Six

"Stone," David said, leaning against his desk and tapping a finger against his lower lip. "I don't have a clue."

"Damn," I said, leaning back against a giant periodic table of elements that had been affixed to an entire wall of David's classroom. "I'd hoped—"

"That since the demons attacked me first that maybe the mention of a stone would jog my memory? Make me suddenly recall that I'd tangled with a badass demon named Andramelech?"

"Something like that," I admitted sheepishly.

He laughed. "Sorry, Katie. I don't think this one's going to be that easy."

"No," I said dryly, "I'm beginning to get that impression."

"I don't like that a demon came to your house," he said, taking a step closer to me. He looked down at Timmy, who'd made himself comfortable on the floor. "The kids."

I nodded, touched by his concern. "I know. I called the alarm company from the car. I'm going to have them come in and add a few more motion detectors and some of those automatic lights for the front and back yards. And I called the cops, too."

"Really?"

I lifted one shoulder in a shrug. "I'm hoping regular patrols by the cops will keep the demon population on edge." After the museum incident, the police knew us, and were happy to help keep my already traumatized daughter safe. Plus it didn't hurt that my husband was running for county attorney, and happened to have garnered the law-enforcement vote.

"Katie . , ." His voice was soft, his eyes piercing, as if he could read every thought in my head.

There was an intimacy in the way he looked at me, in the way he called me Katie. And while I knew, that I should run from it, I couldn't. "What? What is it?"

He shook his head, and the expression faded, leaving me to wonder if I'd seen it in the first place.

On the floor in front of us, Timmy banged on the floor, then laughed wildly. He was using one of David's red pencils to scribble a masterpiece on a sheet of lined notebook paper. "Look, Mommy!"

I bent down, happy for the distraction, then seriously contemplated his project. "Looks good, buddy," I said. "Is it a horsie?"

"Mom-my," he wailed. "It's Thomas!"

"Thomas?" David repeated.

"His train," I explained. Then I looked at the paper again, shifting a little so that I was coming at it from a different angle. "Oh," I said enthusiastically. "Off to the side I couldn't see it clearly. But now I can totally tell it's a train. A really excellent train."

He grinned, then held the paper out to me. "For you, Mommy."

"Aww, thanks, sweetie. I love it." I gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. "And I love you, too. You're being such a good boy."

He was, too. I'd retrieved him from Fran's apartment after leaving Cutter's studio, and we'd come straight to the school. I'd come early on purpose, knowing that Allie would still be on the field for cheerleader practice. I felt a bit guilty, but I wanted to talk to David about this sudden flurry of demon activity. And I wanted to do it when Allie wasn't around.

"Three demons," I said, getting back to business. "And no clear idea what they want. A stone, but what stone? And where is Andramelech being held? And why did the demon in your apartment let you live? For that matter, why go after me at all? I don't have any stone."

"True," he said. "Maybe Andramelech is trapped in a cathedral cornerstone or something."

"Maybe even our cathedral," I added, liking the fact that we were at least exploring a few ideas. "Or maybe the stone is part of a ritual."

"Like a rune, you mean? A bloodstone that has to be placed perfectly when the moon is high."

"And then the demons dance naked around it and sacrifice a virgin?" I added.

"Something like that," he said. "It's a good theory."

"But it's only a theory. And unless we know what kind of stone we're talking about, it's a useless theory."

"A relic of some sort?"

"Possibly," I said. There was certainly precedent for that. Relics—like the bones of saints—are often desecrated by demons as part of some malevolent ritual.

"Father Ben's probably thought of it, but you should mention it again, just in case."

"I will," I said. "And as much as I hate the idea, I'll take a look through the donation inventory the committee's been putting together. I should put in a few hours this week anyway." The donation boxes were musty and smelly and I'd run across more than one determined bug, so this wasn't a project I was looking forward to.

I pressed my fingers to my temples and closed my eyes, wishing there were an easy answer. "The problem is that we have too many possibilities and no way to know which one is right," I said. "What we really need is Nadia Aiken."

