by Julie Kenner
“Go where?” Stuart asked.
“A party,” Allie answered, without missing a beat. “At Zachary Tremont’s house.” Zachary Tremont is a senior and the quarterback. He’s also the son of Horatio Tremont, a major movie star who divides his time between Los Angeles and San Diablo. The house is in a gated section of the town with access to a private beach. Horatio’s parties are the kind that usually end up featured on such fabulous news venues as Access Hollywood and Entertainment Tonight. I could only assume Zachary intended to live up to Daddy’s expectations.
“Mom said we couldn’t go,” Allie continued, shooting me a look of contempt that had me both mentally applauding her acting abilities and wallowing in an increased level of guilt. Not only was I lying to my husband on a regular basis, but now my daughter had joined the act, too.
For a brief instant, I considered coming clean right then and telling Stuart everything. But when I opened my mouth, I couldn’t do it. There’s a time for everything, and somehow, I didn’t think this was the time for true confessions.
Or maybe I was just chicken.
At any rate, I heard myself saying, “The party was going to have alcohol. And I really don’t think Zachary is a good influence.” That, at least, was true. But on the whole, I wouldn’t be winning the Spouse of the Year award.
“So you went anyway,” Stuart said, finishing her story.
“No,” Allie said. “But I was mad, you know? So I snuck out of the house to go spend the night at Mindy’s after she got back, ’cause I wanted her to tell me about it. And when Mom realized I was gone—”
“You decided to scream at each other?”
“We saw a rat,” I said, then decided that was the wrong thing to say. I had no interest in having exterminators sniffing around the house. What if I’d missed a finger? “Actually, I think it was a small coyote.”
“When I was coming back,” Allie said, joining in the improvisation. “ ’Cause Mom called Aunt Laura, and it was right before I came through the fence that we saw the thing.”
Laura Dupont is my best friend, and her daughter Mindy is, conveniently enough, Allie’s number one chum. To make things even cozier, our houses back up to each other, separated only by our fences and a utility easement.
“I get the picture,” Stuart said. He reached for my hand, and I took it. “Rat or coyote, it’s really not the issue. The point is that you disobeyed your mom and left this house without asking permission. You’re grounded, young lady. The weekend and next week. After that, we’ll negotiate Easter weekend. You understand?”
“Uh-huh,” said Allie, even as I opened my mouth to protest.
“Maybe that’s a little severe,” I put in. “It’s a vacation week. The cheerleaders have a fund-raiser planned, there are parties. Things she’s been looking forward to.”
“Which is exactly why she shouldn’t be permitted to participate, ” Stuart said, as Allie shrugged noncommittally. “This isn’t the first time you’ve done something like this, Alison,” he added, turning back to my daughter.
About that, Stuart was right. The last time she’d sneaked out without permission, she’d been kidnapped and set up as the main attraction of a rather disgusting demonic ritual. This time, however, she hadn’t disobeyed—not unless sitting outside in your own backyard waiting for news about your resurrected father counts as breaking curfew. I didn’t think so, and my mommy guilt meter was off the charts.
I’d thought my days and nights had become complicated last summer when a demon had crashed through the breakfast room window. Trust me—back then, I didn’t even know what complicated was.
“I don’t know if—” I began, but Allie cut me off.
“It’s okay. Stuart’s right. It’s cool.” She looked at me. “Really. ”
“Inside,” Stuart said, pointing toward the door. “And no sleeping in. Tomorrow’s Saturday. You get up with the family. No lounging around just because you decided to go gallivanting around in the middle of the night.”
“Yes, sir.” She shot one last look at me, then skulked inside.
“You disagree?” Stuart asked, apparently reading my expression.
“No,” I said. “But—”
“I love her, too, Kate,” he said, reaching out to pull a piece of grass out of my hair. He twirled it absently in his fingers as I held my breath, wondering if he’d think to question how it got there. My husband, however, was too caught up with Allie to be concerned about me. “You can overrule me if you want—”
“No,” I said. “It’s okay.” From what I could tell by reading my daughter’s face, it was okay. A bit baffling from my perspective, but I could talk to her about that in the morning.
