Demon 04 - Deja Demon

by Julie Kenner

  She didn’t look thrilled with the delay, but considering Timmy had slid off his chair and padded over to me, and was now tugging on my shirt and begging for Curious George in a stage whisper, I think she knew she had no choice.

  “You’re gonna have to do the explaining yourself,” Eddie said, while I scrolled through the TiVo menu, looking for an episode of the PBS program he hadn’t seen eight dozen times.

  My toddler is a creature of repetition. He’d watched and abandoned Dora, The Wiggles, and Clifford the Big Red Dog. Occasionally he’d revisit them for nostalgia purposes, but for the most part, he’d moved on. A little monkey and a man in a yellow hat were his latest obsession. Stuart and I were taking bets over what would follow when poor George was pushed out of the number one position.

  “What?” I said, cursing my remote as it skipped right over Timmy’s program and pulled up an old Law & Order instead.

  “I said you’re on your own with the zombies.”

  “Where are you going?” I wrestled the remote control into submission, did a little cheer, and settled Timmy on the couch.

  “Library,” he said. “I wasted enough time this morning being your relief babysitter.” He tapped his watch. “I gotta hustle if I want to hit the library before lunch.”

  “I’ve got a bucket of body parts to deal with and you’re leaving to go peruse the stacks?”

  “Hell no,” he said. “I’m leaving you to go flirt with the librarian.” He managed a sloppy wink. “Tammy’s working today. Damn fine woman, Tammy.”

  “I’m sure,” I said. “But—”

  “Mom! What about the zombies?”

  I took a deep breath for patience, then nodded at Eddie. “Fine. Go. Abandon me in my time of crisis.”

  He snorted. “How long have I lived here now? You got the cojones to handle yourself in a crisis. You got your blind sides, girlie, but you still got a couple of nice big ones.”

  I grimaced. “Thanks. I think.” Not that I didn’t appreciate the vote of confidence, however poorly phrased, but that didn’t mean I was going to jump for joy when my potential help decided to hit the road.

  “Tell you what,” he said. “I’m feeling magnanimous today. I ain’t gonna move any bodies. But if you need me, you call me.” A wide grin split his craggy face. “Sounds like a country song,” he said, and he headed toward the door humming an off-key tune.

  “Great. Thanks. Thanks so much.” He wasn’t listening, of course. He was already heading out the front door, getting ready to walk the six blocks to our neighborhood library branch.

  Feeling somewhat abandoned, I returned to the kitchen to face my daughter’s interrogation.

  “You promised,” she said without preamble. “Zombies. Go on. Tell me everything.”

  I had to laugh at her enthusiasm, and I was just about to do exactly that, when a dull thud at the back door made us both jump. I gave myself a mental shake and calmed down. I’m trained to deal with things that go bump in the night, and I can handle things that go bump in the daytime, too. For another, even if the demon carcass had returned, he wasn’t going to be polite enough to knock.

  “It’s nothing,” I assured Allie.

  She looked ready to argue the point, when Laura’s voice filtered through the closed door. “Kate! Get a move on before I drop all of this.”

  I rushed to the back door and found my best friend hidden behind a Rubbermaid tub topped with a cardboard box overflowing with pink and green plastic baskets, shredded plastic grass, and cheap plastic toys. The thudding came from the pale-pink Keds she’d banged against the bottom of my door.

  “Do I even want to know what you did to your finger?” she asked, by way of preamble.

  “Do I even want to know what you’re bringing into my house?” I retorted.

  “I found the greatest stuff at Big Lots,” she said. “Seventy-five percent off.”

  “But we already have a ton of stuff.”

  “Kate,” she said in her most serious voice. “Seventy-five percent off.”

  “Right. Got it.” Laura is an extreme shopper. And where sales are concerned, it’s best to stand back and let her do her thing.

  “The finger?” she pressed, resting her load on the arm of one of my chairs.

  “Pissed off a demon,” I admitted. “Then didn’t move fast enough.”

  “Isn’t that always the way?” she said, but I noticed that she seemed slightly paler as she said it.

