Demon Hunting with a Dixie Deb (17 page)

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Authors: Lexi George

BOOK: Demon Hunting with a Dixie Deb
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No answer.
The Princess of Perk was not easily deterred.
Sassy skipped after the huntress. “I climbed my first tree this morning. It was wonderful.”
“Felicitations.”
“It wasn't easy. I'm vertically challenged.”
“I had not noticed.”
Sheesh, Taryn was a tough nut to crack. Sassy opened her mouth to try again, but was interrupted by a startled shout.
Shirtless and barefoot, Evan stood on the side lawn. His head was back and he was looking at something on the pitched roof.
“What's the big idea, Big 'Un?” Evan said. “When I said ‘boost a ride,' I didn't mean Chitty Chitty freaking Bang Bang.”
Sassy screeched to a halt in the damp grass.
Grim strode up. “Is something amiss?”
Wordlessly, Sassy pointed. Daddy Joel's metallic blue Maserati perched atop the double chimneys.
Meredith fluttered across the grass like a crepe paper streamer. “What's he doing here?”
“Evan?” Sassy's shocked gaze was glued to the car. “He's staying here.”
“Over my dead, decomposing body.”
Sassy glanced at the ghost in surprise. “You know him?”
“Oh, yeah.” Meredith made a rude noise. “Emo Boy and I go way back. He's trouble walking. I worked on a case that involved him.”
Worked a case? Sassy would be willing to bet the only thing Meredith had ever “worked on” was a tan.
“I didn't know you were a detective.”
“Do I look like Nancy Frickin' Drew?”
Producing a card, Meredith handed it to Sassy. The card read
Bitchin' Banshee Services: We're Scary Good
in glowing letters.
“My client hired me to approach his boss on his behalf.” Meredith fluffed her hair. “I persuaded Evan to let Mr. Henderson go.”
Sassy stared at the ghost in confusion. “What's Evan got to do with it?”
Meredith rolled her eyes. “Everything, boo. Evan is the zombie master. He plays with dead things. It's a hobby with the creep.”
Chapter Seventeen
L
ater that morning, Sassy stepped out the front door showered and dressed. It was good to be wearing her bra and panties again, fresh from the laundry. There was something icky about wearing another woman's lingerie—even brand new—especially knowing that woman had used the sexy underthings to entice her brother.
After taming her fairy-fried curls into a loose knot at the nape of her neck, Sassy had solved the problem of what to wear. She'd turned one of Trey's Charvet cotton shirts into a
darling
short dress. Turned-up sleeves, a contrasting silk tie belted at the waist and voila!—instant outfit.
The pop of color in the tie matched her Sergio Rossi sandals. No more hiking boots or oversized robe. No more see-through tee shirts. She was back, in her high-heeled glory. Cinderella and her mice had nothing on Sassy Peterson.
Grim, clad in a black tee shirt and jeans, stood in the driveway with Evan and Taryn. The simple shirt and denim molded to the big warrior's hard body in a way that made Sassy sigh. Grim seemed much happier now his boots were dry. His shoulder-length hair gleamed red in the sun.
He looked up as she came out of the house, his gaze traveling from her legs to her face and back again.
A nervous thrill shot through Sassy and settled in her stomach. Grim Dalvahni was a hot, sexy beast and he wanted her. The knowledge was as exciting as an end-of-season sale at Bergdorf. For a moment, Sassy was back on the pier in Grim's arms, and he was kissing her.
That kiss had changed everything. Boy, oh, boy, if she weren't engaged...
She shoved the thought in a mental box and slammed it shut. She
was
engaged. End of subject.
A frown gathered in Grim's golden eyes. “Where is the rest of your garment?”
Sassy did a quick spin. “This is it. Isn't it totally presh?”
“It is too short. Wear something else.”
“I don't have anything else to wear.”
Back home, Sassy had a fourteen-by-sixteen walk-in closet full of expensive clothes. Didn't matter. She wouldn't trade this makeshift outfit for all the designer apparel in the world. The universe had dumped her in a fifty-gallon drum of crazy and she'd survived.
This dress was the product of her imagination, her resourcefulness, and resilience.
Bring it, Witchy Poo. Sassy Peterson was a force to be reckoned with.
She pranced down the steps in her heels, joining Evan, Grim, and Taryn on the driveway. Side by side, they gazed at the roof where Daddy Joel's Maserati gleamed in the sun like an oversize weather vane.
“How are we going to get it down?” Sassy worried her bottom lip. “Should we call a wrecker?”
“Not unless they have a crane,” Evan said in his lazy drawl.
He was wearing one of Trey's shirts, a cobalt blue polo that hugged his lean frame. The color looked super with Evan's black hair.
He slid Grim a glance. “One more time. How did the car wind up on the roof, Big 'Un? You were vague about that part at breakfast.”
