demon slayer 05.5 - the tenth dark lord a leaping (2 page)

Frieda wrapped her hands around her chest, as if she could ward off her fear. “I don’t know what’s going on with my baby. He made it clear he never wanted to see me again.” She braced herself. “No mind, though. I am going to find him. I’m going to save him.” Only it was clear she didn’t know how.

Grandma nodded, thinking. “He still in the Dark Lords motorcycle gang?”

Frieda took the note back from her, folding it like it was a precious relic. “Yes.” She shook her head. “Last I knew anyway.”

Ant Eater’s jaw tightened. “That’s the trick. Nobody quits the Dark Lords gang.” She said it as if he’d joined the supernatural mob. Hell, maybe he had.

Grandma nodded. “Okay. Fine,” she said, giving a knowing glance to Ant Eater. “Then we know where he is tonight.”

CHAPTER TWO

We gunned our Harleys and took to the streets, out toward the desert. The night was cold, with absolutely no moon. Our headlights scanned dry desert rock and scrub, and the occasional glow of a coyote’s eyes.

We rode until we hit the base of the San Gabriel Mountains near Bear. The last time I’d been up here, we’d gotten stuck in a time-warp hippie commune. Never again. Although as a demon slayer, I knew better than to make that kind of a statement.

Scrabbly evergreens rose up on either side of us. My front tire skidded in a patch of ice, and I made a mental note to be extra careful. I shifted in my seat, feeling the chill of my leather weapons belt. It had been a gift when I’d first come into my powers. No matter what, the belt seemed to hover at about eighty-five degrees. No one knew why.

We climbed up a steep embankment that zigzagged straight up into the night, before Grandma signaled a sharp turn to the right down an unlit road. It was more of a path than anything, cutting through a forest of gnarled pine trees, their twisted branches reaching out into the wide, open sky. My bike shook and spit gravel.

Another sharp right and we broke into a parking lot. Large, sandy dunes covered in scrubby brush dotted the edges of the lot. There was the occasional patch of snow, but nothing to get too excited about. That’s why I was surprised as all get out to see an old A-frame ski lodge at the far end of the lot. Sure, theoretically it was a good idea. The place was positioned near wide slopes on an open mountain. But there was only one problem. We were in a desert.

The lodge was made of weathered gray boards and looked abandoned. A magical current crackled in the air. I could almost see it surrounding the building, like a barbed-wire net.
Get out!
it practically screamed to anyone with a hint of otherworldly ability. I sucked in a breath. It felt like needle pricks racing over my skin.

I pulled up next to Grandma. Dimitri joined me on my other side.

“You feel that?” I asked after we’d shut off our engines.

Frieda made a sign of the cross. “My poor baby. That’s no place for my son to live.”

“It doesn’t look like anybody’s here,” Dimitri said slowly, as if measuring the air. We all knew appearances could be deceiving.

I hitched a leg over my bike and glanced over at Grandma. “How did you know about this spot?”

“I used to date their leader,” she said, drawing off her gloves.

Wait. “I thought you dated Neal.” The ex-hippie was enough of a pain in my rump. I didn’t need her adding any more lovelorn old guys into the mix.

She gave me a level look. “I’m seventy-eight. I’ve been around.”

Ew. I exchanged a glance with Dimitri, trying to get a little backup here, but he merely smiled. Yeah, well it wasn’t his grandma who was getting lucky.

The night was utterly still. We kept our guard up as we crunched over sand toward the biker ski lodge. They certainly would have heard our Harleys, but so far no light shone in any window. No curtain had been drawn back. The witches kept a grip on their spell jars. My fingers hovered over an ice-cold switch star. They were the weapon of choice for demon slayers—flat and round, with five blades curled around the edges. On my belt they were a dull metallic gray. When I touched them, they glowed a light pink.

Grandma hefted her spell jar in one hand and kept talking, just to torture me. “Believe it or not, I’m popular with men.”

Stick a fork in my eye. “I don’t want to hear about that.”

She shrugged. “You’re the one that brought it up.”

Then I would drop it just as fast. “So do you think your ex can give us the heads-up on Frieda’s son?”

Her expression tightened. “He’s dead. Or at least he’s been missing for a long time.” She shook her head. “Truth is I don’t know what happened to him.”

