Good Intentions 3: Personal Demons (4 page)

“Oh, not much. Everything’s chill. No drama. I hope,” he added half under his breath.

Drew cast a glance over his shoulder. Already, they could see Rachel and Lorelei meeting his sister, Sandra, and his mother, Letitia. They saw only smiles and warmth, easy welcomes and good cheer, as Alex expected. “I didn’t tell my mom or sis ‘til you knew Rachel would be here for sure,” said Drew. “Seemed dumb to open that topic up on a ‘maybe.’ But I think I got ‘em both to give you a chance.”

“You think? Wait, give
me
a chance?”

“Yeah,” Drew replied indignantly. “They hadn’t met Rachel or Lorelei yet. It ain’t fair to judge them already. Known your ass for years, though. Here, lemme help you with that,” he went on, taking the bags. He looked down at them and turned his face back up at Alex with a frown. “These don’t feel heavy,” he observed.

“So?”

“Good presents are heavy. You went cheap on me again this year, didn’t you?”

“Bullshit,” said Alex. “I got you a Christmas card in there that’s so big, I’d have to use two postage stamps to mail it. Don’t ever say I’m a cheapskate on my friends.”

“Man, after all the shit I got into for you in the last few months? You didn’t even get me a game console?”

“You’ve already got an Xbox.”

“Yeah, but I don’t have a PlayStation.”

“I helped you move out.”

“I helped
you
move out!”

“Oh hey that reminds me, are you good for helping Molly and Onyx move this week?”

Drew stepped back with a scowl. “Maybe. I’m probably more to them than a Christmas card, at least.”

“Pretty sure they pay in booze, actually. You’re old enough now.”

“Oh, I guess that’s somethin’,” Drew said, and then threw Alex an even more irritable look. “Yeah, I am old enough. And maybe you ain’t, but your girls are. You could’ve gotten me liquor an’ instead you got me a card?”

“Alex, come here,” Leticia said from behind Drew. She nudged her son aside to give Alex a hug. She was almost exactly the same age as Michelle, dark skinned and pretty, and every bit as much Michelle’s best friend as her son was Alex’s.  “I haven’t seen you since you moved out.”

“Sorry about that,” said Alex, gladly hugging her back. “I was busy Christmas shopping.”

Drew tossed him a scowl before moving off with the bags of gifts. That left Alex alone with Leticia for the mildly amused side-eye he had to have known was coming. Inevitable or not, her first reaction to meeting his girlfriends left Alex groaning. “Really, Alex? Really?”

“Mom said she wanted them here,” he protested quietly.

“Of course she did. We both did. I’m sure they’re both nice girls. Drew thinks they’re great. I’m just saying you went from zero to sixty pretty damn fast.”

“You always said I was a late bloomer.”

“Honey, there’s a difference between blooming and exploding. Don’t worry. Bringing someone home for the first time is always awkward.” She turned to walk to the living room with the bag of presents. “Doesn’t mean I won’t give you a hard time.”

“Oh no, why would you ever pass on that?” he sighed.

He already felt better about everything, though. Leticia was right. Of course it might be a little awkward, but it was nothing traumatic or hostile. His mother welcomed them. Drew’s family welcomed them. As he came into the living room, Alex saw his grandmother, Katherine give them much the same degree of welcome. Then, as he crossed into the hallway junction toward the bedrooms and bathrooms, he heard the voice of one last member of the family.

“Hey, is Alex here?” asked Cracker Carlisle.

The chill that ran down his spine froze Alex in place. The voice sounded different. Older. Much older. The accent had faded with time. And yet, it was the same voice Alex had known all his life.

He stepped out of the bathroom with his arms and his grin both spread wide. He was seventy-one now, a little heavier than Alex remembered and with a thinning head of white hair instead of the close-shaved black stubble that was easier to manage in the jungle. He wore a sweater, not green fatigues with sergeants’ stripes. His arms closed around his grandson. “Alex, you look great!” declared Cracker Carlisle.

