by Julie Kenner
Four
“Mommymommymommymommmeeeeeeeee! Get up, Mommy! Up! Up! Up!”
I shoved a pillow over my head and rolled over, which was not the way to soothe the savage toddler, who proceeded to march atop the bed humming and screaming and generally making a nuisance of himself.
“Where’s your father?” I asked. “Your sister. Somebody, anybody, help me.”
“Me, me, me,” he said, plunking his little body on my back and aiming a spit-filled whisper toward my ear. “Daddy says up, Mommy. Get up now!”
I rolled over, saw the empty side of the bed, and smelled a rat. “Did Daddy send you to wake me?”
He nodded gleefully, then thrust his arms up toward the ceiling. “Do that, Mommy!”
And despite the fact that I was operating on absolutely no sleep, I tossed my arm above my head, which I considered hugely generous since I knew exactly what was coming.
Sure enough, Timmy leaped on me, his little fingers scratching under my arms in a toddler’s version of tickling. I writhed and chuckled and generally pretended he’d managed to hit a tickle nerve. He kept it up for about forty seconds, at which point he couldn’t stand it any longer. He flopped back on the bed, arms high above his head. “Do me, Mommy! Do me!”
“I don’t know,” I said, as if I really had an option here. “Daddy said I’m supposed to get up, not tickle a little boy.”
“Yes, tickle!” he screeched, his little face scrunching up and displaying all the signs of an oncoming tantrum.
“Whoa, whoa,” I said. “I was just kidding.” I looked up at the ceiling. “Wow!” I said, as if amazed. “Look at that. Can you reach it?”
“What?” Tantrum forgotten, he turned big eyes upward. “Right above you,” I said. “If you reach really high, you might be able to catch one.”
He climbed to his feet, a bit unsteady on the soft mattress and stretched his arms up toward the ceiling, grasping at nothing.
I pounced, pulling him down to the mattress even as my fingers went for his underarms, tickling for all I was worth. He squealed and kicked and screamed and appeared generally delighted with the whole thing. So delighted, in fact, that even when I fell back exhausted on the bed, he bounced and bounced, crying, “Again! Again! Again!” so many times that Stuart and Allie appeared in the doorway.
“You’re stuck now,” Allie said. “Once he starts, there’s no going back. Duh-duh-duh-dummmmmm,” she added, in a bad parody of a horror movie soundtrack.
“Thanks,” I deadpanned. “You’re very helpful. You?” I asked, shifting my attention from my daughter to Stuart.
“Sorry. I got nothing. Except pancakes. How about it, sport? Want to make a trade? Your mother’s freedom for a Mickey Mouse pancake with chocolate chip eyes?”
“Pancakes!” he screamed, then leaped off the bed and scurried past his father for the stairs.
“Tossed aside for carbohydrates,” I said. “Isn’t it always the way?”
Stuart blew me a kiss, then headed out of the room to make good on his promise. I rolled out of bed and headed to the armchair that has never seen a person’s tush, seeing as it has throughout our entire marriage served only as a place to hold clothes. I found a pair of sweatpants and tugged them on. I was already wearing a Coronado High PTA T-shirt, so I was now as dressed as I intended to get until after coffee.
I checked the clock, saw that it was painfully early for a Saturday, and decided I had plenty of time before Timmy’s ten o’clock social engagement. I also saw that Allie was still hovering in the doorway looking expectantly in my direction.
“Well?”
In response, I shoved my feet into fuzzy bunny slippers. “Ummm?”
“Daddy,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Why was he here? Can I hang out at his place this weekend?”
“He was here because we had things to discuss, and not this weekend.”
“But—”
“He has to run into L.A.,” I lied.
“I could go with him.”
I bent down and adjusted my bunny slippers so that my daughter wouldn’t see the lie on my face. “I don’t think it’s convenient this time, kiddo.”
“But we can ask him, right? I mean, I could call, and—”
“No.”
“What? Why?” Her wail drifted all the way downstairs, and Stuart yelled back up with a curt, “I didn’t say anything.”
