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

by Julie Kenner

  “Right. Got it. Thanks.”

  She kept a cheerleader-quality smile plastered on her face until he disappeared back into the building. The second he was gone she laid into me. “Mom! What were you thinking?”

  I let the question hang in the air since, really, it was pretty obvious what I’d been thinking.

  She rolled her eyes and huffed a little. “He is so not a demon,“ she whispered. “I mean, why would you even think that?”

  “Why?“ I countered. “I don’t know. Could it be the fact that you have a black eye? That you looked like you were arguing with him? That he was in your face? That the second he saw me he popped a stick of gum in his mouth?”

  “He’s not,“ she said.

  “So I saw,“ I said. “But how could you be so sure?”

  She made a face. “Because I got him with holy water this morning,“ she admitted sheepishly. “He does totally stand too close and, honestly, his breath isn’t that great. So ...“ She trailed off with a shrug.

  “So I’m not quite the embarrassing idiot you make me out to be?”

  “Embarrassing, yes. But maybe not an idiot,“ she admitted, though reluctantly.

  “Who is he?“ I asked. “And what happened to your eye?“ I reached to touch it, but she jerked away.

  “Just a new guy,“ she said. “His name’s Charlie. And the eye is from cheerleading. Bethany accidentally kicked me in the face.”

  I winced. I’d been kicked in the face on more than one occasion, and it wasn’t an experience I wished on anybody. ”How does it feel?”

  “Better than it did,“ she said with a grimace. “Don’t worry. I’ll live.”

  “Are you still up for working out?“ I asked. “Because if you want to put it off ... No,“ I added, correcting myself. ”Never mind. Unless you’re sick in bed, you train.“ After last night, that was the rule. And I intended to stick to it like glue.

  Ten

  An hour later, I realized that the “stick with it like glue“ plan would have to be amended. We’d arrived at Cutter’s studio only to find that both of his practice rooms were full, which left us without a place to work out.

  No problem, right? We could just do weapons training today.

  But since we’d already stopped by KidSpace to pick up Timmy, I wasn’t too keen on practicing knife throwing in the backyard. I also wasn’t keen on leaving him alone in the house while we practiced, especially since Eddie wasn’t home to keep an eye on him. A few minutes, sure. But for the hour or so of practice time that I wanted to get in? Just not practical.

  In retrospect, I probably should have left him at day care for another hour, but it was inconveniently located on the far side of town, and I just didn’t have enough time today to make two trips out to pick up kids.

  Which meant that our day’s training ended up being theoretical only. I took Allie up into the attic and ran her through the parts and operation of the crossbow.

  “But when do I get to shoot it?“ she whined.

  I felt her pain. Now that I’d made the decision to train her, I wanted to get on with it, already.

  “Soon,“ I promised. “But only in training. A knife, you can hide in a pocket or a purse. A crossbow? Not so much.”

  “You’ll still teach me how to shoot it, though, right? I mean, it’s totally cool and I want—”

  I cut her off with a laugh. “I know you want, Allie. We just have to find some place to practice.”

  “Yeah, right. Like that’s going to be easy.”

  She had a point, but I did have one idea. “Hang on,“ I said, then pointed to the array of weapons I’d spread out. ”And don’t hurt yourself.”

  I left her in the attic, then went downstairs to call David, checking on Tim as I passed through the living room. I’d left him with a pile of LEGOs, then taken the baby monitor with me. As far as I could tell, he was busy studying for a career in architecture, and his skyscraper towered almost as tall as my boy.

  “Look, Mommy! I build a tower.”

  “Good job, kiddo,“ I said, as I grabbed the phone and dialed David’s cell number.

  “Watch, Mommy, watch.“ He grabbed a handful of blocks, then jumped up onto the couch. Carefully, he leaned forward and gently put one block on top, then another. The tower wobbled, but didn’t fall, and Timmy bounced on the couch, squealing and laughing with pride.

  “Awesome, kiddo,“ I said, as David’s phone rang on the other end of the line.

