Demons are Forever: Confessions of a Demon-Hunting Soccer Mom (15 page)

With a burst of energy, I thrust it toward the demon’s face, at the same time saying a quick prayer that the weapon would hit home.

I missed, though, and instead of gliding through his sclera and opening a portal to suck out the demon, all I did was land a nasty stab wound in the fleshy part under his eye.

He howled in pain, the sound echoing through the neighborhood. I held my breath, wondering if the neighbors would come out and half hoping they would. I’d rather kill the beast, but if Neighborhood Watch wanted to arrest the cretin, I could live with that, too.

Nothing, though, and I hardly had time to worry about it since the odious creature was scrabbling for Allie’s throat again.

Enough.

I launched myself at him, knocked him to the ground, then trapped his neck with my shoe. “I am not the only,“ he growled, even as I raised my pick.

“But you’re the one who’s dead,“ I countered.

I started to slam the pick down, but the lights on the houses on either side of the park flipped on, startling me. Damned if the demon didn’t use that to his advantage. He thrashed, getting out from under me, then disappearing into the dark night with a swiftness that was hard to reconcile with his ancient appearance.

I took my pick and slid it back into my pocket, then dropped down beside Allie and pulled her close.

She cried and trembled in my arms, her face pressed against my shoulder as I battled down my own anger that a demon had not only attacked my kid, but that he’d survived.

“I’m such an idiot,“ she said. “If you hadn’t been here—”

“No,“ I said, hugging her even tighter. “Don’t even say that.”

“I thought I was all that, you know?“ she said, her face still pressed against my chest. “Working out with Cutter. But I’m not. I totally suck, and I—”

“You can train,“ I whispered, tilting her chin up so that she was looking at me. “I’ll train you myself.”

“Really?“ she asked with a sniff.

I saw the scrape marks from the demon’s fingernails on her neck and down into her collar. I traced my finger there, my heart just about to break. “Yeah,“ I said, my fingers closing on the long chain she wore. “Really.”

A ring hung on the end of the chain, and I tugged it out. Eric’s ring.

Her hand closed over mine, and a small frown trembled at her mouth. “I’m sorry,“ she said. “I missed Daddy. I guess I thought of it like a good luck charm. So I went back up into the attic and got it out of your trunk. Some luck though, huh?”

“We’re alive, baby. And it was lucky I came for you.“ I kissed her forehead. “Never discount good fortune,“ I said, dropping the ring back down into her shirt. “Even if it’s wrapped up in bad.”

“I can really train with you?”

“Yeah,“ I said. “You can. But that doesn’t mean you’re ready to help me. Not yet. Maybe not ever. But I want you ready to defend yourself.”

I paused, expecting her to argue. She didn’t, and I knew that I’d won this round. The cost, though? That, I still didn’t know.

I offered Allie a moviefest
in my bed, the way she used to when she was a little girl, but she turned me down in favor of a long, hot bubble bath. Considering how appealing that sounded, I couldn’t say I blamed her. What was that old commercial? “Calgon, take me away“? That’s how I felt at the moment. I’d gone from a demon-free holiday (well, after the whole kidnap-my-daughter incident) to suddenly having multiple mysteries on my plate. And to make matters worse, I wasn’t making progress on any of them.

I still had no clue as to where Andramelech was imprisoned, or what the demons wanted with David. Worse, I had no idea why his minions were jumping me (and now, apparently, Allie). I didn’t know the location or identity of the mysterious stone. And I had no idea what my husband had been up to that had ended up getting him killed.

All in all, it sounded like a damn fine night for a bubble bath.

Instead, I decided to conquer the storage shed.

When Eric died, his assistant had given me three large boxes filled with files and papers. I’d glanced through them at the time, but just seeing his handwriting had been enough to bring me to tears.

The stuff was mostly junk, but I couldn’t bear to part with a single Post-it note. I’d sealed up the boxes with packing tape and shoved them in the hall closet.

After Stuart and I married and bought our house, the boxes had been moved to the storage shed, where they remained, buried under the dribs and drabs of our new life.

