by Julie Kenner
“Hmmm.” Laura leaned back against the counter, and I went back to my kid’s bottom. The rest of the house was pretty quiet. Stuart was in his study, and Allie and Mindy were camped out at the kitchen table doing homework. My family wasn’t my worry, though. I had things to do tomorrow, and I couldn’t do them with an eighty-five-year-old shadow.
“Laura,” I began, a wheedling tone to my voice.
“Oh, boy,” she said. “Here it comes.”
“Remember how you’d agreed to watch Timmy for two days? And remember how I took him to KidSpace today, so you only had to watch him for one?”
She crossed her arms over her chest and lifted one eyebrow. “Yeah?”
“Well, I was wondering if I could call in that marker.”
“I’m guessing we’re not talking a two-year-old.”
“About forty times that,” I said.
“Eddie.”
“Eddie,” I confirmed, trying to coax Timmy’s kicking feet into a pair of pajama bottoms. “I can’t leave him alone here.”
Laura took pity on me and dangled a toy over Tim’s head. He quit kicking and grabbed for it. “So you want what?”
“You were going to spend tomorrow bouncing around on the Internet, right? Can you do that from here? Set up my laptop at the kitchen table?”
“I could do that here,” she said. “What exactly do I get out of the deal again?”
I ensnared Timmy in a Bob the Builder pajama top and got it pulled over his head before he had time to howl. “My love and admiration,” I said to Laura. “Plus a lifetime of free desserts.”
“Sold,” she said. “But if he sprays me with holy water, you’re going to hear about it.”
I lifted Timmy to the ground, then patted his rump. He headed for the living room and story time on the couch. Laura and I followed behind. “Poor guy, believing he had holy water, and all along the nurses were just giving him tap water.” Her brow furrowed. “Do you think the nurses were just appeasing an old man? Or do you think they’re demons, too?”
Her words hit me with the force of a slap, and I stifled an urge to thwap the heel of my hand against my forehead. I grabbed her arm and tugged her back toward Timmy’s room, all the while hollering down the stairs for Allie to entertain her brother until I got there.
In the room I pulled the door shut. I was almost bouncing with excitement, and I saw my own energy reflected in Laura’s face. “What?” she said. “What have you thought of?”
“The nurses aren’t demons,” I said. “They’re pets. Or some of them are.”
“Pets,” she repeated. “As in Fluffy and Fido?”
“Sort of,” I said. “But not really.”
“Kate. I’m going to grow old here. . . .”
“Right. Sorry.” I ran my hands through my hair and started pacing Timmy’s room. “I should have realized this before. We don’t just need to be looking for Goramesh’s mysterious thing. We need to look for whoever’s going to be trying to get it for him.”
Laura blinked, and I realized I was going way too fast for her.
“Okay,” I said, “here’s the deal. Demons use humans. They can inhabit us when we die or they can possess us when we live or they can even move in and share space with us while we’re alive.”
“Eww!”
“I know. Time-sharing with a demon. Very yuck.” I waved my hand, pushing all those little educational tidbits away. “That’s not the point. The point is that demons don’t always take over humans. Sometimes they’ll just recruit people to do their dirty work.”
“Why?” she asked.
“Lots of reasons. Maybe they want a relic from a church to use in some gross demonic ritual.”
“So they’ll send a human to steal it?”
“Exactly,” I said. “And I’m betting that the people at the nursing home—most of them, at least—are just human. Most probably don’t even know there’s anything weird going on. But the others—”
“Like Nurse Ratched.”
I nodded. “—the others are the demons’ minions.”
She looked positively grossed out. “Why?”
I shrugged. “Who knows? The lure of power? Immortality? Demons lie. The bait could be anything. The point is they do things for the demons. Things the demons can’t or won’t do.”
“But—” I saw it in her face the moment she made the connection. “Oh! So you’re saying Goramesh must have someone who’s going to schlep into the cathedral and get whatever this thing is that we’re looking for.”
