by Julie Kenner
Water splashed harmlessly on the tile. But not a single drop touched the man.
“Oh, look at that. I’m so sorry,” he said. “How incredibly clumsy of me.”
“You did that on purpose,” I hissed as I bent to pick up the glass.
“What?” That from Stuart. Oops. The comment I’d meant only for Larson had apparently been louder than I’d thought.
“I said he really knows how to startle a person.” I stood up and met Larson’s eyes, my smile cold. “No harm, no foul. Water’s certainly replaceable. Tap water, mineral water, bottled water. All kinds of water.”
He didn’t answer me. He didn’t have to. We both knew the score for that round. Demons—one. Me—nada.
Another hour of chitchat and political hocus-pocus and then the guests were finally ready to hit the road. Parties often come to an end in a bustle of bodies gathering purses and car keys, and this one was no exception. We all migrated to the foyer, then stepped out onto the front porch where hands started shaking and good-byes started flying.
In the flurry, Larson took my hand, his skin rough against my own. “It’s been a lovely, enlightening evening, Mrs. Connor. I’m sure we’ll see each other again soon.”
His eyes reflected a deep intensity. Not necessarily evil . . . but the man definitely looked as if he knew my secrets.
I shivered, fighting revulsion and a hint of fear. “Yes,” I managed. “I’m sure we’ll cross paths again soon.”
“And I’m so sorry I didn’t have the chance to meet your daughter. I imagine she’s just like her mother.”
My chest constricted and I realized I couldn’t breathe. It was almost eleven o’clock. The mall had been closed for an hour. And I hadn’t heard a word from Laura or Allie.
Oh, shit, oh, shit, oh, shit.
“I hear Timmy crying,” I muttered, ostensibly to Stuart, but I didn’t bother to see if he heard me. I raced back into the house, tossing “thank you all for coming” over my shoulder as I disappeared inside.
“Pick up, pick up, pick up.” I had the phone in my hand and was pacing the kitchen. Laura’s voice, that damn message, the beep, and then, “Allie? Laura? Where are you guys? Hello?”
No one was answering, and I was on the verge of slamming down the receiver and racing to Laura’s back door when the machine beeped and I heard Mindy’s voice, laced with giggles. “Mrs. Connor?”
“Mindy.” I exhaled, and my legs gave out. I sank to the ground and hugged my knees to my chest, my back pressed against the dishwasher. “Where’s Allie?”
“She’s on the treadmill. We both had double scoops, so that means we have to burn like three hundred calories or something to make up for it.”
I closed my eyes and decided I’d save the eating-disorder lecture for another time. “Can you put her on?”
Mindy didn’t bother to answer, but I heard the clatter of the cordless phone changing hands. “Mom! Mrs. Dupont took us to an Adam Sandler movie! Isn’t that cool? He is soooo funny.”
“I didn’t realize you guys were going to be gone that long,” I said. “I thought you were just getting ice cream.”
I could practically hear her shrug. “We kinda begged. But, Mom, it was such a slammin’ movie.”
I assumed that meant she liked it. “Any reason why you didn’t call to let me know where you’d be?”
“Huh? I was with Mrs. Dupont, remember?”
Okay, I wasn’t being fair. “Sorry. I just got a little worried when I couldn’t find you.”
“Then let me have a cell phone.”
My daughter, the pragmatist.
“So,” I said brightly, “why don’t you and Mindy come over here tonight. I’m wired from coffee. If you’re still up for that Harry Potter marathon, I’m game.”
“Um . . .”
Not the enthusiastic response I’d wanted. “Come on, Al. It’ll be fun. You two can stay up as late as you want.”
“Yeah?” A pause. “Why?” Suspicion laced her voice. Smart kid.
“Because you’re my kid and I love you and I want to spend time with you.” And protect you.
“Oh.” I held my breath while she thought it over. “We don’t have the movies.”
“I’ll send Stuart out to get them.”
“And we can really stay up for all of them?”