"Who?"

"A Hunter Father Ben told me about," I said.

"And her name was Aiken?"

"Right. Why?" His forehead was lined with concentration. "David? What is it?"

"There's something familiar about that name," he said. "But I can't place it. Damn." He shook his head, like a dog shaking off fleas. "Go on. What about her?"

"Is it related?" I asked, latching onto the Aiken thing. "Something to do with a stone? With Andramelech?"

"I told you I don't remember," he said. "But I can't imagine that it would be. I've never heard of Andramelech, and I can't recall any mission I've worked on that involved a stone."

"The Hunter herself? Father Ben said she was hunting Andramelech, then disappeared about five years ago. Have you met her?"

He shook his head slowly. "I suppose I could have, but. . . No," he finally decided. "That doesn't feel right."

"Damn."

"It'll come to me,"

"Maybe she went rogue, too, and your paths crossed?"

"Dammit, Kate, I already told you I don't remember."

"Fine," I said, holding my hands up in surrender. I knew I'd been pushing, but David's vague memory was the only lead we had. Which, considering it wasn't a lead at all, was pretty pathetic.

Near my feet, Timmy started banging his red pencil on the ground, gleefully shouting, "Dammit, Kate! Dammit, Mommy!"

David sighed. "I'm sorry."

I shot him a frown, then bent down to distract Timmy. That was the key in these situations. Telling him no would only burn the forbidden words into his brain.

"Okay," I said, sitting cross-legged by my son, who immediately started rolling the red pencil over the floor. "So the Aiken connection isn't going anywhere ..."

"That's because there is no Aiken connection."

"—so that leaves Father Ben," I finished. Beside me, Timmy had climbed to his feet and was chasing the pencil, then kicking it when he got close. The game was proving most entertaining, and he was belly laughing as he scrambled after his exciting new toy.

"And patrols," David added. "As determined as these demons are, I wouldn't be surprised if there were a few more of the freshly made critters running around San Diablo."

"Tonight," I said, agreeing. "We'll watch the news and go tonight."

"Allie, Mommy!" Tim hollered. I turned to find him halfway in the hallway, the red pencil at his feet.

"Come on back in the room, sweetie," I said, looking at my watch. "And I haven't forgotten about your sister. She's not due for another twenty minutes."

"She's early," my daughter said, sidling in to the doorway. She aimed a hard look at both me and David, then leaned against the frame, her arms crossed over her chest. "So, like, you wanna tell me what's going on?"

My heart skipped a beat, and I glanced over at David.

He held his hands up. "I think that's my cue to exit," he said.

"Chicken," I countered.

His smile reached all the way to his eyes. "You're the parent here."

That I was.

"Come on, Tim," David said. "We can play race in the hallway."

That got my little boy's attention, and he toddled after David, giving his sister a happy wave, which she completely ignored.

"Well?" she demanded, her tone an exact duplicate of the one I use when trying to cajole my daughter into explaining some particular bit of misbehavior.

"Shut the door," I said. "We should talk."

From her expression, I expected a snarky response. But apparently my fourteen-year-old was growing up, because she reined it in, then gently shut the door. It was the gently part that really impressed me.

"So, what's the deal?" she asked. "You told me the thing at the museum was a onetime thing, and that—"

"David was attacked at the beach Saturday night and then again at his apartment. And I was attacked this morning. In our backyard."

"Holy shit!" She clapped her hand over her mouth. "I mean, no kidding?"

"No kidding," I said.

"So, like, you guys are going to go out tonight and try to find who did it? Is that the deal?"

I almost said yes. It would be so easy. I could simply say that this was another unusual, off-the-cuff, never-gonna-be-repeated incident.

But while the words might come easily, the He itself wouldn't. Not anymore.

It was time to tell Allie the truth, consequences be damned.

"That's the deal," I said. "But it's not the entire deal."

Her brow furrowed, and I could see the wheels turning. "You never really stopped, did you? You and Daddy had a whole secret thing going, and I never even knew! God, Mom!"

