Demon 04 - Deja Demon

by Julie Kenner

  She waved a hand, indicating that was nothing. “Please. Do you know how many times Mindy changed her mind about her costume at the last minute? If I can turn a princess into a penguin in one afternoon, I think I can manage to pull together a rabbit costume from a pattern in three hours.”

  She had a point. And although I’d done the same for Allie, our situations weren’t exactly equivalent. When my six-year-old daughter decided that she didn’t want to be a princess but instead wanted to be an octopus, I convinced her that because it was Halloween, she needed to be the ghost of an octopus. One white sheet, two holes, and a few snips of the scissors to make eight tentacles, and I was done.

  And that’s about as domestic as my personal goddess ever gets.

  “Okay,” Laura said, inserting another pin. “I think this is good. Now I need you to put on the top. I’m just checking the shape,” she added when I protested.

  I wasn’t at all convinced, but I trusted her, then shimmied into the getup, careful to avoid the pins. Essentially, I was wearing a big gray hoodie. Later, I assumed, she’d add the ears, the cotton tail, and whatever other accoutrements this season’s fashionable Easter Bunny was wearing. At the moment, though, I looked like something Kabit coughed up, big and gray and slightly fuzzy.

  Naturally, the doorbell rang.

  “Don’t move. I’ll get it.”

  Laura disappeared into my entrance hall, then returned almost immediately trailed by Marissa Cartwright and her hyperspoiled daughter Danielle. Behind them came Fran, her daughter Elena, and Betsy Muldrow from two streets over. Not the entire gang, but a darn good start.

  “We’ll be starting in the kitchen, of course,” Marissa said, giving me a look that suggested that if I dared to argue, I was stupider than I looked. And considering I was wearing a bunny suit, I imagined I looked pretty stupid.

  “Where else?” I said, my smile so forced it hurt.

  A loud guffaw sounded from the top of the stairs and I looked up to see Eddie staring at my outfit.

  “It’s a costume,” I said. “Not an evening formal.”

  “I ain’t saying a word,” he said, clomping down the stairs. He took a look around at all the women. “You girls working on that Easter party today?”

  "Want to help?”

  “Rather stick pins in my eyes,” he said, a sentiment I understood completely. He turned around and headed back up the stairs, exactly the way he’d come, muttering something about his room, cable, and escaping a tornado of estrogen.

  I watched him go, wondering how painfully he’d kill me if I sent all the kids upstairs to the playroom and then begged him to help Allie with child care.

  Probably very, very painfully.

  A timid knock sounded at the front door and I turned, momentarily distracted from my thoughts of tormenting Eddie. “Hello?” I peered into the foyer, saw Wanda Abernathy, and waved at her to come in.

  “Lovely outfit, dear,” she said sincerely.

  “Thanks.” I turned away and rolled my eyes at Laura. Apparently my fragile neighbor was now a comedian. “Are you on the committee?”

  Wanda blinked at me. “Committee? Where do I sign up?”

  “Never mind. I’ll take care of it for you.” I took her hand and led her to the living room. She might be a character, but she’d just saved Eddie’s butt and he didn’t even know it. Plus, the neighborhood kids loved her, primarily because she would sit on her front porch and wave to every child who passed, whether taking his first steps or zipping by on a souped-up skateboard.

  Marissa shifted her weight from foot to foot, already antsy with all this wasted time.

  “Fran and Betsy, you two come with me. Wanda, stay with Kate and get the kids organized.” Marissa nailed me with an eagle-eyed glare. “Timmy is around today, isn’t he? I brought Danielle with me because I assumed there would be social interaction.”

  She glanced sideways at Elena, who, apparently, wasn’t sufficiently social to meet Marissa’s demanding standards. Across the room, Fran met my eyes, and I didn’t have to be psychic to understand exactly what she was thinking. For about five minutes last fall, we’d all ignored Marissa’s stormtrooper-like approach to life. After all, she’d been traumatized by the fact that both our teenage daughters had been kidnapped and terrorized by teenage boys dabbling in some pretty bad stuff. (Okay, let’s be honest: They’d been kidnapped and terrorized by demons, but Marissa and the rest of the committee members didn’t have access to that pertinent piece of information. And though Allie remembered, Marissa’s daughter JoAnn still had a blissful case of limited amnesia.)

