Demons are Forever: Confessions of a Demon-Hunting Soccer Mom Page 3

  “It’s getting late,” I said, hoping he’d take the hint. It was already after ten; if I wanted to go patrolling tonight, I needed him sound asleep soon.

  Stuart, however, wasn’t cooperating. “It’s Saturday,” he said. “And it’s a brief calm before the storm. We should kick back and enjoy it. The wine. Maybe some cheese. A movie.” He pulled me close and traced his forefinger over my bottom lip. “Who knows where it could lead?” he added softly, his tone alone telegraphing at least one rather delightful destination.

  I leaned in close, then tilted my head back and batted my eyes at him. “Why, Mr. Connor,” I said, in my most breathy voice. “Are you seducing me?”

  “I think that might be on the agenda.” He kissed me then, and when he pulled back, his smile held the promise of more. “You get the wine,” he said. “I’ll find a movie.”

  We ended up snuggled together on the couch watching Sean Connery and Jill St. John do the James Bond thing. Stuart is an Ian Fleming fan, and I’ll watch anything with Sean Connery, so while this wasn’t exactly seduction material, it wasn’t torture either. Even so, the action sequences definitely shifted me from seduction mode into hunter mode. And by the time the credits rolled, I was wired again and ready to go.

  So was my husband, actually, but not in the way I had in mind. Still, I have to admit that he won me over pretty quickly. How could he not? This was the man I loved, after all. And this was what I’d been missing.

  He pulled me close, his lips brushing mine, and his fingers touching me in a way that was both delicate and possessive. I moaned a little, thinking how lucky I was to have found love twice in my life.

  I know it’s natural for a widow to think of her first husband. So even though memories of Eric started to sneak in around the edges of my lust, I didn’t feel guilty. Stuart knew that I’d loved Eric and that he’d always have a place in my heart.

  What Stuart didn’t know was that Eric might still be alive. Might, in fact, be living in San Diablo.

  I pushed the thought away, not ready to deal with that possibility, and tugged Stuart closer. And as I lost myself in my husband’s kisses, I tried hard not to think about how complicated my life could become.

  A full moon hung in the sky as I made my way down the wooden boardwalk. I had a flashlight tucked in my back pocket but I didn’t need it. The night was clear, and the light from the moon was plenty to show me the way.

  I’d been patrolling now for about fifteen minutes. I’d parked along Main Street in front of one of San Diablo’s numerous artsy stores. I’d walked the short distance to the Pacific Coast Highway, passing pizza places and local coffee shops closed up tight for the night. There’s a traffic light at PCH and Main Street, but this late, it was flashing yellow. I’d crossed the highway without seeing any sign that anyone else was awake on this chilly January night, human or demon.

  I fervently hoped I hadn’t made a mistake in coming. The trip would be worth it if I actually nailed a demon. If not, I was risking family peace should Stuart wake up.

  The air hung cold and thick, but I fought the urge to hug myself for warmth. I needed my hands free, ready to defend myself should Tomlinson jump me.

  As for that, I kept my senses on alert, my eyes trained to spot anything out of the ordinary, and my ears cued to hear more than just the pounding of the surf.

  Even if you don’t run across a demon, patrolling is hard work. You have to be at the ready, adrenaline pounding just below the surface. If not—if you relax even a little—that’s the moment they’ll get you. And that’s how Hunters end up dead.

  Since dead really wasn’t a convenient state of being for me, I was on hyper alert. Even so, I almost didn’t hear the faint pad-thump, pad-thump of footsteps behind me. The sound was so negligible, I could almost believe I’d imagined it. Or that I’d heard nothing more than a cat crossing the boardwalk in search of a washed-up fish for dinner.

  Pad-thump. Pad-thump.

  My heart rate increased, multiplying with the tempo of the footsteps. I tried to gauge the distance behind me but couldn’t. Whoever was back there, was a master of stealth.

  I didn’t slow my pace, didn’t give any sign that I knew I was being followed. But as I walked, I flicked my left wrist, causing the stiletto concealed inside my jacket sleeve to slide down to a ready position.

