Demon Hunting with a Dixie Deb (3 page)

“Not a demon,” Duncan said. “The cry you heard was the Hag. She preys on children, but her blood lust knows no bounds.” His eyes glowed hotter. “Long have I sought her. Will you join me in the hunt, brother?”

A second undulating howl startled a fox from the underbrush. Grim lifted his head, listening. The Hag was on the move. From the sound of it, the creature was traveling swiftly in the direction of the bridge.

A winsome face rose before him, a pair of merry eyes and a laughing, curving mouth.

Grim drew his sword. “I must away. The female is alone and in danger.”

He reached for the bridge, and the world slid out of focus. He reappeared on the road and spun on his heels, sword in hand. The female was nowhere to be found. Rage and frustration seized him in a chokehold. Had the Hag taken her?

Duncan materialized at his side. “What female?”

“Sassy.” Saying her name was a relief. It slipped through Grim's lips like a caress. “Her name is Sassy.”

Duncan's brows rose. “I take it she is fetching, this Sassy?”

“Aye, and vexatious in the extreme. The chit has no notion of practicality.”

“I am intrigued.” Duncan looked around. “Produce me this remarkable female.”

“I cannot.” Lashing out with his blade, Grim sheared a metal strut in two. The pole creaked and buckled in two. “She is gone.”

S
pots danced in front of Sassy's eyes. This was beyond silly. There were no such things as ghosts, or carnivorous deer, or skeletal, fanged ghouls. She was hallucinating. She'd hit her head when she wrecked the car. She had a concussion. She was in the hospital right now, hooked up to an IV.

The whole thing was a bad, trauma-induced dream.

She closed her eyes and counted to three before opening them again. The ghost was still there, looking remarkably solid.

Ok-a-a-y. She could freak out or go with the flow. Going with the flow seemed the more sensible option. Besides, she wasn't the hysterical type. She was
cheerful.

Sassy got to her feet and gave him a friendly smile. “Hi, I'm Sassy. And you're Junior Peterson, my biological father.”

Junior wrinkled his nose. “Biological father? You weren't conceived in a petri dish.”

“Why did you leave me on the bridge with that thing?”

“You're a big girl. I came to warn you, not hold your hand.”

“Wow, thanks,” Sassy said, not bothering to hide the sarcasm in her voice.

“You seem out of sorts. Bad day?”

“It's been unadulterated poo. I wrecked my stepfather's car. Daddy Joel
loves
that car.”

“The chicken tender tycoon?” Junior chuckled. “He'll be upset about the car, but he'll get over it.”

“You're right. I'm being a Debbie Downer. That is
so
not like me.” She pursed her lips and considered the ghost. “I've got it.”

“What's that?”

“The silver lining—there's
always
a silver lining if you look for it.” Sassy beamed. “Wanna know what it is?”

“Can't wait.”

“It's you.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You're my first ghost and you're
awesome
,” Sassy said. “Do I have a great imagination, or what?”

“Hmm,” Junior said. “Are you always this terminally perky?”

“Oh, this is nothing. I'm usually
much
perkier than this.”

“Sounds exhausting. Aren't you the least bit surprised to see me?”

“No, because you're not real.” Leaning closer, Sassy confided, “I have a head injury. It's the only thing that makes sense. Although, for the life of me, I can't imagine why I would dream up these.”

She pointed to her feet.

“I see what you mean,” Junior said, surveying the boots. “They are a tad lacking in style.”

“I know, right? That alpha male escapee from a fantasy convention swiped my favorite pair of shoes.”

“Alpha male?”

She waved her hands in the air. “Big guy. Handsome. Dressed in leather. In
May
. Muscles out the wazoo. He's not real, either. No one could be that gorgeous, that off-the-charts sexy, and
that
irritating.”

“Huh. Based on your description, I'd say your he-man is a Dalvahni demon hunter. There are several running around Hannah.”

“Sure there are. But never mind that. I want to talk about you. There are so many things I'm simply
dying
to ask.”

Junior winced. “Please. You're speaking to one of the living impaired.”

“Sorry. I didn't mean to be insensitive.”

“Doesn't your mother talk about me?”

“Heavens, no, she
refuses
, and I could hardly ask Daddy Joel. That would be awkward.”

“Yes, I can see how it would be. And I don't suppose you could ask Trey, under the circumstances.”

“No.” Sassy felt a stab of sadness at the mention of her older brother. There were some things even a positive attitude couldn't fix, such as the rift in her family. “Trey and I weren't close.”