It was after eight by the time I added the shed to the evening agenda, and the yard was pitch black. Not that a little night ever slowed me down. I grabbed a flashlight, popped my head into the playroom to tell Stuart and Tim that I’d be in the backyard, and then I set off to tackle the boxes.

After fifteen minute of pulling out boxes and furniture and bug-covered lawn equipment, I was beginning to wish I’d waited until the morning. There was no stopping me now, though. I’d already cleared a path to the back of the shed, and I’d be damned if I was going to put it all back without even reaching my goal.

I hauled out an ancient exercise bike and box of Stuart’s old eight-tracks (
why
do we keep this stuff?), and then
fi
nally found the first of four boxes underneath a sewing machine cabinet I’d bought on a lark at a yard sale about two years ago. As foolish purchases go, that one was particularly off the wall, since I neither own a sewing machine nor know how to sew. In my defense, at the time, I’d been meaning to learn. I just never seemed to get around to it.

The boxes were in two piles, and I pulled the top two down, sat on one, and peeled the lid off the other. Papers, knickknacks, and a few bound notebooks. That looked promising, and so I hefted it up, then hauled it onto the back porch so that I could peruse my first husband’s secrets under the light of the porchlight.

The papers smelled musty, but thankfully I found no bugs as I dug through the box, trying to find that one gem that would explain everything to me. Unfortunately, mining for gems in file boxes is about as futile as doing it in a backyard, and I was coming across precisely nothing except dust and the promise of a killer allergy attack.

I was about to give up and go get another box when I noticed a small leather-bound book at the very bottom of the box. It was about one-quarter of an inch thick and bound in heavy-grained leather with Addresses printed across it in faded gold stenciled letters.

Not that there’s anything inherently odd about an address book, but in this case, something didn’t seem right. During our marriage, we’d kept a family address book by the phone in the kitchen in which we collected the names and numbers of our friends and Allie’s school friends. General life numbers.

After our retirement from Forza, I’d made a big production out of buying Eric the trappings of a traditional office, a luxury we’d never experienced. I’d spent more money than I should buying a leather organizer complete with tabbed sections and enough organizational tools to run a small country. It even had a matching pocket-sized address book in which the busy executive who had everything could transfer information so that he was never without his contacts.

Eric had sworn to me that he loved it, and I’d seen him use it often enough, both the large organizer and the tiny address book.

So why did he have this battered black book?

Feeling more than a little trepidation, I grabbed it, wiped the dust from the cover, and flipped the book open. There, neatly printed in familiar handwriting, was the name
Eric Crowe,
and his old office number.

I started to flip through the pages, driven by an odd mixture of curiosity and foreboding, but I didn’t get very far. The back door burst open, and Stuart stuck his head out. I immediately dropped the book back into the box.

“What on earth are you up to?”

“Oh. Um. Nothing?”

He looked at the open box at my feet. “Then you’re looking in the wrong place. That box is completely full.”

“Ha-ha,“ I countered. “I just had the urge to start cleaning out the storage shed.”

“And why not?“ he said. “That’s what every reasonable person does after dark on a Monday.”

“Fine,“ I said, hefting the box to carry it back to the storage shed. “You can help me this weekend.”

He chuckled. “Me and my big mouth.”

I put the box on the ground in front of the shed, then reached in and grabbed the book. I tucked it into my back pocket and hoped Stuart wouldn’t notice. Not that I was doing anything that odd. Technically, it was my address book now. I could look at it if I wanted to.

Fortunately, it was a nonissue, and instead of calling me on my strange behavior, he helped me reload the storage shed. ”You really want to tackle this mess over the weekend?”

I shrugged. “Maybe not. Now that we’re putting everything back, the urge is dimming.”

“Mmmm.”

“So were you looking for me?“ I asked.

“Timmy’s conking out. Is it a bath night? Because Allie’s still in there. I can bathe him in our tub if you want ...”

He trailed off, and I could tell from his tone that he dearly hoped I didn’t want.

