by Julie Kenner
I sincerely hoped my husband wasn’t expecting a hot dinner tonight. Because the only thing he’d be getting from me was ice cold.
I might have been seething, but Allie held it together despite the ache I knew she had to feel in her heart. She gave a wonderfully smooth acceptance speech in a voice that didn’t even shake once, and in that moment, I think I was more proud of her than I’d ever been.
I’d expected the little pang in my heart back when she took her first steps. When she toddled off to kindergarten. When she learned to ride a bike. Those are the moments they tell you about in all those What to Expect books.
But these moments—the ones that sneak up on you, where your kid really rises to the occasion and you can’t help but think that you did good and your baby’s going to be all right—well, those are the moments that really get me in the gut.
As angry as I was that Stuart wasn’t there, I also felt a little bit numb. Because it wasn’t really Stuart that I wanted beside me that day. It was Eric. And as I listened to my daughter read her wonderful essay to the crowd, I had to fight the tears that threatened to overflow and spill down my cheeks.
Grief is a funny thing. Had I lost Eric back when we were both hunting, I think it might have been easier to handle. Death was part of the scenery back then. It was normal, expected. But Eric and I had hung up our demon-hunting hats. We’d retired from the Forza Scura and moved first to Los Angeles and then to San Diablo, one of the most demon-free towns in the country. Or, at least, it had been back then. We’d had our baby girl, and we’d ensconced ourselves in the trappings of suburbia.
We’d been happy. We had our normal life, our normal family, our normal town. Our problems centered around bills and car repairs and leaky plumbing. The most demonic creature we encountered was the principal at Allie’s kindergarten. No longer were our evenings spent performing weapons checks, researching Grimoires, or brushing up on combat medicine. Instead, after we put Allie to bed, we’d snuggle on the couch and watch all the movies we’d missed during our oh-so unusual childhoods.
There’d been a time when I could have staunched a stab wound with my fingers or cauterized an artery by flash-burning gunpowder. But once Eric and I settled down, those skills deteriorated, and I’d been thankful. We spent ten wonderful years smoothing our rough edges and learning to be—and to feel—normal. We were happy and secure in the little fairy-tale world we’d built. But it had to be a fairy tale, because we knew the truth. There are giants and witches in the forest, and if you aren’t careful, they’ll slap you into an oven faster than you can say “boo.”
And here’s another truth: Demons aren’t the only bad things that roam in the dark. There are bad people, too. One of them killed my husband. Took his cash and left Eric to die on a cold and foggy San Francisco street.
There’s a cruel irony in Eric’s story. My husband—the man who’d destroyed so many preternatural creatures, the man whose reflexes had once been a thing of wonder—taken out by a mere mortal and a 9-mm pistol.
There’s probably a lesson there, too, but it wasn’t one I wanted to think about. At the time, I’d only wanted Eric back. And my disbelief that he could have perished under such mundane circumstances had made my grief long-lived. It was still there, in fact. Hiding under the surface of my shiny new life. A life I loved so fiercely that my memories of Eric, and the pangs of grief that came with those memories, were always lined with guilt.
When I was young and brave and stupid, I never feared death. Now I dreaded it as only a mother can. I don’t want to leave my kids. Not now. Hell, not ever, though I’m pragmatic enough to know that someday the time will come.
But I think the hardest part of Eric’s death is the pity I feel for him. He’d been given a gift in Allie, and someone had ripped that away from him. He’d missed birthdays and kisses and cheerleader tryouts. He’d missed glaring at boys and setting curfews. He’d missed today, watching our beautiful daughter accept an award and read an essay to a roomful of people, without showing even the slightest hint of fear.
I didn’t want to pity the man I’d loved, the man who’d been my partner. But I did. And my deep, horrible, dirty little secret? I was glad that if one of us had to die, that it had been him and not me.
By the time Allie finished, I was a teary-eyed mess.
“Mommy sad?” Timmy asked, rubbing his sticky palms on my cheeks.
I hugged him close and kissed the top of his head. “Mommy’s proud,” I said.
