by Julie Kenner
“Mom! Late!”
“Just one second.” I opened the door and waved to Sylvia, then held up one finger. She lifted her arm and made a show of tapping her watch. I nodded, then turned back to Allie. “So what’s on your agenda today?”
She blinked, then yanked her earbuds out of her ears. “Huh?”
“Have you got any surf club things, I mean? Anything going on to prepare for the exhibition?”
“Well, yeah. I mean, it’s on Saturday. I’m like ferociously busy this whole week.”
“Right.” Not the answer I wanted. “At the beach?”
She shot me a hooded look, then sagged against the wall, apparently overcome by the exhaustion of having to deal with a freak for a mother. “No, Mother. The planning meetings are held in the chem room with Mr. Long.”
“Sure. Right.” That was good. “But what about Cool? I suppose he’s right there pitching in with the planning?”
Sylvia tooted the horn twice. I waved. She threw her hands in the air and gestured for Allie to get a move on.
“I gotta go.” Allie took a step, managing to scoot past me out the door. I watched as she raced down the sidewalk, then slid into the car next to Susan, Sylvia’s daughter.
I told myself there’d be no reason for Cool to be there. After attacking me last night—and, worse, revealing himself as a demon—I figured he was probably going to avoid the school and Coastal Mists until whatever plan he’d set in motion was underway. In the meantime he’d spend his days and nights running around San Diablo wreaking all sorts of demonic nonsense. He had no reason to bother my daughter. No reason at all.
Except, of course, that she was my daughter.
No, no, no!
I raced back to the kitchen and snatched up the cordless phone. Then I dialed Allie’s number and waited impatiently for her to answer.
“Mom?”
“Hey, hon.”
“Um, don’t take this the wrong way, but, like, what’s up with you today?”
“I just never got an answer from you, that’s all. Is Cool at all these planning meetings?”
“Why?”
“Allie,” I said, using my I’m-the-Mother voice. “Just answer the question.”
“Fine. No. He never comes to the school. Only the practices at the beach.”
“Right. Good. Okay, then.”
“Mom?”
“Yeah, hon?”
“You wanna tell me what’s going on?”
I didn’t, of course, but she needed to know something. Not only was she going to think her mother was insane if I stayed silent, but I wanted her to be on her guard.
“I’ve heard some things about Cool,” I said. “I don’t want you around him.”
“What kind of things?”
“I’ll tell you later,” I said, hoping that by the time later rolled around, she’d have forgotten the question.
“Mom . . .”
“I’m serious, Allie. Now’s not the time or the place.”
“Fine. Whatever. But you’re wrong about him. He’s not just some brain-fried surfer dude. He’s like totally smart.” A pause, then, “Hang on.” I heard the muffle of discussion as she kept her hand over the microphone, then, “Susan says he’s not just smart, but he’s totally into the community. And his girlfriend’s even a museum docent. I saw her last week, and she’s totally mousy.”
“And this is relevant why?”
“Because if he’s a sleaze, he’d have some bimbo bikini-babe girlfriend, right?”
The holes in her reasoning were large and looming, but now really wasn’t the time. So I complimented her and Susan on their astounding feat of logic, asked them to humor me and avoid Cool, and made Allie promise to come straight home after her surf club meeting.
When I hung up, I felt only mildly better. At least David would be at the meeting. If nothing else, he’d keep Allie safe.
I reluctantly shoved thoughts of surfer-demons out of my head. I would have liked to have spent the day scouring the city in search of Cool, but that wasn’t an option. I had a sick boy at home. Plus, I had furniture deliveries scheduled. The demons might not be taking a day off, but I had no choice.
“Mommy?” Timmy padded into the kitchen, Boo Bear under one arm. “Is it a school day?”
“No, kiddo. Today you’re home with me.” I bent down and felt his forehead. Cool, thank goodness. “School tomorrow, unless you get sick again.”
He puffed out his little chest. “I’m not sick.”
“Nope, you’re totally healthy. Want to read some books?”
