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Authors: Julie Kenner

BOOK: Demon 04 - Deja Demon
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The only thing is, by using magic for such a damnably selfish purpose, I couldn’t help but wonder if I hadn’t tainted both our souls in the process. Not to mention complicated the hell out of my life.
“I’m sorry,” David said. “I didn’t mean to make light of everything you’ve been through. But this isn’t only about you, Kate. Do you think it’s been easy for me?”
I knew that it hadn’t. “Sometimes. Maybe. I don’t know.” I tilted my head up and looked him in the eyes. “I think you’re the one who got to go away for more than two months. Who got to sit and think and process everything that happened while I had to keep going on with life and dealing with a daughter who had her father back for about seven seconds, only to lose him again.”
“Which is exactly why what I’m asking isn’t unreasonable. A weekend, Katie. I’m only asking to spend a weekend with my daughter.” His eyes met mine, and I saw the plea in them. “Is that so hard to understand?”
“No,” I said. “Of course not. But it’s complicated. And, dammit, Eric, you blindsided me. This night was supposed to be about hunting. Not custody arrangements.” I winced, struck by the tone and meaning of my words. I never would have divorced Eric.
Never.
And yet for all practical purposes, it was as if we were divorced parents, our marriage having been abruptly terminated, but the issue of our daughter still hanging there between us.
“I can’t risk hurting Stuart,” I said, probably more coldly than I’d intended because my voice was flavored by guilt.
He looked at me for one long second, a muscle in his cheek twitching. The mannerism surprised me and I looked away, confused. Eric had never had such an obvious tell. Which meant the gesture was pure David, and the fact that Eric and David were both the same and different struck me with such unexpected force that I stumbled on the sidewalk.
“How would I explain it to him, anyway?” I asked reasonably. “What possible excuse does a high school freshman have for spending the weekend with the chemistry teacher?”
“Maybe you should try the truth,” David said. If he’d snapped the suggestion at me with a hint of sarcasm, I think I could have handled it. As it was, he spoke gently, as if he understood the power behind that word.
Truth.
“I’m not telling Stuart about you,” I said, with more force and determination than I actually felt. “I’m not telling him about any of this.
Forza.
My past. That I’ve come out of retirement. None of it. This isn’t his life—it’s not the life I have with him—and I don’t want it to be.”
Stuart hadn’t married a woman who could eradicate a demon with the heel of a black leather pump or fling a steak knife at a hellhound and hit it dead center on the forehead. Instead, he’d married a woman who couldn’t figure out how to force her self-cleaning oven to get with the program.
I’d kept the demon-chasing part of my life secret because it
was
a secret. No one outside
Forza
was supposed to know. And even after I’d come out of retirement to take care of the rapidly growing demon population in San Diablo, I still hadn’t come clean with Stuart. Not because of the prohibition against revealing my identity, but because I didn’t want my husband looking at me and seeing a girl other than the one he married.
Worse, I didn’t want him to look and not like what he saw.
And though I might wish for my marriage to be a sanctuary wherein I never had to face my fears, more and more I realized that truth—that nasty demon—was barreling down on me. Soon, I knew, I would have to tell. Because as much as telling might drive us apart, maintaining secrets would eventually do that very same thing.
Knowing that fundamental fact was one thing. Having it forced upon me by the other man in my life was something entirely different.
“If he loves you,” David said gently, “none of this will matter.”
“
This
,” I repeated. “There’s that word again. You think it won’t matter to him that I hunt demons? That I sneak out of the house at two A.M. and patrol the alleys and beaches armed with a blade and a bottle of holy water? Is that the
this
you’re talking about, David?”
I took a step closer to him, my emotions a confused mix of anger, longing, and loss. “Or is there something else? Another
this
. You and me,” I said, my voice catching in my throat. “You and Allie.” I tilted my chin up and looked him straight in the eye. I saw my own pain reflected right back at me, and my voice faltered. “Those are complications Stuart surely didn’t anticipate when he vowed before God to love me for better or for worse.”
David winced, and I knew I’d struck a nerve. Eric had made the same vow, of course, but his was made null by the death of his body. That his soul had returned was, for me, both treasure and torment.
“But he
did
make the vow,” David finally said, toying with his cane instead of looking at me directly. “If you love him, you have to have faith in him.”
I pressed my fingers against the bridge of my nose, the gesture hiding the fact that I couldn’t look at David. Not when all I would see was Eric.
“You told me you loved him,” he pressed, this time meeting my eyes fully.
“I meant it,” I said. And I had. I did. So help me, I loved my husband desperately.
The only trouble was, there were two men I loved. And two lives I couldn’t reconcile.
I turned away and started walking toward the street and my car. I needed to clear my head, and if that meant taking the wimpy way out, then so be it.
I’d come here tonight not for the chance to spend some quality time with my recently returned-to-life dead husband, but because I anticipated the arrival of a newly formed demon. I’d assumed that David’s motives were the same.
Not that I was naïve enough to think that the evening would pass entirely free of any discussion of our past relationship, but I truly wasn’t expecting to be defending my decision not to tell Stuart. Or weighing the pros and cons of letting Allie do an overnighter with her previously dead father.
I stalked toward the main road, the sound of my own footsteps accompanied by the dull bass
thrum
from one of the nearby clubs. Then another set of footfalls sounded behind mine. I tensed, my training taking over even though I knew with near-absolute certainty that it was David behind me.
As I slowed, the
pad-thump
of his footsteps quickened. I took a deep breath to steel myself, then turned to face him. He paused, one hand clutching his cane, and although the faces were nothing alike, at that moment, it was Eric that I was seeing. Forget the face, forget the limp. The eyes belonged to Eric, and the apology I saw within melted my heart.
