The Demon Hunters

by Linda Welch

  Half a mile on, I turned east up Twenty-Fifth, kept going until the city-maintained road petered out and became a short dirt road leading to a big parking area. Only three cars and a motorcycle already there. I parked at the other end of the lot and sat while I finished my coffee. I took the empty cup with me when I got out the car, and got my long cane out the trunk.

  I walked across the parking lot to a break in the fence, tossed the cup in the trash bin and started up the trail. I hesitated at the first fork, trying to decide whether to carry on up to Merlin Point or head south to Waterfall Canyon. This early in the morning there would, hopefully, be few cyclists on the Merlin Point trail.

  Hikers and bikers are supposed to share the trails. They are narrow, steep, and obstacles include rocks of all sizes sticking up and craters inches deep where they’ve come loose and rolled on down the mountainside, thick roots snaking across, and washouts from the spring thaw. Oh, and don’t forget branches from trees too stubborn to know they shouldn’t be trying to cling to a mountainside. Much of the trail has rock-face on one side and a sheer drop on the other once you get above the benches. And, no, there are no safety rails. Hikers are supposed to have right-of-way, but mountain bikers get riled if you get in front of their wild, downward descent. You can argue with a cyclist - something I’d rather not do on a trail three-feet-wide - or plaster yourself to the rock-face so they can pass without stopping.

  So, onward to Merlin Point. I walked up the steeply sloping trail with one eye on the ground so I didn’t stub my toe on a rock, the other on the look-out for cyclists, although this far down I could step to the side and not end up in a bush, or teetering on the edge. The sun beat down on me and little drops of perspiration popped out on my forehead. I should have worn a hat. Mountain sunlight is harsh, the air thin, and unless you’re acclimated you soon feel worn out. Many a visitor to our mountain valley wonders why they get so tired all the time.

  I paused to look out over the valley and the lake as I brushed my forehead with the back of my hand. I took a few more steps, and stopped. Up ahead, where the trail wound out of sight, two tall men stared down at me, too far off for me to make out their features, but the morning sun lit their hair as if sparkling over water, one head blue with strands of silver, the other red stranded with gold.

  Demons.

  I stopped breathing, inhaled sharply, and stood on the dusty trail looking up at them. Nothing moved: not a breath of wind, not a leaf or branch swaying, not a bird in the sky, just me and the demons. Oh dear god, and here I am out in the middle of nowhere. Damn you, Royal. You should be here. Like all his kind, Royal could sense the presence of other demons, and I’d bet my best pair of socks they wouldn’t be in Clarion if Royal were not absent from home.

  I shifted my grip on the cane to hold it two-handed. I couldn’t go on with them ahead. In fact, I had to get out of here. I edged backward.

  “Hey, Tiff!”

  I blinked, and they were gone.

  I wanted to collapse on the nearest rock, but I pulled in air and straightened up. I recognized the voice. I turned with a smile on my face. “Hello, Col.”

  Tall, lean and good-looking, Colin coasted his mountain bike down the trail. He looked fine in one of those skintight outfits cyclists wear, which hide absolutely nothing. He must have a new car because I hadn’t seen his in the parking lot.

  Colin and I were an item when I met Royal. We were still technically involved the first time Royal and I tested my bed together. Colin dumped me before I had to have “the talk” with him. He left a message on my phone saying our relationship wasn’t working, he needed a girlfriend he saw more than once every other week. Man, was I relieved. I hate acting the bad guy. I still felt guilty - during those last few days of the Marchant case I never gave a single thought to Col, and he deserved better.

  He stopped next to me and put his feet down. “Off for a hike, then?”

  I resisted the urge to look up the trail over his shoulder. He must have seen me walk up from the parking lot, so knew I’d just started out, but the hike was over for me. “I thought I could get in a quick one, but I ran out of time.”

  Col nodded. He unstrapped his helmet and eased it off. His long fair hair stuck to his scalp and neck, sweat making it darker. I remembered pushing my fingers through his soft, fine hair. “I’ll walk you back to your car.”

  Damn. “No need. You enjoy the rest of your ride.”

