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

  I noticed David Long standing off to one side in a cluster of other teachers, and waved. “What happened?” I asked, since that seemed like a normal, I’m-not-involved kind of thing to say.

  David stepped away from the other teachers, one of whom I recognized but couldn’t place. From my new perspective, I also noticed the janitor, decked out in green coveralls and a sour expression. I couldn’t blame him. I’d had a demon die in my kitchen a few months ago (or, more accurately, I’d killed a demon in my kitchen a few months ago), and it’s put a pallor on cooking ever since.

  “Damn kids,” the janitor muttered, his voice so low I was reading his lips more than hearing his voice. “Always causing trouble.”

  The gripe seemed out of place, so I tossed another query into the mix. “Do they think kids did this?”

  David looked surprised by the question. “I don’t think so. Heart attack’s what I’ve been hearing, not that they’re giving us any solid information yet.”

  I pondered that. Considering Sinclair had a spike through his eye, “heart attack” seemed a tad unreasonable. Then again, the man had suffered a fatal heart attack. At least, he had originally. There were probably still signs. And if the EMTs assumed that he had an attack, and then fell on the spike . . .

  Dicey, but I could hope. For that matter, I was willing to hope for anything so long as it meant that the cops would close the case and not go looking for a culprit. Namely, me.

  I took a deep breath and kept my purse pressed against my side, my hand clenched tight on the hidden book. From the looks of things, I was in the clear with the cops. But ultimate evil? That I still had to deal with.

  Five

  “Arthur Simms,” Eddie said in a low voice. “Know that one from my stint at Coastal Mists. He could be a demon. Wouldn’t surprise me none at all.”

  We were standing behind the choir risers, talking in low voices. “Simms isn’t a demon,” I said, glancing around to make sure we weren’t being overheard. Not that I knew Arthur Simms well enough to be certain, but I did know Eddie. And I know when he’s spouting off.

  Eddie shrugged. “You’re probably right. But if a High Demon’s got his sights on that nursing home, you and I both know Sinclair’s not the last of it.”

  “But the last of what?” I asked, frustrated.

  “Don’t know. But at least we know they’re planning something,” Eddie said. “That’s more than you knew this morning.”

  He was right. I’d been in the right place at the right time, and had found myself face-to-face with a demon. Killing Sinclair had undoubtedly slowed the plan down, whatever the plan might be. That, at least, was a victory. A minor one, but a victory nonetheless.

  “Could be Goramesh again,” Eddie said, referring to the High Demon I’d battled just a few months ago.

  “Yeah. Or it could be someone totally new.” I drew in a breath and let it out noisily. “Looks like I’ll be spending more time at Coastal Mists over the next few days. Just to scope out the situation. You up for joining me?”

  He met my eyes, his flat but firm. “If I never set foot in that place again, it’ll be too damn soon. Not even if it meant holding off the goddamn apocalypse. You get me, girl?”

  “I get you.” I did, too. Eddie had been held and interrogated in Coastal Mists for months by a High Demon’s minions. Under those circumstances, I could hardly blame him for avoiding the place.

  “Now, if you want to fix me up with Stella Lopez,” he said, giving the woman a little wave, and then letting loose with a wolf whistle that had the whole room turning to look at us.

  “Eddie!”

  “What? She’s a babe.”

  I shook my head. “Never mind. We’ll talk about this later.”

  I started to walk away, but he reached out and grabbed my arm. “Where’s the book?”

  “In the minivan,” I said. After the cops had shooed us away from the crime scene, Laura and I had made a detour for the ladies’ room, where I’d passed the book off to her. “I couldn’t keep carting it around.”

  Laura was back in the gym now; she’d come in a few minutes before, flashed me a thumbs-up sign, and then made a beeline toward Mindy and the snack table. I was heading that way myself. I’d eaten the remains of Timmy’s Eggo for breakfast, along with three cups of coffee. Had I known what a workout I’d be getting, I would have loaded up on protein. As it was, I felt lucky not to be passing out from hunger.

