California Demon (29 page)

I stood for a moment, making sure I hadn’t disturbed him, then continued on to the bathroom. I shut the door, changed back into my pajamas in the dark, then crept back into the bedroom.

I sat carefully on the edge of the bed, then eased carefully under the covers. Finally in, I let my head sink into the pillow and closed my eyes.

“Have a nice time?”

I jumped, coming bolt upright, and turned to look at Stuart, who had rolled over and was watching me with expressionless eyes.

“I . . . um . . .” How’s that for a brilliant cover? Demon hunting I can handle. Blatant fabrication? There, my skills are sadly lacking.

Stuart reached for the bedside lamp and flicked it on. I squinted, trying to avoid both the light and my husband’s stern gaze.

“Do you want to tell me where you’ve been?”

“Um, no?” That was the truth, after all. And wasn’t I constantly admonishing Timmy not to tell fibs?

Stuart exhaled through his nose, his jaw tightening in what I knew was an effort to control his temper. I’d seen that expression before, but it had always been directed at the kids. Never at me.

“Kate—”

I held up a hand, cutting him off as I tried to take control of this little drama. “I’m tired. We can talk about this in the morning.” By then I should be able to fabricate some plausible excuse for sneaking out after midnight.

“Kate.” His voice was sharp, demanding.

“I mean it, Stuart. I’m tired.” And the only excuse I had at the moment was a desperate urge to run to the grocery store. I could try to make it work. But somehow, I didn’t think he’d believe me.

But he wasn’t about to let the matter drop. “This isn’t the first time you’ve gone out at night, Kate. I’m not an idiot, and I’m not blind. You owe me an explanation.”

I fought the urge to shut my eyes in defeat. He was right. Over the last two months, I’d gone out on semiregular nightly patrols, anytime the newspaper reported a deadly accident and, miraculously, a survivor. I’d make the rounds that night, hoping to encounter the newly minted demon. Sometimes I succeeded. Sometimes I failed. But always, I tried.

From Stuart’s perspective, I imagined that my jaunts did seem a little suspicious. I just wasn’t sure how to handle the situation.

He reached over and took my hand. “Is it that karate guy?”

I blinked, recoiling as if he’d slapped me. “Cutter?” Dear God the man was insane. Cutter’s a great guy, and sure, there’ve been a few odd sparks between us, but I’d never—

I yanked my hand back, my temper flaring. “You son of a bitch! You honestly think I’m having an affair with Cutter?”

Most of the tension melted from his face. “Not anymore. But if it’s not Cutter—”

“Whoa there,” I said, interrupting. “I am not having an affair. Not with Cutter, not with anybody. I love you. Even if you have been driving me absolutely crazy lately, you’re the only man on this earth that I love.”

“Then why—”

“Because of you,” I said, poking him in the chest. I wasn’t being fair, and I knew it. But dammit, he’d pissed me off. And, yes, payback can be a bitch. “The only times you haven’t been absent lately are when you’re apologizing. So it’s either leave the house to drive around and think, or have a knock-down, drag-out fight and terrify the kids. I decided to take the more civilized route.”

I sat back against my pillow, my arms folded sulkily across my chest as I wondered if I’d be going to Hell for my lies. I made a mental note to go to confession this week, just in case a demon got the best of me.

Beside me, Stuart had completely deflated. “Oh, babe. I’m sorry.” He rolled over and stared at the ceiling. “You’re right. I’ve been so absorbed in all of this, that you and the kids have been getting the shaft. It’s just that I never . . .” He trailed off.

“Never what?”

For a second, I didn’t think he was going to answer, then he turned onto his side and faced me. “I just never expected that anyone would have the kind of faith in me that Clark does.”

“Stuart!” I said, shocked.

“No, I’m serious. I know I’m a good lawyer. But to actually be a representative for the people. Honestly, it’s more than I’d ever dreamed of. And now that it’s a real possibility, I want it.” He rolled over again, facing up rather than me. “But I don’t want it if it’s going to ruin us. And it’s only going to get worse before it gets better.”

“I know,” I said. Stuart would file formally in January. Then he’d bust tail until the primary in March. If he won that, it would be more months of campaigning until the election in November.

