Carpe Demon: Adventures of a Demon-Hunting Soccer Mom (23 page)

I exhaled then, not realizing I’d been holding my breath. Vindication is a wonderful thing. “Thanks. Wilson used to tell me the same thing.”

I heard the deep rumble of his laugh. “As would your current
alimentatore
.”

“Larson said they knew each other.”

“So they did. Their professional relationship was strong, but their friendship was stronger.”

“Thanks for telling me.” Somehow, knowing that Larson was close to Wilson made me feel even closer to Larson. Silly, but there’s no accounting for emotions.

“And since I do have you on the line, tell me, has Edward proved to be of any use to you?”

Edward
? “Who the he—heck is Edward?”

“A retired Hunter,” Father said, surprise in his voice. “A brilliant mind, and he has as much skill as a fighter. He has, of course, been unavailable for much time now. I had hope, though, that he would have thoughts on the Goramesh problem.”

“A Hunter? I thought you said there weren’t any.”

“Larson only recently became aware that Edward had moved to your area. He sent word to me immediately, of course. I assumed you were also acquainted with the man. I take it that is not so?”

“No,” I said, a knot forming in my gut. “Edward and I haven’t been formally introduced.” But at the moment I really—
really
—wanted to meet the man.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Considering how agitated I was
, it’s a wonder
I
didn’t have a car accident racing from the house to the college.
Another Hunter? Why wouldn’t Larson have told me?

I couldn’t think of any answers, so the same questions just kept bouncing through my head, distracting me, and, frankly, upping my blood pressure. I dialed Larson’s cell phone number and his home number—both twice—but got no answer in either case. This time, not even voice mail. I was feeling very
persona non grata
and my attention span was shot. I knew I needed to focus, but I was having a hard time shifting from irritation to concentration. I had to, though. If that damn (and damned) dog slipped by me unnoticed, I might as well have just stayed home.

Come on, Kate. Quit obsessing
.

Good advice. After all, there were any number of reasons Larson might not have hooked me up with this Edward person. Maybe Edward had moved on to L.A. or San Francisco or some place equally geographically undesirable. Or maybe Edward, unlike me, wasn’t about to be sucked out of retirement, and he’d told Larson to take a flying leap.

For all I knew, the elusive Edward could be dead.

I was cruising up and down the darkened streets that surrounded the small community college campus. Built in a warehouse district, the college had a particularly abandoned feel at night. I slowed down, moving my gaze purposefully from one side of the street to the other as I forced myself to think only about the surroundings and not about the Edward mystery.

I rolled down my window, listening for screams, howls, footfalls, anything. But I heard nothing. Come the weekend, I knew, I’d hear a deep bass thrum, highlighted by a cacophony of voices as students traipsed to the various empty warehouses in search of the next rave party. San Diablo may be sleepy, but it isn’t dead (the recent influx of demonic fiends notwithstanding).

Tonight, though, I didn’t even hear the scuttle of rats in the alleys. Most likely, the demon dog had moved on. A lot of time had passed since the police received the report. For all I knew, the dog could be all the way on the north side of town by now.

I was part relieved and part irritated. I’d come all this way, and I hated the thought that some kid up north might end up being a victim. But I couldn’t be two places at once and, frankly, I probably shouldn’t be here at all. I ought to be home, with my husband and kids.

And I was just about to turn the van around and go back there when I heard it—a soft scrape of metal against metal. And then, farther away, a jumble of voices. Students, maybe? Working late in the labs and walking home together?

There was nothing particularly ominous about either of the sounds. Even so, the air itself seemed off. Tainted.
Evil.
(Okay, okay, so maybe that’s a tad melodramatic. But I did have a bad feeling.) I had no specific reason to think the demon dog was still around, but I wasn’t going to leave without warning those kids, and telling them to take the party inside.

I reached up and switched the overhead light to the Off position, then pulled the keys out of the ignition. I didn’t want the van lighting up like a birthday cake any more than I wanted its annoying
bing bong
to announce to the world that Kate Connor was about to go strolling down a dark alley.

