California Demon: The Secret Life of a Demon-Hunting Soccer Mom

by Julie Kenner

  I sat back on my heels and wondered what else I should take. I didn’t need the crucifix. While corporeal demons hated the things, crucifixes were a weapon only against vampires. Nothing else looked particularly useful for tonight. For a second, I fingered a sheathed Japanese sword, wishing I could take it. Eddie had a similar one, and I smiled at the memory of us comparing weapons, sharing a little bit of Demon Hunter bonding.

  I put the sword back and repacked the chest. The larger weapons I’d already decided against, and none of the trophies from my past hunting days would be of any use.

  Decided, I carefully shut and locked the trunk. Then I stood up, armed, dangerous, and as ready as I’d ever be.

  Since demons rarely leave a calling card with directions to a lair, I really didn’t know where to go patrolling. I ended up at the marina, since Allie had mentioned that Creasley had been “injured” in a boating accident. When nothing demonic jumped out at me there (literally and figuratively), I patrolled the beach for a while, particularly by the bathroom where the janitor had jumped me. Also nothing.

  I was getting discouraged and considered calling it a night when I had one more idea. Coastal Mists. Creasley hadn’t been a resident, but Sinclair certainly had been. Couple that with the knowledge that Cool had gone through Sinclair’s stuff, this seemed like a good place to start. Besides, I didn’t have a better plan.

  Unfortunately, I also didn’t have a concrete plan. More of a vague idea. And that involved walking the perimeter of Coastal Mists, peeking into windows, and generally scoping the place out. If that turned up no demons, I’d go in the front door and fake an overwhelming urge to chat with the insomniac residents.

  I parked on the street, then walked up the road toward the Coastal Mists driveway. I stayed to the outside, veering around the perimeter and walking along the edge of the cliff until I was behind the nursing home. Then I crouched low and scurried toward the back of the home and the yard into which the residents weren’t allowed to go because there was no barrier blocking access to the cliffs. It did, however, mean there was a hell of a view from the windows on this side of the home, and a ton of windows to take advantage of it.

  No lights shone from any of those windows, though, and I didn’t see any movement inside. Frustrated, I weighed my options: go inside the building, walk the grounds, or give up and go home. Since I’d already wasted more than an hour on this excursion—and since Timmy ensured a six-thirty A.M. wake-up call—I decided on home.

  I was just starting to turn around when my head was jerked backwards by the force of someone using my ponytail to yank me to me feet.

  I screamed in pain, then found myself flying through the air. I crash-landed in a graveled garden area, my face too close for comfort to a cactus, and the sharp blade of a knife pressed against my throat.

  Fourteen

  “Up, Hunter.” The gravelly voice whispered in my ear, his putrid breath carried on the wind along with the scent of eucalyptus.

  The flat edge of the knife pressed against the soft skin under my chin, the cool metal a counterpoint to the anger flaring through me. The knife blade barely grazed my throat as I rose, my attacker still unseen behind me.

  Cool stood in front of me, the moon on his white-blond hair contrasting with the dark anger in his eyes. He took a step toward me, and I tensed, my mind whirring with possibilities. Considering the blade against my neck, none of them were particularly promising.

  “Where?” he whispered, his face mere inches from mine.

  “Right here,” I said, hoping the fissures in my bravado weren’t showing. “Right here, right now. Just call off your attack dogs and let’s finish this thing.”

  His eyes narrowed, and then the bastard laughed. He took a step backwards, and he actually laughed, his hands clapping in a mockery of applause.

  “Glad I could bring some amusement to your otherwise dreary life.”

  “Oh, you do,” he said. “This will end. But by my hand, not yours. And definitely not here.”

  “I don’t suppose you’ll tell me where?”

  “I don’t suppose you’ll tell me where you’ve put the book?”

  “Not a chance,” I said, with more bravado than I felt.

  He cocked his head slightly. “Refreshing,” he said.

  “What’s that?”

  “That old cliché of ‘over my dead body.’ I’m impressed you didn’t use it.”

