Free California Demon by Julie Kenner Page B

going to call me Bernstein?”
    “Very funny. And you can thank me later for getting those two out of our hair.” She cocked a head toward the door. “Let’s go.”
    I hesitated only long enough to make sure the girls weren’t watching and to scan the gym for Timmy. I found him and Eddie in a corner that the PTA had set up as toddler central. He (Timmy, not Eddie) was neck deep in a kid-die pool filled with plastic balls, the grin on his face so wide I could see it from yards away.
    I waved, managed to catch Eddie’s attention, and gestured for him to come over. He did, first making sure that one of the ladies standing nearby would keep an eye on my boy.
    Laura and I met him halfway and gave him a brief rundown. “We’re going to go see what’s up,” I said, ending the story in the vaguest way possible.
    “You gals go on ahead,” he said. “I’ll watch the youngster.”
    “You’re sure?” I asked.
    He met my eyes. “Not my business anymore, is it?”
    I nodded. Because the truth was, as much as I appreciated having Eddie around, I was the Demon Hunter in these parts. And at times, that responsibility weighed heavily.
    As Laura and I hurried out, I heard a few of the PTA ladies calling to me. I pretended a sudden case of deafness and kept on going. Demons first. Refreshment Committee later.
    We racewalked back through the halls until we saw the uniformed officers standing near the door. Yellow crime-scene tape had been spread across the hall, essentially barring anyone from passing. A stretcher—empty—took up a large chunk of space near the door. The stretcher didn’t bother me. The cops, however, did.
    I noticed David Long standing off to one side in a cluster of other teachers, and waved. “What happened?” I asked, since that seemed like a normal, I’m-not-involved kind of thing to say.
    David stepped away from the other teachers, one of whom I recognized but couldn’t place. From my new perspective, I also noticed the janitor, decked out in green coveralls and a sour expression. I couldn’t blame him. I’d had a demon die in my kitchen a few months ago (or, more accurately, I’d killed a demon in my kitchen a few months ago), and it’s put a pallor on cooking ever since.
    “Damn kids,” the janitor muttered, his voice so low I was reading his lips more than hearing his voice. “Always causing trouble.”
    The gripe seemed out of place, so I tossed another query into the mix. “Do they think kids did this?”
    David looked surprised by the question. “I don’t think so. Heart attack’s what I’ve been hearing, not that they’re giving us any solid information yet.”
    I pondered that. Considering Sinclair had a spike through his eye, “heart attack” seemed a tad unreasonable. Then again, the man had suffered a fatal heart attack. At least, he had originally. There were probably still signs. And if the EMTs assumed that he had an attack, and then fell on the spike . . .
    Dicey, but I could hope. For that matter, I was willing to hope for anything so long as it meant that the cops would close the case and not go looking for a culprit. Namely, me.
    I took a deep breath and kept my purse pressed against my side, my hand clenched tight on the hidden book. From the looks of things, I was in the clear with the cops. But ultimate evil? That I still had to deal with.

Five
    “Arthur Simms,” Eddie said in a low voice. “Know that one from my stint at Coastal Mists. He could be a demon. Wouldn’t surprise me none at all.”
    We were standing behind the choir risers, talking in low voices. “Simms isn’t a demon,” I said, glancing around to make sure we weren’t being overheard. Not that I knew Arthur Simms well enough to be certain, but I did know Eddie. And I know when he’s spouting off.
    Eddie shrugged. “You’re probably right. But if a High Demon’s got his sights on that nursing home, you and I both know Sinclair’s not the last of it.”
    “But the last of what?” I