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Authors: Lexi George

BOOK: Demon Hunting In Dixie
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Brand growled again, and she stuttered, “T-to the funeral home.”
“In Snitsville?”
Evie gaped at him. “Huh?”
For a moment, he looked like his head might explode. “Addy said her mother might be traveling to some place called Snitsville. I must follow Addy there, if that is her destination.”
Maybe this guy
was
from outer space. “Addy's mother lives in Snitsville,” she said. “It's not a place, it's an expression. It means she stays upset about something or other all the time.”
The glittering eyes narrowed. “I see. You are most helpful. Perhaps you also have information about Conan the Barbarian.”
Evie was knocked straight back to huh. “Conan?”
“Who is he, and what is he to Addy?”
“Conan?”
“Conan.”
Evie struggled to keep up. “I'm sorry, I don't—”
Tiger Man's scowl deepened. “Addy said she could not take Conan the Barbarian to the funeral. What did she mean?”
A bubble of hysterical laughter worked its way up from Evie's belly to her chest. She was going to lose it, going to laugh right in his face. And then Mr. Primeval would kill her, because this was not a guy with a sense of humor. She covered her mouth with both hands and managed to turn her attack of the giggles into a coughing fit instead.
“I'm sorry.” She wiped her streaming eyes. “Allergies. Conan the Barbarian is a fictional character, a fantasy warrior. Big guy with black hair and a sword. I think he had blue eyes, though, not green.”
“Fictional, you say?”
Evie nodded.
“Good. Then I will not have to kill him.” Brand fell silent. After a moment, he said, “She refers to my garb, does she not? Ansgar and I do not dress as other men of your culture.”
“Yeah, you could say that. It would be an understatement, but you could say that.”
“Ansgar, we must remedy our appearance. We are in violation of the directive against conspicuousness.”
“Do not let it trouble you, brother.” Evie swallowed a sigh. Ansgar's voice was as cool and soothing as a dip in the creek on a hot summer day. “We have disregarded the warrior code in any number of ways since coming here. One more infraction should not make any difference.”
“I have broken our code, not you.” Brand's tone was stiff. “Leave lest you suffer the consequences of my actions.”
Leave? Evie felt a stab of dismay, which was ridiculous. Why should she care if he left? It wasn't as if Whaley Douglass and Ansgar of the Splendiferous Abs and Ass were going to get it on. Looking at him hurt, for crying out loud, and she was . . .
She was plain old Evie.
“No, I think I will stay,” Ansgar said. Evie darted a glance at him and froze, trapped by his unblinking silver gaze. “I find I'm in the mood to break a few rules myself.”
“Very well,” Brand said. “Is there a reputable tailor in this town, Mistress Evie? My friend and I need new attire.”
With an effort, Evie broke eye contact with Ansgar and looked at Brand. “Uh, yeah, there's a men's store right down the street. They carry some big and tall stuff for the Wilson brothers.”
“You have my thanks.” Brand strode toward the door. Hand on the doorknob, he turned and looked back at Ansgar. “Brother?”
“I will follow in a moment. You go ahead.”
The bell on the door clanged in protest as Brand slammed out of the store, leaving Evie alone with Ansgar. She flashed him a tremulous smile. Boy, oh boy, he made her jumpy. Picking up the cardboard box she'd brought with her that morning, she scurried over to her display table. Her hands shook as she unloaded the carton and rearranged the rows of soap. She tried her best to ignore the hunk on the other side of the room as she replenished her stock of almond and honey bath bars. She was adding her latest concoction to her men's line—a soap for hunters made with olive oil, oak bark, dandelion root, and cedar wood oil—when her skin prickled with awareness. Somehow, without making a sound,
he
was behind her. She could
feel
him. She spun around. He was right on top of her. God, he was beautiful. His pale blond hair and his strange eyes seemed to radiate light. No human man had a shine to him like that. It was hypnotic, mesmerizing. She could not move. He was a wolf and she was a rabbit, and he was going to gobble her up unless she did something to break the spell.
