“Now we clean up.” I stood up and wiped my hands on my jeans. I looked around the yard. “We need a box or something. Then we can take these things to Father Ben and let him deal with them.”
“How?” Allie said. “You never told me how to kill them.”
I frowned, because I’d been hoping she’d forget about that little detail.
“Mom,” she said, her tone filled with teenage insistence. “I just had a zombie hand crawl up my leg. I think we’ve moved beyond protecting the teenager.”
I wasn’t entirely sure her logic was dead-on, but she was right about one thing: If there was one zombie, there were probably more. And I wanted my daughter paying attention to her surroundings—and not hanging out in our backyard at three A.M.
“Zombies die two ways. Either when they’re completely incinerated—bones and all—or when their maker dies.”
She turned around and stared pointedly at the dead demon by the sandbox.
“Yeah,” I said. “That’s what’s bothering me.”
“I don’t get it. What?”
“He wasn’t the zombie’s maker.”
“Okay, wait,” she protested as she tossed the zombie’s head into Timmy’s Radio Flyer wagon. “You said earlier that the reason the zombie was just sort of standing there after you killed Dumbo over there was because he didn’t know what to do once his master died.”
“Exactly.”
I watched her face, saw the flash of understanding as it all sank in. “So there’s
another
demon running around? That dead one was his master, but somebody else was his maker?”
“That’s my best guess.”
She turned frantically, scoping out our yard and the darkness beyond.
“Don’t worry,” I said. “I don’t think he’s nearby.” I had no idea where he was, but if he was sending newly formed demons to do his dirty work, he was probably laying low, ensuring that he didn’t end up back in the ether before the Big Demonic Ritual went down. How did I know we were facing a Big Demonic Ritual?
Easy. Call it Kate’s First Law of Demons: The level of demonic activity in a neighborhood is directly proportional to the number of domestic chores Kate must accomplish within a certain period of time. And it just so happened that I had only one week to pull together an amazing Easter fair for the neighborhood. I had no time to spare on Big Demonic Rituals. So, naturally, one had to be brewing. (And, yes, the cryptic comments about vengeance and revenge and mysterious swords were also a bit of a clue.)
Fortunately, David was back in town. He might be rogue—and I might be terribly curious as to why—but for better or for worse, he was still my partner.
Completely unaware of my internal meanderings, Allie’s face scrunched up in a frown. “So, if the maker isn’t nearby, where is he?”
“Staying safely away from the local Hunter, I’d think.”
“Oh. Okay. So, um, the maker hires a master to boss the zombie around? Why can’t the zombie just do whatever it wants?”
I had to laugh. “Zombies aren’t demons themselves,” I said. “Not like the ones you’ve seen inhabiting bodies or clawing their way out of portals to hell.”
“There are
more
?” she asked, eyebrows riding high. “More kinds of demons?”
“You have no idea.”
“Shit.”
“Mmm,” I said agreeably, ignoring the language faux pas that, under our new deal, should earn me one toilet-scrubbing credit, to be cashed in any time I wanted. “Here’s the thing,” I continued. “Only demons can make zombies. It’s not common, and it requires the desecration of a holy relic. That’s part of a Hunter’s job, you know. Protecting relics and tracking down any demons that make it their business to steal or desecrate them.”
“Okay. Got it.” Her forehead creased. “So if zombies aren’t demons, then what are they?”
“Real zombies are just . . . well, they’re just animated flesh.”
“I’m going to hate asking, but what did you mean by ‘real’ zombies?”
I glanced at my watch—ten past four. “We don’t really have time for—” I stopped as light from my bedroom window flooded the backyard.
“Oh, shit!” Allie said.
“Allie . . .” I warned, but I shared the sentiment. Stuart, I realized, was awake.
Three
"Kate!”
Stuart’s voice called from
the bedroom window.
I stiffened, my mind whirring as I ran through possible explanations for what Allie and I could possibly be doing with all these body parts. Not too surprisingly, none seemed particularly viable.
