Demon Ex Machina: Tales of a Demon-Hunting Soccer Mom (2 page)

“Cutter,” she said, referring to our martial arts instructor. “But Mom’s definitely got the moves,” she added loyally.

Stuart glanced my way, his eyes soft. “Yeah,” he said. “She does at that.” He held out a hand, then tugged me close, and I sank against him, this moment of spontaneous affection reminding me that Stuart still loved me despite the secrets I’d kept from him. Despite the fact that he’d never really known the woman he’d married.

My name is Kate Connor, and I’m a Level Five Demon Hunter with
Forza Scura
, a secret arm of the Vatican that, at least in my hometown of San Diablo, California, isn’t quite as secret as it’s supposed to be. It’s a whole, big, complicated thing, but ultimately it boils down to my recent return to active duty after a fifteen-year retirement.

Not that I’d been looking to return to the workforce. I’d been perfectly happy living a quiet suburban life with my not-so-quiet teenager and my even less quiet toddler. But when a demon explodes through your kitchen window intent on killing you, it kind of changes a girl’s perspective, you know?

So, yeah, I’d got back on the job, in secret at first, though my best friend and my daughter learned the truth soon enough.

With Stuart, though, I’d clung to anonymity long after it was prudent to do so. The secrets had started to strain our marriage, and when Stuart finally learned the truth, he’d reacted with anger and fear. My heart still pinched when I recalled how he’d taken our son, Timmy, and moved out of our house, claiming that remaining with me was far too dangerous for a toddler.

I’d been heartbroken and furious. But once I’d calmed down and been able to think rationally, I had to admit that Stuart’s fears weren’t irrational. No matter how you sliced it, my secret profession boasted a high mortality rate. And trust me when I say that demons aren’t squeamish about using civilians to achieve their own ends.

Then Stuart had come back, wanting to strengthen our marriage. Wanting to make things work. I’d cried tears of relief even as I’d silently smothered the guilt brought on by my joy. Because no matter how I tried to spin the situation in my head, there was no escaping the fact that Stuart had brought my baby back into evil’s crosshairs.

I’d fight it.

I’d do everything in my power to prevent it.

And I’d hunt down like a dog any person or creature who threatened my kid.

But none of that changed the basic paradigm that the world was a dangerous place. Mine, more than most. And every day I did my job—every time I eradicated another smidgeon of evil from the world—I was ramping up the forces of darkness against myself and my family.

They were keeping score, the bad guys.

And one day, I knew they’d come to settle.

I shivered, and Stuart’s arm tightened around me, bringing me back to myself and making me focus on the issue at hand. In the demon-hunting business, distraction could get you killed. And though we might only be training, it was a lesson I’d be wise to take to heart.

“So what did you do wrong?” I asked, moving away from him as I slid into my instructor persona.

“Other than wandering around a pitch-black graveyard, you mean? I shifted my focus. The ground caught my attention. I started thinking back, remembering the zombies. And I let down my guard.”

“Good analysis,” I said, duly impressed. When Stuart had first insisted that he wanted to train, I’d said no. My husband’s no wimp, but at forty-two, and with a gym regimen that consisted of sporadic racquetball games with his buddies from the office, I wasn’t certain he was the best candidate.

More than that, notwithstanding the rather huge secret I’d kept from him, our marriage had always been one of equals. And I didn’t relish the idea of being suddenly in that power position, correcting his technique with weapons, or forcing him to run another mile.

He’d insisted, though, and when he’d pointed out that Timmy was safer with two parents who knew how to kick butt, I’d had no choice but to cave. And the truth was, he was doing great. He asked the right questions and had enough innate skill that the fight techniques and weapons training came easily to him. Not that I was going to send him out to defend the house against a horde of demonic attackers, but he hadn’t injured himself with a knife or crossbow. And I considered that a damn good sign.

In the end, my fear about the shifting balance of power in our marriage turned out to be unfounded. Sure, there were awkward moments, but now that the bubble around my secret life had burst, I was enjoying the new experience of not having to squeeze my husband in around the edges of my reality.

