Demons are Forever: Confessions of a Demon-Hunting Soccer Mom

by Julie Kenner

  At least that was what I told myself. And I really think that I was mostly being honest. But even so, I have to admit that a small part of me hoped that she wouldn’t be too curious. Because once you truly know about evil, it’s hard to be a kid anymore. And I didn’t want to be the mother who’d ripped what was left of childhood out from under her daughter.

  She took a look around the grounds, taking in the wooden gazebo and the crushed stone paths. Birds-of-paradise and other tropical flowers that thrive in California lined the walkways, marking the way back to the museum in one direction and the San Diablo City Park in the other. Except for us, there was no one to be seen, and after a few moments of silence, I guess Allie decided we had time to hit a few more of the high points.

  “So Gramps and Mr. Long,” she began. “How come they were with you? Are they with that Forza thing?”

  “Gramps was,” I said, referring to Eddie Lohmann, an eighty-something retired Demon Hunter who had taken up temporary residence in our guest bedroom and permanent residence in our life. Allie was under the impression that Eddie was her long-lost great-grandfather, and that wasn’t an illusion I felt compelled to dissolve. “He’s been retired for quite a while.”

  “And Mr. Long?”

  Wasn’t that a loaded question? But I fielded it the best I could, explaining that David Long was not just a mild-mannered high school teacher, but also a rogue demon hunter. In other words, a hunter not affiliated with Forza. He was also, I added, a friend of Allie’s father. Which, for all I knew, was the God’s honest truth. Because as much as I might suspect that Eric was somehow hiding in David’s body, at the same time, I might simply be grasping at straws, desperate to believe that my first love hadn’t really perished that foggy night in San Francisco. That somehow the man who’d been my lover and my partner for so many years could still be alive.

  It was almost too much to hope for, and at the same time, if David was Eric, what would that mean for me? For my kids? For my marriage?

  I didn’t know, and every time I tried to think about it, I got lost in a quagmire of emotion so thick that I was certain I could drown in it if I wasn’t careful.

  Allie started walking again, and I shoved the melancholy aside and moved into step beside her, forcing my thoughts back to my daughter and away from Eric.

  “Al?” She was hugging herself, her gaze directed back toward the museum. As I watched, she shivered, her back and shoulders spasming as if the cold finger of Death himself had traced its way up her spine. “Al!” I repeated, this time more urgently, and with my hand on her shoulder. “Are you okay?”

  She turned to look at me, her eyes haunted. “You aren’t still ... I mean, that thing could have killed you, Mom.”

  “But it didn’t,” I said gently, trying desperately not to cry. My daughter had lost a father only too recently; the idea that she now feared losing her mother about broke my heart.

  “You’re retired now, right?” she asked with an unfamiliar urgency in her voice. “Like you said. You and Daddy retired before I was born.”

  I hesitated, knowing that I should tell her the truth. That I’d come out of retirement a few months ago and that lately I’d been neck-deep in demons. My head told me to say the words, but my heart wouldn’t cooperate.

  So I lied. Or, to be technical, I repeated one truth and neglected to mention another. “Right,” I said. “Daddy and I retired.”

  Her whole body relaxed and I knew that I’d made the right decision. Yes, I needed to tell her the truth. But considering what she’d just been through, the truth could wait a while. It was one thing for Allie to know the truth about my past—and to know I survived it. It was another thing altogether to have her worry about me every time I went out at night. Since I already worried about her every second she was out of my sight, I knew what a burden that could be. And it wasn’t something I intended to dump on my kid. Not so long as I could help it, anyway.

  We walked a bit more in silence before she turned to me again. “So, what I don’t get is how come you were there,” she said. “In the museum, I mean.”

  “To rescue you, baby.”

  She rolled her eyes again. “Yeah, that part I got. But if you’re not in this Forza thing anymore, then how did you know where to find me? And how’d you know that I’d been taken by demons and not just by a bunch of creepy guys?”

  “We have David to thank for that,” I said, which wasn’t entirely true. But the truth would require admitting that I was back on active duty with Forza, and I’d already ruled that out.

