Demons are Forever: Confessions of a Demon-Hunting Soccer Mom (9 page)

“I do, too. But we tried. It’s been five years. There’s not a lot we can do now.” Eric had left us a series of clues, but we’d hit only dead ends. “I’ve tried, baby. But I haven’t learned a thing.”

“There’s got to be something,” she said, her voice choked with unshed tears. “I mean, we can at least keep looking. Can’t we, Mom? For a little bit longer.”

The pain and loss in her voice just about ripped me to pieces. And I pressed a soft kiss to her forehead as tears pooled in my eyes.

“Of course,” I whispered. “We’ll do everything we can.”

Four

Everything we can.

My words echoed in my head for the rest of the afternoon, a dark cloud that seemed to weigh me down as I moved through the rest of the day, putting away laundry, sweeping the back porch, making dinner. Now I moved through the breakfast room to the archway that divided the room from the living area. Allie was in there with Timmy and Eddie, and the three of them were playing Hi Ho Cherry-O. Allie had Timmy on her lap, and Eddie was muttering something about the bird taking his darn cherries. The scene was domestic and sweet, and I never wanted it to change. Never wanted it painted red with fear or gray with distrust.

More, I didn’t want Allie to long for the day she turned eighteen so that she could break ties with me and walk away. For two years after Eric’s death, we’d been each other’s strength, and even now that we had Stuart and Timmy, there was still an inescapable bond between us. Mother and daughter, yes, but something more, too.

The revelation about Eric had left seeds of distrust in my soul, and even though I didn’t want to, now I was questioning our entire relationship. To know that Allie might soon feel the same about me—to know that the thread of trust might start to unravel—both terrified me and broke my heart.

I had to tell her the truth. I had to tell her that I was still hunting demons. And I had to tell her soon.

The weight of that obligation stayed with me, counterbalanced a bit by the relief that I’d made a decision. Having decided but not yet acted, though, made me a jittery wreck. And I spent the rest of the afternoon doing domestic chores simply because I knew that no one else in the household would likely volunteer to help me. I needed alone time, and scrubbing toilets was the best way I knew to get it.

By five, the bathrooms were no longer functional science projects, I’d gotten a decent cardiovascular workout by lugging two boxes of neglected toys to the backyard storage shed, and I’d vacuumed the entire upstairs, evicting at least a dozen families of dust bunnies in the process.

By the time I returned to the living room, my family had moved on to other activities. Timmy was outside, playing in his sandbox. Allie was reading on the porch, and Eddie was parked in his recliner, glasses perched on his nose as he muttered vague obscenities at today’s crossword.

I busied myself cutting up broccoli to go with the simple chicken casserole I’d cobbled together an hour before. I’d learned long ago to stick with the basics for our meals. Meat loaf, pancakes, pasta, Hamburger Helper. Those I could handle. Braised salmon in a mango-chutney sauce? Not so much.

I was just putting the broccoli in the steamer when the phone rang, and I grabbed it up, tucking it between my ear and my shoulder as I filled the steamer with water.

“Kate,” David said. “Can you talk?”

I heard the urgency in his voice and abandoned my broccoli. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine now,” he said. “But this morning...”

“What? What happened?”

“Attacked. In my own goddamned apartment.”

“By a demon?” Which was an idiotic thing to ask, but the first thing that came to my mind.

“Considering I’m only a rogue,” he said, “it hardly seems like I should have to put up with that crap.”

There was humor in his voice and I clung to it because it meant that he really was okay.

“Is he—”

“Dead,” David said, which was the shorthand way of saying that the body was out of commission and the demon was back in the ether, technically still in existence, but no longer a nuisance.

“Do you need me to come help you?”

This time, he laughed for real. “He’s already dead, Kate.”

I scowled at the phone. “I was offering to help get rid of the body,” I said. “But I think I’ll retract the offer now.”

“It’s been taken care of,” he said. “I decided to use the opportunity to try out a new disposal method. The cathedral doesn’t have endless vault space, you know.”

“I had hoped that San Diablo didn’t have endless demons,” I said dryly, trying not to think about the body-disposal methods that a chemistry teacher could concoct.

