More Than Fiends

by Maureen Child

  Truthfully, I hadn’t given the kid another thought until just this minute. Now Logan was watching me, waiting for a reaction, and I didn’t know which one to give him. So I went for vague.

  “Really?”

  “Yes, really,” he snapped, cop face slamming down onto his features. “Jesus, Cassie, if you’re not going to read the papers, at least watch the news once in a while.”

  “Logan, there’s nothing to worry about.”

  “You’re wrong.”

  “This isn’t LA.”

  “No, right now it feels worse. There’s something…” He shook his head as if trying to search for the right words to describe what he was feeling.

  I felt bad for him, but, hey, I’d already tried to explain the demon situation, and he hadn’t wanted to hear it. No way was I going to get laughed at again. Crappy day, remember? So let him work this one out on his own.

  After a long minute or two, his breath left him in a rush. “All I’m saying is, you and Thea should be careful.”

  “We always are,” I assured him.

  Thankfully, Thea came bursting into the living room in the next second, ending the conversation.

  “Hi, Mom,” she called, apparently now officially speaking to me again. Then she spotted Logan, and her face froze up a little. “Hi, um…”

  Sugar lumbered to her feet, reluctantly left the food and went to greet Thea with the traditional nose to the crotch.

  “Logan,” he said to Thea, picking up on her indecision quickly. “If you can’t call me Dad, and that’s okay, you could call me Logan.”

  Thea shot me a look, and when I smiled, she looked back at her father and nodded. “Okay. Hi, Logan.”

  “Hungry?” he asked.

  Honestly, the man was very good. He already knew that the way to the Burke women’s hearts was through the stomachs.

  “Yeah,” she said and came right over, grabbing up a chicken leg and a napkin before flopping down onto the couch and folding her legs up under her.

  In the lamplight, her black hair shone like night, and her eyes, so much like Logan’s, pinned us both with curiosity. “So, what’s going on?”

  “Dinner,” I said bluntly.

  Logan grinned. “I just wanted to come and see you guys.”

  “You weren’t doing anything…gross, were you?”

  I waved my chicken wing at her, then shot a look at Logan that said, See? She wouldn’t be happy about us hooking up, so just keep your tiger caged.

  “Okay,” she said, reaching out one hand to pat Sugar. Since there was no chicken in that hand, the dog whimpered. “Mom going on dates with Mr. Delicious is one thing, but…” She shuddered.

  “Mr. Delicious?” I asked and pretended I didn’t hear Logan muttering something exceptionally unflattering under his breath.

  “Yeah, Devlin Cole is sooooo cool,” Thea said on a sigh that I’m sure irritated her father on many levels—which made me smile. I never claimed to be a good person.

  “Zoe and I were talking about what we’re gonna wear on Saturday,” Thea said, grabbing my attention.

  “Saturday?” Logan looked at me.

  I was blank for a second or two, and then it hit me. Damn, I’d been so busy the last couple of weeks, I’d forgotten all about the annual “end of summer” block party. “Is that this weekend?”

  “Well, yeah,” Thea said. “Last weekend in September, just like always.”

  “What?” Logan asked.

  Thea explained, so I just kept eating, listening with only half an ear as I thought about all the opportunities for demons to do some party crashing. This just wasn’t fair. Our street’s annual block party to celebrate the end of summer was a rite of passage. A time when we shut down the street to cars, pulled tables out onto the road and piled them high with all kinds of food.

  We always attached strings of lights from the trees, and the Marchetti boys provided the music by setting out their incredibly loud speakers. (It was the only day of the year when no one complained about them.) There was dancing and drinking and laughing and a generally great time, giving summer a send-off.

  Now I wouldn’t be able to enjoy it, because I’d be wandering around with my damn squirt bottle. Or keeping an eye out for thugs sent from Judge Jenks. Damn it, I couldn’t wait much longer to take care of this threat on Thea. I couldn’t protect her every day—especially when I didn’t know whom I was protecting her from.

  “Sounds like fun,” Logan said, shifting his gaze from Thea to me. “Is everybody invited?”

