by Julie Kenner
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-one
Twenty-two
RAVES FOR Demon Are Forever
“[A] wonderful author . . . a fun premise . . . excellent characterization, intriguing stories, and snappy dialogue.”
—Freshfiction.com
"Fabulous ... a great entry.” —TheBestReviews.com
“Fizzy . . . Kenner’s trademark cliffhanger finale promises further demonic escapades to come.” —Publishers Weekly
“This is the third in Kenner’s splendidly creative series featuring Kate, whose wickedly amusing adventures in demon hunting are a pure paranormal delight.” —Booklist
“This chapter in Kenner’s first-person, kick-butt adventures takes a darker turn, and a more serious tone, as Demon Hunter Kate Connor faces long odds and emotional turmoil. The terrific Kenner grabs you and doesn’t let go!” —Romantic Times
California Demon
“Kenner continues to put her fun, fresh twist on mommy-lit with another devilishly clever book.” —Booklist
“Sassy!” —Richmond.com
“Plenty of action and humor. Kenner is at her irreverent best ... delightfully amusing.” —TheBestReviews.com
"Another winner!” —NovelTalk.com
“A fun paranormal adventure that definitely appeals to moms!”
—ScribesWorld.com
“More witty, funny, and poignant adventures from the marvelous Kenner.” —Romantic Times
Carpe Demon
“I LOVED CARPE DEMON! . . . It was great fun; wonderfully clever. Ninety-nine percent of the wives and moms in the country will identify with this heroine. I mean, like who hasn’t had to battle demons between car pools and playdates?”
—Jayne Ann Krentz,
New York Times bestselling author of White Lies
“I welcome the novels that decide to be utterly over-the-top and imagine paranormal and superhero lives for their chick-lit heroines. Take Carpe Demon . . .” —Detroit Free Press
“This book, as crammed with events as any suburban mom’s calendar, shows you what would happen if Buffy got married and kept her past a secret. It’s a hoot.”
—Charlaine Harris,
New York Times bestselling author of Definitely Dead
“What would happen if Buffy the Vampire Slayer got married, moved to the suburbs, and became a stay-at-home mom? She’d be a lot like Kate Connor, once a demon/vampire/zombie killer and now ‘a glorified chauffeur for drill-team practice and Gymboree playdates’ in San Diablo, California, that’s what. But in Kenner’s sprightly, fast-paced ode to kick-ass housewives, Kate finds herself battling evil once again. Readers will find spunky Kate hard not to root for in spheres both domestic and demonic.”
—Publishers Weekly
“A+! This is a serious keeper—I am very ready for the next segment in Kate Connor’s life!” —TheRomanceReadersConnection.com “Smart, fast-paced, unique—a blend of sophistication and wit that has you laughing out loud.”
—Christine Feehan,
#1 New York Times bestselling author of Safe Harbor
“Tongue-in-cheek . . . fast-pacing and in-your-face action. Give it a try. Kate’s a fun character and keeps you on the edge of your seat.” —SFReader.com
“Ms. Kenner has a style and delivery all her own . . . fun and innovative . . . [Carpe Demon] shouldn’t be missed.”
—FallenAngelReviews.com
“You’re gonna love this book! A terrific summer read with lots of humor and crazy situations and action.” —FreshFiction.com
“Kenner scores a direct hit with this offbeat and humorous adventure, which has an engaging cast of characters. Car pools and holy water make an unforgettable mix.” —Romantic Times
Titles by Julie Kenner
CARPE DEMON
CALIFORNIA DEMON
DEMONS ARE FOREVER
DEJA DEMON
FIRST LOVE
Anthologies
HELL WITH THE LADIES
(with Kathleen O’Reilly and Dee Davis)
HELL ON HEELS
(with Kathleen O’Reilly and Dee Davis)
FENDI, FERRAGAMO, AND FANGS
(with Johanna Edwards and Serena Robar)
Berkley JAM titles by Julie Kenner
THE GOOD GHOULS’ GUIDE TO GETTING EVEN
GOOD GHOULS DO
THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP
Published by the Penguin Group
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Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England
This book is an original publication of The Berkley Publishing Group.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.
Copyright © 2008 by Julie Kenner.
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PRINTING HISTORY
Berkley trade paperback edition / July 2008
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Kenner, Julie.
Deja demon / Julie Kenner.—Berkley trade pbk. ed.
p. cm.
eISBN : 978-1-436-22506-9
1. Connor, Kate (Ficititious character)—Fiction. 2. Demonology—Fiction. 3. Mothers—
Fiction. 4. Suburban life—California—Fiction. 5. Easter—Fiction. 6. Political campaigns—
Fiction. I. Title.