  At any rate, especially considering the guilt I feel whenever anything demonic touches one of my friends (or, in Marissa’s case, acquaintances), I’d been especially conciliatory. But this was Marissa we were talking about, and it hadn’t taken too long for her rough edges to slice right through my good humor.

  In other words, I was back to hating the bi—

  “Mom!” Allie called down the stairs. “Timmy wants to bring his train stuff down and I really don’t want to carry it. Do I have to?”

  Marissa sniffed. “I don’t think Danielle would be interested in playing with trains. We’re trying to promote her femininity.”

  I kept my mouth shut and concentrated on climbing out of the bunny suit without sticking myself with one of Laura’s pins. “It’s fine, Al. Just bring Timmy. We’ll distract him down here.”

  “Maybe you could put something educational on television? ” Marissa suggested. “I think Danielle’s a little beyond Timmy in her stages of play.”

  A hand closed over my shoulder—and I decided I should probably be grateful to Laura for holding me back. The crypts might provide an excellent hiding place for demonic bodies, but I had a feeling Father Ben would frown if I shoved Marissa’s moldy carcass in there.

  “Television is out of the question,” Wanda said. “I haven’t liked a single show since The Waltons.” She nodded firmly to the kids. “We’ll play games,” she announced, patting Danielle on the back even as she urged Timmy to come over from the staircase on which he was now cowering. He liked Danielle about as much as I liked Marissa. For that matter, I wasn’t crazy about Danielle, either. She whined, griped, kicked, and bit. And on top of that, she invariably stole Boo Bear and forced Timmy into a near nervous breakdown. I try to be understanding and blame it on her mother, but when a pigtailed little tart is tormenting my baby, I don’t much care if she’s over forty or under four.

  This time—yay me—I’d gotten smart and shoved the bear on the top shelf of Timmy’s closet to be retrieved after the meeting broke up. In the meantime, though, Timmy looked like he’d been kicked in the stomach, being forced to endure the presence of his dreaded enemy without his absolute best buddy.

  “I’ll play, too,” Allie said. “How about Candy Land?”

  Timmy—being well-mannered and generally a pleasure to be around—bounced up and down, enthusiastically approving the choice.

  Danielle—being the spawn of Satan (and I should know)—scowled and insisted on Lucky Ducks.

  Elena—being pleasant and having a nonneurotic mother—smiled and clapped at every potential game presented to the group.

  “Can’t do the ducks,” I said. “No batteries.” And I didn’t really want to listen to the quacking of a dozen ducks as they went around and around in a tiny circle.

  “Candy’s bad for you,” Danielle announced, pushing Candy Land away with the tip of her finger, as if it were a sticky, twice-licked lollipop.

  “Pretend candy’s just fine,” I said, undoubtedly setting Marissa’s parenting back a solid nine months. Bummer.

  I’m probably a horrible person for not having more sympathy for Marissa, but the truth is I hadn’t liked the woman before her daughter was almost eviscerated by a demon, and I didn’t like her now.

  What can I say? At least I’m consistent.

  My general disdain for Marissa was soon dissipated by the steady stream of women who flowed into
the house over the next half hour. Soon, my kitchen was full of at least a dozen women all standing around, drinking coffee, gossiping, and doing nothing productive whatsoever.

  “I brought champagne and orange juice,” Candace Pritchard said. “That should make the work less tedious.” Which, I thought, it would if we could finally get to the working part of the equation.

  “Ladies! Ladies!” I began, trying to get their attention so that we could get moving with the projects and I wasn’t forced to face a future with a dozen women living in my house. Not that anyone was paying attention to me.

  A shrill wolf whistle cut through the din, and I looked over at Laura and smiled gratefully. With Laura playing the role of general, we eventually got everyone split into three groups—eggs, cookies, and baskets. I ended up in the egg group, which meant I sat at my table with three other woman and filled approximately seven million eggshells (give or take) with confetti, then glued little squares of tissue paper on top to hold the confetti in until that glorious moment when the egg was smashed over someone else’s head. With my still-splinted finger, I was the slowest in the group, but considering I’d opened my house for the festivities, I didn’t feel too guilty.

