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

by Julie Kenner

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said, which happened to be the God’s honest truth. Considering the trowel he had pressed against my neck, I was hardly in any position to bargain. Still, though, I couldn’t resist. “And even if I did, I wouldn’t give it to you.”

  I held my breath—not hard to do since he’d mostly cut off my air supply—and wondered if I’d gone one step too far. He obviously thought I had something he needed. I was banking on him wanting it badly enough that he kept me alive.

  “Foolish Hunter,” he hissed, the stench of his breath almost enough to kill me without the trowel. “His followers gather. We will free him from the shackles of his prison. We will make him whole.”

  Free him? My heart stuttered a bit as I remembered Tomlinson’s words. “Free who? Andramelech?”

  He bared his teeth in acknowledgment, his eyes burning red with fury.

  “Where is he?” I insisted. “Where is he imprisoned?” As I spoke, I twisted, trying to upset his balance or get free enough to grab Timmy’s green plastic rake, laying in the muck mere inches from my fingertips. But there are only so many things you can do with a sharp metal point pressed hard against your neck, and at the moment, escaping wasn’t one of them.

  “Give it to us,” he insisted. “Or vengeance will be ours.”

  He shifted the trowel then, so that the handle rather than the metal point pressed against my neck. He was still sitting on me, my hands and hips crushed under his weight. I struggled to breathe, the world turning a hazy red and then sharply gray, as if someone had flipped it inside out.

  I was losing consciousness, and no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t hang on. I had no strength. No energy. No ...

  “Aaaaaaghhhh!”

  Suddenly, the trowel was off my neck, and as I gasped for breath, chocolate chip cookies rained down upon me.

  I didn’t waste any time pondering that oddity. Instead, I clambered to my feet, coughing and choking even as I reached for Timmy’s rake. Laura stood frozen behind the demon, her expression absolutely terrified. Apparently she’d clobbered him with a Pampered Chef stoneware cookie sheet, and he didn’t appear to be too happy about it.

  As he lunged at my best friend, I launched myself back into the fray, my son’s plastic rake my only weapon.

  The demon had reached her, sending her scurrying backward behind the storage shed. “Laura, watch out!” I called, but it was too late. She stepped onto a curve of broken pot, fell backwards, and landed heavily on her arm.

  I heard the snap of bone even from a few yards away. So did the demon, and he was on her in a nanosecond. I was just as fast, though, and I tackled him before he could get her. We rolled over and over, my anger fueling my actions. Anger at myself for foolishly being unprepared for an attack in my own backyard. And anger at the demon for going after my best friend.

  He reached out, clawing for my neck, but this time, I kept my balance and footing. And I was pissed.

  I knocked his arm away, then twirled the rake around like a baton until the handle was facing him. One solid punch to the face with my free hand—just because I felt like it—and then bam, I drove the rake home.

  This time, I didn’t miss his eye. The dense plastic sank in, and the demon was sucked out.

  I allowed myself one sigh of satisfaction, then crawled through the muck to Laura.

  “Damn, this hurts,” she said, her face a little green.

  “You could have gotten yourself killed,” I countered.

  She hugged her arm close to her chest. “Yeah,” she said through gritted teeth. “Well in comparison, maybe this isn’t so bad after all.”

  I put an arm gingerly around her and squeezed her tight. “Thank you,” I said. “You scared me to death, and if you ever do anything like that again, I’ll kill you myself. But thank you.”

  “Any time,” she said. “And sorry about the cookies. I know Timmy loves chocolate chip.”

  “That’s okay,” I said, climbing to my feet so that I could help her up. “I think this play date is over.”

  “I haven’t been in a cast since I was eleven,” Laura said, looking mournfully at the chunk of white plaster that now encased her forearm.

  The doctor chuckled. “This only proves how young at heart you are.”

  “It proves how much of a klutz I am,” she countered, bolstering our story about how she’d tripped in my backyard. We’d wanted to come up with something a bit more original, but Fran and the rest were in my house, and they’d witnessed Laura’s ignominious entrance. Of course by that time I’d hidden the demon’s body under the tarp that Stuart had used to cover the pile of topsoil. And at the first opportunity, I’d called Father Ben and begged him to deal with the body before Stuart got home.

