Demon Slayer Quotes

In every generation there is a chosen one. She alone will stand against the vampires the demons and the forces of darkness. She is the slayer.

Demon slayers take the subway?

What are you?” he demanded. “A slayer?" I rolled my eyes. “The name's Val, not Buffy. Do I look like a blond cheerleader with questionable taste in men?

Seven years, Dawn. Working with the Slayer. Seeing my friends get more and more powerful... a witch. A demon. Hell, I could fit Oz in my shaving kit, but come a full moon, he had a wolfy mojo not to be messed with. Powerful, all of them. And I'm the guy who fixes the windows. They'll never know how tough it is, Dawnie, to be the one who isn't Chosen, to live so near the spotlight and never step in it. But I know. I see more than anybody realizes because nobody's watching me. I saw you last night, and I see you working here today. You're not special; you're extraordinary.

Well aren't you full of sunshine and donkey feathers.

You’re not normal?” I ask, my curiosity piquing. “The interesting people never are, demon slayer.

Don't say I didn't warn you. One of these days you're going to take in a stray that'll really break your heart.” ~Ed

Hello, Kanta. They're saying interesting things about you on the news," she said. "I wondered if you'd survived." "He didn't," I said. "I killed him." Silence. "I killed Mkhai, too," I said. "Tens of thousands of years, gone in the blink of an eye." "Why are you telling me this?" asked the voice. "Because you're next," I said. "I'm the demon slayer. Come and get me.

We'll make Evel Knievel look like a pussy.

I am not sleeping with him.” I shot him a poisonous glare. “If I had a bumper sticker, it would read, ‘Demon slayer, not demon layer.’ ” “Your mouth says no, but your cleavage says yes.

Of all the awful things demons do, keeping Latin alive when it deserves to be a dead language might be the worst. To say nothing of ancient Sumerian. And ancient Sumerian translated into Latin? Diabolic.

...so everyone knows they get to see Dr. Demon Slayer on a regular basis." Megan almost choked on her steak. "The who?" "The demon slayer. That's what the station specified we were to call you.

You got it. Wham, bam, start the apocalypse, ma'am.

Set your heart ablaze

The cut under his eye and the split skin on his lower lip only enhanced his profile. He didn’t look defeated. He looked like a fighter. A champion.

This daemon loves men whose marriage beds have grown cold, so she can set them ablaze.

What do you say to a guy who'd go to hell and back, just to be with you?

It was Joss Whedon's Buffy the Vampire Slayer (the television series, 1997-2003, not the lackluster movie that preceded it) that blazed the trail for Twilight and the slew of other paranormal romance novels that followed, while also shaping the broader urban fantasy field from the late 1990s onward. Many of you reading this book will be too young to remember when Buffy debuted, so you'll have to trust us when we say that nothing quite like it had existed before. It was thrillingly new to see a young, gutsy, kick-ass female hero, for starters, and one who was no Amazonian Wonder Woman but recognizably ordinary, fussing about her nails, her shoes, and whether she'd make it to her high school prom. Buffy's story contained a heady mix of many genres (fantasy, horror, science-fiction, romance, detective fiction, high school drama), all of it leavened with tongue-in-cheek humor yet underpinned by the serious care with which the Buffy universe had been crafted. Back then, Whedon's dizzying genre hopping was a radical departure from the norm-whereas today, post-Buffy, no one blinks an eye as writers of urban fantasy leap across genre boundaries with abandon, penning tender romances featuring werewolves and demons, hard-boiled detective novels with fairies, and vampires-in-modern-life sagas that can crop up darn near anywhere: on the horror shelves, the SF shelves, the mystery shelves, the romance shelves.

Her eyes traveled down the black T-shirt he wore. Pfft, he might as well be naked. It clung to him like a second skin giving her a clear view of lean, hard muscles. She licked her lips. Gods, what it would feel like to be his T-shirt. She was positive if he turned around his ass would be considered a lethal weapon in those jeans.

He'd take his time. All good things came to those who danced when others least expected to find anything on the head of a pin.

The mortal wants a demon to drag his tongue along her flesh, defiling as a means to comfort?" he asked. "You make it sound very dirty.