  My pulse pounded in my ears and I resisted the urge to turn my head and search for an escape. The blade was still there, sharp, and the slightest turn would fillet me.

  “It would have been appropriate, though,” he said, then took a step closer. “Now. Where is the book?”

  My hands were clenched in fists, and I forced myself to relax. To think. To plan. “It’s not here,” I said slowly.

  He didn’t answer, just nodded to my captor, who shifted the knife until the point pressed against my throat. I felt a sharp prick, then the trickle of blood. “Kill me, and you’ll never know,” I said.

  “Tell me.”

  I pressed my lips together, weighing just how foolhardy I was willing to be. On the one hand, I didn’t think they’d kill me. Not until they were certain I wouldn’t tell them what they wanted to know. On the other hand, I could easily see torture as being on Cool’s list of acceptable methods of persuasion.

  I also didn’t know who was holding the knife, which meant I didn’t know who—or what—I was up against.

  “Tell me!” He howled the words, and as he did, his form shifted with the force of his rage, all the more powerful, I was sure, because he couldn’t simply dispose of me.

  The stench of sulphur and decay swirled around us, and Cool seemed to pulse, each beat of his heart destroying the image of what was human and pulling forth the snarling beast that was the demon within. His eyes flashed fire, and when he stared at me, it was like looking into eternal damnation.

  I felt cold and my heart skittered in my chest, and I fought the urge to scream. I’d seen this before, more times than I’d like to remember, but you never get used to looking into Hell.

  Even my attacker—a demon himself, if the state of his breath was any indication—was taken aback by the spectacle. The knife pressed against my flesh relaxed just slightly.

  Since I didn’t know if a better chance was coming, I decided to take the risk. I shot my fist straight up from waist level, connecting solidly with his wrist. Yes! His knife arm went wild and I spun, holding on to his arm as I did, and relishing the satisfying snap as the bone broke.

  I lashed out with a solid kick at the same time, managing to send him sprawling. As he fell backwards, I wrested the knife from him, then pounced, aiming the point for his eye even as I recognized the man who had once been my daughter’s English teacher.

  I slammed the blade forward, but as it was mere millimeters from sliding home, something grabbed my legs and pulled me backwards. My aim faltered, and the point of the knife cut a shallow path down Creasley’s cheek.

  Whoever had yanked me back let go, presumably to get a better position for attack. I rolled over just as Ernesto Ruiz, the janitor, pounced. From my new vantage point, I could see Cool still behind us, still raging and still in a demonic state. That was one pissed-off puppy, but I didn’t have time to worry about him, because a bigger problem was trying to get a choke hold on my neck.

  We rolled, grappling across the ornamental lawn toward the cliffs. My adrenaline peaked, every sense on overdrive as I expected Creasley to jump into the fray. He didn’t, though, and as I pondered that oddity, I managed to get on top of Ruiz even as his hands closed around my throat.

  His hands were out, thumbs pressed against my throat as I gagged and choked and tried to suck in air. I’d either been wrong about that no-kill plan or Ruiz was pissed off enough to ignore it.

  Either way, I was in trouble.

  I still had one trick up my sleeve, though. And even as my brain screamed for oxygen, my right hand reached for the knife. My finge
rs closed over the hilt, and I pushed the bolster the instant the knife slid free, sliding the blade into place.

  Ruiz’s eyes widened in surprise—a pretty helpful instinctive response under the circumstances. With both his hands around my neck, he was screwed, and he knew it. That fact had about a millisecond to register on his brain. Then I slid the blade home. The hands around my throat relaxed as the demon inside Ruiz was sucked out with a shimmer and a hiss.

  I rolled off, then sprang back up, my knife at the ready.

  There was, however, no one to fight.

  I frowned, not quite believing that, as I turned in a slow circle, scoping out every inch of the moonlight-lit yard.

  Nobody.

  How odd.

  Actually, Cool’s absence didn’t surprise me. Kill a corporeal demon, and all that happens is that the demon is sucked out and returned to the ether. Once it finds another body, it can come back again.