“I think that hope’s been shot to hell,” he said.

True enough. “Any idea why he attacked you? Did he want something?”

“From what I could tell,” David said, “he wanted me. And alive, too. He caught me off guard, Kate, but he never went for the kill shot. If he’d wanted to kill me, he could have.”

I hugged myself, suddenly chilled. “David, you need—”

“To be more careful. Yeah. I got that. I want you to be careful, too.”

I was immediately on alert. “Did he say something?”

“No, but the more I think about it, the more I worry. You’re the Hunter here, and if it’s a Hunter they want...” His voice washed over me, low and gruff and very sincere. “Promise me, Katie. Promise me you won’t let down your guard.”

I shivered, more than a little undone by his tone. “I promise,” I whispered. “And David?”

“What?”

“I’m glad you’re okay.” The words seemed flat somehow, but I meant them sincerely. I’d lost Eric twice—in San Francisco, and again last night. I didn’t think I could stand to lose David, too. He might not be the man I’d once loved, but I had to admit that I cared for him, possibly more than I should. Perhaps my feelings for him were colored by all the weeks that I thought he was Eric, but that didn’t change the fact that the man had become important to me. And, yes, little by little he was sliding into the role of hunting partner, too.

As I hung up, I felt a little numb. I could hear our garage door begin its laborious climb to the top, and I splashed some water on my face, trying to wash the worry and fear for David off my face.

Minutes later, Stuart trundled in, a bag of marshmallows in one hand and a plastic grocery bag with graham crackers and Hershey bars in the other.

“Sweet tooth?”

He just grinned. “And I’ve got firewood in the trunk.”

“It’s seventy-six degrees out,” I said, mimicking what he always says to me during the winter months when I beg for a fire despite our California climate.

He nodded, all serious. “Good point. I’ll go crank up the air conditioner.” He started out of the room but I tugged him back, then planted a kiss on his lips.

“Thanks,” I said. “You know how to cheer a girl up.” More than that, Stuart was my rock—a demon-free zone in a life that had once again become filled with uncertainty. I hugged him tight, soaking up that deep sense of normalcy. I’d craved a normal, safe life with Eric, and I’d believed that I’d gotten it. Only recently had I learned it was only an illusion.

I sighed, pressing my face against Stuart’s shoulder. In truth, my safe little life with Stuart was an illusion, too. Only this time, I was the one who’d brought the danger to our doorstep.

He gave me a final squeeze, then pulled back far enough to get a good look at my face. His eyes moved as he looked me over. “Want to share what’s been on your mind?”

I gave my head a little shake. “Just melancholy. It’s nothing. Probably PMS.”

He put the groceries on the counter and took my hands. “Is it Eric?”

I balked, because that was really not a question I was expecting. “I—no,” I stammered. “I mean, why would you think it’s Eric?” Had I been putting out an “Eric” vibe? Had Allie said something?

“It’s that time of year,” he said. “You always get a little moody.”

“Do I? Yeah, I guess I do.” Eric had been killed in early January, right after the holidays. This year, I’d been so caught up with all of my other Eric issues—not to mention the issue of almost losing my daughter to a hell-bound demon—that I’d glossed right over my annual depression.

I leaned forward and gave Stuart a kiss. “Thanks for being so understanding.”

He stroked my cheek. “That’s part of the job description, remember?”

I raised an eyebrow. “So this is the ’for worse’ part?”

His eyes danced with mischief. “No, sweetheart, that’s your cooking.”

I swatted him with the marshmallow bag, trying hard not to laugh. “Go, husband,” I said. “Go forth and make fire.”

“Ugh,” he said, with appropriate caveman inflections.

I rolled my eyes as he left, but at the same time, I realized I was grinning. Stuart might not know my past, but he did know me. More important, he knew how to make me smile.

I watched, satisfied, as Timmy raced around like a wild thing while Stuart tried to light the fire. I had a good life, after all, with a family who loved me.

And I couldn’t help but wonder if, by pursuing a mystery from the past, I’d be risking everything I had in front of me.

Mornings around our house
are never calm, and the first day back to school and work after a vacation are always the worst. And if I happen to have carpool duty, you can pretty much triple the insanity quotient.

