Demon Hunting with a Dixie Deb - Lexi George Page 0,86
of the watercourse known as the Devil.
No sign of Conall. They waited for a while and began the trek back to the entrance.
“This place is spooky, and I’m half demon,” Evan complained. “I don’t blame the norms for staying clear after sunset.”
The hair prickled on the back of Grim’s neck and arms. “I, too, have misgivings.” Instinct kept his voice low. “Methinks whatever dwells here does not look kindly upon outsiders.”
“If that’s a fancy way of saying we ain’t welcome, I tried to tell you. You wouldn’t listen.”
“The gate, Grim.” Taryn spoke quietly. “We are not alone.”
Evan skidded to a halt. “Aw, hell. Aw hell-o-hell-o-hell, what is that?”
Massive legs akimbo, a pair of sand giants some thirty feet tall blocked the exit. On either side of the behemoths, a line of sandy soldiers stretched in a long formation that disappeared into the gloom.
Weapons drawn, the strange army formed an unmoving wall, but Grim had no doubt they would spring into action if challenged.
They were trapped. They would not leave without a fight. Grim drew his sword, his warrior’s heart exulting. The witch had gone into hiding, but the fates had given him a foe to vanquish through strength of arms. This was good. This was what he knew. What he needed.
In his mind, the blurred features of the infantrymen shifted and reformed into the aspect of Sassy’s betrothed.
An army of Wesleys to vent his spleen upon? The gods were gracious.
Blood singing, Grim charged. Without warning, Conall and Duncan materialized between him and the adversary.
“To your weapons, brothers,” Grim shouted as he thundered past. “We are under attack.”
In a blur of movement, Conall got between Grim and the gate. “Be at ease, brother. The sand people are not your enemy.”
Grim slid to a stop in a shower of sand. “But. Captain—”
“They are, I believe, guardians born of magic special to this place,” Conall said. “I asked them to stand watch whilst we confer. Djegrali spies are everywhere.”
Grim swallowed his disappointment. “They are friendly?”
“Aye.”
“Give me leave to test their intent upon mine sword,” Grim begged. “To be certain.”
Conall and Duncan exchanged glances.
“I see what you mean.” Duncan’s deep voice rippled with amusement. “He has the signs.”
Grim scowled. “I am in no mood for your wit, Duncan. Signs of what?”
“Never mind.” Conall clapped Grim on the shoulder. “Your thirst for battle does you credit, but save your valor for another day.”
Grim put his sword away with reluctance.
“Captain.” Taryn strode up to Conall in her confident manner. “I bring you greetings from Arta, the High Huntress.”
“Greetings, little sister. How can I be of service to the Kir?”
Taryn’s mouth tightened. ’Twas a source of irritation to the Kirvahni that Kehvahn had created the Dalvahni first. Grim doubted not that Conall had used the diminutive a-purpose.
The huntress whistled. A golden hawk floated out of the darkness and landed on her gloved hand. “Arta sends news of grave import.”
Conall looked bored. “Indeed? Do these tidings concern the djegrali?”
“Aye, and the Dalvahni as well.”
Grim sneered. Arta had somehow learned of the existence of the djegrali’s supposed secret weapon and thought to school the captain of the Dalvahni? What impudence.
Taryn lifted her hand and spoke to the hawk. “Merta, the scroll.”
The hawk shrieked and flew at the leader of the Dalvahni, dropping something as she soared past. Conall plucked the tiny roll of parchment out of the air as it fell. Unrolling the message, he scanned the contents.
He looked up, his black eyes icy with rage. “Tripe. If Arta seeks an internecine feud between us, she has made an excellent start.”
Taryn met Conall’s fury without flinching. “She seeks to warn you, sir. A Dalvahni warrior has gone rogue and consorts with the enemy. Beware, Captain. You have a traitor in your midst.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Wednesday morning
The sales clerk waited on the curb while Sassy and Taryn loaded their purchases into the trunk of the Maserati.
“Here you go.” The young woman handed Sassy the last four shopping bags. “That’s all of them.”
Sassy smiled her thanks at the clerk. Latrisse Jackson was an exotic beauty with creamy brown skin, wavy black hair, and tilted dark eyes. And, boy, did she know how to dress. She rocked a leopard patch cap-sleeve dress with a boat neckline and an asymmetric hem. Splashes of brilliant turquoise brightened the animal print and drew the eye to Latrisse’s tight curves. Black calfskin ankle strap sandals with three-inch heels and metallic silver trim on the midsoles completed her stylish ensemble.
Sassy crammed the rest of the bags in the overflowing