  Silence.

  And not the good kind. I whipped around, my right hand grabbing the handle of the stiletto as I lunged for my stalker. He loomed behind me, at least a head taller, his face hidden by the hood of a dark gray sweat jacket. Without hesitating, I attacked, then faltered when I saw his eyes. He jumped all over my hesitation, parrying expertly and thrusting his cane out to trip me up and hook me sideways off the boardwalk.

  “David!” I howled, losing my balance and falling backward into the sand.

  He didn’t retreat at all. Instead he straddled me, his strong hands pinning me at the wrists, his face only inches from mine.

  My breath came faster and faster, but whether from fear, exertion, or something else, I wasn’t sure. “Dammit, David!”

  “You’re out of practice,” he said, his face still close to mine. “And that means you’re dangerous.”

  “Only to myself,” I muttered. “Now get off me.”

  He flashed a lopsided grin. “You’re lucky it was only me.”

  “I’m on my ass because it was you. You’re the one who’s lucky. If I hadn’t seen your face, you could have a stiletto in your eye right about now.”

  “Not a chance,” he said. “You’re too good to make a mistake like that.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “I thought you just said I was out of practice.”

  He laughed, then shifted his hips, trying to reach his cane, the pressure more than a little distracting. A second later, he was standing. I was still on the ground, trying to mend my tattered dignity.

  He reached a hand down to help me up, and I took it grudgingly. “What the hell are you doing here, anyway?”

  “Looking for you,” he said.

  “Here?”

  “I saw the article about Tomlinson. I figured you’d come check it out.”

  “Monday’s the first day back at school,” I said, looking up at him as I wiped sand off my jeans. “Your odds would have been better looking for me in the carpool lane.”

  “Not exactly conducive to what I wanted to say.”

  “Oh? What’s that?”

  He leaned in close, his voice low. “That you’ve been avoiding me.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said, but I think the fact that I didn’t meet his eyes and started walking in the opposite direction suggested otherwise.

  He caught up to me in no time, despite the limp and the cane. “Kate, stop.”

  I turned to him. “David, I’m tired. You jumped out of the dark and tackled me. Forgive me for not being in a chatty mood, okay?”

  “Fair enough,” he said. “But you still haven’t answered me.”

  “I’m pretty sure I did,” I countered. “But if it will make you happy, I’ll be more specific. I’m not avoiding you. Not intentionally, anyway.”

  “You’re unintentionally avoiding me?”

  “Dammit, David.” He was making me laugh, and that wasn’t good. “All I’m saying is that I patrolled alone before I met you, and now I’m patrolling alone again. It’s not nefarious. It’s just logistically easier.”

  “You only patrolled alone because there wasn’t another Hunter in town. You should have someone watching your back.” He took a step closer to me. I moved backward, until I was barely balancing on the wooden boardwalk a few inches above the sand. Another step, and I’d fall on my rear again. Not the way to appear in control of the conversation.

  I opened my mouth to say something, realized I didn’t know what to say, and pushed past him. I was here to patrol, and I told myself that’s what I was going to do. Not stand around arguing.

  David and I had hunted together while we were t
rying to stop Asmodeus. But before that, I’d never hunted with anyone other than Eric. He’d been my partner in so many ways— my lover, my friend, my husband. He’d known me better than any person ever had or, I’d believed, ever would.

  There’s an intimacy to hunting, a bonding and a trust that has to be there if you’re going to step out together against the bad things in the world. I’d opened myself to that trust with David, and through that crack had swarmed a desperate melancholy. I’d done this with Eric, I’d thought. And this, and this.

  The memories and sadness had blindsided me, as fresh as that cold night when I’d first heard of Eric’s death.

  Those raw emotions had been painful enough. But when I’d started to suspect that David was more than Eric’s friend—that he was Eric himself—well, my emotions had whirled into a tailspin.

  I’d loved my life with Eric, but I also loved the life I now had. My fabulous daughter. My precious little boy. My wonderful husband who adores me despite the fact that I can’t cook worth a damn and have yet to figure out a method for ensuring that we all have clean laundry on any given day.

