At the moment, that little requirement wasn’t satisfied. But whether a demon was breaking my rules or a teenager, I didn’t know. Frankly, I considered either possibility equally likely.
Still without evidence of a demonic invasion, I eased toward the porch, less worried this time about the light that burst on at my approach, determined to make me nice and visible to any nearby demons. Fortunately, no attack was forthcoming, and I considered it my lucky evening.
I slid my key into the lock as quietly as possible, twisted, and pushed open the door. In fairness, the creak of the hinges was barely audible, but to my ears, it seemed to ring out like a shot, and I froze in the threshold, senses on alert, ready to take out whatever creature rushed at me.
Since nothing rushed, I stepped inside and quickly keyed in the alarm code, noting with interest that it was, in fact, still armed. Either Laura and I had suffered from a dual hallucination, or my demonic intruder had entered and then reset the alarm behind him.
I glanced around, frowning at the implications. All quiet. No off-putting smells. No heavy footfalls. Not even the eerie scratch of a tree branch against an upstairs window.
As far as I could see, nothing was out of place, either. Stuart’s magazines, Allie’s schoolbooks, Timmy’s entire Thomas the Tank train set. The room was a complete shambles, but it was a homey kind of clutter, and damned if I didn’t feel let down.
I was chastising myself for being ridiculous when a sharp, musical twang rang out. I slipped my right hand into my left sleeve, grasping the hilt of my hidden stiletto. With the blade comfortable in my hand, I turned slowly toward the staircase, an admonition to be careful what you wished for ringing in my head.
The sound had come from above, and I recognized it. Timmy’s Playskool piano. Clunky colorful keys in a sturdy plastic shell. Virtually indestructible. And loud, too. I should know—I’d banged against it in the middle of the night often enough.
And now, apparently, I wasn’t the only one.
I held my breath, watching the stairs and listening. For the most part, our house is well-built, but there are a few creaky places, and the hallway in front of Tim’s room is one of them, a fact I learned only too well when he was an infant and I’d tried to sneak away as he’d drifted off to sleep. It had taken only one step on that creaky floorboard for me to learn my lesson.
An intruder, however, shouldn’t be familiar with that little quirk.
Except no sound came. No creaks, no footsteps, no evil cackling.
Well, damn.
Whoever this demon was, he was beginning to piss me off.
I climbed the stairs slowly, avoiding the one creaky step and then the creaky board in front of Timmy’s room. His Thomas night-light was glowing, casting the room in blue and red shadows. I glanced around, for the first time noticing how menacing Tigger and Pooh can appear in the dark.
A sharp creak sounded to my right, and I shifted as the accordion door moved ever so slightly outward. The door hadn’t been completely closed when I’d entered, but I was certain the gap hadn’t been more than three or so inches. Now it was a good seven inches, and growing.
And, honestly, I’d had enough.
“Out,” I said. “We either do this now, or you get out of my house and come back after you’ve made an appointment.”
No answer. Which meant that the demon was either ignoring me, or he didn’t have a sense of humor. At this point, I didn’t much care. The bastard was in my house—in my little boy’s room—and we were going to end this now.
I crossed the room in two long strides, then grabbed the door with one hand, my knife poised and ready in the other. One quick pull and the entire closet was revealed to me.
Nothing
.
Nothing, that is, except Kabit. The giant fuzz ball blinked up at me, then actually had the gall to yawn before stepping out of the closet and carefully circumnavigating the toy piano as he made his way out of Timmy’s room and back toward the hallway.
“
Now
you walk carefully,” I said. “You couldn’t have stepped a little more lightly a few minutes ago?” I caught up with him at the door and hauled the beast into my arms. Naturally, he didn’t have the grace to apologize for interrupting my evening. Instead, all I got was a whiff of tuna-scented cat breath. Nice.
I deposited Kabit ungracefully back to the floor, then made a quick round of the upstairs just for good measure. I wasn’t entirely sure how both Laura and I could have mistaken the cat for an intruder, but even if we’d both seen the devil himself walking through my living room, there was no doubt that the beast was gone now. A fact for which I was grateful, as it was after eleven and I was ready to crash.
