More Than Fiends (6 page)

“Look, honey, could you not talk to me later?”

I hung up while she was still explaining about not talking to me, and looked at Jasmine. What the hell was going on here? I swallowed hard, took a deep breath and pinched myself. Ow. Yep, still awake and breathing. My stomach felt like the last time I mixed wine and tequila—without the good times.

Not a single one of Jasmine's blue/gray hairs was out of place. She wasn't winded or limping or even whimpering quietly. Once she had the refrigerator door hung again—how did she do that so easily?—she dusted her palms together and turned to face me.

“Now we can talk,” she said.

Actually, I didn't feel like talking. I felt like drinking my beer. And then another one. Or twelve. Something totally strange was happening here. It wasn't just that Jasmine was freakishly strong or apparently impervious to being kicked in the stomach. It was me.

There was something going on with me, and I really wanted to know what it was.

As much as I prefer the view with my head in the sand, I had to acknowledge that I was all of a sudden pretty damn strong. And then there was the cool kicking thing.

“Just who are you?” I asked. “Really?”

“I'm your guide,” she said, and her black eyes sort of swam with a wash of color. Weird. Big surprise. “I'm here to help you accept your destiny. To—”

“Yeah,” I interrupted fast, because I just wasn't up to hearing the whole destiny speech again. “I got that part. But—”

The phone rang again, and irritated, I grabbed it. “Thea, you're not talking to me, remember? Tell me later.”

“Cass, honey, is that you?”

“Gram?”

“Just called to say happy birthday!”

Oh yeah. As birthdays go, this one had been a beaut. “Thanks, but—”

“Is Jasmine there?”

I whipped the receiver away from my ear and stared at it before slapping it back against my head hard enough to make me wince. Damn. Forgot about the strength thing. “Jasmine? So you
do
know Jasmine?”

“Well, of course I do, sweetie. She was my guide, too.”

I snapped a quick look at the old lady, who was now peeling one of my Hershey's Kisses. As she popped it into her mouth, she smiled, settled herself on a kitchen chair and folded her wrinkled-up, bony hands on the table in front of her.

“Your guide?”

“Oh, hasn't she explained yet?” My grandmother sounded a little whiny, which was totally not like her. “I was hoping she'd already given you the talk. But I can wait. I'll just call back later and—”

“Oh, no you don't, Gram,” I said, giving Jasmine a steely-eyed look that didn't faze her a bit. “No slithering off until you tell me what the
hell
is going on!”

“Cass, honey, language.”

I thumped my forehead against the cupboard. “Gram…”

Growing up, especially after my mom died, I spent a lot of time at Gram's house. There were always cookies, a willing ear and warm hugs waiting for me there. Harriet—better known as Harry to her friends—Burke was a constant in my life—and Thea's, too—until she up and moved to Florida a few years ago. Why Florida when she already lived in California was beyond me. After all, we have sunshine, too, without the humidity and the hurricanes and alligators and bugs big enough to own property.

“She said something about me being a Demon Duster?”

“Oh, good. Then she has told you.” She laughed a little. “You had me worried for a minute there.”

“I had
you
worried?”

“Well, it
is
Jasmine's place to tell you, after all. Don't want to step on toes.”

“You mean it's true?” Weird, weirder, weirdest. Woo-hoo! I win the Crappy Life Contest! What's first prize? An
enema
?

“Well, of course it's true, dear. Why would anyone make up something silly like that?”

I glanced at Jasmine and saw that she was still smiling and still eating my kisses. Old lady or not, she'd better not eat all of my chocolate, or we were going to have another kick-a-thon.

Just beneath my grandmother's voice, I heard the echo of a ship's horn and the rattle and clank of silverware mixed with muttered conversation.

“Where are you, Gram?”

“Oh, honey, I'm on a cruise.”

“Again?”

My grandmother went on cruises every other week. Even in the fall, when most sane people want to stay on dry land, Harry was out on the high seas, bingo-ing her way to happiness.

“Listen now, Cass honey,” Harry was saying, dropping her voice until it was almost impossible to hear her over the background noises. “You pay attention to Jasmine. She'll teach you everything you need to know. Then when I get back, I'm coming for a visit, and we'll have a long talk about…everything.”