“I’m sorry,” he said, and I thawed a little more.
“This isn’t easy. We’re both going to have to take it slow, you know? Be patient. And flexible.”
The corner of his mouth quirked up. “Since when have you ever been patient?”
“Fair enough,” I said wryly. The man really did know me too well. “The point is that we both have to make an effort.”
“I know,” he said, dropping all hint of teasing. “I would say that this isn’t the way I wanted our lives to go, but I don’t really think that needs to be said.”
“No,” I agreed. “With that, you have my full agreement. With a plan for visitation, though . . .” I trailed off with a shrug.
“This conversation isn’t over.”
“Only postponed. I know.” I looked up at him, saw the doubt in his eyes. “Eric,” I said softly. “I understand. So help me, I do. But like it or not,
I’m
the parent now. It’s my decision to make, and I need to be certain I make the right one.”
“You will,” he said. “You always do.”
His words, however innocent, reminded me of the intimacy we’d once shared. Once upon a time, Eric Crowe had known me better than anyone, and his faith in me had been as unshakeable as mine in him.
I brushed the comment away, feeling unreasonably twitchy. “I don’t think Watson’s going to show here tonight,” I said, firmly shifting the subject away from my personal demons and onto the hellbound variety. “If he’s out there, he’s staying hidden.”
“Still feeling like you’re in the crosshairs?”
I considered the question. “No. I think we’re all alone out here. If Watson was watching from the shadows, I think he’s gone.”
“You may be right,” David said. “Want to do another pass just in case? Try another location?”
I hesitated, trying to decide on our best option. The morning paper had reported the near-death of Sammy Watson, one of the nightclub’s bartenders. Sammy, it seemed, had been mugged in this very location. He was found unconscious and bleeding by a young couple who had wandered into the alley, apparently thinking that the stench of old french fries and rotting buffalo wings would add to the romantic allure of their evening. Instead of finding romance, they found a near-dead Sammy.
The article indicated that he’d been admitted to the hospital in critical condition. A nurse went on record that the staff had anticipated he’d be dead by morning, and they considered it their job to simply make him as comfortable as possible. Imagine their surprise when by morning Sammy appeared to be in perfect health, ready to whip out a few daiquiris and margaritas.
Because he was healthy enough to mix drinks, Sammy was released from the hospital, and the paper reported the tears of joy shed by his mother and girlfriend.
I felt a twinge of solidarity with those women. They’d thought they’d lost Sammy once, but he’d miraculously come back to them. Now, though, they were going to lose him again. I knew, because I was the one who was going to kill him.
Not him, actually. Sammy was already dead and gone. His body, however, was still fully functional, inhabited as it was by a demon. And since demons often returned to the place of their rising, tonight’s alley patrol had seemed like a good plan at the time.
Now, at two-thirty in the morning, I was ready to hand Sammy his Get Out of Jail Free card.
“Maybe this one’s got brains,” David suggested. “Best way for him to stay in one piece is to avoid the local Hunter. At least until he’s up to full strength.”
“Hunters,” I corrected.
David shook his head. “I’m not back on
Forza
’s payroll.”
“But—”
He cut me off with a wave of his hand. “Not now. It’s late, and we’re both tired. And if we’re giving up on Sammy, I think we should pack it in and get some sleep.”
A queasy sense of guilt and fear snaked through me. “It’s not—you didn’t tell them about the Lazarus Bones, did you?”
He shook his head. “I made you a promise, Katie. Nothing would make me break that.”
I nodded, mollified but still curious. “Then what—”
“Kate,” he said firmly. “We’ll talk about it later.”
I didn’t argue, mostly because it wouldn’t have done any good. Eric, I’d recently learned, had many secrets. And though once upon a time I never would have believed it, now I knew that of all the people in his life, I was the one from whom he’d hidden the most.
David’s continued status as a rogue
Demon Hunter plagued me so much on the way home that I was forced—yes,
forced
—to drive through the twenty-four-hour McDonald’s and down a large order of fries and a Diet Coke simply so that I’d have sufficient caloric energy to mentally process it all.
At least that’s what I told myself as I slurped my soda and maneuvered my way down the deserted streets, stopping dutifully at all the flashing traffic signals even though there wasn’t another car around for a hundred miles.
Part of the reason David had left for Italy a mere two days after the whole rising-from-the-dead thing was that he believed he owed
Forza
a debriefing. Essentially, David needed to lay out for
Forza
the full explanation of how Eric’s soul had ended up in David’s body, at least to the extent he could remember what happened. These things don’t happen lightly, and we both knew that the
Forza
researchers were going to be all over it.
The other part of our adventure—the part where I used the dust from the Lazarus Bones to raise David from the dead—would also be of keen interest to
Forza.
I’d crossed a line when I’d made the split-second decision to resurrect David, utilizing the kind of magic I’d had no business playing with.
I’d do it again, though. I’m certain I would. But at the same time, I’d put my soul at risk that brisk January evening. Worse, I’d gambled with Eric’s soul, too. Call me chicken, but I didn’t want to hear the disappointment in Father Corletti’s voice if I owned up to that.
Thinking of Father, I smiled and popped another french fry into my mouth. As the priest who headed up
Forza,
Father Corletti was like a parent to me. I’d been found as a child wandering the streets of Rome and had no solid memories of my own mother and father. It was Father Corletti who’d held my hand and read me bedtime stories. On my fourteenth birthday, he’d given me my very first stiletto (the knife, not the shoe). On my sixteenth, he’d given me a silver crucifix.
And it was Father Corletti who’d said yes when Eric asked for my hand in marriage.

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