“Are you out there?” And then, more to himself, “Dammit, I can’t see a bloody thing.”
I exhaled, realizing that between the trees and the dark, we were essentially invisible.
I heard the window slam shut and reached out to grab Allie. “Quick! Hide the parts.”
“Already on it!”
I turned to find her frantically tossing zombie bits into Timmy’s dinosaur sandbox. Personally, I would have chosen the storage shed, but at least the kid thought fast on her feet.
“Good girl. You finish that, I’ll take care of him.” I trotted over and grabbed the dead demon by the ankles, then tugged and pulled until I got him behind the shed. I didn’t have anything to cover him with, so I just pushed him as far under the gardening bench as I could manage.
The creak of the back door opening burst through the night like a shot. “Kate? Are you out here?”
I cringed, expecting him to focus a flashlight on us, but the light didn’t come, and so I hurried toward Allie, my feet crunching on the gravel that surrounded the sandbox.
“Right here,” I called brightly. “Hang on a sec!”
“What the hell are you doing?”
Allie tossed the last of the body parts into the dinosaur, and we both bent over to grab the lid, managing to bonk our heads in the process. “Ouch! Dammit!”
“Kate!”
I motioned for Allie to get the lid on the sandbox while I hurried toward Stuart, intercepting him before he stepped off the porch. “Right here,” I said. “I’m here. I’m fine.”
I stepped into the circle of light emitted by the back porch bulb and gave my husband an enthusiastic hug. “What on earth are you doing awake?” I asked, sounding oh-so-chipper, as if I’d merely gotten up early to enjoy the night air.
“I thought I heard someone scream,” he said, his voice laced with controlled panic. “Are you okay? Why are you outside?”
“Uh—oh,” I stammered, pulling back and looking out over the yard. As I’d hoped, everything beyond the patio was a dark blur; the only way Stuart would notice Allie or the body or, for that matter, the body parts, was if he decided to take that moment to catch up on yard work.
“Kate,” he pressed, the panic edging out and anger edging in. I knew that transition intimately, having experienced it myself when the kids did something both stupid and dangerous. “What the hell is going on?”
“Nothing,” I assured him. “I, you know, wanted some quiet time. In case you’ve forgotten, we have a toddler in the house.”
“You have got to be kidding me,” he said, his voice making perfectly clear he didn’t find the joke funny at all. “It’s the middle of the night—”
"It’s getting close to dawn,” I protested. “In L.A., people are already commuting to work.”
He rubbed the bridge of his nose. “We don’t live in Los Angeles, and that’s not the point. I wake up, alone, and then hear a scream, and you’re not willing to give me a straight answer? Forgive me if I’m a little worried. I think I’ve got every right to be.”
“Stuart,” I began, but I honestly didn’t know where to go next.
“It’s about me,” a small voice said, filling the gap. I turned, startled, and saw Allie step into the light. “Mom’s trying to protect me.”
Stuart’s jawline tightened. “From what, exactly?”
Her head hung low, and when she lifted it to look her stepfather in the eye, I saw a strength that no longer surprised me. “I snuck out of the house,” Allie said. “And when Mom realized, we had a fight.”
Stuart looked at me for confirmation, and I worked to erase the expression of bafflement and replace it with my best stern mommy expression. I waved a hand in Allie’s direction, hopefully signaling permission for her to continue telling the story of her descent into teenage disobedience.
She took a deep breath, then looked at me for only a second before focusing on her toes. The position gave the impression of contrite submission, but I suspected she was afraid that she’d smile at me if our eyes met, proud of herself for saving my ass twice now. Once by tossing the cat, and again by conning my husband.
“I’m waiting, young lady,” Stuart said.
“It’s just that it’s Friday night, you know? And Aunt Laura told Mindy that she could go, but I wanted to go, too.”
“Go where?” Stuart asked.
