Demon Hunting with a Dixie Deb - Lexi George Page 0,10

said or done. But she’d never been truly angry. It took her a moment to recognize the emotion.

This was his fault. He’d left her. None of this would have happened if he hadn’t left her on the bridge. Boy, if she ever saw that no-name hunk again, she’d give him what for.

If she ever saw him again? Oh, no, when she saw him again. She’d find him. You could bet on it. She was strong. She was invincible. She was a Sassy Survivor.

Nobody left Sassy Peterson in the woods for the possums to eat.

Nobody.

Chapter Four

Sassy got to her feet and adjusted her bunched underwear, glancing around to make sure no one had seen her do such an unladylike thing.

As if. It was pitch dark. There wasn’t another soul on two legs anywhere around.

Where was she, anyway? Her stag-happy dash through the woods had left her disoriented. She was still trying to decide which way to go when an animal shot out of the bushes and ran across her feet. Sassy shrieked and took a flying leap, landing, wild-eyed, in a crouch more than twenty feet away, a move that would have done an Olympic jumper proud.

Sassy was a firm believer that a positive attitude was empowering, but what was up with that?

A white tail disappeared into the shrubbery ahead. A rabbit; it was a rabbit.

Confused and feeling foolish, Sassy rose. A flickering light caught her eye. The bright, pulsing radiance flared pink, then purple, then yellow and blue. Marshmallows, that precious little bunny had shown her the light.

Spirits lifted, she set off, heading for the glow. She walked a long time. How long—thirty minutes, an hour?—she could not say. Time seemed to stand still in the forest.

She smelled the river before she saw it, the musky perfume of earth and water mingled, and walked faster. Junior had mentioned a house on the river. She’d call a taxi and check into the hotel. How bad could it be? A hotel was a hotel. She’d take a nice long soak in the tub and order a chicken salad plate from room service. Then she’d climb into bed and watch a sappy movie on television, something light and frothy with a happy ending. No scary movies. No Syfy Channel. She’d had enough freaky to last her a lifetime.

Scratch the chicken salad plate. She wanted doughnuts, a dozen chocolate glazed with sprinkles. Her mouth watered at the thought.

She never ate doughnuts. A slip of the lips, forever on the hips, Mama said.

Mama ate like a bird to maintain her slender figure, but Mama had never been lost in the woods with a cast of characters out of a Stephen King novel. As far as Sassy was concerned, this was a carbohydrate emergency. She wanted sugar, fried sugar, and lots of it.

She wanted to find that dirty shoe snatcher and kick him right in his world-class tuchus.

She kept walking and followed her nose, the mushy ground squelching beneath her boots. She climbed down a slope, pushed through a stand of bamboo, and came out on a high bluff that overlooked the river. Moonlight glinted on the rolling water. On the opposite bank, trees crowded close to the shore, a dark line of hunched sentinels. The Devil River this body of water was called, named by locals for its unexpected twists and turns, treacherous rocks, and fierce rapids. Sassy had read about it in Ghosts of Behr County, a slim volume of scary yarns she’d found on a library shelf in the fifth grade. She’d checked the book out and sneaked it into her house, careful not to let Mama see it. Anything that smacked of Behr County made Mama sad.

The worn hardback contained a variety of spooky tales, including the story of Lorraine, the grieving widow of a steamboat captain who kept a ghostly vigil for her dead husband on the aging balcony of their river home. It was sad and romantic, but Sassy’s favorite was the one about Hazel, the ghost of Sardine Bridge. Park on the bridge at midnight, or so the legend went, and call Hazel’s name three times to summon her.

But don’t cuss, the author sternly warned. Hazel ectoplasmed anyone who cussed on her bridge, especially potty-mouthed teenagers.

Curled up in the window seat overlooking her mother’s prized rose garden, Sassy had pored over Ghosts of Behr County for hours, imagining her big brother confronting the straitlaced shade. Would Trey summon Hazel according to the rules or risk her icy wrath with