  But kill a demon in its demonic state and that’s another story. That demon’s history.

  The problem is that demons don’t reveal their natural state very often. That Cool did was testament to how angry he was at me—and to the importance of his plan. Whatever the plan might be.

  Creasley’s absence was more surprising. As a rule, demons aren’t chicken. He wouldn’t have run simply because I’d won round one. So where was he?

  No answer sprang to mind. And since I didn’t have time to worry about it, I pushed the question aside in favor of another one: What the hell was I going to do about this body?

  I found the answer about twenty yards away. The cliffs. I rolled Ruiz that way, then paused to look down. Here, there was no beach to speak of, just the surf crashing over battered rock.

  I took a deep breath, pressed my foot against Ruiz’s backside, and shoved.

  He tumbled down the cliff, finally landing with a thud on the rocks. I would have preferred delivering the body to the cathedral, but that was impossible. At least the rocks were out of the way, and the beachcombing crowd was significantly less in December. By the time the body was discovered, the wildlife should have erased any sign of the knife through Ruiz’s eye.

  Brutal, I thought, but satisfying.

  The house WAS dark when I snuck back inside, and I paused in the kitchen, waiting, afraid the creak of the garage door might have awakened my family.

  Silence.

  I waited another minute, watching the second hand on our clock make its slow parade around the Roman numerals. Ten . . . eleven . . . and finally clicking back to twelve.

  Still silent.

  I exhaled in relief, then tiptoed toward the stairs. I made it up without hitting any squeaky floorboards, then padded down the hallway to the double doors to my bedroom. Still closed, which I figured was a good sign since it meant that Stuart probably hadn’t awakened during the night and gone looking for me.

  I carefully closed my hand around the doorknob and turned. As soon as the latch cleared the frame, I pushed the door open about eight inches and squeezed inside. Stuart was there in bed, his sleeping form illuminated by the soft streams of moonlight filtering in through our gossamer drapes.

  I stood for a moment, making sure I hadn’t disturbed him, then continued on to the bathroom. I shut the door, changed back into my pajamas in the dark, then crept back into the bedroom.

  I sat carefully on the edge of the bed, then eased carefully under the covers. Finally in, I let my head sink into the pillow and closed my eyes.

  Made it.

  “Have a nice time?”

  I jumped, coming bolt upright, and turned to look at Stuart, who had rolled over and was watching me with expressionless eyes.

  “I . . . um . . .” How’s that for a brilliant cover? Demon hunting I can handle. Blatant fabrication? There, my skills are sadly lacking.

  Stuart reached for the bedside lamp and flicked it on. I squinted, trying to avoid both the light and my husband’s stern gaze.

  “Do you want to tell me where you’ve been?”

  “Um, no?” That was the truth, after all. And wasn’t I constantly admonishing Timmy not to tell fibs?

  Stuart exhaled through his nose, his jaw tightening in what I knew was an effort to control his temper. I’d seen that expression before, but it had always been directed at the kids. Never at me.

  “Kate—”

  I held up a hand, cutting him off as I tried to take control of this little drama. “I’m tired. We can talk about this in the morning.” By then I should be able to fabricate some plausible excuse for sneaking out after midnight.

  “Kate.” His voice was sharp, demanding.

  “I mean it, Stuart. I’m tired.” And the only excuse I had at the moment was a desperate urge to run to the grocery store. I could try to make it work. But somehow, I didn’t think he’d believe me.

  But he wasn’t about to let the matter drop. “This isn’t the first time you’ve gone out at night, Kate. I’m not an idiot, and I’m not blind. You owe me an explanation.”

  I fought the urge to shut my eyes in defeat. He was right. Over the last two months, I’d gone out on semiregular nightly patrols, anytime the newspaper reported a deadly accident and, miraculously, a survivor. I’d make the rounds that night, hoping to encounter the newly minted demon. Sometimes I succeeded. Sometimes I failed. But always, I tried.

  From Stuart’s perspective, I imagined that my jaunts did seem a little suspicious. I just wasn’t sure how to handle the situation.

