by Julie Kenner
At the moment, that was a risk I was willing to take.
“Kate, think about what you’re doing. Forza sent me to assist you.” He pulled back away from the sword, his head pressing against my breasts. He was cold with fear, practically trembling.
I tightened my grip around his neck. “Explain yourself,” I said. “Explain the dinner party.”
Nothing. Just silence. I gave him a little shake, meant to jostle his enthusiasm for spilling his story.
“Test,” he finally sputtered, the word so low and raw I could barely understand.
I released my hold on his neck just a little, but my fingers tightened around the Happy Meal toy. “Bullshit.”
He coughed, started to speak, then coughed again. I steeled myself to remain unmoved by his apparent discomfort.
“Talk,” I said.
“You’ve been out of touch for a while. I needed to know what we were dealing with. How much training you needed. What your skill level was.”
“So you came to my house and impersonated a demon? I could have killed you.”
“But you didn’t.” He cleared his throat and sucked in a breath. I realized I’d loosened my hold even more. “You passed that test, at least.” He started to get up, but I jerked him back. He winced. “Although I may still modify that grade.”
“You deliberately baited me. The breath. The comments.”
“The breath I’ll concede,” he said. “A week of eating garlic and not brushing my teeth. The comments, though . . .”
He trailed off.
“What?”
“I never said a single thing that was damning. You assumed I was a demon and heard what you wanted to hear.”
I tried to think back over the evening, to see if what he said was true. But it was too much of a blur. All I could remember was what he’d said about Allie—that he’d been sorry he hadn’t met her. That she was probably a lot like me.
Shit.
He was right. Unless he was one of Satan’s minions, that was pretty damn innocuous.
Without letting go, I leaned over and took a good long sniff. He opened his mouth helpfully. Minty fresh.
I released the hold from around his neck, and he sat up, rubbing his shoulders and doing head rolls.
“Apology accepted,” he said.
“I haven’t apologized.” I kept the toy poised near his face. I was pretty sure he was okay, but I wasn’t positive.
He groaned, either in frustration or pain, I couldn’t tell, and shifted slightly to the left. “Refilled your supply?”
I had no idea what he was talking about, then I turned in the direction he was looking. My checkbook was lying open near the base of a bench, a vial of holy water half-buried beneath it. I couldn’t reach it without letting him go, and I did a quick run-through of my options. It might be a trick. He might be planning on attacking me (or running like hell) the moment I let go. But since I couldn’t sit there forever, that was a risk I was going to have to take.
“Don’t move,” I said, as if I could keep him there by force of will alone.
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
I scooted backward, retrieved the vial, and moved back to crouch over him again. I still held the toy, but a bit less enthusiastically. He hadn’t moved a muscle during my scramble for the water, and now he watched me, his face impassive, as I unscrewed the metal cap. “Truth time,” I said, tossing the water at him without preamble.
He didn’t even flinch, and I knew right then what the result would be. Nothing. No ripped and burning flesh. No screams emanating from the depths of Hell. Not even a little pop and fizzle. I felt my body relax.
No demon could tolerate a direct dousing of holy water in the face.
Larson wasn’t a demon. He was just a man, bemused and dripping.
I sighed and passed him a crumpled tissue from the back pocket of my jeans. He started to dab water off his face. “Okay, then,” I said. “I believe you.”
“I would hope so.” He started to stand. I took the opportunity to crawl around, looking for my various personal belongings.
“So you were testing me,” I said, now stating the obvious. “At the party, I mean.”
“I was.”
I shoved my checkbook in my purse, then started collecting loose coins. “Did I pass?”
He peered at me. “Let’s just say there’s work to be done.”
“Right. Of course.” Damn.
I don’t like being wrong, and, frankly, I’ve gotten used to being right pretty much all of the time. I’m the mom, and Mom is always right. So it would not be an exaggeration to say that I was taking my error about Judge Larson’s identity a bit less than gracefully.
