Pax Demonica (2 page)

I’d told myself that I had to be understanding. That learning your wife is a Demon Hunter is Big News, so how could I fault Stuart for stumbling a bit as we battled the storm?

Yes, he’d come back, and as far as I could tell, he was serious about making our marriage work. About making it stronger. But that didn’t soothe the anger that bubbled beneath the surface. And it didn’t erase my fear that when it got tough again, Stuart would be gone.

I needed time. I needed trust.

Hopefully, this trip would be both a balm and a cure. Or at least a step in the right direction.

I dredged up a smile and gave Stuart’s hand another squeeze. “If you want to get going that badly, I won’t argue. But you can be the one to distract him as we walk past. And then explain to him why he’s not chowing down on a—”

“Don’t say it. You’ll just rile him up again.”

I laughed. “Oh, come on,” I wheedled. “Did he or did he not manage to go an entire plane ride without throwing a tantrum? The kid was an angel. He deserves a treat.”

“An angel?”

“Half an angel,” I amended as I eased us toward Allie and into the McDonald’s line. “And the couple behind us thought he was cute.” A fact for which I was supremely grateful. I’m not sure I would have been so gracious if a small child had twice tossed a bedraggled blue bear into my lap. Boo Bear’s been in our family since Timmy was five months old, and I—

Shit
.

“Kate?” From the concern in Stuart’s voice, the panic must have been all over my face. “It’s not—I mean, there aren’t—
demons?”

Allie whipped around, yanking her earbuds out as she turned, ready to spring into action. “Demons? Where?” Allie’s nothing if not eager. In fact, one of the purposes of the trip was to let her get in some legitimate
Forza
training, a reality that both scares me to death and makes me pretty dang proud.

“That’s impossible,” Stuart said, and I’m pretty sure I heard terror in his voice.

“Boo Bear?” Timmy must have picked up on our panic. His head swiveled as he searched for his buddy, his face turning redder with each passing moment.

“Hey, baby,” I soothed, rubbing his legs.

“Boo Bear!” The name was more like a squall, and his little body trembled. Around us, all the other tourists jonesing for a Mickey D fix started to stare. I slid out of line and edged up against the concourse wall, out of the way of the traveling hordes.

Timmy’s wail ratcheted up, as if he was increasing the volume to better fill the space. Helpless, I bounced him and patted his back, saying meaningless soothing words about how we’d find him, and not to worry, and all sorts of other lies. I sounded rational and calm. Inside I was panicking. Two weeks in Italy without the stuffed little bear would not be good.

“Maybe those people took it,” Allie said. “The ones the munchkin kept tossing Boo Bear at.”

“No way. They were totally understanding.”

Allie rolled her eyes. “Yeah, so they said. What were they supposed to do on the plane? Taking the stupid bear is the best way to get revenge.”

“When did you become so cynical?” I refused to believe she could be right. “Check the diaper bag,” I added, dropping my shoulder so that the bag slid to the floor. Allie crouched down and opened it, then immediately shook her head.

“Maybe you put it in one of the carry-ons,” Stuart suggested.

“Why would I have done that? For that matter, you were sitting right beside me. You know I didn’t.”

“You were exhausted, Kate. Maybe you got fed up and decided that taking the bear away was the best way to make Timmy stop throwing it.”

“That actually would have been a great plan,” I agreed. “But I didn’t do it.”

“You’re sure?”

I stared him down. He managed not to crumble under the force of my gaze for about thirty seconds longer than the kids usually lasted. Then he caved.

“I’m just saying that you were tired. Maybe when I got up to go to the bathroom, you put the bear away.”

“Or maybe you did,” I countered as Timmy’s wails shot up another ten decibels.

“Maybe it’s still on the plane,” Allie said.

The kid had a point. “I’ll go,” Stuart said, and was gone before I could respond. I’m not sure if he was trying to be helpful or just escaping the chaos.

“Well, I’m going to at least check the carry-ons,” Allie said as I wondered if we could find a replacement bear on eBay and, if so, how much international shipping would cost.