  Laura and I had set up a card table with four chairs next to my regular table, and Marissa and her crew camped there, decorating the baskets Laura had brought.

  Laura herself was working with three other women in my kitchen to make large chocolate chip cookies, which, once cooled, would become the outsides of ice cream sandwiches.

  About half an hour into it, we’d actually made some serious progress, and by the time Wanda wandered into the kitchen to announce that she was completely worn out and going home, we were well over halfway done.

  “Thanks so much for playing with the kids,” I said, walking her to the door. “It was a big help.”

  “I know, dear,” she said, patting my hand.

  “Do you need help getting home?” She seemed pale and a little unsteady.

  “No, no,” she said. “I’m tired, not feeble.”

  “All right then,” I said, but I stood at my front door and watched her walk home, just in case.

  Her departure left Allie in charge of the little ones, but she seemed to be doing okay, and I returned to the kitchen. All in all, I have to confess that my urge to kill Laura for setting this up had faded. The whole day was actually kind of fun, even though the more mimosas we had the less work we got done, trading productivity for stories about our kids’ antics and our husbands’ cluelessness.

  “Mommy! Mommy! Mommy!” Timmy’s voice rang out through the house, loud and accusatory. I hurried into the living room, all set to witness one of little Danielle’s moments of meanness. Instead, she was playing quite nicely on the floor with a coloring book and crayons.

  “What?”

  “Upstairs,” he said. “Up. Stairs.”

  I looked to Allie, who shrugged. “I told him we’re playing downstairs.”

  Timmy stamped a small foot. “Not playing. Miss Wanda go upstairs.”

  “Oh, sweetie, Miss Wanda went home. She wasn’t feeling good and—”

  I was interrupted by Eddie’s howl of frustration, underscored by Timmy’s determined shake of his head. “Right,” I said. “I’ll check it out.”

  I took the stairs two at a time and found Wanda with her hand on the door to the attic. “Wanda?”

  She turned around, eyes wild. A second passed, then another. “The bathroom?”

  Eddie tromped into the hallway. “Crazy old bat scared me to death poking her head in my room.”

  I glanced down the hall and saw that the door to my bedroom was open, though I was certain I’d closed it. “Wanda, honey, you went home, remember?”

  She reached out for the attic door again. “I’m looking for the bathroom,” she said stubbornly

  “Right. Come on, then. I’ll help you find it.” I took her arm, surprised by the initial resistance before she relaxed and let me lead her toward the stairwell.

  “Aw, hell,” Eddie said. “I’ll take her back.” I goggled at him, amazed. On the whole, Eddie wasn’t known for his sympathetic disposition.

  He snorted. “Too many damn women in this house. I’ll take her home, then walk to the library. Got a date tonight, anyway. Taking Tammy out for dinner.” He winked at me. “With any luck, you won’t be seeing me until tomorrow.”

  I forced a smile, quite certain that was more information about Eddie’s private life than I really needed. “Tell Mrs. Gunderson I’m really, really sorry.” I’d told him my tale of woe early that morning, expecting him to apologize for suggesting to all of the library workers that I was more than a little strange. To say that Eddie was unrepentant would be an understatement.

  He waved a hand. “Don’t worry about it. Probably the most exciting thing’s happened to her in months.”

  I wasn’t sure I wanted to be Mrs. Gunderson’s most exciting thing, but considering Eddie had volunteered to take care of Wanda, I was keeping my mouth shut.

  He led her back downstairs, and I aimed myself back toward the kitchen, where Marissa and Laura were cutting thin slabs of ice cream to press between two of the now-cooled cookies. “The kids are going to love those,” I said. “For that matter, so would I.”

  “Ah-ah,” Laura warned. “Can I trust these in your freezer, or do I have to take them home with me?”

  I crossed my heart. “Promise,” I said as I settled back in beside the table.

