Read Online Demon Ex Machina: Tales of a Demon-Hunting Soccer Mom by Julie Kenner - Free Book Online
Authors: Julie Kenner
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those somewhere else. Not here. Not in my home.”
He took another step closer to Eric. “Are we clear?”
I tensed, waiting for the explosion, but it didn’t come. Instead, Eric kept his eyes on Stuart, as if taking his measure, and for the first time finding Stuart adequate. He nodded, short and curt, before turning to face me. “Tomorrow,” he said. “We patrol.”
“Tomorrow,” I acknowledged, then watched as he moved through the dark to the side gate, Stuart clutching tight to my hand.
“I don’t want him in my house,” Stuart said after the gate swung shut.
“Inside,” I said, opening the back door and leading Stuart in before locking it and resetting the alarm.
“I mean it,” Stuart said. “He isn’t welcome here.”
I glanced automatically toward the stairs, but saw no evidence that Allie was snooping. “He’s the father to my daughter,” I said, keeping my voice low as I led him into the kitchen. “I’m not sleeping with him.”
Stuart winced, but had the grace to look chagrined. “You love him.”
I closed my eyes. That one, I couldn’t deny. And when I looked again at Stuart, I didn’t see anger or jealousy. All I saw was frustration, and that directed not at me, but at himself.
“Oh, God, Kate,” he said, sinking into one of the chairs around our battered Formica breakfast table. “I’m sorry. I trust you. Hell, I even pity you. Not exactly the typical interaction with the former husband we’ve got going here. But I gotta be honest. He terrifies me.”
“He’s not taking me from you,” I said.
“That’s not what I mean.” He pushed the chair beside him out with his toe, and I sat down, facing him, and knowing exactly where this was going. “There’s a demon inside him, remember? You’re the one who explained it to me. Or have you forgotten?”
“Of course I haven’t forgotten,” I snapped, though at the moment, I regretted my decision to be quite so forthcoming.
“He’s dangerous, Kate.”
“He won’t hurt me.”
“Maybe,” Stuart acknowledged. “And maybe not. But what about me? Or Timmy? And even if he doesn’t physically hurt Allie . . .” He trailed off, leaving me to draw my own conclusions.
“I’m working on it,” I said. “He’s working on it.”
Stuart looked at me, his eyes seeing more than I wanted. “Whatever you’re doing,” he said, “do it faster.”
Four
“ Mommymommymommymommmeeeeeeeee! Get up, Mommy! Up! Up! Up!”
I shoved a pillow over my head and rolled over, which was not the way to soothe the savage toddler, who proceeded to march atop the bed humming and screaming and generally making a nuisance of himself.
“Where’s your father?” I asked. “Your sister. Somebody, anybody, help me.”
“Me, me, me,” he said, plunking his little body on my back and aiming a spit-filled whisper toward my ear. “Daddy says up, Mommy. Get up now!”
I rolled over, saw the empty side of the bed, and smelled a rat. “Did Daddy send you to wake me?”
He nodded gleefully, then thrust his arms up toward the ceiling. “Do that, Mommy!”
And despite the fact that I was operating on absolutely no sleep, I tossed my arm above my head, which I considered hugely generous since I knew exactly what was coming.
Sure enough, Timmy leaped on me, his little fingers scratching under my arms in a toddler’s version of tickling. I writhed and chuckled and generally pretended he’d managed to hit a tickle nerve. He kept it up for about forty seconds, at which point he couldn’t stand it any longer. He flopped back on the bed, arms high above his head. “Do me, Mommy! Do me!”
“I don’t know,” I said, as if I really had an option here. “Daddy said I’m supposed to get up, not tickle a little boy.”
“Yes, tickle!” he screeched, his little face scrunching up and displaying all the signs of an oncoming tantrum.
“Whoa, whoa,” I said. “I was just kidding.” I looked up at the ceiling. “Wow!” I said, as if
He took another step closer to Eric. “Are we clear?”
I tensed, waiting for the explosion, but it didn’t come. Instead, Eric kept his eyes on Stuart, as if taking his measure, and for the first time finding Stuart adequate. He nodded, short and curt, before turning to face me. “Tomorrow,” he said. “We patrol.”
“Tomorrow,” I acknowledged, then watched as he moved through the dark to the side gate, Stuart clutching tight to my hand.
“I don’t want him in my house,” Stuart said after the gate swung shut.
“Inside,” I said, opening the back door and leading Stuart in before locking it and resetting the alarm.
“I mean it,” Stuart said. “He isn’t welcome here.”
I glanced automatically toward the stairs, but saw no evidence that Allie was snooping. “He’s the father to my daughter,” I said, keeping my voice low as I led him into the kitchen. “I’m not sleeping with him.”
Stuart winced, but had the grace to look chagrined. “You love him.”
I closed my eyes. That one, I couldn’t deny. And when I looked again at Stuart, I didn’t see anger or jealousy. All I saw was frustration, and that directed not at me, but at himself.
“Oh, God, Kate,” he said, sinking into one of the chairs around our battered Formica breakfast table. “I’m sorry. I trust you. Hell, I even pity you. Not exactly the typical interaction with the former husband we’ve got going here. But I gotta be honest. He terrifies me.”
“He’s not taking me from you,” I said.
“That’s not what I mean.” He pushed the chair beside him out with his toe, and I sat down, facing him, and knowing exactly where this was going. “There’s a demon inside him, remember? You’re the one who explained it to me. Or have you forgotten?”
“Of course I haven’t forgotten,” I snapped, though at the moment, I regretted my decision to be quite so forthcoming.
“He’s dangerous, Kate.”
“He won’t hurt me.”
“Maybe,” Stuart acknowledged. “And maybe not. But what about me? Or Timmy? And even if he doesn’t physically hurt Allie . . .” He trailed off, leaving me to draw my own conclusions.
“I’m working on it,” I said. “He’s working on it.”
Stuart looked at me, his eyes seeing more than I wanted. “Whatever you’re doing,” he said, “do it faster.”
Four
“ Mommymommymommymommmeeeeeeeee! Get up, Mommy! Up! Up! Up!”
I shoved a pillow over my head and rolled over, which was not the way to soothe the savage toddler, who proceeded to march atop the bed humming and screaming and generally making a nuisance of himself.
“Where’s your father?” I asked. “Your sister. Somebody, anybody, help me.”
“Me, me, me,” he said, plunking his little body on my back and aiming a spit-filled whisper toward my ear. “Daddy says up, Mommy. Get up now!”
I rolled over, saw the empty side of the bed, and smelled a rat. “Did Daddy send you to wake me?”
He nodded gleefully, then thrust his arms up toward the ceiling. “Do that, Mommy!”
And despite the fact that I was operating on absolutely no sleep, I tossed my arm above my head, which I considered hugely generous since I knew exactly what was coming.
Sure enough, Timmy leaped on me, his little fingers scratching under my arms in a toddler’s version of tickling. I writhed and chuckled and generally pretended he’d managed to hit a tickle nerve. He kept it up for about forty seconds, at which point he couldn’t stand it any longer. He flopped back on the bed, arms high above his head. “Do me, Mommy! Do me!”
“I don’t know,” I said, as if I really had an option here. “Daddy said I’m supposed to get up, not tickle a little boy.”
“Yes, tickle!” he screeched, his little face scrunching up and displaying all the signs of an oncoming tantrum.
“Whoa, whoa,” I said. “I was just kidding.” I looked up at the ceiling. “Wow!” I said, as if
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