Carpe Demon: Adventures of a Demon-Hunting Soccer Mom

by Julie Kenner

  “Actually,” I said, “the judge didn’t murder a boy. It’s something completely different. In fact, I think my story may well earn you a full twenty-four hours of non-Paul thoughts. Maybe even more.”

  “At last,” she said, “some good news. Bring it on.” And for the first time that night, Laura actually smiled.

  By the time I finished telling her my story, Laura was no longer smiling. In fact, she looked a little shell-shocked. Also, though, she looked intrigued. “You’re kidding me, right?”

  I shook my head. “Sorry.”

  She closed her eyes and drew in a breath, then let it out slowly.

  “Laura?”

  “I’m okay. I just . . .” She shook her head. “So that shimmer I saw above the boy? That was the demon leaving?”

  I nodded.

  “Wow.” She licked her lips. “When that dog—that thing—died . . . I guess I knew then that something pretty freaky was going on.”

  I wasn’t sure what to say. I’d lived with this knowledge almost my whole life, and I’d never told anyone before. To me, this was just the status quo, and while I tried to see this new reality through Laura’s eyes, I was pretty sure I was failing miserably.

  She pulled her feet up onto the couch and hugged her knees. “So Judge Larson is a Demon Hunter, too?”

  “Not exactly. He’s like a mentor. He does the research while I do the dirty work.” I grimaced, thinking of the bugs in the cathedral basement. So long as Larson kept his day job, my definition of “dirty work” was expanding.

  Her brows lifted. “He looked pretty down and dirty in the alley.”

  She had a point. “Some alimentatores have the street skills to go along with the book skills. I guess Larson’s of that ilk.”

  “You guess? Haven’t you worked with him before?”

  I shook my head. “I only met him after the demon came through my window.” I made an apology face. “I lied about meeting one of Eric’s friends. As far as I know, Eric never laid eyes on Larson.”

  She didn’t seem too perturbed by the lie. “Okay, so the guy that Larson killed was a demon living in the body of a dead person.”

  “Right.” I’d given her the brief rundown of how it works, and now she was giving it back to me just like a prize pupil.

  “And you were fighting with what?”

  “Mythology calls them hellhounds. Huge mastiffs that do a demon’s bidding. Nasty creatures. Smell bad, too.”

  “When you stabbed it . . .” She trailed off with a shiver.

  “Laura?”

  “I’m fine.” She finished off her wine. I filled her glass back up. “It’s all a little much.”

  “For me, too,” I said. “I thought the most I’d have to deal with this year was boyfriends and potty training.”

  “God, I don’t know which is worse. Demons, or trying to get a toddler out of diapers without losing your sanity.” She half-laughed, but it died quickly enough. “That dog . . . um, where exactly did it go when it . . . when it . . .” She waved her hand. “You know. When it went away.”

  I knew what she meant. The dog had disappeared in a swirl of flame. No ashes. No charred bones. Just gone. “I’m not sure. Hell, I assume. Thankfully, I have no personal knowledge.”

  Her laugh sounded a little nervous. “Yeah. That’s good.”

  “Laura.” I took a sip of my wine before taking a deep breath. “Are we okay? I mean, Stuart doesn’t know because . . . well, because it’s a rule that I’m not supposed to tell. But obviously, I’m not strictly adhering to the rules here. I just don’t want him to see me as some sort of ninja mom, you know? And I don’t want you to see me that way, either. You’re my best friend. Without you I’d have no one to talk to during the days except a two-year-old, and all my cultural references would be from Disney or Nickelodeon.”

  “Nice to know where I rate,” she said, but she was smiling.

  “You know what I mean.”

  “We’re fine,” she said. She took my hand and squeezed. “This is going to take some getting used to, but you’re still the same Kate. Although . . .”

  “What?” I asked, instantly alarmed.

  Her smile was devious. “You’re no longer a stay-at-home mom. Kate Connor, you have a day job.” She frowned. “Or a night job. I’m not really sure about that.”

  “Either,” I said. “Demons come out during the day, too. They just like the night better. Besides, I’m filling the days with research.”