PS3611.E665D45 2008
813’.6—dc22
2008004815
http://us.penguingroup.com
One
"Dammit, Kate. I thought you trusted me.”
“Now really i
sn’t the time for this discussion,” I said, taking in all of the dark corners of the alley. For the last half hour, I’d had the uneasy feeling that we were being watched. But since we’d neither been attacked nor stumbled across an observer tucked into the shadows, my unease was beginning to feel a bit like paranoia.
I didn’t like being paranoid. It made me crankier than my toddler when he missed a nap.
“Kate,” Eric pressed, tapping the end of his cane impatiently on the asphalt.
I nailed him with my best glare of frustration. The one I’d been honing for close to fifteen years on our daughter, Allie. “Not now,” I said. “Work, remember? Demons, boogeymen, creatures from hell?”
Eric raised his eyebrows, but I just smiled, secure in the knowledge that I was going to win this battle. Yes, I was avoiding the conversation. But I’d meant what I said. Now really wasn’t the time.
“The alley’s empty, Kate,” Eric said, reasonably. “We haven’t seen or heard anyone. Intuition’s a great thing, but it’s not going to jump out and attack us in the dark.”
“You used to trust my intuition,” I said.
“I still do. But you told me yourself you’ve encountered only a handful of demons in weeks. Call me crazy, but I think you’re avoiding the subject.”
“Hell yes, I’m avoiding it. Like I said, now isn’t the time.”
“Then when is the time, Kate?” he asked, his voice sharp, his temper peeking out around the edges. “We’re here now. And it’s not as if you’re going to invite me into your kitchen to discuss this over a cup of coffee with you, Stuart, and the kids. So you tell me—when should we talk?”
“Don’t be flip,” I said, because Eric really wasn’t playing fair. No. David wasn’t playing fair. I couldn’t let myself fall into the habit of calling him Eric. Not when only a few select people knew the truth.
The truth. Now there’s a funny concept. Once upon a time, I thought truth was an easy thing. The sky is blue—true. The moon is made of green cheese—false. Evil walks among us—true. Dead husbands don’t return to their wives and children in the bodies of other men. That one—surprise, surprise—turned out to be false. In my world, anyway.
At the moment, in fact, I was in a dark alley behind a popular San Diablo nightclub, arguing (or avoiding arguing) with my formerly dead husband who’d taken up residence in the body of a high school chemistry teacher named David Long. It probably goes without saying, but lately my life had gotten rather complicated.
My name is Kate Connor, and I’m a Level Five Demon Hunter with Forza Scura, having recently been promoted up a notch as the result of a horrific battle a few months prior from which I’d come out mostly unscathed. To be honest, the promotion came with no little bit of guilt, especially considering I’d done some things after that battle that weren’t exactly worthy of the Vatican Seal of Approval. Like, for example, raising my first husband from the dead. And then—for added measure—keeping that teensy little fact out of my postbattle debriefing.
Trust me when I say that resurrection is not a skill normally within a Hunter’s repertoire. But I’d had the ability, and God help me, I used it. How could I not, with my daughter looking down at the father with whom she’d just been reunited? And, yes, with me desperate to save the man I’d once loved with all my heart and soul.
The only thing is, by using magic for such a damnably selfish purpose, I couldn’t help but wonder if I hadn’t tainted both our souls in the process. Not to mention complicated the hell out of my life.
“I’m sorry,” David said. “I didn’t mean to make light of everything you’ve been through. But this isn’t only about you, Kate. Do you think it’s been easy for me?”
I knew that it hadn’t. “Sometimes. Maybe. I don’t know.” I tilted my head up and looked him in the eyes. “I think you’re the one who got to go away for more than two months. Who got to sit and think and process everything that happened while I had to keep going on with life and dealing with a daughter who had her father back for about seven seconds, only to lose him again.”
“Which is exactly why what I’m asking isn’t unreasonable. A weekend, Katie. I’m only asking to spend a weekend with my daughter.” His eyes met mine, and I saw the plea in them. “Is that so hard to understand?”
“No,” I said. “Of course not. But it’s complicated. And, dammit, Eric, you blindsided me. This night was supposed to be about hunting. Not custody arrangements.” I winced, struck by the tone and meaning of my words. I never would have divorced Eric. Never. And yet for all practical purposes, it was as if we were divorced parents, our marriage having been abruptly terminated, but the issue of our daughter still hanging there between us.
“I can’t risk hurting Stuart,” I said, probably more coldly than I’d intended because my voice was flavored by guilt.