  The thought of hurting Stuart paralyzed me, and yet I couldn’t help but fear that I was on that very path—that merely by contemplating this David/Eric mystery, I was hurting him. If not in fact, then in my heart.

  For weeks now, I’d been balancing on a knife edge, desperately hoping that Eric had returned even while fearing that very same thing. Because if Eric really had escaped his body on that dark day in San Francisco, then he’d been a disembodied soul until the day several months ago when David Long wrecked his car. And that meant that when the “real” David died and his soul had departed, Eric had squeezed into his body using the exact same method that the demons use.

  Black magic, Eddie called it. And he was certain that no good soul could play with dark forces and come out unscathed.

  That wasn’t something I wanted to think about, much less believe, but I had to concede that the argument had merit. Still, David had helped me save Allie. He’d never done a thing to harm me. So maybe Eddie was wrong? Or maybe David wasn’t Eric at all, but simply the man he purported to be—a chemistry teacher who’d survived a nasty car wreck. A rogue Demon Hunter who used to be Eric’s friend, all those years ago.

  Or maybe the blackness in him was growing, and one day—when I’d need him most—David would turn on me.

  I shivered slightly, pushing away the thought. I had three things going for me in this life—my family, my strength, and my faith. Whether he was Eric or not, I believed that the man I knew as David was good. That he would never willingly harm me. I believed that with every breath in my body. And I held fast to that belief. Because without that faith— without that hope—I knew that I would be truly lost.

  But while I might trust David and long for Eric, that didn’t mean I was ready to learn the truth. I wasn’t. If David truly was Eric, I wasn’t ready for the ramifications—to Eric’s soul or to my family. And if he was simply David? Well, I wasn’t ready to give up the hope that somewhere— somehow—my Eric was still alive.

  So I’d done the only thing I could do—I’d avoided the problem by avoiding David.

  I should have known better. When you grow up in Forza Scura, you grow up knowing that the things you try hardest to avoid are the things that jump out at you in the dark.

  His footsteps quickened behind me, the padding sound of his shoes underscored by the tap of his cane. “Kate,” he called. “Katie, wait.”

  I kept walking.

  “Katie! Damm—” The curse died on his lips, but I heard him speed his pace. I considered taking off in a jog, decided that would be taking the coward’s way out, and turned to face him.

  “I don’t need help,” I said. “I’m fine patrolling on my own.”

  “Why do it on your own when I can help you?”

  “You’re not a Demon Hunter.”

  “The hell I’m not,” he answered.

  I stared him down. “You told me yourself you’re not with Forza. You’re rogue. And that’s a complication I just don’t need.”

  “That’s a bullshit excuse and you know it,” he said, taking a step closer. “It’s not that I’m rogue that’s complicating matters.”

  “No?” I countered, my voice breathier than I wanted. “Then what is?”

  I watched his eyes, saw him hesitate, and decided to go for the jugular. “How far are you willing to go, David?” I pressed, stressing his name. “How complicated do you want things to be?”

  I watched his face, frustration coupled with anger. It was the pity, however, that surprised me. “Katie, I’m sorry. I swear, I never meant to hurt you like this.”

  I reeled, his unexpected words like blows. “David,” I stammered. “You don’t have to—”

  “I should have told you the truth at the museum. I should have just gotten it over then.”

  I couldn’t move. My feet weren’t accepting signals from my brain. Either that, or my body had been transformed into ice. I didn’t know. All I knew was that no matter how loudly I was screaming inside my head to run, my feet were staying firmly planted on the boardwalk.

  “I know what you think, Kate, but it’s not true.” He cupped my chin in his hand and looked me straight in the eyes, his never blinking. “I’m not him, Kate. I’m sorry, but I’m not the man you loved.”

  His words seemed to come at me from under water, and as I moved, I was certain I was slogging through Jell-O. I’d moved from the real world to some surreal place, where nothing quite made sense. Not even the words David spoke to me.