  I’d driven Laura to the emergency room, and Fran had taken Timmy and Elena back to her house. I wasn’t happy that Laura had been injured, but I also knew that it could have been a lot worse. And for that, I said a silent prayer of thanks.

  For that matter, I’d been mostly silent for the last twenty or so minutes. Because my soon-to-be-single friend—now happily hyped up on Vicodin—was chattering on with the doctor about anything and everything.

  “Well,” he said. “I think you’re good to go.”

  “What now?” she asked, lifting her arm.

  “I’m going to have the nurse come in with a referral slip and a prescription for painkillers. I want you to see Dr. Kline in a few days to follow up.” He turned to me. “What about you?” he said, tapping his temple.

  My hand automatically went to my own injury. “It’s nothing.”

  “You trip and fall, too?”

  Laura giggled, the reaction presumably the result of the Vicodin. “More or less,” she said.

  “Hmm.” Finally, the doc nodded. “Keep some antibiotic ointment on it,” he said. “And you might consider a tetanus booster.”

  “Right. Absolutely. No problem.”

  He nodded at me, then turned to go. He paused in the doorway and flashed Laura a smile as white as his lab coat. “Keep me posted,” he said. And then he was gone.

  Laura released a very long sigh.

  I laughed. “Careful, Laura. You’re not single yet.”

  “I’m pretty damn close,” she said dryly. “We’ve filed the paperwork, and as soon as our sixty days are up, it will be final.”

  I frowned, and rolled a stool over so I could sit in front of her. “Laura, are you sure? All these years. Maybe you can work it out.”

  She shook her head. “No. I’ve been thinking about this for a long time now.” She lifted a shoulder. “It’s over. He had an affair. End of story. There’s no going back from that for me. I can forgive a lot, but not cheating. Never that.”

  “I know,” I said. “I couldn’t either.”

  She leaned forward, propping her forehead in the palm of her uninjured hand. “God, Kate. How did I get here? How the hell did I get to the point where I’m flirting with doctors?” She held a hand up before I could comment. “No, don’t answer that. I don’t even want to go there.”

  “All right,” I said, unable to keep the smile out of my voice. “What shall we talk about? Maybe we could take bets on whether Dr. Kline is more or less cute than your jailbait ER friend.”

  “He’s at least thirty,” Laura said.

  “Uh-huh.”

  She pointed a finger at me. “Be nice to me,” she said. “I know your secrets.”

  “Damn. You’re right. I’m stuck with you as a friend forever.

  That earned a genuine laugh. “I’d say we’re stuck with each other. Who else would put up with us?”

  I glanced at the door. “Doc Cutie Pie looked interesting...”

  She smacked me with her free hand, and I shut up.

  “Changing the subject to something less dangerous,” she said. “Why the hell did I bean a demon with my best stoneware?”

  “Because you love me and didn’t want me to die at the hand of someone whose breath smell
ed worse than day-old broccoli?”

  “Well, yes. Obviously. But why was Broccoli Breath in your yard?”

  “I’m not sure,” I said. “But it was pretty ballsy. The middle of the day. Other people around. That’s not the usual modus operandi for the general demon population.”

  “He must have wanted to get you pretty bad,” Laura said.

  “I think he was more interested in some stone than in me,” I said, then gave her the rundown of the demon’s demands.

  “But what stone?” she asked. “And isn’t it bizarre that David was attacked out of the blue, too? Although I guess you guys are the only Hunters in town. If they’re looking for something all demon-spookylike, you two would be the ones to harass.”

  “Mmm,” I said, not particularly thrilled about being on that particular hot seat. But I’d gone in with eyes wide open, so I could hardly complain now. Still ...

