Pax Demonica (10 page)

I’d been a piece of it, and that had felt wonderful.

Now I lived in a house of plywood and siding and laminate, with a heart that came not from the age or the beauty or the majesty of the architecture, but from the family that lived inside. My family. And that felt wonderful, too.

I squeezed Stuart’s hand, my earlier doubts vanishing with a wave of contentment. I nodded toward Allie, then at Timmy. “Thanks for coming with us.”

He bent to kiss my head. “I couldn’t be anyplace else.”

I let go of his hand so that I could slide my arm around his waist. “Want to get to work on your tourist checklist?”

“You know me so well.”

“Spanish Steps.” I pointed vaguely ahead of us and to the left. “You can’t really see them from here, but that’s why all those people are hovering just past that tea shop. Come on,” I said, then started walking. “Steps, Allie. Let’s go get you your pictures.”

“Still
really
need the bathroom,” Allie said.

“Why don’t we eat first?” my ever-reasonable husband suggested. “Then we can see the Steps and do some shopping here on the piazza,” he added with a significant look toward my very pleased teenager.

“And after that, we’ll do the Trevi Fountain,” I said as I led the way diagonally across the square to Gusto, a family run restaurant that I was pleased to see was still thriving.

“We can hold off on that,” Stuart said gently as we paused outside the restaurant. “There’s still the visit to
Forza
this afternoon
.”

“Oh,” I said, still not wanting to take the entire family, and wishing that I had the guts to just say that outright. “Right. But I—”

“I’ll take Tim back to the B&B while you and Allie go,” he added, his warm eyes full of understanding. “I know you want some time with Father Corletti alone.” He glanced toward Allie. “Well, you and our girl.”

My throat clogged with tears. “Thank you.”

“You don’t have to thank me. I get that he was like a father. Which is why I still want to meet him. But I understand. Really.”

I nodded, feeling more centered than I had since we’d landed in Rome.

The hostess arrived and led us to a table outside, right at the edge of the seating area so that we had a front row view from which to soak up the touristy goodness.

“This is wonderful,” I told the waitress in Italian, then asked her where the bathroom was. She pointed around the side of the building, and Allie bolted. I ordered her a Coke, a juice for Timmy, and then a bottle of red wine for me and Stuart.

“Living dangerously,” he said. “As exhausted as we both are, you may end up back at the B&B with me, sound asleep on the bed.”

I reached across the table and squeezed his hand. “I can live with that.”

In the stroller, Timmy stretched, then yawned, then blinked his eyes open. I saw the beginnings of crankiness on his face, and quickly retrieved a Ziplock bag of Goldfish crackers from the front pocket of the diaper bag.

That seemed to do the trick, and after a sleepy mumble that I interpreted as “Thank you,” he started to shove fistfuls of the fishies into his mouth.

Since the piazza is a high tourist zone, I expected the menu to be in both English and Italian, but apparently the family that owned it was all about tradition because Stuart tossed the menu at me and said simply, “I’ll just go with pasta and see what shows up.”

I did a quick skim of the menu, then glanced back up at him. “Do you trust me on lunch?”

“That depends. Are you cooking or ordering?”

I narrowed my eyes. “Watch it, Connor.”

He laughed. “I trust you completely to order,” he said, and so when the waitress came back with our drinks, I did just that, ordering practically everything on the menu because I was feeling both hungry and decadent.

Since I felt covered by a layer of subway grime, I pushed back from the table and left Stuart in charge of the munchkin. I followed Allie’s path, circling the building until I found the dingy metal door that led into Gusto’s storage area. I found the sign for the ladies’ room well inside the building, past shelving stuffed with bags of flour and baskets of vegetables.

I expected the door to be locked, but when I pushed inside I found a nicely remodeled restroom with three stalls and even a small bench where customers and the overworked staff could sit and take a load off.

I grabbed one of the paper towels, dampened it, and started mopping the city grime off my face. “Don’t just go for pasta,” I said to Allie. “Try something new, okay?”

I expected an answer, and when one didn’t come, I frowned, then peered down to look under the doors of all three stalls. No feet.

Panic stabbed me right between the ribs, but I told myself that it was okay. That she was back at the table with Stuart and Timmy. True, I hadn’t seen her in the alley or as I’d rounded the building, but knowing Allie she’d decided to cut through the kitchen, annoying the owners and the chefs and the waitstaff.

Despite that soothing mantra, my panic didn’t lessen, and I burst out of the restroom and into the storeroom again. I almost turned toward the kitchen, but figured if she was in there, she was at least safe. My real fear was that she’d stepped out into the alley, gotten sucked up by the wilds of Rome, and I’d never see my daughter again.

I am nothing if not paranoid, especially where my kids are concerned. And considering what I knew about what hides in dark corners, I couldn’t help but think my paranoia was justified.

I was through the exit in less than five seconds, and I paused there, looking around for evidence of a struggle. But all looked well and I told myself that I was overreacting. That if I just went back to the table, she’d be there chowing down on bread and soda and rolling her eyes when I delivered yet another lecture on being careful.

I told myself that, but I wasn’t convinced. Still, even if Allie wasn’t beside me and wasn’t at the table, that didn’t mean the worst. She was fifteen. Odds were good I’d find her in a nearby boutique. She’d end up grounded for life, but I could live with that.

But when I pulled out my phone to text her, I didn’t even have time to call up her number when I heard the sharp, clear cry of “
Mom”
from behind me.

I backtracked, racing farther into the alley, past Gusto’s back door and into a narrow passage filled with wooden fruit crates, broken-down cardboard boxes, and one wiry old man with sun-worn skin and a huge knife pressed against my daughter’s throat.

