My Big Fat Demon Slayer Wedding (19 page)

“Thank you,” I said, meaning every word. “It’s so much better than hand towels.”

She gave me a long look, the candlelight accenting the lines on her face. “Let’s hope you still feel that way once you’re down there.”

We searched the bookcases again. We searched the floor. And then I saw a book on Pluto.

“Don’t read,” Creely said, inspecting the bookcases, trying to find a hidden lever.
 

“Don’t worry,” I said, opening the first page.

She stopped searching. “Is this a demon slayer instinct?”

“More of a gut feeling. This is a book on a planet—”

“Pluto’s not a planet,” Creely said automatically.

“—shelved with a bunch of books on demonology. I paged through and almost dropped it when I saw the center of the book had been cut out, and a key neatly inserted. It was made of iron and nearly as long as my hand.

“It would be hard to lose that one,” Creely said.

“Hard to hide it, too.” If someone went through all this trouble, it was probably important. I tucked my Maglite under my arm started digging it out.

“Give me your light.” Creely snatched the light, nearly making me drop the book. Which made the key pop out. Okay, two birds…

She shone my light into the space where the book had been shelved. “Bingo.”

There was an antique keyhole built into the wall.
 

“That wasn’t so difficult, was it?” Creely asked.

“Speak for yourself.”

I handed her the key and she inserted it into the lock. Then I stood back, my right hand on my switch stars as she pushed the door to the bookcase back. It resisted for a moment. The hinges groaned as the door reluctantly swung back into a darkened stairwell.
 

It was lined with old brick and ornamented with crude, hand-painted images of spider webs. A concrete, spiral staircase wound down into the abyss.

“Happy wedding shower,” Creely said.

I took the flashlight from her and shone it down the stairs. They were steep and winding. It was impossible to know what lay at the bottom.
 

“My present is down there.”

I started down the steps. Meanwhile, Creely went back and grabbed her candle. “Damn. I wish I’d brought a few spell jars.”

“Let’s hope we don’t need them.” The air was musty and chilly in the passage. I fought off a shiver as we descended, our footsteps echoing off the stairs.

Whatever awaited us down there reeked of stale incense and rot. This had to be Russell’s crowning achievement. It was hidden at the very center of his home, well concealed under his precious books and occult artifacts.

As we reached the bottom, I gasped. Holy hell. He wasn’t an occultist. He was a Satanist.

My flashlight shone directly on a skull. Then another, then another. They were stacked along the walls, a macabre collection dedicated to death and the dark arts. Some of them were even decorated with gold gilt paint and lacquer. As if the gilded age tycoon couldn’t even leave death unadorned.

“They don’t look human.” Creely said behind me.

“That one is.” I pointed my light at a gold-painted skull that sat on top of a pillar, like a macabre bust. It was adorned with a dull red jewel between the eyes.

At the center of the room stood a black stone altar, with black tapers on either side. “Fuck it. I’m not lighting those,” Creely said.

I didn’t blame her. I also noticed neither one of us had moved from the very bottom of the stairs.
 

I’d heard of places like this, dedicated to the dark arts. “This is a black chapel.”

The biker witch let out a low whistle. “It ain’t Disneyland.”

“I wonder if this is what’s blocking my power.” I didn’t feel the heavy press of evil, like I should. Only the very real, very human instinct to run.

“Let’s get the hell out of here.” Creely said, obviously feeling the same.

“Give me a minute.” I forced myself to take one step forward, then another. The floor itself seemed tainted, the air I breathed, impure.

My flashlight snaked across the chapel. I walked behind the altar, like a dark priest would. I stood at the very center of the house, the vortex of evil.

There, carved into the black altar, was the third mark.

Chapter Seventeen

That was it. I hated to turn my back on the dark chapel, but I wasn’t about to have Creely behind me, either. I let her take the lead as we made tracks up the stairs and through the hidden office. She battled with the secret door we’d used to get us into this mess while I guarded her back.
 

She’d needed my light to find the latch, so I was left with a candle and my switch stars. I kept an eye on the bookcase we’d closed behind us. Nothing seemed to follow from below. Yet. For that I was eternally grateful.
 