  “Eddie’s a Hunter, too,” I said. “And considering the way David just popped up out of the blue, who knows? Maybe San Diablo is flooded with rogue Hunters that I don’t know anything about.” uddenly I was feeling a bit less special. If San Diablo was well-protected, maybe my return to the workforce wasn’t necessary after all. I could quit, return to my old way of life, and just be Kate Connor, toddler-wrangling soccer mom.

  Honestly, I wasn’t sure how I felt about that possibility.

  I dropped Laura back at her house, then called Fran to check on Timmy. After she informed me that both he and Elena were napping on Fran’s living room floor, I decided to head for Cutter’s studio. Brian, the demon, and Laura’s arm had foiled my plan to get in a workout. But there were a few things I wanted to talk with him about, and I figured now was a good time to do it. After all, I knew better than to interrupt Timmy’s nap. Trust me, a demon has no fury like a little boy deprived of sleep.

  Cutter’s place—the Victor Leung Martial Arts Academy— is in a strip shopping center right at the entrance to our subdivision. I’d originally picked the place because of its proximity to my house and the 7-Eleven next door, which meant I could work out and stock up on milk all in the same trip.

  The name had been a draw, too, but I’d quickly learned that Victor didn’t exist. Sean Tyler, aka Cutter, had made it up, rightly figuring that it would more effectively draw in the customers.

  In fact, Cutter shouldn’t have had to resort to such blatant advertising ploys. He’s one of the best martial arts experts I’ve ever met, and his resume is as long as my arm. He’s a black belt several times over and he put his skills to practical use in the military.

  His best qualification, though? He’s patient. He’s known since the first day I laid him out that I had a secret or two— call it stereotyping if you want to, but there aren’t that many near-forty moms who could take down a former Special Ops commando—and yet he’s never pushed me to reveal anything about my past. The strong, silent type—that’s Cutter. And although I’ve known him for less than a year, I already knew I could trust him with my life. I could probably trust him with my secret, too. But I wasn’t quite ready to go there yet.

  He was finishing up a kickboxing class as I came in, and nodded for me to wait for him. Usually I work out a minimum of three times each week, but over the holidays, I’d cut back, and I have to admit it was nice to see him again.

  I sat in one of the chairs along the side of the dojo and watched the class work. Most of them were women, and most I recognized—moms who lived in the neighborhood, taking advantage of the time when their kids were in school to get a good workout.

  For the most part, their form was decent. But this was all about toning and building self-confidence. Maybe the guttural yell would scare off an attacker, but maybe it wouldn’t. And I’d hate to think what would happen if a demon passed one of these women in a dark alley and decided to cause a little mischief. One dead housewife might make a nice home for a waiting demon, after all.

  I shivered a little, not liking the direction of my thoughts. There was a reason I’d agreed to come out of retirement, and those women were part of it. Even if San Diablo overflowed with rogue Demon Hunters turned high school chemistry teachers, I knew I’d stay on. My work might be secret, but it was important. And even though they didn’t know it, those women were depending on me.

  I spent the next five minutes watching Cutter finish the class. As they kicked and shifted and bounced, I watched and coached and silently urged them to chamber a little bit tighter, keep their arms a little bit stiffer, plant their feet a little bit harder.

  Finally, Cutter dismissed the class and headed in my direction. “What do you think?”

  “They look good,“ I said.

  “Not as good as you,“ he said with a grin.

  “If they did, you’d be out of work.”

  “True enough.“ He headed toward his desk and I followed. “Just give me a few minutes and we can work out.”

  “Not today.“ I wasn’t dressed for a workout, but it wasn’t unusual for Cutter to assume that’s why I was there. I’d long ago convinced him that I had no intention of wearing a gi to work out. Why should I? I’d never once met a demon who would let me run home and change.

  “No?“ he said, stopping short of his desk, so that he was right in front of me, with no barrier between us. ”In that case, to what do I owe the pleasure? Or is this the day I finally learn your secrets, Kate Connor, woman of mystery?”

  He said the last in such a deep, melodramatic voice, that I had to laugh. “What do you think?”

  “I think I’m out of luck again. Tossed aside. Kicked to the curb. No, no. Don’t try to make me feel better. I know I’m just a black belt to you.”

