Pax Demonica
Trials of a Demon-Hunting Soccer Mom
Demon-Hunting Soccer Mom, Book 6
By Julie Kenner
Copyright © 2014
Kindle Edition
All rights reserved.
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ISBN-10: 1940673135
ISBN-13: 978-1-940673-13-4
When orphan Kate goes to Rome with her family, she’s hoping for a little R&R. The chance to bond with her husband, spend quality time with her kids, and visit her pseudo-family at
Forza Scura
.
In other words, this suburban mom is doing the tourist thing, and intending to do it up right. But while Kate may want to take cheesy pictures and buy overpriced souvenirs, the demon population has other plans. And soon Kate and over-eager daughter Allie are thrust into the middle of a demonic feud.
Now Kate’s going to have to call on both her hunting skills and her mothering skills—because if she fails, Kate and family might just find themselves sightseeing in hell.
New York Times
,
USA Today
,
Publishers Weekly
and
Wall Street Journal
bestselling author
Julie Kenner
has published over forty books including the Kate Connor Demon-Hunting Soccer Mom series currently in development as a feature film –
DemonHuntingSoccerMom.com
– and the Protector (Superhero) series –
WeProtectMortals.com
.
As J. Kenner
, Julie writes erotic romance, including the runaway bestselling
Stark Trilogy
and the
Most Wanted series
, as well as the
Shadow Keepers series
of dark paranormal romances originally published as JK Beck.
You can find buy links to a number of Julie’s titles (along with selected excerpts) at the
end of this ebook
!
To all the wonderful fans of Kate . . . thank you for your patience!
Demon-Hunting Soccer Mom Series!
Chapter 1T
here were bodies everywhere
. Pushing. Shoving. Writhing.
Some malevolent. Others merely . . . existing.
It was hell. Absolute, pure, undiluted hell.
I should know. My name is Kate Connor, and I’m a Level Five Demon Hunter with
Forza Scura
, a secret arm of the Vatican tasked with taking out demons and other nasties. Which means that I’m pretty well-versed in the realities of hell.
And trust me when I say that the Fiumicino Airport in Rome definitely qualifies as one of Dante’s seven circles. Especially when you happen to be navigating that hell with a cranky toddler. Although to be fair, said toddler wasn’t much crankier than my husband, Stuart, who hates to fly and barely slept a wink on the plane. Not that I slept much either. Frankly, I was a little cranky, too.
“Hungry,” Timmy said, plunking himself down on the floor and doing a good impression of a boulder. “Momma, Momma, I hungry.”
I had his hand in a vise grip, so when he stopped, I stopped as well, the result being that the two of us created a human dam in the flow of travelers. A chorus of curses surrounded us. English, Italian, French, and at least a dozen other languages I didn’t recognize. Rome is nothing if not cosmopolitan.
Behind me, Stuart stopped short, and I felt his fingers close on my shoulder as he steadied himself. “Timothy Allen Connor, do you want to get squashed? Kate, do something.”
I grimaced. “Thanks for the tip. Until you said something, my plan was to do nothing at all.” Okay, maybe I was more than just a little cranky.
“Don’t like squash,” Timmy said as I scooped him up and settled him on my hip. “Happy Meal. Want a Happy Meal.” His little hand shot out as straight as a compass arrow, and with as much precision too. It pointed right at a McDonald’s sitting there pretty as you please in the middle of the concourse. Does the kid have radar or what?
“Oh, gross.” Allie, my fifteen-year-old daughter, was a few feet ahead of me and off to the side. I eased that direction as quickly as I could, eager to get away from the crowd that threatened to run me down.
A dark-haired twenty-something male model type eyed me up and down as he pushed past Stuart, his expression smug, as if he knew that the secret to stress-free travel was to wing it alone, and was mocking my foolishness. I recognized his Pepperdine T-shirt and denim jacket from the plane. He’d been sitting three rows up from us and across the aisle, and he’d turned back once too often to look in my daughter’s direction. My high school–age daughter’s direction.
Allie had pretended not to notice, but she’d checked her hair and lip gloss at least a dozen times during the flight, and when she wasn’t staring at an electronic device, she was gazing vaguely in that guy’s direction. Call me capricious, but Mr. Pepperdine wasn’t on my list of favorite people. Reflexively, I sniffed the air, frowning slightly as I caught a lingering, putrid scent. A demon? The thought that I might be justified in shoving a stick through Mr. Pepperdine’s eye cheered me, but the glee passed as quickly as it had come. That wasn’t a demon stench I was smelling. Just the aroma of dozens of international travelers in desperate need of a shower.
Nice.
I glanced at Allie to see if she was primping again, but thankfully she hadn’t noticed Mr. Pepperdine. Instead, she was leaning against one of the plastic chairs that lined the gate area. Her brand new iPhone was out, her thumbs were flying, and her brow was furrowed in concentration. And why not? She’d just spent over fifteen hours cut off from the world. No phone. No Internet. Nothing but her iPod, her laptop, six magazines, two books, and a half dozen flirtatious glances at a stranger. No wonder she had to immediately text her best friend.