  I glanced at my darling daughter, and she was giving me that “Please, can I have a puppy?” look that had, years ago, brought Sugar into our lives. Now I knew she was wanting me to invite her father to the party.

  Somehow, Thea managed to look grown-up and like a little girl all at the same time. No way could I disappoint her, even if I’d rather not have Logan hanging around—just in case I had to dust some demons. But hell. If she wanted him there, why not?

  “Sure, Logan,” I said, forcing enthusiasm I didn’t really feel into my voice. “Party starts around five on Saturday.”

  He reached over and tugged at my hair. “Sounds great.”

  I spent the next couple of days doing ordinary things. You know, cleaning houses, dusting demons, the usual. But the more I tried to just lead my life, the more the threat of the judge kept bothering me. I mean, I’m the Duster, right? That should have gotten me some respect from the demons. A little fear wouldn’t have been out of line.

  But so far…nada.

  The judge wasn’t worried about me.

  So maybe it was time to give him a little something to think about.

  After I finished the last of my houses for the day, I went home and changed into some black slacks and a dark green, long-sleeved shirt. Then I put on some makeup—when heading out to make a threat to some hotshot demon, it’s best to go in with all the ammo you’ve got—and stepped into my black half boots. I threw my wallet and keys into my small Coach bag, then gave myself a good squirt with the demon spray. If Devlin didn’t like the smell of it, I was guessing the judge wouldn’t be real fond of it, either.

  Like I said. Ammo.

  Then I hopped into my VW Bug (on which I no longer owed a million and one easy payments) and drove to downtown La Sombra. I passed the bakery (silent applause for me, because I really could have used a cinnamon roll at the moment) and hardly noticed the last of the lingering tourists wandering the coast highway.

  On my left, the ocean was gray and roiling with whitecaps. Seagulls dipped and spun in the wind that tossed the fronds of the palm trees into a wild dance. On my right, shops sat crowded together, doors open, tempting the last of the summer dollars into their stores.

  But my mind was focused on the courthouse just up ahead. Inside, Judge Jenks would be presiding over the bench he’d ruled for years. He would be handing down sentences (no doubt still stripping innocent teenagers of their licenses) and in general enjoying being in charge of so many lives.

  After today, he wouldn’t be able to get any shits and giggles out of torturing me. I was going to call him out. Let him know that he didn’t worry me. That if he didn’t back off my daughter, I was going to send him into the giant dust-ball universe.

  I am Duster.

  Hear me roar.

  Chapter Eighteen

  The courthouse was pink.

  Not pink pink, but that soft pastel color that blossoms on old adobe buildings after years of weathering in the sun. More than a hundred years old, it was built in the old California style, looking more like one of the missions than a courthouse.

  Heavily carved double doors opened onto a cool, brick red tiled floor that glistened in the late-afternoon sunshine streaming in through leaded-glass windows. Silence hung in the air, almost daring you to speak above a whisper.

  It sort of felt like that depressing pall usually found in funeral homes. Great, Cassidy. Think about funerals. Way to go on the positive-thinking front.

&nb
sp; Only a handful of people were in the hall. In the late afternoon, most of the court’s business was finished, and these few lingerers weren’t going to stop me. I’m stubborn, in case you hadn’t noticed. Once I finally made up my mind on something, I pretty much stuck with it until it was done. I was going to talk to the judge. Get him to call his dogs off of Thea, even if it meant ripping out the old fart’s heart right there in the courthouse.

  The doors to the three courtrooms were closed, and small brass plaques announced which judge was on the bench in which room.

  But I knew where Judge Jenks was without looking. He’d been lording it over everyone from the same bench for years. The room had his personality (or lack thereof) stamped on it. No other judge would be able to work in that courtroom without holding an exorcism.

  My boot heels sounded overly loud, and a man in a black suit looked up as I passed. I nodded and kept walking. Didn’t know who he was. Didn’t care.

  Nervous?

  Oh yeah.