  Since I was near starving to death, naturally it took fifteen minutes to cross the short distance to the snacks. Everyone, it seemed, wanted to talk to me. A few other freshman moms. Sylvia Foster and Gretchen Kimble who share car-pool duty with me. Even Vice Principal Maynard, who wanted to “personally congratulate me on having such a talented daughter.”

  Everyone, that is, except Stuart, who still hadn’t arrived on the scene. Yes, I know he’s running for office. And yes, I know he’s got to juggle dozens of obligations. But so what? I’ve been busting tail trying to raise two kids, keep the house in (somewhat) decent order, and volunteer for a ton of community projects. But I still manage to find time to hunt demons and generally make San Diablo safe for democracy (okay, maybe not that, but at least I’m making it safe to walk around after dark).

  And yes, I realize Stuart doesn’t know about the demon-hunting thing. But, dammit, he promised.

  I pulled Allie’s cell phone out and dialed Stuart. Voice mail. I scowled and resisted the urge to hurl the phone across the room.

  “Problem?”

  That from David Long, who was standing in front of me holding a plate with two slices of cheese, a few strawberries, and—thank you, God—two Krispy Kreme doughnuts.

  “If that plate’s for me, then all my problems have just vanished in a puff.”

  “Guess that makes me a hero.”

  I took a bite of the doughnut. “Definitely. If it were up to me, I’d erect a statue in your honor.”

  “Don’t let me stop you.” He turned and lifted his chin. “I think this is my best side, don’t you?”

  “I just don’t know how to answer that,” I said, fighting a grin.

  “Hard to choose, isn’t it?” He turned again. “This side’s good, too.”

  “Mmm,” I said. “I think I’ll just stay quiet.”

  “Mrs. Connor, you wound me.”

  “Call me Kate,” I said, my fingers closing around a strawberry. “Anyone who brings me food is automatically entitled to first-name status.”

  “All right, Katie.”

  The strawberry paused midway to my mouth. “It’s just Kate,” I said, probably a little too sharply.

  “Sorry,” he said. But he didn’t seem sorry at all.

  The thing is, only the people closest to me ever call me Katie, and then only rarely. Father Corletti in Rome. Stuart and Eddie.

  Eric, though . . .

  To Eric, I’d always been Katie. And there was just something about the way David said my name that made me want to cry.

  I focused on breathing normally, trying hard to look casual. But I lost the battle when he pulled a mint from his pocket, unwrapped the plastic, and popped it into his mouth.

  I took an unconscious step backwards. Surely David Long wasn’t . . .

  No. Lots of people suck on mints. That’s why every restaurant on the planet has a tub of the things sitting next to the exit. Because the damn things are popular.

  Still, I couldn’t stop that little niggle of doubt. Not only was paranoia an occupational hazard, but this man spent every weekday in close proximity to my daughter.

  Which reminded me of a question I had for Mr. Long. “Allie’s not already taking chemistry classes, is she?”

  He chuckled. “No, and I wouldn’t be surprised if the bloom wears off before she has to pick her courses for next semester.”

  “Oh. Well, don’t take this the wrong way, but why does she know you? I mean, do you make a habit of meeting all the freshmen? Has Allie developed a sudden affinity for hanging around the sc
ience hall?”

  “She’s developed an affinity, all right. But it’s for surfers. Not science.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I’m the faculty adviser for the surf club.”

  “Allie surfs?” This was news to me.

  “Not exactly,” he said. “But she seems to enjoy the activities.”

  “Ah. What activities are we talking about, exactly?”

  “That would be the watching boys in bathing suits activity.”

  That, I thought, sounded much more like the daughter I knew. Still, I was mildly irritated that Allie hadn’t mentioned the club to me. I’d thought I knew all about her after-school activities. Surfing, however, had never come up.

  “I’m teasing,” David said. “Well, mostly, anyway. All the cheerleaders are involved at this stage.”

  “I’m probably going to regret asking, but what stage exactly are you talking about?”

  “The exhibition,” he said. “Allie hasn’t mentioned it?”

  “Oh!” I said, feigning total comprehension. “I don’t know where my mind was. Of course she’s mentioned the exhibition.” Had she mentioned an exhibition? I frowned. True, I’d been a little distracted since I’d been drawn back into the Forza, but surely I would have remembered her mentioning an exhibition. Wouldn’t I?

