Chapter 9 Kate
KATE
The new kids had been with us three days now. Long enough to learn which hallways creaked, where our cook, Signora Micari, hid the good snacks, and that Marcus’s light warmup meant two hours of conditioning that left them barely able to walk.
And, most importantly, they’d learned how to handle a stiletto without injuring themselves or other nearby humans.
And, since I’d spotted an interesting notice in the morning paper, I dropped the bomb at breakfast. “Tonight, we’re going on a field trip.”
Sophie’s fork froze halfway to her mouth. Trevor’s eyes flicked up from his plate, the first sign of actual interest I’d seen from him. Zane just smiled, easy and curious, like I’d announced we were getting ice cream.
Out of the corner of my eye, I caught Mindy watching him.
That made a total of three times I’d noticed.
I’d also noticed that, so far, he wasn’t looking back.
Frankly, I was fine with that. I was already stressed by my daughter dating Jared.
I didn’t need to be stressed about Mindy’s dating life, too.
I caught Laura’s eye and saw that she’d clocked Mindy’s interest, too.
She gave me a half-hearted shrug, and I almost laughed.
There comes a point when a mom just has to back off.
I want to say that I knew that and respected that, but honestly?
I was still getting used to the whole growing-up thing.
Fortunately, I liked and trusted Jared. Unfortunately, he had a couple of lifetimes on my kid.
“A field trip?” Sophie’s nervous squeak pulled me back to the moment. “Um, you’re not talking about a museum, are you?”
“Actually,” Allie put in, “there was this one time at the Danvers Museum, and this demon-loving creep named Cool, and—oh,” she said, apparently catching my eye.
“Sorry, Mom.” She grimaced as she looked at the others. “Later.”
We’re actually going hunting?” Zane said. “Wow.”
Trevor nodded. “Yeah, that’ll be cool,” he said, in one of his rare statements not prompted by a direct question. “I mean, so long as we don’t end up dead.”
“That is the plan,” I assured them, as Sophie made a squeaking noise. “And you have to get out there sometime. You’re here to be Demon Hunters, after all. And the best way to learn is by doing.” I passed the breadbasket to Marcus. “Don’t worry. You’ll have plenty of backup.”
“It’s actually pretty awesome,” Ana said, leaning forward with the enthusiasm of someone who’d survived her first hunt and couldn’t wait to do it again. “Scary as hell the first time, but awesome.”
“She’s not wrong,” Ren added. “Remember that alley demon?”
“And you lost your knife and stuck your finger through its eye. That was soooo gross,” she added with a shudder as Sophie turned a little green.
“It worked, didn’t it?” Ren said, with more than a little pride.
The two of them dissolved into the kind of rapid-fire reminiscing that made the new kids look even more terrified.
Sophie went from green to pale. Trevor was gripping his fork like a weapon, which honestly wasn’t the worst instinct.
And Zane was watching Ren and Ana with what looked like fascination, his head tilted slightly, as if they were everything he aspired to be.
A good sign, actually.
“Breathe,” Allie told Sophie. “Seriously. You’re going to be fine.”
“Says the girl who closed the gates of hell,” Trevor muttered.
It was the most words he’d strung together since arriving. Everyone turned to look at him, and I watched his shoulders hunch defensively, like he regretted speaking.
“You’re right,” Allie said. “Turns out I’ve got some superpowers. Yay me. But my mom doesn’t, and she’s the most kick-ass Demon Hunter I’ve ever met.” She turned to look at Marcus. “Sorry about that.”
He shrugged. “No argument here.”
“We don’t know what your skills are,” Mom continued, speaking now to the whole class.
“But we do know that each of you has potential, or you wouldn’t have been recruited.
So learn to work with what you’ve got, and work hard to learn the skills we’ll teach.
Do that, and you’ll be kicking demon ass in no time,” she added, making Sophie giggle.
“Remember,” I added, “Tonight’s just step one. No one’s expecting you to do mystical cartwheels.”
Sophie put her hand over her mouth to stifle more giggles, then settled back in her chair, apparently realizing we were all staring at her. “What?”
“Well, okay, then,” Trevor said, hunching his shoulders and sounding less surly—and a bit more confident. “I can do that.”
“You can,” I assured him. “And you will.” I looked at each of them in turn. “Wear comfortable clothes and tennis shoes. We’ll meet in the Great Hall at dusk.”
Marcus followed me into the hallway. “Who’s our target?”
I fished the clipping from my back pocket and handed it to him.
An old man had collapsed on the beach near the surfboard rental place.
The lifeguard said he died, but by the time the paramedics arrived, he was sitting up and talking.