More important from an overall family point of view was Stuart’s decision to step boldly into the teenage discipline abyss. By default more than design, I’d retained prime parental authority over Allie after Stuart and I had married. I’d be lying if I said that I hadn’t greedily held that privilege close to my heart. Allie was mine, and sharing responsibility for major parental decisions would mean that Eric was truly gone.
But even while I’d clutched at the strings of my old life, I’d known it wasn’t fair to Stuart. We were trying to carve out a family, and that can be tough when you’re remolding one that had existed previously. Allie hadn’t forgotten her father, and I didn’t want her to. But those memories stacked up between her and Stuart, a towering gray wall that would forever keep them Alison and Stuart rather than father and daughter.
I didn’t want Stuart to take Eric’s place—even before I knew that Eric would return to claim that right himself, I hadn’t wanted it. But I did want us to be a family. Allie loved Stuart, I knew that. But it’s one thing to love a man who defers to your mother. It’s something completely different to love and respect the man who can take away your freedom, not to mention your clothing budget for the year.
“It’s hard,” Stuart said, taking my hand and leading me to the porch swing. He pulled me down and hooked his arm over my shoulder. “What you have to do.”
“What I have to do?” I repeated, hoping my voice sounded normal and he couldn’t feel the tension I was fighting in my shoulders. “What are you talking about?”
“With Allie,” he said, and I relaxed a little. “Keeping her close, but giving her room to grow up. We’ve got more than a decade left with Timmy, but with Allie, you’re right in the thick of it.”
“We’re in the thick of it,” I corrected.
He looked at me, as if trying to see my thoughts. I looked back, hoping my face appeared unguarded and none of my secrets shone in my eyes. “You don’t mind?”
“You’re my husband. She’s my daughter. What’s to mind?” I stood up and held my hand out to him. “Trust me. If I disagree when you lay down the law, you’ll be the first to know.”
“Fair enough,” he said, taking my hand as we walked to the door. He glanced at his watch. “It’s not quite five. Not really worth getting up and dressed yet, and at the same time I’m not that keen on going back to sleep.”
“You’re not?” I said, amused. “I’m pretty sure we left Hi Ho! Cherry-O on the kitchen table. Maybe a quick game to lull you back to dreamland?”
“That would definitely lull me into oblivion,” he conceded. “I was thinking of something not quite so G-rated.”
“Hmmm,” I said, pretending to consider. “It’s a little late for a movie.”
He took my hand and tugged me toward the stairs. “Come with me to my casting couch.”
I laughed and followed, but at the foot of the stairs, I turned back, glancing toward our yard, currently doubling as a demon disposal.
“Kate?”
“Just thinking whether we locked the door,” I lied as I considered my options. Plead a headache, and Stuart would stay up with me, rubbing my temples and providing hot tea. Plead exhaustion, and he’d tuck me into bed and snuggle close. And if I were to claim that I was frazzled by Allie’s supposed misbehavior, he’d inevita
bly stay up with me to talk it through.
All of which meant that my options were pretty much limited to snuggling with my husband or confessing all and enlisting his help in hiding a body and boxing up various limbs.
In truth, the confessing all option was becoming more and more appealing. Eventually, I had to just bite the bullet and do that. But somehow four thirty in the morning didn’t seem the right time. And to be completely truthful, considering the way Stuart’s hand was rubbing the back of my neck and the way his lips were grazing the top of my ear, true confessions were the last thing on my mind.
We reached the top of the stairs just as a stream of light cut across the darkened hallway, accompanied by the squeal of hinges desperately in need of a shot of WD-40. A moment later, Eddie appeared, his hair shooting out in all directions and his eyes looking just as wild. Eddie’s a former Demon Hunter who—as a result of a series of convoluted stories manufactured by yours truly—is now living in our guest room, with everyone in our household believing him to be Eric’s great grandfather. Just another twist on our already convoluted family life.