Three years of teaching at Happy Hands Preschool and I couldn't even cuss right.

She’d die before she let that demon touch her again. But maybe that was his plan all along.

Trying to second-guess Tegan was like trying to track a tornado. A tornado he had no business chasing.

I think sometimes when you change, the last person who knows about it is you.

I had a logic teacher who always said you should never discount an answer simply because you didn't expect the data to lead you there. And boy, did I love logic.

It's never a good day when an ancient demon shows up on your toilet bowl.

Why could I not leave anything behind? Why could I not become someone? Why are we so different? Why in the world was I even born? Tell me... Yoriichi.

Lizzie, you stay away from him. That man is a troll.

Prague is a threshold.” “A threshold?” “Yes. Between the life of good and … the other.” Sarah thought of Buffy the Vampire Slayer. “I’m not going to have to fight demons, am I?

Where your supernatural seduction begins...

Everything I couldn't give to them, I'll give to you!

Our enemies-my enemies-wouldn’t win. The demon lizards had hurt me for the last time. Now, they had a new foe, and I would make sure they remembered my name when I destroyed them on the battlefield. I would work hard. I would excel. I would become the perfect soldier.

The Demon Slayers and Other Stories: Bengali Folktales by Sayantani DasGupta (that’s me) and Shamita Das Dasgupta (that’s my mom). New York, NY: Interlink, 1995. The Ghost Catcher by Martha Hamilton and Mitch Weiss. Atlanta, GA: August House, 2008. The Buri and the Marrow by Henriette Barkow. London, UK: Mantra Lingua, 2000. Tuntuni, the Tailor Bird by Betsy Bang. New York, NY: Greenwillow Books, 1978.

Watchers were meant to guide Slayers—the Chosen Ones specially endowed to fight demons—but over the centuries we evolved to be more hands-on. Watchers have to make the hard decisions, and sometimes the hard decisions include weapons. Swords. Spells. Knives.

It is hard to describe to you but I swear it was a fearsome sight. There were not eyes to speak of, but chasms that saw into its dark depths. A shade of a mouth full with phantom teeth. There seemed to be a skull shifting in and out of form beneath the black. Bound together by an unspeakable evil.

Harley

Clover.

wasn't about to take any unnecessary

I could run if I had to. I’d never been the fastest kid in school, but minions from hell can do wonders for your speed and agility.

Fairies have been running these routes since George Washington was in diapers.

That might have been the last time I saw Dimitri alive.

Grandma chuckled. "No, you're not going to start hearing everybody. It depends on the animal's intelligence and inclination. Squirrels, bugs and birds aren't big thinkers.

She'd chucked her Freezoni

darlin'.

No, she was already acting strangely twelve days earlier.” The fact that he so smoothly produced such a specific number was ripe for making fun of.

That demon you met, Xerxes. He works for a fifth-level demon named Vald.

I closed my eyes and invoked the girlfriend privilege, planting my icy feet in the warm spot between his calves. Oh yes…his heat seared my frozen toes.

Besides, I think that on some level, every one of us needs to believe we can hold our own against the monsters in life—especially the ones we were put on this earth to conquer.

Change we don't choose is hard. Trauma puts things inside your soul you never asked for. Sure, sometimes it's demonic. But sometimes it's just growing up.

I refuse to learn your name. Does that not offend you?" "Nope." Well. That was all the argument he had. No sense in conjuring false reasons to display a morality he did not possess.

Into every generation a Slayer is born: one girl in all the world, a Chosen One. She alone will wield the strength and skill to fight the vampires, demons, and forces of darkness; to stop the spread of their evil and the swell of their number. She is the Slayer.