“Exactly.”
“Any ideas?”
“Nope.” I frowned. “Well, not a legitimate one anyway.”
“I’ll settle for illegitimate,” she said.
At the moment, frankly, so would I. With nothing concrete to go on, though, conjecture seemed good enough. I hated to even voice the suspicion. I drew a breath. “I was just thinking about Clark. If he really was expecting to inherit everything, but his father gave everything to the Church instead . . .” I trailed off, certain Laura would get my drift.
She didn’t disappoint. “And you know what they say about politicians—they’d sell their soul for a vote.” As soon as the words passed her lips, she gasped, then squeezed her eyes shut, obviously mortified. “Oh, shit, Kate. I didn’t mean—”
I shook my head, holding up a hand to ward off her words. The make-it-all-better mom in me wanted to pat her on the shoulder and tell her it was okay. I didn’t, though. Instead, I just stood there, her comment about politicians setting my thoughts to humming.
Stuart. The car accident he’d survived. His sudden and absolute certainty he’d win the election. And the mysterious trip to the cathedral archives.
I fought a shiver and closed my eyes. This couldn’t be happening. My husband couldn’t be in league with a demon.
Could he?
Sixteen
“It’s possible, Kate,” Larson said. “I hate to say it, but it is very possible.”
I’d arrived at Larson’s office a few minutes before eight, wanting to catch him before he took the bench. I’d called and canceled with Cutter, telling him I’d see him this evening with the girls. Now, though, I was almost sorry I’d come. Although Larson was saying words I’d expected, they were still words I didn’t want to hear.
“But Stuart? He’s hardly even religious. He only goes to Mass when I prod him.”
“Is that supposed to be an argument against consorting with demons?” he asked. I frowned, but Larson continued. “You’re the one who pointed out his quick recovery from the car accident.”
“No. No way.” I shook my head so hard I almost wrenched my neck. “I was just tilting at windmills, wasn’t thinking clearly.” I rubbed my head, trying to ward off a massive migraine. “And besides, I saw him in the church after the accident. He didn’t die. He was barely even injured.”
“Perhaps the injury was minor, but the impact more than you realize. A man can change his thinking when faced with his own mortality.”
“A deal with the Devil? Stuart? I don’t think so.”
“Your husband is an ambitious man, Kate. If he thinks that Goramesh can help him . . .” He trailed off, leaving me to draw my own conclusions.
I didn’t like the conclusions that were slipping into my head despite all my efforts to keep them out.
“Watch him, Kate. But if the time comes, you must stop him. It’s imperative we discover what Goramesh is searching for, and that we get it safely to the Vatican. If Stuart were to get to it first—”
“You’re talking as if we’re sure he’s involved.” My heart seemed to tighten in my chest.
“Until we know for sure that he isn’t, we have to assume as much.”
The bailiff poked his head in then, checking to make sure Larson was ready to take the bench. He left to go work, and I left to . . . what? Sulk? Worry?
No, as much as I wanted to do all of that, I had those damn responsibilities.
I got in my car and headed for the ca
thedral.
My cell phone rang as I was parking the car, and when I checked the caller ID, I saw that the call was coming from my house. Had Allie missed her ride? Had Eddie come out of his funk? Had Stuart come home? Was he looking for me? Did he know I was on to him? For that matter, was there anything to be on to, or was I just being paranoid, and Larson along with me?
I waited another ring and then pushed the talk button. “Hello?”
“Hey, it’s me.” Laura’s voice. (She would have been my next guess.)
“Do you have news?”
“You-know-who is driving me nuts,” she said, her voice just a hair above a whisper.
I cringed. “Sorry about that. What’s he doing?”
“Hovering,” she said. “He’s in watching television right now. He just keeps circling me and looking over my shoulder, and then he’ll mumble something about demons and go change the channel. It’s freaky, Kate.”
“Sorry,” I said again, uselessly. “Do you want me to come home?”