I awakened to a rousing chorus of “Elmo’s World,” performed a capella by my budding Pavarotti. The duh-duh-duh-duhs blasted through the baby monitor, and despite pulling the covers up over my ears, I knew that morning had inevitably arrived.

Stuart elbowed me. “Jstgoengitdeboy,” he muttered.

“You go get him,” I retorted. “My alarm hasn’t gone off yet.” Stuart’s had, though, and he’d already hit the snooze button twice. I figured I had bed equity, and I was hanging on for all it was worth.

He groaned, then propped himself up on his elbow and blinked a few times. My husband has never been one to come awake easily. “What time is it?”

“Seven minutes since the last time you hit the snooze button,” I said as his alarm started blaring again.

“Shit,”
he said, suddenly wide awake. “I’m running late. Can you get Timmy? The kid sounds wide awake.”

And so the day began.

I decided to save the battle with my clueless husband for later. Instead, I rolled out of bed, grabbed my robe, then padded down the hall to Timmy’s room. He’d started climbing out of his crib not too long ago, and we’d moved him to a toddler bed. I found him on top of it now, apparently convinced it was a trampoline.

“I flying, Mommy!” he squealed. “I’m Super Timmy!”

I caught him midleap. “Hey there, Super Dude. Even superheroes need breakfast. Are you hungry?”

“Toast with butter cheese,” he demanded as I pulled off his pajama bottoms and helped him into a dry Pull-Ups.

“Fine and dandy,” I said. For reasons I don’t actually remember, Timmy started calling margarine “butter cheese” about the time he learned to talk. Since it’s so damn cute, we haven’t bothered to correct him. So long as he gets it right before college, I figure we’re okay.

I got him dressed, then led him to Allie’s room. I tapped once, heard nothing, then tapped again. Vague sounds of life drifted to me through the closed door. I considered that a good sign and pounded once again.

“What?”

“Time to get up. First day back to school. Pencils. Teachers. Books.”

No response.

“Cheerleading. Boys.”

That did it. “I’m up, already.”

“Twenty minutes, Allie,” I said. “I want you downstairs in twenty.”

“I said okay!”

My motherly harassment duty accomplished, I led Timmy to the top of the stairs, opened the baby gate, and let him scamper down.

I found Eddie asleep in the recliner, in exactly the same position I’d left him last night. I tucked a blanket around his shoulders and decided not to bother him. I’d been considering asking him to watch Tim for a few hours—the day care follows the elementary school schedule, and it’s closed until tomorrow—but seeing him made me change my mind. It’s easy to forget he’s past eighty when he bursts onto the scene fighting demons with the same gusto with which he pursues his librarian lady friend.

By the time Timmy’s toast was ready, Stuart was in the kitchen, pouring himself coffee. By the time Allie finally barreled into the kitchen, Stuart was gone, a travel mug in his hand and my kiss on his cheek.

Over the next ten minutes, I got Timmy cleaned up, let Mindy in the back door, helped Allie find her student ID, argued with her about makeup (mascara yes, eyeshadow no), raced upstairs to throw on sweats and a T-shirt, and finally managed to usher the family out the door and into the van.

“Two minutes to spare,” I said, backing onto our street. “And to think I could have squeezed in a shower.”

The other girls in the carpool, Susan and Emily, were ready to go when I honked, which was a minor miracle, and as the girls got settled, the noise level increased.

Mindy is the editor of the school paper, and Susan is on her staff. They immediately dived into a discussion of a human interest story for the upcoming issue. “The history of San Diablo,” Mindy said. “That’s cool, don’t you think?”

“I guess,” said Allie. “But it’s not like this town’s all that interesting.”

“Are you kidding?” Mindy retorted. “It’s totally cool, isn’t it, Mrs. Connor?”

“Hold on there, kid,” I said with a laugh. “How did I get designated community liaison?”

I didn’t even need the rearview mirror to know that Mindy was rolling her eyes. “Trust me,” she said. “This is a totally happening part of California. We’ve got the whole Hollywood heyday thing, from back when the stars used to come up from L.A. to hang on our beaches. And all those fabulous houses they built over Emerald Point. I mean, how cool is that?”