The Dangerous Book for Demon Slayers Read Online Free PDF

Dimitri.
    Officer Reynolds leaned across his desk, hands clasped, his expression
somber. "Griffins are a succubus's favorite snack."
    My heart slammed in my throat.
    Dimitri had done it again. Maybe it was a griffin trait. I wanted to
understand, but I couldn't help it—it drove me crazy every time he'd run
off and try to solve everything himself. It usually involved sacrificing
himself for what he perceived to be the good of the group. He had no right to
do it, especially when he didn't even have the decency to tell me where he was
going.
    Reynolds looked at me like he was seeing me for the first time. "Ahh,
so you're not bringing a griffin into the city to act as a sort of locator
beacon?"
    "Stop it," I said. I didn't know what Officer Reynolds was, but
enough was enough. "Why would anyone use a person like a locator
beacon?"
That's horrible
, I thought. On purpose. To test him.
    At least Reynolds had the decency to look embarrassed. "It used to be
standard practice. Griffins can even fight succubi, for a while. Surely you
know the story about the two griffin clans that defended London back in 932 AD?
The ones honored on the London coat of arms?" He shook his head.
"Never mind."
    "Do griffins know about this? What succubi can do to them?"
    "Of course. Griffins avoid them at all costs."
    Except my griffin.
    Forget the succubi—I was going to kill Dimitri myself.

Chapter
Four
     
    I stormed out of the DIP office, a Demon Slayer Learner's Permit in my back
pocket and fire in my eyes. Dimitri had a lot of nerve to put himself at risk
without telling me. Sure, I wanted to help my Uncle Phil, but not at the
expense of the man I think I might love. Not that I was in the mood for any
romantic confessions. Right now, I'd just as soon chuck Dimitri off the Dragon
Lady's ladder as kiss him.
    Biker witches jammed the parking lot roasting weenies and burning rubber.
Some joker was playing Van Halen's
Runnin' with the Devil
on a boom
box. I didn't see Dimitri right away. If we wanted to work together—heck,
if we wanted to
be
together, he'd better start leveling with me.
    Pirate, my Jack Russell terrier shot out of the crowd like a miniature
thunder clap. "Lizzie!"
    Ever since I'd grown into my powers as a demon slayer, I could hear my
terrier talk—and talk and talk.
    Pirate ran smack into my knee, bounced off and jumped up again. "I'm
Sidecar Bob's barbeque helper! Want a hotdog? They come in two
flavors—raw and cooked."
    I scooped him up before he could hurt himself. He wriggled against me as I
planted a kiss on the back of his neck. Pirate was the one thing in my life
that always made sense.
    "Have you seen Dimitri?" I asked, brushing Cheetos dust off his
back. Leave it to the witches to feed him junk food. When Pirate wasn't half
orange, he was mostly white, with a dollop of brown on his back that wound up
his neck and over one eye.
    "Dimitri? Sure! Dimitri taught me blackjack! It would have been easier
if I could count. Want me to show you? I know you always wanted me to be able
to do tricks."
    True, although I'd been aiming more along the lines of sit and shake. Maybe
a nice roll over that didn't take place within the picketed confines of my
adoptive mother's award-winning Daisy Bess rose garden.
    "So where's Dimitri?" I asked, scanning the hot parking lot. With
the witches so spread out, not to mention the strip mall's regular customers,
it was hard to see who went where.
    "Ohhh—you mean now," Pirate said, jamming his wet nose into
the crook of my elbow. "I don't know where Dimitri is now. I
was
with him, and then Bob opened up a bag of Flamin' Hot Cheetos and after that,
things get a little hazy."
    "Come on." I ran a hand through Pirate's wiry fur as I pushed my
way through the crowd. Dimitri had to be here somewhere, although it would have
been nice of him to be there for me half as quickly as my dog.
    If possible, the biker witches had multiplied since I'd left. They'd taken
over an entire section of the parking lot,