook off her doldrums and reached a decision. If this was her last day in Hannah, she'd make it a doozy. She'd climbed her first tree. What else should she add to her bucket list?

She'd ask the funny little man with the unpronounceable name. He would know. Energized and filled with purpose, she scampered to the ground.

“Oh, Mr. Mozzarella.” She put her hands to her lips. “Yoo-hoo, Mr. Mozzarella?”

He appeared. “Do I look like a cheese?”

“Sorry, I couldn't think of your name.”

“I told you once. It's Irilmoskamoseril.”

“Too long. I'll call you Mose.”

“Fine. I'll call you Glo-Ethel Liver Lump. How do you like them apples?”

“Glo-Ethel is a dreadful name, whereas Mose is perfectly darling.” Sassy beamed. “Like you.”

“Huh.” The little man eyed her. “That's some smile, fairy puss. You're quite the charmer.”

“That's what I'm told.”

“Tell you what, toots. Mose is fine between the two of us. When you summon me, though, you call me by name. And you say it correctly.”

“That's silly. Mose is much easier to remember.”

“I don't make the rules, fairy puss.”

“I didn't say it properly this time and nothing happened.”

“You're a newbie. I'm giving you a pass. What do you want?”

Sassy clasped her hands to her breasts. “This is my last day in Hannah. I want it to be special. What should I do?”

“How should I know? I'm your nestor, not a tour guide. Go for a swim. Catch a fish. Kiss a handsome prince. Triumph over evil.”

“I freed the fairies, so technically I already triumphed over evil—”

“Whoopee. One down, three to go.”

“—and I can't kiss a handsome prince. I'm engaged.”

“Sucks to suck. Guess that leaves the river.”

He disappeared.

 

The encounter with Taryn energized Grim, and he set off through the woods at a jog, determined to cleanse his body and mind of the remaining vestiges of the demon chocolate. Ignoring his pounding head, he quickened the pace to a sprint. His boots stirred drifts of leaves as he leaped over fallen branches and powered his way up and down the wooded slopes. The Dal were seldom affected by heat or cold, but his body soon grew slick with sweat as the poison leaked from his pores. He ripped off his soaked shirt, tossed it aside, and ran faster, legs churning and lungs pumping.

His drunken meanderings the night before had taken him leagues from the Peterson river property. By the time he approached the house, he felt more like his old self. His stomach rumbled and not from nausea. He was famished. A few dozen eggs and a couple of rashers of bacon should set him to rights. First, though, to fetch Sassy from the tree.

He paused to catch his breath, smiling at the image of Sassy dangling from a limb like some scrumptious, unpicked fruit. She was such a merry little thing. It was hard to stay wroth with her. He liked the way her blue eyes sparkled. Sweet did not equal meek, he reflected, remembering that punch in the nose.

He wiped the smile off his face. He was growing soft. Sassy needed guidance and a firm hand—she was too spirited and impulsive for her own good. Once her affairs were in order and she was safely out of Hannah, he would resume his duties.

The call of the hunt had ever been his lode star, his one true constant; his purpose for being. For the first time it held no appeal.

“All the more reason to quit this sphere.” He paused beneath an elm. The river called from beyond the trees. He breathed deep, inhaling the scents of forest and water. “Hannah is too unsettling for a warrior accustomed to solitude.”

“Where have you been, Provider? I requested a location from you. You did not respond.”

“You cannot disregard me. You serve the Dalvahni.”

Unease snaked through Grim. “That is absurd. Whatever gave you such a notion?”

Grim's head began to throb anew, and not from chocolate. For centuries, he had shunned his brothers, preferring to grieve alone for Gryff. Focus his energy, guilt, and hate on the enemy. When had the Provider stopped being an implement and become something more, a companion, a confidant, a sparring partner to keep his wits sharp?

He tried to pinpoint the exact moment, and could not. The change had been too gradual, the centuries spent alone with the Provider a long, gray tunnel beyond reckoning.

Could this be? Was such a thing possible? Was it
allowed
? Creation was for the gods. The punishment for such an offense would surely be severe, banishment or imprisonment in the deepest, darkest part of the Pit.

Panic sliced through Grim. What would become of Sassy if he were jailed or dead? True, Evan was a force to be reckoned with when angered, but who would protect Sassy from Evan?

Grim lashed out at a branch in frustration, sundering it. “I will report my transgression to Conall at once, then seek out Kehvahn and tell him what I have done.”

The Provider knew the god of the Dal?

Grim's unease grew. “You are? How can this be?”

“Perhaps I am mad and you are the product of my disordered faculties.”

In which case, he would request beheading. Better dead than chained to some wall, a raving lunatic. An object of pity.

“What has Sassy to do with it?”

“Sassy can
hear
you?”

“A lessling?” Grim was alarmed. Lesslings were powerful creatures, half fairy, half imp, and all trouble. “Whose?”

“The woman is a menace. Getting stuck in a tree is but her latest folly.”

“What?”

An icy fist gripped Grim's vitals. Sassy was in the river, floundering beneath the weight of the heavy gown she had donned the night before.

She would drown.

I suspect the witch's brew contained a healthy dose of water sprite
, the Provider continued cheerfully,
for our Sassy swims like a—

The Provider's words were an incomprehensible mumble. Sassy was in the river. Grim bent his will on reaching her and vanished.