California Demon: The Secret Life of a Demon-Hunting Soccer Mom

by Julie Kenner

  “So when are we going to Los Angeles?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “The teacher guy,” she said, tapping the letter. “You’re going to go talk to him, right?”

  “Yes,” I said. “I am.” I hadn’t seen Father Oliver for years, but I was certain that’s who Eric meant.

  “I’m coming with you,” she said.

  “Allie, in case you’ve forgotten, you’ve got this thing called school tomorrow.”

  “I’m totally ahead in all my classes.”

  I didn’t even bother to hide my disbelief. “All your classes?”

  She sucked in her cheeks, then blew out some air. “Well, not life sciences, but, I mean, like why do I care about photosynthesis anyway?”

  Since I wasn’t entirely sure what photosynthesis was, much less why she should care, I decided to avoid the question entirely. “You can’t skip school on a whim, Allie. And you can’t not study something just because it doesn’t involve boys or cheerleading.”

  “I like algebra,” she said.

  I gaped at her. “Are you sure you’re my daughter? Because I’m thinking you’re a pod person.”

  She made a face. “Don’t even try to change the subject. I’m coming with you tomorrow, and that’s all there is to it.”

  She crossed her arms over her chest and leaned back in her chair, looking so much like me at that moment, that it was eerie.

  “I really don’t think it’s such a good idea.” What if Father Oliver blurted something out about our demon-hunting days?

  Her body seemed to sag, and I was certain I’d won the battle. “It’s just . . . It’s just that I’m starting to forget him.”

  My heart started to break around the edges. “Daddy?”

  She nodded, then wiped the back of her hand under her nose. She looked small and young and lost, and I couldn’t bear the thought that she’d ever, ever, forget her father.

  “I don’t want to, but I was only nine, you know? And I look at pictures and it all comes back, but I’m really afraid, Mom. What if I look at a picture someday and that’s all it is?”

  “Oh, baby.” I was crying now, too, and I opened my arms wide, hugging her close. Timmy lost interest in his television show and came over to join us, crawling up on the couch between us and snuggling.

  I still wanted to say no. So help me, I wanted to scream no at the top of my lungs. But in my heart, I knew she had to come with me. If Allie found out the truth tomorrow, I’d deal with it then.

  After all, I thought, isn’t that what this whole parenting thing is all about?

  Because Allie WAS anxious, she woke me up at the crack of dawn—even before Stuart had rolled out of bed.

  He sat up, blinking in the dark. “Wha—?”

  I kissed his forehead. “Go back to sleep,” I whispered. “You still have twelve minutes before your alarm goes off.”

  By the time I was showered and changed, Allie was waiting at the kitchen table, Timmy’s lunch already packed, and the boy himself eating dry Honey Nut Cheerios and drinking milk out of a sippy cup. “Can we go?”

  I melted into one of the chairs. “Administer at least one dose of coffee intravenously. Then we’ll talk.”

  “Mo-om.”

  “Tim’s day care doesn’t even open for another fifteen minutes. I have time for one cup.”

  “Fine. But I’m putting it in Stuart’s commuter cup. If you’re not done with it in five minutes, you can take it with us.”

  Exactly five minutes later, we were in the van, the Star-bucks cup tucked into the console beside me. We got to KidSpace with three minutes to spare, and ended up waiting in the parking lot for Nadine to unlock the doors.

  “Why can’t you do this on a school day?” I asked, as soon as we were underway. “Do you have any idea what a hassle it is getting you up in the morning?”

  She just rolled her eyes, then kicked her feet up onto the dashboard. “Can we drive through McDonald’s for a sausage biscuit?”

  “What about your no-fat, wholly organic, must-be-a-paragon-of-food virtue diet?”

  “Road trip, Mom. I can bend the rules for a road trip.”

  “Right.” And since a sausage biscuit sounded pretty tasty right then, I pulled into the first McDonald’s I saw. Why not? With this latest insurgence of demon activity, I was burning an insane number of calories. And besides, we had a long drive ahead of us. More than an hour without traffic, but since Los Angeles’s morning rush hour covers a four-hour window, I expected that we’d be moving at the speed of lethargic snails once we hit the outskirts.

