"Eeeee!" Frieda shimmied up to me. "Oh Lizzie, you are hotter than a two-dollar pistol. You meet Ant Eater?" Frieda indicated her gold-toothed buddy. "Whew, does she have some good stories. This woman-" She paused while Ant Eater guffawed. "This woman will try anything once." She cocked her head and leaned in closer. "And I do mean anything."

"Okay people, pipe down!" Grandma hollered from behind me. She lifted her head toward the open hole. "Bob, you can close 'er up." The trap door above hissed like an airlock. The candles blazed as the light from the bar receded and we were left in semidarkness. "Join hands," Grandma instructed.

I took Grandma's strong hand and Frieda's chilly one, as the crowd of about twenty witches drew back. A fire crackled in the center of the room. Flames curled around a smoke-stained burner on a portable camping stove. A worn, silver pot boiled on top of it. My mouth went dry. If Bob was upstairs stirring the port-braised beaver, I couldn't imagine what they dumped in that pot.

The witches stood transfixed and closed their eyes. I felt the magic build. The only sound in the room came from bubbles frothing in the pot. The air grew warmer, thicker by the second as the candles cast tall shadows on the walls behind us.

Grandma bowed her head and the others followed. "We, the witches of the Red Skull, are bound to the magic that has sustained our line for more than twelve hundred years. In it, we find warmth, light and eternal goodness. Without it, we perish. This night, we welcome into our fold a sister who was lost to us. As we pledge ourselves to her, she pledges herself to us."

My hands grew damp. Oh boy. I wasn't too sure about that last line. What did pledging myself to them mean? Sure, I wanted answers, but I wasn't ready to join join the Red Skulls. the Red Skulls.

Grandma stepped into the circle, holding a monstrous ziplock bag filled with rust-colored pulp. Ant Eater scrambled for my free hand. The witches observed Grandma with bated breath as she popped open the seal and dipped her fingers into the mush. She stood and faced me, her heavy breath tickling my bangs.

"From death comes new life." She rubbed the goo onto my forehead. It felt sticky, wet and it smelled like roadkill. She dipped her fingers again and came at me a second time with the wet, lumpy gloop. "May you see with new eyes." She rubbed it into my manicured brows.

"May you listen to your heart." She rubbed it onto my ears. A rivulet of juice trickled into my ear canal.

"May you speak against the evil that surrounds us."

Oh no. I pressed my lips together, and she slopped the pulp from one side of my mouth to the other. The sweet, meaty fumes scoured my nose, and I almost gagged.

"May we forever travel together as guardians of the light."

She visited each witch, thumbing a portion of the gloop onto their foreheads. I wondered if I was allowed to wipe mine off. The small room, jam-packed with bodies, started to feel stuffy. My tiger-striped leather pants grew sweaty and itchy. A drip of liquid trailed past my left brow and down toward my eye.

Grandma stood in the middle of the circle. "May we see our future as one coven, united in our quest." The witches scurried to the boxes behind them. One by one, they held up dead animal pelts. Foxes, coyotes, deer. Oh my.

The animals had been skinned so that their legs and tails dangled. The witches positioned the animal heads over their own, peering out of the hollowed eye sockets.

Frieda jabbed me in the arm with her fingernail. "Here," she handed me a damp, burlap cloth. "Wipe that raccoon liver off your face. We don't want it staining your deer hide."

"Urgle." I rubbed the rag against my mouth and face until my skin felt raw. I wasn't cut out for this. "What is it with the dead animals?" I cringed as Frieda lowered a deer head over mine.

"It's the circle of life, sweetie." Frieda tugged at the deer's empty eye sockets until I could see, well, barely. The thing had about as much visibility as a Halloween mask and it smelled like old leather and mothballs.

"Don't fret," she whispered, wrapping the deceased deer's front legs around my shoulders while the hooves bumped against my chest. "It's only for show. Ceremonial and all."

Now she tells me.

"Your grandma likes to do things up nice." She stepped back. "There."

"Frieda," Grandma warned.