I slid my purse under the seat, but only after first retrieving the little spritzer bottle I’d filled with holy water and the barbeque skewer I’d swiped from our backyard grill.

I pushed the door open and slid out of the van. I’d changed back into jeans and running shoes, and now I bounced a little in my Reeboks. If there was a demon out there, this time I was the one doing the hunting, and I hadn’t experienced the thrill of the hunt in a long, long time.

Two long rows of boarded-up warehouses sat perpendicular to the street, a narrow alleyway running between them. I headed that way, drawn by the low buzz of voices in the distance. Just past midnight and the students were sitting around partying, which is exactly what college kids should be able to do. Party and stay up all night and drink and cram for exams and generally go a little wild—all
without
the overhanging worry that a demonic band of roving dogs might suddenly decide to call them lunch.

I hurried forward, intending to tell them in my best maternal voice to quit hanging around dark alleys and move their party inside. I thought I heard footsteps behind me—and was about to whip around to take a look—when I heard a new sound. A low, guttural howl, like a wolf in pain. Screams followed, and I raced forward, ignoring whoever might be following me. I found the source of the screams in a parking area, huddled behind a Dumpster. Three kids, probably students, backed into a corner by a giant black mastiff, its bare teeth gleaming with drool.

“Oh, God, lady,” one of the guys called, his voice rough with fear. “
Do
something. Get it away from us.” From the way the dog was eyeing that guy, I assumed he was the primary target. One look at the fear-frozen girl told me why—she wore a gold cross as a necklace. Might just be fashion, but the demon wouldn’t want to take that chance. If she were devout, killing her wouldn’t do any good. Her soul would leave, but the demon wouldn’t be able to get inside. The other guy had pressed himself so far into the shadows I could barely get a look at him, and I wondered if he wore a cross as well.

“Come here, puppy,” I called in a sickly sweet tone. “Come on. Don’t you know who I am? A much tastier morsel . . .” I wasn’t actually talking to the dog, of course. Somewhere up there, hovering in the ether, was its demonic master. As soon as the dog killed, the demon would swoop in, taking over the body just as pretty as you please.

The dog cocked his head, just enough to bring me into his view without giving the kids any room to run. He snarled, and when I saw his eyes, my heart pounded in my chest, adrenaline surging in a primal effort to get me to flee, to run, to get out of that place once and for all.

Looking into his eyes was like looking into Hell. Red on black, and behind that a maelstrom of evil so thick it seemed to coagulate like blood. I said a silent apology to dogs everywhere. This was no dog. This was simply . . .
bad
. Not a demon itself, but a manifestation of pure evil conjured by a demon to do its bidding.

The thing growled, low in its throat, and I saw muscles tensing beneath the sleek, black fur. I held up the holy-water spritzer as I tried to look fearless. But I wasn’t. At the moment I was scared out of my mind.

As the beast lunged at me, I knew with sudden clarity that Larson was right. I wasn’t back in fighting shape, and I had no business pretending I was seventeen again.

Too late now
.

I sprang forward, squirting with one hand and jabbing the barbeque skewer with the other. The dog howled as the mist settled on its fur, but kept coming. As the distance between us closed, my head no longer filled with self-recrimination but with the desire to stay alive and to kill this creature. “
Run!”
I screamed to the kids. “Get out of here
now!
”

I didn’t waste time watching to see if they did, I was too busy being knocked to the ground by two hundred pounds of dog. The holy water went flying, and it was all I could do to keep the dog off all my soft, vulnerable parts.

As its jaws clamped down, I rolled to the right, just in time to feel its teeth sink into my jeans rather than my ankle. I reared back with the other leg and kicked, but that only seemed to piss it off more. It growled and snarled and snapped at my face, as all the while I scrabbled backward on the asphalt, tiny rocks digging into my back and shoulders.

