The Last of the Demon Slayers (31 page)

      
He could do this. He couldn’t think that he didn’t need to be my dad. “I need a dad,” I said, heart churning, insides mushing, afraid that by even suggesting he didn’t need me that I’d somehow talk him into this idea that was cold and awful and wrong.

My mind swam as he backed away from me.

“I’ve come all this way,” I said. “I’ve done everything right.”

I deserved to have a dad.

“I’m sorry, Lizzie,” he said, turning to leave. “I’m not dad material.”

“But what about everything you said?” I asked, following him away from the buses, toward the lane, toward Neal’s beat up VW bus.

He wouldn’t even look at me.

“You said you wanted to get ice cream together. We were going to sit in a park. You said you wanted to get to know me and tell me about angels and life.” I stumbled on my words and caught them and plowed forward. “You said you wanted me.”

He lowered the driver’s side visor and a set of keys fell onto the seat. “I was desperate Lizzie. I lied. It’s how the world works.”

I stood numb, watching him retrieve the keys. I’d saved his life and his soul.

“What happened with you and Zatar?” Why did he lie?

“Look,” he said, jingling the keys, “Zatar needed to siphon some power. He paid me good. It was a living, right? But then he got greedy and I was in trouble.”

“You sold your power?” Why would anyone sell a gift? Having power isn’t easy. Responsibility is never easy. But it was who my dad and I were. What we were born to be.

“I don’t want it. It’s not me.” He held the door open, regarding me as if I were a clueless child that wasted his time with silly questions and made up fairy tales. “You’re smart, Lizzie. You’ll do fine without me.”

“I wanted a dad,” I said, my voice so small I barely heard it.

He looked at me as emotionless as if this were a business meeting and I was an associate and I hadn’t just followed him across the country and down into purgatory and out to Neal’s bus. His mouth twitched with what might have been regret. “I don’t want a daughter.”

He slid into the VW, closed the door and drove out of my life.

I felt it most in my hands. They shook as tears flowed down my cheeks. I stood in a swirl of hurt and betrayal and soul-shattering loss.

He meant what he’d said.

My dad was gone.

Chapter Twenty-four

      
I didn’t seek out Dimitri. Or Grandma. Or even Pirate. I didn’t need anyone. Shock and hurt thundered through my body as I put one foot in front of the other – alone.

      
Slow and deliberate, I placed a shaking hand on the handrail of my red school bus, climbed the stairs and shivered my way to the soft bed in the back.

      
I clutched the pillows to my face, sobbing into them as if that would take the hurt away. And somehow in the midst of it, I fell asleep.

      
“Lizzie!” Pirate’s toenails clattered down the aisle. “Lizzie?” The soft weight of him pulled at the covers as he landed next to me. A wet nose invaded the dull ache around my head. “You okay?” He swiped a warm tongue over my cheek. “I’m a dog. I can sense when you feel sad.”

      
“Come here.” I reached for Pirate as he tried to turn in his usual two circles before lying down. I caught him midturn, which always screwed him up. He twitched his back legs as I drug him up against me.

      
In the distance, I could hear the disco beat of “Celebration.” That was a new one.

      
I buried my nose against Pirate’s wiry back fur. The witches had earned their right to let loose.

      
He squirmed. “You know there’s a party going on out there.”

      
“I know.” I didn’t feel like celebrating.

      
“I can help you,” Pirate said, standing up so I was faced with a dog butt.

      
“You can’t.” I rolled away. My eyes itched. My head hurt from crying. Nobody could help me but my dad and I wasn’t even sure I wanted someone like him in my life anyway.

      
“Your phone buddy can help you,” Pirate said, his tags clanking as he jumped down onto the floor.

      
“Who?” I asked, rubbing my eyes. They were swollen to the size of tennis balls, no doubt.

      
Pirate blinked. “Someone’s been calling you while you were sleeping.”

      
Maybe it was my dad. Hope flickered, painful as it was. I fumbled in the back of my utility belt for my cell phone. I clicked on the screen.

      
Hillary Brown.

      
I clicked to the next call.

