The Demon Hunters (13 page)

I shifted my grip on the cane to hold
it two-handed. I couldn’t go on with them ahead. In fact, I had to
get out of here. I edged backward.

“
Hey, Tiff!”

I blinked, and they were
gone.

I wanted to collapse on the nearest
rock, but I pulled in air and straightened up. I recognized the
voice. I turned with a smile on my face. “Hello, Col.”

Tall, lean and good-looking, Colin
coasted his mountain bike down the trail. He looked fine in one of
those skintight outfits cyclists wear, which hide absolutely
nothing. He must have a new car because I hadn’t seen his in the
parking lot.

Colin and I were an item
when I met Royal. We were still
technically
involved the first time
Royal and I tested my bed together. Colin dumped me before I had to
have “the talk” with him. He left a message on my phone saying our
relationship wasn’t working, he needed a girlfriend he saw more
than once every other week. Man, was I relieved. I hate acting the
bad guy. I still felt guilty - during those last few days of the
Marchant case I never gave a single thought to Col, and he deserved
better.

He stopped next to me and put his feet
down. “Off for a hike, then?”

I resisted the urge to look up the
trail over his shoulder. He must have seen me walk up from the
parking lot, so knew I’d just started out, but the hike was over
for me. “I thought I could get in a quick one, but I ran out of
time.”

Col nodded. He unstrapped his helmet
and eased it off. His long fair hair stuck to his scalp and neck,
sweat making it darker. I remembered pushing my fingers through his
soft, fine hair. “I’ll walk you back to your car.”

Damn.
“No need. You enjoy the rest of your ride.”

I paced a few steps down the trail, my
boots puffing up powdered dirt. Pushing his bike, Colin kept up
with me. “I’m glad I ran into you, Tiff.”

Why were demons in Clarion, standing
on the mountainside, watching me? “You are?”

I glanced over at him. He looked out
over the valley. “I feel bad, about the way we . . .
parted.”

Double
damn
. “You shouldn’t.”

“
I should have told you to
your face, not left a message on your machine. I
am
sorry.”

About what? That you left
a Dear Jane message on my machine, or you split up with me? And
maybe if you looked me in the eye I’d be more inclined to believe
you mean either.
“Col, it was a while
ago.”

Now
he looked at me. His hair was already drying from the heat
beating down. A small breeze sprang up, nudging at it, then a
stronger gust tossed damp strands over his face. He gave me a small
smile. I should tell him I was in a relationship, stop gazing at
those strands of hair all over his blue eyes and slightly bent
nose, and where they stuck to his full lips.

I had to get rid of him.

“
Col, there’s something I
should maybe tell you. I . . . well, I - ”

He interrupted what was probably going
to come out sounding like an apologetic admission of guilt. “You
see ghosts.”

Not
what I meant to say.
That
stopped me dead on the trail, denial on the tip of
my tongue.

He grinned. “I could kick myself for
what I said about ghosts, when we were in Arrivederci. You
remember?”

How could I forget? Our last date,
although I didn’t know at the time. Over dinner, I asked him what
he thought of the supernatural, and he told me people who see
ghosts are delusional. At the time I was building up courage to
tell him what I do for a living, so his comment did not sit well
with me.

I started off again with
Colin a step behind, my brain buzzing. I shouldn’t outright deny
anything till I knew exactly what
he
knew, or thought he did. I
chuckled, but it sounded forced. “Where did you hear
that
?”

“
It wasn’t intentional. I
mean, I didn’t snoop.” We came to a rockier stretch and looked down
at where we put our feet. His bike bumped along beside him. “I have
a friend in the police department and you came up in
conversation.”

“
A cop tells you I see
ghosts and you believe him?”

His mouth twitched. “You can’t argue
with one of Clarion’s finest.”

“
Oh.”

He laid a hand on my arm. We stopped
walking. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“
You said it all. You think
people who see ghosts are loonies. I see ghosts. If that doesn’t
say incompatible, I’d like to know what does.”

He dropped his hand. “You could have
argued your case.”

Ire flushed my neck.
“Excuse me?
Argued my
case
?”

He winced. “Damn. Sorry. It wasn’t
supposed to come out that way. I meant, you could have explained.
I’d have listened.”

I faced him and my hands
went to my hips. “I don’t have to explain myself, Colin. I don’t
have to try to make anyone believe in what I do. I know, and it’s
enough for me.”
Yeah, Tiff, and that’s why
you were straight with him, and your other boyfriends, and the
world at large. That’s why you let people think you’re a psychic
when you’re actually a
loony
who
sees
and
talks
to dead people.

Looking frustrated, Colin swiped his
hair off his face. “Can we start again?”

My stomach dropped. “Start
what?”

His lips thinned, then he surprised me
by smiling, a genuine smile. “I want you to know I don’t think
you’re delusional.”

Oh, he meant that. For a moment I
thought. . . .

He lifted his hands and spread them.
“I still think most people are, and a lot are charlatans, and I
don’t know what I would’ve thought then if you’d told me you saw
ghosts. But I believe you now.”

I mulled it over. “Only
because of what your pal at Clarion PD said.”
But if I’d told you, you wouldn’t have believed
me
.

“
Does it matter
why?”

Yes, it did. But it was old history
and not worth dragging up again. I looked over my shoulder for the
glint of sunlight on metallic hair.

I didn’t know if Col’s revelation
would impact my life, if word of my ability would, or already had,
spread further than him and Clarion PD, but I didn’t have time to
dwell on it. I had to get off the mountainside. “I’m glad you told
me, Col, but now I’m out of time. I have to get going.”

