Demon Ex Machina: Tales of a Demon-Hunting Soccer Mom

by Julie Kenner

  His brows lifted, and he cocked his head, knowing full well what was coming. “Well, hell,” he said.

  I laughed. “You’re the one who suggested I play teacher.”

  “But I never suggested I play victim.”

  “You’re not,” I said. “That would be me.” I turned my attention to the ladies. “Okay, now here I am, foolishly standing outside my car rummaging in my purse for my keys. What’s the first thing I did wrong?”

  “You should have put them in your hand before you left the store or your house or whatever.”

  “And you should check under the car. Could be some whack-job on his belly with a knife.”

  “Both right,” I said, continuing to pantomime a frustrated shopper. “And here comes the bad guy.”

  I couldn’t see him behind me, but from the cackles of laughter, I assumed Cutter had pasted on a Snidely Whip-lash expression and was creeping toward me on tiptoes. I continued to frantically rummage in my pretend purse until I felt his arm snap around my neck, pulling me close.

  I reached back and clamped down hard at his groin, thankfully not doing any damage—or embarrassing either of us too fully—because of the cup he’d had the foresight to wear. “That’s not it, though, ladies. You’d think it would be, but—” I stepped back and down, smashing the instep of Cutter’s left foot and eliciting a howl from my injured-yet-helpful sensei.

  I turned, flashed him a smile, and let the applause slide over me.

  “Okay, ladies. Partner up and you try it. Don’t grab tight, and stomp down on the mat, not on your partner’s foot. I don’t want any genuine injuries.”

  “Now you’re concerned,” muttered Cutter.

  I made a rude noise and rolled my eyes. “Come on, Sean. Be a man.”

  “If you’d grabbed me any tighter, I don’t think I would be anymore.”

  “I’m not terribly worried.” As examples of the male species went, Cutter was a prime specimen—a blackbelt several times over, former military, and loyal to a fault. He’s also damn good-looking, a little fact that I think played at least some part in my sold-out class tonight. “Buck up and help me make rounds,” I added with a grin.

  We spent the next ten minutes circling the practicing women, correcting form and helping them get comfortable grabbing and pounding with all of their strength. Yelling came next, and for that I actually recruited Allie from the children’s room. Since child care is often an issue with women, I’d convinced Cutter to let Allie and Mindy come in and babysit. I needed the help, but I’ll also admit that I was blatantly manufacturing reasons for the girls to get together. And as I poked my head into the kids’ room, I had to say that my evil plan seemed to be working. Mindy and Allie were sitting in a circle with the kids, clapping and singing about the farmer’s dog named Bingo.

  Allie popped up when she saw me, letting Mindy take the spotlight. “Whatcha need?”

  “Come yell for me,” I said. When Allie had first started her own training, I’d demanded she work on her yell first. Most women think they can yell, but when actually put in the position, they manage little more than an anorexic squeak. With practice, however, you can learn to bellow on command. And not only does a nice, loud yell prepare you for fighting, it has the added benefits of potentially scaring your attacker, letting your attacker know you’re not going to give in easily, and it alerts your Demon Hunter mother who is hopefully nearby and ready to beat the crap out of any demon who even looks at you funny.

  We explained all of that (well, the relevant parts, anyway) to the class, and then had Cutter sneak up on Allie. In addition to whipping around and catching him with a solid crescent kick to the shoulder, she burst out with a yell loud enough to wake the dead.

  Both moves earned her vigorous applause, even from Mindy, who I saw watching from the doorway.

  “So there you go,” I said. “Grab your partner and start blasting eardrums.”

  It was during that cacophony that the redhead from Home Depot rushed in, her eyes going wide at the spectacle. Her little boy smacked his hands over his ears and scrunched up his face, and since I feared for an imminent tantrum, I hurried over. “Sorry! You walked in during the craziest part.”

  “And the loudest,” she said. “Is there a place for John-John?”

  I smiled down at John-John and held out my hand. He made a face, but took it, and I nodded toward the back room where the toddler karate classes were usually held. “We’ve got teenagers amusing the natives,” I said. I nodded toward Allie. “Including mine once she quits doing the Rebel Yell.”