  David continued on, oblivious to my fit of maternal insecurity. “The last few meetings, we’ve been planning the charity exhibition.”

  “Oh.” I frowned, considering that. I was all for charity, but how much money could a bunch of teenagers surfing off Coronado Beach really raise? I mean, you could see the same thing pretty much every day—sunrise to sunset—during the summer.

  But when I mentioned that tiny little problem to David, he only smiled. “No worries. We’ve lined up a special celebrity guest. Cool.”

  “Um, well, yeah, I guess it is.”

  “No, that’s his name. Our celebrity. Cooley Claymore. They call him Cool. Unfortunately, that means I have to call him Cool, too.”

  “Right,” I said, my estimation of David Long rising a notch. I’d keep an eye on the man, yes, but there was no denying the fact that I liked him. Even if the breath mints (among other things) meant that I didn’t completely trust him.

  “So do you surf?”

  He shook his head. “Fortunately for me, the faculty liaison performs a purely bureaucratic role. In fact, Cool volunteered to step in and be a temporary coach. So he’s training his team.”

  “And Allie? Is she supposed to surf?” The idea of my daughter breaking her neck just so she could be closer to cute guys didn’t appeal to me at all.

  “Not at the exhibition,” he said. “In the spring, we’ll have classes. Beginner level, I promise you. By the time summer rolls around, she should have the basics down.”

  “Hmm.” I turned, my eyes searching the gym. I found Allie holding Timmy’s hand, Mindy at her side, as they talked to a cluster of boys. She was laughing, her face lit up, and the boys were soaking it in, as if my daughter was a sunbeam. I stifled a sigh. Sometimes, I really miss not having had a normal childhood. How wonderful to have been worrying about boys and grades instead of demons and hell-hounds. To have kept my backpack stocked with makeup and nail polish instead of holy water and crucifixes.

  I may not have had that childhood, but at least my kids did. That’s what Eric and I had wanted, after all. And, honestly, it was one of the reasons I’d let myself get drawn back into Forza Scura. I know the bad stuff that’s out there. And I want to keep it the hell away from my kids.

  “Kate?” I looked up sharply to find David watching me. “You okay?”

  “Yeah. Sorry. Just thinking about how fast they grow up.” I cocked my head, looking at him. “Do you have kids?”

  “About a hundred and twenty,” he said, sweeping an arm to encompass the gym.

  “Any of your own?”

  His hesitation was so short I could have imagined it. “No. None of my own.”

  An awkward silence hung between us. I cleared my throat. “So about the boys in bathing suits. Is he one of them?” I was looking at my daughter again, and the cluster of boys. In particular, I was focusing on a dark-haired boy in a denim jacket who was standing just a little too close to my girl.

  “That’s Troy Myerson,” David said. “All the girls have a bit of a crush on him.”

  “Allie, too?” I’d heard nothing of this.

  “Oh yeah,” he said, his soft laughing suggesting that I was the only one in the entire gymnasium who didn’t know that my daughter had a crush on the darkly handsome Mr. Myerson. I mean, talk about driving a stake through a mother’s heart.

  Fortunately, I didn’t have long to be melancholy, because Sarah Talbot, the head of the Refreshment Committee, scurried up. “Oh, Kate, good. We’re getting ready to wrap up. Do you think you could help pack up some of the leftovers?”

  David raised a hand in a silent good-bye, then left, leaving me to PTA hell. A hell that got just a tad hotter when Marissa stepped up and joined the conversation. “Kate’s not available right now,” she told Sarah. “She’s chaperoning the Coastal Mists residents with me. We have to start rounding everyone up.”

  “Oh,” Sarah said. She nodded toward the bleachers where several residents were clustered with Nurse Kelly. “It looks like they’re mostly all there.”

  “Still,” Marissa said, firmly taking my arm. “It’s our responsibility.”

  Sarah shot me a sympathetic look, then aimed a glare at Marissa that would freeze nitrogen. Normally, I’d be right there siding with Sarah. In this case, though, Marissa was right. I hadn’t exactly won the volunteer chaperone of the year award today.