Close? They didn't live in the same county. Trey had been raised in Hannah by their paternal grandparents, Clarice and Blake Peterson, while Sassy had grown up in Fairhope with her mom. Sassy didn't know she
had
a brother until she was in the second grade. The estrangement from Trey and the rest of the Petersons, like the subject of Sassy's father, was another bit of family dysfunction Mama refused to discuss. If the subject of Junior elicited a chilly reaction from Eleanor, the merest mention of Trey or her former in-laws brought on an arctic freeze.

“Mama and I met Trey a few times at the club in Fairhope.” Sassy's lips tightened. “He made it plain he didn't want to be there.”

Their brief and infrequent family reunions had exhausted Sassy. She'd tried to compensate for the obvious strain by being extra bright and bubbly. Extra bright and bubbly required an enormous amount of energy. It took Sassy days to recover. She'd been relieved when the meetings had stopped.

In her heart of hearts, though, Sassy had secretly cherished the hope that one day she and Trey might mend their fences. Sadly, it was not meant to be. Clarice and Blake had died in a fire the previous October. A month later, Trey was struck and killed by an automobile. Sassy attended his funeral with her mother and stepfather.

Her grief at Trey's death had surprised her.
I miss him already
, Sassy remembered thinking as they lowered her brother's casket into the ground. Her sorrow at his loss was bewildering. How did you miss someone you didn't know?

“I'm sorry you didn't get the chance to know Trey,” Junior said, as though sensing her thoughts. “He had abandonment issues.”

“It wasn't Mama's fault,” Sassy said, rising to her mother's defense. “Trey chose to stay with the Petersons.”

And why not? He was a boy, and their precious heir. Whoa, was that
bitterness
? Sassy Peterson didn't do bitter.

“Trey stayed to protect you and your mother,” Junior said with a melancholy smile. “You were the lucky one, my dear. You got away.”

“Away from what?”

“You're not ready to hear it. Why are you in Hannah? Are you taking the reins of the Peterson empire?”

“Certainly not,” Sassy said. “I've got a buyer for the mill. I'm signing the papers at the lawyer's office this afternoon.”

Junior raised his brows. “I'm afraid you've missed your appointment. It's almost dark.”

“I'm sure it won't be a problem. I'll reschedule for tomorrow morning.”

“What about the rest?” There was a hint of reproach in Junior's voice. “Your brother left everything to you—the mill, the land, the money.”

“Phooey on the Petersons and their stupid money. I didn't ask for it and I don't want it.” Sassy's voice rose. “That goes double for you, mister.”

Marshmallows, was she shouting? And talking about money was tacky.

Junior arched a patrician brow. “Trey's not the only one with issues. Will you be staying at his place tonight? Or, I should say,
your
place, since Trey left his house to you.”

“
No.
” Oh, dear, she was yelling again. What on earth was the matter with her? She looked down. Her hands were balled into fists. “I'll stay at a hotel.”

“This is Hannah. There are no hotels, unless you count the Hannah Inn, which I most certainly do not. I'm afraid you'll have to stay at Trey's.” A dog bayed in the distance, and Junior cocked his head. “Listen. Sounds like he's down by the river—probably chasing that big deer again. I'd best go find him. For a dog, he has no sense of direction. There's a house not far from here. Stick to the trail. You'll come to it.”

His form stretched and grew wispy as smoke.

“When you get to Trey's, watch out for
her
,” Junior said, fading from view. “She's an absolute shrew. There's another word for her. It rhymes with ‘runt,' but I don't use that kind of language.”

“Hello?” Sassy searched the gloom. “
Hello?
”

Junior was gone.

Night had fallen. The woods were inky without the ghost's luminous form, and the trail was hard to see in the dim light. The surrounding scrub and towering trees took on nightmarish shapes in the darkness. Here a hungry goblin. There a towering giant reaching with bony hands to seize her.

Alarm trickled down her spine.

“Get a grip, Sassy,” she said. “You're not a child, afraid of the dark.”

When she was little, she'd make a pallet on the floor of her mother's big walk-in closet. Turning out the lights, she'd lie in the dark and pretend she was camping in the woods with her big brother. It had been one of her favorite games.

This was no different, she told herself. Minus her mother's impressive shoe collection, plus a little more nature. Okay,
a lot
more nature. No biggie. She would stay on the trail, find the house Junior mentioned, and telephone for help.