      
Hillary Brown.

      
In fact, it was like a parade of one Hillary Brown after another.

      
I clicked the button to return the call. What would it hurt? Maybe I should just tell her everything. Then I could go through all of the rejections at once.

      
Maybe it would hurt less that way.

      
I didn’t know how it could hurt more.

      
“Hi, Mom.” I heard my voice crack as she answered.
      

      
“Lizzie,” she sounded surprised – and alarmed.

      
“What?” I asked, defenses at the ready.

      
“You called me mom.” She responded with warmth, wonder and a bit of voice cracking herself. Being Hillary, she rallied. “I had a feeling you were having a hard time. Are you okay?”

      
I drew a shuddering breath. “A lot’s been going on lately. I’m fine. But –” how could I say it? “-you may need to brace yourself.”

      
“Okay,” she said, some of the crispness returning to her voice.

      
“You may not want to see me.” She’d been watching over my old condo, planting bulbs, getting the newspaper. She’d been maintaining a life that wasn’t mine anymore.

      
“Honey, no matter what, I always want to see you.”

      
Tears flooded my eyes and dropped onto my pants leg. I was afraid to speak, or she’d know.

      
“Lizzie?” She paused. “Lizzie, come home.”

      
“I’ll try, Mom.”

“I’ll be waiting.”

***

I laid back and stared at the chipped paint on the ceiling of the bus. I was used to knowing what to do. I was the one who always had a plan. Now? I felt so lost.

Eventually, I forced myself to roll out of bed and join the ranks of the living.

I thunked down the front stairs of the bus, and saw Neal had been busy. He’d plastered the outside of my bus with messages scrawled in chalk. Heaven forbid he use paper – recycled or otherwise.

Wake up, sleepyhead!

Oh so Neal had seen me sleep.

Festival 2-nite!

That last word was worse than nails on a chalkboard.

Special events!

They’d better not involve weed.

No use stewing. Even I was getting tired of my mood. And Pirate had already wandered off somewhere, no doubt with Flappy. I grabbed the only clean thing I had left – the red wrap dress from the Ann Taylor outlet.

What the heck? It was a party.

I showered in an eye-searing yellow, orange, blue, purple, you-name-it paisley psychedelic contraption. It featured a hemp rope and pure (read: cold) rain water. I let my hair dry naturally while I swiped on some lip gloss, slinked on my new dress and headed for the party. I had to admit the dress made me feel better. It hugged my curves in the right places and as the lady in the dressing room said, ‘red brings you luck in love.’ I’d sure take that.

The Birkenstocks stayed on the bus as I picked my way barefoot past the prickly brush, keeping to the sandy soil. The late afternoon sun shone warm on my shoulders.

As I neared the cabin, I could see the witches and the griffins, along with Roxie and Max standing quietly in a circle. When I drew closer, I realized it was the memorial ceremony for Betty Two Sticks and Lazy Rita. The news lay heavy in my stomach. I hadn’t realized Rita was gone.

I swallowed and kept walking. This was war. This was destruction on a fundamental level. I almost felt selfish in my misery when those two witches had lost so much more than I.

Dimitri and Frieda opened up for me as I eased into the circle. The power of the witches ebbed over the small clearing by the picnic tables as we said our final goodbye.

When it was over, Dimitri squeezed my hand. “I have a surprise for you.”

“What?” I asked, taken back by his bemused expression.

He’d changed out of his orange towel, which was a shame. In fact, my hunk of a shape-shifting griffin now wore black dress pants and a dark blue shirt. They fit like they were made for him. And how he’d kept a crease for three thousand miles was beyond me.

“Eee,” Frieda threw her arms around me.

I hugged her soft, bony frame. “Okay…what’s up with you?”

When I’d extricated myself from the witch, Dimitri took my hand and led me toward the red cabin.

“What’s going on?” I asked, tucking a lock of lavender hair behind my ear. I was still getting used to how short it felt.

He opened the door to the cabin. “It’s time for our date.”

Shocked, I looked up at my handsome griffin.

“Go on.” He nudged me in the door.