“Nothing,” Allie said a moment later. “But it’s got to be around here somewhere. I mean, how can a—”

“Excuse me?” The voice was polite, respectful, and when I looked up and saw Mr. Pepperdine standing beside us holding a bedraggled blue bear, I swallowed the bitter taste of guilt. Apparently not every male who looked at my daughter leaned toward the demonic. “I found this just past the gate. I was on my way to Lost and Found when I overheard you, and—”

“Boo Bear!” Timmy reached for the bear, then hugged his friend close.

“Right,” Allie said, springing to her feet and smoothing her hair. “Thanks. We were afraid the little bugger was going to need therapy. He’s nuts for the bear.”

Mr. P’s smile was wide, showing perfect teeth. “My pleasure.” His gaze lingered on my daughter for a moment longer than my mom instincts approved of, and despite the fact that he’d stepped in as our savior, I cleared my throat. He turned his attention to me. “You should be careful,” he said. “Losing something as precious as that . . . well, it could be dangerous.”

Something in the way he said it made my insides twist. I took a step toward him, instinctively edging between him and my kids. “What do you mean?”

But he was no longer looking at me. Instead, he was focused on something over my shoulder. I shifted to glance back, but saw nothing interesting. Just a mishmash of travelers and one lanky maintenance man in tan coveralls with an airport ID badge striding past us. When I turned back, Mr. Pepperdine was stepping away from us.

“Enjoy your trip,” he said. “And take care.”

And then he disappeared into the crowd, his words lingering along with the faint aroma of rotting flesh.

A tight fist seemed to squeeze my heart, and I shot a glance at Allie to see if she’d smelled it too. But she was simply staring after our potentially demonic savior, her eyes full of gooey teenage fantasies.

Shit
.

“Watch your brother,” I said.

“Huh?” Her dreamy eyes turned toward me, but I was already hurrying away.

Behind me, I heard Stuart call my name, and I yelled back over my shoulder. “Bathroom! Be right back!” I hoped I would. I hoped I was imagining things. I had to be, right? Because why would a demon talk to me of all people? And why the hell would a demon bother to return a lost lovey?

As it turned out, I wasn’t lying about the bathroom. A few yards ahead, I saw my quarry shift left and aim himself toward the men’s room. I followed—or I tried to. Another plane had landed, and I was suddenly caught in the flow of emerging passengers, their moving bodies and shifting luggage blocking my view.

By the time I’d pushed my way through the mob, Mr. P was nowhere in sight. But I’d seen where he was heading, and I hurried toward the men’s room, determined to rush right in, propriety be damned. Unfortunately, I was stopped short just inches from the entrance by the barrel chest of another maintenance man emerging from the facility. He had a mop in one hand and a candy bar in the other. He bit off a chunk of chocolate and mumbled at me in Italian so garbled I could barely make out vowel sounds.

“Sorry,” I said. “I can’t understand you.”

“Women,” he said in English, and he accentuated the word with an outstretched hand pointing to the ladies’ room next door.

“No, see, my, um, friend. He’s in there. I think he’s sick. I need to check on him.” I shifted to go around him. He shifted to block my path.

“No enter.” He took another bite. “Closed.” The candy added an unpleasant smacking sound to his words. “For cleaning.”

“It’s really important. He might need help.”

“Is empty.”

“I saw him go in.”

“Kate?” I turned to find Stuart behind me. “What’s going on?”

“I—” I had no idea what to say. Lie and keep the vacation rolling smoothly along? Tell the truth and admit that I may, possibly, perhaps have seen a demon? A nice, helpful demon who returned missing bears? I ran my fingers through my hair, suddenly flustered. “I thought I saw someone I knew,” I said lamely.

“Empty,” the maintenance man repeated, then shoved the last of the candy into his mouth. “I do floors.” He mimed mopping the floors, looking between me and Stuart. “Is nobody.”

“Kate?” There was concern in Stuart’s eyes. “Is something wrong?”