I pulled Slayer from its sheath and pushed the door open with my fingertips. It swung soundlessly on well-greased hinges. Through the hallway, I saw the living room lamp glowing with soothing yellow light. I smelled coffee. Who breaks into a house, turns on the lights, and makes coffee? I padded into the living room on soft feet, Slayer ready. “Loud and clumsy, like a baby rhino,” said a familiar voice. I stepped into the living room. Curran sat on my couch, reading my favorite paperback. His hair was back to its normal short length. His face was clean shaven. He looked nothing like the dark, demonic figure who shook a would-be god’s head on a field a month ago. I thought he had forgotten about me. I had been quite happy to stay forgotten. “The Princess Bride?” he said, flipping the book over. “What are you doing in my house?” Let himself in, had he? Made himself comfortable, as if he owned the place. “Did everything go well with Julie?” “Yes. She didn’t want to stay, but she’ll make friends quickly, and the staff seems sensible.” I watched him, not quite sure where we stood. “I meant to tell you but haven’t gotten a chance. Sorry about Bran. I didn’t like him, but he died well.” “Yes, he did. I’m sorry about your people. Many losses?” A shadow darkened his face. “A third.” He had taken a hundred with him. At least thirty people had never come back. The weight of their deaths pressed on both of us. Curran turned the book over in his hands. “You own words of power.” He knew what a word of power was. Lovely. I shrugged. “Picked up a couple here and there. What happened in the Gap was a one shot deal. I won’t be that powerful again.” At least not until the next flare. “You’re an interesting woman,” he said. “Your interest has been duly noted.” I pointed to the door. He put the book down. “As you wish.” He rose and walked past me. I lowered my sword, expecting him to pass, but suddenly he stepped in dangerously close. “Welcome home. I’m glad you made it. There is coffee in the kitchen for you.” My mouth gaped open. He inhaled my scent, bent close, about to kiss me . . . I just stood there like an idiot. Curran smirked and whispered in my ear instead. “Psych.” And just like that, he was out the door and gone. Oh boy.

Demons first. We don't know how Athena's dream compares to reality. It could have already happened or might not happen for another few days." "Who the hell is Athena?" Cillian asks. I raise my hand. "Oh, that makes so much more sense. I had questioned your mother's intelligence, naming one of you Artemis and the other Nina. The whole point to having twins is to give them matching names." "Yes," Artemis deadpans. "That's why our parents had us." Artemis was the goddess of the hunt; a protector. It fits my sister perfectly. Athena was the goddess of wisdom and war. It's never escape my notice that everyone thought Nina fit me better than my real name. Everyone except Leo. "If we have twins someday," Rhys says, "we'll give them matching names." Cillian nods in agreement, then claps his hands together. "Little Sonny and Cher will be so adorable." "Jane and Austen," Rhys says. "Meryl and Streep," Leo offers without looking back. "That's the one!" Rhys shouts. "You can be their godfather." Cilllian beams.

