Demon Ex Machina: Tales of a Demon-Hunting Soccer Mom (21 page)

“She wasn’t in my dream,” he said stiffly, and I was petty enough to rejoice a little about that.

“If she’s here,” he said, “we’ll find her. And whatever she’s up to, we’ll stop it.”

He reached down and grabbed my hand, the support entirely Eric, and the wash of relief that flooded through me was overpowering. And why not? I needed him on my side and on his game. Because Nadia was bad news for both of us. The last time she was in town, after all, she’d used Eric for demon bait, then strung him up and tried to bleed the life from him. I’d taken it a step further, of course, and shoved a knife through Eric’s heart.

I’d brought him back to life, but that didn’t change the fact that Nadia—a former Hunter gone bad—pretty much topped my shit list.

As it always does
, Monday arrived on the heels of Sunday, and after what I could only think of as a wild and unpredictable weekend, we fell back into routine. Better than routine, actually, because now that Mindy and Allie were walking the best-friend path again, I didn’t have to drive Allie to school. Laura gained that honor.

“We need to start the carpool up again,” Laura said, but I shook my head and made a sign of the cross as if warding off evil. For years, we’d had a neighborhood carpool going, but little by little the riders were dwindling away, schedules altered by pre-class band practice or post-class musical rehearsals. After several rocky attempts at coordinating, I pulled out, practicing what all those self-help books recommend: the power of saying no. Considering that I had a toddler, a teenager, and a constant flood of demons, I had more than enough juggling on my hands, and driving my own daughter—and only my daughter—to school seemed like a fair and reasonable decision.

Naturally, I’d felt like a selfish, guilty bitch.

At the time, Mindy had been going to school early and coming home late. Not only had it driven Laura crazy, but it had meant that our girls hadn’t ridden together. Once Mindy was past rehearsals for the musical, the rift between them had widened and they still weren’t riding together. Now that the rift had healed, I wasn’t sure what I was more happy about—that my daughter had her best friend back, or that I no longer had to drive her every single day.

Laura, thank goodness, had that honor today, and although I’d asked her to come over and help me research after she dropped the girls off, she’d said she couldn’t this morning.

Actually, she’d gone a bit pink, looked down at the cup of coffee we were sharing while the girls got themselves organized, and said she had some things she needed to do beforehand, but that she’d meet me at three-thirty to help with Allie’s party planning.

“What’s going on?” I’d asked, and she’d blushed even pinker.

“Nothing. Honest. It’s nothing. If it turns into something, I’ll tell you, but until then, I’m—Oh, hell, I’m going to go take the girls to school.” And then she’d left, leaving me baffled. I ran through a mental list of possibilities, and decided the odds were that she was getting back together with Dr. Hunk. And although I was desperately, pruriently curious, I also knew she’d tell me in her own sweet time.

In the meantime, my focus needed to be on demons. And on toddlers, I thought, smiling down at the little boy playing with his trucks on the kitchen floor. My
clean
kitchen floor, which was amazing in and of itself. But, yes, the house was still spotless, having been scrubbed clean with Stuart’s help yesterday before the party. Well, the downstairs anyway. The children’s rooms and their bathroom were still a wreck, but since we hadn’t reached a point that would require the health department to step in, I decided not to worry about it.

Stuart had left early for the office and then a run-through of the mansion, so I was on my own watching Timmy. I tossed some of his trucks in a laundry basket, then picked up both the basket and the boy and headed upstairs.

Our attic is of the
Brady Bunch
variety, the kind that is accessed through a door and stairs rather than some annoying pull-down ladder. The room is finished as well, with drywall over the insulation, though we’d never bothered with paint or anything other than plywood flooring.

For years, I’d secretly kept my old hunting trunk up there, with my additional equipment tucked away in the storage shed. Now that my secret was no longer secret, my entire arsenal of weapons and books was up here, with the added bonus that they didn’t have to be concealed.

I spent fifteen minutes moving daggers, crossbows, and swords back into locked cabinets so that Timmy would have a nice safe area in which to drive his trucks, and then I opened one of the boxes of Eric’s old books. Allie had already been up here, and she’d taken an entire box down to her room. Her reports so far had been limited to an announcement that she “couldn’t find a dang thing,” and I hoped that I’d have better luck.