  “So whatever happened to your self-defense class?” Betsy asked. I’d bumped into her at Cutter’s studio one day. Her thirteen-year-old daughter Alicia takes classes with him, and the girl had seen me spar. Rather than make up a complicated story, I’d made up a simple one, telling her I’d been practicing martial arts for years and trained with Cutter to keep my skills up. One thing had led to another and before I knew it, I’d suggested teaching a self-defense class to the neighborhood women. Considering the beasties that showed up in my neighborhood—often drawn here because of me—I figured it was the least I could do.

  “I honestly haven’t thought much more about it,” I admitted. “I’m happy to do it, and I guess we could rent space at the clubhouse or use Cutter’s studio. But do you really think anyone would sign up?”

  Betsy looked at me like I was nuts. “Are you kidding? I’d sign up in a heartbeat.”

  “Me, too,” chimed in Candace.

  “You know I would,” said Laura.

  I glanced at Marissa, who turned and leaned against the counter as if considering both me and the proposition. “I’m in, too,” she said. “I mean, it’s a crazy world, out there. Anything that helps me protect my kids, and I’m jumping all over it.”

  She caught my eye, and I nodded. Maybe Marissa and I had more in common than I thought.

  Fifteen

  I spent the rest of Monday recovering from my mimosa headache, vegging with my kids, and trying to ignore how empty the house felt without Stuart. And, for that matter, without Eddie, who I could only assume really had gotten lucky.

  Timmy and Allie and I played endless games of Scrabble (our version of it, anyway, as Timmy makes whatever combination of letters he wants and gets points simply for naming the letter), then Tim and I settled in to watch The Incredibles, a movie currently high on Timmy’s list of favorites.

  To my surprise, Allie watched with us, even offering to make the popcorn. All in all, a lovely afternoon and evening, even if I made no progress whatsoever toward figuring out what the local demon population was up to.

  Of course, I paid the price on Tuesday when I woke up to the realization that I should have spent Monday evening at the grocery store. I sat bolt upright in bed, jerked awake by the inescapable fact that I had T minus eleven hours and counting to Stuart’s dinner party. And I really wasn’t ready.

  I considered taking Timmy to KidSpace, then remembered that they were closed for spring break, an anomaly that caused me no end of confusion. Wouldn’t parents forced to work while t
heir kids are in school need day care even more urgently during the breaks?

  At any rate, it was just as well. Considering that the local demon population had shifted into overdrive, I preferred to have the kids nearby.

  “Couldn’t we have stayed home?” Allie moaned, not nearly as won over by the proximity thing as I was. She slunk down in her seat and did a good imitation of a rag doll with serious depression issues. “I can babysit Timmy long enough for you to go to the store. We’ve got locks and alarms, and I’m dead-on with a knife these days.”

  “This isn’t about demons,” I lied. “Can’t I have some togetherness? ”

  She looked sideways at me, and I started to regret the togetherness thing. “Togetherness” at the grocery store usually transformed my normally well-behaved children into a tiny whirling dervish and a taller morbid teenager with the attitude of a death row inmate marching to the gas chamber.

  Lucky me.

  “So what have you learned about the sword?” I asked, hoping to bump her mood up a notch. Mine had already elevated simply because of the mostly empty state of the parking lot. I got a prime parking space and, with any luck, the traffic in the aisles would be thin.

  “Not much,” she said.

  “How about this enemy of mine who wants to become The One?”

  “Same answer,” she admitted, pulling out a shopping cart shaped like a blue race car and holding it steady while I strapped in her brother. “I’ve been reading through those reports you gave me, and you’ve got a buttload of enemies out there in demonland.”

  “Allie.”

  “Well, you do.”

  “Language.”

  “All I said was ‘butt.’ ”

  I aimed the mommy look at her, and she grimaced.

  “Sorry. You have a whole bunch of enemies out there. Better? ”

  “Much,” I said, though I silently conceded that “buttload” more accurately conveyed the scope of the situation.

  “Anyway, it doesn’t matter because it could be any one of them. I mean, all the bigwig demons seem to want to be super-demon-dude, you know?”