“But why not?” Allie said, trying again with a softer voice.
“Your grades, for one,” I said, heading for the door. “Your father and I are both concerned.” I told myself I was feeling no guilt. We were concerned. That just wasn’t my reason for keeping my daughter from her father.
As for the real reason, I should feel no guilt there, either. After all, my first job as a mom was to keep my kids safe. And even Eric agreed that Allie was better off not being alone with him.
That simple fact sat like a dead weight in my stomach, and my fingers itched to pick up the phone and try to reach Father Corletti. We were missing something. Something huge. Something that would save Eric if only we could find it. And now, with the demon inside gaining strength and some anonymous She-Demon out there, I feared we had to find it fast.
I frowned, realizing I hadn’t told Stuart about our little encounter with Gargantua the Wonder Demon last night. I glanced toward the door, guilt pooling in my gut. I’d promised Stuart full disclosure, but I hadn’t realized how quickly that would become dicey. Demons attacking in the backyard. Demons buddying up to Eric. That was the kind of stuff that could really worry a man. Hell, it worried me.
“Mom!”
“Hmmm?” I turned toward her, but my thoughts were still on Stuart. A short secret, I thought. That’s all. I’d gather a little more information, and then I’d tell him everything. At the very least, I wanted to figure out who this She-Demon was. If I had to tell Stuart there was another Big Bad with me in its sights, at a minimum I wanted some information about my enemy. To get that, I was going to need help.
“Mom!”
I smiled negligently at Allie, but my thoughts had drifted to Father Ben. He’d been my alimentatore—my guide, my helper—and he’d been brutally murdered only weeks before. As always when I thought of him, I felt the stab of regret. I’d been too late to save him, and though I knew in my heart that his death wasn’t my fault, I couldn’t help but shoulder some of the blame. Those ripples again. He’d come to San Diablo to minister to a parish; he’d become involved in Forza because he’d met me. He had, I thought, deserved better. And at the same time, I knew that he would be proud dying the way he had, defending the innocent against the onslaught of evil.
“Mother!”
Allie’s shriek finally broke through my musings. “Sorry. What?”
“I can study at Daddy’s,” she said, her exasperated tone matching her expression.
I shook off thoughts of Stuart and Eric and mysterious female demons and focused on my daughter. “Sorry, kid. You study here.”
“That’s so unfair,” she wailed.
“Incredibly,” I agreed. “But until you’re the mom, you have to live with my arbitrary and capricious rules. That means no applying for your learner’s permit until your grades are up—”
“Big deal,” she said sulkily, having recently had all her illusions shattered by the previously unknown fact that her fifteenth birthday wasn’t the magic day for applying for her permit. That day was fifteen years plus six months. And to a teenager, that extra six months might as well be six years.
“I didn’t make the rules.”
She crossed her arms over her chest and stared me down. “Maybe not that one.”
I tried not to laugh, but I couldn’t help it. “Fair enough.” I aimed a finger out the door. “So what’s it going to be? Breakfast with the family or sulking in your room?”
“Sulking,” she said, then turned to slink down the hall. I’m pretty sure she expected me to call her back, but I didn’t have the energy for a fight. Instead, I called af
ter her, reminding her to use the time to study. My response was a frustrated groan and a firm slamming of the door. I’m probably a bad mom, but I couldn’t hold back my smile. Because grades and studying and teenage angst had absolutely nothing to do with demons. A tiny bit of normality had snuck into our decidedly abnormal life. And damned if that didn’t feel nice.
“You’re chipper,” Stuart said as I slid into my chair at the table.
“Allie’s banished to her room studying,” I said. “I’m pretty sure I’m on her shit list for the day.”
“Shit list!” Timmy shouted, and Stuart cocked an eyebrow while I silently mouthed a contrite, “Sorry.”
“Well, I can see why that puts a spring in your step,” said my husband the comedian.
“Can’t I be in a good mood? Do I have to be sullen just because my daughter is?”
“What exactly is she sullen about?”
I hesitated, our newly established full-disclosure lifestyle at odds with my unilateral decision to postpone the whole full-disclosure thing for a day or two. “I’m not letting her go to Eric’s,” I said.