“You bet we will. Starting with why didn't you tell me any of this before?” I demanded, not ready to let her off the hook for never once in my thirty-two years mentioning this weird demon thing.

“Well, it's not allowed,” Harry said, then added, “Besides, you had so many other things in your life, sweetie. Losing your mom so young. Then having Thea. Then losing your dad. I thought it best to just wait.”

In other words, she hadn't wanted to be the one to tell me. And seriously, who could blame her? Sure, it would have been easier on me to hear it from Gram, but—let's be honest—I wouldn't have believed her. Still…“You know, Gram, a little warning would have been a good thing.”

“I understand that you're a little pissy, honey, but Burke women have been doing this for generations. You'll be fine.”

Burke women.

Growing up, I'd always wondered why my mom had kept her maiden name. Why I'd gotten
her
last name instead of my father's. Although, to be honest, being Cassidy Burke was way better than the alternative of Cassidy Cossetti. Sounded like a stripper.

But I never would have guessed that it all boiled down to killing demons.

“Oh!” Gram said, excitement crowing in her voice. “And tell Jasmine that I took out a Baranza demon last night at bingo.”

“A Baranza demon?”

“Oh, nasty little things,” Gram said. “Always drooling, and they have the ugliest black fingernails. Just so tacky. Though, with the whole Goth thing, they can really blend in with the younger crowd. They stick out like bad plastic surgery in my group, though.”

I shook my head and leaned back even harder against the kitchen counter. “You killed a demon? Last night? On a
cruise
?”

“That's the job.”

“But you retired.” From the bookstore she owned, I had thought.

“Well,” Gram said, “I do like to keep my hand in! Now, sweetie, you listen to Jasmine, and we'll talk again real soon.”

She hung up, and I just stood there listening to the dial tone humming in my ear. My entire world had just turned upside down. My sweet, slightly off-center grandmother killed demons at bingo. My ex-boyfriend/lover/whatever was back in town destroying my relationship with my daughter.

And a blue-haired old lady with spray bottles was going to teach me how to be a superhero.

I needed a drink.

B
y the time I got the kitchen straightened up, Jasmine out the door but promising to return tomorrow (oh boy, can't wait) and the frozen pizza in the oven, Thea was home.

I knew this because the front door slammed with enough force to peel paint off the walls. Since she pretty much inherited her gentle demeanor from
me,
I wasn't really in a position to complain.

Thea stomped through the living room, pounded into the kitchen and plopped down onto a chair. Then she stared at me with her mouth all firmed up—just to make sure I understood she still wasn't speaking to me.

Okay by me. I'd had enough talking so far today to last me a week at least. A little quiet, a little time to gather my thoughts—hah!—a little time to relax and try to get a handle on my new “destiny,” for God's sake, would not be a bad thing.

“Who was that old lady?”

My chin hit my chest. So much for peace. “I thought you weren't talking to me.”

She gave me one of those looks that said, “Mmoooooommmm”—stretching a one-syllable word into about eighty-five. And one of her eyebrows lifted, too—just like her father's.

I was stalling. Hell, I was trying to think of something to say. What
could
I say? I was still trying to get used to the idea of demons myself—I was in no way ready to try to explain this new truth to Thea. So, at the risk of lying yet again to my one and only child, I just said, “She's a friend of Gram's.”

“Why's she here, then? Gram lives in Florida.”

Like I said before. Smart kid. Damn it. “She's, um…” Funny. All the lies I've come up with in my lifetime, and I couldn't find one big enough to deal with a demon-obsessed old woman.

I should probably be telling Thea about this anyway. If there were really demons out there, then she should know to be careful.
Look both ways, don't take candy from strangers—oh, and keep a sharp eye out for demons.
Yeah, that'd go over big.

Thankfully, I didn't have to answer that question because she came up with an even more difficult topic a second later.

“I can't believe you didn't tell me my father was alive.” She grabbed a paper towel off the roll in the middle of the table and started shredding it. “Why didn't you tell me? I'm almost sixteen. I had a right to know. You should have told me.”

I took the chair on the other side of the table from Thea and took a deep breath of pepperoni-scented air. Nothing like a good whiff of pizza to give me a little extra strength. “Probably I should have.”

“Probably?” Her voice squeaked, it went so high.

“Fine. I'm a terrible mother. A rotten human being. I should be shot.”