And, yes, getting all hot and sweaty training together does have certain side benefits. And under the right circumstances, even learning to throw a dagger can be a damn sensual experience.

I knew that better than anyone, didn’t I?

I shivered, thoughts of my first husband, Eric, intruding where they really didn’t belong. Not now. Not with Stuart right there, the wounds on our relationship still raw and tender.

“They won’t be back, will they?” Stuart’s question caught me off guard and I cocked my head, confused. “Zombies,” he clarified. “You talked to Father Corletti, right? Worked out a way to keep the beasts out of here?”

“I did,” Allie said, the pride in her voice unmistakable.

We’d recently had a bit of a zombie infestation in San Diablo, and since I was keen on eradicating the smelly little beasts for good, I’d promised Allie a birthday party at her choice of venue if she could come up with a solution in less than a week.

It had taken her three days. And I hadn’t been sure if I should burst with pride at my daughter’s resourcefulness and brilliance, or cower in terror from the possibility that she’d want to hold her party at home. We’d be forced to sell the house simply because of the destruction wrought by two or three dozen partying teenagers. Either that or bring in a hazmat team for a week’s worth of cleanup.

As it turned out, she’d selected the old Palace Theater, a classy choice with a rental price that included a cleanup crew. Bonus all the way around.

“We did salt and holy water and then we scattered a powder made from the bones of saints,” Allie was saying, her comments directed more to Stuart than to me.

“Powder?”

She shrugged. “I guess they have barrels full of the stuff in the Vatican.”

“Probably an overstatement,” I inserted.

“Dunno,” she admitted to me, then turned back to Stuart. “But Father Corletti overnighted us a couple of pounds, and Daddy and I used your fertilizer spreader to—What?” She leaned in, peering at his face, which did look a little queasy. “It’s just ground-up bones. It’s not like they pulverized living—”

He held up his hand, and she had the grace to stop. “You’re telling me that you and your father came out here to the cemetery with my lawn tools and spread salt and saint bones?”

Allie glanced at me, her brow furrowed in confusion. I stared back at her, equally confused. And Stuart looked between the two of us, then sighed. “I’m seriously considering scheduling time every day,” he said. “A few moments, all by myself, where I do nothing but sit and ponder the ramifications of what you do and what goes on around here.”

I tensed, listening for warning bells in his voice. Signs he was scared or fed up or otherwise ready to bolt on me again. But all I heard was quiet resignation. And, surprisingly, a hint of respect, too.

He met my eyes. “She took a fertilizer spreader,” he said, as if I hadn’t already picked up on that little fact. “And because of that, no zombie is rising out of this cemetery.”

“Is that good or bad?” Allie asked, voicing my exact question.

“It’s a hell of a lot more than I’ve managed with the thing. I can’t even get the dandelions to stop sprouting. So no vampires rising either, right?”

“Right,” I said. “But I already told you I haven’t seen any vampires in San Diablo.”

“Better safe than sorry,” he said stiffly, and I again regretted the way I’d boasted one night, telling him about the time I’d fried a few vamps with a Bic lighter and a travel-sized can of Aqua Net. “Come on, guys,” I said. “Timmy’s going to a birthday party at ten tomorrow, and I’d like to get at least a few hours’ sleep before I spend two hours with fifteen screaming kiddos.”

“One more go,” Stuart said, and I nodded in agreement.

“I want you focused,” I said to him as Allie pulled the black hood back over her face. Serious eyes peered out from a sea of black, and I turned my attention to my daughter. “You’re in the shadows. Use your discretion when to attack, but don’t pounce again. I don’t think Stuart’s ribs can take it.”

“Probably not manly of me to admit, but your mother’s right. I’d consider it a personal favor if you didn’t break any bones tonight.”

“No prob, Stuart,” she said, then melted into the dark.

“You’re on your own,” I said, then took a step toward the shadows. The sharp
clang
of metal against rock stopped me, and I froze, trying to discern the direction from which the sound had come. “Allie?” I whispered, then jumped as she materialized a few feet in front of me.

“Not me,” she said, her voice so low I could barely hear it.