  “So what about Stuart?” she asked. “He doesn’t know, right?”

  Astute kid. “No,” I admitted. “He doesn’t.”

  “Why?”

  Another big question, but this one I was prepared to answer. “Because when I met Stuart, my demon-hunting days were long behind me. He fell in love with a single mom with a great kid who happened to be a lousy cook and a mediocre housekeeper.”

  “Mediocre? Puh-lease.”

  “Compared to the way you keep your room,” I countered with a laugh, “I’m mediocre. And the point is that my past wasn’t part of the equation. So I’ve always thought it would be unfair to spring it on him now.”

  “Yeah,” she said, after pondering that for a bit. “I guess that makes sense.”

  I’m glad she thought so, because I needed her to help keep my secret. As it was, I expected that I’d soon have to come clean with Stuart anyway. As much as I feared that the truth would drive a wedge into our marriage, I was equally afraid that keeping secrets would do the exact same thing.

  “The whole thing’s kinda freaky,” she said as we headed back toward the parking lot. “But it’s pretty cool, too,” she added, flashing a wide smile. “My mom, the superhero.”

  A little trill of satisfaction caught me by surprise. Having your teenager say you’re cool is a rare treat, and one that must be savored.

  “What about Aunt Laura? Does she know?”

  Laura Dupont lives directly behind us and also happens to be my best friend.

  “Yes,” I admitted. “Laura knows.” “Um.” She chewed a bit on her lower lip as she processed that tidbit of information. “So, then, I can tell Mindy?” she finally asked, referring to her best friend and, conveniently enough, Laura’s daughter.

  “I don’t know. Let me think about it. And let me talk it over with Laura. It’s a big deal knowing demons are out there. That may be more than you want to lay on a friend.” It had been more than I’d wanted to share with Laura, but she’d stumbled across my secret and I’d had no choice. Now, I was glad she knew. Everyone needs a confidante, and even though the rules of Forza require ultimate secrecy, some rules scream to be broken.

  We walked a bit more in silence until Allie stopped abruptly, anxiety coloring her face. “Oh, God, Mom,” she said, making me totally fear the worst. “I can still go back to Coronado after the Christmas break, right? I mean, just because there was a demon in the surf club, that doesn’t mean I have to switch to a private school or anything. Does it?”

  “That’s it?” I said, completely unable to keep my amazement—and relief—to myself. I’d just told her that not only had demons infiltrated her school, but that her mother, her father, her (pseudo) great-grandfather, and her chemistry teacher had all been Demon Hunters by trade. And the primary question on her mind was whether or not she was going to stay at the same high school? “That’s what you’re worried about?”

  Call me crazy, but I was expecting ... I don’t know. Fear, yes. But once that was quelled, I thought there would be more. Fireworks. Teenage angst. Huffing and stomping and storming about. Accusations about keeping secrets. Possibly even the silent treatment.

  I’d been expecting that, prepared for it, even. And I’d also been expecting that at the end of all the shock, she’d beg to follow in her parents’ footsteps. I figured she’d plead for a trip to Rome. Want to meet Father Corletti. At the very least insist on keeping a stiletto and a vial of holy water in
her purse.

  Honestly, that was one of the reasons I’d held off so long on this talk. Because that’s not a life I want for my daughter. I want her safe, secure in her home, tucked into bed at night, and not worrying about monsters in the closet or walking the streets. I agreed to come out of retirement to make San Diablo a safer town, after all. Tossing my daughter into the fray wasn’t part of what I was hoping to accomplish.

  Apparently, though, I worried for nothing. Because I got none of that. Not then, not during the remainder of our walk back to the museum parking lot, and not during the entire four weeks of Christmas vacation. Instead, I just got ... well, Allie. A slightly more introspective version of Allie, maybe, but nothing to suggest there’d been any life-changing mother-daughter talks in the last few weeks.

  “She has a lot to absorb,” Laura said on a balmy Thursday in January, just a few days before school was scheduled to start up again. “Give her time. Before you know it, she’ll be begging to wield a stiletto and learn how to identify a demon on sight.”