  “Right. To figure out what Gildamish is looking for.”

  “Goramesh.”

  “Yeah, him. Do you have any leads?”

  “Nothing concrete. We know the other locations Goramesh ravaged looking for whatever. And we think that bones may be involved. We just don’t know exactly what ‘whatever’ is.”

  “I could help.”

  I raised my eyebrows. “What? How? For that matter, why?”

  “I want to,” she said. “I need a day job, too. Otherwise, what else am I going to do all day except sit around thinking up creative ways to castrate Paul?”

  She had a point. “I don’t know what you could do,” I said. “I could use the research help, sure, but if you go with me to the archives, I’m afraid . . .” I shrugged, not wanting to voice my fear.

  “What?”

  I paused, then took a deep breath. “I’m afraid he’ll realize you’re helping me. And that he’ll try to hurt you.”

  She nodded slowly. “I can still help,” she said. “From home, even. No one has to know I’m on the case. I can be like that ten-year-old kid who stays at the computer and sends Kim Possible on all her missions.”

  I wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry about the fact that she’d just compared my life to that of a Disney Channel cartoon character. “Uh—”

  “I’m serious. I can make phone calls. I can go to the library. Better yet, I can do Internet research. Find out about the cathedrals he wrecked. Maybe get a clue.”

  I had to admit, it wasn’t a bad idea. But I still hated dragging her in. “I don’t know,” I hedged. “I’d hate for anything to happen.”

  “So would I,” she said. “But from what you’re telling me, if this Goramesh guy has his way, my kid could be a demon-sized Happy Meal. No, thank you. I want to help, Kate. Let me help you stop him. I can do most everything from home, and there’s nothing suspicious about going to the library.”

  I’ll admit I wasn’t hard to convince. I told myself it would be good for her, keeping her mind off Paul. In truth, I think I was more selfish than that. I wasn’t inclined to examine my motives, though. Not when her proposal was dead-on perfect. I did need help with the research, after all. “You’re sure you’re up for it?”

  She waved a hand. “Hell, yes. I spend hours and hours on eBay. My Internet skills are sharp.”

  I narrowed my eyes.

  “Kidding,” she said. “Don’t worry. I’ve helped Paul do research on locations and stuff. I know my way around Google and Dogpile and Vivisimo and a dozen others. Come on. At the very least I can punch in the towns and stuff where the attacks occurred. Larnaca, you said?”

  I nodded. “I don’t know the town in Mexico or Tuscany, but I can find out.”

  “So I can help?”

  Since she’d lost me after Google, I decided she was qualified. “Okay,” I said. “I think.” I frowned. “Let me think about it overnight. It’s late and my head is mush.” But I knew the answer would be yes. I think she knew so, too.

  I walked with her to the door and gave her a hug. “You’re okay?” I was talking about Paul, but the question pretty much covered all bases.

  “Yeah. Thanks. It’s rough, but we’ll get through it. I mostly feel bad for Mindy. If he is screwing around . . . Well, I’ll worry about that when it happens. You need to get some sleep.”

  She was right. I was scheduled to fight with Cutter the next morning, and I had to get Timmy over to the day care before then. He wasn’t supposed to start until Wednesday, but I was hop
ing that if I begged, they’d let him start tomorrow. I was optimistic. Groveling, I’ve discovered, can be a very effective tool. And I intended to do as much groveling as was necessary.

  I opened the door for her, but she paused at the threshold. “So there are demons out there, huh?”

  I stood behind her, looking out over my front yard and the oh-so-familiar street, trying to see the world through her new perspective. “I’ll drive with you,” I said.

  “Oh, no. It’s okay. You don’t have to do that. Really.”

  There was no way I was letting her go that distance alone. Not tonight, when I knew she’d see a demon around every corner.

  “Actually, I really do,” I said. She turned to me, and I shrugged. “As it turns out, I need to borrow some milk.”

  Thirteen

  As bizarre as Monday had been, it was almost disconcerting to wake up so normally on Tuesday morning. Normal, that is, except for the fact that I’d had only three hours of sleep, and my entire body felt like it had been pounded by a football team—and not in a good way.

