The Demon Hunters (12 page)

Gia killed two of the
arsonists WITH HER BARE HANDS, but the rest got away. The dead boys
say she’s fast and strong. Like a demon.

Days later, a black
Mercedes-Benz repeatedly drives past Rio’s home. The same black car
John and Ronald saw, driven by the man who hired them?

A couple of days later,
Rio takes his brother to Tremonton.

Nine days ago he brings
said brother home. Leaves him at the door.

Not seen since.

Gia and Daven. Are they
demons? Your ordinary Joe looks at a demon and sees a regular human
being; I look at one and see him as he really is. But demons can
make me see them as human beings if they put a little effort into
it.

A minion of Royal’s brother did that
to me once and Royal did it a few times, until I told him I much
prefer his exotic demon appearance. His coppery demon eyes glint
when he moves; they sparkle like sunlight on mica. His copper and
gold hair slithers over his shoulders like heavy silk threaded with
metallic fibers.

Demons are beautiful and Royal doesn’t
have those pointed demon teeth. He had them capped long ago. Being
a careful demon permanently living in our world and passing himself
off as human, he didn’t want to spoil the illusion by kissing a
woman and having her feel those pointed teeth against her
lips.

So, if Gia and Daven are
demons who make me think they’re human, they were warned I can see
their true appearance, they were prepared. Who else but Royal knows
I see demons as they truly are? Conclusion: if they’re demons,
Royal warned them I would see them as such. He knows they’re
deliberately deceiving me. And so is he.

I get stuck there, on
Royal.
Why are you lying to me, Royal? I
know you are.
What happened to the trust?
And all his malarkey about serving and protecting me?

Including Royal, I didn’t have one
nice person on my list.

I picked up the phone and dialed Gia’s
number. I’d tell her what I discovered, but I hadn’t made up my
mind whether or not to ask her what Daven and Royal were up to. I
got an answering machine. I didn’t leave a message.

I sat at the table, chin in hands.
Elizabeth’s journal stared up at me from where it lay
open.

“
I heard Daddy. I looked
away only a second or two yet when I looked back up at the Gallery
the Man was gone. Daddy looked at the floor but the dusty coating
was too scuffed by all who passed there to decipher one footprint
from another. He asked me if the Man was not one of our Boys and I
told him positively he was not. He told me not to say anything to
our Native Boys because they will think the Man is a Naga. I did
not know that Word and Daddy explained that Naga are guardian
spirits of Indian legend. Some are protectors of the land but
others are evil dependent on religious belief. He reminded me of
the two huge Statues at the door of the Pyramid Temple. He said the
Boys are terribly superstitious and insist Nagka is teeming with
Naga. I told him if that is the case we would have seen them. Daddy
said that Naga live in dark places and emerge only at Night as we
sleep. I pointed out that Indian legends are very convenient and he
laughed at my little Wit. I thought about the strange Native Man
for hours. He looked like a heathen Lord.”

I pushed the open book away and
decided to give in to the hollow in my gut. A frozen micro meal,
quick and easy.

Jack was deep in an old M.A.S.H.
rerun. Mel followed me as I got the tub of shredded parmesan out
the fridge and put it next to the box of Light and Lean. The big
salt and pepper canisters sit on the back of the stove, always
handy, because I add salt to just about everything but dessert. I
pulled the carton out the box, stuck it in the microwave and waited
with salt shaker poised.

Mel stood at my shoulder. “You know a
low-sodium meal is no longer low-sodium when one shakes salt all
over it?”

“
Yes, one does
know.”

We waited exactly four minutes, in
silence, until the timer dinged. I opened the meal and furiously
shook salt atop it. Being highly experienced in the deficiencies of
your average microwave meal, I know just how much to sprinkle on.
Next, the parmesan. Plenty of that, too.

“
And it’s no longer low-fat
when one piles on the mozzarella.”

“
It’s parmesan.” The little
meal went back in the microwave. I waited another two minutes until
the oven dinged
,
grabbed the container and a fork and sat at the
table.

