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Authors: Julie Kenner
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want to go with me.”
“Kate, just take the boy. I can handle getting a loaf of bread.”
Not in this lifetime. I pointed a “don’t move” finger at Stuart, shot a “forget that extra hour at curfew” glance toward Allie, then slipped inside the pantry. I grabbed a loaf of bread and reemerged. I was in there just long enough to see that my demon was still covered and, thankfully, still dead. Always a plus.
I shoved the bread at Stuart, who looked a little bewildered. “Here. Cook.” Then I grabbed Timmy’s hand. “Come on, kiddo. Where are we going?”
“Bafroom! Potty!”
“Lead the way,” I said, letting him tug me along, clearly delighted to have Mommy’s undivided attention.
As soon as we reached the bathroom he shared with Allie, I collapsed onto the closed toilet seat while Timmy proceeded to position Boo Bear strategically on the little plastic potty we’d bought optimistically on his eighteen-month birthday. Now, seven months later, the kid had yet to christen the thing.
In the kitchen I could hear the sizzle of battered bread in my electric griddle then the scrape of a spatula against the Teflon surface. I exhaled, congratulating myself on keeping my husband in the dark.
At the same time, though, I wondered if it would really be that terrible if Stuart knew my secret. I intended to tell Allie the truth eventually, just not soon. After all, she had a right to know about her father, and she couldn’t really understand her dad without knowing about Forza Scura . Stuart, though . . .
He was my husband. I loved him. And I didn’t want to have secrets from him. But at the same time, I didn’t want him to know this . I eased my conscience by falling back on the rules—my identity as a Hunter was secret, the oath of silence absolute. But that was only a crutch. I didn’t want Stuart to see me as a Demon Hunter. As soon as he learned the truth, he would never see just Kate anymore. And I didn’t think I could stand that. I had a sneaking suspicion a marriage counselor would find a huge red flag in my logic, but that was a risk I’d have to take.
As Timmy gleefully tossed every clean washcloth we own into the still shower-damp tub, I rested my elbows on my thighs and put my head in my hands.
Father Corletti was right. I should have kept up my physical training. I was pooped. Physically and mentally. Not a good sign. Especially since I still had to find the energy—not to mention the time—to dispose of one dead demon and stop an evil demon from taking over San Diablo, not to mention the world.
I checked my wristwatch—just past nine. I had a feeling it was going to be a very long day.
To Stuart’s credit, he managed to pull off some pretty amazing French toast. Just enough cinnamon in the batter, a light dusting of powdered sugar (a culinary accoutrement I’m frankly amazed we had in the house, much less that he found it without discovering Mr. Demon). We four sat at the Fifties-style Formica table and wolfed down mass quantities of the breakfast confection, washing it down with tall glasses of ice-cold apple juice, a constant staple in our house due to its toddler-taming propensities.
Allie checked her watch. “If we leave right after breakfast, we’ll get there when the mall opens.”
I gaped as she flipped open the spiral notebook that had been sitting closed and innocent by her plate all through breakfast. I’d completely forgotten that she’d been planning a school wardrobe shopping extravaganza for today.
“I made a list,” she explained, tapping her pen against the page. “We can hit the Gap first, just to check any sales. Then the Limited and Banana Republic. I’ll snag whatever deals I can, then fill in the gaps with stuff from Old Navy. Then we can move on to the department stores to check for any awesome markdowns. I figure we’ll start with Nordstrom and work our way down to Robinsons-May.”
“Don’t forget about the carousel,” I added, thinking
“Kate, just take the boy. I can handle getting a loaf of bread.”
Not in this lifetime. I pointed a “don’t move” finger at Stuart, shot a “forget that extra hour at curfew” glance toward Allie, then slipped inside the pantry. I grabbed a loaf of bread and reemerged. I was in there just long enough to see that my demon was still covered and, thankfully, still dead. Always a plus.
I shoved the bread at Stuart, who looked a little bewildered. “Here. Cook.” Then I grabbed Timmy’s hand. “Come on, kiddo. Where are we going?”
“Bafroom! Potty!”
“Lead the way,” I said, letting him tug me along, clearly delighted to have Mommy’s undivided attention.
As soon as we reached the bathroom he shared with Allie, I collapsed onto the closed toilet seat while Timmy proceeded to position Boo Bear strategically on the little plastic potty we’d bought optimistically on his eighteen-month birthday. Now, seven months later, the kid had yet to christen the thing.
In the kitchen I could hear the sizzle of battered bread in my electric griddle then the scrape of a spatula against the Teflon surface. I exhaled, congratulating myself on keeping my husband in the dark.
At the same time, though, I wondered if it would really be that terrible if Stuart knew my secret. I intended to tell Allie the truth eventually, just not soon. After all, she had a right to know about her father, and she couldn’t really understand her dad without knowing about Forza Scura . Stuart, though . . .
He was my husband. I loved him. And I didn’t want to have secrets from him. But at the same time, I didn’t want him to know this . I eased my conscience by falling back on the rules—my identity as a Hunter was secret, the oath of silence absolute. But that was only a crutch. I didn’t want Stuart to see me as a Demon Hunter. As soon as he learned the truth, he would never see just Kate anymore. And I didn’t think I could stand that. I had a sneaking suspicion a marriage counselor would find a huge red flag in my logic, but that was a risk I’d have to take.
As Timmy gleefully tossed every clean washcloth we own into the still shower-damp tub, I rested my elbows on my thighs and put my head in my hands.
Father Corletti was right. I should have kept up my physical training. I was pooped. Physically and mentally. Not a good sign. Especially since I still had to find the energy—not to mention the time—to dispose of one dead demon and stop an evil demon from taking over San Diablo, not to mention the world.
I checked my wristwatch—just past nine. I had a feeling it was going to be a very long day.
To Stuart’s credit, he managed to pull off some pretty amazing French toast. Just enough cinnamon in the batter, a light dusting of powdered sugar (a culinary accoutrement I’m frankly amazed we had in the house, much less that he found it without discovering Mr. Demon). We four sat at the Fifties-style Formica table and wolfed down mass quantities of the breakfast confection, washing it down with tall glasses of ice-cold apple juice, a constant staple in our house due to its toddler-taming propensities.
Allie checked her watch. “If we leave right after breakfast, we’ll get there when the mall opens.”
I gaped as she flipped open the spiral notebook that had been sitting closed and innocent by her plate all through breakfast. I’d completely forgotten that she’d been planning a school wardrobe shopping extravaganza for today.
“I made a list,” she explained, tapping her pen against the page. “We can hit the Gap first, just to check any sales. Then the Limited and Banana Republic. I’ll snag whatever deals I can, then fill in the gaps with stuff from Old Navy. Then we can move on to the department stores to check for any awesome markdowns. I figure we’ll start with Nordstrom and work our way down to Robinsons-May.”
“Don’t forget about the carousel,” I added, thinking
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