The leather-bound books were musty and fragile, and as I pulled out the top one, tiny bits of desiccated leather stuck to my fingertips. I sat the book carefully on the floor and began to slowly flip pages, forcing myself to concentrate on the words and not let my mind wander.

Research had never been my strong suit; that had always been Eric’s thing, and now I had to wonder if he really had enjoyed research, or if he’d simply been desperate to find his own answers.

Answers that weren’t, I realized, in the book I was reviewing.

I carefully pulled out another, and then another, both of which I managed to review before Timmy got restless and begged for me to play “truck” with him. Since truck requires me to lay flat and still and pretend to be a massive highway system, this wasn’t the kind of game I could play while multitasking. And though I tried to convince him that he really didn’t want to play that game, he was not to be deterred.

“Ten minutes,” I said, and he jumped up and down, holding up both hands, fingers splayed, and shouting, “Ten, ten, ten!” at the top of his lungs.

Five minutes into it, I heard Eddie’s familiar tread on the stairs into the attic, then grimaced as he peered into the room, his grin wide, as Timmy drove a truck up my arm, over my chest, and then down toward my belly button.

“Heh,” Eddie said, as I scowled in his general direction.

“Take my place,” I said. “And then let’s see if you laugh.”

“You’re missing the humor, girl,” he said. “What’s funny is that you’re down there and I’m not.” He whipped off a little salute. “And now I’m off to work. Tonight we can talk about whatever you find in those books. Assuming you ever get off your back and look again.”

“Very funny. Now go.”

He went, and I heard his chuckle all the way down the stairs.

I gave Timmy an extra five minutes of using Mommy as a highway, then sat up, to his extreme and vocal displeasure. “Mommy’s gotta work, kiddo.”

“NOOOOOO!!” he wailed “Play truck. PLAY. TRUCK!”

At which point I had to either give in and play, or stick to my guns and work.

I chose the middle ground and carried him downstairs for a bribe of a banana and Teddy Grahams.

“I love you, Mommy,” he said, trucks forgotten now that his face was all smeary with fruit and chocolate crumbs.

“I love you, too, munchkin,” I said, hauling him from his chair into my lap. I wrapped my arms tight around him and buried my nose in his thick mop hair. I breathed deep of the clean scent of baby shampoo and tried to rid my mind of the memory of that bitch holding my baby’s head. Honestly, I couldn’t bear it, nor could I stomach the thought that she might be gunning for my family.

“Too tight, Mommy!”

“Sorry, kiddo,” I said, and loosened my grip. But I had an idea. A little idea, but it might give me some peace of mind.

“What we do, Mommy? What we do?” Timmy asked as I stood up.

“We’re getting dressed,” I said. “And then we’re going to go have a chat with our friendly neighborhood James Bond.”

 

 

Eyes Only sits at
the southern end of the Promenade, between a coffee shop and a candy store. Timmy and I hit both of them, coffee to fuel me and candy to fuel the kid. Then we pushed open the mirrored door to the spy shop and found Eddie standing behind the counter, his eyes going wide when he saw us.

He recovered quickly enough and snorted. “Look who’s here.”

“So it’s true.” I looked around, took in the various spy accoutrements.

“Oughta be a detective,” he said. “What you doing? Tailing me?”

“You gave Allie the walkies,” I said. “And Eric saw you in here one day. Wasn’t too hard to figure it out.”

He shrugged.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

He snorted. “Man’s gotta have his secrets, right?”

I blinked, baffled. “Out of everything we know about each other, you’re keeping secret the fact that you work in a spy shop?”

“I’m old and eccentric,” he said. “You need more explanation than that?”

“No,” I admitted. “I think that about covers it.”

“So you here because you got curious? Or ’cause you need something.”

“Both,” I said, then pointed to Timmy. “Can you track him?”

“What? You mean like put something on him? Have him swallow a radioactive isotope. Direct a satellite to this location?”

I blinked, not certain if he was serious, or if he’d been watching too many movies on his new television.

“Ha!” he said. “Gotcha.”