Beside me, Laura reached out to squeeze my hand. Across the hall, I could see her daughter, Mindy, grinning like a fiend from the riser on which she stood, surrounded by the rest of the choir.
The Duponts live immediately behind our house, and the girls have been best friends since the first day they laid eyes on each other. Laura and I quickly followed suit, and the Dupont and Connor females make good use of the back-fence gates that allow us easy access to each other’s homes.
Over the years, the only hint of jealousy that had ever reared its head between the girls appeared after the faculty committee anointed Allie, but not Mindy, with one of the three coveted freshman spots on the cheerleading squad. Thankfully, the tension eased after about a week. That’s when the girls realized that Mindy has a voice that could give Celine Dion a run for her money, whereas my daughter sounds remarkably like Kermit the Frog. The universe shifted back, and the jealousy flitted off to annoy some other less-well-adjusted children.
Needless to say, Laura and I were greatly relieved. We could still be best friends even if our girls weren’t. But it was a heck of a lot easier this way.
Around us, parents, kids, and teachers were shifting to stations that had been set up around the perimeter of the gym. Drama club, math club, surf club, cheerleading. And, of course, the snack table. I wondered idly what kind of cupcakes Laura had bought, but it didn’t really matter. At the moment, all I cared about was my brilliant and accomplished daughter.
As the choir started up with a medley of Christmas songs, Allie bounded across the auditorium, all composure now abandoned. “A check!” she yelped, as Eddie caught her in a hug. “Mom, Eddie, look! I got a check for five hundred dollars!”
Eddie took it from her, then held it at arms length, squinting at it through his thick glasses. “Whoa-ho there, hotshot. Look at you. You’re rich!” He ruffled her hair, and she didn’t even duck away like she usually does when I show too much affection around her peers.
Eddie leaned in closer, his eyes on me as he spoke sotto voce to Allie. “Run,” he said. “Run now. And if anyone mentions educational savings accounts, you shoot first and ask questions later.”
I tried to look stern as Allie giggled and linked her arm through Eddie’s. Beside me, Laura stifled a smile as she looked from one to the other. “Good luck,” she finally said, giving me a quick pat on the shoulder. Then took off across the gym toward the choir risers, leaving me to deal with my insane family alone.
I sighed, and hoisted Timmy up onto my hip.
“So?” Allie said, bouncing from one foot to the other. “Can I buy an iPod? Please, please, pleeeeeze?”
“I don’t know,” I said, a little distracted because I saw Marissa stalking across the room toward us.
“Oh, come on, Mom! Eddie’s right. It’s my money. And I promise I won’t use it during class.”
That caught my attention. “I really hope you’re kidding. Because if that’s even an option at this school, we’re going to have to seriously consider the value of a private education.”
I was being serious, but that was lost on Allie. “Oh, Mom!” Then she looked at me with puppy dog eyes until I gave in.
I sighed. “It is your money—”
“Yes!” She shot her fist up in celebration. “You’re the bomb, Mom!”
“I know,” I said, amused. Timmy squirmed, demanding to be put down. I did, and then Allie grabbed his hands and did a little dance with her brother.
All in all, a nice little family moment. Except for the fact that we
were missing part of the family.
A skinny girl with a long ponytail walked by with a tray of cookies and a determined expression on her face. Timmy immediately stopped dancing and looked at her longingly.
“Cookies!” Timmy said. “Want a cookie!”
Since the girl hadn’t heard him, I reached for his hand, figuring that was as good an exit line as any, but Eddie got there first. “Come on, youngster,” he said. “I’m gunning for one of them chocolate chunk monstrosities.”
“Monsters?” Timmy said, looking more excited than scared. “I wanna see the monsters!”
I frowned and met Eddie’s eyes, certain that he could read my mind. Because the last thing in the world I wanted was for my little boy to meet up with the wrong kind of monster.
“I’ve got him,” Eddie said. “We’ll find you in a few.”
“Mom? Hell-ooo?” Allie waved a hand in front of me. “Where’s Stuart? He swore he’d be here.”
“Um,” I said, cursing since I really should have been prepared. I mean, I’d definitely seen that one coming.
