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My name is Kate Connor and I used to be a demon hunter.
I've often thought that would be a great pick-up line at parties, but
with a teenager, a toddler and a husband, I'm hardly burning up the party
circuit. And, of course, the whole demon hunting thing is one great big
gargantuan secret. No one knows. Not my kids, not my husband, and certainly
not folks at these imaginary parties where I'm regaling sumptuous hunks
with tales from my demon-slaying, vampire-hunting, zombie-killing days.
Back in the day, I was pretty cool. Now I'm a glorified chauffeur for
pep squad practice and Gymboree play dates. Less sex appeal, maybe, but
I gotta admit I love it. I wouldn't trade my family for anything. And
after fourteen years of doing the mommy thing, my demon hunting skills
aren't exactly sharp.
All of which explains why I didn't immediately locate and terminate the demon wandering the pet food aisle of the San Diablo Wal-Mart. Instead, when I caught a whiff of that tell-tale stench, I naturally assumed it emanated exclusively from the bottom of a particularly cranky two-year-old. My two-year-old, to be exact.
"Mom! He did it again. What are you feeding him?" That from
Alison, my particularly cranky fourteen-year- old. She, at least, didn't
stink.
"Entrails and goat turds," I said absently. I sniffed the air
again. Surely that was only Timmy I was smelling ...
"Mo-om." She managed to make the word two syllables. "You
don't have to be gross."
"Sorry." I concentrated on my kids, pushing my suspicions firmly
out of my mind. I was being silly. San Diablo had been demon free for
years. That's why I lived here, after all.
Besides, the comings and goings of demons weren't my problem any more.
Nowadays my problems leaned more toward the domestic rather than the demonic.
Grocery shopping, budgeting, carpooling, mending, cleaning, cooking, parenting,
and a thousand other "-ings." All the basic stuff that completely
holds a family together and is taken entirely for granted by every person
on the planet who doesn't happen to be a wife and stay at home mom. (And
two points to you if you caught that little bit of vitriol. I'll admit
to having a few issues about the whole topic, but, dammit, I work hard.
And believe me, I'm no stranger to hard work. It was never easy, say,
cleaning out an entire nest of evil, bloodthirsty preternatural creatures
with only a few wooden stakes, some Holy Water and a can of Diet Coke.
But I always managed. And it was a hell of a lot easier than getting a
teenager, a husband and a toddler up and moving in the morning. Now that's
a challenge.)
While Timmy fussed and whined, I swung the shopping cart around, aiming
for the back of the store and a diaper changing station. It would have
been a refined, fluid motion if Timmy hadn't taken the opportunity to
reach out with those chubby little hands. His fingers collided with a
stack of Fancy Feast cans and everything started wobbling. I let out one
of those startled little "oh!" sounds, totally pointless and
entirely ineffectual. There was a time when my reflexes were so sharp,
so perfectly attuned, that I probably could have caught every one of those
cans before they hit the ground. But that Katie wasn't with me in Wal-Mart,
and I watched, helpless, as the cans clattered to the ground.
Another fine mess ...
Alison had jumped back as the cans fell, and she looked with dismay at
the pile. As for the culprit, he was suddenly in a fabulous mood, clapping
wildly and screaming "Big noise! Big noise!" while eyeing the
remaining stacks greedily. I inched the cart further away from the shelves.
"Allie, do you mind? I need to go change him."
She gave me one of those put-upon looks that are genetically coded to
appear as soon as a girl hits her teens.
"Take your pick," I said, using my most reasonable mother voice.
"Clean up the cat food, or clean up your brother."
"I'll pick up the cans," she said, in a tone that perfectly
matched her expression.
I took a deep breath and reminded myself that she was fourteen. Raging
hormones. Those difficult adolescent years. More difficult, I imagined,
for me than for her. "Why don't I meet you in the music aisle. Pick
out a new CD and we'll add it to the pile."
Her face lit up. "Really?"
"Sure. Why not?" Yes, yes, don't even say it. I know 'why not.'