“Can we handle it? Because if we can’t, I’ll quit. I’ll call Clark right now and tell him he’s got to find someone else to support.”

“You’d do that?”

He turned his head and smiled at me. “Of course I would.”

I shivered, wondering if I could say the same. I hadn’t asked to be pulled out of retirement. At the time, I’d fought it tooth and nail, desperate to protect the normal life I’d built.

But now that the dust had settled, I couldn’t imagine walking away. Secret or not, what I did was important. Crucial even. More, I loved it.

It was, I realized, the same for Stuart. In a way, the county attorney fights demons, too. And Stuart wanted to be there on the front lines.

I loved him for offering to give it all up. I couldn’t, however, let him do it.

“Just try to make it home for dinner once in a while,” I said. “And give me at least twelve hours notice if I have to put on a dress and makeup. Sixteen if I have to clean the house for company.”

“I can handle eight and ten,” he said, the grin I loved so much flashing briefly.

“Ten and fourteen,” I countered.

“Done.” He held out his hand and we shook. Then he tugged me closer and wrapped me in his arms. “It’s past five,” he said. “I’ll be getting up in just over an hour. Hardly seems worth going back to sleep.”

“Mmm,” I murmured, as he kissed my ear. “But it’s so chilly. I hate to get out of bed before I absolutely have to.”

“Don’t worry,” he said. “I can think of a way to keep us busy and warm until the alarm goes off.”

He reached over and flipped off the light, and I lost myself in the dark heat of my husband’s arms.

The sharp toot of a horn pierced the early morning chaos.

“Allie!” Timmy yelled at the top of his little lungs. “Car pool!”

“Coming, coming, coming!” My daughter pounded down the stairs, her ninety-eight pound body managing to create about the same reverb through the house as a herd of small elephants.

“Hold up,” I said, rushing to meet her in the entrance hall.

“Mom! Late!”

“Just one second.” I opened the door and waved to Sylvia, then held up one finger. She lifted her arm and made a show of tapping her watch. I nodded, then turned back to Allie. “So what’s on your agenda today?”

She blinked, then yanked her earbuds out of her ears. “Huh?”

“Have you got any surf club things, I mean? Anything going on to prepare for the exhibition?”

“Well, yeah. I mean, it’s on Saturday. I’m like ferociously busy this whole week.”

“Right.” Not the answer I wanted. “At the beach?”

She shot me a hooded look, then sagged against the wall, apparently overcome by the exhaustion of having to deal with a freak for a mother. “No, Mother. The planning meetings are held in the chem room with Mr. Long.”

“Sure. Right.” That was good. “But what about Cool? I suppose he’s right there pitching in with the planning?”

Sylvia tooted the horn twice. I waved. She threw her hands in the air and gestured for Allie to get a move on.

“I gotta go.” Allie took a step, managing to scoot past me out the door. I watched as she raced down the sidewalk, then slid into the car next to Susan, Sylvia’s daughter.

I told myself there’d be no reason for Cool to be there. After attacking me last night—and, worse, revealing himself as a demon—I figured he was probably going to avoid the school and Coastal Mists until whatever plan he’d set in motion was underway. In the meantime he’d spend his days and nights running around San Diablo wreaking all sorts of demonic nonsense. He had no reason to bother my daughter. No reason at all.

Except, of course, that she
was
my daughter.

I raced back to the kitchen and snatched up the cordless phone. Then I dialed Allie’s number and waited impatiently for her to answer.

“Mom?”

“Hey, hon.”

“Um, don’t take this the wrong way, but, like, what’s up with you today?”

“I just never got an answer from you, that’s all. Is Cool at all these planning meetings?”

“Why?”

“Allie,” I said, using my I’m-the-Mother voice. “Just answer the question.”

“Fine. No. He never comes to the school. Only the practices at the beach.”

“Right. Good. Okay, then.”

“Mom?”

“Yeah, hon?”

“You wanna tell me what’s going on?”

I didn’t, of course, but she needed to know something. Not only was she going to think her mother was insane if I stayed silent, but I wanted her to be on her guard.

“I’ve heard some things about Cool,” I said. “I don’t want you around him.”