"No!" I said, wanting to stop her tirade before it got started. "No."

She stood there sullenly, waiting for me to go on.

"We did retire. And I was happily retired for years. I loved my life with your dad. No demons. Just us. The three of us. And no monsters sneaking in around the edges to shake things up. Even after Daddy died," I added. "Even then, we were just living our life, you and me. Remember?"

"I remember. But?" She still sounded surly, but the curiosity was winning.

"But then something happened Last summer. And, yeah, I kind of came out of retirement."

"Last summer?" she repeated. And I knew she was thinking back to what had happened one summer day. Danger to her and her brother, and my own terrifying fear.

That day had to make more sense to her now. If demons ever really made sense, that is.

"So, like, you've been doing this demon-hunting thing for four months?"

"About that," I said.

"You lied to me." Her voice was small, the hurt unmistakable.

"Parents have to make decisions every day, Allie. I'm not sure if I made the right one, keeping it from you back then. And I'm not sure if I'm doing the right thing now by telling you. All I can do is stumble through, and hope you know that no matter what, I love you more than anything."

She didn't say anything. Instead, she slid into one of the student chairs and pur her head down on the little desk.

"Al?"

Nothing.

"Al?"

"What?" came the muffled reply.

"Do you understand?"

She looked up at me. "I asked you point-blank, and you lied."

I moved closer and put my hand on her shoulder. She immediately jerked away. I grimaced and tried again. "You're absolutely right," I said. "One hundred percent, on the nose right."

That worked. Or, at least, it worked a Little, because she lifted her head and peered at me suspiciously. "Go on."

"You were so scared that day," I said, stumbling over my words. "I wanted to keep you safe, your body and your heart. I wanted you to feel safe, to forget about what happened and not be haunted by it."

"So you lied."

I drew in a breath. "Yes, Allie, I did. And I'd probably do it again, too. I truly believed I was doing the right thing."

She cocked her head. "But . . ."

"But I knew I couldn't keep the truth from you forever. For one thing, you have a right to know. And for another . . ." I trailed off, tilting my head back to look at the ceiling, as if drawing strength from above. "When I learned that your dad had rejoined Forza without telling me, it hurt. It hurt a lot, actually. And I realized how much it would hurt you to learn that I'd been keeping secrets, too."

She shoved her tongue into the corner of her cheek, but didn't say anything.

"That's why I wanted to tell you, Al."

"You didn't tell me," she countered. "I walked in on you. Or had you forgotten?"

"Watch the tone, Allie," I said. "This may be an argument, but I'm still your mother."

A beat, then she slumped down again. "Whatever."

I almost called her on it, but the snide tone had disappeared. And, honestly, I could understand her irritation.

"I was going to tell you," I promised. "I'll admit I wasn't entirely sure when or how. But I really did have the intention. You just forced the issue."

Another sullen stare.

"Cross my heart and hope to die," I said.

The blood seemed to drain from her face, and I realized too late that was the absolute worst thing I could have said.

"I'm not going to die," I said. "I promise." Which was a ridiculous pledge, but one I fully intended to keep. Thankfully, my daughter didn't call me on it.

"So, like, what? You and Mr. Long are going to walk around town looking for creepy guys?"

"Something like that," I admitted. "Although simply being creepy won't cut it. There are a lot of creepy folks who aren't demons."

She slid out of the chair and walked to the window, then stood there, staring out at the side of the building where the school buses were pulling in to pick up the kids from extracurricular activities. I watched her in silence, not wanting to press, knowing that I was doing the parental version of walking on glass.

I wanted her to say it was okay, and that she loved me. At the same time, I also knew that was a fantasy. Alhe was deep in puberty, and that translated to hormonal hell. I wasn't going to be getting hugs and kisses out of this deal. I'd be lucky to avoid the cold shoulder and months of locked-in-her-room, plugged~into-her-iPod sulking.

Finally, she turned back to me, her expression determined. "I want to help."