“Got it.” Creely let the door swing open.

“Thank God.” I doused the last candle and followed her out. She slammed the door behind us, and I didn’t blame her a bit.

We were met by a startled Frieda, who stood a few feet away, stopped cold by our sudden appearance. “Err…” She fiddled with her hair. “People are looking for you.”

“In a minute.” I didn’t care who they were or what they wanted. I had a creepy grave dirt issue to address.

I wasn’t about to empty it inside the house. Who knew what that might do?

It would have to be done outside, completely off the property. I didn’t want this dirt anywhere near the house, or the land.
 

After that, I’d have to wash the necklace and purify it. I wanted nothing to do with the demented railroad baron or his dead bride.

I jogged down the winding drive, all the way down to the main road. Gargoyles stared down at me as I put one foot in front of the other, trying not to think about what I could have around my neck.

What I’d worn this entire time.

My body warmed from the run. Despite it, I felt cold inside. I half-expected Elizabeth to appear and try to stop me.
 

I hadn’t even heard the ghost’s voice until I stepped on that grave. Her grave. Well, no more. She could haunt someone else.

I reached the road, crossed it, and picked my way through tall spindly weeds to the cliff face on the other side. There would be no way for Elizabeth to contact me again. Or at least I’d do my level best to make it so.
 

Salt tinged the air, along with a cool breeze off the water. I stopped a yard back from the edge of oblivion. Call me crazy, but I didn’t trust the sturdiness of the land so close to a sheer drop off. I glanced behind me, making sure I was alone. This would be the perfect opportunity for murder.

The area behind me was deserted. So far.

Dry grass crunched under my feet as I forced myself to take one tentative step forward, then another. A car whizzed past. The ocean churned below.
 

With shaking fingers, I grasped the clasp of the locket, ready to release the dirt into the waters below.

It wouldn’t open.

I pulled harder, the cool metal biting against my fingers.
 

“Come on.” It wouldn’t budge.

Sweet switch stars. I had to get rid of this tainted dirt. I felt sick with it. Claustrophobic. I needed the grave dirt off of me. Now.

Come on. Come on.
I struggled against the enchanted metal.
 

It was as if the fricking thing were welded shut.

I wanted to collapse and cry. Maybe I would have if I hadn’t been so petrified of the cliff, and the ocean, and what could happen if I let my guard down for a second.

There was only one thing left to do and, Hades, I wasn’t even sure I could pull it off.
 

Dimitri had gifted me this enchanted necklace soon after we met. It was meant to be with me always, to protect me. Back when I was first learning my powers, it had been impossible to take off. Now, I had to change that.

“I’m sorry, Dimitri,” I said, focusing every bit of my power and concentration on the task ahead. “I renounce our agreement,” I said, feeling the sting of my own betrayal. It had to be done. “Though the emerald was freely given” —I paused before I could force myself to say the words out loud— “It is no longer freely accepted.”

I could almost feel his heart break a little from here. Dimitri would understand why I broke our protection bond. He had to. He may not, however, be so generous about what I planned to do after I removed his family heirloom.
 

I grasped the necklace on either side, felt it hum in protest as I lifted it slowly. It grew heavier every second, but I kept going until I was free. I felt strange without it. Naked.

The necklace dangled from my hand, its bronze cord in sharp relief against my clutched hand. I tried one last time to open the locket, with its gleaming teardrop emerald.

This necklace had given me so much joy, and anguish.

I focused on the good times. The time it had morphed into a crazy medieval helmet. The time I’d had to wear it as a Las Vegas stripper bra. I felt it pulse with energy as I held it over the edge of the cliff.

This was better than taking a chance that it was acting against me. I had friends to worry about, family as well. Dimitri would have to understand.

The metal chain hummed and went liquid. It attempted to cling to my hand, to wind itself up and around my wrist. I brushed it away. “Goodbye,” I said, as I tossed it over the cliff.

It stuck to my hand.

“Frick.” I tried to peel it away. It stuck to my other hand. “Oh, come on.”