Setting a bad precedent, not defining limits, blah, blah, blah. Throw
all that psycho mumbo jumbo at me when you're wandering Wal-Mart with
two kids and a list of errands as long as your arm. If I can buy a day's
worth of cooperation for $14.99, then that's a deal I'm jumping all over.
I'll worry about the consequences in therapy, thank you very much.
I caught another whiff of nastiness right before we hit the restrooms.
Out of habit, I looked around. A feeble old man squinted at me from over
the Wal-Mart Sunday insert, but other than him, there was nobody around
but me and Timmy.
"P.U.," Timmy said, then flashed a toothy grin.
I smiled as I wrangled the stroller into the ladies' room. "P.U."
was his newest favorite word, followed in close second by "Oh, man!"
The "Oh, man!" I can blame on Nickelodeon and Dora the Explorer.
For the other, I lay exclusive blame on my husband who has never been
keen on changing dirty diapers and has managed, I'm convinced, over the
short term of Timmy's life, to give the kid a complete and utter complex
about bowel movements.
"You're P.U.," I said, hoisting him onto the little drop-down
changing table. "But not for long. We'll clean you up, powder that
bottom, and slap on a new diaper. You're gonna come out smelling like
a rose, kid."
"Like a rose!" he mimicked, reaching for my earrings while
I held him down and stripped him.
After a million wipes and one fresh diaper, Timmy was back in the stroller.
We fetched Allie away from a display of newly released CDs, and she came
more or less willingly, a Natalie Imbruglia CD clutched in her hand.
Ten minutes and eighty-seven dollars later I was strapping Timmy into
his car seat while Allie loaded our bags into the minivan. As I was maneuvering
through the parking lot, I caught one more glimpse of the old man from
customer service. He was standing at the front of the store, between the
Coke machines and the plastic kiddie pools, just staring out toward me.
I pulled over. My plan was to pop out, say a word or two to him, take
a good long whiff of his breath, and then be on my way.
I had my door half open when music started blasting from all six of the
Odyssey's speakers at something close to one hundred decibels. I jumped,
whipping around to face Allie who was already fumbling for the volume
control and muttering "sorry, sorry."
I pushed the power button, which ended the Natalie Inbruglia surround
sound serenade, but did nothing about Timmy who was now bawling his eyes
out, probably from the pain associated with burst eardrums. I shot Allie
a stern look, unfastened my seatbelt, and climbed into the backseat, all
the while trying to make happy sounds that would calm my kid.
"I'm sorry, Mom," Allie said. To her credit she sounded sincere.
"I didn't know the volume was up that high." She maneuvered
into the backseat on the other side of Timmy and started playing peek-a-boo
with Boo Bear, a bedraggled blue bear that's been Timmy's constant companion
since he was five months old. At first Timmy ignored her, but after a
while he joined in, and I felt a little surge of pride for my daughter.
"Good for you," I said.
She shrugged and kissed her brother's forehead.
I remembered the old man and reached for the door, but as I looked out
at the sidewalk, I saw that he was gone.
"What's wrong?" Allie asked.
I hadn't realized I was frowning, so I forced a smile and concentrated on erasing the worry lines from my forehead. "Nothing," I said. And then, since that was the truth, I repeated myself. "Nothing at all."
***
For the next three hours we bounced from store to store as I went down
my list for the day: bulk goods at Wal-Mart - check; shoes for Timmy at
Payless - check; Happy Meal for Timmy to ward off crankiness - check;
new shoes for Allie from DSW - check; new ties for Stuart from T.J. Maxx
- check. By the time we hit the grocery store, the Happy Meal had worn
off, both Timmy and Allie were cranky, and I wasn't far behind. Mostly,
though, I was distracted.
That old man was still on my mind, and I was irritated with myself for
not letting the whole thing drop. But something about him bugged me. As
I pushed the shopping cart down the dairy aisle, I told myself I was being
paranoid. For one thing, demons tend not to infect the old or feeble.