So much for my fantasies of household peace.

"No," I said, bracing for a bout of teenage fury.

"Mother! I can totally help. I want to help."

"Fine," I said. "You can help. You can go by the cathedral every day and fill bottles with holy water for me and David. You can read the newspaper and listen to gossip and if you hear anything suspicious, you can let me know. You can even help me keep the weapons clean and oiled. But you're not going out on the street with me. You're not patrolling."

"Why not?" she demanded.

"Because I say so."

"That is so unfair!"

"Yes, it is. It's incredibly unfair that I would want to keep you safe."

She lifted her chin. "I can fight. I can take care of myself."

I nodded slowly. "Right," I said. "Because you've been working out. You've been practicing. Eating right. Getting in shape."

"Yeah," she said, but her head tilted sideways, the way it always does when she hasn't quite figured out which direction I'm coming from.

"Keeping a few secrets from your mom, kiddo?"

She pressed her lips together, opened her mouth, then closed it again and looked at her shoes. Didn't matter. I knew what she was thinking: I had secrets. She did, too.

I gave her credit though, for not throwing that back in my face.

"What did you tell Cutter about why you wanted to work out more?" I asked gently.

"It's no big, Mom. I'm just trying to, you know, punch it up a bit."

I waited an appropriate beat, and then, "Allie, sweetheart. Don't bullshit a bullshitter."

I could tell from her eyes that she knew she'd been busted. Self-defense was the last thing on my daughter's mind.

Again, to her credit, she didn't deny the accusation. "Then let me help," she pleaded. "Cutter says I'm good."

"You're not good enough."

"I could be."

"You're fourteen."

"So were you," she shot back.

"And now I'm almost forty, and I'm your mom, and I say no."

"You're being completely unreasonable!"

"You're right. I'm a horrible, horrible person."

"I hate you!" she screamed, the words ripping through me like a hot wire. "You totally lied to me and now you're not even trying to make it better."

Tears streamed down her face and she wiped them away angrily, then stomped toward the door.

"Allie!" I called, but it was too late. The door was open and she was in the hallway. I was right behind her, but she was already gone. "Allie! Come back here right now."

"I'll get a ride from one of the girls," she shouted back, not even turning around. And then she disappeared around a corner, and I leaned against the door frame, banging the back of my head against the hard metal.

In the hall, David and Timmy were still playing with the pencil. David sent me a questioning look, but I waved it away, really not in the mood to rehash the scene.

Timmy didn't catch onto the nuance of my expression. He looked up at me, the pencil clutched tight in both hands.

"Allie mad, Mommy?"

"Yeah, baby," I said. "Allie's mad."

* * *

Dinner that night crackled. And not because I'd burned the food. No, this time all the heat was coming from my daughter, who had reluctantly emerged from her bedroom, tromped down the stairs, and plunked herself in her seat at the table.

"Al, can you pass me the butter?" Stuart asked.

"Sure," she said, her voice bland.

"And the rolls this way, please," I said.

Allie ignored me.

"Allie," I said sharply. "The rolls."

She kept her mouth closed, but ran her tongue over her teeth. Then she handed the basket to Eddie. "Could you pass that to my mother, please?"

Eddie snorted, then looked at me. "Hoo-boy. You're in the doghouse, eh?"

I scowled at him, but took the rolls.

Stuart looked from me to Allie to Eddie. "What?" he asked.

"It's nothing," I said.

"Yeah, right," Allie said. "If it were so much nothing, then—"

"Allie."

She sank down in her seat and took a bite from her roll.

"Is anyone going to tell me what the trouble is?" Stuart asked.

"No," Allie and I said in unison, causing Eddie to snort and choke on his iced tea.

Stuart looked at me, but I pretended not to notice, instead patting Eddie gently on the back.

"Allie's mad, Daddy!" Timmy said, apparently wanting to join in the fun.

I held my breath, wondering how much of the earlier conversation my little human sponge had heard.

"I got that, Sport," Stuart said. "How about you? Are you mad?"