Fortunately, I was saved from responding by my arch-enemy. Marissa sidled up, her brow furrowed, her mouth a thin red line. “Dammit, Kate. Since you insisted on chaperoning, I’d appreciate a little help over there.”
“Sure, Marissa. No problem. I’m just talking to my award-winning daughter.”
“Hi,” she said, barely acknowledging Allie. “You want to get over there and help me?”
I pulled myself up on my toes and looked over her shoulder. Four of our charges were still sitting on the bleachers, staying out of trouble as far as I could tell. The others were scattered around the gym, students at their sides and smiles on their faces. “I think most everyone is taken care of,” I said. “Until it’s time to go back, shouldn’t we let them hang with their families?”
“Taken care of?” She crossed her arms in front of her chest. “I don’t think Dermott Sinclair is taken care of.”
Actually, he was, but I wasn’t about to say as much. Instead, I tried to look appropriately baffled. “Sinclair? I thought he was with you.”
“What are you talking about? I left him with you on the bus.”
“Right. But then he hurried out. To find you guys, he said. I assumed he’d catch up to you in the gym.” I kept my eyes on hers, daring her to call me a liar.
“Well, he didn’t,” she said sharply. “I’m so glad you signed on to chaperone today, Kate. You’ve been such a big help.”
I forced a bright smile. “But it looks like you did just fine on your own. Everyone’s here and happy.”
“Except Sinclair.”
“Yeah,” I agreed. “That is odd.” I scooted toward Allie and hooked an arm around her shoulder. “We’re going to go make the circuit, okay? And we’ll keep an eye out for Sinclair. He’s got to be here somewhere. I mean, where else could he be?”
A loaded question, but not one I wanted answered.
Marissa fidgeted, but she didn’t press the point. I took the opportunity to flee. Demons, I can handle. An irritated soccer mom? No thank you very much.
Allie was watching me curiously as we walked away, and I tried to run the conversation back through in my head, wondering if I’d said anything suspicious. Thankfully, though, demons weren’t on my daughter’s mind. Instead, she turned back to another uncomfortable subject: Stuart.
“So where is he?” she asked.
“On his way,” I said. “Probably already here. He was in his car the last I talked to him,” I finally said, desperately resorting to the kind of lies that would attract lightning from the Heavens.
“Oh. I was hoping he’d . . .” She trailed off with a shrug and a smile. “It’s okay. He’ll be just as impressed with the check. But there’s no way I’m donating it to his campaign.” The last was said with an impish grin, but I know my kid well, and her light tone was laced with hurt. Can’t say I blame her. I’d skipped right over hurt and moved directly to enraged. Do not pass go. Do not collect two hundred dollars.
“He hasn’t been here too many times,” she said, rummaging in her purse and pulling out her cell phone. “What if he’s wandering the blue halls? Should I give him a call?”
I hesitated, certain that the only wandering Stuart was doing was the kind that sent him meandering down the primrose path toward the promise of campaign dollars. Not entirely sure what to say to Allie, I chose the ever popular “Um” response.
She started to dial.
“Allie!” I said, snatching the phone out of her hand.
“What?”
“You’re only supposed to use your phone for emergencies,” I said. “Stuart and I were perfectly clear about that.”
She blinked at me, her expression befuddled. “Well, yeah, but you’re here.”
“Right. But Stuart’s not. So when he sees that you’re calling, he’s going to think it’s an emergency and worry.” I put my hand on my hip for effect. “I know I did when you called earlier.”
She actually looked contrite. “Right. So, um, I guess I won’t call Stuart.”
I nodded, hoping I didn’t look too relieved. Then I slipped her phone into my purse. Just to be safe.
“You call him.”
I blinked. “What?”
“Come on, Mom! It’s not like he’ll worry when he sees your caller ID, right? And I really want to tell him about the check. And you know Stuart. He’s never going to call us and admit he’s lost.”
I frowned. The trouble was, I did know Stuart. And I knew the odds were good he was nowhere near this building.