  But I wasn’t going to let the judge know it. Grabbing hold of one of the doors leading into the courtroom, I gave it a yank and stepped inside. Here, too, there were only a few people. I glanced at them all quickly, trying to decide without benefit of my squirt bottle who might be a demon.

  I checked out both attorneys seated at tables opposite each other, and wondered. Lawyers, demons—probably not much of a difference. Then I let my gaze linger for a long minute on the defendant. I’d been at that table once, and it wasn’t a comfortable spot to land in. The guy sitting there now, though, looked as comfy as though he were sitting on his mom’s couch.

  Clearly, he’d been there before. It would have taken me a week to read all the tattoos covering his body in a variety of colors. His eyes were flat and black, and I was pretty sure he, at least, was a demon. Reminding myself to keep an eye on him, I checked out the four other people in the courtroom. There were two bailiffs: One, short and thick, looked like a tree stump standing beside the defendant. The other was tall and gray haired, positioned before the bench like a statue, hands clasped in front of him.

  Demons? Who knew?

  Then there was the stenographer. Red hair, blue eyes and a great black suit with white pinstripes. She looked too tidy to be a demon, but she worked for Jenks, which meant she was a woman of unbelievable patience, or…

  Finally, I looked at the judge and jolted. He was staring at me. His blue eyes looked pale in his George Hamilton–tanned face. His thick white hair was swept back from his forehead, and his mouth was flattened into a grim, disapproving line.

  Reaching out blindly, I grabbed the back of the closest bench seat and slid down into it. My hands were suddenly shaking, so I grabbed hold of my Coach bag and tightened my grip. The attorneys were talking, but the judge’s gaze never left me.

  It felt like he was trying to see inside me, which was a really creepy feeling. Devlin hadn’t said anything about the judge having superpowers, though, so I was guessing that his usual creep factor seemed magnified since I knew what he really was.

  He smiled then. A brief curl of his lips that sent an icy jolt straight down my spine. Evil seemed to ripple off him in thick waves that swept out from the bench in ever-widening circles.

  Fear tasted like old pennies. Sort of coppery.

  My heart jolted in my chest, but I kept my gaze locked with the judge’s. I wasn’t going to let the old bastard know I was scared.

  The room felt shadowy, despite the weak spill of sunlight filtering through the window. A chill crawled through me, and the small hairs at the back of my neck stood straight up.

  Maybe this hadn’t been such a good idea after all.

  “Gentlemen,” the judge announced, his voice sonorous, his gaze still locked on me. “It seems we will not be reaching an accord this afternoon.”

  “Your honor—” the defense attorney protested.

  The prosecutor didn’t bother. He was already gathering up his papers and stacking them in his leather briefcase. Obviously, he’d been up in front of this judge before.

  “Mr. Denison,” the judge interrupted, “we’ll reconvene tomorrow morning at nine.” The judge picked up his gavel and smacked it hard on the round wooden disk sitting on his desk.

  While Tree Stump dragged the defendant out of the room in shackles (which I was glad to see), the attorneys packed up their gear and started out of the room. They walked past me, chatting like old pals, and in just a minute or two, I was alone in the courtroom with the judge, his stenographer and the tall bailiff.

  The quiet stretched on and on until I was pretty sure I was going to snap with the strain of not being the first one to talk. My dad always said that “he who speaks first loses power.” So what the hell: Let the judge get the ball rolling.

  “That’s all, Margaret,” he said finally, and my breath wheezed out in relief as the stenographer picked up her stuff and nodded at the judge. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”

  “Yes, your honor,” she said like a good little zombie and walked down the aisle and out the door, sparing me only a quick look.

  So, now it was just the judge, his trained ape and me.

  “The Duster,” Judge Jenks said with a nod so small and so brief it was almost as if it hadn’t happened at all. Since he’d announced me, I had to figure at least this bailiff was a demon. Sliding him a quick look, I saw his jaw tense and his fingers slide to the hilt of his billy club.

  “I wondered when you might come to see me.”