“Very funny. Seriously, I want to know my kid’s safe. You got anything like a LoJack for kiddos?”

“That I can do,” he said. He came out from behind the counter and moved through the store with more efficiency than I’d ever seen him move through the house. After a few minutes, he’d put quite a little pile on the counter and gestured me over for a closer look.

“All of these will work,” he said. “This one here’s designed for kiddos,” he said, holding up a small pin shaped like a ladybug. “Designed for if you lose your kid in the store, though, so it’s not got much range. This one’s not as cute, but it’s probably more like what you want.” He pulled out a black bracelet. “Whaddya think, kiddo? Wanna wear jewelry?”

Timmy’s arm enthusiastically shot out, and as soon as I gave a nod, Eddie fastened it onto Timmy’s arm. “There you go,” he said, then passed me the other half of the kit and showed me how to work the various controls in order to trigger a panic alarm and a GPS locater. By the time I shoved everything into a complimentary Eyes Only tote bag, I was feeling both high-tech and confident.

“You getting one for Allie, too?”

“Allie’s a badass Demon Hunter, Eddie, or hadn’t you heard? And badass Demon Hunters don’t agree to be tagged.”

“Whoever said she had to agree?” He disappeared under the counter and came back out with a tiny box that he opened to reveal a minuscule metallic dot. “And whoever said Hollywood got it wrong?”

I looked down at the little dot, met Eddie’s gleaming eyes, and smiled.

 

 

The Palace Theater is
four blocks from Eddie’s spy shop, and I filled the distance with a leisurely stroll, stopping in various stores, including a jewelry store where I found a beautiful silver and glass pendant onto which I could stick the microdot without it being visible. I tucked it away, planning to present it to her on Friday at her birthday party.

As soon as we neared the theater, Timmy yanked his hand out of mine and raced forward, screaming for Allie, who had just barreled out the front door with Thomas Marks, the manager, strolling behind her, his expression both tolerant and amused.

“Mom!” she cried, swinging Timmy up onto her hip. “It is so cool. I didn’t have any idea how cool when I picked it, but it is so freaking cool!”

“Considering we’ve already put down the deposit, I’m glad to hear that. Tom, it’s good to see you again,” I added, extending my hand to his to shake. “Thanks for letting us come by. I wanted my friend Laura to see the inside, too, since she’s my decorating guru. She’ll be here any minute.”

“Not a problem,” he said. “We love showing off the theater. And you lucked out, too. Usually, we provide a two-hour window before events for decorating, but in your case, we’ll have a work crew in here on Thursday afternoon, which means you can pick up the key anytime after five and take your time fixing the place up.”

“This is so totally going to rock,” Allie said, stepping back until she was actually in the street between two parallel-parked cars.

Built during the Hollywood heyday, the theater was a showcase for all the bells and whistles, pomp and circumstance that had been included in moving picture venues back then. The exterior boasted an art deco style with accents ranging from Egyptian (hieroglyphs etched into marble columns) to Gothic (the gargoyles that peered down from the rooftop). A stand-alone ticket booth sat flush with the sidewalk, its gold highlights gleaming in the sun. Someone on Thomas’s team had put a mannequin in the ticket taker’s seat, a jaunty usher’s-style hat in red velvet with gold cording on her head, the design matching the uniform in which she’d been dressed.

Above the ticket booth—and just under the gargoyles—an old fashioned marquee announced the theater’s availability for private parties. On Friday, though Allie didn’t yet know it, that marquee would be filled with a special birthday message, and I couldn’t wait to see her eyes when she saw her name up in lights.

An outdoor waiting area filled the space behind the ticket booth, customers kept out of the elements while they waited for the previous show’s patrons to exit by a black marble overhang dotted with tiny lights, so that at night the illumination from the lights simulated a starry sky. Those stars shone down on San Diablo. Or, more particularly, on the map of 1924 San Diablo laid out in marble under the waiting patrons’ feet.

And, of course, on either side of the patrons were walls of glass display cases, showing past and upcoming movies. Thanks to Laura and her computer-goddess best-friend qualities, by Friday evening those cases would be filled with posters of Allie, each showing her at a different age, from babyhood up to just shy of fifteen years.