  “No, Mommy. Watch this.“ And he hauled his little leg back and kicked as hard as he could, sending blocks clattering to the ground and then bouncing across the hardwood floor. He squealed and screeched and I amended my earlier assessment. Not an architect. A demolition expert.

  “Kate!“ David’s voice rang in my ear. “Kate, are you okay?”

  “I’m fine,“ I said. “My living room will never be the same, but I’m fine.”

  “Thank God,“ he said, the relief in his voice palpable. “I saw the caller ID, and when I heard ... Well, anyway, I’m glad you’re safe.”

  I basked a bit in his concern, but assured him that I was just fine. And then, as Timmy started to build his next masterpiece, I explained my problem to David.

  “You’re sure you want her to train?“ he asked.

  “David,“ I said, a warning note in my voice.

  “Right. You’re the mom. Your call.”

  I sighed. “I’m not going to let her Hunt,“ I said, feeling the need to explain my decision to him even though it was none of his business. “But after everything that’s happened, I want her prepared.”

  “Fair enough,“ he said. And then, “I’m sorry.”

  “So will you help me or not?”

  “You need a place to train? I’ll see what I can do. Maybe we can find a loft to rent downtown or something.”

  “Right,“ I said, my voice sounding far away even to my own ears. “Good.”

  “Kate?”

  “Sorry.“ I shook off the melancholy. “I’m fine.“ And I was, too. I’d just stumbled a bit at the idea of leasing a loft.

  Because no matter how fervently I believed that Allie needed these skills, signing a lease made the whole thing that much more real.

  What also made it real was what I found in the attic when I returned to my daughter: my stiletto, embedded in one of the rafters, and my daughter standing under it, a wide grin on her face.

  “I totally missed the target,“ she said. “But I did get it to go in the wood. It took ten tries, but I got it.”

  “Awesome,“ I said, then laughed when I saw the red X she’d drawn with a marker on the wall—a good five feet away from where the knife had actually landed. “You’re doing great, kid.”

  She shrugged, and I retrieved my knife, saying a silent prayer that she’d remembered how to open the thing. “Be careful with this,“ I said, unable to help myself. “You don’t want to slice your hand.”

  She rolled her eyes. “I got it open just fine.”

  “Yes, you did,“ I admitted. But at the same time I made a mental note to go over the operation of each and every one of my weapons with her on a daily basis until I was absolutely sure she wouldn’t impale herself in her enthusiasm.

  Today, however, we were done. At least with training. The mystery of Eric’s death, though? As to that, Allie assured me that she was just beginning.

  “I’ve been reading all of Sue Grafton’s novels,“ she said, referring to the mystery series that begins with A Is for Alibi and continues on through the alphabet. “And in all of them, Kinsey does tons of research about the victim’s jobs and stuff. So I thought I would call the library. You know. Just see if maybe somebody remembers something.”

  “It’s been over five years, Al. How much could they remember?“

  “I don’t know,“ she admitted. “But it can’t hurt.”

  I had my doubts that it would help, especially since we were pretty sure that Eric’s death stemmed from his Forza training—and I sincerely doubted Eric
would have been foolish enough to have let that part of his life leak over into his job.

  Still, I didn’t want to dim Allie’s enthusiasm. So while I showered and dressed, she pulled out the phone book and started making calls. By the time I’d cleaned up, put on my dress, and dried my hair, she had a full report for me.

  “The rare books room is closed now,“ she said as I bent over Timmy to receive a wet, slobbery kiss. “I forgot it closes at five. But the research librarian used to work with Daddy, and she talked to me for a while.”

  “Betty?“ I asked, tickling Timmy. “I remember her.“ A nice older lady who’d never forgotten Allie’s birthday, and had brought me casserole after casserole after Eric’s death.

  “Yeah? Well, I told her what I was doing—”

  “Allie!”

  “Not the demon thing, Mom. Jeez. I told her that I didn’t believe Daddy had been mugged, and that since I was almost fifteen, I was going to figure out what happened to him.”

  “Did she have anything to tell you?”

