Read Online Demons are Forever: Confessions of a Demon-Hunting Soccer Mom by Julie Kenner - Free Book Online Page A

tell her what to do next. She took her boxes and loaded them up on the set of shelves we have on the far side of the room to hold various holiday accoutrements. And then, as if to prove she deserved a Good Kid award, she finished loading my boxes as well.
    “Thanks,” I said. “Now in only eleven short months we can pull everything out again.”
    We started back for the stairs, but I soon realized that Allie’ d stopped following me. I turned around and found her kneeling in front of my Hunting trunk. I keep it under a pile of old linens, but that didn’t stop her. She’d already pulled them off, and now she was looking at the brass latch, and the polished leather and oiled wood that formed the trunk itself.
    “So what do you really keep in here?” she asked. In the past, I’d casually mentioned that there were various keep-sakes in the trunk. Nothing important. Only a sentimental thing or two.
    Considering what she’d recently learned, though, her question was legitimate. Still, I didn’t hear natural curiosity. I heard accusations: Is this your Hunting stuff? You’re still using it, aren’t you? And if you are, why did you lie to me?
    I sternly told the voices in my head to shut up, then crossed to her side. “I keep my old Forza tools in there,” I said. And then, because I knew I had to, I added, “Do you want to see?”
    Her eyes sparkled, and she nodded.
    “Okay, then.” I keep the trunk locked for obvious reasons, and I have the key hidden on a small nail on one of the rafters. I snagged it, then crossed back to Allie, handing her the key so that she could do the honors.
    She put the key in the lock almost reverentially, then tugged the heavy brass lock open. She looked at me then, and I nodded. With that silent encouragement, she took hold of the lid and pushed it up.
    “Oh, come on, Mom,” she said, her voice full of irritation and accusation. “Are you jerking me around or what?” She reached inside and came out with a recipe card. “Like you’re ever going to make a mango-strawberry soufflé.”
    I laughed, because I’d forgotten that she wouldn’t see my tools right away. The trunk is the kind that has a fitted, shallow tray on top, and in a clever attempt at camouflaging, I’d filled the trunk with recipes, decorating tips, and other household hints that I’d ripped from magazines.
    “I’m not conning you, Al,” I said, leaning over her to pull the entire tray out, revealing the black velvet cloth I keep over my tools. I grabbed a corner and tugged it aside, too. From inside the trunk, my well-polished tools gleamed in the dim attic light.
    “Whoa,” she said, her tone full of astonishment and awe. “Now that’s cool.”
    “I know,” I said, kneeling down next to her. Maybe I should have discouraged her enthusiasm, but it is cool. And I could hardly lie to my own daughter.
    “So what is all this stuff?”
    “Well, let’s see.” I shifted position, then reached in and grabbed up my trusty crossbow. “This little guy saved my life on more than one occasion.”
    “Awesome.” She reached out tentatively, then drew her fingers back.
    “It’s okay,” I said, passing it to her. “You can hold it.” I almost didn’t let her, fearing that by holding it she’d catch the demon-hunting bug, as if it were a virus spread by contact. But the truth is, I knew better. It wasn’t a virus, it was a gene. And now that her fear was fading, my battle was all about timing.
    Surprisingly, she didn’t inspect the crossbow for as long as I expected. She gave it a good look-over, stroked the wood that had been oiled until it gleamed, then set it aside to peer once again into the trunk.
    “All of this stuff,” she said, her voice filled with awe. “It’s like you’re fighting in a medieval war or something.”
    “In a way we are,” I said. “The war between good and evil has been going on for a long time.”
    I expected a patented Alison Crowe eye roll for that, but instead she