Demons are Forever: Confessions of a Demon-Hunting Soccer Mom

Demons are Forever: Confessions of a Demon-Hunting Soccer Mom by Julie Kenner

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Authors: Julie Kenner
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just so we can chat before the other moms show up and shift the conversation around to nail salons and new high-end boutiques.
    While Timmy and Elena played in the inflatable ball corral that had been a present from Santa, Fran and I loitered in the kitchen. Kabit snaked through my legs, and I bent down to scratch him on the head.
    “So how is Allie doing?” Fran asked, her expression appropriately sympathetic. “That nightmare at the museum. So horrible.”
    “She’s doing pretty good,” I said. “She’s a resilient girl. I’m worried, of course, but honestly, she seems to be okay.” Certainly more so than I’d expected, I thought wryly.
    “I’m glad. I can’t believe we had that kind of gang and drug activity going on right here in San Diablo,” she went on, warming to the subject. “I mean, who would have thought?”
    “I know exactly what you mean,” I said. And then, because I couldn’t think of a graceful way to shift conversational gears, I simply picked an entirely different topic. “Remember the last time we were here? How much Elena loved that pink rocking pony?”
    “I looked everywhere for one for Christmas,” Fran admitted. “Where on earth did you find it?”
    “It used to be Allie’s,” I said. “But Timmy’s growing so fast he’s already too big for it. Besides, he told me that pink was for girls.”
    Fran laughed. “Well, he has a point.”
    “I told him it was a girl pony, but that boys could ride her. I’m not sure if he bought it or not, but it doesn’t matter, because he’s over ponies. He’s moved on to jets and rockets. So we bought him a new one for Christmas. A plane, that rocks and has wings that go up and down.”
    “Aww,” she said. “It sounds precious.”
    I assured her that it was. “But I was wondering if Elena wants the old one? She’s got time to get some good use out of it, and it’s just going to go to waste in our storage shed.”
    “Seriously?” Her eyes were bright, and I knew why. Fran’s a single mom who works from home doing medical transcription. She’s never come right out and said it, but I’m sure money is tight. And while I doubted she’d take direct charity, a hand-me-down toy seemed more than reasonable.
    “Absolutely. I’ll just end up dragging it to Goodwill in a year or two.”
    “Oh, well, if that’s the case. Sure.”
    “Great.” And, since I didn’t want the conversation turning back to the museum and the inevitable question of why I happened to be there, I took a step toward the living room. “I’ll go get it now before the others get here.” Because once they did, there was no way Fran would mention the museum. Not in front of Marissa—whose oldest daughter had also been caught in the demonic crossfire. Thankfully JoAnn didn’t remember a thing. A small blessing when compared to the rest of the overall horror, but a blessing nonetheless.
    I trotted off before Fran could argue, leaving her to arrange our afternoon snack.
    Our yard is half gravel and half grass, which gives us both a nice play area and a nice lawn. The storage shed is in the back of the gravel area, and as soon as I was out on the back porch—having been entirely ignored by both Elena and Timmy as I walked by—I realized I’d forgotten the key. Fortunately, Stuart is both lazy and a creative thinker. After coming out to get lawn equipment and forgetting the key on three separate occasions over the Christmas holidays, he finally got the bright idea to hide a spare in one of those fake rocks.
    I circled the shed, ending up on the back side where we keep the ramshackle gardener’s bench. There’s a collection of clay and plastic pots off to one side, a five-month-old pile of topsoil covered with a tarp, and a little flower bed grave-yard tucked up in the corner formed by the shed and the privacy fence. In the spring, I had the best intentions of trying to breathe some life into that garden.
    Really.
    In the meantime, Timmy’s been using the area

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