Demon 04 - Deja Demon

by Julie Kenner

  I did indeed.

  “Well, keep at it,” I said. “Maybe something will jump out at you.”

  “Hopefully not a demon,” she said, then laughed at her own joke.

  I fought my own grin and realized with a start that I was enjoying having my daughter follow in my footsteps. The insight gave me pause. I’d always told myself I wanted my kids to have a normal life. So why was I suddenly cultivating my teenage daughter’s desire to get out there and fight the good fight? Was I being a good mom, factoring in my child’s wants and desires while still trying to keep some semblance of control to keep her safe? Or was I being selfish, reveling in her desire to be like me and wanting to increase the bonds that tied us together?

  I didn’t know, and I can’t say I much liked the question. At the end of the day, all I knew was that I wanted my kids safe and warm and alive. But with every day I allowed Allie to train to hunt demons, wasn’t I taking a giant step backwards? Because no matter how much I told myself that she was only doing research, safely ensconced in her bedroom at home, the deep, dark truth was that a day would come when that wouldn’t be enough. And on that day, she’d either listen to me or defy me, just like any normal teenager.

  Unlike any normal teenager, though, defiance in the demon-hunting world could mean death. And that wasn’t an endgame I even wanted to think about.

  “Mom? Hello? Earth to Mom.”

  I jerked myself back to the present. “Sorry. What?”

  “Shopping, remember? I asked if we needed veggies.”

  I shook my head. “Nope.”

  Her eyes widened. “So what are you feeding these people? Chef Boyardee?”

  “Same idea, different class,” I admitted. I’d told Stuart he could host a dinner party at the house, and I even said I’d cook, an activity that required all of my concentration to come out even remotely edible.

  Because lately my concentration had been divided, I’d decided to take the easy way out. And that meant aiming the shopping cart to the specialty foods section. More expensive, but as they say in the commercials, I’m worth it. A sentiment I’m sure Stuart would agree with if he understood that his choice was between edible and delicious on the one hand and shoe-leather meat with squishy vegetables on the other.

  The specialty counter was blissfully free, and as I ran through my menu choices with the girl behind the counter, Allie amused Timmy by pretending to be a traffic cop while he spun the steering wheel in his cart like a wild thing. Hopefully he’d give that up sometime between now and age sixteen. Either that, or I’d have to face the harsh reality that my little tyke was going to be driving in NASCAR.

  “Okay,” I said, once I’d filled the cart with an assortment of foil-covered trays and pans. “A few more things and then we’re on our way home.”

  I stood there a second to get my bearings, and as I did, the phone rang. I checked the Caller ID then flipped the phone open. “Insanity central.”

  “You must be at the grocery store,” Stuart said. “I tried home first and no one was there.”

  “Really? I expected Eddie home by now. He has more stamina than I give him credit for.”

  “Where is he?”

  “Hot date last night,” I said, and Stuart chuckled.

  “I’ve got to give the man his props,” my husband said. “He constantly surprises me.”

  “Doesn’t he just. So what’s up?” I asked, switching gears. “Are you at the airport? I saw you on television yesterday morning. I’d say you have the female vote locked up.”

  “Good to know,” he said. “And no, I’m still up north.”

  The cold chill of panic settled over me. “Could you repeat that?”

  “Don’t panic,” he said.

  “Too late,” I countered. “You promised you’d be home in plenty of time to help.”

  “Kate, I don’t have wings. They canceled the flight.”

  “Shit,” I said, with absolutely no remorse about cursing in front of the kids.

  “I’ll be home by six forty-five. I swear.”

  “Oh, good,” I said. “A whole fifteen minutes before people are scheduled to arrive. And here I thought I’d be doing the whole thing without you.”

  “I love you,” he said.

  “You better.” I made kiss-kiss noises, then signed off, my mood deteriorating rapidly. The kids, perhaps sensing the approaching storm, stayed remarkably quiet as I steered the cart to the alcohol aisle. I wanted to stock up. Because believe me, as soon as the first guest arrived, I was making myself a cocktail.

