What to Expect When Your Demon Slayer is Expecting Read online

  I wasn’t really even expecting him to be home, and it was a genuine surprise when he met us at the door.

  Cliff was classically handsome, with thick silver hair and a friendly demeanor. He wore a polo shirt and chinos—very casual, for him. He must not have gone in to work today.

  “Lizzie!” Cliff pulled me into a hug, and I was so stunned, I let him. It was pretty nice. Neither Cliff nor Hillary had been the most demonstrative parents, but at least Hillary had been around. Cliff had spent most of my childhood at work or at work parties or on work trips. Hugs were a rarity. “It’s good to see you.” He let go of me, turned to my husband, and held out a hand. “Happy birthday, Dimitri. Good to see you too.” His eyes flicked over Dimitri’s torn clothes. “Is that what the kids are wearing these days?”

  “Gardening mishap,” Dimitri said smoothly. “I’m fine, though.”

  “I’m glad to hear it,” Dad said, as if he didn’t quite believe it. The man had, after all, been through the demon invasion at my wedding.

  He opened the door wider as Pirate raced past him. My mom bought the expensive dog food and always left a bowl out when Pirate came to visit.

  “Good to see you too, Frieda.” Cliff held his elbow out to her. “You’re looking especially lovely today.”

  She smoothed her Gap denim dress. “You should have seen me yesterday,” she told him.

  “I believe there are some ladies waiting for you in the kitchen,” he continued, ignoring the rabbit tucked under her right arm as only a true Southern gentleman could.

  “Bless my soul!” Frieda mock-fanned herself before accepting his escort. They headed through the foyer to the kitchen. I followed more slowly with Dimitri and smiled when he wrapped his arm around my shoulders.

  “You okay?” he murmured as we walked across the marble floor. Prints of landscapes and golf courses lined the walls, and here and there was a tasteful plinth bearing a vase of my mother’s roses. I didn’t even know what to call Hillary’s sense of decorating style, but it worked for her and Cliff.

  “I’m fine,” I said. “Just a little tired.”

  “Well, I did keep you up late last night.”

  “And I woke you early this morning.” Gosh, was it just this morning that everything had been so much…simpler? Life came at you fast when you were a demon slayer.

  “True.” He looked like he was going to say more, but just then my mom appeared in the doorway leading to the living room.

  “Lizzie?”

  She was back in her own version of casual clothes, Ann Taylor slacks and a cream-colored silk blouse, but she still looked kind of off. Weirdly delicate in a way my mother never was.

  “I’ll go take Pirate out back,” Dimitri said, and left me alone with Hillary. I approached her and was immediately pulled into my second hug in under a minute from one of my parents. It was a little Twilight Zone, to be honest, but if anyone needed a hug right now, it was my mom.

  “It’s going to be okay,” I assured her. “I got what we needed to complete the spell. Everything is going to work out fine.”

  “Of course it will,” she replied, as confident as ever, but her grip on me didn’t let up.

  “I’ll take care of you,” I promised.

  “Oh, Lizzie.” Finally she pulled back, her eyes a little moist. “That shouldn’t be your responsibility. I’m the mother here. I should be the one doing the caretaking.” She sighed. “I feel bad we had to put off Dimitri’s party. Is he upset?”

  “Not even close,” I said. “And even moms deserve a break sometimes, right?”

  Cliff came up behind Hillary and put a hand on her shoulder. “Right,” he said firmly. “Come on, darling, have a seat before you wear a hole in the carpet.”

  “Oh, you,” she scolded him, but she did go and sit down on the couch. Cliff put his hands in his pockets and looked at me.

  “Demonic possession, huh?”

  I winced. It sounded kind of bad when my straight-laced father just out-and-out said it. “Yes. But we’re fixing it.”

  “Don’t interrogate her, Cliff,” Mom chastised.

  “I’m not interrogating anyone,” he said mildly. “I just want to know who I have to thank for that getup you had on earlier.” He pulled out his phone and turned it on. “It’s going to be my new background,” he said, showing me a picture of Hillary in all her catsuit glory. “I’m thinking about getting it printed and framed.”

