Free Night of the Living Demon Slayer by Angie Fox Page B

thing we have the blood moon. It'll amplify the power."
    "As long as it doesn't make it go wonky," Grandma muttered. She turned to me. "Why don't you go rest up, Lizzie? You're going to need it."
    I shook my head ruefully. They were dismissing me because, well, let's face it—my attempts to learn biker witch magic hadn't exactly been successful. My Mind Wiper spells put people to sleep. My Mexican Food Craving Spell caused a run on Taco Bells in three counties. And my one attempt at a Lose Your Key's spell made my neighbor's Kia Sorento disappear.
    Still, I had to taunt the witches just a little bit. "You sure don't want me to whip up any magic with you?" I asked it straight faced, trying my best to sound earnest.
    Ant Eater held up her hands, as if she needed to protect herself. "No," she said quickly. Guilt settled over her features as she cleared her throat. "Conserve your power," she added. "We need you at your best."
    I shook my head. "All right, then," I said, heading into the house. Frieda had a wooden crate of ingredients open in the foyer and was bent over it, passing back jars of heaven-knew-what to Edwina and Bug Eyed Betty. The glittering contents rattled the jars still in the crate.
    I sidestepped two more witches carrying a barbeque pit. "Hey," I turned, "where's Pirate?" He was usually at the center of everything.
    Frieda glanced at me over her shoulder. "Your dog helped Creely make a nest for Flappy out back, then Pirate went to bed."
    "While there are people awake?" Strange.
    Frieda shrugged. "Top of the stairs, center room."
    I shared a glance with Ant Eater.
    "Grand-mère's room," she said, her voice thick.
    It had been locked when we arrived. "I'm sorry," I said automatically. I had no idea how he'd gotten in there.
    Ant Eater gave a slight shake of the head. If I hadn't been staring right at her, I would have missed it. "'S okay. Ask him if she's there."
    I nodded. My dog had a certain affinity for ghosts, and he liked to make friends. "I'll check it out right now," I said, avoiding a biker witch with a blowtorch as I headed for the stairs. "You guys had better use those in the backyard," I added, as I saw the blowtorch follow the barbeque pit out into the front.
    "Good point," Ant Eater said, seeming to snap out of her haze. "Backyard brewing ceremony!" she shouted.
    Several more witches rushed down the stairs, their boots pounding hard on the wood as they hurried to join.
    I passed them going the other way, closing in on the pink painted door that now stood ajar.

Chapter Eight

    With a hollow breath, I pushed my way inside Grand-mère Chantal's room.
    A faceted crystal chandelier cast uncertain light over the dusty room. Only three of the eight bulbs worked. The others remained dark, tangled in spider webs. I breathed in the stale air, the decay. A fireplace huddled to my left, its cold mouth gaping, the inside stained black with soot from long-dead fires. To my right stood an immense antique wardrobe.
    At the very center of the room, a stunning gold bench, strewn with pillows nestled against the foot of a rich, four-poster antique canopy bed. Dust marred the white canopy and pink silk bed coverings. My dog snuggled up near the carved mahogany headboard, on a stack of pillows, doing his very best impression of the princess and the pea.
    "Lizzie!" He scrambled to his feet, scattering pillows.
    I placed a hand on my hip. "Pirate Bartholomew Kallinikos, what are you doing here?" I didn't like this room. It was too cut off. Too…dead.
    Except for the ten-pound troublemaker who had decided to camp out.
    "I'm helping out a sweet lady," Pirate gushed. He dashed across the aged silk bed coverings and met me at the edge, shoving a wet nose into my palm. "Hmm…have you been at a barbeque?"
    "Something like that," I said, scooping him up. I held him at eye-level in front of me, his legs dangling. "This isn't the place for dogs."
    Pirate liked to be around people, not cobwebs. Every canine instinct he had should