  “No,“ she said, the enthusiasm draining from her voice. ”She didn’t remember anything suspicious at all. And she said that you already had all of Daddy’s papers and stuff.”

  “She’s right. Most of it’s in the storage shed. I actually looked through some of it last night.”

  “Without me?”

  “Trust me, there are still plenty of boxes to go through.”

  She shot me a sour expression. “Whatever. Did you find anything?”

  “I haven’t had a chance to look through the papers closely yet,“ I said. “But I did find an address book. One I’d never seen before.”

  “Yeah? Can I see?”

  “Of course. I flipped through it already,“ I said. “And nothing jumped out at me, but you’re welcome to put your detective hat on and give it a go.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “’My detective hat’? What am I? Nine?”

  I laughed. “No disrespect intended.”

  “So where is it?”

  “Let me finish getting dressed, and I’ll get it for you. I want to do my makeup before Stuart gets home.”

  Not that I had the chance. Because Laura and Mindy arrived at the back door, ready to spend the evening at our house, Mindy hanging out with Allie and Laura playing babysitter to Timmy.

  Just to be on the safe side, I’d also asked David to come by, scheduling his arrival for a half hour or so after Stuart and I left. I was probably being overly concerned, but if any demon tried to get into my house and close to my kids, I wanted a surfeit of Demon Hunters there to protect them.

  “Wow,“ Laura said, when I did a pirouette for her and Mindy. “Definitely worth spending the extra money to buy those shoes.”

  I pointed my toe and silently agreed. Not that she’d had to work too hard to convince me. After spending a small fortune on the dress alone, adding the shoes to the grand total was merely a drop in the bucket. And so long as I offered to take care of paying the bills for the next two months, Stuart need never know.

  Laura had come bearing a lasagna, and she disappeared into the kitchen while the girls headed to the living room to choose a movie from the totebag full of DVDs that Mindy had brought. After eliciting a promise from them that they would watch only a toddler-friendly movie, I retreated upstairs to finish my makeup.

  My standards are eyeliner, lip gloss, mascara, and powder, but tonight I pulled out the big guns. Foundation. Eye shadow. Eyelash curler. Blush. And, yes, even concealer under my eyes.

  When all was said and done, I looked pretty damn good, if I do say so myself.

  There’s never much hope for my hair, but I gelled, curled, and sprayed it. Then I twisted it on top of my head and secured it with a clip. Not half bad, actually, although I knew it would lose its curl the second I stepped out the door. At least Stuart would see me before that. And with any luck, the image of his wife in a sexy dress with sexy hair would stay burned in his brain. At least long enough for me to bring up the rather explosive subject of Eddie’s living arrangements.

  I did one last check in the full-length mirror, decided I was as good as I was going to get, then trotted to my jewelry box to get the diamond drop necklace Stuart had given me for Christmas. Lately, I’d taken to wearing the small silver crucifix that had been a gift from Father Corletti on my sixteenth birthday. Tonight, though, I was dressing to please my husband.

  I fastened the necklace, then opened the small drawer on the bottom of the jewelry box where I’d earlier put Eric’s address book. As I’d told Allie, I’d looked through the thing myself, but nothing had jumped out as foreboding. I hadn’t called all the numbers listed, but I’d examined the names, frustrated merely by the fact that I didn’t have a clue what I was looking for.

  Now I grabbed the book, a small knife, and a miniature vial of holy water. The knife and the water I put into the tiny beaded evening bag I’d earlier laid out on the bed. The address book I held on to, planning to leave it on Allie’s dresser.

  I wasn’t two steps out of the room when Stuart came up the stairs. He took one look at me and let out a long whistle. I immediately blushed, which was ridiculous considering that was exactly the reaction I was hoping for.

  “Well, hello,“ he said. “I was coming upstairs to look for my wife. I don’t suppose you’ve seen her around anywhere?”

  “The fashion police took her away,“ I said, sidling up to him and hooking my arms around his neck. “Will I do as a replacement?”

  “I think I can suffer through,“ he said, then kissed me hard. The kind of kiss that makes a woman sad that the kids are in the house and a dinner reservation is looming.