Frieda slipped back into place next to me. Grandma snuffed the fire under the large pot. A tall, red-haired witch with ruby rings on her pinkie fingers rushed forward with a large platter. It held a crystal goblet with handles on the sides. Grandma ladled a portion of boiling liquid into the cup. It steamed with the heat. The amber liquid continued to boil for a few minutes, sending up chunks of what looked to be meat. Roadkill and crystal. How very...them.

I couldn't drink that.

I locked my knees with dread and wondered how I could possibly get out of it.

Grandma held out the cup to the group. "As we drink, we are one." She inhaled the vapors above the goblet and took the first sip.

Frieda went next. She accepted the cup from Grandma and brought it to her lips. Ugh. The chunks looked even bigger up close, with bits of membrane and who knows what floating around.

I wanted to hug Frieda when she passed the cup to the witch on the other side of her. I scratched at my steamy leather pants. She calmly watched the other witches drink from the goblet.

This ceremonial stuff might be no sweat to her. For all I knew, she did this every Saturday night. I didn't. I'd had enough excitement for one day-battling a demon, meeting my mysterious protector and joining a coven of witches. Now was not the time to quaff down a goblet of roadkill surprise. I appreciated what these people were doing for me. And of course I would never do anything to offend them or dishonor their traditions. At the same time, I had my limits.

When the cup came to me, I forced myself to take it. Heat radiated from the swirling brew. I wished it would stop moving. I held my breath and brought it to my lips. The pungent odor of mint rose with the steam.

I can't. I just can't.

I tipped the cup, moved my throat and pretended to sip. I felt the group exhale. They'd doubted me too, it seemed. I wiped the excess from my lips and handed the goblet to Grandma, who solemnly drank the remainder.

I wanted to sigh with relief. Maybe now I could be bestowed with my protection and get to bed.

The lights flicked on above us and I suddenly had to squint.

"E-yow," Frieda threw a hand over her eyes. "I hate when they do that."

A tangle of voices rose from the crowd. The show had ended, it seemed, and I wasn't protected.

"Wait a second," I said, grabbing Frieda's wrists by the bracelets. "It can't be over." It couldn't be. "What about my protection? Am I covered?" Grandma hadn't said anything about it during the ceremony, and I certainly hadn't felt anything magical happen after they sealed the door. "Don't tell me I had to wear raccoon liver for nothing."

Frieda giggled. "Relax, honey. You are protected. And just in time. Look, there goes your grandma to meditate." We watched Grandma break the seal and climb out into the bar above the ceremonial room. "The demon that's been chasing us, Vald, we think he knows about you." Frieda shivered. "He's coming." Worry flashed across her face before she forced it aside. "But don't worry. We have you. That potion, it sealed you to us. You don't have to be alone anymore. You have all our magic working for you."

My stomach did a backflip. "Potion? You mean the one with the chunks?" I didn't drink it. Why didn't I drink it? Because I'm an idiot, that's why.

"What can I say? We like our squirrel. But that wasn't the magic ingredient. We use bakki root. Smells like Wrigley's gum."

Of all the ways for me to screw this up, this was, well, this was not good. "I've never heard of bakki root." Maybe we could get some more.

It's magical. Takes forever to grow. Ant Eater is our resident gardener. "Mmmm...it tastes like heaven, doesn't it? Gives me a bit of a buzz, too."

I didn't want to ask, but I had to know. "How hard would it be to make some more?"

Frieda giggled. "Sorry. I am buzzed. Believe you me, I'd die for more, but we used up the whole kit and caboodle on you, dearie."

Oh no.

She smiled. "Don't look so upset. You're worth it! Where are we going to find another long-lost demon slayer sister?"

I didn't know if they'd want me when they discovered what I'd done.

Chapter Six

"Beast Feast!" Sidecar Bob hollered down into the ceremonial room. The witches snuffed the candles and stampeded to the exit in record speed.

"Wait. Hold it!" I fought against the current of the crowd, struggling to reach the remains of the protective stew, growing cold on the portable camp stove.