“
You’re going to kill
yourself, the muck you eat.”

“
You’re just jealous.” I
forked up a mouthful. “Mm, mm, this is absolutely delicious. Tomato
and herbs, a hint of garlic, chunky little lumps of ground beef,
hot melting cheese. Can’t get any better than this.”

It actually wasn’t so great, and low
fat microwave meals are low fat because you don’t get much in the
packet.

“
Your diet is terrible:
coffee, donuts, waffles and dinky microwave meals,” she retorted
dismissively, at the same time leaning nearer the table.

“
Yep, and I’m
really
enjoying this
dinky microwave meal.”

“
You can be such a
bitch.”

“
I do my best.”

“
Do you mind?” said
Jack.

”
Why do you bother with
lite food?” Mel persisted.

“
The same reason I drink
diet cola. I like the taste.”

“
Will you shut up! I’m
trying to watch this,” from Jack.

“
If you like it so much,
why do - ?”

Jack erupted up between us like a
spewing volcano. “For God’s sake, stop bickering. You two will be
the death of me!”

We looked at him. I wondered if his
choice of words were deliberate. Knowing Jack, they
were.

The phone rang. Thinking it might be
Royal, I leaped from the chair and to the counter. But it wasn’t
Royal and I recognized the number on Caller ID. I swallowed my
mouthful and glowered at Mel. “Keep it down a minute will
you.”

I took a deep breath.
“Hello?”

“
How are you, dear?” Margot
asked.

“
I’m well, thank you,
Senora.”

“
I am calling about the
matter we discussed. Gerarco talked to the young men in question
and we are convinced they know nothing.”

“
Okay. Please tell him I
appreciate his help.”

“
I will, dear. I hope you
find young Alissario for us. His mother is a dear friend and he’s a
nice boy.”

“
I’ll do my very
best.”

“
I know you will. Now you
take care of yourself.”

“
I will, Senora. I hope you
and Senor Labiosa have a lovely summer.”

The brief conversation told
me what I wanted to know. Only someone with Gerarco’s influence can
call in members of rival gangs. In fact, acting as negotiator is
one of the few gang-related duties he still personally performs,
except he calls them
favors
. And when he gives his ruling,
it sticks. I hoped when Margot said
talked
, she meant it literally and
not something more painfully persuasive. In any case, if Gerarco
said rival gang members no longer had a beef with Rio, I believed
him.

I sat down again and stirred at the
remains of my spaghetti. A black Mercedes-Benz. The fire at Daven’s
house. My thoughts ran in circles.

A guy in a black car put a hit on
Daven Clare, but the attempt failed. The hit-bums saw Rio and Gia
at Daven’s house. A black Mercedes-Benz was seen in Rio’s
neighborhood. Rio disappeared.

The same car? The same man? Did
Mercedes-Benz man take Rio because he could identify the arsonists?
Or did the kid know someone was after him and went into hiding, not
daring to contact Gia?

Why did neither Gia nor Daven tell me
about the attempt on Daven’s life?

Dammit, all I had were
questions!

Chap
ter Ten

I paced and jotted notes for much of
the night. Exhausted, I couldn’t be still. I needed to vent at
something, someone, but nothing and no one was
available.

When I’m stressed, I eat too much, or
exercise more, or both. I hadn’t hiked the north bench trails since
this time last year.

I came down the stairs wearing a white
T-shirt, loose blue pants elasticized at the ankle and hiking
boots. I know how to dress sexy when I want. You should see me in
my quilted winter coat and earmuffs.

“
Get the paper in before
you leave, will you,” Jack ordered.

“
And a good morning to
you.” I saluted smartly. “Paper. Yes. Yes, sir!”

I left the front door open and walked
down the path. “Now, you wait right there.”

“
Har har,” Jack said to my
back. “You are so funny, and this early in the morning
too.”

“
You aren’t having coffee?”
Mel asked from behind him.