He looked at me for one long second, a muscle in his cheek twitching. The mannerism surprised me and I looked away, confused. Eric had never had such an obvious tell. Which meant the gesture was pure David, and the fact that Eric and David were both the same and different struck me with such unexpected force that I stumbled on the sidewalk.
“How would I explain it to him, anyway?” I asked reasonably. “What possible excuse does a high school freshman have for spending the weekend with the chemistry teacher?”
“Maybe you should try the truth,” David said. If he’d snapped the suggestion at me with a hint of sarcasm, I think I could have handled it. As it was, he spoke gently, as if he understood the power behind that word. Truth.
“I’m not telling Stuart about you,” I said, with more force and determination than I actually felt. “I’m not telling him about any of this. Forza. My past. That I’ve come out of retirement. None of it. This isn’t his life—it’s not the life I have with him—and I don’t want it to be.”
Stuart hadn’t married a woman who could eradicate a demon with the heel of a black leather pump or fling a steak knife at a hellhound and hit it dead center on the forehead. Instead, he’d married a woman who couldn’t figure out how to force her self-cleaning oven to get with the program.
I’d kept the demon-chasing part of my life secret because it was a secret. No one outside Forza was supposed to know. And even after I’d come out of retirement to take care of the rapidly growing demon population in San Diablo, I still hadn’t come clean with Stuart. Not because of the prohibition against revealing my identity, but because I didn’t want my husband looking at me and seeing a girl other than the one he married.
Worse, I didn’t want him to look and not like what he saw.
And though I might wish for my marriage to be a sanctuary wherein I never had to face my fears, more and more I realized that truth—that nasty demon—was barreling down on me. Soon, I knew, I would have to tell. Because as much as telling might drive us apart, maintaining secrets would eventually do that very same thing.
Knowing that fundamental fact was one thing. Having it forced upon me by the other man in my life was something entirely different.
“If he loves you,” David said gently, “none of this will matter.”
“This,” I repeated. “There’s that word again. You think it won’t matter to him that I hunt demons? That I sneak out of the house at two A.M. and patrol the alleys and beaches armed with a blade and a bottle of holy water? Is that the this you’re talking about, David?”
I took a step closer to him, my emotions a confused mix of anger, longing, and loss. “Or is there something else? Another this. You and me,” I said, my voice catching in my throat. “You and Allie.” I tilted my chin up and looked him straight in the eye. I saw my own pain reflected right back at me, and my voice faltered. “Those are complications Stuart surely didn’t anticipate when he vowed before God to love me for better or for worse.”
David winced, and I knew I’d struck a nerve. Eric had made the same vow, of course, but his was made null by the death of his body. That his soul had returned was, for me, both treasure and torment.
“But he did make the vow,” David finally said, toying with his cane instead of looking at me directly. “If you love him, you have to have faith in him.”
I pressed my fingers against the bridge of my nose, the gesture hiding the fact that I couldn’t look at David. Not when all I would see was Eric.
“You told me you loved him,” he pressed, this time meeting my eyes fully.
“I meant it,” I said. And I had. I did. So help me, I loved my husband desperately.
The only trouble was, there were two men I loved. And two lives I couldn’t reconcile.
I turned away and started walking toward the street and my car. I needed to clear my head, and if that meant taking the wimpy way out, then so be it.
I’d come here tonight not for the chance to spend some quality time with my recently returned-to-life dead husband, but because I anticipated the arrival of a newly formed demon. I’d assumed that David’s motives were the same.
Not that I was naïve enough to think that the evening would pass entirely free of any discussion of our past relationship, but I truly wasn’t expecting to be defending my decision not to tell Stuart. Or weighing the pros and cons of letting Allie do an overnighter with her previously dead father.
I stalked toward the main road, the sound of my own footsteps accompanied by the dull bass thrum from one of the nearby clubs. Then another set of footfalls sounded behind mine. I tensed, my training taking over even though I knew with near-absolute certainty that it was David behind me.
As I slowed, the pad-thump of his footsteps quickened. I took a deep breath to steel myself, then turned to face him. He paused, one hand clutching his cane, and although the faces were nothing alike, at that moment, it was Eric that I was seeing. Forget the face, forget the limp. The eyes belonged to Eric, and the apology I saw within melted my heart.
“I’m sorry,” he said, and I thawed a little more.
“This isn’t easy. We’re both going to have to take it slow, you know? Be patient. And flexible.”
The corner of his mouth quirked up. “Since when have you ever been patient?”
“Fair enough,” I said wryly. The man really did know me too well. “The point is that we both have to make an effort.”