Inside, the yellow-painted room was empty, save for a fold-out table covered with a white towel. Two chairs draped in hemp ribbon clustered around it and two wine glasses sat on top.

He’d even found a bottle of Santorini wine. Greek script curled around the blue label.

“A gift from the griffins?” I asked as Dimitri held out my chair.

“No.” His eyes sparkled. “I’ve been saving this for a long time.” His mouth quirked. “In fact, I bought it the first time I wanted to take you on a date.”

“In New Jersey?”

“In Memphis. About a week after I met you.”

“Aww…” Frieda simpered, digging into her white fringe purse. “Where’s my camera?”

“Out,” Dimitri walked over to the cabin door and closed it on a crowd of nosey witches.

I couldn’t help grinning. “We’re never going to get rid of them, you know.”

Dimitri wet his lips, his movements stiff. “I don’t want to.”

He poured the wine into my glass. It was Nykteri, a Santorini white. A few drops sloshed onto the table, which was very un-Dimitri-like. His hand shook slightly as he poured his own glass. It tickled me to think he’d be nervous for a date, and it warmed me to know how much this meant to him as well.

He dropped into his seat. “To beginnings,” he said, holding up his glass. We clinked our glasses and I savored the dry peachy notes of the wine.

“It’s really good,” I told him, noticing he hadn’t even taken a sip.

His eyes found the floor before they found me again. “I was going to wait, but I have to do this now.”

The door opened a crack. He ignored it. Or maybe he didn’t notice. Dimitri knelt down on one knee and I really didn’t want to believe what I thought was going to happen next.

My loyal, strong griffin knelt in front of us with an expression that nearly shattered me. “From the first time I met you, I knew you were special, but I never knew you’d come to mean everything to me. I understand our life isn’t easy and it isn’t always pretty, but I do know that I can’t imagine my life without you in it. I would
never
leave you. You keep thinking I want land or power or all these other things when, Lizzie, all I’ve ever wanted is you.”

Tears flooded my eyes and I looked at him and I knew that this was the purest, surest, most wonderful kind of love he could give. And it was more than I could have ever hoped to receive. I was overwhelmed and humbled and blessed.

His hand dug into his pocket and, shaking, drew out a perfect silver ring. “Lizzie, will you marry me?”

I swallowed, nodded and cried some more. “Yes,” I whispered as he hugged me tight, “yes.”

The biker witches cheered.

***

      
That night, we sat around the campfire. Me cuddled with Dimitri. Max and Roxie, a deliberate yard apart. And Grandma with Neal. We’d deal with those two later. The rest of the Red Skulls were content to lounge around with forty-ouncers in paper bags. Recyclable, of course.

      
I held my hand out in front of me, letting my silver engagement ring sparkle in the light of the fire. Silver accents like sun rays set off a gorgeous round stone.

      
“It was my mother’s,” he said, his breath on my ear as we admired the way it shone. “I know she’d want you to have it.”

      
I lowered my hand and turned back to him. “What about Dyonne and Diana?”

      
He traced his hands down my arm and back to the ring. “They wanted you to have it too.”

      
“They knew?” I asked, surprised.

      
He kissed the soft spot at the back of my neck. “From the moment they met you.”

      
I nudged against him. “I can’t believe you proposed on the first date.”

      
His voice betrayed a smile. “You’re the one who said ‘yes.’”

      
I did. And I’d meant it. I’d never stop saying ‘yes’ to this man.

Neal plopped down next to me. “Lookie here,” he said, holding out a half-weaved wreath of poppies. “I can make you a wedding tiara.”

“Oh you know, as lovely as your place is,” I glanced out over the sagging hulk of his VW van, “I don’t think I’m going to get married here.”

Grandma slapped her thigh. “Of course not. This isn’t your home.”

“Home?” My stomach sank. Grandma had a point. Hillary would want the country club.

Grandma held up her drink. “We could hold it at Big Nose Kate’s. Get those beer can cozies with your names on it, nice and big.”

“No, no no,” Frieda butted in. “We need class.” She spread her arms like a visionary. “Think taffeta!”