  I paced a few steps down the trail, my boots puffing up powdered dirt. Pushing his bike, Colin kept up with me. “I’m glad I ran into you, Tiff.”

  Why were demons in Clarion, standing on the mountainside, watching me? “You are?”

  I glanced over at him. He looked out over the valley. “I feel bad, about the way we . . . parted.”

  Double damn. “You shouldn’t.”

  “I should have told you to your face, not left a message on your machine. I am sorry.”

  About what? That you left a Dear Jane message on my machine, or you split up with me? And maybe if you looked me in the eye I’d be more inclined to believe you mean either. “Col, it was a while ago.”

  Now he looked at me. His hair was already drying from the heat beating down. A small breeze sprang up, nudging at it, then a stronger gust tossed damp strands over his face. He gave me a small smile. I should tell him I was in a relationship, stop gazing at those strands of hair all over his blue eyes and slightly bent nose, and where they stuck to his full lips.

  I had to get rid of him.

  “Col, there’s something I should maybe tell you. I . . . well, I - ”

  He interrupted what was probably going to come out sounding like an apologetic admission of guilt. “You see ghosts.”

  Not what I meant to say. That stopped me dead on the trail, denial on the tip of my tongue.

  He grinned. “I could kick myself for what I said about ghosts, when we were in Arrivederci. You remember?”

  How could I forget? Our last date, although I didn’t know at the time. Over dinner, I asked him what he thought of the supernatural, and he told me people who see ghosts are delusional. At the time I was building up courage to tell him what I do for a living, so his comment did not sit well with me.

  I started off again with Colin a step behind, my brain buzzing. I shouldn’t outright deny anything till I knew exactly what he knew, or thought he did. I chuckled, but it sounded forced. “Where did you hear that?”

  “It wasn’t intentional. I mean, I didn’t snoop.” We came to a rockier stretch and looked down at where we put our feet. His bike bumped along beside him. “I have a friend in the police department and you came up in conversation.”

  “A cop tells you I see ghosts and you believe him?”

  His mouth twitched. “You can’t argue with one of Clarion’s finest.”

  “Oh.”

  He laid a hand on my arm. We stopped walking. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “You said it all. You think people who see ghosts are loonies. I see ghosts. If that doesn’t say incompatible, I’d like to know what does.”

  He dropped his hand. “You could have argued your case.”

  Ire flushed my neck. “Excuse me? Argued my case?”

  He winced. “Damn. Sorry. It wasn’t supposed to come out that way. I meant, you could have explained. I’d have listened.”

  I faced him and my hands went to my hips. “I don’t have to explain myself, Colin. I don’t have to try to make anyone believe in what I do. I know, and it’s enough for me.” Yeah, Tiff, and that’s why you were straight with him, and your other boyfriends, and the world at large. That’s why you let people think you’re a psychic when you’re actually a loony who sees and talks to dead people.

  Looking frustrated, Colin swiped his hair off his face. “Can we start again?”

  My stomach dropped. “Start what?”

  His lips thinned, then he surprised me by smiling, a genuine smile. “I want you to know I don’t think you’re delusional.”

&
nbsp; Oh, he meant that. For a moment I thought. . . .

  He lifted his hands and spread them. “I still think most people are, and a lot are charlatans, and I don’t know what I would’ve thought then if you’d told me you saw ghosts. But I believe you now.”

  I mulled it over. “Only because of what your pal at Clarion PD said.” But if I’d told you, you wouldn’t have believed me.

  “Does it matter why?”

  Yes, it did. But it was old history and not worth dragging up again. I looked over my shoulder for the glint of sunlight on metallic hair.

  I didn’t know if Col’s revelation would impact my life, if word of my ability would, or already had, spread further than him and Clarion PD, but I didn’t have time to dwell on it. I had to get off the mountainside. “I’m glad you told me, Col, but now I’m out of time. I have to get going.”

  I smiled at him and left the path, walking through ankle-high brush, taking a direct route to my car without going through the parking lot. Colin came behind me.

  He moved abreast of me. “You’re mad at me.”