“No, no. I’ll be fine. Did you talk to him before you left this morning?”
“He was still asleep. How’s he look?”
“Better, actually. He’s driving me nuts, but he’s not spouting off as much. I can’t put my finger on it, but I think he’s clearer.”
“Good.” Better than good, actually. I needed Eddie not to be nuts. Especially if Larson’s (okay, my) suspicions about Stuart were true, I couldn’t afford to have Eddie revealing secrets. (That train of thought prompted another round of guilt. How could I think that about Stuart? My husband. Timmy’s father. The man I’d vowed to love, honor, and cherish. He wasn’t that ambitious. Was he? Was he?)
I drew in a breath and tried to get off that line of thinking. “Was that why you called? To report about Eddie?”
“Nope. Two things. Do you want the good news or the bad news?”
“Oh, please. The good news.”
“I found out that Brother Michael used to live at a monastery just outside of Mexico City. And guess what?”
“It’s the one that was recently ravaged by demons?” This was good news.
“Yup.” I could hear the excitement in her voice. “So that’s a connection, right?”
“It’s great,” I said. I kept my voice enthusiastic, but in reality, I wasn’t sure where to go from there. We already knew there was a connection. This confirmed it, but didn’t really add anything new. I wasn’t about to burst Laura’s bubble, though. “So what’s the bad news?”
“You’re hosting a playdate. Here. At three—”
“Shit.” I’d totally forgotten. I always check my calendar. Always, always, always. Except today.
Damn, what was I thinking? (Actually, I knew the answer to that one. I was thinking about demons, and the possibility that my husband, who I thought I knew so well, had hooked up with one. In the grand scheme of things, I suppose I had an excuse for forgetting a four-child playdate at which I was supposed to provide snacks, but that didn’t make me feel a whole lot better.)
“Did I screw up? Should I have canceled for you?”
“No, no. It’s my fault. I should have canceled days ago. I just forgot all about it.” I wondered vaguely what else I’d forgotten about, but decided it didn’t matter. Obviously, all my various obligations would eventually come and knock on my door.
We chatted a few more minutes, and I decided I’d hit the archives for a couple of hours, then the grocery store (cup-cakes, Teddy Grahams, fruit, and juice boxes). After that, I’d pick up Timmy and head home. Laura promised to hang around, just in case Eddie decided to slip back into demon paranoia and scare all the kids (or the parents) to death.
As soon as I hit the button to end the call, it rang again. I clicked back on, expecting Laura. “Did you forget something?”
“Nope,” Allie said. “This is so amazingly cool, Mom!”
I chuckled. When I’d given her the cell phone, I’d told her it was for emergencies only. But I should have known she couldn’t resist one or two calls.
“I’m glad you approve,” I said. “But what’s the emergency?”
“Huh?”
“Are you supposed to be using the phone without danger to life or limb?”
“Oops.”
I should have said something then, but I was too busy trying not to laugh.
“Well, I do sort of have an emergency.”
Considering the way my week was going, you’d think I would have tensed at that statement. But I knew my kid well. This emergency was no emergency. This emergency was an excuse to tread the wireless airwaves. “Okay,” I said. “I’ll bite. What’s the emergency?”
“Can me and Mindy go to the mall after school? Please, oh please, oh please?”
“You’re kidding, right?”
“No, Mom. Please?”
“Alison Crowe, do you even remember our deal?”
(Long silence.)
“Allie . . .”
“Um, what deal is that?”
Would it not have been so painful, I would have beat my head against the steering wheel. “Our deal that self-defense class comes first, and anything else you may have planned gets bumped.”
“Oh. That deal.”
“Mmmm.”
“We could go after . . .” That in a small, tentative voice.
I felt myself caving and struggled to remain strong. “What’s so important at the mall tonight?”
(Another long silence. This time, I had a feeling I knew why. Boys.)
“Allie . . . ?”