“In truth, I do not recall.” A dull flush crept up Grim's high cheekbones. “I assume I put it there for safekeeping.”
“You were crunk.” Evan shoved his hands in his jean pockets. “Word of info. Most people don't park their cars on the roof. Good thing Peterson didn't live in town. There'd be questions.”
“He has a point, Dalvahni,” Taryn said. “You are in violation of the Directive. Remove the carriage at once.”
Grim's jaw tightened. “I do not require instruction on the Directive,
Kir.
”
He raised his hands, palms up, and the car rose gently in the air and hovered a few feet above the twin chimney stacks.
“The back of the carriage is wobbling,” Taryn said in her dispassionate way. “Do you require assistance?”
“No. I do not.”
Sassy could practically hear Grim grinding his jaw. For two superhumans who had a lot in common—same job, same “parent,” similar goals and interests—Taryn and Grim got along like couple of rabid possums trapped in a rain barrel.
In other words, like siblings.
Grim made a slight adjustment with his hands, and the car leveled out.
Meredith appeared on a gust of Happy perfume.
“Easy with the ride, Sugar Buns,” she told Grim. “I can't haunt it if it's a paperweight.”
Evan winced. “Volume, woman. You got a voice like a dentist drill.”
“Bite me, zombie boy,” Meredith said. “At least I don't play with road kill.”
Evan had been responsible for the pile of dead animals outside the hut, not the Hag. Sassy still found it hard to process. She was in favor of recycling, but Evan's strange ability was a little gross.
At least he hadn't killed them. He'd raised the poor things in an attempt to free himself from the witch. You couldn't blame the guy for that.
Being a zombie maker was Evan's demonoid talent. He'd explained the whole thing over a breakfast of stale Cheerios and milk—compliments of a neighboring dairy farmer. Or so Taryn had said when she plucked two quarts of moo juice out of thin air.
Now
that
was a talent Sassy could use—being able to produce things by magic. A girl would never run out of things to wear. The fashion possibilities were endless.
According to Evan, every demonoid had talent, though some were more talented than others. His gift happened to be raising the dead. Back in the fall, Evan had used a zombie named Tommy to locate Rebekah, his long-lost twin; Conall's
wife
, although they hadn't been married at the time.
That's how Evan and Meredith knew one another. Zombies were mumbling, stumbling, brain-eating corpses with no sense of self. But Tommy the Zombie had been different. Tommy Henderson had died young and suddenly. So suddenly his soul had been inadvertently sucked back into his body when Evan did his zombie thing.
A sentient zombie; the thought gave Sassy the heebies. Poor Tommy had known what he was and had hated it. Being trapped in a rotting corpse and consumed with an insatiable hunger for brains had been a double whammy for Tommy, a confirmed vegetarian. Desperate, Tommy hired Meredith to harangue Evan into letting him go, and it had worked.
“Like to drove me bug shit with her bitching,” Evan had mumbled around his cereal spoon earlier that morning.
Sassy didn't doubt it for a second. She'd seen Meredith in action.
Grim guided the car off the roof and onto the driveway near the porch steps.
“Buns of steel
and
the man has mad skills.” Meredith glanced at her rose gold bracelet watch. “Gotta roll, hos. Meeting with a client. Don't have too much fun without me.”
She dissipated on a cloud of fragrance.
Evan sneezed hard. “Dayum, hard on the ears and the sinuses.” He jumped behind the wheel of the sports car. “I say we salt the place and keep the bitch out.”
“I couldn't do that,” Sassy said. “This is her home.”
“You are such a lollipop.” Evan ran his hands along the ergonomic three-spoke steering wheel. “Guess that's why everybody likes you.”
“The witch doesn't like me.”
Evan looked up at her from behind the wheel. Gracious, he was a heartbreaker. Those
eyes
: dark violet fringed with sooty lashes.
“Oh, she likes you, Sassafras.” Evan grinned. “She likes you too much.”
Taryn made a slow circuit around the car. “This is most excellent workmanship. Is it elvish?”
“Eye-talian.” Evan stroked the wood grain dashboard. “Bet this baby used to go zero to sixty in a matter of seconds.”
“Used to go?” Sassy cried. “But it looks good as new.”
“Sorry, Lolly. You totaled this puppy.” Evan's voice held regret. “Hope your stepdaddy has good insurance.”
“Totaled?” Sassy's heart sank. “Oh,
no
.”
Grim propped his hip against the side of the car and crossed his booted feet at the ankles. “The machine will work.”
“Hel-
lo
. Combustion engine?” Evan waved his hands. “Cars and water don't mix. Sure, it could probably be rebuilt, but most people with the money to score this kind of car don't want the hassle.”
“It will work. A Dalvahni warrior does not lie.”
“A Dalvahni warrior is not a mechanic.” Evan twisted the key in the ignition. Nothing happened. “Told ya.”