  Since I didn’t want to spend the entire day in the van, we avoided the Coast Highway, picking instead the significantly less scenic 101. Allie, naturally, dozed off about ten minutes after she finished her biscuit, leaving me to my mishmash of thoughts and questions. All familiar territory. What were the demons up to? Which demon was their master? What secrets would Father Oliver reveal to me? And the biggest question of all: Why had Eric kept secrets from me?

  Around and around the questions spun until I was so sick of my own thoughts that I clicked on the radio. A CD was in, so the first thing I heard was “Hot Potato.” I actually listened through the entire song and the beginning of “Shaky Shaky” before I remembered that when Timmy wasn’t in the van, I wasn’t required to listen to his Wiggles CDs. I switched over to the radio and tuned to an oldies channel, letting Wham!’s “Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go” fill the car.

  The song did the trick, too. Beside me, Allie stirred, then reached for her Diet Coke and downed about half of it in one swallow. “This music is lame,” she said offhandedly. Then she flipped down her visor, checked her reflection in the mirror, and touched up her lips.

  “You’re gorgeous,” I said, ignoring the music critique.

  “I’d be better with eyeshadow,” she said, hopefully.

  “Nice try,” I said. “You don’t need to wear eyeshadow to school. It’s not a fashion event.”

  “I’m not at school right now,” she pointed out, quite reasonably I thought. Really, the girl should join the debate team.

  “School hours,” I said. “No eyeshadow during school hours.”

  “How about on dates?”

  “Sure,” I said. “As soon as Stuart and I say you can go on dates, you can wear eyeshadow.”

  “Sixteen, right?”

  I checked my rearview mirror, changed lanes, then nodded. “Right”

  “So, if it’s a double date, I should be able to go when I’m fifteen. I mean, that makes sense, right?”

  “I can’t even begin to describe how much that does not make sense.”

  “Mom! Of course it does. You’re just not paying attention.”

  “Allie. Sixteen. That’s the rule.”

  She flopped back in her seat. “Whatever.”

  “And take your feet off the dash.”

  She dropped them to the floorboards with a huff that represented the start of a snit that lasted another fifteen miles. Then she yawned, stretched, and twisted around to face me. “So how about you talk to Stuart? If he thinks I can double-date, will you at least think about it?”

  “Allie . . .”

  “Come on. Please? I’m responsible. Aren’t I?”

  I stifled the urge to close my eyes since we were currently doing eighty, but I did let my shoulders slump. “Yes, you’re responsible. I’m very proud of my responsible, manipulative daughter.”

  “So you’ll talk with Stuart?”

  “Yes, I’ll talk it over with Stuart.”

  She settled back in the seat, a grin slathered across her face. After a bit, the wattage decreased a bit. “You can talk to him, right? I mean, he’s not around a whole lot these days.”

  “Of course I can talk to him. What do you think? We leave each other Post-it notes in the bathroom?”

  “I dunno. Mindy says her mom and dad hardly talk at all anymore. She thinks they’re going to get a divorce.”

  I turned sharply. “She does?” />
  “Yeah.” A pause, then, “Are you and Stuart okay?”

  “Oh, baby. Yeah. Stuart and I are great. He’s working his tail off, and, yes, I get annoyed when he’s not home as much, but there’s nothing wrong with our marriage.”

  “You’re sure?”

  I reached over and squeezed her knee. “Positive.” I wasn’t positive, though. Not really. Things had changed in the last few months, shifting slightly off their axis. I didn’t see a divorce on the horizon, but I also wasn’t taking our marriage for granted anymore. Probably a good thing when you thought about it, but it still made me a little sad.

  “How about Daddy?”

  “What about him?”

  “I dunno. I guess, I mean, well, you always tell me how much you loved him.”

  “I did love him. I do still.” I glanced sideways at her, trying to think like a fourteen-year-old and figure out where she was going with this.

  “Well, yeah, but he kept all this stuff secret. Doesn’t that make you mad?”