Honest to God, I hadn’t meant to start a bar fight. “So. You’re the famous Jordan Amador.” The demon sitting in front of me looked like someone filled a pig bladder with rotten cottage cheese. He overflowed the bar stool with his gelatinous stomach, just barely contained by a white dress shirt and an oversized leather jacket. Acid-washed jeans clung to his stumpy legs and his boots were at least twice the size of mine. His beady black eyes started at my ankles and dragged upward, past my dark jeans, across my black turtleneck sweater, and over the grey duster around me that was two sizes too big. He finally met my gaze and snorted before continuing. “I was expecting something different. Certainly not a black girl. What’s with the name, girlie?” I shrugged. “My mother was a religious woman.” “Clearly,” the demon said, tucking a fat cigar in one corner of his mouth. He stood up and walked over to the pool table beside him where he and five of his lackeys had gathered. Each of them was over six feet tall and were all muscle where he was all fat. “I could start to examine the literary significance of your name, or I could ask what the hell you’re doing in my bar,” he said after knocking one of the balls into the left corner pocket. “Just here to ask a question, that’s all. I don’t want trouble.” Again, he snorted, but this time smoke shot from his nostrils, which made him look like an albino dragon. “My ass you don’t. This place is for fallen angels only, sweetheart. And we know your reputation.” I held up my hands in supplication. “Honest Abe. Just one question and I’m out of your hair forever.” My gaze lifted to the bald spot at the top of his head surrounded by peroxide blonde locks. “What’s left of it, anyway.” He glared at me. I smiled, batting my eyelashes. He tapped his fingers against the pool cue and then shrugged one shoulder. “Fine. What’s your question?” “Know anybody by the name of Matthias Gruber?” He didn’t even blink. “No.” “Ah. I see. Sorry to have wasted your time.” I turned around, walking back through the bar. I kept a quick, confident stride as I went, ignoring the whispers of the fallen angels in my wake. A couple called out to me, asking if I’d let them have a taste, but I didn’t spare them a glance. Instead, I headed to the ladies’ room. Thankfully, it was empty, so I whipped out my phone and dialed the first number in my Recent Call list. “Hey. He’s here. Yeah, I’m sure it’s him. They’re lousy liars when they’re drunk. Uh-huh. Okay, see you in five.” I hung up and let out a slow breath. Only a couple things left to do. I gathered my shoulder-length black hair into a high ponytail. I looped the loose curls around into a messy bun and made sure they wouldn’t tumble free if I shook my head too hard. I took the leather gloves in the pocket of my duster out and pulled them on. Then, I walked out of the bathroom and back to the front entrance. The coat-check girl gave me a second unfriendly look as I returned with my ticket stub to retrieve my things—three vials of holy water, a black rosary with the beads made of onyx and the cross made of wood, a Smith & Wesson .9mm Glock complete with a full magazine of blessed bullets and a silencer, and a worn out page of the Bible. I held out my hands for the items and she dropped them on the counter with an unapologetic, “Oops.” “Thanks,” I said with a roll of my eyes. I put the Glock back in the hip holster at my side and tucked the rest of the items in the pockets of my duster. The brunette demon crossed her arms under her hilariously oversized fake breasts and sent me a vicious sneer. “The door is that way, Seer. Don’t let it hit you on the way out.” I smiled back. “God bless you.” She let out an ugly hiss between her pearly white teeth. I blew her a kiss and walked out the door. The parking lot was packed outside now that it was half-past midnight. Demons thrived in darkness, so I wasn’t surprised. In fact, I’d been counting on it.

Those who die in battle are burned, their ashes used to make the marble arches that you see here. The blood and bone of demon slayers is itself a powerful protection against evil. Even in death, the Clave serves the cause.

You opened your heart.  That last one stung. I wished I could be that way. I didn’t want to be scared. But with all of the pain and suffering in our world—and in others—how could a person open their heart without getting it ripped out?

I love you because love to me is about finding the person you want to be with." He drew me in, kissed me. "And being there no matter what.

Sometimes, it was easy to forget to take a second and just breathe in the midst of everything that needed to be done.

If werewolves ran Shoney's, perhaps a dragon BBQ joint would be just the spot—or maybe Dimitri knew of a Denny's run by leprechauns. I'd even be open to a mermaid water park.

row of stitches.

She’s Adeline Boo Pond, trainee of Landregath the Great Devourer, Protector of Imps, Slayer of Hunters, Life Giver to Torch the Tiny Flame, Rider of Storms, Drinker of Ice Ages, Embracer of Chaos. You’d best let her pass before the demons of destruction come looking for her.

I was Zeus, god of thunder and slayer of Loulou Garro’s demons. Each and every fuckin’ one of ’em.

The Biggest asset in the entire universe is our own sense, horn it to its atmost sharpness

High Elf Archer: More and more demons have appeared near the capital lately, as I’m sure you know. Goblin Slayer: I do not. High Elf Archer: It’s due to the revival of the Dark Gods. They’re building an army to destroy the world! Goblin Slayer: I see. High Elf Archer: …And we were hoping… with your help… Goblin Slayer: Find someone else. I hunt goblins or nothing.

Name: Ogras Azh’Rezak Level: 75 Class: [F-Rare] Shadowblade Race: [E] Demon Alignment: [Earth] Port Atwood Manual: [F] Grey World Mudra [14%] Titles: Demon Slayer I, Adventurer, Giantsbane, Disciple of David, Overpowered, Full of Class, Rarified Being, Tower of Eternity – 3rd floor, Betrayer, One Against Many, Butcher, Chosen of Dao, Invasion Breaker, The First Step, Beastmaster Limited Titles: Astral Pond – 20m Dao: Fragment of the Umbra – Early, Seed of Mirage – Middle Companion: [F] Ka’Zur Planeswalker Strength: 272 [Increase: 8%. Efficiency: 100%] Dexterity: 541 [Increase: 23%. Efficiency: 105%] Endurance: 148 [Increase: 8%. Efficiency: 100%] Vitality: 99 [Increase: 8%. Efficiency: 100%] Intelligence: 108 [Increase: 13%. Efficiency: 100%] Wisdom: 69 [Increase: 8%. Efficiency: 100%] Luck: 49 [Increase: 8%. Efficiency: 100%] Free Points: 0 Nexus Coins: [F] 480,687,176