“A party,” Allie answered, without missing a beat. “At Zachary Tremont’s house.” Zachary Tremont is a senior and the quarterback. He’s also the son of Horatio Tremont, a major movie star who divides his time between Los Angeles and San Diablo. The house is in a gated section of the town with access to a private beach. Horatio’s parties are the kind that usually end up featured on such fabulous news venues as
Access Hollywood
and
Entertainment Tonight.
I could only assume Zachary intended to live up to Daddy’s expectations.
“Mom said we couldn’t go,” Allie continued, shooting me a look of contempt that had me both mentally applauding her acting abilities and wallowing in an increased level of guilt. Not only was I lying to my husband on a regular basis, but now my daughter had joined the act, too.
For a brief instant, I considered coming clean right then and telling Stuart everything. But when I opened my mouth, I couldn’t do it. There’s a time for everything, and somehow, I didn’t think this was the time for true confessions.
Or maybe I was just chicken.
At any rate, I heard myself saying, “The party was going to have alcohol. And I really don’t think Zachary is a good influence.” That, at least, was true. But on the whole, I wouldn’t be winning the Spouse of the Year award.
“So you went anyway,” Stuart said, finishing her story.
“No,” Allie said. “But I was mad, you know? So I snuck out of the house to go spend the night at Mindy’s after she got back, ’cause I wanted her to tell me about it. And when Mom realized I was gone—”
“You decided to scream at each other?”
“We saw a rat,” I said, then decided that was the wrong thing to say. I had no interest in having exterminators sniffing around the house. What if I’d missed a finger? “Actually, I think it was a small coyote.”
“When I was coming back,” Allie said, joining in the improvisation. “ ’Cause Mom called Aunt Laura, and it was right before I came through the fence that we saw the thing.”
Laura Dupont is my best friend, and her daughter Mindy is, conveniently enough, Allie’s number one chum. To make things even cozier, our houses back up to each other, separated only by our fences and a utility easement.
“I get the picture,” Stuart said. He reached for my hand, and I took it. “Rat or coyote, it’s really not the issue. The point is that you disobeyed your mom and left this house without asking permission. You’re grounded, young lady. The weekend and next week. After that, we’ll negotiate Easter weekend. You understand?”
“Uh-huh,” said Allie, even as I opened my mouth to protest.
“Maybe that’s a little severe,” I put in. “It’s a vacation week. The cheerleaders have a fund-raiser planned, there are parties. Things she’s been looking forward to.”
“Which is exactly why she shouldn’t be permitted to participate, ” Stuart said, as Allie shrugged noncommittally. “This isn’t the first time you’ve done something like this, Alison,” he added, turning back to my daughter.
About that, Stuart was right. The last time she’d sneaked out without permission, she’d been kidnapped and set up as the main attraction of a rather disgusting demonic ritual. This time, however, she hadn’t disobeyed—not unless sitting outside in your own backyard waiting for news about your resurrected father counts as breaking curfew. I didn’t think so, and my mommy guilt meter was off the charts.
I’d thought my days and nights had become complicated last summer when a demon had crashed through the breakfast room window. Trust me—back then, I didn’t even know what complicated was.
“I don’t know if—” I began, but Allie cut me off.
“It’s okay. Stuart’s right. It’s cool.” She looked at me. “Really. ”
“Inside,” Stuart said, pointing toward the door. “And no sleeping in. Tomorrow’s Saturday. You get up with the family. No lounging around just because you decided to go gallivanting around in the middle of the night.”
“Yes, sir.” She shot one last look at me, then skulked inside.
“You disagree?” Stuart asked, apparently reading my expression.
“No,” I said. “But—”
“I love her, too, Kate,” he said, reaching out to pull a piece of grass out of my hair. He twirled it absently in his fingers as I held my breath, wondering if he’d think to question how it got there. My husband, however, was too caught up with Allie to be concerned about me. “You can overrule me if you want—”