Read Online California Demon by Julie Kenner - Free Book Online Page A

Eric. And as I listened to my daughter read her wonderful essay to the crowd, I had to fight the tears that threatened to overflow and spill down my cheeks.
    Grief is a funny thing. Had I lost Eric back when we were both hunting, I think it might have been easier to handle. Death was part of the scenery back then. It was normal, expected. But Eric and I had hung up our demon-hunting hats. We’d retired from the Forza Scura and moved first to Los Angeles and then to San Diablo, one of the most demon-free towns in the country. Or, at least, it had been back then. We’d had our baby girl, and we’d ensconced ourselves in the trappings of suburbia.
    We’d been happy. We had our normal life, our normal family, our normal town. Our problems centered around bills and car repairs and leaky plumbing. The most demonic creature we encountered was the principal at Allie’s kindergarten. No longer were our evenings spent performing weapons checks, researching Grimoires, or brushing up on combat medicine. Instead, after we put Allie to bed, we’d snuggle on the couch and watch all the movies we’d missed during our oh-so unusual childhoods.
    There’d been a time when I could have staunched a stab wound with my fingers or cauterized an artery by flash-burning gunpowder. But once Eric and I settled down, those skills deteriorated, and I’d been thankful. We spent ten wonderful years smoothing our rough edges and learning to be—and to feel—normal. We were happy and secure in the little fairy-tale world we’d built. But it had to be a fairy tale, because we knew the truth. There are giants and witches in the forest, and if you aren’t careful, they’ll slap you into an oven faster than you can say “boo.”
    And here’s another truth: Demons aren’t the only bad things that roam in the dark. There are bad people, too. One of them killed my husband. Took his cash and left Eric to die on a cold and foggy San Francisco street.
    There’s a cruel irony in Eric’s story. My husband—the man who’d destroyed so many preternatural creatures, the man whose reflexes had once been a thing of wonder—taken out by a mere mortal and a 9-mm pistol.
    There’s probably a lesson there, too, but it wasn’t one I wanted to think about. At the time, I’d only wanted Eric back. And my disbelief that he could have perished under such mundane circumstances had made my grief long-lived. It was still there, in fact. Hiding under the surface of my shiny new life. A life I loved so fiercely that my memories of Eric, and the pangs of grief that came with those memories, were always lined with guilt.
    When I was young and brave and stupid, I never feared death. Now I dreaded it as only a mother can. I don’t want to leave my kids. Not now. Hell, not ever, though I’m pragmatic enough to know that someday the time will come.
    But I think the hardest part of Eric’s death is the pity I feel for him. He’d been given a gift in Allie, and someone had ripped that away from him. He’d missed birthdays and kisses and cheerleader tryouts. He’d missed glaring at boys and setting curfews. He’d missed today, watching our beautiful daughter accept an award and read an essay to a roomful of people, without showing even the slightest hint of fear.
    I didn’t want to pity the man I’d loved, the man who’d been my partner. But I did. And my deep, horrible, dirty little secret? I was glad that if one of us had to die, that it had been him and not me.
     
By the time Allie finished, I was a teary-eyed mess.
    “Mommy sad?” Timmy asked, rubbing his sticky palms on my cheeks.
    I hugged him close and kissed the top of his head. “Mommy’s proud,” I said.
    Beside me, Laura reached out to squeeze my hand. Across the hall, I could see her daughter, Mindy, grinning like a fiend from the riser on which she stood, surrounded by the rest of the choir.
    The Duponts live immediately behind our house, and the girls have been best friends since the first day