The wards dug into us stronger as we approached the front porch. Roughly carved Nordic totems stood like sentries on either side. The paint on the monuments had chipped, revealing concrete instead of wood. We stopped at a thick red door shaped in a whimsical arch.

I drew a switch star, slipping two fingers into the delicately carved holes at the center. Dimitri stood next to me, ready to cover me with brute force if necessary.

Frieda hesitated. “Do we knock?”

“Yes and no,” Grandma said, giving a sharp rap as she pushed the door open.

Dimitri slipped inside, and I sucked in a silent breath. I should have gone first. Anything could be in there. I could barely see Dimitri, a shadow in the darkened building, and if he did get into trouble I wasn’t going to know where to shoot.

He tested both walls near the door. “No lights,” he said, his voice low.

“Hold on.” Grandma fished down the neck of her red sweater and yanked out a necklace of sorts. Only instead of a pendant, several Ziploc bags dangled on safety pins from the chain. Inside, living spells hovered and twirled like sugar-laden six-year-olds. One spun itself in a series of corkscrews before zipping straight for the room, trying to take the bag and Grandma along with it. She popped the bag and tossed the spell into the room like she was bowling. It broke into pieces of light, scattering into the darkness. One by one, light bulbs in the room flickered to life, even the ones that had broken in their sockets. They illuminated the remains of a 1950s ski lodge gone biker.

The wood interior would have felt like a cozy retreat if it weren’t for the cheery reception desk, which was now a bar. The square slots of wooden cubby behind held whiskey bottles instead of tourist postcards. An assortment of dirty rags hung from the key rack. The antique luggage rack cradled a dented silver keg.

Cuckoo clocks on the wall had been broken open. Their birds sagged out of their innards. One poor fowl had even been blindfolded and given a last cigarette. The deer and elk heads had fared no better. Their antlers had been decorated with beer cans and their lips done up in red lipstick. A stuffed bear in the corner looked like it might have survived, until I saw the large, ahem, endowment they’d added. Hung like a bear took on a whole new meaning with these Dark Lords.

I set one foot inside. Then the other. The bristling wards felt like needles against my skin. The place was laced with heavy-duty protection spells. I was overcome with the urge to run, to flee and never look back. I ignored it. There was no choice.

The biker witches packed in behind us, and when the door closed I felt claustrophobic, trapped. Dimitri appeared to be thinking the same thing. He looked restless under his heavy leather jacket.

“So where are they?” he asked, moving toward the stairs. A half-dozen biker witches covered him.

I sheathed my switch star. I didn’t know. I opened up my demon-slayer senses and got…something. It roiled like an ugly black hole, and it was entrenched, almost as if it was a part of this place.

My boots crunched over discarded peanut shells as I inspected the tables downstairs. They were strewn with half-played card games, money still in the pot. Whiskey on the table.

But no bikers. No weapons.

It was downright creepy.

Get out.
I felt it like someone had whispered it in my ear.

Ant Eater stood as still as I’d ever seen her, as if the air itself could tell us something. She took in every inch of the place, like she needed to assess what had changed and what hadn’t. “Anybody feel that? I think the wards are starting to recognize us again.”

I wasn’t feeling the least bit welcome. “Don’t tell me you’ve been here too.” I didn’t like to think about anybody spending more than five minutes in this place, at least not now.

She grinned, showing off her gold front tooth. “The Dark Lords used to fight over me.”

Great. A creepy hideout filled with biker witch ex-boyfriends.

“If the Dark Lords aren’t here, then where are they?” I asked as Dimitri gave me the all-clear sign from the top of the stairs.

Frieda let out a loud sniff. “It’s all wrong.” Grandma ignored her, but Frieda kept going. “I don’t know why they’d just leave their place open in the middle of a hang-out, unless maybe something happened to Bruce.”

A tall biker witch named Creely placed a hand on her shoulder. “You don’t know that,” she said, sounding anything but convinced.

I was just about to suggest we get out of there when Pirate dashed out from behind the stuffed bear. Snow clung to his wiry coat and ears, as if he’d found the only patch and managed to roll in it.

“They’re up the hill,” Pirate said, his tail whipping back and forth.

I couldn’t believe it. I’d left my dog at home. “What are you doing up here?” How did he even get up here?