"Bottoms up!" Ant Eater quaffed the last few drops from the silver pot. She wiped her chin as I screamed, "No!"

"Gotta be quicker than that, sport." She wiped down the pot with a blue bandanna.

She had no idea what she'd done. There went my protection, my insurance policy against the demon Vald, who-according to Crazy Frieda-was at this very moment on his way to see us. I had to fix this. "Is there any more? What about that bakki root? Did you save any of that?" Please! Please!

She swallowed a minty burp. " 'Scuse me." She fanned the air with her hand. "Greedy little cuss, aren't ya? Well, I hate to break it to you, but when it comes to magic, we don't keep leftovers."

Holy hexes.

I had to find Grandma. She'd know what to do, after she kicked me into next Thursday. Why didn't I just Why didn't I just drink the potion? drink the potion?

The thwump, thwump of heavy-metal music blared in the bar above me, accompanied by the whoops and cheers of the coven. I scrambled out of the hole and nearly fell into a cheap, metal-backed chair with a vinyl-padded seat. Every table in the bar had been lined up to form a massive banquet table.

It would have smelled heavenly-roasted potatoes, onions and garlic-if I hadn't known the other ingredients. The tiny blue-haired witch next to me flopped into the nearest empty place. "Liquid appetizers!" she hollered, as she reached for a pitcher of beer. Two of her friends sidled up, mugs in hand.

A buffet line ten witches deep formed in front of the steaming dishes set out on the bar. Sidecar Bob pulled up to the table with two heaping plates of roadkill surprise. Pirate bounced on his lap, nearly out of his skin with anticipation. "Lizzie! It's people food! And I have a plate. Lookie there. Food! On a plate. For me! Me! I've made it, I tell you. I've finally got a seat at the table!"

Sweet squirrels. My stomach rolled over. "That's roadkill, Priate."

"Oh, no," Bob piped in. "We wouldn't waste roadkill on a banquet. Roadkill's special magic. It goes straight into a spell jar. This here on the table is hunted meat."

Okay, that was a relief. But still, Pirate should have been eating his Healthy Lite dog chow. Of course that disappeared off the bike along with my clothes. I watched him eat an entire slice of meat in two bites. Pirate loved to eat. And despite his enormous energy and complete willingness to chase anything that moved, he tended to have weight issues. Pirate peeked up from his plate, took one look at me and started to eat even faster.

Lucky for him, his weight was the least of my concerns now. "Bob, Grandma got out of the pit before I could talk to her. Frieda said she was heading off to meditate. Do you have any idea where she might be?" I ignored his disapproving look. "This is serious," I said over the thwump, thwump, thwump of the speaker above us. "I have to talk to her before she gets too involved with whatever she does in there."

Bob sopped up some gravy on a piece of bread and fed it to Pirate. "Listen to this guitar solo," He closed his eyes and felt the music. "You hear that? That's Marty Friedman, the old Megadeth axeman. Oh yeah." He played air guitar against his chest. "Yeet, yeet, yeet!" yeet!"

"Bob!" I'd tell him where to shove his yeet yeet. "This is a matter of life or death."

I really hoped I was exaggerating.

"Where's Grandma?" I asked again.

He hung his head. "Aw, Lizzie. Don't ask me that. The Cave of Visions is sacred ground."

"I wouldn't be asking you if it wasn't absolutely necessary." We didn't have time to haggle. "I mean it, Bob. You've gotta trust me on this one."

Bob rubbed Pirate's back absently as Pirate climbed halfway onto the table and began to lick his plate clean. "Okay." He scratched at his arms. "But if she chews out my ass, I'm sending her after you next."

"My butt is yours."

Pirate leaned too far over his plate and nearly knocked over Bob's beer. Bob snatched up his wobbling brew and took a long swallow, watching me.

Pirate sniffed at his empty plate. "I'm sorry. My manners are rusty. I haven't been using my table manners when I've been forced to eat out of a dog bowl." He sniffed at Bob's full plate. "You don't mind, do you?" Pirate started in on Bob's dinner.

