Free Demon 04 - Deja Demon by Julie Kenner Page A

something.

    “What do I say to Stuart?” she asked, even as she tugged my laptop off the breakfast bar where I’d taken to keeping it, and hauled it to the breakfast table. I winced even though I knew in my heart she wouldn’t drop it. The thing was still shiny and new, having come into my life only in the last thirty days. Allie had convinced me I needed the thing because sooner or later one of us would be so overwhelmed by the fascinating tidbits of demonic research we were stumbling across in cyberspace that we’d accidentally leave Stuart’s computer on an incriminating page.

    The logic, of course, was faulty, since there was no “we.” I’m the complete opposite of a computer geek, and I still believe that Google is a fabulous toddler-age toy I’ve yet to find in the board game section at Target. In other words, I was never the one engaging in the research, and Allie was crafty enough to know how to delete histories and brownies and cookies or whatever, and all those other electronic clues.

    Bottom line: My kid wanted a laptop to more-or-less call her own. And I’d indulged her.

    And since she taught me how to use e-mail, I’ll have to admit it doesn’t suck.

    “Mom! Hello? Quit worrying I’m going to drop it and answer the question. What do you want me to tell Stuart?”

    I grimaced, because my daughter was becoming wiser with each passing day. And also because it really was a darn good question. I ran my fingers through my hair, considering even as I pulled my unwashed hair back into a ponytail with an old newspaper rubberband I saw lying on the counter. “Milk run,” I said. It was the best that I could think of.

    I grabbed my keys and my purse and headed for the door. I was stepping onto the front porch, my hand on the knob to pull it closed, when Allie pounded into the entrance hall.

    “He answered! Just now. No idea why he didn’t call, but he sent an e-mail.”

    Relief undulated through me, and I held on to the doorjamb, feeling a mixture of elation and nausea. “What did the message say?”

    “He had to go to L.A., but he’ll be back soon and he’ll call you as soon as he can. And he said if you need backup, to call him. And to be safe. And,” she added, with a bright smile, “he said to give me a kiss from him.”

    “That part’s easy enough.” I pressed a soft kiss to her cheek. “From your daddy.”

    “I’m glad he’s not dead,” she said, so matter-of-factly it made me cringe, as I remembered how common death was in my youth. We mourned, yes. But we never slowed down.

    I shook off the melancholy. Allie was a long way from that life. A very long way if I had anything to say about it. Which, fortunately, I did.

    “What do you think he’s doing in Los Angeles?” she asked, as we moved back into the kitchen.

    “No idea,” I said, forcing my voice to sound unconcerned and uninterested. In truth, I was as curious as she was. He’d only come back into town yesterday. Why turn around so quickly and drive all the way down to L.A.? “Now that we know he’s safe, I’m less concerned about his specific whereabouts than I am about a certain MIA demon.”

    “No kidding.” She headed for the big picture window, presumably to make sure an army of demons wasn’t about to come crashing through. She lifted her thumb to her mouth and began chewing on her cuticle. “So where do you think it could be?”

    “My money’s on Eddie.”

    “For what?” Stuart asked, dragging his fingers through his hair as he strode into the kitchen. He hooked his arm around my waist, pulled me close, and planted a kiss on my cheek. I was so distracted I barely noticed.

    “Kate?” he repeated, as he released me and headed for the coffee maker. “Your money’s on Eddie for what?”

    “I—oh—you know. That he’ll make some colorful joke in front of the kids at the festival next weekend, and all the neighborhood moms will shun me.”

    “Ah, is that all?” he said casually.