Name: Ogras Azh’Rezak Level: 75 Class: [F-Rare] Shadowblade Race: [E] Demon Alignment: [Earth] Port Atwood Manual: [F] Grey World Mudra [14%] Titles: Demon Slayer I, Adventurer, Giantsbane, Disciple of David, Overpowered, Full of Class, Rarified Being, Tower of Eternity – 3rd floor, Betrayer, One Against Many, Butcher, Chosen of Dao, Invasion Breaker, The First Step, Beastmaster Limited Titles: Astral Pond – 20m Dao: Fragment of the Umbra – Early, Seed of Mirage – Middle Companion: [F] Ka’Zur Planeswalker Strength: 272 [Increase: 8%.

Those are the best evenings, when we fill up on bread bowls stuffed to the brim with clam chowder and then spend the full-moon-drenched night on the empty pier, gathering the thick, swirling clouds of raw magic. I wouldn't be able to spend late nights with Remy, cozied up in my room with magic-infused globes floating around us as we watch the latest episode of Demon Slayer projected on my ceiling, while sipping charmed mugs of yuzu honey tea.

So okay, I was kind of into killing. Killing the right sorts. The sorts who had lost their living privileges, as I liked to call it.

My demon slayer and I have plenty of ideas on how to make it the most painful last hours of your miserable life.” I shiver from his words. From the deep timber in which he speaks and how he claimed me as his. I smile big. I have my first friend.

If you lie, your death will be slow. My demon slayer and I have plenty of ideas on how to make it the most painful last hours of your miserable life.

We’re all in agreement. Don’t worry about me, Zade. You can trust me.” “You know what? I believe you, demon slayer.

Beverly Hills Demon Slayer Night

There are many levels to the Silent City, interjected Jeremiah. And not all the dead are buried here. There is another ossuary in Idris, of course, much larger. But on this level are the mausoleums and the place of burning. “The place of burning?” Those who die in battle are burned, their ashes used to make the marble arches that you see here. The blood and bone of demon slayers is itself a powerful protection against evil. Even in death, the Clave serves the cause. How exhausting, Clary thought, to fight all your life and then be expected to continue that fight even when your life was over.

It is the struggle of a lifetime, one we must always mind. The biggest danger is when we think we know all there is to know.

...seeing ghosts and demons just lends itself to listening to White Zombie and Slayer and Fantomas on repeat. One Direction and Selena Gomez are for the girls who don’t see dead people every fucking day.

Nina!" Cillian leans against the door frame, halfway through brushing his teeth. "Thought I saw you jump the fence. Rhys is coming over soon." "Oh, thank you." The demon breathes in deeply, sighing out contentment. He sits up straighter. "At least someone in here is happy." Cillian shrugs defensively at my accusing glare. "Can I help it if I look forward to seeing my boyfriend? We're gonna watch Eurovision." "What did you think of their decision to have Australia back?" the demon asks. "Because I thought it was bullocks. I don't care how good they were. It's Eurovision, not Anywherevision!" "It did sort of ruin the whole 'guest event' concept when they kept letting them come back year after year." "Hello?" I wave in front of Cillian's face. "You do know he's eating your happiness, right?" "Doesn't feel like anything." The demon shifts position again with a clanking of chains. "I can't take away his happiness. It's like if you spray perfume and I smell it. Just because I'm inhaling the scent doesn't mean it leaves you." "Yeah, but smelling someone's perfume is a little different from consuming their emotions." "Says you, a person who has never consumed emotions.