Bob slipped Pirate, and his plate, onto the floor. "Come on," he wheeled backward, away from the table. "It's out back. Looks like a cheap storage shed. What the hell am I saying? It is a cheap storage shed. We needed to get her someplace quiet, and this bar didn't cut it."

"Thanks." I patted his shoulder as we wove our way through the crowd toward the back door.

"Lizzie." He captured my arm. "Don't go barreling out there. Your grandma's under guard. Approach slowly. Tell them who you are. Be prepared to prove it. Demons can take on many forms."

"Right," I said. I could handle this. I hoped.

The back door clacked on its hinges as I stepped out behind the bar and onto a small patio, crowded with rusting bar chairs. Sheesh. And I thought they'd dumped all their junk into the hole. Crushed beer cans littered the narrow parking lot that led into the alley beside the bar. Tufts of grass and weeds poked up between and around the faded yellow lines. A rusting Camaro sat stranded on concrete blocks.

At the edge of the parking lot, just beyond the Dumpster, stood a plastic storage shed framed by scraggly trees.

Bob nodded to the tall, red-haired witch standing guard. I recognized her from the protection ceremony downstairs. "Go on out. If she can, I'll bet Gertie will be more than glad to hear what you have to say. If not, well, there'll be time later."

Yeah, well maybe. Maybe not.

The chilly night air tore at my hair and whipped the dried leaves and grass into circles. I crunched over a mashed Budweiser can as I made my way to the storage shed. I could see a faint light between the plastic swinging doors and I chose to focus on that, rather than at the hawk-nosed witch standing guard. She hadn't looked too friendly down in the hole and she looked even less glad to see me now.

"Hi. I need to talk to my grandmother." When she didn't move, I added, "It's a matter of life and death." How terrible to realize I wasn't exaggerating at all.

She stood her ground in front of doors imprinted with the word Yardsaver Yardsaver. "Leave," she said automatically, "or I'll be forced to have you removed."

An eerie creek sounded from inside the storage unit. A blast of air shot out between the doors, chilling me to the core.

"What was that?" I smelled sulfur, evil. Oh my word, I hoped Grandma was okay in there. "You'd better check on her," I told the tall witch. "Grandma?" I hollered. "Do you need me in there?" Like I could help her, I thought automatically. Wait. It was time to get out of that habit. I could help her. Somehow.

The tall witch blocked me. "No, Lizzie," she said, low and serious. "She's meditating. No one disturbs her when she's out of body. It's dangerous." Her eyes traveled to a spot over my shoulder. "Ant Eater, see that Lizzie makes it back inside. And keep her there."

"What? Oh, come on," I said, as Ant Eater's grip practically wrung the blood from my right arm. "Ow!" Where had she come from? "Look, I made a mistake. We need to straighten this out," I said, as Ant Eater practically dragged me back into the bar. "Damn it." I tried to shake her grip. "Let me go! You don't understand." I tugged at the black, spiked bands crisscrossing her wrist. "I screwed up. Royally."

She dragged me through the back door and bulldozed me against an old-fashioned phone booth. Pain laced through my shoulder blades. I could smell the bakki root on her breath. "Don't you ever push me, bitch." She shoved me again, hard. "I don't care whose grandbaby you are or what you can do. I will fuck you up."

What the frig was wrong with these people? "Okay, okay," I said, trying to catch my breath. Her last slam had knocked the wind out of me. "Are you done? We don't have time for this. I need to talk to Grandma."

She brought her fist back. Holy schneikies! I braced myself, sure she was going to haul off and hit me.

My salvation came in the form of a blonde bouffanted Frieda waving a roasted leg of...something. "God almighty, E!" Frieda yanked me so hard my arm about stretched out of its socket. "What the hell are you doing?"

Ant Eater stood there with her fist cocked, breathing heavily. "That bitch almost killed Gertie."

"What?" Frieda exclaimed.

"No!" Never. "I need to talk to Grandma," I insisted. "This is important. Hugely important. I was trying to explain myself out there when this jerk went all Naomi Campbell on me."

Frieda glared at Ant Eater. Then she leveled the same contempt at me.