Fortunately, he seemed to understand, and while I sulked, he drove to the county dump, the demon carcass in his trunk and me in the passenger seat brooding quietly. Not that I’d been sulking the whole time. After a few vigorous mea culpa’s on my part (I can’t believe I drenched my alimentatore with holy water!), we’d headed to my house. I’d parked the Infiniti out front, while Larson pulled his Lexus into the garage. We tugged the body from the storage shed, schlepped him back though the kitchen, and filled Larson’s oh-so-pristine trunk with one geriatric dead demon.
I learned it costs twenty-five dollars to enter the dump, and no one writes down your name, license plate number, or anything. One grizzled old man was guarding the entrance, but he was more interested in The Price Is Right playing in grainy black-and-white than he was in us. Considering the ease with which we entered—dead body in tow—I had to imagine that a whole plethora of murderous fiends had come this way before us. Not a pretty picture.
Larson parked behind a pile of debris, shielding us from the view of anyone who might wander down the road. The place wasn’t exactly hopping, though, so I wasn’t that worried about onlookers. Together, we hauled Pops out of the trunk, then stuffed him into a space we’d carved among the debris. The stink factor was significant, but with two kids (one still in diapers) my gag reflex is well under control.
We rearranged the trash to cover the body, dusted ourselves off, then headed back out the way we came. With any luck, no one would ever find the body. Or, if they did, they’d never figure out who left it there.
“Are you still annoyed with me?” Larson asked after we’d been driving for a while.
“Yes,” I said. “But I’ll get over it.”
“It was necessary,” he said.
“I understand,” I said, and I did understand. “It just irks me that you felt compelled to test skills I haven’t used in years. I mean, how would you like it if your Property professor dropped by unannounced and quizzed you on the Rule Against Perpetuities?” For the record, I have no idea what that is, but whenever Stuart invites his lawyer friends over for drinks, they inevitably bring it up, and complain about what a bitch it was to understand, and then say how glad they are they don’t write wills for a living. Larson’s eyes crinkled in a very Paul Newman-esque sort of way. “Point taken,” he said. “I wouldn’t like it at all.” He stopped at a traffic light, then held his hand out to me. “Truce?”
I took it. “Truce.” The light changed and we were under way again. A few minutes later, he turned onto Rialto Boulevard, the cypress-lined street that leads into my subdivision. I twisted in my seat to face him. “So how pathetic was I?”
“Actually, under the circumstances you were surprisingly resourceful. Not that I’d expected any less. I’ve read your file and I know Wilson would not have been lax in his training.”
If he was trying to snare my attention, he’d succeeded. “You knew Wilson?”
Wilson Endicott had been my first and only alimentatore until the day I’d retired. The eldest son of some British bigwig, he’d forfeited his inheritance when he left home to join Forza. Where Father Corletti had been like a father to me, Wilson had been like an older brother. I’d trusted him, looked up to him, and I missed him terribly.
A shadow crossed Larson’s face. “He was as go
od an alimentatore as he was a friend. His passing is a great loss.”
“He’d probably have been mortified to see the way I reacted to you.”
Larson shook his head ever so slightly, then reached out to gently touch my hand. “On the contrary. I think he’d have been very proud.”
I focused on my fingernails. “Thanks.”
“I’ll be sending a positive report back to Forza, Kate. You did well. Truly.”
“Oh.” I sat up a little straighter, trying to pull myself together. “Well, that’s great. How come you didn’t say so earlier?”
He glanced quickly in my direction and I saw a grin sparkle in his eyes. “If memory serves, you had a miniature swordsman aimed at my eye.”
“Right. Sorry about that.”
“No offense taken,” he said. He flipped down his visor to reveal a pack of Nicorette gum. He unwrapped a piece and popped it in his mouth, then aimed a frown in my direction. “Harder to quit than I thought,” he said.