(Makes sense when you think about it; if you're going to suddenly become
corporeal, you might as well shoot for young, strong and virile). For
another, I'm pretty sure there'd been no demon stench, just a particularly
pungent toddler diaper. Of course, that didn't necessarily rule out demon
proximity. All the demons I'd ever run across tended to pop breath mints
like candy, and one even owned the majority share of stock in a mouthwash
manufacturer. Even so, common sense told me there was no demon.
Mostly, though, I needed to drop the subject because it simply wasn't
my problem anymore. I may have been a Level Four Demon Hunter once upon
a time, but that time was fifteen years ago. I was retired now. Out of
the loop. Even more, I was out of practice.
I turned down the cookie and chips aisle, careful not to let Timmy see
as I tossed two boxes of Teddy Grahams into the cart. Behind me, Allie
lingered in front of the breakfast cereal, and I could practically see
her mind debating between the uber-healthy Kashi and her favorite Lucky
Charms. I tried to focus on my grocery list (were we really out of All
Bran?) but my brain kept coming back to the old man.
Surely I was just being paranoid. I mean, why would a demon willingly
come to San Diablo, anyway? The California coastal town was built on a
hillside, its criss-cross of streets leading up to the Cathedral that
perched at the top of the cliffs, a focal point for the entire town. In
addition to being stunningly beautiful, the Cathedral was famous for its
holy relics, and it drew both tourists and pilgrims. The devout came to
San Diablo for the same reason the demons stayed away-the Cathedral was
holy ground. Evil simply wasn't welcome there.
That was also the primary reason Eric and I had retired in San Diablo.
Ocean views, the fabulous California weather, and absolutely no demons
or other nasties to ruin our good time. San Diablo was a great place to
have kids, friends, and the normal life he and I had both craved. Even
now, I thank God that we had ten good years together.
"Mom?" Allie squeezed my free hand and I realized I'd been
holding a freezer door open, staring blankly at a collection of frozen
pizzas. "You okay?" From the way her nose crinkled, I knew she
suspected I was thinking about her dad.
"Fine," I lied, blinking furiously. "I was trying to decide
between pepperoni or sausage for dinner tonight, and then I got sidetracked
thinking about making my own pizza dough."
"The last time you tried that, you got dough stuck on the light
fixture and Stuart had to climb up and dig it out."
"Thanks for reminding me." But it had worked; we'd both moved
past our melancholy. Eric had died just after Allie's ninth birthday,
and although she and Stuart got along famously, I knew she missed her
dad as much as I did. We talked about it on occasion, sometimes remembering
the funny times, and sometimes, like when we visited the cemetery, the
memories were filled with tears. But now wasn't the time for either, and
we both knew it.
I squeezed her hand back. My girl was growing up. Already she was looking
out for me, and it was sweet and heartbreaking all at the same time. "What
do you think?" I asked. "Pepperoni?"
"Stuart likes sausage better," she said.
"We'll get both," I said, knowing Allie's distaste for sausage
pizza. "Want to rent a movie on the way home? We'll have to look
fast so the food doesn't spoil, but surely there's something we've been
wanting to see."
Her eyes lit up. "We could do a Harry Potter marathon."
I stifled a grimace. "Why not? It's been at least a month since
our last HP marathon."
She rolled her eyes, then retrieved Timmy's sippy cup and adjusted Boo
Bear. I knew I was stuck.
My cell phone rang. I checked the caller ID, then leaned against the
grocery cart as I answered. "Hey, hon."
"I'm having the day from hell," Stuart said, which was a poor
choice of words considering that got me thinking about demons all over
again. "And I'm afraid I'm going to ruin your day, too."
"I can hardly wait."
"Any chance you were planning something fabulous for dinner? Enough
to serve eight, with cocktails before and some fancy dessert after?"
"Frozen pizza and Harry Potter," I said, certain I knew where
this was going to end up.
"Ah," Stuart said. In the background, I could hear the eraser
end of his pencil tapping against his desktop. Beside me, Allie pretended
to bang her head against the glass freezer door. "Well, that would
serve eight," he said. "But it may not have quite the cachet
I was hoping for."