“He can skip tonight,“ I said. “It’s already way past his bedtime. But get him in his jammies, would you? I want to go check on Allie.“ I would have preferred saying nothing to Stuart, but he’d seen us come in the back door, and he’d immediately honed in on Allie’s pale appearance and fear-filled eyes. I’d told Stuart we’d seen a strange man in the park, and he’d been creepy enough to scare Allie. I figured if any of the neighbors bordering the park reported a man climbing their fence, the stories would jibe.

“Will do,“ he said, then pulled me in for a kiss. “I love you girls, you know.”

“I know,“ I said.

“After that fiasco before Christmas ...“ He trailed off with a shake of his head.

“What?”

He pulled me in close for a hard, deep kiss. “I just worry about you, Kate. About you and the kids. It’s a crazy world we live in.”

“I know,“ I said, meaning it more than he could know. ”I worry about us, too.”

By the time I
got upstairs, Allie had finished her bath and retreated to her room. I decided that reinforcements were necessary, so I detoured to the kitchen, got milk and Oreos, then returned to her room with our treats carefully balanced on a tray. Obviously neither one of us was sticking to a diet today.

I found my daughter sitting up in bed, her knees pulled up to her chest, and her well-loved stuffed tiger clutched in her arms. She wasn’t wearing her iPod and the stereo wasn’t blaring. She was just sitting there hugging TigTig. My daughter, who hadn’t stopped moving since the first time she’d kicked me in utero.

It just about broke my heart.

“Allie, honey. How are you doing?”

She shrugged, and I slid the tray carefully onto the foot of the bed, then crawled up and got next to her.

“I brought Oreos,“ I said. “If the commercials are right, Oreos can pretty much make anything better.”

The corner of her mouth curved up, and she tilted her head to the side and looked at me. “Even the fact that I’m an idiot?”

“You’re not an idiot,“ I said. “You’re young and you’re eager, but you’re not an idiot.”

“I guess.”

I pulled her close and hugged her hard. “No idiot talk,“ I said. “That’s my best girl you’re talking about.”

“Mo-
om
,“ she said, in her most exasperated tone, giving me a peek at the Allie I knew hiding under the shell of the scared teenage girl.

“Don’t ’Mom’ me,“ I countered. “I love you. Even if you are an idiot.”

That earned me a thwap on the head with TigTig, but it also earned me a smile.

The smile, however, quickly faded. “You were lying to me, weren’t you? Earlier, I mean.”

I frowned, because I wasn’t sure where she was going with this. We’d already hashed and rehashed my nondisclosure, so this had to be something new. What about, though, I didn’t know.

“The promise, I mean,“ she said. “What you said about promising not to die.”

A thousand little knives stabbed my heart as tears brimmed in my eyes.

“I can quit, Allie,“ I said, taking her hands in mine. “If you’re scared, I can walk away right now.“ That was a promise I would absolutely keep. I didn’t want to—in the short time I’d been back on active status, I’d come to realize how much hunting was part of me—but I would. For my kids, I would absolutely give it up.

She shifted on her bed, stretching her legs out in front of her and turning to face me more directly. Her expression was bland, but there was a spark in her eyes as she worked through my offer.

“They’d still be there, though, right?”

“The demons? Yeah, they’re pretty much not going to go away.”

“And they might not know that you’ve quit. I mean, they might think you’re still out to get them.”

“I suppose that’s true.”

“I’ve been thinking that you’re sort of like a cop. Or like Angie’s dad.”

“That’s fair,“ I said, thinking of Angle, her friend whose father was in the military. “But there is a risk, Allie. There aren’t any guarantees in life, and I shouldn’t have promised not to die. I can’t make that promise. Nobody can.”

She gave a shaky nod and pulled TigTig closer.

“What about that stuff? Do you take it with you? When you go out to fight the demons, I mean?”

“Stuff?“ I repeated, trying to think what she could be referring to.

“The dust,“ she clarified. “Up in the attic.”

“Oh. No,“ I said, vehemently shaking my head. “No, I don’t take it.”

“Why not? If you got hurt ... I mean, someone could, you know ...“ She squirmed a bit. Apparently you know wasn’t easy to speak.

I took her hands in mine and very gently shook my head. ”The world doesn’t work that way, Allie. We can’t play God, sweetheart.“ I pressed our hands over her heart. “You know that, right?”