  “She’s good at it,” the woman said.

  “I’m sorry,” I said, sticking out my free hand. “I’m Kate. And I know John-John now.” I flashed him another smile, but he scowled and looked away. Honestly, I was thinking I’d found little Danielle’s date for the prom. “But I don’t think I ever caught your name.”

  “Lisa,” she said, her wide smile more than making up for her boy’s less-than-rosy personality.

  I led her and John-John back to the children’s room, with Allie following on our heels. I noticed that Lisa sent the kid away without much fanfare, and decided that was another oddity with the child. Though they were about the same age, Timmy’s partings were much clingier than this little carrottop and, I have to admit, I think I preferred Timmy’s way. As much as there were times that the Velcro-child phenomenon could be an annoyance, at the end of the day there wasn’t much I loved more than my kid holding me tight in a never-ending hug.

  Class moved fast after the yelling session, covering basic things like using whatever is near you as a weapon, to me going through a quick “don’t try this at home” sparring session with Cutter simply because Laura egged us on.

  “I missed the groin foot-step thing you were talking about,” Lisa said when Cutter headed next door to grab a few more bottled waters, making sure we had enough to go round when class was over. “Could you run through it with me?”

  “Sure,” I said, then pointed to the mat. “You’re heading to your car, thinking about your groceries or something equally mundane, not paying attention to your surroundings, when out of the blue—”

  I broke off as I wrapped my arm tight around her neck, pressing just hard enough so that she’d know the fear of that pressure on her windpipe, but not so hard as to cut off her ability to breathe.

  “Mom!”

  “Mrs. Connor!”

  Allie’s and Mindy’s cries rippled through the room, but I had no idea why because as I loosened my grip so that I could turn toward the problem, Lisa slammed her fist back into my crotch, grabbed the inseam of the loose-fitting khakis I’d selected for class, and slammed me down onto my back. She was on top of me, her face right in mine, before my brain even had time to process what was going on.

  And, with her mouth that close, there was no way to avoid the stench of serious halitosis hidden under the bitter scent of coffee laced with breath mints.

  She pressed forward so that her mouth was almost at my ear. “Fight back, and my consort will thrust that pencil through your little boy’s brain.”

  “Who the hell are you?” I hissed, keeping my voice low and hopefully out of earshot of the shocked members of my class.

  “Odayne is hers,” she said, making me blink. Under the circumstances, I’d made the snap assumption that Lisa was the She-Demon. Apparently, I was wrong. “Hers? Whose?”

  But she didn’t answer, instead thrusting a blade up high, and then bringing it flashing down toward my chest.

  At the same time, I burst up, head and knees rocking forward as I jerked to the side, managing to off-balance her so that the knife that had been aiming for my chest instead sliced my sleeve and drew a long line of blood.

  I howled, a loud, raucous noise, and my head seemed to split open into flashes of red and white as Lisa leaped off me, looking around wildly at the crowd. She kicked out and got me in the ribs, knocking me back as I was trying to rise, all the while screaming for John-John to join her a
s she sprinted toward the exit.

  He raced forward, limping slightly, the irritated toddler face now clearly revealing the malice of a fully grown man.

  Or, rather, a fully grown demon.

  Dear God, Timmy.

  I was up in an instant, racing to the kids’ room, realizing as I flew that the red and white lights in my head weren’t from a concussion but from the fire alarm that someone had tripped.

  I had no idea who, but I was desperately grateful, especially when I found my little boy screaming in the back room, complaining about the big noise, and his sister fighting back tears as she clutched him in a bear hug. “He had a pencil shoved in his ear and a thumb against his eye,” Allie said, switching her hug to me as I clutched tight to Timmy, my insides gone to liquid. “He was just a little kid, Mom. A baby.”

  I closed my eyes and breathed in the scent of my own baby’s hair, trying to stop the trembling inside me. “No,” I said. “He wasn’t a baby. He was a demon. And we’re all lucky to be alive.”