“Wockets!” he shouted. “Wockets and pockets!”
I readily agreed, more than happy to wile away some time with Dr. Seuss.
I found the book, settled Tim on my lap, then started to read, laughing as he bounced and blurted out the nonsense (and real) words. After that book (twice) we moved on to One Fish, Two Fish, and then The Cat in the Hat. After that, I begged off, fearing if we read any more, I’d think in rhyme for the rest of the day.
“Let’s check the TV,” I said, clicking it on. Dora the Explorer burst onto the screen and my kid made happy noises.
“Sit with me, Momma!”
“Sure, kiddo.” I snuggled up with him, and let myself get lost in the show, feeling the pain of Dora, Boots, Tiko, and the others as they tried to get to the City of Lost Toys to find their missing treasures. I was humming along, when Laura tapped at the back door. I extricated myself from Timmy and unlocked the door for her, careful to close it and reset the alarm.
Since Timmy was entranced, we retreated for the breakfast table. “I’ve got news,” Laura said, as soon as we sat.
“So do I. Cool’s a demon.”
Her entire expression crumpled. “Well, damn! What’s the point of being the research sidekick if I can’t even tell you something you don’t know.”
“If it’s any consolation, I never got the chance to check him with holy water. But I watched him change into a Hell monster. Not a pretty sight.” I explained about the newly minted Creasley-demon and how I’d gone looking for him. “I found him,” I said. “Him and Cool.”
“Wow,” Laura said. She reached into her tote bag and pulled out some computer printouts. “Here,” she said, pushing one toward me. It was a newspaper article dated from late November. The story reported a terrible wipeout by celebrity surfer Cooley Claymore, known to his fans as Cool. “ ‘A sigh of relief swept over the entire surfing community after an unconscious Cool was resuscitated by quick-acting lifeguards who performed CPR and mouth-to-mouth, despite the surfer having been unresponsive for over eight minutes.’ ”
“Well, now we know how long he’s been a demon,” I said. “We just don’t know what he wants.”
We spent the rest of the day tossing around useless theories and trying to track down Cool. Laura found an address on the Internet, but when we called the apartment complex, we were told he’d moved out.
Laura left when the furniture deliverymen came, promising to keep working. I didn’t hold out much hope, though. The demon Cool wouldn’t want to be found.
On a whim, I called the school and asked to speak to David Long. Miraculously, he called me back within the hour, explaining that I’d called right before his off period. “So what’s up?”
“Cool,” I said. “Do you have an address?”
“In the market for a celebrity boy toy?”
“Absolutely,” I said.
“Hold on. Let me check my file.” I heard him rifling through papers, and then his voice came back on the line. He read off an address, but I didn’t copy it down. Laura and I had already called; I knew that Cool had moved on.
I confirmed with David that Cool was definitely not going to be anywhere near the planning session that afternoon. Then I signed off and drummed my fingers on the table until the furniture guys signaled to me. Then I spent the next hour showing them where the various pieces went, and telling them which of the destroyed items they could cart away.
I
spent the rest of the afternoon moving furniture this way and that, pretending like I had even an inkling of talent in the interior-decorating department. Finally, I just shoved the couch back where the old couch had been and called it a day.
Allie came home, pronounced the new furniture “okay,” then went upstairs to do homework. Timmy immediately got chocolate smears on the sofa. Eddie announced that the floral print was “too damn frou-frou.” And Stuart wandered in so exhausted that he didn’t even notice.
Nice to know my domestic efforts are appreciated.
As soon as I’d put Timmy into bed, I followed suit, anxious for this day to be over and tomorrow to arrive. At least then I could get back to demon hunting. My efforts there might not be acknowledged, but at least I knew they were appreciated.
Fifteen
l WAS SO anxious to get back to work Thursday morning that only the tiniest bit of mommy guilt peeked out as I dropped Timmy at day care. And when Miss Sally told him that they were going to be finger painting that day, the guilt vanished in a puff, erased by the toothy grin that spread across the face of my soon to be purple, orange, and blue child. (No matter how hard the school insists that the kids wear smocks, my child always comes home in psychedelic colors. That, however, is a small price to pay for guilt reduction.)
