demon slayer 07.5 - demon slayer (2 page)

My wiry Jack Russell terrier stood about as tall as my shin, but he didn't take that into account when it came to being fierce. He was mostly white, with a dollop of brown that spotted his back and covered his left eye. Hence his name.

"Pirate," I said, trying to be tactful, "this is our anniversary dinner. We can do it without you."

He turned in a circle and sat down on the dirt shoulder in front of us. "I don't understand."

"Go back," I said. 

Dimitri leaned down and gave him a scratch between the ears. "The witches need you to guard their camp."

Pirate cocked his head as we made a detour around him and started walking again. "I get it," he said, following. "You're trying to keep all the steak for yourself."

"Restaurants aren't for dogs," I reminded him, as we passed through the gates and began up the winding driveway. 

The weathered brick and stone had to be original. I was willing to bet the thick, gnarled oak trees on either side of the path were as old as the house. Moss clung to the trunks and dotted the lush grass. It felt like we were entering another world.

Pirate dodged around us and trotted out ahead, nose to the ground. "I think you need me more than the witches do." He sniffed at the packed earth. "This place doesn't smell right."

"It's gorgeous," I said. The pillars of the house stood tall and imposing. Yes, they'd been painted and re-painted over the years, but they were one-of-a-kind, with exotic flowers and creatures carved into the bases and up the sides. "Look. A gargoyle." I pointed toward a carving at the top. A thick white spider's web clung to its wings and stretched up to the antique brass lamp over the front door. Age had tarnished the lamp's ornate detailing, but it still hung with an air of majesty. I wondered just how many distinguished visitors had passed through this entryway.

Pirate growled low under his breath. His neck bristled as he stared at a rocking chair on the wide wrap-around front porch.  

Dimitri moved up behind the dog. "What is it?"

Pirate remained perfectly still, staring. "I don't know."

I opened my demon slayer senses. Usually, I had an insane attraction to danger—anything that could attack me, skewer me or chop me in half. I focused my attention on the chair and the space that surrounded it.

My powers reached out like fingers through the mist, searching.

A shadowy presence lurked near the chair, possibly a lingering memory or a very weak entity. It was difficult to say, really. Ghosts weren't my specialty. 

I expanded my reach and searched inside the house, down long, crumbling corridors covered with fresh wallpaper. I felt a certain note of desperation inside, along with unresolved chaos. Upstairs, I could sense shadows of darkness and pain. But nothing demonic.

"I think it's okay," I said.

The bronze marker by the front door said the house had been built in 1830. I ran my fingers over it as it bled green onto the white brick underneath. "Anything this old is bound to have a few odds and ends lurking about."

Dimitri's shoulders relaxed. "Then let's eat."

He pushed open the large black door and we entered a narrow foyer. Rich burgundy wallpaper with gold vines scrolled past ornate sconces. It reminded me of a garden maze I'd once visited.

Tonight had to turn out better than that little adventure.

A round-faced woman with curly red hair scurried out of what appeared to be a dining room to our left. She wore a pretty green dress and if I didn't know better, I'd have thought she was one of the patrons. "Welcome to the Peele House Inn," she said with a fat Southern accent. Her smile faltered when her gaze fastened on my skin-tight bustier, then my leather utility belt, my short-ish skirt. Then she really stared at my shiny, knee-high black leather boots. 

"I picked this pair up in New Orleans," I told her, "as a treat, after…" Well, I probably shouldn't tell her about the trouble I'd had in that tomb.

She tried to recover and failed. "Are you with," she made a swirly motion with her hand, "
those
people," she said the last part as if it were a secret, "down the road?" 

Ah. The witches. They always made an impression.

Our hostess took refuge behind a small wooden stand, which would have been comical except I was pretty sure the woman actually felt intimidated. 

"Don't worry," I said, eager to let her know that we had not, in fact, brought any beer can collectibles or a pony keg to dinner. "We're not that way at all."

Dimitri wrapped an arm around me and ran a warm hand over my shoulder. "We're here tonight to celebrate," he explained, directing a saucy grin at me. "It's our first anniversary."