“Well of course you’re not,” Stuart agreed, and I saw the moment comprehension hit. “And she doesn’t understand why.”
“Sure she does.” I smiled. “Her grades suck.”
“Suck!” Timmy yelled gleefully, and I took a deep breath and counted to ten. “Party now?” Timmy asked. He bounced a little in his seat, thrilled at the prospect of festivities, even though the child to be feted was a little demon in her own right. Not literally—in my world, those qualifications had to be added. Not that I blamed little Danielle. Her mother, Marissa, had been my arch-nemesis since I’d joined the PTA. And although I’d learned to tolerate her, I didn’t see any girlie shopping moments in our future. Her eldest, Joann, goes to school with Allie. Little Danielle, the birthday girl, is closer to Timmy’s age. And since Marisssa had so generously invited us to the party, I’d shown my respect, love, and admiration by buying and wrapping a handmade Silly String Shooter, the messiest toy I could find.
I might not be able to stake Marissa, but that didn’t mean I had to quietly tolerate her, either.
“Now, now, now?” Timmy continued to howl.
“Soon enough,” I said. “Let’s go get you dressed and we’ll head out the door.” The party was at ten and it was only eight-thirty. But I figured we’d need a good forty minutes to fight over the outfit. Another twenty to wrap the present (which Timmy had unwrapped yesterday after finding it in the hall closet) and at least fifteen more minutes for me to run into Starbucks and grab the coffee that I’d surely need to get me through this thrilling event.
Once we were both cleaned and dressed, I popped my head into Allie’s room and reminded her that cable was off-limits until she’d finished studying. I was rewarded with a grunt, which I assured myself meant that I was fulfilling my parental role. Then I scooped Timmy up and, holding him upside down so that he giggled and squealed and wriggled so much I feared for dropping him, headed down the stairs. Stuart was shrugging into a jacket when we slid to a stop in the entrance hall.
“What’s up?” I asked.
“Running into the office,” he said, checking his watch.
“On Saturday?”
“Clark wants a meeting.”
“Oh.” I frowned, processing that tidbit. Clark Curtis was the current lame-duck county attorney and Stuart’s boss, although that relationship had turned extremely awkward two weeks ago when Stuart had informed Clark of his intention to back out of the race for county attorney, smearing egg all over Clark’s face in the process. “You didn’t mention it.”
“He called yesterday. I was planning to tell you after I measured the fallout.”
I nodded, glad I wasn’t the only one hoarding information. “Are you sure you don’t want to go back?” So far, only Clark and a few key figures knew that Stuart was pulling out of the race. The handlers had decided to keep it quiet while Clark chose a replacement for my defecting husband.
I thought I saw something wistful pass over Stuart’s face, but he shook his head. “Too much time. Too much energy.” He leaned forward and kissed me on the cheek. “I have better things to focus on.”
I gave him a quick hug, hoping I seemed supportive and not worried. Because no matter what Stuart said, I knew that the bottom line here was unemployment. I couldn’t imagine Clark suffering that kind of loss of face and still keeping Stuart on the rolls as an assistant county attorney any longer than was politically correct. Two weeks sounded about right for that purpose, so I had a feeling today was the day Stuart was getting the ax. And since Forza doesn’t currently offer health coverage—much less vision and dental—I felt a slight stirring of discontent for myself and my two offspring.
But I smiled and hugged my husband and wished him good luck . . . and as soon as he was out the door I said a quick prayer and asked for St. Jude’s intercession. After all, every little bit helps.
Since Timmy absolutely refused to let go of Danielle’s present, I was struggling to strap him into his car seat with a package on his lap when I heard the front door creak open. I glanced around and saw Eddie shuffle down the sidewalk in his ratty green bathrobe, his finger held up for attention.
“Hold up there, girlie. You coming straight back after the kiddie fest?”
I mentally ran through my schedule and realized I was. My class on tiling at Home Depot wasn’t until two. “Yup. What do you need?”