  “No, of course not.” I spoke automatically, coddling my kid with lies. The truth was harder, because I did hurt. The glass through which I’d looked back at my first marriage was losing its rosy tint. But this was my daughter, not my best friend, and there are some things you don’t share with your kid.

  Her eyebrows lifted a good two inches. “You’re really not mad?” she asked, in the same voice she’d use if I told her I’d taken a job as a professional chef. “Daddy has some secret so huge that he’s leaving clues all over the state, and you’re not even a teensy bit annoyed?”

  Smart girl, my daughter.

  “Your daddy loved secrets,” I said, thinking of the way he and I had gotten unofficially married well before our official ceremony. And no one but the two of us had known. “You two even shared a few secrets from me, right?”

  Her cheeks colored. “Well, yeah. Sure. But that’s not the same. Those aren’t as much like a secret because two people know. It’s like a thing you share. But the key and the notes and all that. I dunno. It’s just different.”

  Yeah. Definitely a smart girl.

  “It really doesn’t make you mad?” she asked, pressing her point.

  “I’m surprised,” I said. “And I hate the idea that there may have been something I could have helped him with before he died. But this doesn’t change anything about the way I feel about your dad. I loved him and he loved me. But everyone has secrets, Allie. Everyone.”

  I knew that better than anyone. I’d just never expected Eric to keep his secrets from me.

  “I guess.” She twirled a strand of hair around her finger, apparently in deep thought about my brilliant words of wisdom. (I was actually pretty proud of myself. As parenting moments went, I thought I was handling myself pretty well.) “Sort of like you and Stuart, right?”

  “How so?”

  “Well, I mean, does he know about the note from Daddy?”

  I tightened my grip on the steering wheel. “No,” I said, trying for casual. “He doesn’t.”

  “Right,” she said. “Secrets.” She started picking at her nail polish, peeling it off in strips. “So how old were you and Daddy when you met?”

  I almost commented on the change of subject, but since I was more than happy to shift conversational gears, I didn’t. “Thirteen.”

  “Did you know right away? That he was the one, I mean?”

  “Well, he was a much more sophisticated fourteen, and so I figured there was no way he’d be interested in a kid like me.”

  “But he was.”

  “Not at first, actually.” I smiled, remembering how Eric had protested when he’d been assigned to work with me on my very crappy knife-throwing skills.

  “But he came around, right. I mean, by the time you were fourteen, you knew you wanted to be with him always, right?”

  “Yeah,” I said. “He came around.”

  She shrugged, and when her cheeks flushed pink, I understood.

  “Your father and I were unique. Our whole situation, in Rome, in the orphanage. We bonded more than we might have, you know?” I stopped there, because Allie really didn’t know any more details. “We were lucky to have found each other so early, but we missed out on a lot, too. Most people, they go out. They date. They have fun and see a lot of different men before they finally meet the guy who sweeps them off their feet. It doesn’t have to be the guy you fall for when you’re fourteen.”

  She slunk down in her seat and looked out the window. “God, Mom. I know. I’m just, you know, making conversation.”

  I let that one sit for a while as we maneuvered down the 101 Freeway, through Reseda, Encino, Sherman Oaks. I concentrated on the signs until I found the exit for Pasadena. Once I’d merged onto the 134 and picked a lane, I relaxed a little.

  “So tell me about him,” I said.

  “Who?” Allie asked, looking a bit like a bunny confronted by the big, bad wolf.

  “Santa Claus,” I said. “Who do you think?”

  “Oh, Troy?” she said, just a little too casually. “We’re just friends.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “I mean, I like him and all. And, well, I think he likes me. But . . .”

  “But your pain-in-the-butt mom won’t let you date?”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “No, and I love you for it.” I considered only for a moment before diving in. “How about you invite him over for dinner Friday. Give Stuart and me the chance to meet him.”

  “Really? And you won’t, like, embarrass me? I mean, you’re not going to pull out the baby pictures or anything, are you?”

  “Pictures? No way. I figure the videotapes are much more effective.”