No. Not Cracker Carlisle
, Alex shouted internally at the emotions and memories that sent the room and his guts spinning.
He’s not Cracker Carlisle.
Will
called him Cracker Carlisle. I’m not Will. That was another life. He’s not me. I’m Alex.

He’s my grandfather.

His arms came up slowly. He almost had to force himself. His heart raced and his throat tightened. “Hi, Grandad,” he managed. “Merry Christmas.”

Thankfully, the hug didn’t last long, but then Alex had to look Roy Carlisle in the eye. That face had aged since Alex last saw him…except that had been a flashback to someone else’s life that ended decades ago. Alex couldn’t even remember it clearly.

Cracker Carlisle did almost as much to make Will’s life hell as the Viet Cong or the jungle. Constant latrine duty, guard shifts in the middle of the night, every bullshit thing that shouldn’t be put on a fellow soldier well into his second tour in the bush: all of it came down from Cracker Carlisle onto Will’s shoulders. Along with that came constant criticism, scapegoating, open contempt, and every racist name in the book.

Roy Carlisle taught his daughter and grandson better than that. Roy Carlisle valued fairness. Charity. Equality. He’d retired from teaching science and getting underprivileged kids into college—black and brown kids. He advocated. He marched. Alex had seen his grandfather shut down bigots on line at the grocery store and in the stands at a Seahawks game. From their first meeting, Roy and his wife treated Drew, Sandra, and Letitia like family.

Michelle changed back to her maiden name after her divorce, and changed her son’s to match. The judge told little Alex he couldn’t ask for a better role model than Roy Carlisle.

Cracker Carlisle had gotten Will killed in ‘Nam, and decades later, Will became Alex. He was a different person now. He wasn’t supposed to remember Will, or anyone else he’d ever been, but he did. He remembered Staff Sergeant Roy Carlisle, too.

“Listen,” Roy told him with his voice low and a wary glance toward the living room, “your mother and Drew both told me about your girls. Don’t worry about me or your grandmother on that score. It’s not the sort of thing you advertise, but we used to have other people over for the night for some fun once in a while ourselves.”

He slapped Alex on the shoulder, having provided his own explanation for the wide-eyed shock on his grandson’s face. “Now why don’t you introduce me? Drew says they’re both knockouts.”

* * *

“It has been too long since our last hunt in this world,” said Ryzeth. “So much has changed.”

“They had cars when we were here last,” Voxrel pointed out.

“Not where we hunted. Not so many. Not so much electricity, either. These lights do not burn oil.” They hid in a darkened, covered driveway beside one house. Ryzeth risked clinging to the top of the parked car so he could keep watch over the street while Voxrel stuck to the shadows.

They hid as much out of natural habit as need. Many houses in the neighborhood held guardian angels. With each guardian watching over multiple souls, they tended to stay on the move. Stalkers like Ryzeth and his brothers couldn’t afford to be seen by passing angel, lest they raise an alarm.

Mortal husks would have allowed them to go unnoticed, but the trade-off in power made that option impractical. The added resilience that came from bonding to human flesh didn’t make up for the loss of so many other powers. Regardless, no stalker wanted to be confined in so simple a body. Mortals were short and stiff. They didn’t bend right or reach far enough, to say nothing of what such a form did to one’s tail or wings. Better to rely on their natural demonic forms. Better to be fearsome and deadly than inconspicuous.

Ryzeth and Voxrel heard their brother return from his reconnaissance only because he allowed it. Sylyd leapt from one streetlight to the next until he dropped into the driveway with the others. Their spot didn’t put them in an ideal vantage point. Unfortunately, all of the best choices among the neighborhood’s homes had obnoxious multicolored lights strung across their windows, doors, and even amid the bushes and trees.

One home on the corner held a particularly egregious display of statues in some repulsive gathering of people around a baby. Every one of them glowed. It had been like this since they’d arrived. The rainy city was almost darker in the day than at night.

“They gather for a meal,” said Sylyd, creeping over on all fours. “Six more mortals, plus the one among our prey. I could not risk a good look inside with the angel there. She masquerades as a mortal. They have a tree with lights inside the house like most of the others.”

