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

tell her,” it said. “I do not wish to invoke her wrath. Please, sire, do not tell her. Do not tell.” And then it turned and faced me dead-on. Its lips curled into a snarl, and before I even had time to draw a breath, it took off running toward the back of my yard. In the dim light, I saw it leap the fence, then race westward along the easement.
    I didn’t even think about going after it. Tonight, the demon could live. Right then, I had more important things to worry about.
    I knelt down beside Eric then took his hand. He met my eyes, only to flinch and look away again, focusing on something over my shoulder rather than on me. “It’s out,” I said. “It’s visible. This demon inside you—he saw it. He named it.”
    Eric nodded, looking as miserable as I’d ever seen him.
    “How long?” I whispered. “How long has it been that close to the surface?”
    He shook his head. “I don’t know.”
    “What about its name?” I pressed. “Did you know the demon’s name?” I was flipping through my mental little black book of demons, trying to remember where I’d heard that name before, or even if I had. After decades of hunting, many of the demon names started to blur together and, in truth, I was always more interested in killing them than inviting them over for tea.
    The research and study of particular demons had always interested Eric more, and he and our first alimentatore , Wilson Endicott, used to spend hours discussing the various patterns of demons throughout the ages. A demon might manifest in one decade, sliding into the body of a ruler or other important person. The beast could set something vile in motion that would survive even the death of the demon’s host body. Then the demon might wait another decade or two to manifest again, sliding into another body and continuing the project.
    Eric and Wilson had always found the demon’s endgame fascinating. Me, I’d been more interested in my own endgame: getting rid of the beasts and making the world safe for, well, everyone.
    Shortsighted, maybe, but at least it kept me focused.
    “Eric,” I demanded, realizing he hadn’t answered my question. “Did you know the demon’s name?”
    His brow creased, and he shook his head slowly, but there was no firm reassurance. Instead, he looked slightly baffled, as if there was something familiar about all that was happening, but he couldn’t put his finger on it.
    I frowned, not liking that idea any more than I liked the idea of a named demon living inside him.
    I started pacing, ripping the elastic off my ponytail so I could run my hands through my hair. “This is new,” I said. “The name’s bad enough, but just the fact that Thor there recognized you is bad. New and bad.” We’d been patrolling together, and Eric had taken out his share of demons without hesitation or pretense.
    And not once during our weeks of patrols had any demon shaken his hand and called him brother.
    “What’s changed?” I asked, kneeling back down in front of him. “Dammit, Eric, what’s changed?”
    “Nothing,” he said, and I could hear the fire in his temper. Now he climbed to his own feet, paced in front of me. “What do you want me to say? That I have dark, evil thoughts? That my vision turns red? That I stand in front of the mirror practicing my evil laugh?”
    “Eric—”
    “Because I don’t. It’s slow and it’s subtle and it’s terrifying.”
    I licked my lips, watching him, seeing the changes in him, trying to measure them as the anger began to rage. That was the trigger, I thought. At least for now. Anger. Frustration. Maybe even fear. All emotions that brought the demon closer to the surface.
    How long did we have before the demon needed no trigger at all?
    “Some bastard in a Miata cut me off yesterday,” he said, his voice little more than a whisper. “I floored it and tailed him all the way to the county line. Sideswiped him twice. He almost lost control on the narrows,” he said, referring to