“So how are you going to find Goramesh?” I asked, getting down to business. “That’s the plan, right? You find him, I exterminate him, and life goes back to normal.” I squinted at him then, my comment spurring another thought. “Are you really a judge? Stuart’s going to have a fit if it turns out you can’t really endorse him.”
He laughed. “I assure you, my place among the judiciary is quite secure.”
“So, what? You moonlight for the Vatican?”
I was being sarcastic, but he nodded. “Something like that.”
“No kidding?” Back in my day, Hunters and alimentatores were full-time, full-fledged Forza employees. Outside employment wasn’t even an option.
“I was twelve years out of law school when I contacted Father Corletti about training as an alimentatore,” Larson told me.
“Really?” I couldn’t help the incredulous tone in my voice. Forza is supersecret. I’d never heard of anyone contacting the organization out of the blue.
“Father thought it was unusual, too,” he said. “But I’d been doing some reading on my own about demons and the infiltration of the Black Arts into mainstream society, and I ran across a vague reference to the group in an ancient text. I was intrigued, and the more I poked around, the more determined I was to find out if the organization was real or a product of someone’s imagination.”
“I’m impressed.”
“It took five years, but I managed.” His mouth turned up into a wry grin. “Interesting years, those. Amazing the characters you run across if you’re searching for an elite group of Demon Hunters.”
“So Father brought you on board and the rest is history?”
“Something like that. I worked out of Rome until the new policy went into effect about ten years ago. Once we were permitted to hold a second job in addition to our Forza duties, I returned to Los Angeles and took up my law practice.”
Eric and I had made the same transition, retiring first to Los Angeles after our wedding, then moving up the coast to San Diablo when we found out I was pregnant. “And then you became a judge?”
“Exactly. Three years later I was appointed to a superior court seat.” We were on my street now, and he pulled into my driveway, put the car in park, then turned to me. “As you can imagine, my new position was quite useful to Forza. The criminal justice system provides a fascinating snapshot of demon activity.”
“I’ll bet,” I said. His tone had been matter-of-fact—like a meteorologist discussing the weather, or a doctor relaying lab results. Just the general trappings of his workaday world, but I felt a knot in my stomach. It wasn’t workaday to me. It hadn’t been for a long, long time.
And yet here I was. The man next to me was in the business of tracking demon activity and studying methods of defeating them. I was back in the business of killing them.
I felt suddenly cold and overcome with the urge to hear my kids’ voices. Goose bumps rose on my arms as I rummaged in my purse for my phone. As Larson watched, I punched in Stuart’s cell number. One ring, two, and then his voice: “Please tell me you’re coming to rescue me.”
I was instantly on alert. “Why? What’s wrong?”
Larson turned to me, alarm coloring his features as well, and my hand closed around the door handle, releasing the latch.
Stuart laughed. “Nothing’s wrong. Sorry to scare you. Were you afraid I’d lost the kids somewhere between the parking lot and the food court?”
“Something like that,” I said. “Can I talk to them?”
“Sure, if you want to get Tim all worked up. He’s on the carousel right now with Allie. He’s doing great, but if he hears Mommy’s voice . . .”
“Right. Never mind.” I hardly needed for Timmy to throw a fit and for Stuart to schlep everybody home. “So what’s your ETA back home?”
“Not sure. Right now Timmy’s happy, so I’m willing to stick it out for as long as Allie wants.”
I felt my brow lift in surprise. “You are?”
“Sure. Why not? I already told Allie we’d do a late lunch at Bennigan’s.”
“Really?” Stuart’s not a chain-restaurant kind of guy, but Allie loves the place, and it’s easy to find food for Tim there. “You’re going to score some major points.”
“I know,” he said, and I could practically hear him grinning. “And it’s better than dealing with that damn window. How’s that going, by the way?”
“Fine,” I lied. I’d completely forgotten about the window.
We wrapped up the conversation, and then I tucked the phone back in my purse, oddly unsatisfied.
“Everything okay?” Larson asked.