"Nuh-uh. Want a joke?"

"Sure," Stuart said.

"Knock, knock."

"Who's there?"

"Banana!"

"Banana who?" Stuart asked.

"Banana poop!" he exclaimed, then cackled as if that was the cleverest joke ever. To him, it probably was, and I decided to forgo the usual lecture on appropriate dinner-table conversation. Because as much as I prayed that we'd pass swiftly through the toddler potty fascination phase, I also had Timmy to thank for very definitively changing the direction of the conversation.

Stuart apparently decided that it was best not to get in the middle of an estrogen-drenched argument. "Here's one for you, Tim. What's a ghost's favorite berry?"

"I dunno."

"A boo berry."

Timmy, as expected, laughed and laughed. Then he shoved his fist into the air. "Me! Me!"

"Go on, kid. It's your turn."

"What's a ghost's favorite dinner?"

"I don't know," Stuart said.

"Peanut butter!" Timmy announced, so tickled with his own brilliance that he almost fell off his booster seat.

Which pretty much set the tone for the rest of dinner. The men telling each other bad jokes with no punch lines, and the women not talking to each other at all.

Welcome to suburbia.

After dinner, Allie cleared her plate without being asked. "I'm going over to Mindy's to do homework," she told Stuart, who looked at me for confirmation.

I nodded, he relayed it, and Allie ran upstairs to get her backpack.

"What's this all about?" Stuart asked me.

"You really don't want to know," I said.

"Mmm." He watched me with curious eyes, then traced a finger along the scrape on my face. The one I'd already forgotten. "And this?"

"Long story," I said, feeling suddenly lost and alone. I shook my head, trying to get my emotions back on track. "It's nothing. Really."

He caressed my face, then gently cradled my chin. "Kate, sweetheart, have you thought that maybe I do want to know?"

I forced a laugh. "Stuart, don't be silly. There's nothing to tell. It's just a scratch."

His forehead creased. "And this spat with Allie? Is that a scratch, too?"

"She's fine. Everything is fine." I turned away from him, deliberately cutting off the conversation. I could feel his eyes on me, then heard him exhale loudly before getting up to make himself a scotch and soda. I turned, saw the hurt in his eyes, and cursed myself for keeping secrets.

"Well, we've got dinner out tomorrow," he said, referring to the celebratory dinner we'd planned for the night before he officially announced his candidacy. "Tell me everything will be back to normal by Wednesday," he added,

"Totally."

"And by everything, I mean Allie, too."

"Right," I said. "I got that. No worries. Teenage angst. It'll blow over by the morning."

Not an entirely accurate statement, but since my nose didn't start growing, I figured I was safe. For now. How much longer I could keep spinning a web of lies, though, that I didn't know.

I spent the next half hour or so puttering around the kitchen, cleaning up, avoiding Eddie's amused glances, and trying to ward off another spate of completely un-funny jokes from my son.

What I didn't intend to do was run after Allie and make her talk to me. She needed time to calm down. Needed space from her mom. For that matter, it would probably be best if she just spent the night with Mindy and calmed down.

Theoretically best, that is. But I couldn't quite get my head around that.

The fact is, this was the first real knock-down, drag-out fight I'd had with Allie. And I really didn't like the feeling it left in the pit of my stomach.

I sighed and tossed a dishrag into the sink. "Dammit," I muttered.

Stuart had long since retreated to his study, but Eddie was at the table, working a crossword puzzle. "Go on," he said. "You know you want to."

"That obvious?"

"Like a goddamn bonfire."

I stood undecided in the kitchen for a few more minutes, trying to decide how much stock I would lose with my daughter if I headed over there and made her talk this out. Lots, I figured, but I didn't much care. Who was it who said you should never go to bed mad? Whoever it was, they probably had a teenager.

Our backyard butts up to Laura's, our yards separated only by our two fences and a narrow utility easement. I slipped on a pair of Keds, grabbed a light jacket and one of the ice picks—just in case—and took off across the yard.