  Six

  “Do you believe her?” Laura asked, as she moved around my kitchen, randomly opening and closing drawers and straightening whatever out-of-place utensils got caught in her sharp, obsessive gaze. “That Lisa isn’t the She-Demon, I mean?”

  “Considering she was about to kill me, I don’t really see the point of lying,” I said, with a glance toward Timmy, who was amusing himself by whapping my clean silverware on the floor. “So yeah, I’m thinking she’s only a minion.”

  “A scary, horrible, freakish minion with a toddler consort. Ick. Major, major, major ick,” she added, putting her back into the scrubbing now, so much so that I almost reached out and made her sit down—her constant motion was making me jumpy—but I understood the reason for her movement. Nervous energy. And Laura, for better or for worse, didn’t get the chance to work hers off with a stiletto or a crossbow.

  At the same time, Laura wasn’t the one with her arm stinging from disinfectant. I scowled and rubbed my hand over the bandage, still more than a little amazed that not only was I alive, but that all of the women in our group believed my off-the-cuff story about how Lisa was a plant to prove the point that even people who are skilled in self-defense (that would be me) can get their ass kicked if they’re not constantly on guard. The lesson was so creative and brilliant, in fact, that the group gave us a standing ovation.

  In reality, Laura had realized the knife was real, completely freaked out, and had raced to Cutter’s office and yanked down the fire alarm, thus accounting for the red and white flashing lights I’d seen. The ladies, thankfully, had believed that was part of the fun.

  As for Cutter, he’d come back after all the drama was over, but when Laura was still hyperventilating. “She okay?” he’d asked, and I’d responded with the completely irrelevant comment that Laura was thrilled we were doing the class since it gave her the opportunity to work out her aggressions.

  “Divorce,” Cutter had said knowingly.

  I’d nodded. “That and the guy she’s been seeing. Broke up with her,” I added, in response to his questioning expression.

  It may have been my imagination, but I thought I saw a flash of interest. Since my thoughts were more in tune with attacking female demons and their toddler consorts, however, I’d paid it very little mind.

  Now in my house with my thoughts free to roam, I had to wonder if there wasn’t a little spark between Cutter and my best friend.

  I didn’t have time to ask Laura, though, because two sets of footsteps pounded on the stairs, and I heard Allie call out for Mindy. “Would you just wait? Mindy! Come on—”

  “Come on what?” Mindy retorted, her tone sharp. “Come on and wait around while you make up some stupid story? I’m not an idiot, Allie. Something’s up around here, but if you don’t want to tell me, that’s fine. That’s just fine,” she repeated, since obviously it wasn’t fine at all. “I’m tired of the whole stinking thing.”

  “Mindy!” Allie said, clomping after her. “It was just some freak. The kind of freak that’s the reason Mom’s having the classes in the first place.”

  I caught Laura’s eye. Wasn’t that the truth.

  “Just stay, okay?” Allie continued. “We’ve got finals soon and you promised to help me with algebra.”

  “You know what would help?” Mindy shot back. “Studying. Wild and crazy, I know, but maybe if you studied instead of whatever else you’re into lately, you wouldn’t need me to cram with you at the last minute.”

  Last minute? I mouthed to Laura, but I could see from her innocent expression that she’d been impressing on Mindy that even months out from finals was last minute as far as she and their scholarship plans were concerned.

  “But you have fun with whatever it is you’re doing. I already told you, I’m going to the movies with Bethany and Emily.” And with that, she slammed the door, just as Allie skidded to a halt in the living room, in full view of me and Laura, the misery on her face making my heart break a little.

  “Allie,” I said softly. “Tell her.” I swiveled to look at Laura, who nodded once, then managed a watery smile.

  “It’s time,” Laura said.

  “Then you do it,” Allie said, surly. “She doesn’t want to hear it from me.”

  “You’re exactly the one she wants to hear it from,” Laura said kindly.

  Allie shifted from foot to foot. “She’s going out. The movies. And she’s gonna be pissed.”

  “That you’re doing something she’s not?” I asked.