“Sure,” I said. But it wasn’t. I don’t know what I’d expected—Stuart to have somehow magically discerned my distress and assured me that all would be well? A promise from my kids to never talk to strangers or demons? Whatever I’d needed, I hadn’t gotten it. I got out of the car and headed for the house, Larson following in my wake. “You never answered my question about how you’re going to find Goramesh,” I said as we went inside.
“You never gave me the chance,” he said.
He had a point. “I want him dead. I want this over with. I want my kids safe.”
“It will be over soon,” he said. “That’s why I’m here. To assist you and bring this situation to a speedy conclusion.”
“Good.” I thought about what he said. Situation wasn’t the word I would have chosen, but I couldn’t quibble with speedy conclusion. The quicker life got back to normal, the better. “Yeah, that’s great,” I added.
We were in the kitchen now, and the digital clock on the stove flashed the time—just past two. I’d forgotten to ask if Tim had napped in the stroller, but I had to assume the answer was no. Timmy’s not at his most charming on anything less than a two-hour nap, and at the first sign of serious toddler crankiness, I knew Stuart would drag the whole crew home. “We’d better get on with it,” I said. “If you’re here when Stuart gets back, I don’t know what we’ll say.”
I opened the refrigerator, grabbed two bottles of water, handed him one, then headed toward the living room. I was just opening the door to the back porch when I realized Larson wasn’t following. “You coming?”
“Coming where?”
“Aren’t we training?” I made a swishing motion, like Bruce Lee. “Hand-to-hand? Weapons training? Maybe throw in a little sword practice?” I unsheathed an imaginary sword, only to realize he wasn’t amused by my pantomimes. I sighed. “I’m almost fifteen years out of practice, Larson. I need to train. Either I practice, or I’m dead.”
“You were quite adequate in the churchyard,” he said.
“Adequate isn’t going to cut it.”
He cleared his throat, but didn’t say anything.
I leaned against the doorjamb. “What aren’t you telling me?”
“Forza is concerned less about Goramesh and more about finding what he seeks.”
“Stop Goramesh, and it won’t really matter what he’s looking for, will i
t?”
“And how do you propose to do that?”
“Fighting, remember?” I waved impatiently in the general direction of the backyard. “The kind of maneuvers Forza spent years teaching me to do—that’s what Father expects, right? For me to take care of this problem? To stop Goramesh?” I wasn’t angry so much as scared. Scared that this life I’d built and loved would come crashing down around my ears, and I’d be thrust back into a world of dark and shadows. “I just want to nail him, Larson. I want it over.”
“And, again, I have to ask. How?”
“Apparently not with your help.” My temper flared. “Why are you here if you’re not going to help me? I need to train. I’m in lousy shape, and I—”
Oh. I closed my mouth.
Something clicked in my head, and suddenly I understood. “Goramesh isn’t corporeal, is he?”
“Not to Forza’s knowledge, no.”
“That puts a little kink into my plan, then,” I admitted. If the demon hadn’t taken a human body, I could hardly kill him.
Larson made a little hmmm noise, and I grimaced.
“So what do you suggest?” I demanded, sounding churlish.
“In this endeavor, we will prevail through brains, not brawn. We need to determine what Goramesh seeks, and get to it first.”
“Great. As soon as you figure out what and where it is, I’ll be more than happy to snatch it.” As I thought about it, the fact that Goramesh was floating around as an unembodied demon was actually good news for me. Without a body, there wasn’t anything for me to hunt. And research was an alimentatore’s job. “Point me toward a demon, and I’ll kill it,” I said. “But except for the one we just buried, I haven’t seen any around.” I grinned, suddenly happier than I’d been all day. “As they say, my work here is done.”
Larson didn’t appear to share my joy. “And Goramesh?” he asked. “We need to ascertain what he wants.”
A finger of guilt poked at me, but I held firm. “No, you need to figure that out.”
“Kate—”
