My Big Fat Demon Slayer Wedding

blow a gasket if she saw me in this get-up.

Grandma caught up to me. “Let me get this straight,” she drawled. “You’re willing to face off against the Earl of Hell, but you don’t want your mamma to see you in leather pants?”

“That’s about right.” And I wasn’t going to apologize for it, either.

I ignored her chuckling and opened up my slayer powers. Just in case.

We passed a crowd of bikes parked next to several trellises of purple roses.

“This place is buck wild,” I said, looking twice at a fountain along the side of the house. The laughing centaur at the center looked like he could eat my face.

Relax. He was made of iron. Completely decorative. Maybe we could give him a little flower necklace or something.

Now I was thinking like Hillary.

But truly, even if this place was creepy, and the result of a lack of time—or options—mom had unwittingly found the perfect location to stash biker witches, griffins, my pet dragon and anyone else who might be a little noticeable at a more traditional wedding. Not to mention my mentor, the necromancer.

Grandma seemed to be thinking the same thing. “I got to tell you, I haven’t been anywhere this nice since your uncle’s funeral in Vegas.”

I didn’t remind her that she’d been to Dimitri’s villa in Santorini. The biker witches had definitely left their mark.

“This may look imposing, but I really am keeping the wedding simple,” I said, rounding the corner.

Out back was a huge garden, with stone-lined paths and all kinds of plants and flowers done up in triangular patterns. Silver pots filled with purple prairie flowers and tied with a white ribbon lined the walk up to a large, stone porch.

Yes, Hillary was in charge. Obviously. But I wasn’t having any bridesmaids, I ordered my dress from the Ann Taylor online store and we were keeping this as straightforward as possible. And I loved my dress, by the way. It was simple, classic, like I’d always wanted.

Grandma stopped as she eyed the obnoxiously large white tulip and magnolia wreath on the back door. “Does your mom know you’re a demon slayer yet?”

“I want to tell her in person,” I said, as if I hadn’t been avoiding the entire conversation.

She snarfed. “Did you tell her we’re witches?”

This whole thing was making me uncomfortable. “I wasn’t exactly sure how to phrase that.”

She gave me a sidelong glance. “You did mention that the groom is a mythical shape-shifting griffin.”

“No,” I snapped. I’d tell Hillary in my own good time. Preferably before Dimitri or any of his relatives landed in the back yard. “First, we’re going to get through the tea party this afternoon.”

There had to be a downstairs bathroom where I could ditch the leather outfit, the shiny black boots, my Harley branded headband, my spell jar. I didn’t want to forget my studded leather bracelets, either.

Then I’d stash my switch stars in a straw purse. I’d trade the rest of it for a flowered sundress, wedge sandals and a large hat because, well, my hair was a permanent lavender color thanks to a spell gone wrong.

I took the porch steps two at a time. At least my hair had grown out a bit in the last few months. It was maybe an inch off my shoulders. I dug my fingers through it, trying to put it up in a French twist under the hat. No such luck.

“This garden is great,” Grandma said, heading the opposite direction. “She’s got mint and chamomile, white sage and sweet grass. And look! Diviner’s sage! Right there!” Grandma pointed as if it was the find of the century, as if my mother had somehow planted it all. “You’ve got to see this.”

“Don’t pick any plants,” I told her. The garden was pretty. Gorgeous, in fact. “I might get married right there.”

“On the back porch?” Grandma asked, rooting through the plants. “If that’s the case, I’d have dragged you in front of a minister in Las Vegas. At least there you could have gotten married by Elvis.”

“No,” I said, as she picked some white sage. “I’m going to have a classic wedding.”

With biker witches.

I tried not to cringe. Or care that she was stuffing lavender springs into her belt.

Focus on things you can control. Like getting changed before my mom saw me.

Out of habit, my right hand wandered down to my switch stars as I opened the iron and stained glass back door.

So far, so good.

I eased my way inside and found myself in a Spanish kitchen as big as my old house.

The original floor and fixtures looked to be at least one hundred years old, with intricate mosaic designs and large racks of copper pots and pans hanging from the ceiling. The appliances were new, gleaming stainless steel. The countertops and cabinets were dark and imposing, as was a large, wooden table that could seat at least twenty.

A narrow hall led toward the front of the house. There had to be a bathroom somewhere nearby.

“Lizzie?” I heard my mom’s voice from only a few rooms away.

Cripes.

Yes, I was a big, bad demon slayer, but for a moment, I really considered ducking behind the massive kitchen island.

The sharp clack of Hillary’s kitten heels on the tile sounded like nails in my coffin.

“I heard you pull up,” she called. “Next time, try the front door. I know it looks heavy, but it opens fine.”

I froze. My mind swirled with panic as my mother rounded the corner. And stopped.

She brought a French manicured hand up to her mouth to stifle a gasp.

Hillary Brown wore an immaculately tailored, white button down dress, along with a pink pearl necklace and matching earrings. Her straight, pale, blond hair curled perfectly at her ears and shoulders. Her skin was unnaturally smooth for her age, as if someone had taken a sand blaster too it. Or more accurately, a scalpel. I’d never seen Hillary when she hadn’t been polished to within an inch of her life.

And I looked like a biker witch.

She stared at me for one long moment.

My heart thumped against my chest. I clutched the jar with Grandma’s Mind Wiper spell and briefly considered using it.

Instead, I pasted on my best good-daughter smile. “Hi, mom!” I said, trying for cheerful and sounding more like a drunken cheerleader.

She tried to respond but her face had frozen into a pasted-on smile-of-horror. “What on Earth… happened to you?”

Chapter Three

My face heated and I began to sweat. Buckets. I pulled up my bustier, even though it was in no danger of falling down. “Funny thing. I was just getting ready to change.”

Good God. The last time I’d seen my mom, I was wearing khaki pants and a yellow sweater, along with sensible Oxford shoes. I drove a Saturn. I went to bed at ten o’clock. I worked as a preschool teacher, and I didn’t even kill spiders, much less soul-sucking demons.

Had I wiped off my Sinfully Red lipstick? I didn’t think so.

She closed the distance between us, as if I was a wild animal and she was afraid to move too fast. “It’s good to see you,” she said, drawing me into an awkward hug. She smelled like clean cotton and orange blossoms, like always.

Hillary gave a hard exhale and pulled me tighter. It felt nice. She didn’t like to touch people. She didn’t always express her emotions and, “oof,” all of the air left my lungs as she tightened her grip even more.