  “Don’t worry. It doesn’t even hurt anymore.”

  “Because you’re a kick-ass Demon Hunter immune to pain?”

  “That and the Vicodin.” The comment didn’t earn me as much of a smile as I was expecting. “I’m fine, Laura,” I said. “Trust me. Of all the injuries I’ve had over the years, this one is nothing.”

  “But it’s the first real injury I’ve seen. To you, I mean. You’re like the superhero here, you know? My wrist might get smashed up, but superheroes aren’t supposed to break.”

  I nodded, acutely aware of my decision not to tell her about David’s death-by-demon only mere months ago. “Sorry to burst the bubble,” I said. “But I’m really okay.” I peered at her. “Are you?”

  “Yeah,” she said, then frowned, her forehead creasing. She nodded, firm and resolute. “Yes. Absolutely. I’m fine. Chickenshit, but fine.”

  “Fair enough.” I nodded toward the junk she’d schlepped to my house. “Can I help?”

  “With that finger?” She made a face, then passed me the bag filled with Easter grass.

  “Thanks. Your confidence in my skills while wounded is enlightening.”

  “Save your strength for the demons,” she said, then hoisted her bin and headed toward the kitchen.

  “Good advice,” I said, tagging after. “Wish I’d followed it. I wouldn’t be heading up an Easter fair committee. It’s positively surreal that I volunteered to do this. And I really can’t believe you’re joining in the madness.”

  “It’s fun,” she said, completely sincerely. She plunked her load down by one of the kitchen chairs, then picked up one of the Easter baskets. “See? Once we tie little bows on each handle and shove some grass inside, these will make fabulous goody baskets for the kids. All they have to do is take one, then run madly around the park looking for eggs.”

  How could I argue with logic like that?

  “Besides,” she continued. “I have to help. It’s part of the sidekick oath. Whither you go, I must follow.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind the next time I’m forced to take Timmy grocery shopping,” I said. “Seriously, though. Thanks. There’s no way I’d manage all of this on my own, and with you channeling Martha Stewart I feel like I have professional help.”

  “One,” she said, heading toward my coffee maker, “I don’t need to channel Martha. I’m glorious in my own right, and damn good in the kitchen.”

  “That you are,” I confirmed. “Been reading self-help books again?”

  “Every night,” she said. “And two, I don’t mind helping at all. It keeps my mind off Paul and the countdown to freedom. And three, you are a committee head, Kate. You’re supposed to delegate. I shouldn’t be the only slave labor on your rolls.”

  I shrugged. “It’s easier to do it myself.”

  She lifted an eyebrow, and I immediately backtracked.

  “Fair enough. It’s easier to have you do it for me. See? I am delegating.”

  “And so did I,” she said.

  I squinted at her. “Come again?”

  “Monday,” she said. “The committee is descending on your house to help us stuff the eggs and make ice cream sandwiches and cupcakes.”

  I stared at her as if she’d grown two heads. “Wait. What? You’ve got people coming over here in just three days? When am I supposed to clean? Have you seen my living room?”

  “Yes. This weekend. It’s fine. And it’s in two days. Today is Saturday.”

  I shook my head. “Right. I’m still in Friday mode.” I shot her a glare. “That
’s twenty-four hours less than I had three seconds ago.”

  “See?” she said, wiping Frosted Flakes off Timmy’s abandoned chair before taking a seat. “That’s why I take on these little projects. The cries of gratitude from my adoring public.”

  “Mom’s worried the committee will get zombiefied,” Allie offered. She’d pulled herself up to the kitchen counter and was sitting there now, kicking her legs on the cabinet doors.

  “Zombiefied?” Laura repeated.

  “Allie,” I warned.

  “Well, you are.”

  “Not the zombies,” I clarified. “Your heels. And no, I’m not. Zombies I can handle. Ten women in my kitchen?” I shivered and turned back to Laura. “Did I piss you off somehow? ”

  “Zombies,” she said again, completely unrepentant on the committee thing.

  I gave up. “Allie and I were in the middle of a little chat on zombies when you arrived.”

