Demon Hunting with a Dixie Deb - Lexi George Page 0,2

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That dirty rotten shoenapper had stolen her shoes and left her in a pair of hiking boots. Never mind how he’d done it. She’d think about that later. She’d report him to the police, but she didn’t know his name.

A low, shuddering howl jerked her thoughts from retribution. The eerie sound hung in the air. There weren’t wolves in Alabama . . . were there? No. Sassy was almost sure of it.

She straightened and looked around. Her skin prickled with unease. Dusk had fallen. It would be dark soon. Nothing stirred in the trees. No rustling birds or whirring insects; no delusional male cover model running around in Rom-con clothes. Silence, but for the burbling music of the creek. She was stranded and alone in the woods.

A second howl sundered the unnatural silence. No, not alone. Something was out here with her, something bad.

Heart pounding, Sassy eased away from the rail and peered in the direction of the howl. Oaks, maples, and hickories shaded the road, their wind-shivered limbs entwined in dread. From beyond the curve, she heard a hungry grunt.

Whatever it was, it was coming this way.

“Get off the road.”

Sassy squeaked and whirled around. A man stood on the bridge. Slim and pale, he was dressed in slacks and a crisply starched shirt, his attire better suited for drinks at the club or a board meeting than a stroll in the woods. Blond hair dipped across his white brow. Sassy stared at him, puzzled. He seemed vaguely familiar.

“Who are you?” she asked. “Where’d you come from?”

“She’s coming.” His drawl was cultured and polished, like the rest of him. “Get off the road. Hide.”

He disappeared.

“Why do people keep doing that?” Sassy wailed.

A horrible snarl brought her up short. She’s coming. Get off the road. Hide.

Sassy scrambled down the embankment. In her haste, she caught the toe of her boot on a root and tumbled down the slope. She rolled to a stop facedown in a deep patch of kudzu. She smelled water and dirt, and crushed plants. A stinkbug inspected a broad green leaf near her nose before taking off in a whirr of wings.

Bruised and shaken, Sassy lifted her head and peeked through the thick foliage. A squat, misshapen thing stood above her on the bridge. Wisps of dingy hair clung to the creature’s exposed skull and dripped in greasy clumps past her narrow shoulders. The woman—if woman she was—was old and bent, and hideously ugly with a nose like a rotten cucumber and sagging skin the color of putty. A coarse shift covered her stooped, twisted body. Long, wrinkled arms brushed the ground. Filthy yellow claws tipped her bony hands.

The nightmare raised her ugly head and took a lingering sniff. Sassy caught a horrifying glimpse of sharp, pointy teeth.

She held her breath and thanked her lucky stars the dress she wore matched her leafy green shelter. The hag snuffled the spot on the bridge where Sassy had stood, then loped away with startling swiftness.

Sassy huddled in the undergrowth. Evening deepened around her, but she was too terrified to move. Greep, greep, greep, the bugs in the underbrush called. Mehhh, a tree frog burped. She should climb out and start walking. Stick to the road. Sooner or later, the road would lead her to civilization, a house or a country store.

But that thing was on the road.

Okay, so she’d cut through the woods, but what if she got lost? She navigated the largest mall without a misstep, but her shopping GPS was worthless out here.

She had to do something. She couldn’t hide in the kudzu forever.

Gathering her courage, she pushed the vines aside and sat up. Leaves rustled and a Dalmatian trotted out of the woods. The dog looked up at her from the foot of the embankment. He cocked his ears and woofed as if to say Whatchoo doing up there, you big silly?

She had a guide. Sassy scrambled to her feet.

“Here, boy, come to Sassy,” she called. “There’s a good dog.”

The dog turned and trotted a few paces in to the woods. Pausing, he looked back at her and barked again.

“I’m coming. Wait for me.”

Sassy waded out of the thick vegetation, her natural optimism reasserting itself. Everything would be fine. She’d follow the nice doggie home and call a wrecker.

She stepped under the trees and halted. A light shone in the woods to the left, a beacon in the gathering darkness. Picking her way