Or she would wake up in a hospital bed and discover this had been a dream. Either way, she would be fine. Better than fine; she would be
great.
Anything less was unacceptable.

A branch snapped in the darkness. Something big moved through the woods, swooshing the leaves. Sassy recalled the twisted she-monster on the bridge and broke out in a cold sweat.

Hide; she needed to hide.

Sassy scurried off the trail and crouched behind a large oak. Pressing her fist to her mouth, she swallowed the scream lodged at the back of her throat. Was it the monster from the road?
Oh, God, please don't let it be the monster from the road.

She squeezed her body close to the tree, closed her eyes, and waited. A twig cracked, the sound as loud as a gunshot in the silent woods. It was coming closer. Should she look?

No, she definitely should
not
look. She should stay where she was and pray that it went away.

The forest seemed to hold its breath; waiting, still. The silence stretched, heavy and tense, until Sassy wanted to scream.

She had to look. She had to
know.
The not-knowing was driving her nuts.

She peeked around the oak. An enormous white stag stepped out of the woods and into view. Sassy's eyes widened. He was bright as a fallen star in the dusk. Silver antlers sprang from his noble head. He pawed the ground, and a potpourri of scents filled the air: icy spring water, rain, and frost; damp earth and the sharp tang of green and growing things; the perfume of flowers; and the musty smell of dried pine and rotting leaves and lichen.

He stamped his hooves again. Sparks and whorls of multicolored light flew into the air, shimmering in bright spirals against the velvety darkness. The sparks coalesced into birds, flowers, and insects. The delicate creatures cavorted around the giant deer like bugs dancing in the warmth of a streetlight.

Sassy gasped in delight. It was lovely; fireworks without the smoke and noise. She stepped away from the tree, her limbs moving of their own accord. The stag tossed his antlered head, but did not bolt.

She met the stag's limpid gaze and forgot to be afraid. She forgot she was bruised and sore. She forgot her damp clothes, her tangled, leaf-strewn hair. She forgot her stepfather's ruined convertible.

She forgot everything but the stag's liquid dark gaze, ancient and powerful, deep and full of knowing, like the forest itself.

He is the forest.
The thought drifted, unbidden, through her befuddled mind. A glowing butterfly fluttered away from the dazzling shapes circling the stag's splendid head and came to rest on Sassy's outstretched hand. The tiny creature pulsed against her palm, delicate as spun glass.

“Oh, you beautiful thing,” Sassy whispered in delight, stroking the shining bug with her fingertip.

To her astonishment, the butterfly dissolved in a glowing puddle that seeped into her skin. Warmth fizzed through Sassy's bloodstream, bubbles of champagne that left her light-headed and giddy. She giggled and did a clumsy pirouette. It would have been
way
better if she hadn't been wearing the stupid boots.

The lights flitted away from the stag and into the darkness, trailing glittering bread crumbs in their wake.

“Wait,” Sassy cried. “Wait for me.”

She lifted the skirt of her sundress and dashed into the woods, plowing through bushes and around trees in pursuit of the willow-the-wisps. Thorn vines caught and tore at her hair. Branches scratched her bare arms and legs. The pain was fleeting, an annoying pinprick dismissed in her eager pursuit of the lights. Once, she stepped in a hole and fell, skinning her knees and the heels of her hands. She jumped up and dashed off again. Her vision seemed sharper now, and the lights were easy to follow. They silvered everything in their path and turned the woods into a glowing wonderland. The rest of her senses seemed keener, too. She heard the faint creak of roots stretching beneath the earth and smelled the myriad scents of the forest: growing things; the moist smell of dirt and wet leaves; the hot, slightly dusty smell of a nearby fox, panting from the hunt.

“I
love
nature,” Sassy sang, skipping through the woods. “It's so . . . nature-y.”

The lights sped up, zigzagging through the shadows. Sassy ran faster, her lungs burning from exertion. She ran up and down hills, over streams, and ravines choked with pine straw, honeysuckle vines, and fallen branches. The lights moved farther and farther ahead.

“Wait,” she cried. “Don't leave me.”

She tripped over a log and sprawled into a patch of rotten leaves. The impact knocked the breath out of her. She sat up, gasping for breath, and pushed the tangle of hair out of her face. Leaves and debris pricked the backs of her thighs. Her dress was twisted around her waist, her panties were wedged in her butt crack. She was bleeding and bruised, and her entire body hurt.