“What kind of things?”

“I’ll tell you later,” I said, hoping that by the time later rolled around, she’d have forgotten the question.

“Mom . . .”

“I’m serious, Allie. Now’s not the time or the place.”

“Fine. Whatever. But you’re wrong about him. He’s not just some brain-fried surfer dude. He’s like totally smart.” A pause, then, “Hang on.” I heard the muffle of discussion as she kept her hand over the microphone, then, “Susan says he’s not just smart, but he’s totally into the community. And his girlfriend’s even a museum docent. I saw her last week, and she’s totally mousy.”

“And this is relevant why?”

“Because if he’s a sleaze, he’d have some bimbo bikini-babe girlfriend, right?”

The holes in her reasoning were large and looming, but now really wasn’t the time. So I complimented her and Susan on their astounding feat of logic, asked them to humor me and avoid Cool, and made Allie promise to come straight home after her surf club meeting.

When I hung up, I felt only mildly better. At least David would be at the meeting. If nothing else, he’d keep Allie safe.

I reluctantly shoved thoughts of surfer-demons out of my head. I would have liked to have spent the day scouring the city in search of Cool, but that wasn’t an option. I had a sick boy at home. Plus, I had furniture deliveries scheduled. The demons might not be taking a day off, but I had no choice.

“Mommy?” Timmy padded into the kitchen, Boo Bear under one arm. “Is it a school day?”

“No, kiddo. Today you’re home with me.” I bent down and felt his forehead. Cool, thank goodness. “School tomorrow, unless you get sick again.”

He puffed out his little chest. “I’m not sick.”

“Nope, you’re totally healthy. Want to read some books?”

“Wockets!” he shouted. “Wockets and pockets!”

I readily agreed, more than happy to wile away some time with Dr. Seuss.

I found the book, settled Tim on my lap, then started to read, laughing as he bounced and blurted out the nonsense (and real) words. After that book (twice) we moved on to
One Fish, Two Fish,
and then
The Cat in the Hat.
After that, I begged off, fearing if we read any more, I’d think in rhyme for the rest of the day.

“Let’s check the TV,” I said, clicking it on.
Dora the Explorer
burst onto the screen and my kid made happy noises.

“Sit with me, Momma!”

“Sure, kiddo.” I snuggled up with him, and let myself get lost in the show, feeling the pain of Dora, Boots, Tiko, and the others as they tried to get to the City of Lost Toys to find their missing treasures. I was humming along, when Laura tapped at the back door. I extricated myself from Timmy and unlocked the door for her, careful to close it and reset the alarm.

Since Timmy was entranced, we retreated for the breakfast table. “I’ve got news,” Laura said, as soon as we sat.

“So do I. Cool’s a demon.”

Her entire expression crumpled. “Well, damn! What’s the point of being the research sidekick if I can’t even tell you something you don’t know.”

“If it’s any consolation, I never got the chance to check him with holy water. But I watched him change into a Hell monster. Not a pretty sight.” I explained about the newly minted Creasley-demon and how I’d gone looking for him. “I found him,” I said. “Him and Cool.”

“Wow,” Laura said. She reached into her tote bag and pulled out some computer printouts. “Here,” she said, pushing one toward me. It was a newspaper article dated from late November. The story reported a terrible wipeout by celebrity surfer Cooley Claymore, known to his fans as Cool. “ ‘A sigh of relief swept over the entire surfing community after an unconscious Cool was resuscitated by quick-acting lifeguards who performed CPR and mouth-to-mouth, despite the surfer having been unresponsive for over eight minutes.’ ”

“Well, now we know how long he’s been a demon,” I said. “We just don’t know what he wants.”

We spent the rest of the day tossing around useless theories and trying to track down Cool. Laura found an address on the Internet, but when we called the apartment complex, we were told he’d moved out.

Laura left when the furniture deliverymen came, promising to keep working. I didn’t hold out much hope, though. The demon Cool wouldn’t want to be found.

On a whim, I called the school and asked to speak to David Long. Miraculously, he called me back within the hour, explaining that I’d called right before his off period. “So what’s up?”

“Cool,” I said. “Do you have an address?”

“In the market for a celebrity boy toy?”