That eyebrow lifted again. “Really.”

“Since we don't have any guns, you want to just slap me around for a while?”

She thought about it for a long moment or two, then finally shrugged. “If I do that, who'll take the pizza out of the oven?”

Aw. Sniffle. I was so touched. My genius daughter, who should be taking college courses—or, hell, maybe
teaching
college courses—was afraid of the oven. Something about all that heated air rushing out to steal her breath and singe her eyelashes. But then, it might be the fact that when she was a little girl, to keep her from getting too close to a hot oven, I told her a dragon lived in there.

God. I really did lie a lot.

As it turns out, though, good thing for me.

“I didn't mean to lie to you, Thea.”

“Sure you did.”

“Okay, I did.” I scraped up the shredded paper towel and crumpled it in my hand. “But it was for a good cause. You were really proud of your dad, weren't you? You know, the hero dad who saved all those kids from a flood?”

“A fire.”

“Whatever.”

“But it wasn't real.”

“It was real for you, baby girl.” I reached across the table and gave her hand a pat. “Look, you were a little kid, wondering where your daddy was. I didn't want to tell you—”

“That he left us?”

Ouch. See, that was the conversation my lies had helped me avoid for sixteen years. I
never
wanted her to think her dad hadn't wanted her. So I cleared that up, fast.

“Not true. He left
me
. He didn't even know about you.”

“He does now.”

She didn't look as if she knew what to think about that, either. Was she happy? Weirded out? Probably a little of both. Well, hell. Me, too.

I don't mind admitting that I wasn't real happy about Logan coming back to town. Aside from the whole hormonal reaction to the man, it was damned strange to think of having to share my daughter with someone.

Being a single parent isn't always easy. There's no one else to blame when something goes wrong or you make a bad decision. There's no one to take a shift when your kid is up sick for a week. There's no one to whine to because your kid is smarter than you.

But along with the grief, you also get the good stuff to yourself. The hugs. The secrets. The smiles. The love.

Okay, I guess I could see why Logan was pissed off about never knowing about Thea. But in my own defense, I'd raised a great kid. All he had to do now was swoop in and take advantage of it. Plus, he was the
new
parent. Everybody knows that kids always like the
new
thing best.

I slapped myself in the forehead. Idiot. I was so not going to be the kind of mom who was always asking her kid,
You like me best, right?

Thea grinned. “Want to tell me what you hit yourself for?”

“No,” I said. “It's better if you don't know how your mom's mind works.”

“Too late for that.”

“Smart-ass.”

Sugar slunk into the kitchen, hopefully following the scent of pepperoni. My dog is a comfort-food eater, too. No surprise. She crawled under the table and tried to disappear.

“She's had a rough day,” I said.

“She's not the only one.”

“So you're talking to me again?”

“Only until you get the pizza out of the oven.”

“Deal.”

I grabbed a dish towel off the counter, doubled it up and lowered the oven door just wide enough to pull out the pizza pan. Hot cheese bubbled, pepperoni beckoned, and the scent of basil and tomato sauce filled the kitchen. All of a sudden life was looking good again.

 

I slept like a rock.

Demons. Weird old ladies. Super strength. Nothing keeps me awake at night. Turn off the worries and sleep it off: That's my motto. I do oblivion second only to guilt. I staggered into the bathroom, washed my face, took a passing swipe at it with just enough makeup to help me look alive, then dressed in my usual—blue jeans and T-shirt. I stepped into my tennis shoes and flopped down the hall, laces flying, to the kitchen, headed toward coffee. Even if Thea was pissed, she knew enough to hit the button on the coffeemaker. Nobody wanted to be around me until I'd had a little caffeine.

Thea was at the table, having a sensible breakfast of toast and orange juice—but she'd set out my brown-sugar-and- cinnamon Pop Tarts. What a great kid.

Sugar sat right beside Thea, always hopeful that my too-neat kid would drop food and not pick it up.

I poured a cup of coffee, inhaled deeply and then took my first swallow. Sighing, I shifted a glance at my darling daughter and asked, “You ready for school?”

“Yes.”

I sighed again. This time not so much in satisfaction. That one-word, clipped answer told me Thea was still not speaking to me.

“So, how long am I going to be punished?”