“Are there other guardians inside?” asked Voxrel.

“No. But with the one in the home, the rest may go off to watch their other charges. We have that much in our favor.”

“
If
we move on them tonight,” considered Ryzeth. “Or now. Do you think they will all stay the night?”

Sylyd shook his inky black head. “Not all, at least. The house could hold them, but it seems the mortals spread out more these days than in times past.”

“Then we could wait and follow the whore to her next destination. Perhaps the angel will leave her side. We do not want to underestimate them. Witnesses are also a problem.”

“Not if we burn the house,” suggested Voxrel. “We could block the doors and set the house aflame. It will not kill Lorelei or the angel, but the rest will fall.”

“It will also draw attention,” Ryzeth decided. “There are guardians in these other houses. They will notice, and may intervene. We must wait.”

Though Voxrel’s impatience was plain in the twitch of his tail and the bend of his posture, he knew Ryzeth was right. Rather than argue, Voxrel skulked away and spider-climbed up the wall of the house beside them.

Ryzeth stayed crouched on top of the car. He looked back to Sylyd, who crept further into the driveway’s shadows. “We wait,” Ryzeth decided. “Patience. If Lorelei or her toy emerge alone, we strike. Otherwise we wait for our chance.”

“It’s not so bad,” mused Sylyd. “This neighborhood reeks of selfish anticipation. Everyone is filled with avarice, or expects disappointment and struggles with resentment for it.”

“Do you think it’s normal?” asked Ryzeth. “Is it always like this? They put trees inside their houses. Is it some special custom?”

“Hssst!” warned Voxrel. The other demons looked up at their brother, clinging to a second-story window where a light shone through drawn curtains. “Up here!” he beckoned urgently. “It is some special occasion! It’s based on parents
lying
to their children! They’re doing it
right now
!”

Eagerly, Ryzeth and Sylyd leapt up to hear such delicious words.

* * *

“We’d only been in our place for a couple of months and already Drew and Alex were tight,” said Leticia. “My kids were getting settled okay in their new school. Things got back on track with my job. It felt like I had a handle on everything. The only problem was my ex still didn’t quite get the message about being an ex.”

“Oh, how I know that problem,” said Lorelei, setting her wineglass back down beside her empty plate.

“Yeah. Only I had these two kids in the mix, so he started sending crazy messages about how I couldn’t keep him away from his children on Christmas. Left me angry voicemails, stalked me online, showed up at my office. All that nonsense. The cops wouldn’t do anything. They said it wasn’t a clear threat. Hell, one of them asked if I’m really so concerned, why don’t I just move out of state,” she huffed. “So here I was tryin’ to figure out if he’s gonna break down our door or burn the place down without worrying the kids. Drew saw right through me and told his little friend here.”

“You make it sound like I was scared,” grumbled Drew.

“You weren’t?” said Sandra. “Hell, I was. I just didn’t want to admit it.”

Roy chuckled. “There’s no shame, Drew. You were only a little boy.”

“He wasn’t,” said Alex. The words came out too fast and too harshly for a family dinner and a story that had become comforting rather than traumatizing for those involved. Even for Alex, it was a fond memory—until he bristled at the first hints of Cracker Carlisle making fun of his friend.

Thankfully, a subtle hand on his wrist under the table blunted his rising anger as soon as he spoke. The angel clearly knew something was wrong. She’d offered the support of her calming touch all through dinner.

“Sorry,” mumbled Alex. “Guess it shouldn’t make me edgy after all these years.”

“It’s cool,” said Drew. His easy shrug dismissed the tension. “I ain’t worried.”

“Anyway,” Leticia went on, “Alex is over at our house one day playing with Drew. He pulls me aside and says, ‘You can come have Christmas at our house.’ I tell him that’s sweet and all, but I don’t take him seriously until his mom comes across the street and says, ‘No, really, my ex-husband is an asshole, too. We don’t wanna be alone, either. Come have Christmas at our house.’” She smiled broadly. “I’d met Michelle a couple times before that through the kids, but that’s when we started to click.”