You’ve heard about a doctor who brought someone back to life after he’d flatlined for far too long? Or the guy in a coma they thought had slipped away, but then miraculously woke up?
Yeah, well, that probably wasn’t so miraculous after all. Nine times out of ten, that body only looks alive because a demon moved in. The original occupant has left the building. Ladies and gentlemen, there’s a new tenant now.
Not that demons can just pop in willy-nilly. Only High Demons can infiltrate the body of the faithful. Soulsfight, keeping the demon out of the host body until the gap closes and a demon can no longer take root. I don’t understand the theology of how it actually happens, but I do know the results. And the bottom line is there’s a limited window of opportunity for thedemon to move in. And as far as I’m concerned, that’s a very good thing since demons do a pretty exceptional job of blending into society. Especially if they just want to hang out and, say, run a Fortune 500 company.
It’s the ones who walk the earth because they’re doing a High Demon’s bidding that are truly gnarly. And lately, that’s the kind that’s been infesting San Diablo.
For years this town was sleepy. A true demon-free zone.
Recently, there’s been an infestation, and the more I squash them, the more they seem to reappear. And unlike roaches, Raid doesn’t work. More, I can’t call an exterminator. Mostly because Iamthe exterminator.
The problem of course is detecting the demons that are moving around in the world with us, since they can blend almost seamlessly into a community.
I sayalmostbecause there are always signs. Breath for one thing. Sure, it might be rampant halitosis, but when I see someone popping breath mints like candy my first thought isdemon.
(I’m careful not to act on that first thought, though, because the unfortunate truth is that dental hygiene among humans really isn’t what it should be, and taking out a living, breathing human is what we in the Demon-Hunting trade call aVery Bad Thing.)
That’s when you turn to other tests. For example, as you’d expect, demons react very unfavorably to holy ground and holy water. Which is why I like to always keep a vial handy. If I’d had any doubts about they guy who’d attacked me—and who I was now shoving into a storm drain—the holy water-induced welts would have confirmed my suspicions.
In other words, this guy was a demon, no doubt about that.
But there’s no way in the world I could convince the San Diablo police if a nosy neighbor decided to cry Civic Duty and call 9-1-1.
Thus, stealth.
Right then, though, I was ready to chuck stealth and race to Home Depot after all, because the padlock just wasn’t cooperating. Finally, I said a quick prayer to Saint Baldomerus, the patron saint of locksmiths, then exhaled in relief when—finally—the lock snicked open.
“Way to go, Mom!”
I took a moment to bask in the light of teenage approval, then stepped back as Eliza pulled open the grate. The hinges screeched like a demon from hell (trust me on that), and all four of us froze, looking at each other like spooked deer as we waited for one of our adventurous neighbors to venture into the easement to see what was up. Granted that wouldn’t be as easy for them—they don’t have the gates Laura and I do—but ten-year-old Brian who lives beside us gets into everything. And I really didn’t look forward to explaining to his mother why her son found me looming over a dead body.
“Hurry,” I hissed, and after much pushing and shoving we finally got the body into the pipe. We shoved it far enough back that no one would notice that there was a body in there unless they were specifically bending over to look. Or, unless they were with the city and actually going into the pipe for a reason. That, however, was a risk we’d have to take.
We closed the grate, and I locked it again. Then I straightened and glanced around, expecting to see Brian peering down at us, his forehead furrowed under his baseball cap. But there was no Brian, no neighbors, no cops.
So far, so good.
“Girls, grab some brush and cover the grating.”
They did as I asked without complaint, which reinforced that this was Serious Stuff. Most fifteen year olds are genetically unable to follow a parent’s direction without at least a huff and an eye roll.
“Why’d you lock it?” Allie asked after the grate was well hidden. “Daddy’s just going to have to get it open again.”
“Your father is more than capable of picking the lock, too,” I said. “And I’ll tell him to bring bolt cutters. As for getting the body somewhere else…” I trailed off with a shrug.
“Eliza and I can help,” Allie said. “He has to, um, take it away, right? He can’t just do it here.”
I wrinkled my nose. “He’ll have to take it away, yes. And we’ll offer up whatever help he needs.” I just hoped Stuart wasn’t home when Eric needed help. Stuart has come to terms with the fact that I kill demons. I don’t think he’s spent too much time thinking about what happens to the bodies.
It’s not something I like to think about either, and I sincerely resent the fact thatForzais so stingy about sending a disposal team up from LA when I need one.
“What’s Eric supposed to do with it anyway?” Eliza asked.
In response, the rest of us wrinkled our noses.
“Melt them,” Allie said. “Gross, but effective.” She spoke with the kind of casual, business-like efficiency that made a mother proud. Not to mention nostalgic for the days before she knew any of this.
As she called Eric to tell him the situation, I ran Eliza through Eric’s major contribution to demon hunting in San Diablo. Specifically, using the chemistry he’d studied in conjunction with his fascination with rare books to set up his own little demon disposal system.
