Demon Ex Machina: Tales of a Demon-Hunting Soccer Mom (23 page)

Unfortunately, Eric was not in the habit of keeping a diary about his battle with his demonic internal foe, which meant that I did not find a conveniently detailed story. Nor were there clues scribbled on pieces of paper left casually by the bedside.

In other words, I found not one of the types of clues that were regularly discovered by heroes and heroines on television and in the movies. Feeling cheated, I began to look deeper, digging through his clothing drawers and poking my fingers between his mattress and box spring.

“Anything?” Stuart asked.

I started to shake my head, but as I did, I noticed a floor vent with a loose screw and very little dust on that part of the floor. “Hang on,” I said, then bent down to peer at it. “There’s something in here.”

As Stuart bent down beside me, I loosened the screw with my fingers and pulled off the vent cover. A spiral-bound notebook was inside, like the kind a student might use in math class.

“What’s in it?” Stuart asked.

I flipped through the pages, my mouth going dry as I did. Page after page was covered with intricate, detailed sketches of a double-bladed dagger, an ornately carved hilt in the middle. “It’s the dagger,” I said, looking up to face my husband. “It’s Eric’s sketches of a dagger he swore that he’d not only never seen, but that he’d never even discovered a clue as to its looks or its whereabouts.”

“Huh,” Stuart said, glancing at the spiral with what could only be described as false casualness. “From the looks of that, I’m inclined to say he lied.”

“Yeah,” I said, wishing desperately for another explanation, but finding none. “I know.”

 

 

“It doesn’t necessarily mean he has the dagger,” Laura said. Stuart and I had spent another hour trying to find either Eric or more clues. We’d failed, and I’d put on a facade of false cheer so that he wouldn’t feel compelled to hang around and hold my hand. Instead, I waited until he was back out the door, let the facade drop, and headed over to Laura’s to retrieve my little boy and wallow in coffee and sympathy. So far, the wallowing was working well, and the grape Popsicle Timmy was sucking on was keeping him quiet and happy.

“Maybe he’s seen it in dreams,” Laura continued. “You said he has them sometimes, right? And he can’t remember them?”

“Lately he’s been remembering,” I said, thinking about the sexual dreams he’d described to me.

“But not all. Maybe he doesn’t even know about the vent. Maybe you snatched the demon’s notebook and Eric doesn’t know about it at all.”

“Maybe,” I agreed. “Or maybe he knows damn well what’s going on and he’s holed up in a cheap motel somewhere screwing Nadia’s brains out as they walk through every one of those dreams he’s been having lately.” I balled up my napkin and tossed it across the room. It landed softly, without the kind of crash and blast that would have eased off some of my frustration.

“Want a brick?” Laura asked.

“If I thought you’d let me,” I admitted, “I’d say yes.”

“Sorry. I’m probably going to redecorate, but I’m not for certain. Maybe later we can go to the mansion and demolish a countertop or something.”

At that I did laugh, and that simple act alone had me feeling better. “Do you think he is with her?” I asked. “With Nadia?”

“I don’t know what to think,” Laura admitted. “It is weird, though. Why didn’t Nadia kill you? I mean, she had you, right? You said she jumped out of nowhere and surprised you. So why’d she even talk? Why not just whack you?”

“Thanks,” I said. “Just the kind of thing I want to think about.”

“It’s a legitimate question,” she said with an apologetic shrug. “I may not be able to whack the demons, but I do what I can. And that includes asking the hard questions.”

“So it was either for old times’ sake,” I said, “or for some specific purpose.”

“Keep you alive for something,” she said. “But what?”

“You’re the research gal.”

“Probably a ceremony. Every time we turn around, there’s a ceremony. I’ll see what I can figure out.”

I glanced at the clock and frowned, amazed at how much of the day had already flown by. “I promised Stuart I’d go by the mansion and put in a few hours, and Allie’s meeting us there after her session with Cutter. Want to come, too?”

Pink tinged Laura’s cheeks. “No thanks. I’m, uh, busy. But Mindy’s going. They’ve totally crossed back over the bridge to normal.”

“I know. Thank goodness. I’m not sure about the rules. Would we have been allowed to stay friends if our girls were feuding?”