  “That I didn’t tell her,” Allie said.

  “The longer you wait, the more pissed she’ll be,” Laura said. “And I think she’ll understand. At least give her the chance.”

  “Yeah. Okay,” Allie said. But instead of running after Mindy, she ran upstairs.

  I caught Laura’s eyes. “That went well.” I drew in a breath. “You’ll be in the doghouse with her again, too,” I added. Laura had recently felt the wrath of Mindy when she and Paul had decided to delay news of their impending divorce until after the holidays. It hadn’t been pretty.

  “It’ll be okay,” Laura said firmly. “This isn’t my secret to share. It’s yours and Allie’s. She’ll understand that.” She moved to the refrigerator and yanked open the door, then pulled out a sticky ketchup bottle and began to rinse it in warm water. “I think.”

  I sat back at the table, feeling no guilt that my best friend was cleaning my kitchen. We all work off our stress differently, and I figured that not pitching in was my little contribution to Laura’s mental health and well-being.

  After a few moments of scrubbing, she broke the silence with a sigh. “That kid.” She shivered. “That little boy.”

  “I know,” I said. “But you need to remember that he’s not really a little boy. Not anymore.”

  Laura’s eyes cut to Timmy, who was still making music with forks and spoons. “I know. But knowing and believing aren’t always the same thing.”

  I pushed out of the chair and went over to my kid, who gleefully passed me a serving spoon so I could join the band. I whacked listlessly a couple of times, then couldn’t stand it anymore. I hugged him close and was rewarded with his chubby little arms going tight around my neck. “I like you, Mommy,” he announced, making me laugh. “I like you sooooo much!”

  “Good to know,” I said. “I like you, too, Sport.”

  “At least you have a lead now, right? You can figure out where they’re playing house, hunt them down, beat them up because you know you want to, and then learn everything you can about this She-Demon.”

  “Not a bad plan,” I said. Laura certainly had right the part about wanting to beat them up. “But I don’t have a clue where to start looking.”

  “I do,” Allie said from the doorway, making both me and Laura jump. “Jeez. Antsy much?”

  “Something like that,” I said, then plunked Timmy back onto the floor. He blew me a big kiss, then toddled off to wreak havoc in the living room, the spoon still tight in h
is hand. I debated between following him to render safe my personal possessions or staying and listening to Allie’s demon report.

  I chose the demons, and hoped I wouldn’t regret it.

  Allie slapped a printout from the computer on the table in front of us with dramatic flair. “L.A. Times Metro section. Page five. Two weeks ago.”

  Laura grabbed the paper before I did, and since I couldn’t stand not knowing, I got up and walked around to stand behind her.

  Their deaths warranted only two paragraphs, though I supposed that if the world knew they were actually dead, the story might have been bigger. As it was, the reporter had simply transcribed the facts as he knew them. Apparently the real Lisa and John-John had been hit by a drunk driver in a Hummer going eighty in a thirty-mile-an-hour zone, sending the minivan into a violent rollover. The airbags deployed, presumably saving the mommy and kid despite the rollover and ultimate high-velocity crash into a utility pole. All of which would have been good news if the airbags really had saved them. But despite those fabulous safety features, I knew the truth. Mom and baby had died. And two demons had decided to take up residence.

  None of which was reported in the article, of course. Instead, the newspaper reported that a nurse in the following car rushed to assist, found no pulse on either of the victims, and called 911 even as she began CPR. Her efforts, of course, were successful, and the paper lauded her skill and Good Samaritan attitude.

  Me, I knew they would have come back even without the breaths and compressions.

  “Treated for minor abrasions and released,” Allie said. “The thing is, they were San Diablo residents. But the local paper didn’t report it.” She shrugged. “So we missed it.”

  One of my habits is to review the daily paper looking for potential new demons. If I find any, I make it a point to try to track them down on patrol. Since I didn’t know about Lisa and John-John, they hadn’t been on my hunting radar.

  “Anyway,” Allie went on, “I guess when they got back to San Diablo they dug in and played good little soldiers until it was time to go shopping for a fight.”