The belly of the beast pressed against my foot, and its weight pushed my leg and knee against my chest, bringing the animal closer despite my efforts to keep him at a distance. I struggled to straighten my leg and toss him off, but I couldn’t do it. Not at this angle. And, sadly, not in my current shape.

Shit
.

I still had the skewer, and I slashed at the beast, the protrusion a sufficient threat to keep him at bay for now, but probably not for long. I needed to get close enough to sink the skewer into his head, neck,
anywhere
. I really wasn’t picky. (Unlike a demon, stabbing through the eye or actual beheading wasn’t necessary. I just had to kill the thing.)

Beside me, I heard a scuffle where I should be hearing nothing—the kids should be long gone by now. I lashed out with the skewer, rocking back at the same time and kicking sideways with my free leg. The beast backed off again, and that gave me a split second to look to my right. The girl was gone, but the two guys were still there—one with a knife pressed to the other one’s breast.

“Fun’s over, bud,” I said to the beast, with more bravado than I actually felt. I had one shot left before my strength—not to mention my luck—ran out. And I needed it to work if I was going to help that kid.

This time, when the beast lunged, I rose to meet it, rolling forward as if we were doing some perverse dance and sinking the skewer deep into the only place I could actually reach—the dog’s nose. The creature howled, shaking his head in a violent motion to dislodge the skewer. I rolled back, tucking both knees into my chest and then thrusting them out again with every ounce of strength I possessed.

I caught the beast just at the breastbone, and it toppled backward, still unsteady from the stick in its nose. I scrambled to my knees, not wasting a moment as I lunged for the skewer, yanked it out, then thrust it down again—hard—through the creature’s heart.

There was no blood. Instead, the creature oozed a thick oil that ignited, bursting into black and orange flames that seemed to consume the beast, until all that was left was the echo of its howls.

I scrabbled away, breathing hard, then rolled over and climbed to my feet, ready to race toward the men.

Too late.

I saw the attacker draw his arm back, preparing to gain enough momentum to thrust it up between his victim’s rib cage. I cried out—a totally useless response. Far more helpful was the silver blade, spinning through the air, seemingly from out of nowhere. A split second later the metal pierced the attacker’s eye. The body sagged, and I saw a familiar shimmer in the air as the demon escaped to the ether.

The knife he’d been holding clattered to the ground. The terrified student still stood there, breathing hard. He looked at me, looked at the body on the pavement, then ran off into the night.

“A demon,” I said, speaking to no one. “That boy was a demon.”

“You would have realized eventually,” Larson said, emerging from the shadows. He reached down, offering a hand to help me up. “But by then the other boy would have been dead, his body a vessel for the demon controlling the beast.”

I ignored his hand, content to keep my butt on the ground, nursing my sore thighs and my bruised confidence. “I never got a good look at him. The dog had them cornered. It didn’t even occur to me to think. I blew it. I completely blew it.” And I was going to continue kicking myself about that for a while. If Larson hadn’t been there, that boy would have been toast. And so, frankly, would I. Already tired out by battling the demon’s best friend, I don’t know that I could have subdued the knifing demon, much less survived once demon number two inhabited the knifed boy’s body.

“You
were
otherwise engaged,” Larson said, calmly unwrapping a piece of Nicorette and popping it into his mouth. I grimaced, empathizing a bit. I didn’t smoke, but after that encounter even I could have used a cigarette.

With a hefty grunt, I got up and dusted my butt off.

“In truth, I can’t take credit for having exercised any particular skill in the identification of demons,” he said.

I’ll admit I cracked a smile at that. The man was too formal by half. “Well, you showed more particular skill than I have.”

“The demon revealed itself.”

That
caught my attention. “What?” Once in human form, a demon rarely shows off any of the bells and whistles that look, well, demonish. (You know, the theatrical stuff like horns or glowing orange eyes or a pig nose. The effort it takes for a demon to manifest itself like that is extreme unless the location is particularly evil—your basic spooky mansion built over a portal to Hell, for example. Otherwise, a revealed demon is a ninety-eight-pound weakling. And in that form, once killed, a demon is really and truly dead.)