Demon Ex Machina: Tales of a Demon-Hunting Soccer Mom (8 page)

“Mom!”

“Hmmm?” I turned toward her, but my thoughts were still on Stuart. A short secret, I thought. That’s all. I’d gather a little more information, and then I’d tell him everything. At the very least, I wanted to figure out who this She-Demon was. If I had to tell Stuart there was another Big Bad with me in its sights, at a minimum I wanted some information about my enemy. To get that, I was going to need help.

I smiled negligently at Allie, but my thoughts had drifted to Father Ben. He’d been my
alimentatore
—my guide, my helper—and he’d been brutally murdered only weeks before. As always when I thought of him, I felt the stab of regret. I’d been too late to save him, and though I knew in my heart that his death wasn’t my fault, I couldn’t help but shoulder some of the blame. Those ripples again. He’d come to San Diablo to minister to a parish; he’d become involved in
Forza
because he’d met me. He had, I thought, deserved better. And at the same time, I knew that he would be proud dying the way he had, defending the innocent against the onslaught of evil.

Allie’s shriek finally broke through my musings. “Sorry. What?”

“I can study at Daddy’s,” she said, her exasperated tone matching her expression.

I shook off thoughts of Stuart and Eric and mysterious female demons and focused on my daughter. “Sorry, kid. You study here.”

“That’s so unfair,” she wailed.

“Incredibly,” I agreed. “But until you’re the mom, you have to live with my arbitrary and capricious rules. That means no applying for your learner’s permit until your grades are up—”

“Big deal,” she said sulkily, having recently had all her illusions shattered by the previously unknown fact that her fifteenth birthday wasn’t the magic day for applying for her permit. That day was fifteen years plus six months. And to a teenager, that extra six months might as well be six years.

“I didn’t make the rules.”

She crossed her arms over her chest and stared me down. “Maybe not that one.”

I tried not to laugh, but I couldn’t help it. “Fair enough.” I aimed a finger out the door. “So what’s it going to be? Breakfast with the family or sulking in your room?”

“Sulking,” she said, then turned to slink down the hall. I’m pretty sure she expected me to call her back, but I didn’t have the energy for a fight. Instead, I called after her, reminding her to use the time to study. My response was a frustrated groan and a firm slamming of the door. I’m probably a bad mom, but I couldn’t hold back my smile. Because grades and studying and teenage angst had absolutely nothing to do with demons. A tiny bit of normality had snuck into our decidedly
ab
normal life. And damned if that didn’t feel nice.

“You’re chipper,” Stuart said as I slid into my chair at the table.

“Allie’s banished to her room studying,” I said. “I’m pretty sure I’m on her shit list for the day.”

“Shit list!” Timmy shouted, and Stuart cocked an eyebrow while I silently mouthed a contrite, “Sorry.”

“Well, I can see why that puts a spring in your step,” said my husband the comedian.

“Can’t I be in a good mood? Do I have to be sullen just because my daughter is?”

“What exactly is she sullen about?”

I hesitated, our newly established full-disclosure lifestyle at odds with my unilateral decision to postpone the whole full-disclosure thing for a day or two. “I’m not letting her go to Eric’s,” I said.

“Well of course you’re not,” Stuart agreed, and I saw the moment comprehension hit. “And she doesn’t understand why.”

“Sure she does.” I smiled. “Her grades suck.”

“Suck!” Timmy yelled gleefully, and I took a deep breath and counted to ten. “Party now?” Timmy asked. He bounced a little in his seat, thrilled at the prospect of festivities, even though the child to be feted was a little demon in her own right. Not literally—in my world, those qualifications had to be added. Not that I blamed little Danielle. Her mother, Marissa, had been my arch-nemesis since I’d joined the PTA. And although I’d learned to tolerate her, I didn’t see any girlie shopping moments in our future. Her eldest, Joann, goes to school with Allie. Little Danielle, the birthday girl, is closer to Timmy’s age. And since Marisssa had so generously invited us to the party, I’d shown my respect, love, and admiration by buying and wrapping a handmade Silly String Shooter, the messiest toy I could find.

I might not be able to stake Marissa, but that didn’t mean I had to quietly tolerate her, either.

