The Last of the Demon Slayers Read Online Free PDF

water running down my back. “Do you know anything?” I asked Frieda.
    She shrugged. “I know he showed up when he needed you.”
    “True. But he didn’t realize that I wasn’t living a great life with my mom.” It sounded lame even to me.
           Frieda tossed a towel over my head and I rubbed myself dry. “How does it look?” I pulled the towel back and nearly fell over.
           The blonde biker witch cringed.
    “Purple?” I bleated. “You were supposed to make my hair black and you made it purple?”
           I touched my hair gingerly and fought the urge to cry on the spot. It was lavender, like the flower. Only this was not beautiful and it smelled like motor oil. I ran my fingers through my roots. Every stinking hair on my head was the color of an Easter egg.
    Enough. I turned away from the mirror to once again face my hairdresser. Frieda’s overdyed blond bouffant suddenly seemed the height of normal.
           “I didn’t do anything,” she protested. “You left it on too long.” She leveled a pink-tipped fingernail at me. “I told you to rinse it on time.”
           “What about non-precise spells?” I demanded.
           “I gave you a cowbell.”
           I was not about to go tromping out in the woods with a cowbell. “And now my hair matches my bustier.”
           “Hey yeah,” Frieda said, impressed. “You might start yourself a new fashion trend.”
           “Lizzie!” Ant Eater yelled from out in the bar.
    “Oh, I’m coming,” I stomped out of the bathroom.
    Ant Eater stood inside an old wooden phone booth near the back. A year ago, I would have thought that was strange. Now I was just glad there were no creatures or roadkill souvenirs in there.
    “Inside,” she said, shoving me past her. She dialed a combination on the rust-flecked rotary phone and a wooden door on the wall slid open.
    What was this? Maxwell Smart?
    A spiral staircase led straight down. “Welcome to the Bathtub Club,” she said as she led me inside. Her leather pants and jacket whooshed loudly in the enclosed space. “It’s not as classy as the Cotton Club, but the gin tastes the same.”
    The old iron staircase shuddered and the air temperature dropped at least ten degrees as we wound our way down. I touched the damp brick wall and it was freezing cold. “Did people use this place?”
    “Are you kidding?” Ant Eater gave a sandpapery laugh. “It was the hangout for Monmouth and at least three more counties. I hear the women were loose. Don’t tell Creely.”
    She kicked open an unmarked wooden door and we found ourselves in a 1920s supper club.
    The ceiling hung low and I felt the tang of paraffin in the back of my throat. A gorgeous carved bar stood in one corner, a raised bandstand in the other, both of them layered with candles and lounging biker witches. Betty Two Sticks raised her glass to me and winked.
    Brass and crystal chandeliers hung with an array of candles. The motley shapes and colors of the tapers clashed terribly with high rent fixtures. Soft light from the flames danced across their faces as their whoops and hollers echoed off the damp brick walls.
           “You made it.” Ant Eater thwacked me on the arm, her skull and crossbones do-rag hanging crookedly over her forehead. “Finally. Now let’s get a move on.”
           Sure. Why not?
           In another life, I would have loved to get a better look at this place. Maybe I’d take Dimitri down here after our date tonight. My insides warmed just thinking about it.
           We gathered in a semicircle around a discarded wooden barrel Grandma had commandeered. She’d placed my father’s gift on top – still inside the protective jar. It bucked and hissed against its magical cage.
           “Nice hairdo.” Creely the engineering witch sidled up to me.
           I didn’t know whether she was serious or not, seeing as Creely had green streaks running