It was weak, most likely from the grave dirt. Still, it would
not
let go. The chain grasped at my hand. The locket stayed completely intact.

I could hit it with a switch star, not at this range. Can’t say I wasn’t tempted.

Of course it had attached itself to my throwing hand.

“This is the way it has to be,” I said, giving it one final, violent toss over the edge.

It clung to my middle finger.
 

God bless America. It was official: I hated this necklace. I hated the ghost, and I needed to punch something except there was nothing to hit. I swung my arm around anyway. The necklace went with it, swinging by the chain, and smacked me hard on the cheek. My head rang and my skin stung.

“Fine!” I yelled to nobody in particular. This was such a mess.

I trudged back to the mansion, with a throbbing left cheek and a necklace attached to my throwing hand.

Frieda stood on the front porch, sneaking a smoke. She knew better than to say anything as I stormed past her.
 

The second I walked into the house, the necklace let go and collapsed in a heap onto the floor in the foyer. I was tempted to leave it there. Instead, I scooped it up in the wide skirt of my sundress and hurried it up to my room. Once I got there, I opened the top dresser drawer, cleared out my underwear, and let go of the necklace. It willingly dropped inside.

That settled it. I’d be sleeping with Dimitri tonight. I didn’t want to be anywhere near that thing.
 

I clutched the dresser as a heaviness descended on me. It wound in my stomach, cold and evil. I didn’t understand what was happening for a second until a sickening realization clicked into place. My demon slayer senses were waking, prickling like a blood-starved limb as they came back. Along with them, came the horrifying realization that we stood on cursed ground.

It screamed at me. I tried to breathe through it. Sweat slicked my body. Searing hate slashed at me, and I had to force myself to shut down a little.
 

Damn. If I’d felt a tenth of this on the first day, I never would have set foot inside this house. I could even feel the markers, pulsing.

Nausea hit me in waves as I tried to shut down more, to block the potent energy of this place. I had to get my friends and family out of here as soon as I could.

That meant destroying the markers. I shoved myself away from the dresser and stumbled toward the door. Every step I took, I tried to shut down a small portion of the cavalcade of emotions that threatened to overpower me.
 

Fear.
 

Longing.
 

Hate.

One-by-one, I closed myself off. Until I felt the vicious energy as a muted throbbing at the back of my skull.

I paused for a few minutes at the top of the stairs, until I felt balanced enough to make it down all the way. Frieda stood talking with Ant Eater at then entrance to the sitting room.
 

The blond biker witch’s eyes widened when she saw me. “Are you okay, sweetie?” She scrunched her face, as if afraid to say the next part. “You look like…”

“Hell,” Ant Eater finished for her.

In this case, the curly haired witch wasn’t too far off.

“Where’s Rachmort?” I asked.

Ant Eater cocked her head. “In the dining room.”
 

I found him at a large mahogany table, with a half-eaten sandwich at his elbow, playing cards with Pirate. He’d propped up a book so Pirate could display his hand with nobody peeking. My dog was standing on one of the nice chairs like he belonged there.

Rachmort peered over his cards. “How about…three of hearts.”

“Ha!” Pirate pawed the edge of the table. “Go fish!”

The necromancer drew a card from the stack while my dog’s tail wagged itself into a blur. “I am so good at this game. There should be a championship. I would be the Go Fish Ace!”

“I hate to interrupt your game,” I began.

“Then you stay over there,” Pirate said, “I’m winning.”

Too bad. “Rachmort, I need to talk to you.”
 

The necromancer glanced at me. “I forfeit,” he said, laying his cards down. “You win.”

“Yyyes! Zam!” Pirate hopped off his chair. “You see that, Lizzie?” He followed us as I motioned Rachmort into the kitchen. “Let’s go best seven out of ten.”

“Pirate, I need him alone,” I said.

My dog kept coming. “Twelve out of fifteen?”

“Why don’t you finish my sandwich?” Rachmort asked.

“Let’s take a break.” Pirate trotted off.

Luckily the kitchen was deserted. Rachmort and I crouched over the island. Even still, I leaned in closer. “I found the third marker. In a secret underground room, in the dead center of the house.”