The hostess clasped her hands together. "Aww," she cooed. "Happy anniversary!" With newfound energy, she checked her book. "You're the couple with the reservation," she added, as if we'd done something special.

Dimitri nodded. "Slayer. Party of two."

It was how we ordered pizzas and everything. It was much easier than asking anybody to spell Kallinikos.

"I am so glad you came," our hostess said, with a sincerity you could only find in the South. "My name is Marjorie and I'm going to do everything I can to make your night unforgettable."

She led us to the room on the left. It boasted high ceilings and beautiful blue silk walls. Another couple dined at a corner table and, near the back wall, a gentleman sat reading the paper. She seated us at one of the remaining three tables, next to one of the big picture windows. "This is one of my favorite rooms. It used to be the parlor," Marjorie said, placing our menus on a table covered in a white linen cloth.

A fire burned in the white marble hearth. And, I realized with horror, my dog had followed us inside. 

"I'm sorry. He's mine," I said, intending to go after him. Pirate had found a nice warm spot directly in front of the crackling logs and had begun to curl up and make himself at home.

Marjorie paused. "You know, if he's just going to lie down, it's okay." She gave a small, wistful smile. "We used to keep both a dog and a cat here when we operated the bed and breakfast."

Pirate planted his head on his paws and arched up his brows in that heartbreakingly hopeful way dogs do when they want to be completely manipulative.

It worked.

Marjorie let out a low cluck. "Aren't you precious?" She left us, to go pet him.

"You have to understand—" I began, before I realized I'd lost her attention. 

I didn't want to make a commotion. Although the other diners didn't seem to notice, or care. 

"We don't want to reward his behavior," Dimitri added.

"Nonsense." She scratched Pirate behind the ears, which started his tail wagging. "I could never say 'no' to a face like that." She ushered Dimitri and I back to our seats. "Now I'm going to get your sweet puppy a bowl of fried gizzards, on the house. You two look over the menus."

I could swear Pirate grinned as he watched her go. "A cute face and a wagging tail will get you a long way in life," he said happily.

No kidding.

I opened my menu. "They get a decent crowd in here for such a quiet road," I said.

Dimitri hummed a response as he studied the wine list. Soon, I forgot all about the other patrons, as well as my dog. We ordered wine. We gorged ourselves on lobster ravioli, steak, and fresh baked bread.

I was fawning overly a particularly delicious side of mushroom risotto when Dimitri leaned over the table, grinning at me. "Look," he said, glancing toward the fireplace. "Pirate found a friend."

 I turned and saw the ghost of a matronly woman in an old fashioned dress, complete with a hoop skirt. She spoke to Pirate in soft tones while she rubbed at his ears. He licked at her pale fingers and she giggled.

"Always the charmer," I mused. Pirate had a particular affinity for spirits. And he could make friends with a doorknob, so I wasn't surprised at all when they began holding an animated conversation.

Dimitri reached for a slice of fresh bread. "I wonder what they have in common."

Pirate did have limited interests, seeing that he was a dog. "It's got to be food," I said, reaching for a sip of wine. "Or smelly things."

"Things that roll, things that make noise," Dimitri added.

"The mailman." I thought about it. "Did they even have mailmen back when women wore hoop skirts?" It didn't matter, I supposed. I was just glad Pirate had made a friend. The ghost seemed to need one as well.

Marjorie returned to re-fill our water glasses and slip us the check. "Whenever you're ready," she said, as if she were reluctant to interrupt.

I let Dimitri take the black folder. "You know this place is haunted," I said to our host.

"Very," she nodded, as if it were a grand secret. "Word has it that Hiram Peele himself has been seen upstairs.

I loved ghost stories. Even if most of the ghosts I'd encountered kept to themselves. "So you called it the Peele House after Hiram Peele?"

Marjorie stood a little straighter, obviously proud of the house's history. "Yes. He's our original owner. Hiram Peele was a wealthy planter and he built this house in 1830 for his bride, a local preacher's daughter named Eva Fawn." she said, with all the finesse of a storyteller. "Men didn't often marry below their station in those days, but it was a true love match and Hiram was very close to her father. They were happy for many years until she died after falling down the grand staircase. It was so sad. He died the next night—in bed of a heart attack. Although most people say it was a broken heart."