  “Wow,“ I said, coming up for breath. “Your wife is one lucky woman.”

  He stroked my cheek. “On the contrary. I think I’m the one who’s lucky.“ He gave me another kiss, this one not quite as toe tingling. “Just give me five minutes, and we can get going. We’ll be early, but it will give me a chance to show off my wife in the bar before we’re seated.”

  “It’s a date,“ I said, and while he went into our bedroom, I continued on to Allie’s, realizing along the way that I was smiling.

  Miraculously, the smile didn’t fade when I hit her room. Because what was usually a disaster area had actually been straightened. I’m not sure if she’d simply gotten tired of living in a flurry of belongings, if Teen Vogue had announced that boys think a girl with a clean room is sexy, or if she was trying to prove something to me. Honestly, I didn’t care. I was just happy to be able to see the floor.

  In this newly clean state, I could have left the address book anywhere and been reasonably sure she would find it. But old habits die hard, and I crossed to the princess-style desk I’d bought her when she turned eleven. It sported a small hutch with tiny drawers accented by rose-shaped pulls. Whenever I had something that I didn’t want her to miss, I put it on the ledge of the hutch, just above the right-hand drawer.

  Today was no exception, but as I put the address book down, I noticed that the drawer was open—and inside, I saw Eric’s ring, a simple gold chain coiled beside it.

  Slowly, I reached for the ring, then slipped it on my finger, wanting in some small way to be close to Eric for just a moment. I held my hand over my heart, lost in memories and fighting tears.

  And then I drew a breath, took the ring off, and put it safely back in my daughter’s drawer.

  ”To us,“ Stuart said, lifting a champagne flute and waiting for me to lift mine.

  This was at least our tenth toast, and I was feeling more than a little giddy. “No, no, no,“ I said. “We’ve already toasted to us. But this is the night before your big announcement. We need to toast you.”

  “All right,“ he said agreeably. “To me.”

  We clinked glasses. “To my wonderful husband,“ I said. ”Who’s going to make a damn fine county attorney.”

  “That’s the plan,“ he said, then reached across the table and took my hand.

  I smiled at him, t
hen looked out over the dance floor. He’d brought me to the Blue Note, a popular restaurant and club that had opened in San Diablo to much fanfare about three years ago. The club sported a big band and required its customers to dress for dinner. The food was as good as the music, and the place was always packed.

  We’d been here twice before, both on special occasions, and I was enjoying being back now. I had even forgiven Stuart the usual political chitchat, him shaking hands and making small talk in the bar before the maître d’ had led us to our table. After all, we were here to celebrate politics; I could hardly ask that political banter be stricken from the agenda.

  Our table was right off the dance floor in a prime location, and as we sat drinking champagne and eating our appetizers I inevitably found myself watching the dancers. Couples with a grace and style that I could never mimic. Not on a dance floor, anyway. In a fight, though...

  Well, a fight was a totally different story.

  Stuart, of course, didn’t know that side of me. He only knew the girl who stepped on his feet on our first date. At our wedding, though, I was the belle of the ball, and all because of Stuart. I had no idea how he’d manage in hand-to-hand combat, but on a dance floor, he’s pure magic. One of those men who can make even the most uncoordinated woman look like Ginger Rogers.

  And fortunately, he was all mine.

  Stuart saw me eyeing the dance floor and stood. “Shall we?”

  “You’re announcing tomorrow,“ I reminded him. “Do you really want the papers reporting that your wife can’t dance?”

  “The news will garner me the sympathy vote,“ he said, holding out his hand for me.

  I took it and let him tug me to my feet. “Okay,“ I said. ”But just one.”

  Naturally, one faded into two, and two into three. I was just about to beg off of the fourth turn around the floor when a trim octogenarian in a finely cut suit approached us.

  “May I cut in?”

  I froze, because I knew that face. All of it, including the nasty cut under one eye. I ought to, since last night he’d attacked my daughter.

  Stuart, who knows I won’t dance with any man except him, shook his head. “I’m sorry. This is a celebra—”