“Your friend seems a-a little intense,” she stammered.
“He is a hunter and single-minded in his pursuit of what he wants . . . as am I.”
She jumped when he reached out and removed her floppy gardening hat. Her hair tumbled down around her shoulders. She stared up at him, feeling self-conscious and nervous. This guy was so perfect, and she was so . . .
not.
She was a big blob, an awkward, ugly thing compared to his shining perfection. Why was he paying attention to her? It was some kind of cruel trick.
He lifted a long, red curl, and examined it. “Why do you conceal your fire with an ugly cap and your beauty beneath a shapeless gown, Evangeline? You cannot hide your true self from me.”
Evie gasped. “Who told you my name? Nobody has called me Evangeline since my mama died.”
“Evie is the name of a frightened, lonely girl. Evangeline is a beautiful, strong woman. You are Evangeline.”
“Yeah, right, this coming from a guy like you.”
Ansgar's brows drew together. “What does this mean, ‘a guy like me'?”
“Oh, come on, don't make me say it. You've seen yourself in the mirror.”
He smiled, and Evie thought the top of her head would blow off. Wow, this guy was something else.
“You find me attractive in a physical sense?”
Attractive, who was he kidding? He had to know he was drop-dead gorgeous. He'd probably heard it a thousand times before from a thousand other women. Did he need another female to tell him so? Did he need
Whaley Douglass
to stroke his ego?
No.
No, she did not think so.
She looked him square in the eye—a very un-Evie-like thing to do—but for some reason around this guy she was something else, too. “Let's say you don't exactly suck in the looks department.”
He tilted his head, as though considering her words. “Not to suck is a good thing in your culture, is it not? You use sarcasm. It shows spirit. You are not at all the meek, timid mouse you pretend to be.”
Taking her by the arm, he pulled her toward the door.
“Wait, where are we going?”
He gave her another bone-melting smile. “You will accompany me to the tailor's to purchase a new suit of clothes so that I am not conspicuous.”
“Mister, you're six-foot-four if you're an inch, and you look like a cross between Thor and an escapee from Rivendell. The clothes don't exist that would make you inconspicuous. Besides, I told Addy I'd mind the shop.”
“Then you will close the shop. At the tailor's, we will select what you like. I want to please you.”
Evie stared up at him in confusion. “Why? Why on earth do you care what I think? I'm nobody, and you just met me.” With a sinking feeling in her stomach, she looked around for the hidden camera. “This is a joke, isn't it? Meredith put you up to this. It's some kind of sick reality show. That's great, really great. Well, you're going to have to get yourself another stooge, 'cause I'm not going anywhere with you.”
She spun around and marched behind the counter.
Ansgar followed her. “Evangeline, I do not jest with you. I do not know how. What has Adara told you about me and Brand?”
“She didn't tell me anything. She started to tell me and Meredith came in. You and Brand came in right after that. So, see, I don't know anything. Innocent as a lamb, that's me. You can go out of here knowing your secret is safe, whatever it is.”
“I see.” He sighed, as if reaching a decision. “I said I was going to break the rules, did I not? Telling you the truth will be my first transgression.”
Evie prided herself on her intuition, and her instincts were on high alert. She was not going to like what Ansgar was about to tell her. She held up her hand to ward him off. “Look, mister, don't bend any rules on my account. Sometimes ignorance is bliss, you know what I mean?”
“But I want you to know.” Ansgar stepped closer. Evie sidled back, and he stopped. “Brand and I are Dalvahni.”
“What's that, like Italian?”
“No. The Dalvahni are a tribe of immortal warriors. We hunt demons called the djegrali through space and time. We came to this place in pursuit of them. Several of them, in fact.”
“Demons.”
“That is correct.”
“Uh huh.”
Crazy as a Betsy bug. She might have known. Bitterness burned the back of her throat. No man in his right mind would think she was beautiful. Oh, well, it was nice for the millisecond it lasted.