“The devil himself better be in the living room,” he said, giving the cord on his blue flannel robe a tug. “Can’t think why else you’d all be making so much racket.”
“Close,” I said, keeping my smile bright even though I was less than thrilled with his choice of words. In my line of work, a reference to the devil himself could be quite literal.
“Allie and Kate saw a coyote,” Stuart said helpfully.
Eddie let loose with a loud guffaw. “Hoo-boy. I’ll bet they did. Gotta nip those suckers in the bud. Stab ’em with something nice and pointy. Make sure they don’t come back again.” He pointed a bony finger at Stuart. “That’s the only way to take care of beasties like that.”
“Thanks for the tip, Eddie,” I said, keeping my voice calm even though I was seething. “We’re going to bed, now.”
“Sorry we woke you,” Stuart said, aiming a look at me that suggested he was rethinking his decision to let Eddie live indefinitely in the guest room.
“Feel free to go outside and search for coyote carcasses,” I said cheerily as we passed him on the landing. I punctuated my words with a significant look. With any luck, I wouldn’t have to rely on postcoital demon carcass removal. Eddie would take the hint and handle that little chore for me.
Of course, the fact that Eddie yawned, turned around, and disappeared back into his room made me think that I really shouldn’t bank on his help. I almost considered popping into Allie’s room on the pretext of a kiss good-night and enlisting her to sneak down and take care of the damage, but I ruled that one out immediately. Killing demons and mutilating their slave labor together might be one for the memory book. Sending her out to dispose of the remains by herself though? That just didn’t seem right.
“We should have brought a bottle of wine up with us,” Stuart said, bringing me back to a much more pleasant reality.
“It’s almost morning,” I protested as I kicked off my shoes and climbed onto the bed next to him. If Eddie hadn’t taken the hint, there was nothing I could do except sneak downstairs as soon as Stuart fell asleep again. “I could maybe handle a mimosa, but I’m thinking that wine isn’t really my thing right now.”
He pulled me close and started stroking my hair. “No? What is your thing?”
Ten seconds earlier, I probably could have come up with a response to that. Right then, though, my brain was turning to mush, the result of my husband’s concentrated attention and my severe lack of sleep. “Um,” I managed.
“My thoughts exactly,” he said. He kissed me then, and I curled against him, feeling warm and safe and a million miles from the battle in the backyard only minutes before.
“Don’t you have to get up at the crack of dawn?” I asked, which wasn’t really a protest because to be honest I was starting to get with the program.
“I didn’t even set the alarm clock,” he said.
“What’s wrong?” I asked, jarred out of my haze enough to sit up and twist around to look at him.
“Can’t a man simply want to spend Saturday morning with his family?”
“A man can,” I agreed. “Sure. But you’re Stuart Connor, Candidate for Change, remember? And it’s been months since you’ve gone to sleep without setting the alarm. Doesn’t Clark need you at the office in the morning? The primary is practically nipping at your heels.”
“True enough,” Stuart said, then pressed a soft kiss to my forehead. “I told him I needed a few hours in the morning with my family.”
“You did?” I felt warm and tingly all over, at least for the fifteen seconds before that feeling dissolved into cold, hard paranoia. “Why?”
It was a serious question, but my husband only laughed and drew me closer. “Kate,” he murmured. And, suddenly, the idea of Stuart snuggled close without an alarm clock sounded perfectly appealing. I mean, honestly. Why question a good thing?
I didn’t have an answer for that one, and so I let it ride, letting all of my worrisome thoughts drift away on a river of my husband’s kisses.
In case you Were wondering, it is remarkably hard to stay awake after sex. Especially the really nice kind of sex that leaves you all warm and languid and determined to cook your husband the best breakfast ever, despite your lack of culinary skills and your desire to never, ever leave your bed again.
I managed, though. The staying awake, that is. As Stuart rolled over, his arms clutching the pillow in that little-boy way he has, I forced my liquid limbs to push me upright. I sat there for a moment, watching the rise and fall of his chest in the dim glow of the single candle he’d lit on the bedside table. I blew it out, then slid out of bed and pulled on the clothes that had ended up in a heap on the floor.
