Demon 04 - Deja Demon (33 page)

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Authors: Julie Kenner

BOOK: Demon 04 - Deja Demon
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“That’s not a promise you can make,” I said, but the fight had gone out of my voice. The truth was, if she was in danger, she was in danger anywhere, including at home. And with Eddie, she was that much safer.
“I love the girl, Kate,” he said. “I’d die before I’d let anything happen to her.”
“I know.” I drew in a deep breath. “Allie,” I called. “Can you come here a sec?”
It took less than a sec for her to arrive at my side. “I can go?”
“With Eddie, never leaving his sight, and fully armed. I don’t give a flip what signs the library might have about no weapons. You fill your backpack up, and you carry a bottle full of holy water. Anything weird at all, and you call me. Understand?”
“Yes, ma’am,” she said, her expression stern, serious, and studious. She couldn’t maintain it, though. About a second later, she tossed her arms around me. “Thanks, Mom. We’re going to figure this out, I promise. And whatever Abaddon is up to, we’re going to nail his sorry ass to the wall.”
“Good girl,” I said. “That’s exactly the kind of attitude that keeps a Hunter alive.”
“Am I a Hunter?”
I met Eddie’s eyes, then shook my head. “No,” I said truthfully. “But as much as I might wish a different life on you, I think you’re well on your way.”
The satisfied smile that touched her lips told me I’d said the right thing.
Said,
maybe. The big question was whether I’d
done
the right thing.
And that was a question to which I really didn’t have an answer.
While they packed up and headed out, I tried to make some slight progress on cleaning and dinner, wanting to take advantage of the relative silence while Timmy was occupied. But honestly I was too distracted. And although a wave of adrenaline from my supreme dinner-party phobia
should
have kicked in, so far my body was having none of it.
Apparently I’d made the right decision to buy the food premade, because I was clearly incapable of doing anything more involved today than putting food on a dish. And even that wasn’t happening particularly artfully.
The phone rang, and I jumped for it, exhaling in relief when I saw that it was David and not Allie or Eddie.
“What the hell’s going on?” he asked, frantic. “Is Eddie okay? Is Allie?”
“We’re all fine,” I said, bringing him up to date, as Allie’s message at Wanda’s house had been less than complete. “I let her go with Eddie to the library to research. That’s okay, right? Do you think any of the books you brought into the collection will help?”
“Nothing jumps to mind,” he said, “but I was bringing in everything I could get my hands on. I’ve got a pretty decent collection of materials over here, too,” he said. “They can come here next if they don’t find anything at the library.”
“So I didn’t screw up sending her to the library? I’m not hopelessly endangering her? I’m not a horrible mother?”
“You’re a wonderful mother,” he said, the softness in his voice affecting me like a caress. “And no, you didn’t screw up at all.”
“Thanks,” I said, and for the first time since Allie and Eddie had left the house, I relaxed, having shifted a tiny bit of the weight of the world to David’s shoulders. “Listen,” I went on. “I’ve learned more.” I started to fill him in on the amulet, and was just up to the part about the gypsy lady at the carnival when David’s phone clattered to the ground.
“
Goddammit,”
he yelled, and then I heard nothing else except the sound of a struggle, cursing, and breaking glass.
“Eric!” I screamed. “Shit, shit, shit! I’m coming.”
I raced into the living room and pulled a screaming, whiny toddler away from miles of train track. Said boy wasn’t happy about the situation, and his screams of displeasure more than matched what I’d just heard over the phone from David.
Dammit, dammit, dammit.
I grabbed my keys from the hall table, flung open the front door, and screamed as a dirty, decaying, grime-covered zombie leaped on top of me, sending both Timmy and me tumbling to the ground. I rolled over on top of it, all the while yelling for Timmy to run, then pounded my fist into its face. “I. Do. Not. Have. Time. For. This.” With each word, I pounded harder, releasing all of my fear and frustration onto my undead, animated corpse of an attacker.
Then, for good measure and because it’s the smart thing to do with zombies, I stuck my splint through one eye and then through the other. After all, a blind zombie is a more easily controlled zombie—albeit more pissed off as well.
I grabbed Timmy and scurried into the kitchen even as the zombie stumbled to its feet, knocking down the table in the entrance way in the process. I dropped the kid on the floor, then grabbed the huge knife that Laura had insisted I buy—“it’s great for cutting meat”—and raced back to the front of the house, carrying the knife by the handle with the blade exposed in exactly the manner I’d told Timmy to never, ever do with knives or scissors or anything sharp.
The zombie still had his ears attached, and he heard me coming. He lashed out and I slammed the knife down, managing to hack his hand off at the wrist so that it hung on by only a tiny bit of sinew. I made a mental note to thank Laura, then started whacking away like a madwoman, slicing at everything that moved, and doing my damnedest to get the creature down on the ground so I could manage some serious limb removal.
How I managed is a blur, but I know I fueled each thrust of the knife with a guttural yell. “You.”
Hack
. “Are keeping.”
Chop
. “Me.”
Whack.
“From.”
Pound.
“My
husband
.”
Blam!
Technically
first
husband, but why split hairs with a zombie?
At the end of the zombie massacre I found myself splayed out on the floor of the entrance hall, body parts squirming around me, and several new and unique scuff marks on the tile. Hopefully Stuart wouldn’t notice.
After catching my breath, I ran around the house grabbing up body parts and tossing them in a laundry basket. Then I dumped the whole mess in the oven. What can I say? It was the only place I could think of that was safe. No way was Stuart going to come home and decide to whip up a hot apple strudel. Trust me on that one.
The zombie taken care of, I scooped up Timmy and raced out the door, cursing Abaddon, zombies, and hell in general.
With fumbling fingers, I got Timmy strapped in, then fired the ignition, gunned the rental, and peeled backward out of our driveway, mowing over the garbage cans by the curb in the process.