  “Cliff.” My mother rolled her eyes at him, and he smiled impishly in return. It was the most playful I could ever remember them being, and I wondered if it was because of the situation, or if I’d just missed these moments as a kid.

  “You found what you needed, then?” Hillary continued. “Were there any problems getting it?”

  None that she needed to hear about. “No, it all went pretty smoothly,” I lied.

  “Oh, good.” She did seem to relax a little bit, the fine lines around her eyes smoothing out. It felt surprisingly good to be able to comfort her—like I was dealing with her as an equal rather than child to parent. “I have to say I’m looking forward to getting this thing out of me. It’s rather uncomfortable.”

  I sat down next to her. “You can feel it? What’s it like?”

  She frowned, one hand going to press lightly on her blouse. “It’s like…like a hand inside my chest, scraping. Then it curls up like a fist. It feels like it’s trying to grow bigger.”

  Well, that was hideous. I was spared having to come up with the appropriate platitude by the arrival of Grandma, who carried a steaming cup of potion on a delicate china saucer. My mom’s eyes narrowed.

  “Did you get that out of the china hutch in the dining room?”

  “Sure did!” Grandma said. “I believe it was you who told me just earlier today that ‘presentation is everything.’” She winked. “I figure this stuff might be easier to get down if you drink it from a pretty cup.”

  Mom didn’t look appeased. “You picked a tea set out of my limited edition wedding china from Lenox?”

  “Didn’t look like it sees the sun much, honestly. Why have it if you’re not gonna use it?” She passed the saucer over to Hillary, who took it gingerly. “Bottoms up!”

  Hillary stared into the cup, which contained a thick reddish brown sludge that was still bubbling around the edges. “Wonderful.” She pursed her lips, then brought the cup to her mouth and tossed back the contents like she was chugging from a beer bong at a frat party. I was impressed.

  Hillary lowered the cup slowly and set it back on the saucer, her face carefully expressionless. She swallowed hard once, then again.

  “Do you want some water to wash it down?” I asked a little anxiously.

  “I think—” She raised a hand to her chest again. “I think I—oh—”

  Oh, no. “Mom?”

  Before I could reach out and touch her, she slumped forward, almost falling off the couch until Cliff got his arms around her. Her teacup skittered across the carpet, leaving a blood red stain in its wake.

  I turned to Grandma, who watched wide-eyed. “Is this supposed to happen?”

  “No,” she said, and I felt my heart turn to ice. “The demon should have exited her body as soon as the potion hit her stomach.”

  “Did she get enough?” I demanded, checking her pulse. It was thready, weak.

  “Yes,” Grandma insisted. “Yes. One sip was enough.”

  “It’s okay, sweetie,” Cliff murmured on repeat, not fooling anybody as Dimitri took her from his arms and carried her gently to the large couch by the window.

  “Let me see her,” Frieda said, brushing past Dimitri, digging for a diagnostic spell. I knelt by her side as she ran the purple, glowing spell over Mom.

  She lay still and pale against the white fabric.

  “Well?” Grandma demanded, pushing her way in.

  Frieda shook her head. “Blood pressure is low. I’m giving her something to stabilize it.” She drew a glittering pink spell out of a pouch and glanced at Cliff,
who gave a quick, worried nod as the blonde witch pressed the spell to Mom’s throat.

  Mom gasped, and I nearly had a heart attack. But then her breathing steadied and some color returned.

  “Is she okay?” Pirate asked, jumping up onto the couch. I let him curl up next to her.

  Frieda cast a sad look back at me. “That’s all I can do.”

  “But she looks better,” I insisted.

  Grandma placed a hand on my shoulder. “She’s fading fast.”

  I closed my eyes. “Are you sure?” But I knew. The moly hadn’t worked. We were running out of time.

  Frieda nodded. “We need to get this thing out of her, Lizzie.”

  “We will,” I promised. I just didn’t know how.

  10

  I was about to ask when the nausea that had been bumping up against the edges of my consciousness all day suddenly surged back full force. I clapped a hand over my mouth and raced to the nearest bathroom, making it to the toilet just in time to lose what little was in my stomach.