I snapped my fingers in front of her nose and she jumped. “Come on. Time to move. If you don’t want french fries you can get a packet of sliced apples.” That’s the nice thing about fast food. No matter where you are in the world, you know exactly what you’re going to get. Not great if you’re trying to soak up the local atmosphere, but awesome if you’re traveling with kids. And to be honest, I wasn’t all that keen on soaking up the airport schtick anyway.
Allie’s nose crinkled. “Who knows how long those apples have been in that package? And they’re still not brown? That’s just not normal.”
“Fine. Then have some of your trail mix.” Allie changed dietary requirements as often as most people change underwear. At the moment, she was all about whole, unprocessed foods. Since that wasn’t something I could argue against, I didn’t. But I silently mourned the fate of my grocery budget.
I waved my arm, ushering her toward the golden arches. “Come on. Presumably their water is fresh enough for you. And say goodbye,” I added, shooting a stern glance toward the phone. “Your texts are going to cost us a fortune.”
She grimaced but quickly tapped out a few letters, then shoved her phone in the back pocket of her jeans. I cleared my throat, and she immediately shifted it to her front pocket. We’d had
the talk
on the plane. No, not that talk;
that
talk was old news. This was the one about Rome and pickpockets and gorgeous dark-haired guys with chocolate eyes just intense enough to make you swoon . . . right before they snatched your purse.
She’d glanced toward Mr. Pepperdine when I’d said that, and I probably should have felt a twinge of guilt. For all I knew, the guy was entirely innocent. Except I didn’t believe it. I learned long ago that no one is entirely innocent. And no, that’s not a lesson that came from fighting demons. That one comes with parenthood.
“Kate, let’s get going.” Stuart adjusted his grip on the rolling bags. I shifted thirty-eight pounds of squirming boy on my hip and silently assured myself that the universe would self-correct later.
“Happy Meal?”
“I’m on it, Cowboy.”
“Whatever,” Allie groused. “Guess the baby wins again.” She hoisted her backpack up onto her shoulder and slouched toward the restaurant. I followed, perfectly content with the thought of a Big Mac. I’d eat local later. Right then, I just wanted food and no tantrums. This was supposed to be a vacation, after all. For the most part, anyway. And the less stress, the better.
Stuart, however, was underwhelmed by the prospect of our first taste of Rome. “Seriously, Kate? Look at that line. We’ve got Goldfish and applesauce in the bag, and he just finished three chocolate chip cookies. The kid will survive until we get to the B&B.”
“That’s at least an hour away,” I said. “Maybe longer.” We still had to get our luggage, catch a taxi, and then make the forty-kilometer drive. Father Corletti had offered to send a car from the Vatican for us, but I’d declined. I hadn’t been back to
Forza’s
headquarters in over fifteen years; I didn’t want their first impression after so long to be of blatant crankiness. Mine or my family’s.
Stuart didn’t look convinced.
I reached for him and twined my fingers with his. “Family time, remember? Taking it easy, exploring Italy, going with the flow.” Okay, so that wasn’t
everything
I had planned, but considering Stuart was still a little uncomfortable with the whole my-wife-is-a-demon-hunter thing, I figured it was probably best not to work
Forza
or training sessions into the schedule until he’d had at least one good Italian meal. With wine.
Stuart lifted a brow. “Fair enough. But when you said we’d go with the flow, I didn’t realize that meant fast food.”
“Point taken.” Of course, when I said it I also hadn’t been sure what I wanted. My original itinerary had included only me and Allie. The last few months had been rough, from both a demon-hunting and a marital perspective, and we were flying back to Rome to visit the town I still thought of as home. I craved the familiarity of my past, and if my parents had been alive, I’m sure I would have been running to them. Instead, I headed to the only family I’d had growing up—
Forza Scura
—and the one person I thought of as a parent, Father Corletti, who’d taken me in when I was orphaned at four.
When I was younger I knew that I could die fighting demons. I’d thought I understood what fear was, but I was wrong. Fear is knowing that your children can be ripped away from you. That the man you love could die or leave you. That your family may well be the first casualty of your war against the forces of evil. I know that fear now. I’ve touched it. Tasted it. And it’s cold and bitter.
But miracles happen every day, cutting a swath through the fear and letting hope grow. Trust me, I know. That whole water-to-wine thing has nothing on Stuart showing up on the doorstep with passports and suitcases and the determination that we were all going to Italy together. That no matter how hard it might have been for him to adjust to my not-quite-as-secret-as-it-used-to-be job fighting demons, he wanted to make it work, and we were moving into the future together. As a family.
His return had twisted up my heart, but it didn’t completely soothe my anger. He’d left me—more than that, he’d taken our son. And he’d done that after he knew my secret. After he’d told me that he understood, that he could handle it. After he’d walked away once and returned to supposedly start fresh and new.