  I laid my hand on his upper arm and gave it a little squeeze. “I’m not. Honest. Nice seeing you, really, but I gotta run.” I smiled again to show I wasn’t storming off in a huff.

  I climbed the fence to the packed dirt and used my remote to open the car door.

  “Maybe we could do coffee sometime,” he said from behind me.

  Not pausing, I glanced back and smiled again. “Yeah. That would be nice.”

  I stubbed my toe on a rock, staggered, recovered, and heard laughter echo across the mountain. It didn’t sound like happy laughter; it sounded sinister.

  I looked up and over at the trail. Up there, among the scrub oak, something glittered.

  Chapter Eleven

  “You don’t suppose they could be friendly demons?”

  I cocked my head on one side and looked up at Jack from where I crouched at the front door. “They laughed at me when I tripped.”

  He shrugged. “I might have done the same.”

  “Not might have, would have,” Mel chimed in.

  “As if you wouldn’t.”

  I finished sprinkling metal filings on the floor, got to my feet and dusted my hands off on my shirt, then tried to dust off the stain I’d made there. Had I missed anything? Back and front doors. Window sills. Fireplaces. I had it covered.

  Demons once paid me a visit, and they were bad demons. Very, very bad demons. My metal filings prevented a home invasion, though they got me later. Although, if they were born here. . . . I thought demons stayed away from alloys and I’ve seen a demon’s skin sizzle when my metal filings hit, but apparently it does not present a problem to those born in my reality, like Royal.

  “Should we be scared?” Mel asked.

  God help me if they waited till Royal was away to come after me again.

  I headed back to the kitchen with my little tin. “Scared of what? They can’t hurt you. If anyone should be scared, it’s me.”

  “I meant scared for you.”

  I shouldn’t be snarky at a time like this, because Mel and Jack did worry about my safety, as well as my mental disposition. “I know, Mel. I’ll be careful.”

  My thoughts were a muddle. Royal. Demons on mountain. Now Colin, apologizing and suggesting we get together over coffee. Did he mean it? My, but he looked good.

  As if I needed one more complication in my topsy-turvy life.

  I snatched my angle-draw shoulder holster from off the coat-rack and walked in the kitchen, to the drawer where I kept my Ruger handy. I checked the load, shrugged into the holster and snugged in the Ruger. I was not going anywhere without it.

  “That’s my girl!” I heard from Jack.

  ***

  I felt bone weary and irritable. Mel glanced at me, then concentrated on the newspaper, as if she hadn’t already read every word. Jack remained engrossed in Sponge Bob Square Pants on TV.

  I looked at Elizabeth’s journal where it lay open on the table. “And what’s with this?” I said to no one in particular.

  Another mystery, along with the rest. An oddity I enjoyed exploring, but there had to be a reason it turned up in my mailbox.

  I grabbed the end of my braid and tugged, growling deep in my throat with irritation. I’d go crazy if my thoughts kept spinning. I needed a distraction. I needed energy. I needed sugar. I went into the pantry and took my tattered old Cookie Cookbook from the top shelf, where it sat with a dozen other cookbooks I rarely use. No, I didn’t tatter it; I don’t bake much. It was a spur-of-the-moment purchase from the local library’s used book sale.

  Mel and Jack zeroed in soon as I pulled out flour and sugar.

  “This is very bad,” Mel told Jack.

  “Yeah. She only bakes when she’s really, really depressed. And using a hot oven in summer is a big no-no.”

  “I’m right here,” I pointed out as I flipped through the book. “In the kitchen, not five feet away from you.”

  “The hotter the oven gets, the hotter our Tiff gets.”

  Mm. Oatmeal chocolate chip raisin cookies. Did I have raisins? I went back in the pantry. I had enough tiny boxes of raisins to make a double batch of cookies.

  “And she ends up more depressed because she can’t bake worth a darn,” I heard Mel say.

  I backed out with the raisins and dropped them on the counter. “I am not depressed. I fancy a cookie, is all.” Chocolate chips. I always have chocolate chips. Did I have enough eggs?

