Free Demon Ex Machina: Tales of a Demon-Hunting Soccer Mom by Julie Kenner

her own right. Not literally—in my world, those qualifications had to be added. Not that I blamed little Danielle. Her mother, Marissa, had been my arch-nemesis since I’d joined the PTA. And although I’d learned to tolerate her, I didn’t see any girlie shopping moments in our future. Her eldest, Joann, goes to school with Allie. Little Danielle, the birthday girl, is closer to Timmy’s age. And since Marisssa had so generously invited us to the party, I’d shown my respect, love, and admiration by buying and wrapping a handmade Silly String Shooter, the messiest toy I could find.
    I might not be able to stake Marissa, but that didn’t mean I had to quietly tolerate her, either.
    “Now, now, now?” Timmy continued to howl.
    “Soon enough,” I said. “Let’s go get you dressed and we’ll head out the door.” The party was at ten and it was only eight-thirty. But I figured we’d need a good forty minutes to fight over the outfit. Another twenty to wrap the present (which Timmy had unwrapped yesterday after finding it in the hall closet) and at least fifteen more minutes for me to run into Starbucks and grab the coffee that I’d surely need to get me through this thrilling event.
    Once we were both cleaned and dressed, I popped my head into Allie’s room and reminded her that cable was off-limits until she’d finished studying. I was rewarded with a grunt, which I assured myself meant that I was fulfilling my parental role. Then I scooped Timmy up and, holding him upside down so that he giggled and squealed and wriggled so much I feared for dropping him, headed down the stairs. Stuart was shrugging into a jacket when we slid to a stop in the entrance hall.
    “What’s up?” I asked.
    “Running into the office,” he said, checking his watch.
    “On Saturday?”
    “Clark wants a meeting.”
    “Oh.” I frowned, processing that tidbit. Clark Curtis was the current lame-duck county attorney and Stuart’s boss, although that relationship had turned extremely awkward two weeks ago when Stuart had informed Clark of his intention to back out of the race for county attorney, smearing egg all over Clark’s face in the process. “You didn’t mention it.”
    “He called yesterday. I was planning to tell you after I measured the fallout.”
    I nodded, glad I wasn’t the only one hoarding information. “Are you sure you don’t want to go back?” So far, only Clark and a few key figures knew that Stuart was pulling out of the race. The handlers had decided to keep it quiet while Clark chose a replacement for my defecting husband.
    I thought I saw something wistful pass over Stuart’s face, but he shook his head. “Too much time. Too much energy.” He leaned forward and kissed me on the cheek. “I have better things to focus on.”
    I gave him a quick hug, hoping I seemed supportive and not worried. Because no matter what Stuart said, I knew that the bottom line here was unemployment. I couldn’t imagine Clark suffering that kind of loss of face and still keeping Stuart on the rolls as an assistant county attorney any longer than was politically correct. Two weeks sounded about right for that purpose, so I had a feeling today was the day Stuart was getting the ax. And since Forza doesn’t currently offer health coverage—much less vision and dental—I felt a slight stirring of discontent for myself and my two offspring.
    But I smiled and hugged my husband and wished him good luck . . . and as soon as he was out the door I said a quick prayer and asked for St. Jude’s intercession. After all, every little bit helps.
    Since Timmy absolutely refused to let go of Danielle’s present, I was struggling to strap him into his car seat with a package on his lap when I heard the front door creak open. I glanced around and saw Eddie shuffle down the sidewalk in his ratty green bathrobe, his finger held up for attention.
    “Hold up there, girlie. You coming straight back after the kiddie fest?”
    I mentally