A man wearing a cheap blue suit with a boutonniere pinned to the lapel stopped in front of the plate glass window and looked in. Evie recognized him at once, in spite of his waxy, unnatural pallor and frozen features. He looked at her with glassy, unmoving eyes for an instant, and turned and shambled down the street in the direction of the funeral home.
Evie stared out the window in shock. “Demon hunters, you say?”
“I have told you so, have I not?”
“You sure did, and I believe you. Dwight Farris just looked in the shop window, and he's dead.”
Chapter Six
T
here was scarcely time for Evie to activate the alarm system and grab her purse before Ansgar dragged her out of the flower shop.
“Wait, wait!” she protested. “Give a girl a minute to catch her breath, will you? I just saw my first zombie.”
Ansgar looked down at her, a gleam of amusement in his silver eyes. “What you saw, in all likelihood, was a ghoul, a corpse made animate by a demon. Humans are so imprecise.”
Evie pushed the hair out of her face. Nine o'clock, and already the heat and humidity were suffocating. It was like breathing under water, not that Ansgar the Magnificent seemed affected. Cool as a cucumber, he was.
“Ghoul smoul, call it what you want,” she said, “but there's a dead guy walking around Hannah.”
“Do not concern yourself. The matter will be dealt with. Where is this tailor?”
She pointed. “On the corner at the end of the block.”
Ansgar pulled her down the street, his long stride forcing her to break into a trot to keep up. The businesses along Main Street were beginning to stir to life. Two familiar wrinkled figures perched on a bench outside the Sweet Shop Café and Grill. Herbert Duffey's moose-like countenance was hidden behind the morning paper. Beside him, Jefferson Davis Willis puffed on his pipe and watched passersby.
“Good morning, Mr. Duffey, Mr. Willis.” Evie smiled at the octogenarians. “Warm day, isn't it?”
“Herbert, get your long snoot outta that paper and tell me who that is with Evie Douglass,” Mr. Willis said.
Evie smothered a laugh and promptly tripped over a crack in the sidewalk.
Ansgar's grip tightened on her arm. “Have a care.”
Her face burned. Why, oh, why did she have to be such a klutz? “Sorry. The—uh—tailor's is on the corner at the end of the block.”
There were three clothing stores in Hannah: Tompkins's for men, the Greater Fair for women, and Toodles for children. They reached Tompkin's and pushed open the front door. The shop was empty except for Brand and the sales clerk, Tweedy Gibbs. Tweedy, a slim wisp of a man in his early thirties with thinning red hair, stood toe to toe with Brand in front of the counter.
“I'm telling you, I'm slap out of anything that will fit a man of your size.” Tweedy glared up at Brand like a Chihuahua squaring off against a Great Dane. “Dean Wilson bought the last tall suit I had in the shop two weeks ago. Or maybe it was David.” He frowned and shook his head. “Hard to keep all those Wilsons straight. Every last one of 'em built like a tank, and all of 'em with names that start with ‘d.' Darryl and Daniel, Dalton and David, Dean and Del.” He gave a disgusted snort. “It's like trying to name Santa's reindeer or the seven dwarves. What was their mama thinking? There are twenty-five other letters in the alphabet she could have used. Duh-duh-duh-duh-dee. I feel like Porky Pig every time one of 'em comes in.” Shrugging aside his irritation at the Wilson matriarch, he said, “I could maybe get you something in a week, but that's the best I can do.”
Brand frowned at the smaller man. “I cannot wait a week. I need appropriate clothing now.”
“I tell you nothing I have will fit.” Tweedy eyed Brand up and down. “What are you, six and a half feet? I put you in a thirty-inch inseam and we're talking high waders.”
“Is there a problem, brother?” Ansgar asked.
“There will not be once I ascertain the appropriate garb for this realm.” Evie's stomach lurched as Brand turned his cold gaze on her. “I see you have brought Mistress Evie. Good. She can help us select clothing.”
Tweedy whipped around, his eyes widening when he spied Ansgar's tall form. “Good Lord, there's two of 'em!”
