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resources. I fear that you shall need them."
Once again I held the handset out and stared at it, only this time I wasn't
glaring. This time I was completely befuddled. "You knew about this? You
already know what's going on here? Dammit, Father.
Don't you dare make me wait until tomorrow!"
"Child, now is not the time." He paused, and I held my breath, thinking
foolishly that he might change his mind. "You have of course kept up with your
training?"
He'd turned the statement into a question. And though his tone was casual, I
could tell the query was completely serious.
"Sure," I lied. "Of course I have." Like hell, I have. The only physical
training I got these days was chasing a two-year-old, and my most recent
mental exercise consisted of debating Allie about just how slutty the
gotta-have-it outfit of the moment really was.
Not exactly at the top of my game, I had to say.
"Good."
That one word scared me more than anything else he could have said. "Father, I
know you won't tell me everything, so I'm not even going to try. But "
"Goramesh," he said, the demon's name turning my blood to ice. "We believe he
may have come to San
Diablo."
I stared at the phone once again, and this time realized my hand was shaking.
Goramesh
. The
Decimator. One of the High Demons.
The old-man-demon's voice echoed in my head
when my master's army rises up
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Forget scared; now I was terrified.
I crossed myself in the dark, then said good-bye to Father Corletti. I didn't
go back to Stuart, though.
Instead I sat there on the guest bed, my knees under my chin and my arms
wrapped around my legs.
And then, as the first hint of sunlight fired the sky outside the window, I
closed my eyes, bared my soul, and prayed.
"There you are. Jeez, Mom, Mindy just left, and Stuart and I've been looking
everywhere for you."
Allie's voice pulled me from a not-too-sound sleep that had been filled with
dreams of demons, death, and Eric. He'd been my partner, my strength. But he
couldn't help me with this newest battle, and so I
woke with tears in my eyes and the bitter fear that came with being completely
alone.
"Mom?"
Worry filled her voice, and my emotions shifted, guilt now taking the
strongest foothold. I held out a hand, and she came to me, her expression wary
as she eased onto the bed. I pulled her to me and closed my eyes, breathing in
the scent of Ivory soap and Aveda shampoo. I
wasn't alone, and damn me for wallowing in self-pity. I had Allie and Timmy
and Stuart, and I loved them each desperately.
"Were you thinking about Daddy?"
Her words cut through me like a knife, and I heard myself gasp.
"It's okay," she said. "It's okay to miss him."
She was repeating my own words back to me. My baby girl.
Eric's baby girl. She'd grown so much since he'd died.
He'd missed so much. I reached and stroked her cheek, determined not to cry.
"You okay?" she asked, tiny lines of worry creasing her forehead.
I took her hand and squeezed. "I'm fine," I said. "But when exactly did you
grow up?"
The worry lines faded, replaced with a smile that was almost shy.
"Does that mean we can add an extra hour to my curfew?" She spoke lightly,
with a little impish grin I
recognized as my own.
I reflected it right back at her, my mood already remarkably lighter. "I'll
take it under advisement," I said.
"In mom-speak, that means no."
"Not only did you grow up, you grew wise."
"If I'm so smart, how come my curfew's so early?"
I swung my feet over the side of the bed. "That's one of the great mysteries
of the universe," I said. "I
could tell you, but then I'd have to kill you."
"Mo-om." She rolled her eyes, and just like that, life went back to normal. Or
at least as normal as possible under the circumstances. After all, I had a
demon to hunt and a body to dispose of. I'd already accidentally overslept.
Now I really had to get with the program.
The scene that greeted me in the kitchen was almost as scary as my encounter
last night with
Larson Stuart standing in front of a griddle, spatula in hand, French toast
sizzling in front of him. And the pantry door behind him standing wide open.
Yikes
!
I leaped across the room, managing to avoid a plastic Tonka truck and half a
dozen LEGOs. My hand closed around the knob to the pantry, and I slammed the
door shut, then leaned against it, breathing hard.
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"Wait!" Stuart called, leading with the spatula as he took a step toward me.
My heart stopped beating.
"I need another loaf of bread from in there."
Thump-thump, thump-thump
. Okay. I was going to survive after all. "There's a loaf in the bread box," I
said.
"Not anymore."
I grimaced. How could he go through an entire loaf of bread and still not have
enough French toast to feed two adults, a teenager, and a toddler? Even I
could manage that.
"I'll grab it for you," I said brightly. "After all, I'm right here."
He raised his eyebrows. "So I see. That's why I asked you."
"Right." I smiled, hoping to forestall any chance of my husband thinking I was
nuts.
"Momma Momma Momma." Timmy's little voice managed to fill the entire
downstairs. "Where you at, Momma?" The patter of footie-pajama feet, and then
my little man appeared in the kitchen, a sippy cup in one hand and Boo Bear in
the other. "Go potty, Momma. Go potty."
Shit
. Not the most apropos of curses, I supposed, because Timmy had no interest in
the whole potty-training experience. He just liked to sit on his little-bitty
toilet fully clothed while he tossed things into the tub. Unfortunately, this [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]