Upstairs completed, I did another quick round through the downstairs, then headed to the back door.
That was it. I was done. Nothing to see here, folks. Move on. Finis. Good night.
I yawned, then dealt with the alarm box as I fantasized about one more cup of coffee at Laura’s. And another Baileys sounded pretty good, too.
I opened the door, debating the wisdom of two shots—after all, it had been a trying day. Then I stepped over the threshold, drew in a cleansing breath of cool night air, and screamed.
Three
I bit the scream back
and glared at Eric, now standing right in front of me and looking devilishly amused with himself.
“Dammit, Eric! Don’t do that!”
“You’re lax, there, Connor,” he said, leaning casually on his cane. His mahogany-colored hair glimmered in the porch light, and I saw amusement dance in his silver-gray eyes.
“Not lax,” I countered. “Just irritated. I keep getting attacked by demons who aren’t really demons.”
His face shifted, hardened, and I immediately regretted what I’d said. “Oh, Eric. Dammit, I’m sorry. I wasn’t—”
“No,” he said. “You’re right. Jumped by someone who’s
not
a demon. That would be me.”
I swallowed, watching his face. Exhaustion cast shadows beneath his eyes, and I could see the tension . . . and the regret.
It was the regret that made my heart twist, because I didn’t understand it. Worse, I knew that if I asked, he wouldn’t tell me. I knew, because I’d
been
asking. Night after night, patrol after patrol. I’d asked what I could do, how I could help. I wanted to share the burden. I wanted to search for an answer. I wanted to hold him close and tell him it would all be better.
I wanted him to trust me enough to share his pain.
But night after night, he kept his own counsel. And after everything we’d shared, that about broke my heart.
I pushed it aside, willing myself not to sink into an emotional quagmire. “Why are you here?” I heard the harshness in my tone and regretted it. I was angry, yes, but I liked to think I had better control. Apparently I was wrong.
“I needed to talk to you.”
I tilted my head up, looking at him through narrowed eyes. “So talk.”
His shoulders sagged, but he stayed silent.
“Dammit, Eric, what are you doing here? And why were you in the house?” I crossed my arms and stared him down. “You were in the house, right?”
“I had to make sure you were safe.”
“Well, that’s something,” I said, hating myself for sounding snippy. “Nice to know you still care.”
He flinched, and I pushed down a wave of guilt. “You know I care,” he said, his voice raw.
“Do I?” I moved closer, my hand going automatically to touch him. I pulled it back, afraid of the connection if I brushed against his skin. Or maybe I was afraid there’d be no spark at all. “You’re shutting me out, Eric. In all our years—in everything we’ve been through together—you’ve never shut me out before.” He’d kept secrets, I knew that now, but he’d never closed his heart.
“Katie,” he began, but I shook my head. I couldn’t stand to hear another excuse. Another diversion.
“Forget it. You want to keep it businesslike, then that’s what we do. Just tell me what’s happened. Why do you think I’m in danger?”
He blinked, and I saw confusion in his deep gray eyes. I also saw fear. “Dreams,” he finally said. “Impressions. Dark omens. Hell, I don’t know. I just had to see you.”
I nodded, trying to conjure a supportive smile as fear rose within me, too.
It was happening,
I thought. The demon was reaching out, clamoring for control, and leaving the man to rage against shadows.
I clenched my fists and moved closer to this man I loved, again wanting to touch him but not sure that I should. I wasn’t afraid of how he’d react, but afraid of what I’d want. “Let me in, Eric,” I said. “Let me help you.”
“It’s not your problem,” he said, his voice unfamiliarly cold. “You made your choice.”
I swallowed, my throat suddenly thick with tears. “That’s not fair,” I said. “We’ve talked about this. I thought you were dead. I loved you, yes, but I moved on.”
“You love him.”
“Yes.”
“Then you have no business with me. Whatever’s inside me isn’t your concern anymore, Katie.”
“You’re the father to my daughter,” I said. “What concerns you will always concern me.”
“Because of Allie,” he said.
“Don’t make this less than it is,” I said, my voice a hairs-breadth from losing control.