  “Ha-ha. My mom is such a comedian.”

  “I’m not saying you can do a car date—or even a double date—but once we meet him, you can probably go out as a group.”

  “I do that already.”

  “A group date. And when do you go out?”

  She lifted a shoulder. “I dunno. Surf club, I guess. He’s always at the meetings, and I go watch him practice all the time.”

  “All the time?” I repeated.

  “Well, it’s not like it’s just me. I mean, the other guys on the team are there, too. And sometimes Mindy comes. And JoAnn and Bethany almost always come, too.”

  “Wonderful,” I said. “A whole gaggle of teenagers in bathing suits on the beach without adult supervision.”

  “Honestly, Mom. It’s not like we’re living in the olden days.”

  “I know. I’m just so pathetically old fashioned.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Anyway, we do have a chaperone. Cool’s been to almost every practice.”

  That caught my attention. “He has?”

  “Sure. I mean, he’s already brilliant on a board, but he’s got to practice. And he’s like the coach. He’s shown the guys all sorts of cool tricks. Troy’s tons better now.”

  “Mmm.” The idea of my daughter in such close proximity to Cool gave me the willies, and it wasn’t just his bizarre name that had me worried. Anyone who hung out at Coastal Mists—who’d searched the room of a resident-turned-demon—was suspicious in my book. I had nothing more concrete to base my fears on. Not yet, anyway. But where my kids are concerned, a single bad vibe was one too many.

  I drummed my fingers on the steering wheel, trying to decide what to do. I wanted to forbid her to go anywhere near Cool, but if I did that, I’d have to fabricate a reason. And nothing rational sprang to mind.

  “Is Cool the only adult at these things?”

  “Mr. Long’s always there, too.”

  “Right,” I said, immediately relieved. “He’s the faculty adviser, isn’t he? So of course he’d be there. Okay. That’s good.”

  Allie was turned in her seat, looking at me as if I’d lost my mind.

  “What?”

  “We’re not babies, Mom. And we’re not rolling around in the sand making out like porn stars, either.”

  “Th
anks,” I said. “I feel a lot better now.”

  “I just mean that you raised me right, okay? So chill out.”

  I couldn’t help my grin. “Right. Chilling.”

  “Jeez,” she muttered, but loud enough for me to hear.

  She was right, too. I’d done a good job with this kid. My only regret, in fact, was that I hadn’t started teaching her how to kick a little butt from the time she was age three. But still, better late than never. And at least David Long was around to keep an eye on things.

  Considering that only a day before I’d thought him a prime candidate for demonic infestation, my sudden relief that he was there to watch over my kid seemed a little abrupt. But the reaction was honest. For better or for worse, and despite all my lingering questions, at the end of the day, I did trust David Long. And until I could figure out a way to keep Allie away from Cool, I thanked God that David was there to be a buffer between them.

  “Here!” Allie yelled. “Turn here!”

  She waved the map in one hand and gestured wildly with the other.

  I slammed on the brakes, but missed the turn. “Okay, okay. No problem.” I did an illegal U-turn, braced myself for the sound of police sirens, heard none, and then gunned it onto the street.

  We were in Pasadena now, following the directions to St. Ignatius Catholic Church that Allie had downloaded from MapQuest. Father Oliver had been the pastor there until his retirement. After that, he’d continued working in secret as an alimentatore. He’d never been my mentor, nor Eric’s, but we’d both known and respected him.

  After Eric and I had retired from Forza, we’d moved from our base in Italy to Los Angeles. Father Oliver had been our only connection to our old life, and even though we’d left Forza willingly and with no plans to look back, sometimes we wanted to be around people who understood. Who shared our knowledge of the bad things in the world. Not because they’d seen a movie or read a book, but because they’d lived it, too.

  Father Oliver filled that role. And although we’d never joined his parish, we used to meet him for hot dogs at Tail O’ the Pup in West Hollywood. We’d sit and watch the traffic go by and talk about completely mundane things. Never about demons. Never about hunting. But somehow, just the act of being normal around someone who knew made the whole world seem safer, too.