  After filling the cart with vodka, gin, wine, beer, and an assortment of mixers, I went searching for treats for the munchkin, planning ahead for the inevitable child bribery it would take to get dinner pulled together without ripping out all my hair.

  “Cheddar Bunnies!” Timmy yelled, breaking his vow of ritual silence as we turned down the cookie and cracker aisle. “Please! Please! Cheddar Bunnies and round crackers!”

  Round crackers were Ritz, and because I could justify buying those by also buying something to top them with (which would also reduce my guilt level as I would have “cooked” an appetizer), I agreed.

  I tossed the crackers and the bunnies in the cart, then ran down my mental inventory. It was a safe bet we were out of milk, so I told Allie to hold the fort with her brother while I scurried over to the dairy aisle to grab a gallon, all the while praying that Timmy wouldn’t throw a fit.

  No such luck.

  I returned to hear my son’s loud, indignant cry of “No, no, no! Mommy! Stinky! Stinky! Stop! Stop!”

  I didn’t have a clue what could possibly be stinky, but as I was sure the other store patrons weren’t interested in hearing about Timmy’s olfactory issues, I hurried the rest of the way into the aisle, my pace increasing exponentially when I heard Allie’s sharp, panicked cry of “Mom!”

  I raced around the corner, coming to a screeching halt when I saw Wanda Abernathy—no longer looking pale and feeble—standing right behind my son with a barbecue fork, courtesy of the accessories aisle, its tines pressed tight against my little boy’s throat. A wave of nausea crashed over me, both from the danger to my son and from the fact that mere hours ago, this woman had been in my house. Had been alive and human and having fun with my children.

  Allie stood stock-still about four feet away, obviously not sure what to do. Her eyes caught mine, and when she blinked, I saw a tear trickle slowly down her cheek.

  It will be okay. No matter what, I was determined that this demon bitch wasn’t hurting Timmy. No matter what, that wasn’t happening.

  I needed to do something fast, though. Right then, we were the only people in the aisle. If someone joined us, I didn’t want to think what Wanda would do.

  “Give me the sword and the boy lives,” she said, in a sickly sweet version of Wanda’s voice. “For the time being, anyway.”

  “What makes you think I have it?”

  “You are the one. The prophecy foretells and the signs bring certainty. He comes, and the path must be cleared.” She smiled then, the way Wanda had when she saw a child on the street. “Give us the sword or the boy dies. The choice is yours.” She turned, looking hard at Allie. “The girl, too, though her death will come slowly. Painfully. One strip of skin at a time.”

  The blood drained from Allie’s face, and I fought the instinct to go to her and pull her close. “Keep your filthy hands off my children.”

  “Give me the sword and I will,” she said, Wanda’s voice so sweet and clear it made me want to cry.

  I looked at Timmy, so vulnerable. I don’t think he would have been scared were it not for the stricken expressions on the faces of his mom and sister. But that was enough, and he was sitting perfectly still, tears streaming down his face.

  Then again, maybe he did understand the danger; I’d never once seen Timmy sit still.

  “All right,” I said, getting more and more afraid that someone would soon join us.

  “Mom!”

 
I held up a hand. “No. It’s just the sword. It doesn’t matter if they have it. I’ve stopped demons without an enchanted sword a hundred times over. I can do it again, I’m sure.”

  “But you—”

  “I’ve made my decision, Allie,” I said sharply. “I’m not risking your brother or you.”

  She pressed her lips together meekly, then looked down at the floor, presumably to hide her expression—finally!—of comprehension.

  As for me, I looked at Wanda. “It’s in my car. Seemed safer than keeping it in the house. That’s what you were looking for, wasn’t it? Not the bathroom.”

  “Clever girl,” she said, as my heart squeezed tight. I understood everything now. Wanda’s comments about being watched. Her ill health at my house. And her fumbling attempts to search for the bedroom.

  Wanda had been in the demons’ sights. They’d needed someone who could get close to me, not so much to fight, but to search. And when Wanda had passed away in her home after leaving my house—whether naturally or with a demonic push—a demon had stepped into the void, then returned, determined to find the sword that was supposedly hidden in my house.