  The alarm clock chirped promptly at six o’clock. I rolled over, muttering rude things about its parentage, and slapped the snooze button. There. Guess I told it.

  Beside me, Stuart muttered something that sounded like “jump through the hobbits,” but which I mentally translated as “just a few more minutes.” I muttered an agreement, tugged the covers up under my chin, and spooned against him. Nanoseconds later the alarm chirped again. (The digital readout assured me that seven full minutes had elapsed. I was not convinced.)

  I slapped the alarm senseless again, then rolled over to shake Stuart’s shoulder. “Up,” I said. “Go. Earn money.” This is my contribution to making sure the family bank account stays liquid.

  He groaned again, then rolled over so that he was facing me. Slowly he opened his eyes. Even more slowly he smiled. “Hey, gorgeous.”

  Since I am particularly ungorgeous in the morning, these kinds of endearments simply embarrass me. I rolled away with a mumbled “Stuart . . .”

  He slid closer, then wrapped his arm around my hips, pulling himself closer until he was nuzzling my neck. Even half-comatose, I know better than to shun a nuzzle. “You’re perky this morning,” I said.

  “Why not?” He tugged me back around so that he was leaning over me, one finger tracing the neckline of the plain white T-shirt I’d slept in. “I survived a car crash, locked in some campaign support, and woke up next to a beautiful woman.”

  He nibbled at my neck again and I laughed. “You’re such a politician.”

  “Public servant,” he shot back. He grinned, then, his mouth lifting with his own private joke.

  “What?” I said, amused.

  “Nothing.” His smile broadened. “Let’s just say I had a shot of confidence last night.”

  “The party? It did go pretty well, all things considered.”

  “The party,” he confirmed, “and . . .”

  “What?”

  He shifted, raising one shoulder in a slight shrug as he trailed his fingertip up and down my arm. “Nothing important. Let’s just say I found a new perspective on things. I’m thinking positively, and I’m positive that this election is all locked up.” He pushed a strand of hair behind my ear. “You’re looking at the next county attorney, sweetheart. I’m sure of it.”

  “Well, I never doubted you for a minute. I mean, why would the voters want anyone else? You’re the perfect candidate.”

  “A man for the people,” he said. His eyes roamed over me, his expression shifted from amused to heated. “A man for one woman . . .”

  He kissed me then, slow and long, and I tried to get my head around the fact that my rush-out-the-door-to-work husband wanted morning sex. (He also had morning breath, which is unusual for Stuart, but I chalked it up to too much party food.) Any potential for an amorous morning adventure, however, fizzled when Timmy’s cries of “Momma, Momma, Momma. Where you at, Momma?” blared from the baby monitor perched on the dresser.

  “He’ll be fine for a few minutes,” Stuart murmured, the invitation clear in his voice.

  “MOMMA!”

  “He sounds pretty determined,” I said. And (true confessions moment here) I was secretly glad. Not only was my entire body sore and achy, but my mind was already spinning with all the stuff I had to do, all the little details that had to be handled in order to keep my dual life running (somewhat) smoothly. “I should probably get him.”

  Stuart muttered something incoherent, but rolled back so that I could sit up. I swung my legs over the side of the bed as I reached for a pair of sweats, then dragged myself down the hall to my howling offspring.

  It took me a good twenty minutes to get the munchkin up and dressed and myself decked out in jeans and a San Diablo Junior High PTA T-shirt. By the time I got back downstairs, Stuart was already dressed, his hair damp from the shower, the scent of aftershave clinging to him in a way I found both familiar and slightly erotic. I pushed away a twang of regret for not taking him up on his suggestion of a morning tryst.

  Allie barreled into the room, as much as one can barrel in spiked-heel slides and skin-tight jeans. I glanced pointedly at her shoes, then up at her face. “Oh, Mom,” she said. “Jenny Marston wears heels to school.”

  There were a lot of things about Jenny Marston I didn’t want Allie emulating. Now I had shoes to add to the list. I pointed toward the stairs. “Go,” I said. “Change.”