Shit
.
Not that I was worried about the garbage. I was too busy worrying about David and trying to concentrate on driving despite the fact that I was terrified I’d arrive to find him dead.
“Don’t you
dare
die on me, Eric Crowe. Not again. Don’t you
dare
.”
I looked both ways at the main intersection, but didn’t bother to stop for the light. Instead, I gunned it, skidding around the corner so fast the inside of my van could have doubled for an amusement park ride. Or maybe not so amusing considering the way Timmy was howling.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, baby. I’m sorry.” I repeated it over and over, unable to slow down and comfort my sobbing baby boy, and knowing that my own agitation was surely contributing to his desperate, heart-wrenching cries.
As I raced down the streets, I fumbled for my cell phone and called Allie. She answered on the first ring, which sent relief flooding through me. “Be careful,” I demanded. “A zombie just attacked me, and if there’s a zombie, then—”
“There’s a demon controlling it,” she finished. “Wow. Okay. We’ll be on guard.”
“And stay together. Don’t you dare leave Eddie’s side.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
In truth, the demon was probably nowhere near the library. Instead, he was probably near the beach, attacking David. I decided to leave out that little factoid, though. Better that Allie stay on her guard and not worry about her father.
After extracting a dozen more promises to be safe and watchful, I clicked off and returned all my attention to the road, banging the heel of my hand against the steering wheel when traffic slowed to a crawl.
In fact, traffic was so horrible that by the time I reached David’s apartment near the beach I felt like sobbing right along with Timmy. I careened into the parking lot, then nearly collapsed with relief when I saw David stumble out of his second-story apartment, still in the throes of a cold, hard rage.
He saw me, and the violent lines of his face softened, his eyes shifting from the illusion of endless black back to the familiar silver-gray.
I gripped the steering wheel, almost afraid that what I saw wasn’t real. But then he looked down at me from above.
I’m okay
, he mouthed, and my tears started in earnest all over again.
“Kate,” he said, as soon as he’d reached me. “Kate, it’s okay. I’m okay.”
“You son of a bitch,” I cried, pounding ineffectually on his chest. “You scared me to death.”
His mouth quirked into an all-too-familiar smile. “And here I thought maybe you didn’t care anymore.”
“Don’t even joke about that,” I said, cupping my hand to my palm, simply because I needed reassurance he was still there. “You know it isn’t true.”
“I do know,” he said, his eyes clouded with something I didn’t recognize. “Sometimes that’s the only thing that keeps me going.”
I wanted to reach out, to hold him, but in the backseat, Timmy squirmed, a subtle reminder that I’d given my heart to another man. “Mommy?” my little guy called out softly, as if he were afraid if he talked too loud, his crazy mommy would gun the car engine again and go plowing through the streets of San Diablo.
I turned and gave him a smile. “You’re being great, sweetie. I think I see a packet of Goldfish crackers in your future.”
“Fishies?”
“For good boys? Absolutely.”
“Yay!” The tears evaporated and the stricken expression disappeared. Life, it seemed, was easier at almost three. At almost forty? I had problems that cheesy baked crackers really couldn’t fix.
I unbuckled myself and slipped out of the car, then stood in the open doorway, now on more even ground. It was an illusion, of course. My emotions could slip away with Eric at any moment, without any warning. But somehow being eye to eye, rather than seated and vulnerable, gave me a psychological advantage. I figured I needed it.
“What happened?”
“I almost killed him,” Eric said, his voice flat. “I actually almost killed the son of a bitch. The little bastard attacked me and I wanted to take him out so badly, it was as if the emotion were a fire inside me.”
Clearly, the demon had pissed him off more than I would have expected from an attack. What I didn’t understand was why. “You’re
supposed
to want to kill the demons,” I said. “That’s kind of our whole raison d’etre.”
“Not a demon,” he said. “I almost killed a human. And I did it,” he added, looking me straight in the eye, “because the greasy little bastard tried to kill me first.”
"Maybe your attacker
was a pet?” I asked once we were in the car and speeding toward the carnival grounds to look for the gypsy lady with the Sword of Caelum amulet. “Working for Abaddon?” Demons use humans all the time, so the question wasn’t off the wall.
“Not a pet,” David said, his voice hard and angry.
“Dammit, talk to me. Why would a human attack you if he wasn’t working for the demons?”
“I don’t know,” he said, but the words lacked conviction and I caught the way he tapped his cane on the floor of the car, as if his mind were only half with me.
“Eric,” I said softly, a slow panic building. “What’s going on? Is this about the Lazarus Bones?” The possibility ratcheted my fear into overdrive. Had someone learned of what happened and decided that David was an abomination? But how? And would they seek to punish me, too, as the hand that brought him back?
We drove in silence the rest of the way to the carnival grounds, me lost in guilt and fear, and David quietly staring out the window, his thoughts clearly far away.
We parked illegally along the shoulder of PCH, then marched the short distance to the gypsy lady’s tent, me carrying my son clutched in my arms, and David and I both praying that the woman was still there.
She was.
“You,” she said, looking up from where she sat behind a table draped with silk scarves and topped with a crystal ball on a small gold stand. Her gaze cut sharply to the left, focusing on David, who’d stepped inside right after me. “And I see you have brought a friend.”
“Who are you?” I demanded, shifting Timmy to one hip so I could reach in my purse for my knife. “And don’t lie. I want to know about the Sword of Caelum.”
“I know nothing about a sword, Kate,” the woman said, her words firm and her eyes fixed on my face.
I lifted my chin, wary. “Then tell me what you do know. Other than my name, that is.”
“I know him,” she said, pointing an accusing finger over my shoulder even as I heard David’s sharp intake of breath.

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