I gestured for her to come closer even as I approached Stuart, my muscles tense, my senses hyperalert.

What is it?
Stuart mouthed. I shook my head and held up my hand, palm flat, hoping to silently indicate that not only did I not know, but he needed to stay put while I figured it out.

I signaled again to Allie, and she correctly interpreted my hand flapping as orders to get closer to Stuart. I wasn’t sure how keen Stuart would be on the concept of a fourteen-year-old girl helping to protect him, but right then I wasn’t inclined to tread daintily on his masculine ego. To Allie’s credit, she got right next to him and took his hand, as if to suggest that he was the one protecting her.

As for me, I moved slowly and silently out of the circle of light. I considered moving them to the dark as well, but decided against it. I’d rather be able to see them and know they were safe. In the shadows, anything could happen. A fact of which I was only too aware as I moved through the dark. The night seemed to close in on me, and I shivered, unable to shake the feeling that something was out there. Something other than us. Something watching.

Something waiting.

But waiting for what, I didn’t know.

A thick layer of clouds hid a crescent moon, reducing the ambient light to next to nothing. I could barely see my hand in front of my face, and if a demon were crouched in waiting, it was quite likely he’d see me before I’d see him.

And that realization was my cue to get my family the hell out of there.

I stepped around a tall monument, planning to call to Stuart and Allie. I never got the words out, though, because of the sharp crack of a twig somewhere from the dark in front of Stuart.

I saw him tense and reach out, his hand going for the knife at Allie’s back even as the figure appeared in front of him, just outside the circumference of light.

Stuart snatched the knife, then hauled back, taking aim even as I raced forward, a sharp cry of “No!” bursting from my lungs as I recognized the apparition for what it really was.

But it was too late. And all I could do was stand there as the lethal blade flew straight for Eddie’s heart.

Allie’s scream joined mine
, and I heard Stuart’s sharp intake of breath even as the knife whipped, blade over hilt, toward the retired Demon Hunter.

I watched, helpless, as Eddie thrust his arm up in an effort to deflect the impact. But while he still had it going on at eighty-something, those reflexes weren’t what they used to be, and he missed the knife by a solid two inches, then stumbled back as it connected—hard—with his chest.

“No!”
Allie shouted, racing toward him with me right behind her. Stuart stood frozen, his eyes wide, his hand held in front of him as if it were something contaminated that he’d never seen before.

“
Goddamn
, that smarts.” The voice, slightly irritated, came from the prone figure of Eddie on the ground, and those curmudgeonly tones danced on my ears like bells tolling my relief.

Allie skidded to a stop at his side, then helped him up, his Oscar the Grouch face more grumpy than usual, though I supposed that was to be expected. He grunted, coughed, and proceeded to rub his head with gusto while Allie made soft noises, as if she were trying to calm an angry dog.

Dressed in black jeans, a black turtleneck, and a black knit cap, Eddie was the very picture of an octogenarian grave robber, and despite the circumstances, I couldn’t help my smile. He aimed a gimlet eye at Stuart. “You trying to get your guest room back by offing me, pansy boy?”

“I didn’t mean—” Stuart began, the fact that he was overlooking the “pansy” part of the equation underscoring exactly how freaked out he was.

Eddie, however, only chuckled. “Guess I’ll have to quit calling you that, huh?” He rubbed his chest. “Got something of an arm on you there, slugger. Just gotta learn to hit ’em with the blade, not the hilt.”

“It’s from lifting all those pansy-ass legal tomes,” Stuart said, and Eddie’s mirth-filled chuckle filled the air. “Builds muscle tone.”

“Little more practice, and you’ll have the pointy end of those things sliding through demon flesh in no time.”

“Just so long as I don’t take down any raggedly old men.”

“Heh. I may be old, but I’m still spry.”

How nice. After months of tension-filled coexistence, the two adult men in my household had finally connected. And all it had taken was for one to almost kill the other. If I’d known that, I could have shoved them in the backyard with a handful of knives weeks ago.

“You sure you’re okay, Gramps?” Allie asked, her forehead crinkled with concern. “That hit really hard. You coulda broken some ribs.”