  Vaguely I felt hands pulling my hair back, and Grandma’s voice called out, “Frieda, get in here!” I wanted to reassure her, but I’d have needed to catch my breath for that, and I just couldn’t. I threw up hard enough that my stomach cramped and my eyes watered, and there was nothing I could do to stop it.

  Eventually I calmed down enough to recognize the feel of Dimitri’s arms around me, his lips murmuring against my ear as he held me up. “Relax, there you go,” he whispered, and when I finally nodded in agreement, I felt him shudder with relief.

  “Tell Frieda to stay with Mom.” I was fine.

  Really.

  “Water,” Grandma said tersely. She held a cup out, and I took it with shaking hands, rinsing out my mouth and spitting before sipping it slowly. I felt like I was in the middle of the ocean, being tossed from wave to wave. The nausea surged and fell with every crest and trough.

  I weaseled my way out of Dimitri’s arms and sat down on the blessedly cool, clean tile floor.

  “Lizzie.” Grandma knelt beside me. “Do you have an allergy I need to know about?”

  “No,” I whispered, my throat on fire.

  “Did you have any reaction to the moly when Philippa gave it to you?”

  I shook my head.

  “I didn’t see anything,” Dimitri added.

  “Okay.” Grandma nodded comfortingly. “Good. Then tell me straight: what did you trade Philippa for the moly? Because I know she’d never give it away for free.”

  “My blood,” I said, and her face fell into furious lines. “Just a vial.”

  “It doesn’t take much to wreak havoc!” Grandma shouted, making my head swim again. “What if she’s messing around with your life force right now? Damn it, Lizzie, I thought you knew better than this!”

  “I do,” I croaked, “but I did what I had to do to save Mom. You’d do the same thing for me.”

  She didn’t bother denying it.

  Grandma pushed to her feet with a groan. “Well, we might have been hoodwinked, then. That potion should have worked.” She rubbed a hand over her face. “Why didn’t it work?”

  I didn’t have an answer for her. I sat on the bathroom floor with Dimitri for another minute, riding out another wave of nausea. He didn’t say anything. He simply held me, but I could feel his anger in the tension of his arms and the grit of his jaw against the top of my head. It was like clinging to a live wire.

  In retrospect, I could see that I should never have given my blood to Philippa, but hindsight is twenty-twenty.

  At the time, I was sure she’d needed my blood to transport the moly. Never in a million years did I imagine she’d keep the vial. It had been a miscalculation, sure. One that would cost me.

  My head throbbed, but the churning in my stomach began to let up.

  It wasn’t as if Philippa would have waited to use the blood. Whatever would happen was already set in motion.

  One thing was certain: sitting on the bathroom floor wouldn’t help.

  “I’m okay,” I said, pushing back a little against Dimitri’s hold.

  It would have been a consolation if the big anti-demonic spell had worked, but my mom was worse off than ever. It wasn’t like I’d find any solutions in the powder room.

  Dimitri didn’t release his hold. “You don’t feel okay,” he said, his voice soft yet bitter. “You just puked your guts out, and you’re still shaking like a leaf. You need to be more careful.”

  “I know that,” I snapped, wriggling out of his arms. This time he let me go. “I made a bad choice,” I said, staggering to my feet. “I’m allowed to make a mistake.” I braced a hand on the immaculate porcelain counter, for emphasis and in order to stay standing.

  “You are,” he said, standing, “but not many more like that.” He paused. “I’m worried about you.”

  “I get it.” I ran a hand down my face, as if that would keep my head from throbbing. “Look, I’m sorry it didn’t go right in the garden. I’m sorry the spell isn’t working, but I’m not sorry for trying.”

  I glared at him, and to my surprise, a slow grin crossed his face.

  “I’m not sorry, either.” He kissed me sweetly on the forehead. “We’ll get through this. We handled Philippa last time; we can handle her again if we need to. At least now we know what to expect.”

  I nodded, but something about the idea didn’t sit right with me. “If she’s the one who’s behind this.”