  “Of course you were,” Laura said. “That’s why I come here. The calm, sane conversation.”

  Despite herself, Allie grinned. “But we can talk now, right? Where’s Mindy?”

  As far as I knew, Allie had kept her promise not to tell her best friend about my secret identity or about Allie’s training. If Mindy joined us, we’d have to move on to other scintillating topics. Like whether to use green grass in the green baskets or go hog wild and use pink.

  “Her dad called as I was leaving. She’ll be over soon, though.”

  “Good,” Allie said, but whether to Mindy’s short absence or anticipated arrival, I wasn’t sure, and I felt an unpleasant little twist in my heart. Mindy was Allie’s best friend, the two of them having survived junior high and the beginning of high school, different activities, and a rather nasty bout of competitiveness early in the school year. Having weathered the storm, I hated to think that it might be my Big Secret that would end up pulling them apart.

  Allie pulled her feet up and hugged her knees. I cleared my throat loudly and pointed, and she immediately hopped off the counter and moved to the red retro step stool. She propped her chin on her fist and regarded Laura. “Did you see a body on your way over?”

  Laura shifted her attention from me to Allie and then back to me again. “Uh, no. Should I have?”

  “We’re missing one,” I said.

  “It’s always something.”

  “Isn’t it just,” I agreed, then gave her a quick rundown on last night and this morning, conveniently leaving out the part about the sword.

  “That is absolutely disgusting,” Laura said. “It could be anywhere.”

  “It’s just a body now, Laura.”

  “That doesn’t make it any less disgusting if it turns up in my flower garden.”

  “The odds against it migrating to your flowers are astronomical, ” I assured her.

  “Yeah,” Allie said. “Instead it’s just gonna go knock on your front door.”

  “Very nice,” said Laura. “But so far, my house has been perfectly demon free, and—” She cut herself off, looking from Allie to me. “She’s not kidding, is she?”

  “Well, I don’t think you need to worry about the demon knocking on your door,” I said.

  “So glad to hear it,” she said with a wry expression. She plucked a basket out of the cardboard box, then reached down to open the tub next to her chair with her free hand. “But why all the talk of zombies?”

  “Allie thinks there’s a very good chance that our missing body has been turned into a zombie.”

  “In any other family, I’d say your kid had a great imagination. ” And then, without any warning at all, Laura leaped from her chair and screamed.

  Eight

  "Aaaaaah! ” Laura Cried, her chair tumbling as she scrambled backwards, her finger pointing down toward the tub.

  I looked, saw what she was pointing at, and burst out laughing.

  “What in heaven’s name is that?”

  “That’s our zombie,” Allie said brightly.

  “That’s my tub. I can’t believe you brought in the tub from the shed,” I said, trying very hard not to shake, I was laughing so hard. “You should have said something.”

  “We’re using body parts for the party?” Laura asked, her voice rising.

  “I needed the tub,” I explained. “The candy and eggs and stuff are in a lawn bag now.”

  “You needed the tub,” she said, taking a tentative step closer to the tub. “Is that a finger?”

  “What happened? What happened?” Timmy yelled, racing into the kitchen toward us. “Mommy screamed?”

  “No, sweetie, that would be Aunt Laura.”

  “Thanks,” she said.

  “The hand almost climbed up my leg,” Allie said, with oodles of enthusiasm, even as her little brother peered into the tub with ghoulish glee.

  The blood drained from Laura’s face, and she looked at me for confirmation.

  “You have to hack them up,” I said. “It stops them, but it doesn’t kill them.”

  “Oooh! Wormies,” Timmy said, then leaned into the tub and snatched a finger.

  We all leaped toward him. “No, no,” I said. “That’s not for you, buddy.”

  “Mine!” he cried, dancing away from me, holding the finger high. It wriggled and squirmed, but was generally harmless. “Mine, mine, mine!” He started marching around the kitchen table, finger held high.

  Intellectually, I knew I should go after him and wrest it from his hot little hand. Instead, all I wanted to do was run for the video camera.