  She exhaled so loudly that Timmy looked up, pointed, and starting puffing up his cheeks and blowing air out with a whoosh, whoosh.

  “Allie,” I said, injecting a warning note into my voice.

  “Mind your mother,” Stuart added, from somewhere behind the morning paper.

  “Fine. Whatever,” she said, then huffed back upstairs.

  I looked at Timmy. “Shoes, at least, are a problem we’ll never have with you,” I said.

  “Not until he wants some cool celebrity sneaker, anyway,” Stuart said.

  I grimaced, imagining a future where I’d gone undefeated against demons, but had been laid flat by my own children’s insidious shoe demands. Not a pretty picture.

  After two more cups of coffee Stuart kissed me and Timmy, called a good-bye up the stairs to Allie, then headed into the garage. A few moments later I heard the garage door begin its slow, creaky climb. I yelled at Allie to hurry or else she’d miss her car pool. She clattered back down the stairs and screeched to a halt in front of the refrigerator, this time in neon-pink high-top sneakers and a matching T-shirt. As my daughter would say, whatever.

  “Lunch or money?” she said.

  Since I’d gone on a wild-demon chase last night instead of staying home to care for my family like I should have done (guilt, guilt, guilt), I hadn’t fixed her a lunch. I found my purse, rummaged until I came up with a twenty, and handed it to her. Her eyes widened, but she was smart enough not to say anything.

  She planted a quick kiss on my cheek, then raced out the front door, just as Emily’s mom tooted her horn. As the door banged shut, I remembered what I’d forgotten, but by the time I reached the end of the sidewalk, the car was already gone. Well, damn.

  I’d completely forgotten to tell Allie that we had our first class with Cutter Wednesday afternoon, and to not sign up for any extracurriculars. Now I was going to have to call the school and leave a message for her. The process had been a huge hassle in junior high, and I didn’t anticipate it getting any easier now. Allie’s voice seemed to whisper in my ear—Mo-om . . . just get me a cell phone! Fine, I said to the voice. I’ll get one today.

  I’m not normally in the habit of succumbing to the will of voices in my head, but the cell phone thing had been one of Allie’s most persistent battles, with her adamant that she needed one, and me just as adamant that she didn’t. Now that I knew there were demons roaming the town, though, my perspective had shifted one hundred and eighty degrees. Anything to keep my baby safer, and if that meant slapping a cell phone into her ho
t little hand so she could dial 911 at the drop of a hat, well, so be it.

  “Allie go to work?” Timmy asked as I came back inside and took a seat at the table next to him. He held a spoon in one chubby fist, and was sticking it repeatedly into a cup of peach yogurt.

  “Allie went to school,” I said. “Daddy went to work.”

  “Mommy go to work?”

  “As a matter of fact, yes.” I took the spoon (amazed that this didn’t prompt a huge tantrum) and aimed a bite of yogurt toward his mouth. “Does Timmy want to go to school like Allie?”

  “No,” he said, giving me the puppy-dog eyes and shaking his head hard enough that there was no way the yogurt was going to make it inside. “No school.” A little-boy-lost whine had crept into his voice, and my heart twisted in my chest. Stay firm, I told myself. It’s only temporary. Thousands of kids are in day care every day without detriment to the kid or the parent.

  Still . . .

  I kept a perky smile plastered on my face. “No school?” I asked, feigning amazement. “But school is great! You’ll get to play with messy things like paint, and you’ll make all sorts of friends. And songs,” I said, pulling out all the stops. “I bet they sing ‘Happy and You Know It’ at school all the time.”

  “No, Momma,” he said. He shook his head once more. “You go to school.”

  “Wish that I could, kiddo.” I fed him the last spoonful of yogurt, then got a paper towel to wipe the bulk of his breakfast off his chin, the table, and the floor. “Would you give it a shot?” I asked. “For Mommy? School sounds pretty exciting to me. Lots of fun, and you get to play games.”

  Since I had the spoon, he stabbed his finger into the yogurt, then proceeded to draw a line of goop on the tabletop. Come on, Tim, I mentally urged. Say yes and make Mommy feel less guilty.