Yikes. Maybe it had been despair I'd felt in the house instead of darkness. "Are they buried in the cemetery outside?"

"Yes. That's how they did it in those days." Marjorie held the water pitcher in front of her like a shield. "When my husband and I bought this estate, we thought the Peele's story might bring in the tourists." Her pale skin flushed at the neck. "But," she shook her head, "it's ended up being a bit much. Right after we opened, a newly wed couple took a tumble down the staircase. Both of them died," she said, her voice catching.

"What a terrible accident," Dimitri said, taken back.

Color rose in Marjorie's cheeks. "Then it happened again. About six months later."

"Did they? Not make it either?" I asked, not wanting to pry, but wow. Twice?

Marjorie shook her head 'no.' "The coroner ruled all four of the deaths…accidental." She made a subtle sign of the cross, but I noticed it. "We don't even like to go up to those rooms anymore. I know they said it was a fluke, but my husband and I just couldn't handle it if something else happened."

"I don't blame you one bit," I told her.

She nodded, accepting my sympathy. "It's a shame." She glanced at the dining room behind us. "As you might imagine, we could use the business."

I was about to tell her that it seemed like the other guests were enjoying their meals as much as we did. Only now that I looked at them, the couple dining at a corner table wore 1940's-era clothes. And had a pearly sheen. The gentleman eating alone had vanished.

After Marjorie left, Dimitri deposited a considerable sum in the bill holder. I was glad he could afford to be so generous. Then again, he was also eyeing me like he had an idea.

"What?" I asked, finishing the last of my wine.

His eyes flicked to mine. "She has private, quiet guest rooms upstairs."

A tingle of awareness warmed me. "Those are closed."

"Exactly." He placed a large, solid hand over mine. "We'd be all alone."

At last.

If we had the guts.

"No biker witches, no camping out," I said, warming to the idea. Even with a ghost or two it was worth it. Heck, I had demon slayer powers. I could handle myself. "A real bed."

Dimitri shrugged his wide shoulders. He was reeling me in. I knew it. He knew it.

"It could be an anniversary to remember," he said, tempting me more than he knew.

I ran my fingers along the edge of my wine glass. "I do still have to give you your present," I mused. "Although you'll have to undress me to get it."

He stood a little too quickly as he reached into his wallet again and peeled off an additional wad of twenties. "We'll add it to her tip, enough to cover a room."

It would be a shame not to contribute to the upkeep of such a wonderful old home.

I stood faster than I'd intended, wobbling my wine glass. "Okay. But just a quickie."

He grinned. "Anything for you."

Oh my God, I couldn't believe we were doing this.

"Come on," I said, standing, taking his hand. "We need to get upstairs and naked." Soon. Before I lost my nerve.

Chapter Two

We waited until our hostess retreated into the back, then we raced up the stairs like we were on fire.

Oh my God. I fought back a giggle and Dimitri smothered me to his chest at the top of the landing. He might be as stealthy as a shape shifter, but I felt like an ox going up those stairs. 

I covered my mouth, but still, my face hurt from grinning as he took my hand and pulled me down the hall. The air hung heavy and stale. The narrow, dark corridor offered the perfect place to hide.

Dimitri pushed open a door at the end and yanked me inside. Shadows clung to the corners of the room. A layer of dust coated the antique furniture. No one had ventured up here for a long time. We were truly alone. Free. In an old-fashioned Victorian bedroom. I ran a hand over the carved wood chest of drawers with its chilly marble top and delicately woven lace dresser scarf.

I couldn't believe I was doing this. I'd never let myself consider it before. Not in my un-wild, un-crazy teenage years. And certainly not in my responsible twenties.

Dimitri's voice sounded rough, hungry. "Come here," he said, with the same excitement I felt. He kissed me hard, backing me up against the bed. I squealed as he tipped me down on the mattress.

"Impatient much?" I asked, giving him a saucy grin.

Wait until he got a look at my sexy red bra and panties.

He shook his head, advancing on me, all alpha male and sexy. "It's been way too long."

Since we were back home and not sneaking around. Hiding.