California Demon (7 page)

I took a breath and forced myself to concentrate.

“Actually,” he said, “I could ask you the same thing.”

“Excuse me?”

“What you’re doing here,” he clarified, at the same time standing up straight and breaking the spell. “Aren’t you supposed to be in the gym?”

“Right,” I said. “Um . . . I got turned around. All these damned colored hallways.”

“It’s a challenge all right.” He moved closer, and I saw his gaze dip down. My hand went automatically to my purse, pulling it closer to my side. My cardigan had shifted, and one corner of the book was peeking out. Not a lot, but enough to make clear to anyone who might be looking that I was schlepping a musty (and potentially demonic) book around. Damn.

When I looked back up, I found David Long searching my face.

“So,” I said brightly. “I should probably get going.” I took a tentative step, hoping he’d take the hint.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

I cocked my head. “Excuse me?”

“You’re limping.”

Damn. “New shoes.”

He glanced down at the extremely comfortable, extremely broken-in loafers I’d matched with my linen slacks and sweater set. Not couture shoes by any means, but they were more practical than pumps for clamoring up ladders at nursing homes. And for fighting the odd demon.

“Uh-huh,” he said.

“So,” I repeated. “Which way do we go?”

For the briefest of instants, I thought he was going to say something else. Maybe criticize my choice of footwear. But he just lifted a finger and pointed. “Straight down. The gym’s the dead end.”

I winced, not too crazy about the way he said that. But I took a step in that direction, then paused as I realized he was going the other way. Back the way I’d come. “Uh, Mr. Long?”

“David.”

“Right. David. Aren’t you coming, too?”

He shook his head just slightly. “I remembered something I need to check on.” He gave me a friendly wave, then started walking. “I’ll see you after the assembly.”

Oh. Well. Damn.

I watched him go, unable to shake the feeling that he was heading straight for the janitor’s basement. For a moment, I considered following him, but what would I say if he saw me again? That I’d developed a mad crush and couldn’t bear parting ways? That I wanted to discuss Allie’s future curriculum with him? That I desperately wanted to know what a valence bond was?

Somehow I didn’t think any of those approaches would fly.

I reminded myself that I didn’t know for certain that he was heading to the basement. It was, after all, in a completely different colored hall. And even if he was, so what? I certainly wasn’t going to admit to any knowledge of the body beside the stairs.

Still, something about David Long made me itchy, and I wanted to keep him in my sights. I took a step in that direction, figuring I’d make up an excuse if he saw me, then was caught up short by the warm grate of a familiar voice: “Good God, Kate. Our girl’s going crazy wondering if you’re gonna make it on time.”

I turned to see Eddie shuffling toward me, decked out in plaid golfing pants and an orange T-shirt that instructed passersby to
Kiss a Prince—The World Needs More Frogs.
I couldn’t help but smile, especially at the “our girl” reference. As far as Allie’s concerned, Eddie’s her paternal great-grandfather, but the truth is a lot more complex. As far as I know, Eddie’s no relation to Allie at all. Of course, both Eric and I were orphans, so in my more melancholy moments, I like to pretend that fate really did bring back my family.

Still, blood or not, Eddie really has become family. He’s one of the few people who knows my secret, and he only knows it because he brought down more than a few demons in his day, too.

Eddie’s wily, bad-tempered, can cuss a blue streak, and I love him like a father. And I’m pretty sure he loves me like a daughter. I know he considers Allie his own. Timmy, he isn’t certain about yet. But once my boy moves from Pull-Ups to underwear, I have a feeling their relationship will shift, too.

In the meantime, I don’t mind that Eddie’s affection runs more toward my daughter. Tim has Stuart’s parents to dote on him. To be fair, they dote on Allie, too, but she was old enough when I married Stuart to understand that Grandma and Grandpa Connor weren’t really hers.

Eddie though . . . well, he belongs to our girl, and she cherishes that. As for me, I protect it.

Which explained why Eddie was still living in our guest bedroom even though he and Stuart hadn’t exactly become bosom buddies, and even though he’d been promising for months to find a nearby apartment. It was a concession on Stuart’s part that I appreciated and about which I felt no guilt. I’d made a lot of adjustments to accommodate his run for office. I figured the least he could do was open up the house to a long-lost relative, albeit a fabricated one.

“Come on, girl,” he said, giving me a tap on the shoulder. “Time to get a move on.”

“I haven’t missed—?”

He shook his head. “Not yet. But you need to light a fire. As soon as that principal quits blathering on about all this hoo-ha, they’re going to announce the awards. You won’t hear the end of it if you miss it.”

“Not going to happen,” I said, any lingering thoughts of following David Long vanishing in a puff of maternal pride.

Still, I took a quick peek backwards as we hustled down the hall in the direction of the gym. All quiet. Not a hint of the man.

I told myself that it was pointless to worry. After all, if hell broke loose, I’d surely notice.

Principal George was still speaking when we arrived, which had the unexpected benefit of giving me an excuse to completely ignore Marissa, who was gesturing like crazy for me to join her and her Coastal Mist charges. I pretended confusion, pointed to Allie, and then started to climb my way over students and parents. Laura was already there, and Timmy clamored from her lap to mine.

As Principal George continued on through the hoo-ha, I kept checking the door, expecting David to enter. When he didn’t, I started conjuring up scenarios where he’d found the body, called the police, and dozens of siren-spewing cop cars were now descending on the school, ready to cart me away in cuffs and an orange prison jumper.

Laura passed me my keys. “You’re limping.”

“So I’ve been told.”

“Everything okay?”

“For now,” I said. “I’ll fill you in later.”

She nodded, and I shoved thoughts of prison and demon carcasses out of my head, then took another look around the gym, this time searching for Stuart. Nothing. I mouthed his name to Laura, but she just shrugged.

Laura’s husband, I noticed, was also absent. That, however, was to be expected. Paul is the CEO of a thriving fast-food enterprise, and spends a lot of time lately working out of his Los Angeles office. Considering Laura had recently begun to suspect that Paul’s having an affair, I think she questions how much work goes on in Los Angeles. But she hasn’t confronted the lying, cheating bastard yet.

Stuart, at least, was not a cheating bastard. Which meant he had no excuse for not attending Family Day. Which meant that I was pissed off. Particularly since he’d gone to such great lengths to assure me that he’d be there.

I didn’t have long to revel in my righteous indignation, however, because Mrs. George had moved on to the various awards and other achievements that the school had racked up so far during the school year. “And the semester’s not even finished!” she enthused as we all dutifully applauded.

There were a few athletic awards, some academic accomplishments, and then she introduced Stella Atkins, the Life & Arts editor of the San Diablo
Herald.
And then Stella introduced my daughter.

I squeezed Allie’s hand, then choked back tears as she picked her way down the bleachers to Stella’s side. She clutched the plaque, and I saw her eyes scan the crowd, focusing particularly on both sets of doors. I knew what she was thinking—her essay had been on Christmas and family. The loss of one dad and the joy of finding another. Not a replacement, but an addition. And a grandfather, too, to smooth out the rough edges.

I was there. Eddie was there. But Stuart was nowhere to be found.

I tapped Laura, then mouthed the word
phone.
She passed me her cell phone and I dialed Stuart’s number, praying he was just outside the gymnasium doors.

Voice mail.

I snapped the phone shut, anger and disappointment settling over me like a thick blanket.

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.