“No,” I said as I shook my head. But that was a lie. There was no sign indicating that the restroom was closed. The mop head was bone dry. And there wasn’t a bucket in sight. I forced a bright smile. “No,” I repeated, hoping that my suspicions were wrong. “I thought I saw an old friend, but I must have imagined it.” I hooked my arm through his. “Come on,” I said. “I think it’s time to get this vacation started.”

He grinned in reply, and as we headed back to the kids, I forced myself not to look toward the men’s room. Maybe I’d been wrong and Mr. Pepperdine hadn’t gone in there. For that matter, maybe he wasn’t a demon at all. Lots of people had bad breath, especially after hours on a plane. Maybe he just really needed some Listerine.

And maybe I excel at self-delusion.

“Our bags are probably the only ones on the carousel by now,” Stuart said, and I realized he was right. Our first adventure in Rome had taken up quite a bit of time.

He threaded his fingers through mine, lifted my hand to his lips, and kissed it. “Have I mentioned how much I love you?”

“Many times,” I said, “but feel free to say it again.”

“I love you,” he repeated. “And this is going to be a great trip. Our first big family vacation,” he added, and I realized that he was right. We’d gone to Disneyland when Timmy turned two, but since we live only a few hours north of Anaheim, that wasn’t exactly the vacation of a lifetime.

I shook off the lingering sense of foreboding, pausing long enough to kiss my husband. Right then, right there, my first priority was my family. Stuart was right; this trip was going to be amazing.

Happy Meal forgotten, Timmy didn’t protest as we headed down the concourse, following the signs to baggage claim. As Stuart had predicted, our bags were the only ones left. We presented our claim tickets, snagged our luggage (which, thankfully, included Timmy’s Rolls Royce of a stroller), and schlepped our way toward customs.

“
Buona sera
,” I said to the custom’s officer, dredging up my little-used Italian.

“Name,” he replied in perfect English.

“Kate Connor.”

“Momma! Momma!” Inside the stroller, Timmy held his arms up for me. “I love you, Momma!”

My heart came close to melting. The officer looked unimpressed. “Occupation? Reason for visit?”

“Demon Hunter.” Okay, I didn’t say that. But I have to confess I was tempted. Instead, I reached down and scooped Timmy back up into my arms. “I’m a stay-at-home mom,” I told the official as I caught Stuart’s eye and smiled. “And we’re here for the best vacation ever.”

Chapter 2

O
ne hour and fifteen minutes later
, I was cursing Rome, city planners, and Henry Ford. If he hadn’t shoved the automobile onto an unsuspecting public, then I wouldn’t be sitting in bumper-to-bumper traffic on the
Via Aurelia
with a starving toddler, a cranky teenager, and a grumpy husband.

“Are we there yet?” Allie asked for the eighteenth time.

“Does this look like a B&B?” I snapped.

She glowered at me, flopped back in her seat, and pulled out her phone.

“No texting,” I said. “You can send an email to Mindy when we get to the B&B, but texting is just too expensive. Besides, it’s late in LA. I’m sure Mindy has things to do.”

She let out an explosive breath, sagged further down into her seat, and pulled out her iPod. A minute later, she had her earbuds in and the music cranked up so loud I could almost make out the lyrics. I considered telling her to turn the sound down, but decided that teenage deafness was a small price to pay for a few moments of peace in the taxi.

Because my family does not travel light, we’d been forced to hire a taxi van. Stuart and Timmy were in the row in front of me, and my husband turned around now to face us. “So,” he said with a grin. “
Are
we there yet?”

“Don’t even start. How’s Timmy?”

“Full up on Goldfish and fast asleep.”

“That’s something.” I glanced out the window, trying to judge our location. I saw the sign announcing the exit for the A90, the highway that ran in a loop around the city proper, and sighed with relief. We weren’t there yet, but once we were inside the loop it was fair to say we were making progress.

“Does it feel like home?”

I turned back to Stuart and found him watching me with a curious expression on his face.

“San Diablo traffic’s nothing like this,” I said, referring to our small California town. “Now, when I lived in Los Angeles—”