Back home, I made a fresh pot of coffee and tried to decide where to start. As the coffee brewed, I skimmed the paper, my heart stopping when I saw the small article on the front of the Metro section.
Jason Palmer, a junior at Coronado High School, was found beaten to death in an alley near the community college. “Mr. Palmer held a 4.0 grade point average, was a member of the marching band, editor of the newspaper, and the treasurer of the surf club.” The article ended with details regarding the funeral and memorial.
I’d just finished reading it, when the phone rang.
“Did you see that article about Jason?” Laura asked, as soon as I’d answered.
I told her I’d just finished reading it. “Allie’s going to be devastated,” I said. “I don’t know the boy, but she must if he’s in the surf club.”
“Mindy, too,” Laura said. “From the newspaper staff. Do you think . . .” She trailed off, but I knew where she was going.
“I can’t be positive. But the way everything has been going lately . . .”
“Yeah,” Laura said ominously. “And now everything seems to tie back to the high school. I swear I’m going to pull Mindy out. St. Mary’s has a Catholic school, right? Better yet, a convent. Maybe Mindy would take to being a nun.”
I laughed. “You’re not even Catholic.”
“A minor detail,” she said.
She was joking, of course. At least about the nunnery. But I knew how she felt about the school. The same thoughts had crossed my mind, too. “At least today’s Thursday,” I said. “Today, tomorrow, and then they’re off for two weeks. Surely we’ll figure out what’s going on—and stop it— before the new semester starts.”
Actually, I thought I might just keep Allie home tomorrow, and then come up with some excuse to keep her away from the exhibition on Saturday. I didn’t know what, but I had a feeling bribery and threats would have to be involved. I could do that. When it comes to saving my kids, I’m really not proud.
After that, it was total family time, and I intended to do my damnedest to keep my daughter locked in the house, the alarm system on, a crucifix around her neck, and Christmas carols playing in the background.
The phone beeped, signaling an incoming call, and so I signed off with Laura and clicked over.
“Katherine? Sei tu?”
My hand went to my throat, and I dropped back into my chair. Stupidly, my eyes filled with tears. “Father Corletti,” I said. “It’s so good to hear your voice.”
“Father Ben has told me of your recent trials,” he said. “You are well?”
“I’m fine. My family’s fine. But I’m worried.”
“Ah, mia cara, my heart and prayers are with you.”
“Thank you,” I said. “But we could use a few more Hunters here.”
“You know that is one request I cannot grant. Our resources are too thin, and the need is great elsewhere in the world as well.”
“I know,” I said, feeling like a petulant child. “Our problem isn’t even so much manpower,” I admitted. “It’s information. We haven’t figured out what the Tartarus demons are up to. We’re working blind, here.”
“Sì,” he said. “But if we are correct and this book is the Malevolenaumachia Demonica, then these events could bring forth a reign of evil such as we have never seen.”
I shivered. Father Corletti is not prone to exaggeration. If he says the book could spark a crisis like nothing ever seen on the earth, I certainly wasn’t going to argue with him.
“Be strong in your faith, mia cara. You will find the answer soon. Of that, I have faith.”
“Thank you, Father,” I said, feeling like a little girl being praised by a parent.
I started to say good-bye, but stopped myself, remembering one other question I had for him. This one, about Eric.
“Katherine? Are you still there?”
“I’m here,” I said, suddenly tentative.
“There is something on your mind, my child?”
I couldn’t help my smile. Father knew me better than almost anyone. He’d been teacher, trainer, father, nurse. He’d sat for hours at my bedside when I’d succumbed to pneumonia after battling a demon in the Paris catacombs in the dead of winter. And on my sixteenth birthday, he’d given me the delicate silver crucifix that I still cherished.
I couldn’t keep secrets from Father Corletti. And, honestly, I wouldn’t want to.