  “So, will you tell me already?” Allie begged, hopping off the stool and following her brother. “About the real and fake ones? Mindy’s gonna be here soon, and unless you guys say I can tell her everything . . .” She trailed off, looking from me to Laura hopefully. Apparently her blatant omission from her best friend had been on her mind lately, too.

  I let Laura field that one, not only because she was in charge where Mindy was concerned, but also because I was still savoring Timmy’s delighted march with the displaced finger.

  For a moment, Laura looked like she was considering the possibility of telling Mindy. Then she shook her head. “I’m sorry, Al. But Mindy’s got a lot going on right now. I don’t think we need to add demons to the mix.”

  “Demons are better than divorce,” Allie said, and although I know she didn’t mean her words to sting, I saw the way Laura cringed. “Oh, gosh. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”

  “It’s okay, sweetie,” Laura said as Timmy turned one hundred and eighty degrees and launched himself at Allie. “To be honest, I wish Mindy didn’t have to put up with that, either.”

  “Ah-ha!” Allie said, catching Timmy around the waist and holding him upside down. “I got you!”

  Timmy squealed, absolutely delighted with this turn of events.

  “Two swings,” Allie said. “Then I want the wiggly toy. Deal?”

  “Deal!”

  She hauled him upside down to the living room, and I didn’t have to be able to see to know she was holding his thighs and swinging him between her own before tossing him on the couch. The toss, in reality, was more of a gentle placement, but Timmy loved it just the same.

  Meanwhile, Kabit padded over, lifted himself onto his haunches, and hissed at the contents of the tub.

  “You said it, kitty,” Laura said. “Yuck.”

  “Okay,” Allie said, coming back into the room with the zombie’s index finger held daintily between her own finger and thumb. “That worked, and he’s happily back in monkey land.”

  “You win the good big sister of the year award,” I said as she tossed the finger back into the tub.

  “Lucky me. So will you tell me now? The real zombie/fake zombie thing?”

  “There are fake zombies?” Laura asked. “Like what I buy at Hobby Lobby for Halloween?”

  “Not exactly,” I said. I took a step backwards so I could see into the living room. Sure enough, Timmy was camped out too close to the television watching George wheel around his apa
rtment with a cast on his leg, and Mindy was nowhere near the back door. In other words, the coast was clear.

  “Real zombies,” I began, “are just animated flesh. Like this guy,” I added, nodding to the tub.

  “Since you can’t kill them,” Allie told Laura, “you have to hack them up. But they don’t bleed.”

  “That’s really good to know,” Laura said, looking like she might throw up.

  “The trouble with those zombies from a demon’s perspective is that they’re a whole lot of trouble to make,” I added.

  “It involves the desecration of holy relics,” Allie chimed in, proving once and for all that she can pay attention, and that there was absolutely no reason for the C she got in American history last semester.

  “Exactly,” I said. “And they don’t blend in particularly well, either, you know?”

  I pulled out one of the kitchen chairs for Allie and motioned for her to sit. As long as I had a captive audience, I might as well put them to work.

  “Why do the demons want them?” Allie asked as I put one of Laura’s baskets in front of her, then motioned to the Easter grass and ribbons.

  I plunked a purple basket down in front of me and reached for the green grass. With my finger, I could easily fill baskets with grass. Tying gorgeous ribbons on the handles? Maybe not so much.

  I shoved a handful of grass in and considered Allie’s question. “Cheap labor, more or less. Send out an automaton to maim and kill, and you don’t risk getting nailed through the eye.”

  “But the demon attacked you,” Allie said. “Not the zombie. ”

  “I know,” I said. “That’s definitely strange.”

  “The missing demon?” Laura asked. Her forehead crinkled. “You have a demon and a zombie, right?”

  “Right,” I said, thankful that Laura had subtly shifted the conversation, because I hadn’t told Allie the entire truth. Since zombies can’t talk—and since my demon felt compelled to chitchat about the Sword of Caelum and revenge and other nasty stuff—it made sense that it was a demon who’d jumped me.

  “So those are the real ones,” Laura said. “And that’s what we’ve got here?”