“I was lonely,” he said, shaking the snow from his coat. “And I had Flappy.” Pirate quirked his head to the side. “We were going to come on in, but you shut the door, and anyhow, I smelled a cookout.”

“Did you see any Dark Lords?” Oh, jeez. “Tell me you did not steal their food.”

Pirate blinked. “Not yet. We went to the top of the hill, and they’re in this creepy rock house! Come on. I’ll show you. We can sneak up on them!” He turned and disappeared behind the bear.

I followed and caught his rump and tail as he left through a small cat door. Leave it to Pirate to find the only other way into this place.

I turned back to Dimitri and Grandma. “What do you think?”

Before they could answer, Pirate poked his head back through the door. “Aren’t you coming?”

“We are,” Grandma answered, heading out. The biker witches followed her.

Unbelievable. Dimitri walked beside me as we brought up the rear. “Quietly,” I reminded them. At least until we knew what we were dealing with.

“You bet,” she said. “Ant Eater?”

“Got it,” the other biker witch replied. She dug in her pocket and produced a zip-up coin purse. She rifled for a moment, fighting back a blue spell that kept trying to escape, until her fingers closed around one so tiny I couldn’t see. She let it loose over the group, and I still couldn’t see it. I only felt a slight chill, almost like a cool mist coming down.

“Cloaking Spell,” Dimitri said, wincing slightly as it hit the back of his neck. He’d never been overly crazy about magic. “They used one on me when I came after you in Vegas.”

“Right,” I said as we stepped out onto the porch. Thank goodness for that. It had been a hellish trip. Literally.

“Be careful if we find the Dark Lords. The Cloaking Spell isn’t a hundred percent,” he said as we circled around toward the back of the cabin, “but it does make us harder to see.”

“I don’t think that’s our biggest problem,” I said, staring up at the dark, rocky peak behind the building.

“Right there!” Pirate said, meeting us halfway.

Dimitri wasn’t fazed in the least. “Pirate flew with Flappy. I can shift and fly you. The rest will need to find another way up.”

“Wait, wait!” Pirate said, snow kicking up behind him as he bounded through the brush. “There’s another way. I’ll show you.”

We made it to the back of the house and found Pirate standing beside an ancient ski lift. The thing was still running. Sort of. The ropes holding up the carriages creaked over wheels and pulleys that probably hadn’t been inspected in decades. And naturally a sheer cliff dropped off under the entry area.

“It’s wooden,” Dimitri said, as if that was all we had to worry about.

“My baby’s up there?” Frieda asked Pirate. Before the dog could even answer, she’d grabbed the next chair.

“Frieda!” I tried to stop her, but she was already lifting off.

I cursed under my breath and launched myself at the next chair.

Dimitri took me by the arm. “Goddamn it, Lizzie.”

“Come on,” I said, immensely thankful when he jumped up onto the chair next to me. I half expected him to yank me off the lift, but that would have sent us both tumbling down the hill. Damn. As soon as my butt hit the creaky wooden seat, I was almost wishing he had.

His eyes were hot. “What the hell are you doing? I said I could fly.”

“They’re not going to wait.” I wouldn’t either. I looked for a safety belt and didn’t find one. “What kind of people build a ski lift without anything to keep you in the seat?”

“You’ve never been skiing, have you?” He shoved his hands through his hair, spiking it up, not even worried that we weren’t strapped into this thing. He looked over his shoulder at the biker witches piling onto the lift behind us. “If this thing goes, I can’t save everyone.”

“Maybe you won’t have to,” I said with more confidence than I felt.

He shot me a look.

Yeah, yeah. He was probably right. Dang. We were getting high over the gorge below. I gripped the fragile-looking outside handrail until my knuckles were white.

Flappy swooped ahead of us, with Pirate riding on his back. The mottled gray-and-white dragon was the size of a truck and couldn’t fly a straight line to save his life. I didn’t know if he was just young or overly creative. I tried not to look down at the sheer drop below us. When had I stopped even trying to lecture my dog on the dangers of dragon flight? Probably the fiftieth time he didn’t listen to me.

Dimitri stared straight ahead, still mad. Or maybe he was just trying to use his excellent griffin vision to try to see into the copse of trees at the top. “They’d be picking us off already if it wasn’t for the Cloaking Spell,” he muttered.

“Thank you for that.” I knew the dangers. We didn’t need to dwell.