“Stan’s gonna be working tonight. We just want to say hi. Maybe have a Coke during his break.”
“We?”
“Mindy and me.”
I shook my head wearily. Only fourteen, and already my daughter was tag-teaming boys. Oh, well. At least she wasn’t sneaking off by herself. (For that matter, at least she wasn’t pregnant. That was a boy-girl-adolescent reality I really didn’t want to contemplate.)
“Is this the theater concession guy?” If so, I was going to have to say no. He might be a perfectly nice guy, but he had smelly breath, and that made him off limits until I was absolutely sure that it was just halitosis and not rampant demon stench.
“Oh, Mom. That’s Billy, and he’s so not the bomb.”
I presumed that meant he wasn’t her type. “So who is the guy?”
“He works at The Gap, and he’s so hot. Please, Mom. Please? He asked me specifically if I was going to be there. He likes me, Mom.”
“Is he a freshman, too?”
Another one of those pauses.
“Allie, believe it or not I have things to do today. Is he in your class?”
“I think he’s a senior,” she said.
“You think?”
“Well, I’ve only met him after school, but he hangs with the seniors, and if he likes me, then I can hang with them, too, and oh, Mom, you’re not going to say no, are you?”
She was talking so fast, I had to slow her words down in my head and replay them. I didn’t like the sound of this, but neither did I see an easy out. Parenting is a bit like walking a tightrope. Too little control and you fall right off. Too much, and you overcompensate and can’t move at all.
“Fine,” I finally said. “You can go. But I’m coming, too.”
I expected to hear a Mo-om, followed by another protest. Instead, she just sighed, then said, “Okay. Whatever. Thanks.”
I smiled, victorious. “Love you, sweetie. And shouldn’t you be in class?”
“First period’s study hall,” she said.
“Then go study something. And don’t make any more phone calls unless there’s blood or serious bodily injury.”
“Whatever, Mom,” she said, then hung up.
I glanced at the phone, the full import of what I’d just done settling in. I’d just agreed to spend an evening at the mall.
I think demons would be easier.
Since I didn’t have much time in the archives (what with the forgotten playdat
e), I decided to take a different approach. I figured it was a (relatively) safe bet that Goramesh wasn’t looking for papers. And, frankly, I was bored reading them.
Instead, I went through boxes one by one, pulling off each lid, and then moving to the next box if that one held only paper. I probably should have done this from the get-go, but I’d assumed that anything Goramesh might want would have been pulled for the archivist, and my best bet was to scour the paperwork looking for a clue. I hadn’t changed my mind about that, but the thought of reviewing more musty paper really didn’t appeal to me. I justified my diversion by telling myself that I might get lucky.
As it turned out, I did find some cool things, but nothing that jumped out as demon-worthy. I even found the carton with the little gold box that Mike Florence had donated to the Church. When I’d originally read the description on the IRS list, I’d been keen to look at it, but now that I held it, I wasn’t as impressed. When I opened it, I was even less excited. All I found was something that looked like ash. Some weird kind of urn, maybe?
I continued with this extremely scintillating task for another hour. (This weekend I was begging access from Father Ben, and I was going to make Larson come down here with me. Fair is fair.) Then, discouraged, I gathered my things. I paused for a minute in front of the archive cases, thinking how much easier it would be if everything in the basement archive was nice and clean and in lighted glass cases. But it wasn’t. Oh, well. At least I had it better than those martyrs, now hanging out in their cloth pouches.
Thinking about the martyrs steeled me. I wasn’t about to end up defeated. Goramesh was not going to win. I was going to stop him. Somehow, I was going to bring this to a close.
Reinvigorated, I headed to the rectory and tracked down Father Ben. I was hoping he’d tell me that Clark had been skulking around the archives as well. But no, apparently the only ones interested in the basement lately were me and Stuart.
This didn’t bode well. Not for my plans to defeat Goramesh.
And, more important, it didn’t look good for my marriage.