  He reached over and took my hand. “Is it that karate guy?”

  I blinked, recoiling as if he’d slapped me. “Cutter?” Dear God the man was insane. Cutter’s a great guy, and sure, there’ve been a few odd sparks between us, but I’d never—

  I yanked my hand back, my temper flaring. “You son of a bitch! You honestly think I’m having an affair with Cutter?”

  Most of the tension melted from his face. “Not anymore. But if it’s not Cutter—”

  “Whoa there,” I said, interrupting. “I am not having an affair. Not with Cutter, not with anybody. I love you. Even if you have been driving me absolutely crazy lately, you’re the only man on this earth that I love.”

  “Then why—”

  “Because of you,” I said, poking him in the chest. I wasn’t being fair, and I knew it. But dammit, he’d pissed me off. And, yes, payback can be a bitch. “The only times you haven’t been absent lately are when you’re apologizing. So it’s either leave the house to drive around and think, or have a knock-down, drag-out fight and terrify the kids. I decided to take the more civilized route.”

  I sat back against my pillow, my arms folded sulkily across my chest as I wondered if I’d be going to Hell for my lies. I made a mental note to go to confession this week, just in case a demon got the best of me.

  Beside me, Stuart had completely deflated. “Oh, babe. I’m sorry.” He rolled over and stared at the ceiling. “You’re right. I’ve been so absorbed in all of this, that you and the kids have been getting the shaft. It’s just that I never . . .” He trailed off.

  “Never what?”

  For a second, I didn’t think he was going to answer, then he turned onto his side and faced me. “I just never expected that anyone would have the kind of faith in me that Clark does.”

  “Stuart!” I said, shocked.

  “No, I’m serious. I know I’m a good lawyer. But to actually be a representative for the people. Honestly, it’s more than I’d ever dreamed of. And now that it’s a real possibility, I want it.” He rolled over again, facing up rather than me. “But I don’t want it if it’s going to ruin us. And it’s only going to get worse before it gets better.”

  “I know,” I said. Stuart would file formally in January. Then he’d bust tail until the primary in March. If he won that, it would be more months of campaigning until the election in November.

  “Can we handle it? Because if we can’t, I’ll quit. I’ll call Clark right now and tell him he’s got to find someone else to support.”

>   “You’d do that?”

  He turned his head and smiled at me. “Of course I would.”

  I shivered, wondering if I could say the same. I hadn’t asked to be pulled out of retirement. At the time, I’d fought it tooth and nail, desperate to protect the normal life I’d built.

  But now that the dust had settled, I couldn’t imagine walking away. Secret or not, what I did was important. Crucial even. More, I loved it.

  It was, I realized, the same for Stuart. In a way, the county attorney fights demons, too. And Stuart wanted to be there on the front lines.

  I loved him for offering to give it all up. I couldn’t, however, let him do it.

  “Just try to make it home for dinner once in a while,” I said. “And give me at least twelve hours notice if I have to put on a dress and makeup. Sixteen if I have to clean the house for company.”

  “I can handle eight and ten,” he said, the grin I loved so much flashing briefly.

  “Ten and fourteen,” I countered.

  “Done.” He held out his hand and we shook. Then he tugged me closer and wrapped me in his arms. “It’s past five,” he said. “I’ll be getting up in just over an hour. Hardly seems worth going back to sleep.”

  “Mmm,” I murmured, as he kissed my ear. “But it’s so chilly. I hate to get out of bed before I absolutely have to.”

  “Don’t worry,” he said. “I can think of a way to keep us busy and warm until the alarm goes off.”

  He reached over and flipped off the light, and I lost myself in the dark heat of my husband’s arms.

  The sharp toot of a horn pierced the early morning chaos.

  “Allie!” Timmy yelled at the top of his little lungs. “Car pool!”

  “Coming, coming, coming!” My daughter pounded down the stairs, her ninety-eight pound body managing to create about the same reverb through the house as a herd of small elephants.

  “Hold up,” I said, rushing to meet her in the entrance hall.