“Absolutely,” Laura said with a wicked grin. “We’d each be spies for the other side.”

I laughed, then pushed back from the table. “I better get going.”

“Hang on,” she said, then jumped to her feet. Before I could ask what was up, she trotted out of the room, then trotted back a few minutes later with a mailing tube. “This is only the first one, but I wanted you to see it.”

“Me see! Me see!” Timmy reached out as Laura opened the tube and slid what looked like a poster out.

“Not with purple Popsicle hands you don’t,” I said as Laura yanked it up and out of reach.

His little face turned red with displeasure. “Me. See. Too!!!”

“Go wash your hands and then you can see,” I said, to which he responded by licking the purple off his fingers.

“All done!” he said, holding out his hands, fingers splayed wide.

“I don’t think so, buddy,” I said, then scooped him up around the tummy and hauled him over to the sink. He laughed and clapped and shoved his fingers under the stream, managing to splatter the front of my shirt with water. I plunked him on the floor, handed him a towel, and we both headed back to the table.

Laura had unrolled the poster and was using a salt-and-pepper shaker along with a creamer bowl and a trivet to hold down the four corners. I took one look at the poster and gasped. “Laura,” I said. “Oh my God. You’re wonderful.”

“You think so?” she said, cocking her head to examine her handiwork. A full-size poster with a pink background and a collage of images. My little girl, from her first day in the hospital to a recent shot of her in Cutter’s studio, her leg up in the air in the perpetual capture of a crescent kick, and two dozen photos showing stages in between.

I dragged my fingers over Allie’s face, and looked up at Laura feeling sappily sentimental. “Fifteen years,” I whispered, even as I sat down and pulled Timmy into my lap, only half-listening as he started humming. I never thought my kids could outdo the fascination and love I’d felt that first time I’d held each of them, but every day, it grows. “Hard to believe what children can do to you,” I said to Laura. “And it’s almost scary how much your heart is at risk.”

“Definitely scary,” Laura said. “But worth it.”

I hugged Timmy so close and so tight that he stopped his rendition of the
Wonder Pets
theme song. Soft arms went around my neck and he hugged me close. And, because I’m a sentimental sap, I started to cry.

 

 

“I did it!” Mindy
screeched as the dagger flew from her hand to lodge in the drywall of the mansion’s entrance hall. “Did you see? Did you see? I totally did it!”

“That’s great,” I said, while Allie gave her a hug. “Keep practicing and you’ll be able to do it every time.” That, I thought, was saying a lot, especially when you considered they’d been at this for an hour, and Mindy had managed to lodge only one knife in the drywall. More often, the hilt had banged uselessly against the wall, and then the blade had fallen harmlessly to the ground.

“Just remember,” Allie added, trotting over to pull the blade out of the dented and sliced wall, “it’s all in the wrist.” She aimed and let the dagger fly, landing it neatly in the middle of the circle they’d drawn on the drywall with one of Stuart’s work pencils.

“Wow,” Mindy said. “This really is pretty cool.”

I turned away, smiling at the pleased expression on Allie’s face, then moved to the far side of the foyer to check on Timmy in the library. The room that had been empty only an hour earlier was now filled with an assortment of toy cars and building blocks, and there was my little boy, passed out on the floor amid what appeared to be an abstract artist’s rendering of the Los Angeles highway system. He had Boo Bear, his bedraggled blue bear, clutched tight in his arms, and I could hear his soft little snores. I smiled, then stepped back quietly in time to see Stuart coming down the stairs, a clipboard in his hand, and a frown on his face.

“Problem?”

He shook his head absently. “Water leak in the master bathroom. We’re going to have to replace the pipes, the drywall, and probably retile the floor.”

“Oh.” Since I had no idea if that was in or out of the budget, I wasn’t sure what else to say. “Um.”

He laughed. “It’s okay. I’m just doing an inventory of the work. So far, there’s a lot of it.”

“Ah,” I said, glancing toward the seriously battered wall that had become the focus of target practice.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “I already told them it’s okay.”

“Good,” I said, as Allie rolled her eyes.

“Like we’d just run around throwing knives at things without asking first.”

“I apologize for impugning your good sense,” I said, causing another more dramatic eye roll from my daughter.