  At her use of the word demon, I turned toward the doorway, the reaction automatic since I knew perfectly well that the house was empty. In a rare moment of domesticity, Stuart had taken Allie and Timmy to the mall for an afternoon of exchanging presents and scouring sales, and Eddie was at the library, more interested in the librarian than the books.

  “Thanks,” I said as Kabit, our cat, twined between my legs in the vain hope of snagging some cream. “That makes me feel so much better.”

  Laura peered at me over the rim of one of my festive holiday mugs, currently brimming with cocoa and whipped cream. “She’s a teenager, Kate. Just because she’s scared for you doesn’t mean that she’s scared for her. After all, you’re old and creaky. She’s young and invincible.” She skimmed her finger through her whipped cream and held her finger down to Kabit, who immediately abandoned me and trotted to her. “And she did tell you that the demon-hunting thing was cool, right?”

  I nodded. That she had.

  “She’s processing,” Laura said. “Along with boys and cheerleading and school, she’s processing the fact that she was kidnapped by a demon and her mother used to be a Demon Hunter.” She nailed me with a significant look; I’d confessed to Laura my flat-out lie about no longer hunting demons, and my best friend was not exactly supportive of my decision. “Once she’s worked it all out in her head, she’s going to want to know more. And if you don’t tell her that you’re still hunting, you’re just going to dig yourself in deeper and deeper.”

  I scowled at my Santa Claus mug. In truth, Laura had a point. A sharp, painful point that I couldn’t ignore, even though I wanted to. I’d seen fear in Allie’s eyes and so I’d lied about my hunting. I’d been trying to make things better, and by doing that, I’d probably made them ten times worse. “It will be okay,” I said firmly, more to convince myself than Laura.

  The corner of her mouth twitched.

  “What?” I demanded, feeling surly.

  She smiled into her cocoa. “Just picturing the battle between you and Allie when the truth comes out.”

  “And that’s funny?”

  A tiny shrug. “The odds. Because between you and a demon, my money’s on you any day of the week. But between you and Allie? Kate, you don’t stand a chance.”

  l’ve lived in San Diablo for over fifteen years now. Eric and I moved here from Los Angeles while I was pregnant with Allie. And although I know the town pretty well, it’s only been since last summer that I’ve really gotten a feel for it. For all of it—the good sections and the bad.

  For the most part, San Diablo is a nice little town. That’s why Eric and I came, after all. We were looking for a demon-free zone in which to live out our retirement and raise our baby. At the time, we thought San Diablo was just the ticket. After all, the historic cathedral that forms the focal point of the town is so infused with the blood and bones of saints that we were certain demons would want no part of the place.

  Clearly, we were wrong.

  I met my first San Diablo demon right before the school year started. Since then, I’d been spending much of my free time poking around dark alleys, strolling down the boardwalk long after most responsible humans have headed off to bed, and roaming the halls of the hospital and nursing home.

  Over the holidays, I’d cut back to about one patrol per week. To be honest, after battling the demon Asmodeus and his minions for the life of my daughter, I was experiencing a little touch of demon-hunter burnout. Moreover, I didn’t want Allie to wake up and not find me there. The cops had warned about post-traumatic stress resulting from the kidnapping. I figured they didn’t know the half of it. She might seem fine on the outside, but I was worried about her inside, too.

  On the Saturday before school started up again, though, Allie was spending the night at Mindy’s, and I was feeling the need to get back in the groove.

  I tend to approach patrolling from two directions. On the one hand, I’ll occasionally do sweeps through the town, simply keeping an eye out for anything suspicious. As you might expect, that method rarely produces results. I’ve gotten lucky once in a while, but for the most part the only purpose these broad-based patrols serve is to remind the demons that there’s a hunter in town. A subtle suggestion that they should hop on Charon’s ferry and sail back into Hades.

  I tend to have more luck with my second method. Every morning, I scour that day’s Herald for articles about recent near-misses—car wrecks that people miraculously survive, near-drownings, heart attack victims brought back to life after an astoundingly long bout of CPR.

