Free Demons are Forever: Confessions of a Demon-Hunting Soccer Mom by Julie Kenner

much of a workout the blade had gotten lately. I can’t traipse around San Diablo with a crossbow, but the stiletto fits nicely in the sleeve of my favorite leather jacket.
    She took a bit more interest in the knife than she had in the crossbow, even going so far as to slash it through the air one or two times. “Pretty cool,” she repeated. “And romantic,” she added, her voice dripping with sarcasm.
    “Well, it was romantic,” I said, laughing at her expression. “Thoughtful and useful. What more could a woman ask for?”
    “Stuart usually gives you flowers and jewelry.”
    “Which I also love,” I said.
    “They’re not useful.”
    “But they’re thoughtful,” I retorted. “And considering I don’t have nearly enough jewelry to wear to all these various parties he and I go to, the pieces come in handy as well.”
    “I guess,” she said, but she was looking at the knife, and I couldn’t help but think that she was mentally comparing her father to Stuart. I couldn’t blame her; at the moment, so was I.
    My love life, though, wasn’t nearly enough to hold her attention, and she started pawing through the trunk again. She carefully lifted various items out—glass bottles for holding holy water, crucifixes, dangerous knives with ornate handles. She examined each, then inevitably moved on to something else.
    At one point, she pulled out a tiny velvet bag. She looked at it curiously, then started to untie the strings that firmly sealed it at the top. I gently tugged it out of her hand with a quick shake of my head. “Careful with that.”
    “What is it?”
    I hesitated.
    “Oh, come on, Mom. Either you’re telling me the truth or you’re not. I mean you can’t just—”
    I held up a hand to ward off her diatribe—not to mention my guilt. “Fine. You win. Take a peek, but open it carefully.”
    She did, moving slowly and reverentially. As she peered into the bag, I saw her forehead crinkle, and when she looked up at me there was no mistaking the confusion on her face. “It’s dust,” she said.
    “Powerful dust,” I countered, a small sampling of the relic that Goramesh had come to San Diablo this past summer to find. I’d managed to foil him, but it hadn’t been easy.
    I’m not entirely sure why I kept the dust. Superstition, maybe. A memento from my defeat of a High Demon even when I was out of shape and out of practice. And, more, a reminder of why I was willing to come out of retirement in the first place. To keep my kids—my family—safe.
    “So what’s the big deal about the dust?” she asked. “It’s not like you couldn’t find twenty bags’ worth under the living room sofa.”
    “Very funny, Miss I’m-About-to-Get-More-Chores.”
    “Seriously,” she said, closing the bag and holding it up. “What’s it do?”
    “Nothing much,” I said. “Nothing except bring the dead back to life.”
    Her eyes widened. “Whoa. No sh— No kidding?”
    “No kidding,” I said. At least, that was my understanding.
    I never actually got to see the dust in action, and now the bulk of it was safely tucked away in the Vatican.
    “Where’d you get it?” she asked, staring in wonderment at the little bag.
    I took it gently from her hands and placed it back in the trunk. “Long story,” I said. “One of these days, I’ll tell you.”
    I expected her to press me on the point, but I guess the lure of the trunk was too strong because she was off and running again.
    “What’s this?” she asked.
    “What?” I leaned forward, trying to see what she’d found under a pile of old Forza reports that had spilled out of a leather folio near the bottom of the trunk. She shifted, and I saw the brown paper bag in her hand. My heart gave a little stutter, and I think I made a soft sound, because Allie looked at me, a question in her eyes. “That’s your daddy’s stuff,” I said, my voice thick. “The things that were with him when he died.”
    “Oh.” Just one small word, but it hung