“And what is that, Kate?” he fired back, with vitriol equal to my own. “Are you in my bed? Are you even fucking in my life?”
I stepped back, then kicked one of Timmy’s trucks far out into the yard simply because I needed to whale on something. “Dammit, Eric, why are you being this way? You know how I feel. I love you. You want me to shout it from the rooftop? Write you a letter? Sing you a freaking ballad? I will. You know I will. But I have a husband. We have a son. You can’t ask me to simply walk away from them.”
“Why not?” he countered. “Why the hell not? I need you, Kate,” he said, his voice breaking. “Especially now. Especially with what’s happening to me. I can’t do this alone.”
“And yet you won’t let me in if I stay with Stuart,” I snapped. “That’s quite a conundrum. Dammit,” I said, my voice softer now. He was in an impossible position. We both were, and right then we weren’t making it easy on each other. “Eric, I’m sorry. You know I am. But you also know that I’m married. And I’m not breaking those vows.”
“Like I said—you’ve already made your choice.” I could see the pain in his eyes, could hear the loss in his voice. And I wanted to go to him. Wanted to put my arms around him and hold him close and tell him the God’s honest truth: that I would always love him—Stuart, demons, and propriety be damned.
But I didn’t get the chance, because suddenly he lashed out, the knife that had been sheathed at his side only moments ago now tight in his hand. With the back of his arm, he knocked me off balance. I tumbled to the left, landing hard on a retro-style chaise lounge, the chair and me tumbling backward. I lost my grip on my own blade in the process, the stiletto flying off into the circle of dark that surrounded the porch.
My left arm was trapped between the thick weave of the lounger, and I struggled to untangle myself even as my eyes scanned the porch for another weapon. There was no doubt that I was going to need one. The demon on my porch stood at least six feet tall, with thighs like fence posts. Construction, I thought. Either that or he’d been featured in the WWF. Whatever the beast’s former life, he was all demon now, and his beefy face curled into a snarl as he kicked out and up, knocking the knife from Eric’s hand before he lunged at me.
I managed to yank my arm free, then scurried backward, crablike, dragging my ass and legs over the fallen lounger, and then giving the entire aluminum contraption a hard shove toward the demon. Not that my efforts did much good. The beast avoided my thrust, instead spinning around and catching Eric hard across the face. As Eric tumbled to the ground on the far side of the porch I climbed to my feet, managing to knock over one of the pots in which I’d tried—and failed—to plant tomatoes last spring. I bent down and ripped out a chopstick I’d used as a stake, figuring it was a better weapon than nothing.
Not by much, though. A fact that quickly became clear when the demon picked up the crumpled lawn chair and hurled it at me, sending me hurtling backward again before the beast himself followed suit, his giant foot aiming down hard toward my throat. I saw the blow coming, planted my feet, and pushed back hard. My shirt rode up, and my back scraped along the concrete, all the gravel that Timmy loved to throw onto the porch digging into my skin. I winced in pain, but mentally cheered in victory, because I’d gained the inches I needed, and that massive foot crunched down on my collarbone and not my windpipe.
A Pyrrhic victory when you considered that I was still on my back with a demon on top of me, but at least I was alive and breathing. And, thank God, Eric was back on his feet and aiming a ferocious crescent kick right at my tormentor’s skull, his weak leg firmly on the ground, his weight pivoting off the head of his cane.
To sweeten the deal, the demon spun to look back, which meant that Eric’s flying foot connected hard with Dumbo’s face. I heard the satisfying crunch of bone and cartilage followed by the low wail of the demon as he backed off, blood gushing from his nose.
“You are not my concern, male,” he said, his voice liquid through the blood.
“Oh, I think I am.” The leg came around again, but this time the demon was ready. He caught Eric’s ankle between his hands and twisted, giving Eric no choice but to shift into the turn or feel his leg snap like a twig. He twisted, which landed him on the ground, momentarily defenseless against the demon’s onslaught. I, however, was back on my feet.
Still armed with nothing more than a chopstick and determination, I landed a solid kick at the small of the demon’s back, sending him toppling over even as Eric whipped the blade out from inside his cane and thrust it up toward the falling demon.