“Now, now, now?” Timmy continued to howl.

“Soon enough,” I said. “Let’s go get you dressed and we’ll head out the door.” The party was at ten and it was only eight-thirty. But I figured we’d need a good forty minutes to fight over the outfit. Another twenty to wrap the present (which Timmy had unwrapped yesterday after finding it in the hall closet) and at least fifteen more minutes for me to run into Starbucks and grab the coffee that I’d surely need to get me through this thrilling event.

Once we were both cleaned and dressed, I popped my head into Allie’s room and reminded her that cable was off-limits until she’d finished studying. I was rewarded with a grunt, which I assured myself meant that I was fulfilling my parental role. Then I scooped Timmy up and, holding him upside down so that he giggled and squealed and wriggled so much I feared for dropping him, headed down the stairs. Stuart was shrugging into a jacket when we slid to a stop in the entrance hall.

“What’s up?” I asked.

“Running into the office,” he said, checking his watch.

“On Saturday?”

“Clark wants a meeting.”

“Oh.” I frowned, processing that tidbit. Clark Curtis was the current lame-duck county attorney and Stuart’s boss, although that relationship had turned extremely awkward two weeks ago when Stuart had informed Clark of his intention to back out of the race for county attorney, smearing egg all over Clark’s face in the process. “You didn’t mention it.”

“He called yesterday. I was planning to tell you after I measured the fallout.”

I nodded, glad I wasn’t the only one hoarding information. “Are you sure you don’t want to go back?” So far, only Clark and a few key figures knew that Stuart was pulling out of the race. The handlers had decided to keep it quiet while Clark chose a replacement for my defecting husband.

I thought I saw something wistful pass over Stuart’s face, but he shook his head. “Too much time. Too much energy.” He leaned forward and kissed me on the cheek. “I have better things to focus on.”

I gave him a quick hug, hoping I seemed supportive and not worried. Because no matter what Stuart said, I knew that the bottom line here was unemployment. I couldn’t imagine Clark suffering that kind of loss of face and still keeping Stuart on the rolls as an assistant county attorney any longer than was politically correct. Two weeks sounded about right for that purpose, so I had a feeling today was the day Stuart was getting the ax. And since
Forza
doesn’t currently offer health coverage—much less vision and dental—I felt a slight stirring of discontent for myself and my two offspring.

But I smiled and hugged my husband and wished him good luck . . . and as soon as he was out the door I said a quick prayer and asked for St. Jude’s intercession. After all, every little bit helps.

Since Timmy absolutely refused to let go of Danielle’s present, I was struggling to strap him into his car seat with a package on his lap when I heard the front door creak open. I glanced around and saw Eddie shuffle down the sidewalk in his ratty green bathrobe, his finger held up for attention.

“Hold up there, girlie. You coming straight back after the kiddie fest?”

I mentally ran through my schedule and realized I was. My class on tiling at Home Depot wasn’t until two. “Yup. What do you need?”

“Lift to work,” he said. “Gotta be there at one. Working the afternoon shift.”

I raised my brows. “Work?” This was news to me.

“Been putting in a few hours,” he said. “A fellow needs his spending money.”

“Oh.” I had a sudden image of Eddie working the checkout line at Walmart, and counted the days until he was fired. Somehow I didn’t think his generally grouchy attitude fit the corporate profile. Actually, I couldn’t think of any jobs where Eddie fit the profile, except Demon Hunter, and he was quite retired from those ranks, his current forays into hunting now focused primarily on announcing how much I still had to learn and how limited
Forza
was in its view of the world. It would be annoying were he not so often right. “So where are you working?” I asked.

“New shop in Old Town,” he said. “Doubt you’ve heard of it.”

“Really?” I pondered the possibilities along with the fact that Eddie seemed so reticent to share the details.

“So can you give me a lift or not? If I gotta call a taxi I need to know now. Damn cabs need half a day’s notice to get anywhere on time.”

I licked my lips as a new thought occurred to me. “Actually, maybe we could trade favors.”

His eyes narrowed, bushy eyebrows twitching like caterpillars. “Eh?”

“I need help,” I said. “I need an
alimentatore
.”