A quick glance over my shoulder confirmed that Stuart was still down for the count, and based on past experience I figured it was a safe bet that he wouldn’t be waking up again for a while. And that was true even if a demon leaped out of the closet and attacked me right then.
Fortunately, I didn’t have to put that theory to test, and I made it downstairs without waking my husband or tripping on a stray toy.
I went first to my purse and grabbed my cell phone to call David. Two rings, then straight to voice mail. “Hey,” I said. “It’s me. Our friend turned up last night after all, and he brought along a buddy. Everything’s fine now, but they were spouting all sorts of nonsense about payback for stuff that happened in the past, so you ought to watch yourself. Plus, it turned into something of a party and I could use a hand cleaning up. So call me when you get this.”
Hopefully he would call, and not simply show up. I had no idea what I’d say if he was here when Stuart woke up. Allie in the backyard made sense. The high school chemistry teacher? Not so much.
Still, as awkward as his showing up unannounced might be, at least it would be confirmation that he was alive and well. Considering our intertwined pasts, any demon seeking revenge against me was probably also interested in getting revenge on Eric, too. And for all I knew, Sammy’s best demon buddy might have shown up at David’s apartment about the same time I was shoving a stake through Sammy’s eye.
I frowned, then called his cell one more time, this time stressing that he needed to call me the second he got the message. I forced myself not to grab my car keys and race out of the house. I was operating now off nothing but blind paranoia. For one thing, as far as I knew, most of the demon world had no idea that Eric had resurfaced in David’s body. A few demons were privy, sure. But I didn’t think that all of hell had yet got the message. And even if our former enemies were aware of his new identity, David knew how to take care of himself. I’d survived; I had no reason to think he wouldn’t also.
Even so, if he didn’t report by the time my household was awake and moving around, I’d drive over myself and check on him. Right now, though, I needed to make one more quick call before I checked on the beasties in my backyard.
This time, I
dialed Forza. And once again, I got dumped into voice mail. Honestly, was I the only person right where I was supposed to be?
I left Father Corletti a detailed message of what had happened, focusing primarily on what the demon had said. Not only the reference to the mysterious Sword of Caelum, but also the bit about “he who seeks revenge” and who was “thrust into cardinal fire.” And just for good measure, I threw in how vengeance would be combining with revenge.
To be honest, my call to Father Corletti was completely outside the bounds of protocol. I had an alimentatore in town, and Father Ben should have been my first call. But I felt justified in circumventing channels because it sounded like this attack was personal. And if it stemmed from a demon I’d encountered in my past, then contacting Father Corletti first made sense. He’d been there, after all, living those first years alongside Eric and me. Celebrating our victories and, yes, mourning our losses with us.
I hung up, then hurried outside, making use of the limited ambient light to navigate safe passage through the obstacle course that is our yard until I reached the shed. I opened the door and immediately saw the big, blue Rubbermaid tub I’d used to hold all the plastic Easter eggs, party favors, and other paraphernalia I’d collected for the upcoming Neighborhood Association Easter Fair. I’d tried keeping the stuff in cardboard boxes in the kitchen, but the lure was too much for Timmy, and I’d had to pry eggs and candy out of his disappointed little fingers one too many times.
The candy, of course, existed to fill the eggs. And that, unfortunately, was my job. And for no other reason than that I am an easily manipulated raving idiot.
Our house is in a planned subdivision and, like virtually every house in Southern California, we’re part of a homeowners’ association. And this year, the association is putting on an Easter fair, complete with Easter egg hunts, a moonwalk, a dunking booth, a bake sale, and, of course, the Easter Bunny.
One guess who got roped into organizing it all. What can I say? They asked me early one Saturday morning after I’d been out until four chasing down a teenager who’d been killed at a skateboarding competition and—you guessed it—revitalized as a demon. Him on a board and me on foot—it made for an exciting chase. Not to mention an exhausting one.