Where did you hear about the Smythes?" "None of your bloody business." "It is, because I am one!" Doug snorts. "You are not." "I am so!" "I've heard about the Smythes. You wouldn't even survive infancy in that family. They're born weapons. You're ..." "Something fluffy!" Cillian declares, popping in and holding up a dog bed. Doug nods. "I mean, he said it. Not me. But you're fluffy." Cillian throws the dog bed at the demon's face. "Quit acting the maggot. She's stronger than you'll ever be." "Sure." Doug's voice is muffled by the bed.

What's the plan now?" Rhys asks. I wait, but no one answers. He's talking to me. Artemis too is waiting for my plan. They finally trust my instincts, now that I have no power to back them up. Fantastic. Still, I'm a Jamison-Smythe. I'm not totally defenseless. And I'm going to fight with everything I have left. "Eve's a demon. We're Watchers. We'll do what Watchers do best." "Research?" Rhys says. "Babysit?" Imogen offers with a wry eyebrow. "Spar," Artemis says bleakly, gesturing to her knee. "No. We kill the demon. Save the world. Protect the Slayers, even if they don't know we're doing it. Even if they don't care. Eve's not touching any more of us.

Durga, slayer of the demons of ego and greed

He licked my arms, my elbows, everywhere he could reach. "Whoa, Lizzie. Don't you ever scare me like that again. I mean I was scared. I was more scared than when you went to Florida and left me at that doggie day spa with the shaking pet pillows.

I forget sometimes just how demon-y Doug really is. He fits in so well at the castle. The differences between us don't seem to matter. Differences like the fact that I eat food and he eats emotions. His stomach rumbles in response to my thoughts. "No offense, Nina, love, but you are barely a snack these days. More like an after-dinner mint. One of those unwrapped buttermint that's been in a tin for years, and when you try to pull it out, it's stuck to three others, and you know you don't want it, but you're already committed, so you pop it in your mouth and regret every decision you've ever made that brought you to that point." "I think I should be offended by that." Doug shrugs. "I think you and I should talk about why you're so unhappy.

Much as I'd love to give up this guilt, I need it. It drives me, directs me. And combats the anger. If I could live guilt-free with what I've done, I'd be a monster. How many of the humans here actually know what's going on? How many of them sell their emotions and feelings for a wad of cash? It's one thing for Doug to feed on happiness without taking it away. This is something else. That new viciousness nestled inside me flares, and I see these two demons for what they are: predators. They might not kill people, but if they really can permanently suck away my guilt or confusion, they're taking something that makes me me. That makes me human. Just because it isn't blood doesn't mean it's not part of me.

He was always the most careful, the most precise. The most controlled. Because unlike the rest of them, his inner demons were literal. Does that make them easier to fight, though? When they have a name, a species, a neat little Latin classification?

I tore my mouth from his. "Back off now," I said, fighting the urge to wriggle against the hard ridge jutting from underneath his jeans, "or I'm not responsible for my actions." "If you can still put a sentence together, I'm doing something wrong," he said, yanking off his black T-shirt with one hand. "Maybe this'll help.

Pirate, level with me. What made you start talking?" "Me? I always talk. Why'd you start listening?

Kali the demon-slayer danced across the walls, holding aloft the sword of knowledge to cut the bonds of ignorance and destroy her enemy, falsehood. Kali, whose name literally meant “the dark one,” had been worshipped by millions before the Great War, Shirin Mam had told them. She was the oldest in the pantheon of deities that once flourished in Asiana. She was there at the beginning of things, and would be there when everything ended.

After another ten minutes of driving through lush forestland, we emerge into sunlight and I'm convinced we drove out of London and into Jane Austen's imagination. A massive golden-brick mansion sneers at us with stately disregard. White pillars decorate the exterior, and a series of fountains line an expansive, perfectly manicured green lawn. I half expect to see Mr. Darcy emerge from one of the ponds. "It is a truth universally acknowledged," I whisper, "that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a demon." Doug snickers next to me. He's remained carefully limp in case there are more cameras. "Oh my gods. What if - what if it actually is Colin Firth? If Colin Firth wants to hunt you, I might let him. Well, I'd let early- to midnineties Colin Firth hunt you. I'll have to see how he looks in person now." "I can support that.