“
The world is coming to an
end!” Jack wailed.

I got the paper off the sidewalk and
headed back to them. “I’ll pick some up at the
Mini-Mart.”

Just to be contrary, I tossed the
paper in the hallway and about-turned, but had second thoughts. I
shouldn’t take out my angst on Jack and Mel. It wasn’t their fault
Royal acted like an ass and our clients scared the life out of me.
I took the paper to the kitchen and spread the pages across the
table.

“
Don’t put yourself out,”
from Jack.

So much for trying to be nice. “I’m
off. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” I slapped myself upside the
head. “Oh, that’s right, you can’t.”

I ignored their spluttering and went
out to my Subaru Forrester, noticing the film of dust and bird
droppings, making a mental note to gas up and get a cheap car wash
on the way back.

***

With steam wafting from the plastic
cup I held in one hand, I took a left off Winston and headed up
University Drive. Not a lot of traffic uses the road during the
week, so I had it pretty much to myself. There would be more
traffic, vehicular and foot, when people headed for the east bench
trails on the weekend. University meanders along behind River
Valley University, and I looked down on all the buildings
surrounding little University Park and its tiny pond. Students
scurried on their way to early classes. Most parking spots along
Grafton Avenue were already taken and latecomers would have to
jockey for the few unreserved slots in the parking lots.

Half a mile on, I turned east up
Twenty-Fifth, kept going until the city-maintained road petered out
and became a short dirt road leading to a big parking area. Only
three cars and a motorcycle already there. I parked at the other
end of the lot and sat while I finished my coffee. I took the empty
cup with me when I got out the car, and got my long cane out the
trunk.

I walked across the parking lot to a
break in the fence, tossed the cup in the trash bin and started up
the trail. I hesitated at the first fork, trying to decide whether
to carry on up to Merlin Point or head south to Waterfall Canyon.
This early in the morning there would, hopefully, be few cyclists
on the Merlin Point trail.

Hikers and bikers are supposed to
share the trails. They are narrow, steep, and obstacles include
rocks of all sizes sticking up and craters inches deep where
they’ve come loose and rolled on down the mountainside, thick roots
snaking across, and washouts from the spring thaw. Oh, and don’t
forget branches from trees too stubborn to know they shouldn’t be
trying to cling to a mountainside. Much of the trail has rock-face
on one side and a sheer drop on the other once you get above the
benches. And, no, there are no safety rails. Hikers are supposed to
have right-of-way, but mountain bikers get riled if you get in
front of their wild, downward descent. You can argue with a cyclist
- something I’d rather not do on a trail three-feet-wide - or
plaster yourself to the rock-face so they can pass without
stopping.

So, onward to Merlin Point. I walked
up the steeply sloping trail with one eye on the ground so I didn’t
stub my toe on a rock, the other on the look-out for cyclists,
although this far down I could step to the side and not end up in a
bush, or teetering on the edge. The sun beat down on me and little
drops of perspiration popped out on my forehead. I should have worn
a hat. Mountain sunlight is harsh, the air thin, and unless you’re
acclimated you soon feel worn out. Many a visitor to our mountain
valley wonders why they get so tired all the time.

I paused to look out over the valley
and the lake as I brushed my forehead with the back of my hand. I
took a few more steps, and stopped. Up ahead, where the trail wound
out of sight, two tall men stared down at me, too far off for me to
make out their features, but the morning sun lit their hair as if
sparkling over water, one head blue with strands of silver, the
other red stranded with gold.

Demons.

I stopped breathing,
inhaled sharply, and stood on the dusty trail looking up at them.
Nothing moved: not a breath of wind, not a leaf or branch swaying,
not a bird in the sky, just me and the demons.
Oh dear god, and here I am out in the middle of nowhere. Damn
you, Royal. You should be here.
Like all
his kind, Royal could sense the presence of other demons, and I’d
bet my best pair of socks they wouldn’t be in Clarion if Royal were
not absent from home.