  “Now, don’t you worry,” Marissa said, patting my arm as Sarah stalked off to find another volunteer. “I’m sure none of the residents think you’re responsible for Mr. Sinclair’s death. But if any of them seem uncomfortable around you, you just come find me.” When it comes to passive-aggressive, Marissa’s got the technique nailed.

  Since I was feeling a slight bit of guilt for having abandoned her to the task, I did as she asked without complaining. Basically, that involved circling through the gym, finding the residents, and herding them back toward the double doors. There, Marissa met us with a clipboard. She pursed her lips, then made six little ticky-marks. One for each of the residents I’d gathered.

  “So that’s everyone?” I asked.

  “Apparently, yes.”

  “Great.” I checked over my shoulder and found Laura. “Let me just make sure that Laura can take my kids home, and I’ll go with you on the bus.”

  She sighed, then dropped the arm holding the clipboard. “You know what, Kate? Don’t even worry about it. Kelly and I can handle it. Goodness knows we handled it earlier today.” There it was again, that passive-aggressive thing.

  “You’re sure?” I asked. She probably expected me to step in and volunteer, letting her off the hook entirely. I, however, was rarely cowed by passive-aggressive behavior. And I was anxious to get home and find a safer hiding place for the book than my minivan.

  Another sigh. This one deeper and more anguished. Honestly, the woman could emote. “Yes, I’m sure. I suppose it’s for the best, anyway. I’d hate for any more passengers to die on the way back to the home.”

  Ouch. That one almost did it. I almost insisted on helping her out, but visions of a demonic book sucking my kids, Laura, Eddie, and the Odyssey into some horror-movie hell kept me on track. “Nice,” I said. “Very nice.”

  She tucked the clipboard under her arm and started to step away. Then she stopped. “Don’t think you’re off the hook. As far as I’m concerned, you’ve been completely useless.”

  “I already told you I’m sorry,” I said, my patience wearing thin.

  “Sorry doesn’t do a damn thing. You owe me, Kate. And one day, I’m going to call in that marker.”

  “SO Are you going to give me the full scoop?” Laura leaned against my kitchen counter, a mug of freshly brewed
Star-bucks Sumatra in her hand. “I looked at that book, and there’s nothing in it. So what’s going on?”

  I held up my hand for quiet, then peeked out of the kitchen and into the living room. Eddie’d fallen asleep in the recliner, and the kids were spread out, the girls upstairs in Allie’s room, and Timmy sitting too close to the television, his eyes glued to images of cheerleader Kim Possible jumping and flipping as she battled the evil Shego and her green-fire shooting hands.

  For a half second, I considered telling Timmy to move away from the television. Or, worse, switching it over to something educational. I ignored that foolish urge. I needed to talk to Laura, and I was too tired for a full-fledged battle with an irate toddler. If the Disney Channel could buy me a few moments of peace, then I was happy to bow to the all-powerful Mouse.

  “Well?” Laura asked, as soon as I went back to chopping onions.

  I gave her a quick rundown, starting with what I’d learned at Coastal Mists and ending with Sinclair’s rude encounter with a vertical beam.

  “Ouch,” she said, making a face.

  “No sympathy for the demons, please.”

  “Sorry. So where’s the book now?”

  I eyed a nearby cabinet meaningfully. As soon as we’d returned home, Allie and Mindy had escaped to the upstairs. While Laura got Timmy settled, I’d returned to the garage and retrieved the book from the van, then hidden it where I knew neither Allie nor Stuart would run across it. In the kitchen. Among the pots and pans. I keep spare cash back there, too. So far, no one in my family has noticed.

  “Good plan,” Laura said. “Unless Stuart decides to whip up a casserole.”

  We both had a good chuckle at that, and then Laura turned serious. “So why do you think Sinclair needed that book?”

  “I don’t know.” I added the onions to some ground beef and tomato sauce I already had in a bowl. Meat loaf is one of the few dishes I can make without strictly following a recipe card and still have it come out edible. Not great, mind you. But edible. “Honestly, I’m not even sure he was getting it out.”