All these years, I thought the first Watchers were a bit dense for giving power to only one girl. One Slayer to fight everything? One Slayer to make impossible choices? But . . . that's the beauty of it. Because the Slayer is young. The Slayer is a girl. The Slayer isn't some rich dude, insulated from life and pain and struggle, sitting in his Mr. Darcy house deciding who gets to live and die. The Slayer is on the streets, in the dark, in the night, walking right alongside the things she hunts. So when she makes life-or-death choices - they're life-or-death choices for her, to. Not just for the things she's hunting. She's not a committee, a council, a group working at a remove. She's part of the darkness. And when you're already in the dark, you can see the subtle differences in the shadows. Some things are so absent of light that there's no question. And other things, like werewolves, like the Dougs and Clems of the world, they're delicately shaded. I think of Artemis and Honora behind the wheel of that truck. All those shades of darkness in demons. Just like in humans. My ancient ancestors actually got this one right. The whole one-Slayer thing wasn't a flaw. It was a feature. The fact that there are more of us now doesn't change that. This is my calling. My duty. My right.

OF ALL THE AWFUL THINGS demons do, keeping Latin alive when it deserves to be a dead language might be the worst. To say nothing of ancient Sumerian. And ancient Sumerian translated into Latin? Diabolic.

Andrea opened her mouth to respond, then closed it again.

Sacrifice yourself. As much as I wanted to save Grandma, I wasn't too crazy about that last one.

I never would have thought of Motel 6 as a great place to take a break from werewolf fights and black soul possession,

But Mom seemed ready to wipe my nose for me if I let her. I found a clean-looking spot and dabbed to be polite. The hankie smelled like jasmine with a side of pickle relish. Strange. Mom drew a fragile breath as my world went black.

Cilian shakes his head. "No, that's not why. I mean, maybe a little. I don't want anyone to get hurt. But we don't know anything about it." "We know its a demon." "Right, but it's wearing a fecking Coldplay shirt. How evil can something wearing a Coldplay shirt be?" He has a point.

In the middle of the chaos, the only item that is clean and dust free is a framed photo of Cilian's dad. I've never seen him before. I pick it up to take a closer look. "Twelve years he's been gone," Cillian says. "And she's still trying to find some way to reconnect with him. With magic off-line, she's desperate for anything else." "I can't blame her. He's handsome. He looks a little like Orlando Bloom." "Dammit, Nina! Orlando Bloom?" Cillian snatches the photo away from me. "I can't unsee that! My feelings about my dead dad were already complicated; now I have to worry that I'm Oedipal, or whatever the guy-crushing-on-his-own-dad equivalent is. I swear to God if you so much as breathe about more handsome men in connection to anyone I'm related to, I will never speak to you again." "You're not messed up! I'm sorry. He looks nothing like Orlando Bloom. Or any other person you've ever had a crush on." "Just shut it and let me find the handcuffs." I turned away from Cillain's definitely Orlando Bloom-look-alike father and wait, keeping a wary eye on the demon.

There's a cheery fire in a pit. Sitting by the fire is Doug the demon. He's bobbing his head in time to music playing from headphones, and there's a book in his hands. I peer at it. Nicholas Sparks. Doug really might be evil, then.

Maggie had the same grin as her fingers typed furiously on her smartphone screen. 'Another afternoon training to defeat evil. Hashtag, demon slayers. Hashtag, I'm bored. Hashtag, they won't let me have a weapon. Hashtag, the struggle is real.

You kill people often?” She’s a small thing, but the girl can fight. And by the near-constant murderous gleam in her eye, it truly doesn’t surprise me. She shrugs. “Only the demons.” I can’t help the small grin. “Do you call yourself the demon-slayer too?” She snarls and stomps her foot like the child she’s dressed up to be. “You’re not funny!

Can I play now, Zade?” Sibby asks impatiently from beside me. She’s vibrating with the need to kill, and in this moment, I can relate to the little demon slayer. We have the same mission, and that is to murder some fucked up individuals. “Go ahead and have fun with those two. I have a couple more things to get out of dear old Mark first,” I concede, nodding towards Jack and