  I checked the fridge. Yup, plenty of eggs. Now I needed spices and salt, which I got from the spice drawer. I gathered everything together, got my big brown mixing bowl from the cupboard, a wooden spoon from the jug on the counter, and looked over the recipe, poised with spoon in hand.

  Jack had waited with his next statement till he was sure I’d hear it. “And she feeds it to MacKlutzy and he gets fatter and she gets guilty.”

  Mac snarled at them from his position snuggled up against my feet, then his gaze turned all bright and inquisitive as he watched me crack eggs in the bowl.

  I smiled at him. “You like my cooking, don’t you, Mac.”

  “He’s a dog. He’ll eat anything,” Mel said. Mac turned his head and gave her the doggy glare, eyes slit and ears flat on his skull. “You don’t frighten me, you little turd,” she told him.

  I measured flour, salt and spices in the bowl and held it in the crook of one arm as I stirred. “Mac appreciates - ”

  “What’s wrong, Tiff?” Royal asked.

  I dropped the mixing bowl. It broke on the floor and the mess went all over the place. Mac jumped out the way and got off lightly with a dusting of flour. He came back in to attack the globs of half-mixed flour and eggs, but I dragged him away before he could get a nasty little piece of broken crockery in his mouth. “What’s wrong is some big asshole just made me drop cookie mix all over the floor!”

  I carried Mac to the living room and shut him in. I got back to the kitchen to find Royal on his knees with a wad of paper towel and a damp dishcloth.

  “You only bake when you’re upset,” he said as he ineffectively blotted at the floor with the delicacy of a woman applying face powder.

  “What did I tell you?” from Jack.

  “Here, give me that.” I grabbed the cloth from Royal and threw it in the sink. “Get out of my way.”

  He backed off and sat at the kitchen table. As I gathered the mess together with paper towel and scooped it into the trashcan, I held an internal debate with myself. Not commenting on his trip with Daven would be out of character, but what if he refused to talk about it? Where would that lead? Should I tell him what I learned from Ronald and John, and from Ernesto?

  Not knowing what to say to the man I’d come to trust with all aspects of my life made me want to cry. But Tiff Banks doesn’t cry. She’s made of sterner stuff.

  Still, I pretended to swipe flour off my face with my sleeve a few times.

  I got the mop from the closet and bucket from unde
r the sink, filled the bucket with water and a squirt of detergent, and started on the floor, viciously slapping the mop about. “I saw a couple of demons on the mountainside this morning.”

  Silence. I glanced at Jack and Mel. They were atypically silent too. Huh, if a foul mood shut them up, maybe I should do it more often. I poured the mucky water down the sink, rinsed the mop and refilled the bucket. “Well?”

  “There’s no law says Gelpha can’t be on your mountain.”

  I stilled for a second. Huh? Then I took a mental step back - no reason Royal should know what every demon in his world did. But didn’t strange demons watching me worry him?

  I put the bucket down heavily and went at the floor again. “I think they were watching me.”

  “No law says Gelpha can’t stand on a mountain watching a beautiful woman.”

  If this was supposed to appease me, he just made one big mistake. Why didn’t two strange demons scoping me out concern him in the slightest? I frowned at the bucket as I picked it up and poured away the water.

  Unless he already knew about them. But that would mean he was less than honest with me, not brazenly lying, but doing so by omission, a habit popular with demons. I opened my mouth to ask, but I guess I didn’t really want to know because something different came out. “Are you gonna tell me where you and Daven Clare went?”

  He didn’t hesitate, as if he anticipated the question. “I can’t right now.”

  I didn’t look at him. “Then you’d best leave.”

  “Tiff - ”

  I turned to him with mop and bucket in hand. “Go!”

  He got to his feet and leaned over, hands braced on the table. His face contorted. He looked like he did that time in his apartment, when we argued, as if he fought to say something and couldn’t. Then he straightened, turned, and headed for the door.

  Then it came to me. Gia Sabato played with my mind; did she do the same to Royal? “Wait!”

  He stopped, rigid, and turned back to face me. “Royal, did they do something so you can’t tell me?”