“Absolutely.” I could be magnanimous in victory.
“Cool.” A pause, then. “And, Mom?”
“Hmmm?” I was distracted by the realization that I now had to convince Stuart to schlep to Blockbuster.
“I think the guy at the concession stand likes me.”
No more distraction. “Which one? That blond guy who looks like he plays college football?” I’d wring his neck if even looked at my baby girl that way.
“Nooo.” I got the verbal eye roll. “He’s probably about sixteen and he’s got glasses and curly dark hair. He’s cute.”
“You don’t need a boyfriend, Allie,” I said. “Believe me. There’s time enough for that later.”
“Oh, Mo-om. Anyway, I wouldn’t want him as a boyfriend.” Which begged the question of whether there was a particular boy she did want. “I said he liked me. He’s cute and all, but he’s a little bit of a dweeb. And he’s got really gross breath.”
My blood turned to ice. “Allie,” I said, my voice as sharp as a knife. “I’m going to drive over and get you both right now.” I drew a breath, then tried to cover. “Otherwise,” I added, “we’ll be watching movies until dawn.”
Despite their enthusiasm for our impromptu marathon, Allie and Mindy only lasted through the first half of Chamber of Secrets. I left them camped out on the floor of the den, then circled the house, checking all the doors and windows, and making sure all the alarms were activated, including the motion sensor on the first floor. We rarely use that feature (inevitably the cat trips the alarm), but tonight I considered it essential. If anyone (or anything) came through the window, I wanted to know about it.
I considered moving the body, but feared I’d wake someone up. Better to send husband and kids out tomorrow with a list of Saturday morning errands, and leave me alone to do the dirty work. If I gave them the option of shopping or cleaning the bathrooms, I could pretty much guarantee they’d depart the house willingly.
I planned to go back to sleep on the couch beside the girls, but Stuart woke up while I was checking Timmy’s room, and he tugged me back into bed with him. We spooned together, the same way we had for years, but I couldn’t sleep. Instead I lay there, my mind in a muddle. I tried to reach out, to grasp some coherent thought and make some sense of the day’s events, but I was too exhausted.
And, really, there was no sense to be had. I simply didn’t have enough information.
I glanced at the clock, the digits swimming through my bleary-eyed vision. Just after four. I eased away from Stuart and sat up, swinging my bare feet to the floor. Then I padded into the guest room and shut the door.
Time to make a phone call.
Even after fifteen years I could still dial the number from memory, and I punched it in, then waited through the funky beep-ring that always made me think that European phones were more of a toy than a telecommunications device. After four rings the Vatican operator picked up.
“Sono Kate Andrews. Posso parlare con Padre Corletti, per favore?” I said, giving my maiden name. Of course, Father also knew me by my first married name—Crowe—but Father had been like a parent to me. I’d always be Katherine Andrews around him.
The operator put me through, and after a few seconds, Father Corletti picked up. “Katherine?” His voice, once so firm and commanding, seemed weak and feeble. “Katherine? Sei tu?”
“Si.” I closed my eyes, suddenly fearful that Father would be no help to me at all. But he had to be. If I couldn’t turn to the Forza Scura, then there was nowhere else to go.
“I am so pleased,” he said, his accent thick. “When I could not reach you earlier, I feared the worst had come.”
I licked my lips. “Tell me what’s happening.”
“It is you who are there, in San Diablo. Perhaps you should tell me.”
I did. I started from the beginning, going into more detail than I’d left in my earlier message, and ending with Larson’s parting comment and Allie’s revelation about the stinky concessionaire. “They can’t be after my little girl,” I whispered. “Please, Father, that isn’t happening, is it?”
“They seek something,” Father said. “Something in San Diablo.”
“You didn’t answer my question,” I accused.
“I have no answer, my child.”
I closed my eyes and fought tears. I was not going to lose Allie. Not now. Not ever. “What? What do they want?”
“That, we do not know.”
“Then find out,” I said. “Or better yet, just eradicate the problem. Surely you have Hunters in place here already.”