They figured the lifeguard just didn’t know his stuff, even though he swore the guy had no pulse.
“Gotta be a demon,” Marcus agreed as he handed the clipping back to me. But it’s been hours. No guarantee we’ll find him.”
“There never is, but you know as well as I do they like to come back a time or two to the place where he died.” I shrugged. “If he’s not there, we’ll just get ice cream.”
Marcus chuckled. “Can’t argue with that.”
I leaned against the wall. “How’s training going? Any thoughts?”
He nodded slowly. “Sophie’s still green, but I can already tell she’s got it in her. We may not see it tonight, though. I’ll keep an eye on her. As for Trevor, the kid’s wound pretty tight.”
“Tell me something I don’t know,” I said.
“I think tonight will help. He acts like a surly prick, but I think it’s because he doesn’t know his place yet. I met quite a few of that type back in Rome. We’re still in week one. It’ll shake out, I think.”
I nodded, thinking about the surly, withdrawn teen, and trying to overlay him with a softer side. “Honestly, I don’t see it. But I hope you’re right. And Zane?”
Marcus shrugged. “Seems made for the job. Easy-going but sharp. And strong. He told me he’d done some martial arts training as a kid. He’s got potential. I just...” He trailed off with a shrug. “What?”
He shook his head. “Not relevant.”
I crossed my arms. “Hello? I’m the headmistress here. What?”
“He just reminds me of one too many smug assholes I’ve run across. And, no, he hasn’t done a single thing that falls in the asshole column.”
“He’s the kind of guy who’d be the head of a fraternity and the most popular guy in school if he had a different life,” I said. “Then again, my only frame of reference for that kind of life is television.”
“Yeah, but you’re not wrong. His mom died when he was fourteen, but he still managed to stay under the radar. Kept their apartment, found enough work to pay the rent. The guy’s a survivor. He’s an asset. Not yet, but he will be.”
“Agreed.” But even as I said it, I couldn’t get his situation out of my head.
Zane was a boy who’d been entirely on his own, and that kind usually avoids groups—no frats, no community groups.
But then Forza called and he jumped. Probably just the allure of the supernatural and the pride of being selected.
That’s what usually brought in Forza recruits.
But at the same time, a tiny part of me wondered if he’d encountered demons before the fake mugger. Like maybe it was a demon who’d killed his mother.
That could light a fire under a hunter. And a hunter with a purpose was a very good weapon.
The beach near the surfboard rental shop was deserted by the time we arrived. The shop itself had closed hours ago, its cheerful “Catch a Wave!” sign now dark and the racks of boards chained up for the night. Beyond it, the sand stretched toward the water, silver-gray under a half moon.
“Spread out,” I said, keeping my voice low. “Stay in your groups. Act like friends out for the night, not Hunters.”
They all nodded, then the small mob shifted, breaking into three little gangs.
Marcus, Ren, and Ana headed toward the waterline, where the old man had supposedly drowned.
Allie took Mindy and Eliza to check out the cafes at the far end of the popular San Diablo boardwalk.
And I kept the three new kids with me, steering us toward a nearby taco stand where a few late-night customers lingered over their food.
I’d shown them all the newspaper photo before we left—Harold Messner, seventy-three, bald head, prominent nose. He’d gone swimming three days ago and drowned. Pronounced dead on the beach by the paramedics.
And then, miraculously, he’d started breathing again.
Miracle, my ass.
“There.” Zane’s voice was calm, almost conversational. He nodded toward the taco stand, where an old man sat alone at one of the plastic tables, working his way through a plate of fish tacos.
Bald. Prominent nose. Souvenir tee he’d probably stolen from a now-dead tourist.
Hello, Mr. Messner. Or whoever was currently wearing him.
“Stay here,” I told the kids. “I’m going to confirm.”
I strolled over to the taco stand like I was just another hungry tourist, ordered a Coke I didn’t want, and took a seat at the table next to my target. He glanced up briefly, then went back to his food.
I watched him pop a couple of mints from a near-empty container, and knew we had our man. Either that or I was hanging with a human who had really bad oral hygiene.
I leaned over, pretending to reach for a napkin from the dispenser on his table. “Sorry—do you mind?”
“Help yourself.” His voice was pleasant enough. Normal.
But I was close now. Close enough to catch the smell underneath the peppermint. Faint, but unmistakable—that sickly sweet reek of rot that is a telltale demon giveaway.
I grabbed my napkin and retreated to my table, pulling out my phone to text Marcus and Allie—Taco stand.
Then I sipped my Coke and waited.