  Dimitri leaned a hip against the counter. “The timing is too close to be a coincidence. Why else would you be getting sick right now?”

  “I don’t know, but we can’t assume it’s her just because of that. And we can’t pin what’s happening to Hillary on our encounter with Philippa the Strange.” We didn’t have any concrete ideas when it came to my mom now. The defensive spell to end all others, the one the coven had been so sure about, hadn’t worked. But why?

  I turned toward the mirror. “Give me a few minutes to clean myself up, and then I’ll join you out there.”

  My legs still felt a little watery, and I was sure Dimitri could tell, but he didn’t argue.

  “Call me if you need me,” he said with a gentle brush of his hand against the small of my back.

  I nodded as he left, shutting the bathroom door behind him.

  I kept a hand on the counter as I opened the medicine cabinet, finding what I’d known would be there on the second shelf—a little travel-sized bottle of mouthwash. My mother’s cleaning service stocked every bathroom just the same, whether it was attached to a guest suite or not. I cracked the seal and tipped the bottle into my mouth, swishing viciously, like the burn might be a tiny penance for the fact that I had no idea what to do next.

  Hell, nobody had any idea what to do next. Not Dimitri, not the witches, and not me. I was just as stumped as—

  Wait. Not nobody, now that I considered it. Someone had already told me in no uncertain terms that he could help us. I hadn’t listened at the time. I’d been so confident that we could fix my mom without resorting to taking his advice. Now, though…

  The biker witches would have my head, but that was preferable to watching my mother fade, knowing I still had one thing I hadn’t tried.

  I wasn’t being reckless. I was simply being practical. Even if the thought of speaking to him again made me wince.

  The spirit had helped me once before with no ill effects save for his obsession with me. I didn’t want his fixation to grow, but my comfort wasn’t worth my mom’s life.

  I stared at my pallid, messy reflection in the mirror and cleared my abused throat roughly. “Hello?”

  Heck, I didn’t even have a name for him. Or a way to call him. I’d told him to move on and leave me alone.

  “Um…” I reached out with my mind. “You…?”

  Hello again, Elizabeth.

  I bent my head as his voice filled my mind. It was a relief and an invasion at the same time.

  There’s no need to be nervous, he said smoothly an
d a little too delightedly. After all, you called me.

  Naturally, now was the time he was going to be a smart-ass. I stared down at the shell-shaped sink in front of me. “You know what I’m after.” I kept my voice low so I wouldn’t tip off anyone who walked by.

  I do. You want to know how to save your mother.

  He said it like a tease. He knew he had what I wanted. Damn him.

  He hummed thoughtfully, and I winced at the way the sound seemed to vibrate inside my skull.

  I take it your other avenues of exploration have all come to nothing.

  I closed my eyes tight. “I wouldn’t be asking you otherwise.”

  There’s no need to be snippy. I’m simply…grateful that you’re finally acknowledging how useful I can be.

  Yeah, well, I felt less grateful and more desperate, but I was pretty sure that was what had the spirit jacked up in the first place.

  I lifted my head to stare at my splotchy red face in the mirror, as if I could see him inside me. “What do you know?”

  I know that it isn’t surprising that your spells and potions haven’t worked.

  Okay, that was new. I turned and leaned against the sink. “Tell me why.”

  I swore I saw the flit of a shadow in the corner to my right.

  I saw the creature inside your mother, he said, as if he were unveiling a grand gift for me. I can see it now, he added with relish. It’s not a demon.

  “It has to be,” I said, my head spinning a bit. “My mom smelled sulfur, and we know Grandma didn’t ward properly after Xerxes.”

  Call it a demon-adjacent, he offered. The shadow in the corner grew darker and began to slink down the wall.

  The creature isn’t in and of itself a demon, but it’s attracted to them.

  The shadow drew down to the floor.

  It feeds on their magic, he said as the presence slunk toward me. I took a step to the left. Demons leave traces of energy. It finds those and feeds off that lingering power. Think of it as a demonic scavenger. A long-distance parasite, if you will.

  “Lovely,” I said, placing a hand on my switch stars.