  Most people celebrate those kinds of miracles. Me, I’m suspicious. Because newly dead bodies are a demon waiting to happen. The human soul moves out, the demon moves in. Trust me. It happens more than you’d think.

  I was pretty sure, in fact, that it had happened just the day before. That morning, I’d noticed a short article near the back of the Metro section. A local businessman named Jacob Tomlinson had recently downed a bottleful of sleeping pills, then decided to swim toward Hawaii. A fisherman had pulled his body out and managed to resuscitate the despondent Mr. Tomlinson. The newspaper called the rescue “miraculous.” I had a different perspective.

  Since it takes a demon a few days to get up to full strength once it’s moved into a fresh body, I always follow up on these articles. That’s why I decided to go to the beach Saturday night. Demons—like criminals—tend to return to the scene.

  San Diablo’s northernmost coastline is rocky and unfriendly, and both Saint Mary’s Cathedral and the Coastal Mists Nursing Home are perched high on cliffs overlooking the rough terrain. The jagged rocks and hostile topography, however, gradually fade to the traditional sandy beach as the coastline extends south, finally opening up to wide, inviting beaches that overflow with tourists and locals during the summer months.

  That part of the coastline is dotted with parks, public beaches, and private marinas. Since the fisherman had launched his boat from the city beach near the Old Town section of San Diablo, that’s where I planned to head once everyone in the house fell asleep.

  I assumed I’d be out the door by one.

  Naturally, I assumed wrong.

  “Less than one week,” Stuart said, easing up behind me and hooking his arms around my waist. I was occupied with scrubbing a saucepan, trying to coerce a greasy, gooey mess off the bottom, since I knew our dishwasher was incapable of battling that level of sludge. Considering the press of my husband against me, though, I was fast becoming less concerned about the cleanliness of our dishes.

  “Just a few more days,” he said, “and then I formally announce. Hard to believe this time next year I could be the San Diablo County Attorney. Or not.”

  I heard the tinge of insecurity in his voice and shifted my position, grabbing a dishtowel for my wet hands so I didn’t soak the man. “Don’t even think that way,” I said, lifting my damp arms to circle his neck. “You’ve got more support than anyone.”

  “May
be,” he said, but I saw the truth of my statement in his eyes.

  I batted him with the rag. “Don’t give me that. You’re going to win this race, and you know it. As far as everyone on the PTA is concerned, it’s a done deal. Lose now, and you’ll be screwing me out of prime committee picks. And I really don’t want to be in charge of the clean-up crew for the Spring Fling.”

  That worked, and he laughed. “Fair enough. For you, I’ll win the race.” He leaned in and kissed the tip of my nose. “And I’ll do it even though you’d probably rather I lost.”

  I immediately blurted out a denial. But at the same time, I stiffened a little. Because even though I knew how much winning the county attorney seat would mean to Stuart, at the same time I was selfish enough to want my husband back. Lately, his nights and weekends had been spent campaigning rather than cuddling. And I rather missed the latter.

  If I had him back, though, he might be more clued in to the goings-on around the house. Little things like, oh, that his wife hunts demons in her spare time.

  All in all, it would probably be for the best if Stuart won the race. If nothing else, his late nights at the office made it easier to keep my secrets.

  I turned back to the dishes, just in case he could read my expression. I pretty quickly realized, though, that deep, introspective conversations weren’t on the agenda tonight. “Timmy’s sound asleep,” he said, his lips brushing the back of my ear, the sweet sensation sending a little trill down my spine. “And Allie’s over at Mindy’s.”

  “That’s very interesting information,” I said, unable to keep the smile out of my voice.

  “We have an unopened bottle of Merlot.”

  “Also good to know.”

  “And if you scoot over, I’ll help you with the dishes.”

  “Now that’s the way to a woman’s heart,” I said, shifting to the left to make room for him.

  True to his word, he pitched in and the kitchen was quickly transformed from disaster area to presentable. It wasn’t Better Homes and Gardens, but it probably never would be.