But since I couldn’t think of a graceful way to refuse to call my husband, I reached into my purse. I made sure to keep the book hidden, all the while praying that Stuart would draw on his fast-developing political skills to ensure Allie’s feelings didn’t get hurt.
It wasn’t until I’d pawed through all the detritus in my bag, though, that I remembered. “I can’t call Stuart,” I said, hoping I didn’t sound as gleeful as I felt. “I dropped the phone, remember?”
“Oh.” She made a face. “Right.” I could practically see the wheels turning in her head. “He might be trying to phone you. I should probably call and let him know you’re okay.”
I wanted to argue, but what would I say? We’d reached the point where it would be ridiculous for me to protest anymore. And, frankly, I was so irritated with Stuart for not having shown up, that I figured it was only fair that he get put on the spot. Passive-aggressive? Perhaps. Or maybe I was just tired.
At any rate, it didn’t matter. Because just as I was about to hand Allie her phone, Mindy raced over.
“Did you hear! Did you hear! They found a dead guy in the basement. Isn’t that just the grossest thing ever?”
“No shit?” That from Allie, who immediately shot me a mortified look. “Sorry. I mean, no kidding?”
“Honest! Mom and I were talking with Principal George when the EMS guy came in and pulled her away. I heard everything.” She leaned in closer and added, conspiratorially, “They said his face was bashed in.”
“Ew!” Allie squealed, as I tried to look both disgusted and concerned.
Laura, who’d been following Mindy at something less than a sprint, sidled up beside me. “A little drama in these hallowed halls,” she said. “You’ve heard?”
There wasn’t anything unusual about her tone or her words. Even so, I knew what she was asking: Was this your handiwork?
“Yeah,” I said. “I’ve heard.” And I really needed to know what was going on in that hallway. Did they believe it was an accident, or were they going to be looking for me?
“Come on,” Mindy said, gesturing for Allie to follow.
“Hold on a second, girls,” I said. “I don’t think that’s such a good idea.”
“No way, Mrs. Connor! This is a totally good idea. I’m on the newspaper staff, remember? And they never give the freshmen anything to write except profiles of the teachers. This is like a total break for me.”
Mindy blinked. “Woodward?”
Laura just shook her head. “You’re not prowling the halls to go see a dead body.”
“But, Mom!”
“No,” Laura said. “Now go. Shoo. Both of you.” She pointed to the far side of the gym. Our girls hesitated, then shared one of those looks that all mothers of teenage girls are familiar with. The one that says, My mom is a freak.
“Whatever,” my daughter said. Then off they went, their heads bent close as they ran down a list of their mothers’ imperfections.
I turned to Laura, unable to stop my grin.
“What?”
“If I tell you I’m going, are you going to call me Bernstein?”
“Very funny. And you can thank me later for getting those two out of our hair.” She cocked a head toward the door. “Let’s go.”
I hesitated only long enough to make sure the girls weren’t watching and to scan the gym for Timmy. I found him and Eddie in a corner that the PTA had set up as toddler central. He (Timmy, not Eddie) was neck deep in a kid-die pool filled with plastic balls, the grin on his face so wide I could see it from yards away.
I waved, managed to catch Eddie’s attention, and gestured for him to come over. He did, first making sure that one of the ladies standing nearby would keep an eye on my boy.
Laura and I met him halfway and gave him a brief rundown. “We’re going to go see what’s up,” I said, ending the story in the vaguest way possible.
“You gals go on ahead,” he said. “I’ll watch the youngster.”
“You’re sure?” I asked.
He met my eyes. “Not my business anymore, is it?”
I nodded. Because the truth was, as much as I appreciated having Eddie around, I was the Demon Hunter in these parts. And at times, that responsibility weighed heavily.
As Laura and I hurried out, I heard a few of the PTA ladies calling to me. I pretended a sudden case of deafness and kept on going. Demons first. Refreshment Committee later.
We racewalked back through the halls until we saw the uniformed officers standing near the door. Yellow crime-scene tape had been spread across the hall, essentially barring anyone from passing. A stretcher—empty—took up a large chunk of space near the door. The stretcher didn’t bother me. The cops, however, did.