  “What?” I finally managed. “But... but you—”

  “I knew him,” David said. “That’s all. I knew the man, and pretty well, too. I’m sorry, Kate. Truly sorry.”

  I wanted to say something, but words wouldn’t come. The tears, though, had no such qualms. They trickled quietly down my face in silent mourning to a fantasy that was finally dying.

  “I realized that day at the museum that you’d gotten the idea fixed in your head. I should have told you then but I couldn’t. I thought maybe you needed to believe that Eric had come back to help you save Allie. After a week or so, I figured you’d realize the truth. But when you started avoiding me, I knew I had to tell you the truth once and for all.”

  “Oh,” I said, since that was about all I could manage. “Right. I understand.”

  I took a tentative step, decided that I was relatively stable again, and started to walk slowly down the boardwalk. I needed to move. Needed to feel the solid earth under my feet and find my grounding again.

  He fell in step beside me. “Are you okay?”

  I drew in a breath and considered the question. “No,” I said. “But I will be.” His words had killed something inside me. And yet maybe he’d freed me, too. Because as much as I hated to admit it, the specter of Eric had been haunting my marriage.

  “You’re sure?” he said.

  “Yes.” And then, because it was true, I added a simple, “Thank you.”

  He didn’t answer me, and I took his silence as both an acknowledgment and closure. And as he quickened his pace and pulled ahead of me, I used the pad of my thumb to wipe away the last of my tears.

  We patrolled the next half hour or so in silence, each alone in our thoughts, our attention focused not on each other, but on our surroundings, and the ultimate question of just what was out there with us.

  By the time we’d circled back, I was ready to pack it in. “No demons,” I said, as much to break the silence as because I believed it. “Maybe they’ve moved on.”

  I was only mouthing my discouragement, but he seemed to seriously consider the possibility. “Maybe they did. You were here for, what, fourteen years before you caught whiff of a demon?”

  “Literally,” I said, remembering the first demon I’d sniffed out in the pet food aisle of Wal-Mart.

  “Then two in quick succession.”

  “And both times the demons wanted something that was
located in San Diablo,” I added.

  “Wanted it badly enough to put up with the fact that the cathedral makes this town less than appealing to the general demon population.”

  I lifted a shoulder. “That was our theory, anyway. Mine and Eric’s.”

  “I say it was a good one,” David said. We’d reached the children’s playscape, and he leaned casually against the monkey bars. “So, Sheriff, now that you’ve run all the bad guys off, what will you do with your time?”

  I laughed and started counting out on my fingers. “Dishes, laundry, dust-bunny wrangling. Candy Land with the kiddo. Mediating boyfriend disputes, overseeing makeup purchases, and surviving the dangerous rite of passage known as the Teenager with a Learner’s Permit.”

  His mouth curved into a smile. “And here I thought you’d be bored.”

  “Never,” I said. I started to take a step away. I needed to get back to my car and head home. Patrolling, I can justify. Casual chitchat? Not so much.

  I never made it that far. I’d barely reached the boardwalk when something dark and fast tackled David, sending him sprawling into the sand. “Are you the one?” it demanded, then sniffed deep, like a bloodhound searching for a scent, even as I raced toward them. “If you are he,” it hissed, “release Andramelech. Release him from his shackles and know that when you do, your end will come.”

  The words still hung on his lips by the time I reached the demon. He had David by the collar of his shirt, but one swift kick to the gut knocked him off.

  The demon teetered, and I pounced. Then, without hesitation, I thrust my stiletto through his cold, gray eye.

  The body went limp as the demon departed, the familiar shimmer in the air the only sign of its passage.

  “Mr. Tomlinson, I presume?” David asked, climbing to his feet.

  “I think so,” I said. “But why did he attack you? He didn’t have a weapon, and I was standing right there. It was a no-win situation.”

  “He was newly made,” David said. “Maybe he was just stupid? Had me confused with someone else?”

  “If you are he,” I repeated. “But who?”

  David looked at me, his eyes serious. “I don’t know. But my guess is he’s looking for whoever captured Andramelech.”