I smiled at him and left the path,
walking through ankle-high brush, taking a direct route to my car
without going through the parking lot. Colin came behind
me.

He moved abreast of me. “You’re mad at
me.”

I laid my hand on his upper arm and
gave it a little squeeze. “I’m not. Honest. Nice seeing you,
really, but I gotta run.” I smiled again to show I wasn’t storming
off in a huff.

I climbed the fence to the packed dirt
and used my remote to open the car door.

“
Maybe we could do coffee
sometime,” he said from behind me.

Not pausing, I glanced back and smiled
again. “Yeah. That would be nice.”

I stubbed my toe on a rock, staggered,
recovered, and heard laughter echo across the mountain. It didn’t
sound like happy laughter; it sounded sinister.

I looked up and over at the trail. Up
there, among the scrub oak, something glittered.

Chapter
Eleven

“
You don’t suppose they
could be friendly demons?”

I cocked my head on one side and
looked up at Jack from where I crouched at the front door. “They
laughed at me when I tripped.”

He shrugged. “I might have done the
same.”

“
Not might have, would
have,” Mel chimed in.

“
As if you
wouldn’t.”

I finished sprinkling metal filings on
the floor, got to my feet and dusted my hands off on my shirt, then
tried to dust off the stain I’d made there. Had I missed anything?
Back and front doors. Window sills. Fireplaces. I had it
covered.

Demons once paid me a
visit, and they were bad demons. Very,
very
bad demons. My metal filings
prevented a home invasion, though they got me later. Although, if
they were born here. . . . I thought demons stayed away from alloys
and I’ve seen a demon’s skin sizzle when my metal filings hit, but
apparently it does not present a problem to those born in my
reality, like Royal.

“
Should we be scared?” Mel
asked.

God help me if they waited till Royal
was away to come after me again.

I headed back to the kitchen with my
little tin. “Scared of what? They can’t hurt you. If anyone should
be scared, it’s me.”

“
I meant scared
for
you.”

I shouldn’t be snarky at a time like
this, because Mel and Jack did worry about my safety, as well as my
mental disposition. “I know, Mel. I’ll be careful.”

My thoughts were a muddle. Royal.
Demons on mountain. Now Colin, apologizing and suggesting we get
together over coffee. Did he mean it? My, but he looked
good.

As if I needed one more complication
in my topsy-turvy life.

I snatched my angle-draw shoulder
holster from off the coat-rack and walked in the kitchen, to the
drawer where I kept my Ruger handy. I checked the load, shrugged
into the holster and snugged in the Ruger. I was not going anywhere
without it.

“
That’s my girl!” I heard
from Jack.

***

I felt bone weary and irritable. Mel
glanced at me, then concentrated on the newspaper, as if she hadn’t
already read every word. Jack remained engrossed in Sponge Bob
Square Pants on TV.

I looked at Elizabeth’s journal where
it lay open on the table. “And what’s with this?” I said to no one
in particular.

Another mystery, along with the rest.
An oddity I enjoyed exploring, but there had to be a reason it
turned up in my mailbox.

I grabbed the end of my braid and
tugged, growling deep in my throat with irritation. I’d go crazy if
my thoughts kept spinning. I needed a distraction. I needed energy.
I needed sugar. I went into the pantry and took my tattered old
Cookie Cookbook from the top shelf, where it sat with a dozen other
cookbooks I rarely use. No, I didn’t tatter it; I don’t bake much.
It was a spur-of-the-moment purchase from the local library’s used
book sale.

Mel and Jack zeroed in soon as I
pulled out flour and sugar.

“
This is very bad,” Mel
told Jack.

“
Yeah. She only bakes when
she’s really, really depressed. And using a hot oven in summer is a
big no-no.”

“
I’m right here,” I pointed
out as I flipped through the book. “In the kitchen, not five feet
away from you.”

“
The hotter the oven gets,
the hotter our Tiff gets.”

Mm. Oatmeal chocolate chip raisin
cookies. Did I have raisins? I went back in the pantry. I had
enough tiny boxes of raisins to make a double batch of
cookies.

“
And she ends up more
depressed because she can’t bake worth a darn,” I heard Mel
say.

I backed out with the raisins and
dropped them on the counter. “I am not depressed. I fancy a cookie,
is all.” Chocolate chips. I always have chocolate chips. Did I have
enough eggs?

I checked the fridge. Yup, plenty of
eggs. Now I needed spices and salt, which I got from the spice
drawer. I gathered everything together, got my big brown mixing
bowl from the cupboard, a wooden spoon from the jug on the counter,
and looked over the recipe, poised with spoon in hand.

Jack had waited with his next
statement till he was sure I’d hear it. “And she feeds it to
MacKlutzy and he gets fatter and she gets guilty.”

Mac snarled at them from his position
snuggled up against my feet, then his gaze turned all bright and
inquisitive as he watched me crack eggs in the bowl.

I smiled at him. “You like my cooking,
don’t you, Mac.”

“
He’s a dog. He’ll eat
anything,” Mel said. Mac turned his head and gave her the doggy
glare, eyes slit and ears flat on his skull. “You don’t frighten
me, you little turd,” she told him.

I measured flour, salt and spices in
the bowl and held it in the crook of one arm as I stirred. “Mac
appreciates - ”

“
What’s wrong, Tiff?” Royal
asked.

I dropped the mixing bowl. It broke on
the floor and the mess went all over the place. Mac jumped out the
way and got off lightly with a dusting of flour. He came back in to
attack the globs of half-mixed flour and eggs, but I dragged him
away before he could get a nasty little piece of broken crockery in
his mouth. “What’s wrong is some big asshole just made me drop
cookie mix all over the floor!”