“I’ve been thinking about Eric,” I said.
“Ah, my child. You and Eric shared a wonderful love, but you must let go. Keep him in your heart, always. But honor the husband you have now.”
“I know,” I said. “I do. Or, that is, I try.” I swallowed. “The thing is, Father, I found a note.”
I explained about finding the cryptic notes from Eric, the words spilling out. My uncertainty as to how much to tell Allie, and when. My hurt that Eric kept secrets from me, secrets that seemed to grow with every bit of information I discovered.
“But I’ve reached a dead end,” I said. “Father Oliver passed away, and he left no information for me. Whatever Eric wanted me to find is gone. I feel like I’ve failed him, Father. But at the same time, I’m so hurt—so angry—that he hid something this huge from me.”
“I understand, child. It is never easy to learn that what you believed is not entirely true. But even in a marriage, there is still autonomy, no? You are one as a unit, while remaining unique in the eyes of the Lord.”
“I . . . well, yes.” Not that his words made me feel any better. I mean, Eric had still been keeping secrets.
I heard Father’s soft chuckle, and realized that he knew exactly what I was thinking. “What do you wish to know, child?”
My breath hitched in my throat, because I realized what he was offering me. Father Corletti knew what Eric had been up to. The trail Eric had laid out for me might have gone cold, but I could still learn the truth. Or I could walk away from the mystery, bid good-bye to Eric, and concentrate on the family I had now.
I closed my eyes, trying to think rationally, to parse my decision through both logic and love. In the end, I made the only choice I could. I asked Father to tell me about Eric.
If he was disappointed in me, he didn’t show it, and for that, I loved him all the more. Instead, he told me to sit down, that what he had to say might be hard to hear.
I sat, mindlessly ripping a paper napkin to shreds as Father Corletti told me things about my first husband that I’d never imagined.
“Eric visited Father Oliver because he was studying to be an alimentatore,” Father said.
I tried not to be shocked, but the world was spinning under me. “When? When we were in San Diablo?”
“Si.�
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“But . . . but . . . why didn’t he tell me?”
“That, my child, I do not know. I assume he had not completely made up his mind to return to Forza, and he did not want to unnecessarily worry you.”
“That’s nuts,” I said. “There must have been some other reason.”
“Child, I have no more information—or comfort—to give you. Other than to say that Eric Crowe loved you very much.”
I snuffled a little, but nodded, even though Father couldn’t see me. “I know that. I do. It’s just, hard. All this coming at me at once.”
“Perhaps you should speak to Father Donnelly.”
“Why?” Father Donnelly was on the short list of priests poised to take the helm at Forza once Father Corletti retired.
“He supervised Father Oliver’s work with Eric. Perhaps he will have more information for you.”
“Okay.”
“If you are certain you wish to pursue this, I will transfer you to Father Donnelly’s extension.”
“I’m sure.”
“Very well. And Katherine, remember that God is with you always. And, my child, so am I.”
I heard click-clicking on the line as Father Corletti put the call through. A ring, then another, and then a male voice. “Sì?”
“Padre Donnelly? Is he available?”
“Not at the moment,” the voice replied in crisp English with only a hint of an accent. “May I take a message?”
I decided not to leave my name. Assuming Father Corletti didn’t mention my call, I might be able to catch Father Donnelly before he’d had the chance to think about his responses. “Never mind,” I said. “Thanks so much.”
I’m not sure how long I sat there, my head in my hands. Then I heard the scuff of a chair across the tile and looked up to see Eddie peering hard at me.
“What’s on your mind, girl?”
“What?”
“Either you’re constipated, or you’re thinking deep thoughts. Which is it?”
I frowned slightly at his choice of words, but I wasn’t his mother, so I let it slide. “Deep thoughts,” I said.
“Good. We’re out of prune juice.”
“Thanks for the update,” I said.
“So what is it? The book? Your daughter’s love life? Damn demon-bugs that keep crawling over this godforsaken town?”