  “We go now,” the abomination said, and I swear I hated the demons even more for violating the physical shell of that sweet old woman.

  My keys were in my pocket, but I considered reaching into my purse for my knife. I could do it—I knew I could. But with Timmy right there, I didn’t dare.

  “Get it yourself,” I said, tossing the keys in Wanda’s general direction. And as Allie gaped at me, I said a silent prayer that she’d get with the program. With Eric, I wouldn’t have worried. But though Allie might be his daughter, she was a long way from being my partner.

  The demon reached up, taking a step back as she grabbed for the keys. As she did, I lunged for the cart, yanking hard and sending it rolling toward me.

  Allie, bless her, got into the game, knocking Wanda’s teeth out (literally) with a well-placed crescent kick that sent teeth and keys skidding down the aisle, ending up underneath a section of metal shelving.

  Not to be outdone, I grabbed a bottle of vodka out of the cart, took aim, and hurled it at Wanda’s head. It hit with a satisfying thwack, then shattered on the concrete floor.

  That’s when I really did reach for the knife, my hand closing around it before I realized that a body in the grocery store would cause more problems than it solved.

  Wanda, realizing she’d lost her advantage, took off running. Allie started after her, but I lunged forward and caught her sleeve. “No. Let her go.”

  “But she—and Timmy—and—and—”

  “I know,” I said, rushing to unstrap Timmy and cuddle him close. “But let her go.”

  About that time, a guy wearing a red shirt with the store logo emblazoned on the breast pocket came tearing around the aisle, skidding to a stop when he saw the smashed bottle of vodka. “They said they heard shouts two aisles over.”

  “Some crazy lady tried to kidnap my brother,” Allie improvised. “She was completely freaked out. And when we wouldn’t let her take Timmy, she tossed a bottle of vodka at us.”

  “No kidding?” The kid looked to me for confirmation and I nodded. “Are you okay?”

  We assured him that we were, and while the kid called for cleanup on aisle four, we beat a hasty retreat, pausing only long enough for Allie to lie on her belly and retrieve my keys.

  Ten minutes and several hundred dollars later, we were all huddled in the van, now missing a front windshield because Wanda had apparently taken me at my word. Since the destruction of my vehicle had started happening on a more or less regular basis, I had my AAA card ready, along with the number of a local car rental place.

  “Do you think she’s coming again?” Allie said, once we were settled in the rental.

  “Probably,” I admitted. As long as the demons thought I had this sword, they were going to keep on coming. Unfortunately, they’d figured out—rightly—that the best way to get to me was to go through my children.

  “That was Mrs. Abernathy,” Allie said. “We knew her. Mindy and I used to play at her house.” She pressed her lips together, her face tight.

  “I know, baby.”

  “They can’t do that. They shouldn’t be able to do that. She was nice. She wasn’t evil or mean or crazy.”

  “No,” I agreed. “She wasn’t.”

  “I’m gonna be sick,” Allie said, looking a little green as she clapped her hand over her mouth. She wasn’t, though, and after a moment, she took her hand away and looked at me with sad, serious eyes. “It just keeps getting realer and realer.”

  “Yeah,” I said, stroking her hair and looking into her eyes. “Are you gonna be okay?”

  She nodded, a little tentatively. “It’s never going to stop, is it? Even if we get Mrs. Abernathy, I mean. It just keeps going and going.”

  “We will get her,” I said. “And as for the other, that’s the nature of evil. It’s a rough wake-up call, I know.”

  “We can’t stop, either, can we?”

  “You can stop anytime you want to, baby.”

  She turned and looked wistfully back at the grocery store, then twisted in her seat to look at Timmy, who’d fallen asleep in his car seat. “No,” she said finally. “I don’t think I can.”

  "Eddie?” I called, as I trundled into the house, my arms full of grocery bags. “Can you give us a hand and I’ll fill you in on the latest?” In addition to the news about Wanda, I wanted him on board with my car rental cover story—a fender bender in the grocery store parking lot.

  No answer.

  I grimaced, having a hard time reconciling Eddie with a wild night of dating.