“At any rate,” Stuart said, doing a valiant job of ignoring us, “I wanted to run through some paint swatches with you.”

“Yeah?” I said, mildly pleased. “With me?”

“I’ll get a second opinion on whatever we pick out.”

“Thanks a lot,” I said, but not really insulted. Considering I had no confidence in my overall decorating taste, a second opinion was a damn good idea.

He held the paint chips like a hand of cards, then held them up toward the wall. “Something off-white for this room, I think,” he said, and I nodded. The entrance hall was magnificent, with a gray marble floor, a polished mahogany staircase, and floor-to-ceiling windows. A crystal chandelier above broke the light into thousands of dancing dots of color.

“Off-white works,” I said. “Anything more would take away from the room and the light.”

He kissed me on the nose. “Perfect.”

“So when are we going to paint?”

“We’re not, actually. I took the liberty of hiring someone.”

I gaped. “But Stuart. The budget.”

“He’s working for a flat two hundred a day. Painting. Tiling. Whatever we need. All we need to do is provide the materials.”

I gaped at him. “You’re kidding, right? That’s practically theft. And you checked the guy out? Maybe he’s a demon looking for a sneaky way to infiltrate himself into our lives.” Okay, that was stretching. Demons weren’t that sneaky as a rule. And while the idea of a demon laying tile might amuse me, the idea didn’t reek of reality.

“Not everything has to do with demons,” Stuart assured me. “This is about giving a young guy a solid start. He works on a house like this, it’s going to help make his reputation. And I told him he could put a sign in our yard.
Tile and Woodwork by Joe
kind of thing.”

“His name’s Joe?”

“Joe Martin,” he said. “He’s Pete’s nephew. Nineteen years old, spent the last year working odd construction, wants to angle his way into high-end remodels, general contracting. I told him that if the price was right, I’d help him out.”

“And the price was definitely right,” I said.

“Don’t knock it. He’s getting fair compensation. At his age, advertising and word-of-mouth are everything.”

Behind us, the entrance doors flew open. I whipped around, my free hand reaching for the knife hidden in my jacket sleeve, then stopped when I saw Lila Dorsey, looking much like Dorothy from
The Wizard of Oz
with a picnic basket over her arm.

“Look at you all! Working so hard. I brought snacks,” she said, setting the basket down on the tiled foyer floor. “Where’s Bernie?”

“L.A.,” Stuart said. “He found a discount flooring supplier, and he’s gone to check out the quality.”

She sniffed and shook her head. “Honestly, the man carries a cell phone. You’d think he could use it to call me every once in a while. Never mind. He’ll just miss out.”

She whipped a thin blanket out of the basket and spread it on the floor, then started pulling what appeared to be an endless supply of fruits and cheeses and sparkling waters out of the basket. “Well, come on. It’s time for a little break.”

Allie and Mindy needed no further prodding, and I have to admit that the thought of something cold and sparkly to drink was more than appealing.

“Do you knit?” Lila asked, glancing toward the basket of yarn and knitting needles that I’d completely forgotten about.

“That would be Allie,” I said, my sweet smile toward my daughter earning me one very firm scowl.

“How nice,” Lila said. “And I’d be happy to teach you, too, Kate.”

“Mom would love that,” Allie put in, before I had a chance to decline Lila’s invitation. “She’s always telling me how much she wants to learn.”

“My mom, too,” Mindy said, as she and Allie caught each other’s eyes and then burst out into peals of laughter.

Lila looked at me, confused, and I managed a bright smile. “Teenagers,” I said, as if that explained everything. From the knowing look on Lila’s face, I began to think that maybe it did.

As Stuart settled in beside me, I noticed a shadow pass in front of the door that Lila had left open. I tensed, then exhaled with relief as Eric stepped into view.

Beside me, Stuart remained tense, and I had to silently admit that I’d relaxed too soon. Eric had been missing for more than a day. For all I knew, he wasn’t even Eric anymore.

Wary, I climbed to my feet, shooting glances to Stuart that I hoped made clear that he needed to stay down and silent.

“What’s up?” I asked, aware of Lila’s silent curiosity. I slid my hand over the back of my jeans, reassured by the presence of the switchblade I’d tucked into my back pocket even as I felt guilty for wanting protection from this man.