“Lift to work,” he said. “Gotta be there at one. Working the afternoon shift.”
I raised my brows. “Work?” This was news to me.
“Been putting in a few hours,” he said. “A fellow needs his spending money.”
“Oh.” I had a sudden image of Eddie working the checkout line at Walmart, and counted the days until he was fired. Somehow I didn’t think his generally grouchy attitude fit the corporate profile. Actually, I couldn’t think of any jobs where Eddie fit the profile, except Demon Hunter, and he was quite retired from those ranks, his current forays into hunting now focused primarily on announcing how much I still had to learn and how limited Forza was in its view of the world. It would be annoying were he not so often right. “So where are you working?” I asked.
“New shop in Old Town,” he said. “Doubt you’ve heard of it.”
“Really?” I pondered the possibilities along with the fact that Eddie seemed so reticent to share the details.
“So can you give me a lift or not? If I gotta call a taxi I need to know now. Damn cabs need half a day’s notice to get anywhere on time.”
I licked my lips as a new thought occurred to me. “Actually, maybe we could trade favors.”
His eyes narrowed, bushy eyebrows twitching like caterpillars. “Eh?”
“I need help,” I said. “I need an alimentatore.”
“Ah,” Eddie said, all humor draining from his face. “Right.”
I swallowed, determined not to cry. “I could really use the help. Please?”
“The Vatican ain’t got a spare?” Eddie asked, lightening the mood.
“I’m sure they’re working on it. I want you,” I added, realizing as I spoke how much I meant it.
“Do you now? Ya wanna tell me why?”
I could have rattled off a hundred reasons, starting with the fact that Eddie had seen things I’d only imagined—and I’d seen my share of the horrific. I could have cited his knowledge and his experience, not to mention his tenacity. I could have even bribed him with a TiVo box.
Instead, I settled on the one thing that mattered to me most of all. “It’s because of Eric,” I said, and watched as his eye twitched at Eric’s name. “You know about the demon,” I said. “But there’s more.” I gave him the quick and dirty overview of what had happened before he and Stuart and Allie had arrived home the night before.
“Ain’t it always the way. Some power-hungry demon moves into town and right away tries to take you out.”
“It’s the job,” I
deadpanned. “They’re all so jealous.”
He snorted. “Yeah, there’s that. So you want my help tracking She-Ra down.”
I did, of course, but it was more than that. “The demon scented Eric. I need answers, Eddie. And I need them fast.”
“Heh,” he said. “You want an answer? I got one for you right now, free of charge.” He poked me in the chest with one bony finger. “Shove a knife through his heart before the demon takes root. Kill the boy now and consider yourself lucky.”
“He’s Allie’s father, Eddie. She loves him.” I paused, then looked him dead in the eye. “And so do I.”
His shoulders drooped, all the vinegar disappearing from his attitude. “Kate.”
“No,” I said, shaking my head. “No, you can’t say no. You can’t walk away from this. I want to help him, Eddie. I have to help him. And I need someone who’ll see what I can’t.”
“The demon, you mean. If you’re gonna fight it, ya gotta at least say it.”
“Fine, then,” I said, more harshly than I intended. “You’ll see the demon, Eddie. You won’t see the man I love. And I need that. I need your perspective. I can’t do this without your help.”
“And if there is no help?”
“I don’t accept that as a possibility.”
“And if there is no help?” he repeated.
“Then I’ll take a knife and do exactly what you said. I’ve done it before,” I said, steely determination keeping my voice from cracking as I remembered the time not so long ago when I’d had to make that very sacrifice, not then realizing I also had the means to bring him back to life. “If I have to, I can do it again.”
This time, we both knew, neither Eric nor the demon would come back.
He raked his fingers through his hair, giving him an even wilder appearance. When he’d finished, he looked back at me. “You giving me that ride?”
“Sure,” I said, nodding as I struggled to bring my emotions under control. He’d veered wildly off topic, of course, and I wasn’t sure if he was giving me time to gather my wits or if this was the way Eddie negotiated. Either way, I was willing to let this play out however it had to, so long as in the end I got what I wanted.