Out of the corner of her eye, Evie saw Ansgar stiffen. She smiled at Tweedy. “Morning, George,” she said, calling Tweedy by his given name to soothe his ruffled feathers. She shot Ansgar a meaningful look. “I'm sure Mr. Brand and Mr. Ansgar don't mean to be any trouble.”
Ansgar lifted his brows, but remained silent.
Tweedy unbent a little. “Oh, you know these gentlemen, Evie?”
“They're here for the Farris funeral.”
Tweedy pulled her aside. “What's with the getup?” He cut his eyes toward the two big men and back again. “Are they in some kind of cult?”
“They're actors.” Evie felt a twinge of conscience at the lie, but somehow she didn't think Tweedy was ready to add
CLOTHIERS TO INTERDIMENSIONAL DEMON HUNTERS EVERYWHERE
to the sign outside the store.
“Oh.” Tweedy seemed to digest this for a moment. He raised his voice for the benefit of the other two men. “And both of them are looking for suits? Like I said, I don't have their size.”
“They don't have to have a suit,” Evie said. Lord, give her patience. The very idea of Whaley Douglass giving anybody fashion advice was laughable. “What about a nice pair of slacks and a dress shirt? Something more conservative than they're wearing now.”
“Show up at a funeral sans jacket?” Tweedy shuddered. “Tacky. Still, when you live in a town where camouflage is considered haute couture, I don't suppose it matters, especially since they're not from here.”
“As long as the apparel is not something Conan would wear, it will suffice,” Brand said.
Tweedy gave Evie a look of confusion. “Conan? Who's Conan?”
“A new designer.” Boy, she was getting scary good at this lying stuff. “Really out there. Lots of leather, but too avant-garde for a small-town funeral. They're looking for something—uh—a little more traditional.”
Traditional for medieval transrealm warrior types. Granny Moses. Addy owed her big time.
“I've got a pair of summer-weight wool dress pants on hold for one of the Wilsons,” Tweedy said. He looked Brand and Ansgar up and down. “They'll probably be too short and too big in the waist, but it's all I got.”
He disappeared in the back of the store and returned with two pairs of trousers draped over one arm.
“You're in luck. I found another pair.” He held a pair of slacks against Brand's waist. “Like I thought, too big and too short in the inseam. The Wilsons aren't quite as tall as y'all and softer in the middle. The beer diet, you know.”
Brand took one pair of pants from Tweedy and tossed the other pair to Ansgar. “These will suffice. Is there a place where we may withdraw to don them?”
“The dressing rooms are this way.” Shaking his head, Tweedy led Brand and Ansgar to the back of the store. “I'll bring y'all a couple belts and some shirts to try. Will you gentlemen be needing shoes?”
“No, we will wear our boots,” Brand said.
Evie dropped into a chair in the shoe section of the store to wait. Tweedy muttered to himself as he selected three or four dress shirts and neckties to match, and handed them into the changing rooms.
“What is this?” Brand stuck a heavily muscled arm through the opening at the top of latticed dressing room door. A necktie dangled from his fingertips.
“It's a necktie.” Tweedy rolled his eyes at Evie.
“Hmm,” Brand said. “What is its purpose?”
“Purpose?” Tweedy rubbed his temples. Evie sympathized with him. She had the beginnings of a headache too. “Heck, I don't think it has a purpose. It just looks good.”
“Ah,” Brand said. “It is decorative. No neckties.”
The neckties flew over the top of the dressing room doors and settled in a bright pool at Tweedy's feet.
Tweedy gave her an incredulous look. “Who
are
these people and what planet are they from? I thought you said they were looking for something conservative to wear to the funeral, but they don't know what a
necktie
is?”
Oh, crap, she wasn't such a good liar, after all. “Conservative in an—uh—out there kind of way.” Tweedy stared at her, and she lifted her hands in a helpless gesture. “You know how unconventional these big-city artsy-fartsy types can be.”
“Big city? You mean they're from Mobile?”
“Farther away.”
Tweedy's eyes grew round. “Atlanta?”