"It's important?"
"Clark thinks it is." Clark Curtis was San Diablo's lame duck
County Attorney, and he favored my husband to step into his shoes. Right
now, Stuart had a low political profile, working for peanuts as an assistant
county attorney in the real estate division. Stuart was months away from
formally announcing, but if he wanted to have any hope of winning the
election, he needed to start playing the political game, shaking hands,
currying favors, and begging campaign contributions. Although a little
nervous, he was excited about the campaign, and flattered by Clark's support.
As for me, the thought of being a politician's wife was more than a little
unnerving.
"A house full of attorneys," I said, trying to think what the
heck I could feed them. Or, better yet, if there was anyway to get out
of this.
Allie sank down to the floor, her back against the freezer, her forehead
on her knees.
"And judges."
"Oh, great." This was the part about domesticity that I didn't
enjoy. Entertaining just isn't my thing. I hated it, actually. Always
had, always would. But my husband, the aspiring politician, loved me anyway.
Imagine that.
"I tell you what. I'll have Joan call some caterers. You don't have
to do anything except be home by six to meet them. Folks are coming at
seven, and I'll be sure to be there by six-thirty to give you a hand."
Now, see? That's why I love him. But I couldn't accept. Guilt welled
in my stomach just from the mere suggestion. This was the man I loved,
after all. And I couldn't be bothered to pull together a small dinner
party? What kind of a heartless wench was I?
"How about rigatoni?" I asked, wondering which was worse, heartless
wench or guilty sucker. "And a spinach salad? And I can pick up some
appetizers and the stuff for my apple tart." That pretty much exhausted
my guest-worthy repertoire, and Stuart knew it.
"Sounds perfect," he said. "But are you sure? It's already
four."
"I'm sure," I said, not sure at all, but it was his career,
not mine, that was riding on my culinary talents.
"You're the best," he said. "Let me talk to Allie."
I passed the phone to my daughter, who was doing a good impression of someone so chronically depressed she was in need of hospitalization.
She lifted a weary hand, took the phone, and pressed it to her ear.
"Yeah?"
While they talked, I focused my attention on Timmy who was being remarkably
good. "Nose!" he said when I pointed to my nose. "Ear!"
I pointed to my other ear. "More ear!" The kid was literal,
that was for sure. I leaned in close and gave him big wet sloppy kisses
on his neck while he giggled and kicked.
With my head cocked to the side like that, I caught a glimpse of Allie,
who no longer looked morose. If anything, she looked supremely pleased
with herself. I wondered what she and Stuart were scheming, and suspected
it was going to involve me carpooling a load of teenage girls to the mall.
"What?" I asked as Allie hung up.
"Stuart said it was okay with him if I spent the night at Mindy's.
Can I? Please?"
I ran my fingers through my hair and tried not to fantasize about killing
my husband. The reasonable side of me screamed that he was only trying
to help. The annoyed side of me retorted that he'd just sent my help packing,
and I now had to clean the house, cook dinner and keep Timmy entertained
all on my own.
"Pleeeeeeze?"
"Fine. Sure. Great idea." I started pushing the cart toward
the dairy aisle while Timmy babbled something entirely unintelligible.
"You can get your stuff and head to Mindy's as soon as we get home."
She did a little hop-skip number, then threw her arms around my neck.
"Thanks, Mom! You're the best."
"Mmmm. Remember this the next time you're grounded."
She pointed at her chest, her face ultra-innocent. "Me? In trouble?
I think you have me confused with some other daughter."
I tried to scowl, but didn't quite manage it, and she knew she'd won
me over. Well, what the heck. I was a woman of the new Millennium. I'd
staked vampires, defeated demons, and incapacitated incubi. How hard could
a last-minute dinner party be?
Excerpted from Carpe Demon by Julie Kenner.
Copyright © 2005 by Julie Kenner. All rights reserved.
No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without
permission in writing from the publisher.