I tapped on Laura's kitchen door, then let myself in. "Laura?"

"In here," came the reply from the living room. I found her on the couch, surrounded by boxes of photographs and photo albums.

"Revisionist history," she said, in response to rny querying look. "I can't burn the bastard's picture since Mindy still has some allegiance to the scum-sucking pig. But at the same time, I don't want his pictures in our living room."

"So, you're . . . what?"

"Reframing the photos for around the house, making her an album for her room, and then tossing the rest of the damn things into a box in the storage shed." She aimed a sweet smile at me, then held up her cast. "And when this is better, I may even ceremoniously cut him out of a few of our wedding photos."

I'm not entirely sure her enthusiasm for erasing Paul was healthy, but considering I wasn't exactly the picture of perfect family life at the moment, I was hardly in a position to comment.

"Did you talk to Allie?" I asked, taking a seat on the couch next to her.

"Allie didn't appear to be in a talking mood," Laura said. She aimed a curious glance my direction. "What happened? Another fight about eyeliner? Did you ban her from cheer-leading?"

"Worse," I said. "I banned her from demon-hunting."

"Whoa." She put down the picture she was holding. "Tell me."

So I did. The whole bloody, gut-wrenching thing.

"Oh, sweetie," she said, leaning over to give me a quick hug. "She's a teenager. She doesn't really hate you. And this is going to blow over."

"But?"

"But I did warn you."

"Yeah," I said, "you did." I pushed up off the couch and started toward the stairs. "Is she in Mindy's room?"

Laura shook her head and gestured toward her back door. "They went across the street to the park. I told them to be back by eight."

Our neighborhood has several small parks scattered throughout, and one large community center with a rec room and a pool in the middle of the subdivision. Laura's house is right across the street from one of the nicer playscapes, and lately the girls have been going over there in the evening to sit on the swings and ponder the great mysteries of life. Either that or talk about boys.

Laura suddenly gave me a sharp look. "Oh, God. Was that okay? Should I have kept them here?"

"Of course not. There's no reason to think the girls are in danger. And it's not like they haven't been to the park a million times before." All of which was true, but I still couldn't help the quick twinge of fear in my chest. I took a breath, suppressing it as paranoia. Even for a Demon Hunter, there's a fine line between being protective and being ridiculous, and I couldn't keep Allie in my sight every second of every day. And the park really was safe, brightly lit as it was, and surrounded on three sides by charming houses that vaguely resembled Laura's home.

I snagged two Snickers from Laura's stash, then headed across the street, my peace offering in my jacket pocket. Sure enough, I found the girls on the swings, their backs to me, their heads close together.

I tromped across the gravel, and Mindy twisted around, saw me, then whispered something to Allie. My daughter, I noticed, didn't bother to turn around.

I jerked my thumb back toward Lauras house. "Why don't you give me and Allie a few minutes?"

"Sure, Mrs. Connor," Mindy said. And then she was up and out of there, clearly wanting to get far away before the blood started to fly.

I took her seat on the swing next to Allie, then offered my kid a Snickers. She took it with a mumbled, "Thanks," and we sat there quietly for a few moments, using our toes to push ourselves back and forth in the swings.

"I'm sorry I said I hate you," Allie said, and I'm pretty sure my heart swelled nine sizes. "But you're being totally unfair."

"Whoever told you the world was fair?"

She sighed, letting her head drop back as if she were contemplating the length and breadth of the universe. "Puh-lease, Mom! That's such a lame comeback."

I laughed. "Maybe," I said. "But it's true. The fact is, I worry about you, Al. You're always going to be my baby, and I'm always going to want to protect you."

"You can't protect me forever, Mom."

She jumped off the swing and started to pace in front of me, kicking gravel up with the toes of her sneakers and making a clatter that echoed through the night. Loud enough, in fact, to muffle the sound of approaching demons.

Which explains why I didn't hear the one who sprinted from behind a cluster of cypress trees, his knife glinting in the moonlight as he raced straight for my daughter.