“Yeah, well, all I did was train while you were laid up in a hospital bed, remember? It’s no biggie.”
Eliza rolled a shoulder. “Whatever.” She nodded toward the demon. “So, Mindy’s right. What should we do with him?”
“Drag him home?” Allie suggested.
I grimaced, glancing around for another solution. Our yards might be fenced, but I wasn’t keen on hauling a body in the middle of the afternoon. “What about that?” I asked, pointing to the grate against which Eliza had been sprawled.
I hurried that direction as the girls shrugged, then knelt in front of it and found myself squinting into a sewer drain about twenty-four inches in diameter. “We’ll hide the body here.”
“Hide it?” Allie repeated. “You mean, like to rot?”
I tilted my head and gave her the same stare I use when she leaves wet towels on the bathroom floor. “Your father can deal with it.”
Mindy snorted, and we both turned to her. She went pink. “My mom always used to say that when it was something gross. Like cleaning out the disposal.” She swallowed, then shrugged as she glanced down. “Now she does all that stuff. Or Cutter does.”
“Mindy, honey, I?—”
“Um, therapy later?” Eliza said. “Body, remember?”
“Right,” Mindy said, before I had a chance to lecture my cousin on being emotionally sensitive. She peered at the grate. “How are we supposed to get it open?”
Eliza had come up behind me and was now bent over in front of the grate. As if to emphasize Mindy’s point, she rattled the rusty padlock. “You got bolt cutters in your storage shed?”
The truth was I had no idea if we had bolt cutters or not, but I made a mental note to add that to my list of household/demon-hunting tools to acquire.
“Even if we did,” I admitted “I have no idea where they might be. But how about some wire? Paperclips? Something I can use to pick the lock?”
“You can pick a lock?” That question came from Allie, who seemed to be perking up in the face of the possibility that her mother was trained to do potentially illegal things.
“Theoretically. I haven’t had the need since long before you were born.”
I shifted my attention to Mindy. “Can you run to your place and bring me back some paperclips? Or bobby pins?” Her house was slightly closer to the easement than ours, being set further back on their lot. And on the off chance that Stuart had come home, I didn’t want anyone blowing whatever cover story Laura might have spun.
“Oh! Wait!” Eliza started rummaging in her pockets. “I’ve got some of those.”
I remembered that she’d had her hair pulled up in a messy bun earlier in the day. Now, it hung loose around her shoulders.
After digging in each of her four pockets, she handed me two bobby pins. I went to work bending them, one straight, one hooked so that I could try to work the tumblers. I was seriously out of practice, but fortunately for us, this lock wasn’t meant to protect precious artifacts. As far as I could tell, its only purpose served to keep small children from getting lost in the sewage system and then washed out to sea.
Still, rust proved to be a bitter foe. That and the fact that Eliza was so fascinated with what I was doing that she kept moving and blocking my light.
“Come on, Mom,” Allie pressed. “We could have gone to Home Depot and bought bolt cutters by now.”
A slight exaggeration, I think, considering it had been less than five minutes. But I did understand. We were sitting in the middle of the neighborhood with a dead body. And I don’t think any of the neighbors would be convinced if we told them that the man sprawled at the bottom of the easement actually died a long time ago. The only new thing to happen was that the demon that had invaded its body had been evicted.
Nobody but me, Laura, and the girls knew that.
As a Hunter, I’m not overly concerned about the zillions of noncorporeal demons hovering around us in the ether each and every day. Instead, I only come on duty when there’s a demonic creature actually walking the earth. And these days, that’s limited to walking the earth in San Diablo—or at least Southern California. I may be back on duty, but international travel is no longer part of my job description.
For the most part, I hunt corporeal demons, but I’ve put down zombies, staked vampires, and decapitated a few werewolves in my day, too. Those demonic forms are relatively rare because, frankly, they tend to stand out. While young vampires do a reasonably good job of blending in, were-creatures really don’t mix well in society. And zombies? Well, they aren’t demons at all. They’re just animated corpses controlled by a demonic master. Like a disgusting, worm-ridden, remote control doll.
I bit my lower lip as I continued picking the lock, diverting my attention only once to scowl at the body, now nothing more than a human shell, aka a handy little skin-suit for a previously noncorporeal demon. Because that, in fact, is what most demonsdo. They wait for an opportunity—usually death—and then they slip into a human body as the previous owner’s soul slips out.
Why? Because most demons want to be human. Or, at least, they want to experience the pleasures of humanity. Sights. Sounds. Smells. Sex. Sin. All those S-words, and a whole lot more.
Some demons want it so badly, that they go the possession route and hijack a body while the soul is still there, squashing it down and being all evil and dominant. But possession isn’t subtle, and like high school freshmen, demons just want to fit in. But a demon who’s possessed a body isn’t going to be joining a wine club or learning to ballroom dance. (Although I should point out that Eric and I once captured one at a truly hard core Rave in Istanbul, and he’d blended in remarkably well. But, well, it wasthatkind of party.)
Most demons eschew the possession route for the neater prospect of a viable body they can call their own. Those demons tend to linger about in the ether, often around hospitals, awaiting the moment of death. Why? Because when someone dies, a demon can move in.