The dressing room doors opened, and Brand and Ansgar stepped out. Evie gaped at them, feeling a little lightheaded. The super fine wool trousers fit the two men as though tailormade, and the cotton shirts they wore molded themselves to a pair of wide, muscled chests.
Wow. Double wow. Great googly mooglies.
“Well, I declare.” Looking befuddled, Tweedy fiddled with the tribble of hair at the top of his forehead. “I'd have bet my bottom dollar those trousers wouldn't fit, but they're perfect. Must have been sized wrong or something.”
He shook his head and hurried into the dressing room to get their discarded tags.
Brand came to a halt in front of her. “What do you think, Mistress Evie? Will we do?”
Evie realized she was staring and flushed. “Yeah, you'll do.”
“Good.” Brand strode toward the front of the store. “Ansgar, settle our bill with the Tweedy human. I must find Adara.”
“Of course, brother. Evangeline and I will join you shortly.” Ansgar straightened his cuffs. “Oh, I almost forgot. Evangeline may have sighted one of the djegrali on the street a few moments ago.”
Brand halted, his broad shoulders stiff. “What did you say?”
The undercurrent of violence in the softly spoken words sent a warning bell jangling in Evie's head. Tiger, tiger burning bright. She cut her eyes at Ansgar. He was either unfazed by Brand's ill temper, or he was channeling Captain Oblivious.
“Evangeline thinks she saw the dead man Dwight Farris standing outside the shop,” Ansgar said in his calm, detached way. “Since dead men do not typically walk about in the light of day, I assume it was one of the djegrali.”
Brand turned. His eyes burned with a predatory glow. “Why did you not tell me this sooner?”
Ansgar shrugged. “I did not see the creature myself, so I could not be sure.”
“For your sake, you had better hope Mistress Evie was mistaken,” Brand said through his teeth.
The door slammed, and he was gone.
Evie jumped to her feet. “He thinks that thing is after Addy, doesn't he? We've got to warn her!”
“Do not be alarmed, Evangeline. Brand will take care of the djegrali and your friend. Adara is safe, I promise you.”
“But—”
She swallowed her protest as Tweedy bustled out of the dressing rooms. “I thought I'd put your other clothes in a bag,” he said, looking puzzled, “but they aren't there.”
“We took care of them,” Ansgar said. “Do not trouble yourself.”
“But I didn't see—” Tweedy took a deep breath. “Forget it. I'll ring you up.”
Ansgar stepped in front of her, blocking her view of the cash register and Tweedy. “What passes for coin in this plane?” he asked in a low voice.
“Huh?”
“Recompense, payment, currency.”
“Oh, you mean money. I'm afraid all I have is a twenty.”
“I do not expect you to pay for my clothes, Evangeline. Show me this twenty of yours.”
Confused, Evie pulled her wallet out of her purse and handed him the bill.
Ansgar took the twenty from her and studied it carefully, front and back. “It is flimsy and somewhat fragile, but much easier to carry than gold or jewels, is it not?”
“Yeah, I guess it is.”
A flat leather pouch appeared in his hand as if by magic.
Evie blinked. “Whoa, how'd you do that?”
“What, this?” The pouch vanished, then reappeared in his hand. “I keep it hidden in plain sight, as I do my quiver and bow.”
“Q-quiver and bow?”
“Brand and I use a concealing charm to shield our weapons from humans so as not to cause undue alarm. You did not notice Uriel, Brand's flaming sword?”
Addy
did
say something to Meredith in the flower shop about weapons, but Evie thought she was kidding. “Uh, no, can't say as I did.”
Ansgar chuckled. “Humans. They see what they want to see.”
He opened the pouch and slipped her twenty-dollar bill inside. The pouch glowed briefly, bright as a Christmas tree, and grew thick. Ansgar reached inside the swollen purse and handed Evie a twenty-dollar bill. Curious, she peeked inside the pouch. The leather purse bulged with good old American greenbacks.
“Holy smokes, you really are from another planet!”
“Not another planet, Evangeline, another dimension. I know you are puzzled, and that you must have many questions.”

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