Demon Hunting with a Dixie Deb - Lexi George Page 0,31
radar of the two d’s: demons and Dalvahni. He’d snuck out of hiding for his sister’s wedding. Watched the ceremony from across the river. Uninvited and unnoticed, a starving kid with his face pressed against a bakery window.
The witch had caught him, unsuspecting and unawares. She’d pulled a Granny Good Witch on him. Stuffed him with scones and hot tea that had been mickeyed, and threw him in the shed to fatten him up.
The witch’s talent was growing things. Something she’d put in his chow had changed him, turning him into God knows what.
Add that to the laundry list of things he had to be cheesed about.
Evan picked up the pace to outrun the rage. His life had been one long everlasting gobstopper of suckage until Sassy dropped into his lap. Her gift for feel-good was priceless, a gold mine, and she was running around clueless. What a fucking waste. The sheer unfairness of it made him want to spit nails and shit bullets. If he had a gift like that, nothing would stop him. Life for old Evan had been one supersized shit sandwich served up on maggoty bread.
It was about time the universe tossed him something besides a kidney punch and a kick in the teeth. Sassy Peterson was his golden ticket. Everyone could use a little Sassy picker-upper. He and Sassy would open an office and take in patients, adding satellites as their business grew.
Nah—that was chickenshit thinking. Television was the way to go; a reality show like that psychic chick from Long Island. The Sassy Sunshine Show had a nice ring to it. They’d be nationwide. There’d be endorsement deals and product lines. The possibilities were endless.
He did two more laps around the house and stopped to catch his breath. The exercise had helped, but anger and the monster rode him hard, pushing at his skin and cramping his organs until he thought he would burst out of his skin. He threw his head back and breathed deeply to tamp down the rage. The night sky was studded with stars. In the river, a fish splashed. The forest formed a dark curtain around the house, insulating them from the rest of the world.
It would be easy with someone like Sassy to forget the big ugly that waited beyond the fringe of trees, but it was there, a hungry gator eager to chomp you in the ass.
He ought to know. He had the bite marks to prove it.
A malformed shape shambled out of the trees and onto the manicured lawn. The witch’s body was bent and her arms dragged the ground. Her skin sagged, a flesh suit several times too large for her bony frame.
“Goddamn, you’re ugly, bitch,” Evan said. “Who’d you piss off to rate a kisser like that?”
“I’m the one you need to worry about pissing off, pretty boy.” The witch’s voice was a sandpaper rasp. “Hand over the girl and we’ll let bygones be bygones.”
“I don’t think so, not after what you’ve done.”
“You are such a little whiner. I’ve had it rough. Life is so unfair.” The witch hawked up a loogie the size of a baseball and let it fly. “Grow a set. Your sister has bigger balls than you.”
Anger burned inside Evan. It had been banked there, smoldering below the surface for years with no release, not with Hagilth and Elgdrek ever ready with a smackdown.
Dear old Momsie and Popsie were dead. Halle-freaking-lujah. The bindings were broken. The fury Evan had suppressed his entire life bubbled inside him, a hot, rising magma of resentment and hate.
“What did you feed me?”
“Put a little formula of mine in your food and water—something that makes things grow.” The witch lifted her crooked shoulders. “You should thank me. You needed fattening up.”
“You try that shit on a demonoid before?”
“Come to think of it, no. You were my first.”
“Epic mistake, ass mug.”
Evan flipped the cap on his rage and let it spew.
Chapter Ten
Angry voices roused Sassy from slumber. Evan . . . he sounded upset about something. A door slammed and he was gone. She should check on him, but she was so tired.
Grim’s arms tightened around her. She gave in to temptation and snuggled closer to him, burying her nose against his muscular neck. His long hair brushed her cheek, threads of shampoo-scented silk. The guy might be irritating as new shoes on a blister, but he made a darn good pillow. And he smelled three kinds of wonderful.