  “Mom,” Allie said, her voice so tense and sharp that I grabbed a steak knife out of the block on the counter before turning to her. “Mrs. Abernathy,” she said, her face pale and her lips tight. “He walked her home last night. Remember? ”

  I did remember, and I was kicking myself for not remembering earlier. “Call David and tell him to meet me at her house,” I said, then realized there was no way I was leaving her and Timmy alone, even to make a phone call. Not with Wanda wandering the streets. “Never mind. Call Laura.” I grabbed the phone from her and did that instead, as Allie gaped at me.

  No answer.

  “Dammit!”

  “Mom!” Allie said, heading toward the door. “Eddie! Come on!”

  I hesitated. I didn’t know what I was going to find at Wanda’s, and I didn’t want the kids with me when I found it. But at the same time, this could be a ruse of some sort. And if I left the kids alone—even with the alarm turned on and Allie with her knife—I’d never forgive myself if something should happen.

  “Dammit, dammit, dammit!” I hurried toward the door, swinging Timmy up to my hip as I passed by. “You stay right by me,” I said to Allie, my voice firm. “Stray one inch—do one thing out of line—and you don’t train for a month. You understand?”

  She nodded, wide-eyed and serious. “I got it.”

  “Then come on.”

  We raced across the street, cutting diagonally to Wanda’s house. I pounded on the front door, got no answer, then moved around to the back to repeat the process. Allie shadowed me, peering through windows and calling out for Eddie.

  Nothing.

  “Mom! Do something!”

  My sentiments exactly, and without even worrying if the neighbors were watching, I slammed my purse through the window next to her back door. I reached inside, flipped the lock, and two seconds later we were inside.

  “Bad Mommy,” Timmy said. “You broke it.”

  “Sorry, kiddo. I had to. Now shhh. Mommy wants to listen. ”

  I signaled to Allie to hold his hand and to follow, and she nodded, one hand clutching a steak knife, the other her brother’s tiny hand.

  As far as I could tell, no one was home. There were no signs of life, and the more rooms we investigated, the more worried I became.

  “Maybe he really is with Tammy,” All
ie suggested, her own expression reflecting my fear.

  I pulled out my cell phone and called the library, then asked to speak to Tammy. “This is Kate Connor,” I said, after she came on the line. “I was wondering if Eddie was with you.”

  “Why no,” she said. “He missed our date yesterday and—”

  I hung up. Rude, but I’ve never been at my best when I’m frantic.

  Allie’s chin trembled. “Gramps isn’t—”

  “We’re not thinking the worst until we have to,” I said. “Do you understand?”

  She nodded, then picked up Timmy and clung to him the same way she used to clutch her rag dolls.

  “Come on.”

  “Where?”

  “Once more through the house,” I said, aiming straight for the closet under the stairs.

  Wanda Abernathy, I soon learned, hung on to a lot of junk. But though I found everything from boxes of costume jewelry to bags of flyswatters, I didn’t see any signs of Eddie. Not in the closets, not under the beds, not shoved into cabinets. Neither our search nor our calls turned up any sign of the man.

  “The attic,” I said to Allie, who’d been following on my heels like a puppy, her desperation as acute as my own. I tossed her my phone. “And call David after all. We need the help.”

  She nodded, her face still ashen, but her eyes alert and determined. As we hurried into the garage, she dialed while I tugged at the string to extend the ladder. It dropped down and I climbed up, clapping my hand over my mouth in defense against the dust and bits of insulation that fell on top of me. But though I crawled along the beams to every corner of the house, I still didn’t find Eddie, and so help me, I was beginning to lose hope.

  “He wasn’t there,” she said. “I left a message.” Her expression began to crumble. “What are we going to do?”

  “Keep looking,” I said. “There has to be some—did you hear that?” I cocked my head to the side, looking around the garage.

  “The car! Mom, he’s trapped in the car!”

  The only trouble with that theory was that Wanda drove a teeny-tiny hatchback, and I’d already peered inside when we’d entered the garage. Still, Allie was right. I could hear a faint thumping, and it sounded like it was coming from the car.