“There are no Hunters there.”
“Then send some,” I hissed. I fought to keep control, to keep from yelling at him. My nerves were on edge, my emotions raw, and I had to remind myself that my family was sleeping, and I didn’t want to wake them.
“Ah, Katherine,” he said. “I have, perhaps, been unclear. No? But I think that you do not understand. There is no one we can send to you.” He drew in a breath. “This battle, you must fight on your own.”
Four
“Excuse me?” I held the phone out as I spoke, glaring at it as if the handset had just personally delivered the bad news. “I can’t handle this. I have kids. I have a car pool. I have responsibilities.”
“You have always had responsibilities,” Father said.
“Oh, no, no, no.” I kept my voice low—a concession to my sleeping family—so I wasn’t sure that I was adequately displaying the depths of my displeasure. Ranting and screaming would have been so much more effective. “I’m retired, remember? The Forza isn’t my life anymore. I’m demon-free, and I like it.”
“Apparently, child, you are not.”
I thought of the demon in my pantry and had to admit Father had a point. I kept quiet, though, waiting for him to say something else. When he didn’t, I kept quiet some more, in the foolish hope that I could outwait him.
Nothing.
“Dammit,” I said, when I couldn’t take it anymore. “Why is this my problem?”
“The demon came to you. That makes it your problem, no?”
“No,” I said, but without conviction. I was caving. I knew it, and he knew it.
He said nothing.
I sighed, anger finally succumbing to a much stronger surge of exhaustion. It had been a hell of a day. And from the sound of things, it was shaping up to be one hell of a weekend, too.
“Okay, fine.” I finally spoke, in part to quiet the overloaded silence emanating from Rome. “But at least tell me why I’m on the hot seat.” I asked the question even though I didn’t really need an answer. Whatever the reason, I already knew the only part that mattered—no one was coming to help me, and I had been, quite without fanfare, unretired. The why of it was completely academic.
Still, I was curious, and I listened with a perverse fascination as he explained in depressing detail the recent dwindling of Forza Scura’s resources and the unsettling implications that followed.
“Young people today,” he said. “They are more interested in television and—what do you call it?—Nintendo. The life of a Hunter has no appeal, and the Forza’s numbers are dwindling.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I said. “Have you watched television? Played those games?”
From what I could tell, it was a rare kid that wasn’t willing to plunk his or herself down in front of the television and do the dirty work.
“Many young people have the desire,” Father admitted after I spewed out my theory. “It is the rare student, however, that has the stamina.”
That made a little more sense. My own daughter’s attention span tended to increase or diminish in direct proportion to the number of boys in the vicinity. “All right,” I said, conceding the point. “I’ll buy that recruiting has fallen off. But I can’t believe there aren’t any Hunters. I mean, there’s still a need, right?”
That was my not-too-artful way of asking if demon activity had fallen off in the last few years. I couldn’t imagine that it had, though. I might be retired, but I still watch the evening news. And believe me, there are demons among us.
“Numquam opus maius,” Father said. My Latin sucks, but I got the gist. The need was greater than ever. “And, yes, there are other Hunters, though not many. As you are aware, the mortality rate is high. We have fewer Hunters now than we did when you were active.”
“Oh.” Although the information was hardly news, it was still sobering. “And the Hunters you do have,” I pressed, “I suppose they’re otherwise occupied?”
“Si.”
“Shit.” And then, “Sorry, Father.”
His low chuckle seemed to wash over me, and I wrapped myself in a sudden, unexpected memory. Me, laid up with the flu, propped up in my dorm-room bed with a box of tissue and a jar of Vicks VapoRub. And Father Corletti, sitting beside me, the flimsy cot buckling even under his negligible weight, as he told story after story of life within the Forza Scura. Serious business, he’d said. God’s work. But still, he was able to find a bit of humor. And by the time my cold had disappeared, I was more eager than ever to get back to my training.