“Not sure yet,” she said, then looked at me and handed off the rest of her toast to Sugar. “It's kinda weird, you know? I have a father.”

“Technically you always had one.”

“Yes, but he's actually here now.”

“We'll get used to it.”

“You think?

Truth? Or comforting lie? God, I'm a rotten human being. I went for the lie. “Of course we will, baby girl. Logan probably won't be around much, you know. He'll want to give you space and—”

The phone rang and I grabbed it.

“Cassie, it's me.”

“Logan.” Jeez.

Thea looked like someone had just sprung a surprise quiz on her—worried, with just a touch of happy. I believe I've mentioned that she's a smart kid. She loves pop quizzes. Nothing quite like screwing the curve for her fellow students.

“I thought maybe I could give Thea a ride to school this morning.”

“You want to give Thea a ride to school?” I only repeated it so that Thea could let me know if she was interested or not. She shook her head. Then nodded. Then shook her head again. This way lies insanity. So I made the call for her.

Logan wasn't going away. He was her father. Plus a decent enough guy. There was just no way for us to stall him indefinitely, so might as well get it over with.

“Sure.”

Thea jumped up, Sugar barked and hit the table, and the juice glass tipped over, spilling in an orange rivulet onto the dog's head. Perfect.

“When can you get here?” I asked.

“I'm out front.”

“Of my house?”

“Well, yeah. Seemed like the place to go to find Thea.”

“Fine.” I hadn't had nearly enough coffee to deal with all of this yet. “She'll be right out.”

I hung up, and Thea went into panic mode. She smoothed her hair, straightened her blue tailored shirt and wiped nervous hands on the thighs of her jeans. “Oh God. He's here? Already? Outside? He's gonna take me to school?”

“Yes, yes, yes and, oh yeah,
yes
.” I grabbed her arm and started tugging her toward the front door. I stepped on a shoelace and would have hit the floor with my face, but Thea grabbed hold of me and stopped the forward tilt. Naturally my überorganized child had already put her backpack together and set it beside the door, so she was ready to go.

Almost.

She dug her heels in hard enough I wouldn't have been surprised to see sparks fly up from the soles of her sneakers.

“What am I supposed to say to him?” she demanded. “What am I supposed to
call
him?”

“Call him Logan.”

“I can't do that.”

“Then Dad.”

“Ohmigod.”

I pulled her in for a tight hug, set her back and grinned. “Then just shout, ‘Bye, stranger,' when he drops you off.”

She scowled at me. Hey, at least she was speaking to me again.

“You're not helping.”

I gave her another quick hug, more because I needed one than for any other reason. “You don't need help, baby girl. You're a terrific kid. He's gonna love you.”

“Maybe.”

“No maybes. Now, go to school. Be brilliant. Impress me.”

She laughed. “I impress you when I balance your checkbook.”

“Very true,” I said, walking her out and down the steps to the lawn. I didn't stop to tie my shoelaces, so I kept kicking my feet out to make sure I didn't fall on my face in front of Logan. So I didn't look clumsy—only like a goose-stepping moron.

Thea was tensing up, and I couldn't really blame her. Hell, watching Logan climb out of his car was making me a little on the uneasy side, too. For different reasons, obviously.

Thea looked at him and saw her long-lost father. I looked at him and remembered fast hands, long, deep kisses and promises whispered in the moonlight. I'm not so much looking for the promises anymore, but I wouldn't turn down the fast hands and long kisses.

He was wearing jeans again, with a red and black flannel shirt worn jacket-style over a bloodred T-shirt. Since September in Southern California is way too hot for flannel, he was probably wearing the shirt to cover up his gun.

His hair lifted in a sudden breeze, and his eyes shifted from me to Thea and back again.

While we all stood there like idiots, saying nothing, a red Lexus drove down the street. I glanced at it. Zoe Cohen had her face pressed to the passenger window, staring at us, and her mom's mouth was hanging open. Hope she remembered to tear her gaze away from Logan long enough to watch the road. Rachel wasn't a good driver under the best of circumstances. On our narrow street, moms were known to bring their kids in from the yard when Rachel headed out to her job as receptionist in her husband's dental office.

“You guys better get going,” I said, way too bright and perky for that early in the morning. But I couldn't stand the strained silence any longer. “Don't want Thea to be late.”