I froze, my mind spinning through my options. To be honest, there weren’t many. Any move I made could set him off, and even from several feet away I could tell that the knife was sharp. One quick flick of his wrist, and my daughter was dead.

Allie had to know that as well, and yet she stood perfectly still and looked completely composed. Yes, there was terror in her eyes. But behind that I could see determination and calculation. And in that brief shock of the moment I was struck hard by the brutal truth that I’d been doing my best to ignore—this life was Allie’s calling as much as it was mine.

“What do you want?” I asked, my voice low and even and my eyes on Allie’s.

“Hand it over or the little bitch dies,” he said in perfect English.

In that moment, I would have handed over pretty much anything, from my wallet to the key to hell. Too bad I didn’t have a clue what he was talking about.

“Do it!” he shouted.

I held my hands up, surrender style. “Okay,” I said. “Okay. I just have to get it.” I made a show of reaching into my purse. “Just give me a second.”

I might not know what he wanted, but I did know that when Allie and I had gone back for the camera, I’d shoved my favorite knife into my purse, the same one that I’d been spending time throwing in the backyard with Allie. My skill throwing a blade was probably better than it had been in fifteen years, but that didn’t mean that I was thrilled about throwing it in the general direction of my daughter’s head.

Her eyes had gone wide, and I hoped to hell that she could read my mind.

“Let her go,” I said. “Then I’ll toss it to you.”

“Do you think I’m a fool?”

I hoped he was, but I didn’t answer.

“Give it to me now, and the girl lives.”

I didn’t believe him, of course. Even if I had the thing, he would cut Allie. Not only because demons were just that way, but because he had to know that I would run after him—but not if my daughter was bleeding on the ground.

“Fine,” I said, looking hard at Allie.
Understand
, I thought desperately.
Work with me, Al.

I watched her face and thought that she’d understood my silent plea. I saw the way her eyes widened, the way she bent back slightly, ready to release the tension in her knees and drop to the ground at the first possible moment.

I curled my fingers around the handle, ignoring my nerves and my fear. Those emotions could get Allie killed. This was about training—about the fight—and I could do this. I
had
to do this.

I kept my muscles tense and my eyes on the demon. I had to trust that Allie would move when I needed her to. That the demon wouldn’t cut first. That this plan would work because, dammit, I didn’t have another one.

Shit
.

I just had to go for it, and I whipped my hand out—and then was shocked to see something large and cylindrical come soaring toward the demon from off to one side. Before I even had time to process that oddity, it clattered on the pavement just a few inches from the demon. He turned reflexively away from Allie, giving her a few precious milliseconds to drop back from the demon’s knife even as I released my own.

I shifted my aim as I threw, and was relieved when the blade sliced open his cheek. I would have preferred to have buried it deep in his eye and ended the creature, but I was willing to take what I could get. And I don’t think I have ever heard a more joyous sound than that demon’s yowl.

“Allie!” I yelled. “Get out of there!”

My words were completely unnecessary. She was already putting distance between herself and the demon—which wasn’t hard considering the demon had obviously changed his mind and was now racing in the opposite direction down the alley.

I was running, too, toward Allie, who I immediately pulled behind me.

“Mom?”

“Are you okay?”

“Yes, but—”

“We’re not alone.”

“Oh!” She was holding my shoulders and her grip tightened immediately. If the demon hadn’t scared her, I knew she would have figured that out all on her own, and I could tell she was irritated with herself for overlooking one simple detail: someone else threw that canister.

And the someone else was still in the alley.

“Show yourself,” I said, tensing as a teenage girl with wide, insolent eyes and a mass of dark blonde hair stepped out from the shadows and into the slash of sunlight that filled the center of the alley.

I recognized her immediately—and why wouldn’t I? I’d seen her just a few hours before at the market. The girl who’d reminded me of Allie.

“Who the hell are you, and why have you been following me?”

“I’m Eliza,” she said simply. “I’m your cousin.”

Chapter 9

M
y cousin?

The words seemed to hang in the air, like some absurd cartoon balloon.

It wasn’t possible. And yet. . .

And yet damned if some small bubble of hope wasn’t building up inside of me. If she was my cousin, then that implied an aunt. An uncle. Maybe even grandparents.

I’d been alone since I was four—loved, yes, but alone, with no clue as to where or who I’d come from.

Could this be real? Or was this another type of demonic knife, designed to twist my heart and throw me off-balance?

I stayed frozen as my mind whirled, and then I cursed myself when Allie stepped around me, her stance defiant. “Gee, Mom,” she said to me though her eyes never left Eliza. “Kinda weird that you could have a cousin since, oh, you don’t actually have any family.” She took three long steps away from me and retrieved my knife that had clattered to the ground. She stood in front of Eliza, feet planted, a fifteen-year-old warrior. “Tell me who you are, or I swear this is going to be over before it starts.”

Inside, I cringed. She was doing everything right, and while it made me proud of her, it made me disgusted with myself. I should have been the one handling this. Not my fifteen-year-old daughter.

And yet there she was, stepping in to keep me steady so that I wouldn’t be swept away by false hopes and gossamer dreams.

And that’s all this was. Hope. Dreams.

Didn’t I know better than anyone that the only way to survive in this world was to look reality in the face—and to kick back when it kicked you?

I straightened my shoulders and moved to stand in front of Allie. “I don’t know you,” I said Eliza. “And if you’re going to try to pull that kind of bullshit, you really should do your homework.”

“I did,” she said, and now her voice was weaker. I guessed that she was eighteen or nineteen, but right then she looked as young as Allie, and when she spoke again, her chin trembled slightly, the way Allie’s did when she was fighting back tears. “I did do my homework,” she said. “My mom was your mom’s little sister.”