  “But a charming black belt.”

  He grinned. “Well, yeah. That part goes without saying.”

  “Actually, you’re not too far off the mark. I’m not here to reveal all, but I was hoping to get a little help from you.”

  He immediately turned serious—another reason I liked Cutter so much. “Whatever you need.”

  I hesitated a little bit. Other than Allie and Laura, I hadn’t shared the details of the Eric mystery with anybody. But the truth was, I wanted help. More, I needed it.

  And, yes, I trusted Cutter. So maybe this was my way of testing him. Get his help with a smaller secret, and work my way up to the bigger one.

  “Do you remember that time you bumped into me in the bank?”

  “You’d found a safe-deposit box key and you were trying to figure out which bank to go to.”

  “Right,“ I said. “And I did.”

  He waited patiently, and for that I gave him even more credit.

  “I found the box, and it had a single slip of paper in it. A note from my first husband.”

  “I’m guessing it wasn’t good news?”

  “He was murdered, Sean.”

  Pity and sadness filled his face. “Oh, Kate,“ he said, and the pain in his voice so reflected my own deep hurt that I couldn’t hold the tears back. They flowed down my cheeks, my shoulders shaking with the effort to pull them back in, to make it so that this had never happened.

  Cutter said nothing, just pulled me close so that my face was pressed against his shoulder and let me cry it out.

  I let him hold me as I tried to control my breathing, my body trembling with the effort of fighting to regain control. After a moment, I finally had it together enough to pull back and wipe my eyes and nose with the tissue he silently handed me.

  “I’m sorry,“ I said.

  “Don’t be.“ Then he grinned and wiped at his now-damp shoulder. “Although I will say that you do always seem to be dousing me with water.”

  I rolled my eyes at his feeble attempt at humor. During our first meeting, I’d splashed him with holy water. Just to be on the safe side.

  “Feel better?”

  “Yes,“ I admitted. “And no.“ The no was for the embarrassment factor. And I was tempted to go out on the mat with him, just to prove that I could beat him up despite crying on hi
s shoulder.

  “Don’t worry about it,“ he said, apparently understanding. “If your husband was murdered, I think you have cause to be a little shook up. Are you sure?”

  “Pretty sure.“ I explained that the note led to another one, and between the two, insinuated that Eric had gotten in over his head with something, but I didn’t know what. That much, of course, was true. I conveniently neglected to mention that I knew the general subject of Eric’s involvement—demons.

  “Eric’s note said I should go talk to an old friend in Los Angeles,“ I continued. “But he’d passed away not long before I got there.”

  “So you’re at a dead end.”

  “Literally.”

  He hooked a leg over his desk. “Fair enough, but what can I do?”

  “Think like a guy,“ I said. “What would you do?”

  “You mean if I’d gotten involved in something that might get me killed? But I didn’t want my wife to know about it?”

  I scowled, but he’d pretty much nailed it. “Didn’t want your wife to know about it unless something went wrong.”

  “I’d tell a confidante,“ he said. “Although it sounds like Eric did that. The dead guy in L.A., right?”

  “You’re not helping me here, Cutter.”

  “I’m just getting warmed up,“ he said. “If it were me, I’d have a backup plan. In case my confidante died. After all, if it’s the kind of thing that can kill me ...”

  He had a point. “And?“ I prompted.

  “Hide in plain sight,“ he said. “Who paid the bills?”

  “I did.”

  “Did he have a desk? A pile where he kept scraps of paper? A box of stuff that was sent home from his old job after he died?”

  “I’ve been through all of that,“ I said. “I looked at every single thing after he died.”

  “But you weren’t looking for clues then.”

  “No,“ I said, agreeing with him. “I wasn’t. I just wanted to keep as much of him around me as possible.”

  “Do you still have the stuff?”

  I nodded. I hadn’t been able to bear to part with it. “It’s in the storage shed. A pile of banker’s boxes.”

  “I’d take another look,“ he said. “This time, you might see something you missed.”