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

backward. I lost my grip on my own blade in the process, the stiletto flying off into the circle of dark that surrounded the porch.
    My left arm was trapped between the thick weave of the lounger, and I struggled to untangle myself even as my eyes scanned the porch for another weapon. There was no doubt that I was going to need one. The demon on my porch stood at least six feet tall, with thighs like fence posts. Construction, I thought. Either that or he’d been featured in the WWF. Whatever the beast’s former life, he was all demon now, and his beefy face curled into a snarl as he kicked out and up, knocking the knife from Eric’s hand before he lunged at me.
    I managed to yank my arm free, then scurried backward, crablike, dragging my ass and legs over the fallen lounger, and then giving the entire aluminum contraption a hard shove toward the demon. Not that my efforts did much good. The beast avoided my thrust, instead spinning around and catching Eric hard across the face. As Eric tumbled to the ground on the far side of the porch I climbed to my feet, managing to knock over one of the pots in which I’d tried—and failed—to plant tomatoes last spring. I bent down and ripped out a chopstick I’d used as a stake, figuring it was a better weapon than nothing.
    Not by much, though. A fact that quickly became clear when the demon picked up the crumpled lawn chair and hurled it at me, sending me hurtling backward again before the beast himself followed suit, his giant foot aiming down hard toward my throat. I saw the blow coming, planted my feet, and pushed back hard. My shirt rode up, and my back scraped along the concrete, all the gravel that Timmy loved to throw onto the porch digging into my skin. I winced in pain, but mentally cheered in victory, because I’d gained the inches I needed, and that massive foot crunched down on my collarbone and not my windpipe.
    A Pyrrhic victory when you considered that I was still on my back with a demon on top of me, but at least I was alive and breathing. And, thank God, Eric was back on his feet and aiming a ferocious crescent kick right at my tormentor’s skull, his weak leg firmly on the ground, his weight pivoting off the head of his cane.
    To sweeten the deal, the demon spun to look back, which meant that Eric’s flying foot connected hard with Dumbo’s face. I heard the satisfying crunch of bone and cartilage followed by the low wail of the demon as he backed off, blood gushing from his nose.
    “You are not my concern, male,” he said, his voice liquid through the blood.
    “Oh, I think I am.” The leg came around again, but this time the demon was ready. He caught Eric’s ankle between his hands and twisted, giving Eric no choice but to shift into the turn or feel his leg snap like a twig. He twisted, which landed him on the ground, momentarily defenseless against the demon’s onslaught. I, however, was back on my feet.
    Still armed with nothing more than a chopstick and determination, I landed a solid kick at the small of the demon’s back, sending him toppling over even as Eric whipped the blade out from inside his cane and thrust it up toward the falling demon.
    The demon’s wail echoed through the neighborhood, the blade piercing the palm of his hand and extending out the back. A defensive wound, since I was certain that Eric had been aiming for the beast’s eye.
    Now Eric yanked his blade back, and the demon came along for the ride, ending up nose to nose with Eric.
    I was right behind, grabbing for the beast’s shoulder, ready to jerk it around and thrust my chopstick deep into its eye, when I saw its back go rigid and heard its low, terrified voice. “Odayne!” it whispered, then backed away, bowing. “Forgive! Forgive!”
    From my angle, I could see Eric’s face, and he looked as baffled as I felt. An emotion that did neither of us any good, as it gave the demon time to back farther away, managing to both bow and run at the same time. “Do not