Free Carpe Demon: Adventures of a Demon-Hunting Soccer Mom by Julie Kenner Page A

over my fence (a body wrapped in a sheet pretty much resembles only a body wrapped in a sheet), but the process made me feel better. And despite my rampant paranoia, I didn’t really believe anyone would peek into my backyard in the time it would take me to get the body stowed in the shed.
    As it turned out, it took longer than I’d expected.
    Getting the body from the house to the shed was remarkably easy (I remembered Timmy’s Radio Flyer wagon and put it to good use), but getting it into the shed was not. The little building was literally crammed to the gills, and I couldn’t have stuffed a toaster in there, much less a body.
    It was still early, so I wasn’t in full-tilt panic mode. Yet.
    I had a hefty adrenaline buzz going as I pulled out boxes and furniture and assorted bits of life junk, then stacked it all outside the shed for the single purpose of reorganizing it in a manner more conducive to the hiding of corpses. As soon as I’d made a big enough dent, I climbed inside, then bent down and grabbed the mummy. I slid him inside, discovering that he fit nicely under Allie’s old twin bed. Then I hopped down and started to replace everything I’d just removed. Nietzsche would have made some pithy comment about exercises in futility, but not me. I just wanted the job done. And it was precisely because I was so in the zone that I didn’t hear anyone coming up from behind me until it was too late.
    A hand closed over my shoulder, and I yelled. Without thinking, I fell into a crouch and pivoted, ignoring my aching muscles as I whipped my leg straight out to catch my assailant just below the knee before pulling myself back up to attack position. It was a beautiful, brilliant move, and one that I managed without even pulling my hamstring. (Who knew I still had it in me?) The move would, in fact, have been perfect . . . had I managed to fell a demon. Instead, I found myself looming over Laura, hands fisted at my sides, blood pounding through my veins, and my chest about to explode with the suppressed urge to hit someone.
    Fortunately, I did manage to suppress the urge. Pummeling my best friend would require a lie far beyond my powers of fabrication, particularly in my current state of mind. I bent over and drew in deep breaths, my hands propped just above my knees. Laura was on the ground in front of me, the heels of her hands pressed into the pea gravel that makes up the western half of our yard, surrounding the shed and Timmy’s playscape. From the diameter of her eyes, I could tell I’d surprised her as much as she’d surprised me. For a moment, neither of us could speak. I recovered first.
    “ Jesus , Laura. Don’t sneak up on me like that.”
    She blinked, winced. “I’ll remember,” she said, then reached down to rub her calf. “Where’d you learn to do that?”
    “Neighborhood watch,” I said. “The cop showed us all some techniques last month.” A ridiculous answer, but she didn’t seem to notice; she was too intent on flexing her leg and wiggling her ankle.
    “So what were you doing, anyway? Hiding the family gold?”
    I ignored the question, instead leaning over to put my hand on her calf. “How bad is it?”
    She grimaced. “I’ll live,” she said. I helped her up and she gingerly put her weight on the leg. “But what were you doing? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so intense.”
    “Oh. Right.” I scrambled for a reply, finally settling on the only thing I could think of that would keep her from asking too many follow-up questions. “I had another dream about Eric last night. And since Stuart and the kids are at the mall . . .” I trailed off, assuming (rightly) that she’d pick up the thread.
    “Going through old things?”
    I shrugged. “Sometimes I just miss him.”
    Her forehead creased, and I saw real concern in her eyes. The truth was I did dream of Eric, more frequently than I liked to admit. And Laura had been my confidante on more than one occasion. Today, though, I