Father Corletti had been the closest thing I’d had to a parent, and until Eric, the Forza was the only family I’d known. So if Father needed me to drop everything and go kill demons, I would. I might not like it, but I’d do it.
“You will not be completely alone,” Father said, and I fought a smile. He’d always had an uncanny ability to read my mind.
“Okay,” I said. “Who?”
“An alimentatore,” he said.
“You’ve got a spare alimentatore, but not a Hunter? Sounds like the Vatican human resources department isn’t exactly doing a stellar job of keeping the proper balance among employees.”
“Katherine . . .”
“Sorry.”
“He will meet you at the cathedral tomorrow at noon.”
“Fine,” I said, knowing not to push. “Fine.” Then I thought about it a bit more. “Tomorrow? It’s the middle of the night here. You mean later today?” I knew he did. “How are you getting him here so fast?”
“He is already there.”
“Already—”
“You will learn what we know tomorrow. In the meantime, rest . . . and conserve your resources. I fear that you shall need them.”
Once again I held the handset out and stared at it, only this time I wasn’t glaring. This time I was completely befuddled. “You knew about this? You already know what’s going on here? Dammit, Father. Don’t you dare make me wait until tomorrow!”
“Child, now is not the time.” He paused, and I held my breath, thinking foolishly that he might change his mind. “You have of course kept up with your training?”
He’d turned the statement into a question. And though his tone was casual, I could tell the query was completely serious.
“Sure,” I lied. “Of course I have.” Like hell, I have. The only physical training I got these days was chasing a two-year-old, and my most recent mental exercise consisted of debating Allie about just how slutty the gotta-have-it outfit of the moment really was.
Not exactly at the top of my game, I had to say.
“Good.”
That one word scared me more than anything else he could have said. “Father, I know you won’t tell me everything, so I’m not even going to try. But—”
“Goramesh,” he said, the demon’s name turning my blood to ice. “We believe he may have come to San Diablo.”
I stared at the phone once again, and this time realized my hand was shaking. Goramesh. The Decimator. One of the High Demons.
The old-man-demon’s voice echoed in my head—when my master’s
army rises up . . .
Forget scared; now I was terrified.
I crossed myself in the dark, then said good-bye to Father Corletti. I didn’t go back to Stuart, though. Instead I sat there on the guest bed, my knees under my chin and my arms wrapped around my legs. And then, as the first hint of sunlight fired the sky outside the window, I closed my eyes, bared my soul, and prayed.
“There you are. Jeez, Mom, Mindy just left, and Stuart and I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”
Allie’s voice pulled me from a not-too-sound sleep that had been filled with dreams of demons, death, and Eric. He’d been my partner, my strength. But he couldn’t help me with this newest battle, and so I woke with tears in my eyes and the bitter fear that came with being completely alone.
“Mom?”
Worry filled her voice, and my emotions shifted, guilt now taking the strongest foothold. I held out a hand, and she came to me, her expression wary as she eased onto the bed. I pulled her to me and closed my eyes, breathing in the scent of Ivory soap and Aveda shampoo. I wasn’t alone, and damn me for wallowing in self-pity. I had Allie and Timmy and Stuart, and I loved them each desperately.
“Were you thinking about Daddy?”
Her words cut through me like a knife, and I heard myself gasp.
“It’s okay,” she said. “It’s okay to miss him.”
She was repeating my own words back to me. My baby girl. Eric’s baby girl. She’d grown so much since he’d died. He’d missed so much. I reached and stroked her cheek, determined not to cry.
“You okay?” she asked, tiny lines of worry creasing her forehead.
I took her hand and squeezed. “I’m fine,” I said. “But when exactly did you grow up?”
The worry lines faded, replaced with a smile that was almost shy.
“Does that mean we can add an extra hour to my curfew?” She spoke lightly, with a little impish grin I recognized as my own. I reflected it right back at her, my mood already remarkably lighter. “I’ll take it under advisement,” I said.
“In mom-speak, that means no.”
