California Demon by Julie Kenner

have a list.” That much was true, even if I did neglect to mention that I wanted him and Allie gone so that I could go visit Father Ben at the cathedral without anyone asking questions about what I was up to.
    “Presents. Check.”
    “And she wants to buy an iPod.”
    “An iPod?” he repeated, his expression mildly disapproving. “She’ll be hooked up to headphones twenty-four hours a day.”
    I raised an eyebrow. “If you’ve got a problem with the iPod, you should have raised it at the assembly.”
    “Right,” he said. “Mall. iPod. No problem.”
    I grinned. “I love you. You’re not off the hook yet, but I love you.”
    “I love you, too, babe. Don’t ever forget that.”
    He pulled me close, and I heard the rustle of denim against upholstery across the room, accompanied by a low snort.
    “Ain’t that just heartwarmin’?” Eddie mumbled from the recliner, his eyes never even opening.
    Stuart and I exchanged an amused glance. And then, because I couldn’t help myself, and because I really did love him, I leaned over and kissed my husband. Hard.
    He stood up and held out his hand. I hesitated only a second, and then took it, letting him tug me to my feet and lead me up the stairs.

Six
    “Momma momma momma? You awake, Momma?”
    I rolled over and pulled the pillow over my head.
    Another poke on my side. “Mommy? Wake up, Mommy?”
    “Mmphlf,” I mumbled, trying to make sense of the world.
    “MOMMY!”
    I yelped and sat bolt upright, then looked down to see my little boy’s innocent face grinning up at me. We’d moved him from a crib to a toddler bed five weeks ago, and Timmy was delighting in his newfound freedom.
    “You awake, Mommy?”
    “Am now, kiddo.”
    I reached over to poke Stuart—I wasn’t going to be the only one suffering at seven A.M. on a Saturday—only to discover that he wasn’t there. I scowled at his side of the bed, trying to process that information.
    “Mommy! Come on, Mommy!”
    “Timmy!” Stuart’s voice echoed up the stairs. “Let your mother sleep.”
    “It’s okay,” I shouted back. “I’m already up.”
    A pause, then, “In that case, where do you keep that electric skillet? The one you use to make pancakes?”
    “In the cabinet to the right of the dishwasher, all the way in the back,” I called back. I yawned, vaguely thinking that an intercom system would be a good thing. “Why?”
    “Can’t a man make pancakes for his family?” Stuart asked, poking his head in through the door.
    “I don’t know? Can he?”
    “I guess we’ll find out.” He gestured for Timmy. “Come on, sport. Come give your old man a hand.”
    As Timmy scampered merrily after his dad, I ran my fingers through my hair and scrubbed my face with my hands, trying to wake up. Something was off, and it was more than just the oddity of Stuart cooking.
    I started to slide out of bed, thinking about the level of destruction that was about to descend on my kitchen. Pancake batter on the ceiling. Spilled milk. Sticky egg residue all over the countertops. And every single pot and pan dragged out of the cabinets as he looked for the skillet and a mixing bowl.
    A mess. An explosion. A complete and total—
    Disaster!
    The book! I’d shoved the book right behind the electric skillet!
    Suddenly, I was wide awake and racing down the hall, then down the stairs. I skidded to a stop in the kitchen, and smiled at my husband. “Hey. I thought you might need some help.”
    “I can handle it,” he said. “I’m an extremely competent member of the male species.”
    “Right,” I said. “Sure.” I eyed the cabinet, which was still closed. “But can you get the skillet out without completely destroying my organizational system?”
    He stared at me. “Organizational system?” he repeated. “ You have an organizational system?”
    “Yes, me, thank you very much.” I tapped my foot and hoped I looked sufficiently indignant. I pointed toward the garage. “Now go get some bacon from the