“It's got to work.” Sassy yanked the driver's door open. “I can't tell Daddy Joel I killed his car. Let me try.”
Evan shrugged and climbed out of the convertible. “Knock yourself out, but you're wasting your time.”
He strolled over to the front steps and sat down. Sassy scooted into the driver's seat.
Taryn leaned over her shoulder. “Are you a—what is the word?—a mechanic?”
“I know where the key goes. Does that count?” Sassy squeezed her eyes shut and patted the elegant dash. “Come on, baby. Start for Sassy.”
She turned the key, and the car burped to life with a loud backfire.
Taryn sprang back with a startled exclamation. “By the vessel, what ails the thing?”
“Nothing, nothing at all.” Sassy pumped her fist in the air as the engine settled into a smooth purr. “Listen to that beautiful sound.”
Evan gave Grim a sour look. “You used magic. That's cheating.”
“Says who?” Sassy planted a kiss on the trident symbol in the leather center of the wheel. “Maybe Grim didn't use magic. Maybe Mea wouldn't start for you because you didn't ask nicely.”
“Mea Maserati?” Evan groaned. “Oh, God. You're one of those chicks who name everything.”
“Not everything. Important things, like cars.”
“And fish,” Grim murmured.
“I didn't name Gilbert, the witch did.”
Evan straightened. “Who's Gilbert?”
“A giant catfish,” Sassy said. “He's over a hundred years old. The witch hand-fed him from a guppy. It supersized him. Like you.”
“I am not a fish.”
“No, but Monster Evan is a big boy because of something the witch fed you, same as Gilbert.”
“And you know this . . . how?” Evan asked.
“Gilbert told me.”
“You speak catfish?”
“And bird.” Sassy thought about this. “I'm not sure if I speak
all
bird. The one I met this morning was certainly chatty. And I met my fairy god grump.”
“Your what?” Evan held up his hand. “Never mind. I don't want to know.”
“A wise choice.” Opening the car door, Grim wedged his big body into the passenger seat. “Sometimes ignorance is bliss.”
“Have you removed the shield, Big 'Un?” Evan asked. “I'm not in the mood to fry my ass.”
“The shield is down.”
Evan grunted in relief.
Sassy rummaged in the glove box and trotted out a green leather wristlet. “Yay—my emergency wallet. Daddy Joel insists I carry a spare. Isn't he sweet?”
“Precious.” Evan rose from the steps. “Is Daddy Joel in the pickle biz, too?”
“Ever heard of Champ's Chicken Fingers?”
“Sure.”
“That's Daddy Joel. Thirty-five stores in the Deep South and counting.”
“Holy shat, Sassafras, did you screw a leprechaun? Nobody's
that
lucky.”
Sassy giggled. “It's only money, Evan.”
“Only rich people say that.”
Evan folded his long legs into the backseat. Taryn got in beside him. The huntress resembled an actor in a Renaissance fair in her medieval garb.
Sassy shifted into gear, and the sports car glided down the wooded drive and onto the two-lane county road leading to town. The highway wound through a thick forest of oaks, maples, hickories, and the ever-present Southern pine. Along the grassy berms slender stalks of wild iris bloomed and oak leaf hydrangeas rambled, white fronds stirring in the breeze.
It was a glorious day. The sun was shining. The sky was so blue it hurt your eyes, and the temperature was mild. It wouldn't last. Spring in Alabama wasn't so much a season as a moment. By the end of the month, the oppressive heat of summer would hammer down, leaving the South gasping for breath and sweating like a chipmunk on a griddle.
Her time in Hannah wouldn't last, either. In a few hours, she'd be headed to Fairhope. Tomorrow she'd be back at the gift shop, selling gherkin pops and dill pickle sauce to tourists.
Her adventure would be over.
Sassy's throat tightened. With a twinge of annoyance, she shrugged off her gloom.
Why mope? She had today. She'd make the most of it.
What else should she add to her bucket list? Something fun and exciting, pretty please with sprinkles on top. She sent the thought out into the universe.
She rounded a curve and passed a Jeep Cherokee sitting at the end of a dirt road. The Cherokee pulled onto the highway in a cloud of red dust and caught up with them. The flash of blue lights on top of the SUV kicked Sassy's heart into overdrive.
“Oh, snap.” Sassy gripped the wheel. “We're being stopped by the police.”
She eased the car onto the grass. The Jeep parked behind them and a tall, broad-shouldered man in a brown uniform got out. Handsome, with a strong jaw and a wide, firm-lipped mouth, the officer wore his dark hair clipped short. His eyes were hidden behind a pair of sunglasses. A shiny sheriff's badge was pinned to the pocket of his crisp khaki shirt.
He strode up to the car. Sassy watched him approach in the mirror on the driver's side. He moved with the power and loose-limbed grace of an animal in its prime.

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