  His voice was scratchy now, as if he wasn’t worried anymore about sounding like a distinguished judge—or human. I glanced at the bailiff again. He looked seriously big and mean. Substantially more so than he had just a minute or two ago. Demon? Or stupid human?

  Only one way to find out for sure. I stood up and stepped into the aisle. “Hi, Judge,” I said, keeping my grip tight on the Coach. Poor bag would probably never be the same. “I got your message. You know, the one tied to a rock? Oh, and the other one shoved through my mail slot.”

  His mouth smiled, but nothing else on his face did. I got another chill. As a Demon Duster, I was pretty new at all this. As a mom, though, I was ready to do battle with the devil himself to protect Thea. So I forced a smile and pushed through the little swinging gate to stand in front of the bench. Had to tip my head back to look up at him, and I had the feeling he was enjoying that.

  “A bit dramatic,” the judge conceded in his nails-on-a-chalkboard voice, spreading his hands out as if in a shrug, “but effective.”

  The bailiff took a step closer, and I shot him a sideways look. He was big, but I had my spritzer in my bag and, hey, a hand that could whip through his chest, so I figured I could hold my own. Probably.

  Okay, so I was outnumbered. We were still in a courthouse—attached to the police station. There were way too many people around for them to try to kill me. I hoped. For now, anyway. In a weird way, maybe I was the one with all the power.

  Looking back to the judge, I kept the giant in my peripheral vision while I quietly unzipped my bag and wrapped my fingers around my atomizer of death. Made me feel better just holding it. I’d gone there to force things into the open. To let the judge know I wasn’t going to back down and no way was he going to lay a single claw on Thea.

  “Look,” I said, pretty reasonably if I do say so myself, “I’ll make you a deal. You leave Thea the hell alone, and I won’t dust you.”

  A second ticked past. And then another. I was just starting to congratulate myself on reaching a truce when the judge started laughing. Not some little amused chuckle, but a flatout, you-crack-me-up roll of laughter that filled the room with an almost-solid darkness.

  Okay. I swallowed hard, curled my fingers around my handy-dandy spritzer, then dropped my bag and back-stepped, keeping some distance between me and the bailiff, who was looking as if he’d like to do a little Duster kicking.

  I flicked the judge another glance and saw that all traces of laughter were gone from him now. We were going to
get down to business.

  Why the hell hadn’t I brought someone along with me? Who was I all of a sudden? Wonder Woman? Uh…no. I was too new at this to be facing down a guy like the judge, and as every second ticked past, I felt my confidence dribbling away in a slow but steady stream.

  “You are becoming too much of a pest, Duster,” Jenks said, folding his hands on his desktop and pinning me with those icy blue eyes. “You’re interfering with the flow of my business concerns, and I’m afraid I can’t tolerate that.” He tipped his head to one side. “I have run this town for more than forty years. And you are becoming a nuisance.”

  I couldn’t seem to look away, and that really pissed me off. Maybe that’s just what I needed. A little blast of pure mad to get under my skin enough to wipe out the nerves still scraping me raw. Then the color of his eyes shifted, swirling with different shades of darkness, shadows danced, flames burned, and just for a second, I was pretty sure they went blank and empty.

  Way creepy.

  But enough to snap me out of my “hypnotized rabbit in front of a cobra” mood.

  “Well,” I said, trying for bravado and hoping to hell my voice didn’t crack. “Any little thing I can do.”

  “You can’t stop me,” he said, as if I hadn’t spoken. “This is my city. And it will continue to be so long after you’re gone.”

  “What’re you? King?” I laughed, and he didn’t like that. Well, yay for my side. “You’re just another demon with delusions of grandeur.”

  His eyes narrowed. “You’re a fool. Do you think you’re the first to try to end me? You’re not.” He slapped his palms flat on his desk, and I was pretty sure the windows rattled. “I’ve survived longer than you can imagine, and I’ve left the bodies of my enemies strewn behind me like so much trash.”

  “Littering?” Oh God. Have I mentioned that when I’m nervous I tend to say the wrong thing at the wrong time? Well, I do.