“Ah,” Eddie said, all humor draining from his face. “Right.”

I swallowed, determined not to cry. “I could really use the help. Please?”

“The Vatican ain’t got a spare?” Eddie asked, lightening the mood.

“I’m sure they’re working on it. I want you,” I added, realizing as I spoke how much I meant it.

“Do you now? Ya wanna tell me why?”

I could have rattled off a hundred reasons, starting with the fact that Eddie had seen things I’d only imagined—and I’d seen my share of the horrific. I could have cited his knowledge and his experience, not to mention his tenacity. I could have even bribed him with a TiVo box.

Instead, I settled on the one thing that mattered to me most of all. “It’s because of Eric,” I said, and watched as his eye twitched at Eric’s name. “You know about the demon,” I said. “But there’s more.” I gave him the quick and dirty overview of what had happened before he and Stuart and Allie had arrived home the night before.

“Ain’t it always the way. Some power-hungry demon moves into town and right away tries to take you out.”

“It’s the job,” I deadpanned. “They’re all so jealous.”

He snorted. “Yeah, there’s that. So you want my help tracking She-Ra down.”

I did, of course, but it was more than that. “The demon scented Eric. I need answers, Eddie. And I need them fast.”

“Heh,” he said. “You want an answer? I got one for you right now, free of charge.” He poked me in the chest with one bony finger. “Shove a knife through his heart before the demon takes root. Kill the boy now and consider yourself lucky.”

“He’s Allie’s father, Eddie. She loves him.” I paused, then looked him dead in the eye. “And so do I.”

His shoulders drooped, all the vinegar disappearing from his attitude. “Kate.”

“No,”
I said, shaking my head. “No, you can’t say no. You can’t walk away from this. I want to help him, Eddie. I
have
to help him. And I need someone who’ll see what I can’t.”

“The demon, you mean. If you’re gonna fight it, ya gotta at least say it.”

“Fine, then,” I said, more harshly than I intended. “You’ll see the demon, Eddie. You won’t see the man I love. And I need that. I need your perspective. I can’t do this without your help.”

“And if there is no help?”

“I don’t accept that as a possibility.”

“And if there is no help?” he repeated.

“Then I’ll take a knife and do exactly what you said. I’ve done it before,” I said, steely determination keeping my voice from cracking as I remembered the time not so long ago when I’d had to make that very sacrifice, not then realizing I also had the means to bring him back to life. “If I have to, I can do it again.”

This time, we both knew, neither Eric nor the demon would come back.

He raked his fingers through his hair, giving him an even wilder appearance. When he’d finished, he looked back at me. “You giving me that ride?”

“Sure,” I said, nodding as I struggled to bring my emotions under control. He’d veered wildly off topic, of course, and I wasn’t sure if he was giving me time to gather my wits or if this was the way Eddie negotiated. Either way, I was willing to let this play out however it had to, so long as in the end I got what I wanted.

I took a deep breath and focused on his question. “But why do you need me? Doesn’t Tammy usually drive you?”

Eddie let loose with an exasperated snort. “Broke up with me last night,” he said. “Left a message on the machine. What kind of tacky is that?”

Since I thought it was the same kind of tacky as breaking a date because of interrupted cable service, I wisely kept my mouth shut.

“You play chauffeur today, girlie. Just one way. I can catch a ride home with my peeps.”

“Your peeps?”

“Coworkers,” he said. “You need to pay attention to the lingo, girl.”

“Hmmm,” I said, not at all sure that
peeps
had made it into the standard employment vernacular. “And tomorrow?”

He waved a hand. “I’m off ’til Monday. I’ll figure something out by then.”

“You’re not going to start driving again, are you?” The idea made me cringe.

“Dunno,” he said. “You willing to cart me around? I got work and bingo.”

“Yeah,” I said, now fully suckered into the big picture. “I already carpool a toddler and a teenager. I think I have room for an obstinate old man.”

“Fair enough,” he said. “But I’m crotchety. Not obstinate.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“And I’ll be your
alimentatore
, girlie girl. But if I’m doing it, I’m doing it right. I want all your debriefing notes. All your Hunter journals.”

I stood up straighter, surprised. “Really?”