More Than Fiends Read online

  In a heartbeat I was back to the last day I’d seen him. Logan had made even those stupid graduation hats look good. His smile had been wide, his blue eyes flashing, and then he’d reached out and snaked one arm around the woman he’d traded me in for. I could still remember the sharp stab of pain that had sliced through me when he bent and kissed the bitch right in front of me. I could still remember mumbling something stupid and leaving before the tears I felt choking me could fall.

  Ah yes. Why wouldn’t I want to get together with Logan and talk about old times?

  When I hung up, Sugar and I headed for the back door, with me trying to figure out if there was time to pack up, sell the house and move before dinner. Probably not. Guess I’d have to settle for turning off the power and telling Thea the electricity was cut off. Then we’d sit in the dark and hope Logan thought the house was empty.

  I opened the back door and patted Sugar as she trembled at the sight of a stranger. Big dog, but a coward at heart. I looked down at a fat guy with LEO stenciled on his blue-and-white-striped shirt. He was standing next to my faboo new washer, and he looked up at me and gulped like he’d never seen a woman on the edge before. Then a second or two later, he carefully handed me a clipboard and muttered, “Sign this.”

  I did, handed it back to him and said, “Don’t you want to haul the old one out before you bring that one in?”

  He snorted and backed up. “Nobody told me about taking away the old machine.”

  “What? Of course you have to take it away. What am I supposed to do with it if you don’t?”

  He avoided looking at me, and I had to wonder if I’d remembered to put on makeup that morning.

  “Not my problem, lady.”

  I threw my arms out and braced my hands on either side of the door, blocking the entry when he tried to muscle his way past me. The man was built like a linebacker, but I was a woman on a mission. No way was I going to be stuck trying to drag that old machine out on my own.

  “Come on, Leo. Cut me a break here.”

  “Lady,” he growled, still not looking at me. What? Did I have a huge zit on my forehead or something? “Outta the way or I leave this baby outside.”

  Just what I needed. Broken machine inside. New machine outside. Neither of them working.

  “Let me call Bob and clear this up.” Bob the dweeb, who thinks he can screw with me just because he inherited his father’s appliance store and made more money in a month than I did all year.

  “Fine. I’ll be in the truck. Takin’ my break.”

  “Wow, yeah. Wouldn’t want you to get all tired out, leaning on my new washing machine. Take care of yourself, Leo.”

  Thankfully, the phone was still in my hand, so I dialed the store and waited through a Muzak version of “Stairway to Heaven” for Bob to answer. While I grabbed another cookie and pushed Sugar into the kitchen and closed the door, the music kept playing in a not-too-subtle attempt to drive me insane.

  I was just wondering if it wouldn’t be faster to hop into my Volkswagen, drive downtown and bitch-slap Bob in person, when a woman appeared on the back porch. One minute, the porch is empty. Next, some old lady in an ugly dress and hideous black shoes is standing there, staring at me.

  I choked on another Samoa.

  Seriously, I was beginning to wonder if the cookies were out to get me.

  “Can I help you?” I asked, still gasping and clutching the phone.

  Her gray hair didn’t budge from its tidy curls despite the sharp, cold wind off the ocean. Her strong jaw was clenched, and her icy blue eyes were fixed on me like she was trying to see inside my head.

  Weird.

  “On the contrary,” she said quietly, “I’m here to help you.”

  “Help me do what?” Ditch Logan? Scream at Bob? Bully Leo? Have I mentioned that men are currently pains in my ass?

  “Accept your destiny.”

  “Okaaaayyyy…” I said, trying to be patient. It’s never wise to upset crazy people.

  “Today you are thirty-two years old,” the old woman went on, and just how the hell did she know it was my birthday? “Your time has come.”

  She smiled, but it wasn’t a grandma-type, wanna-cookie? smile. Nope, this was more like the grin on that fake shark they built for the movie Jaws.

  “There is no time to waste,” she said. “The demons are here. And only you can kill them.”

  Chapter Two

  “Kill the demons,” I said, nodding and giving her a wink like this was a little secret just between the two of us. I kept thinking, Keep her calm. Don’t upset her little fantasy world. Meanwhile, I’m wondering how I can call 911 while I’m on hold with an appliance store. “Okeydokey. I’ll get right on that.”

  She frowned. “You are the chosen one. It is your duty to fight the—”

  The Muzak ended and Bob answered. Holding one finger up to the strange-and-getting-stranger-by-the-minute woman, I said, “Hold that thought. Bob? Hi, it’s Cassidy. Look, Leo’s here with the new machine, but he says you didn’t tell him to take the old one away.”

  “That wasn’t part of our deal, Cass, and—”

  “Bob!” I cut him off because, really, once he gets going, it’s hard to stop him. While I was gearing up for a fight, the old lady slipped past me into the house and was wandering around my kitchen. Sugar was no help. She was hiding under the table.

  “Look, Bob,” I said, frowning when Weird Grandma started opening my cupboards. I snapped my fingers at her, but she just gave me a quelling look and continued her snooping. Pretty snarky for an intruder. “You get Leo to take away the old machine, or I tell your wife about the time you took Terri Flannery to Vegas for that ‘business trip.’”

  He shrieked. Never an attractive sound coming from a man, but at least I knew I’d made my point. I’d been hanging on to that little nugget of information for two years now, just waiting for the right chance to use it, ever since the night Terri got drunk and told me all about the trip with Bob and how he cried during sex. Though from how Terri described it, she should have been the one crying. God knows, I would have. Since high school, Bob had done some serious deteriorating. I hung up with Bob’s promise to call Leo, then turned to face the creeper in my kitchen.

  “You know,” I said, “maybe we should get you back outside.” Where people from the home can find you.

  The occasional stray wacko wasn’t exactly news around here. La Sombra is known for more than its great surf and excellent bakery. We’ve also got the biggest nuthouse in California just outside town. Excuse me, long-term mental health care facility. Whatever. It’s a massive place that looks more like a medieval castle than a home for the terminally weird, but there you go. In California, it’s always about appearances.

  Point is, there are always a few escapees every year, and sooner or later, the guys in white vans go cruising the streets to round ’em back up again.

  Of course, this was the first time one of the escapees had found her way into my kitchen.

  “I’m not leaving.”

  That’s what you think, Grandma.

  As if to prove her point, she pulled out a chair and sat down. She plunked her purse onto the table, and I couldn’t help sneering at it. Now I was convinced she was an escapee. Only a nutball would have carried that thing.

  Let me explain. There are standards, you know? Vinyl was meant to be used on booths in diners or for car upholstery. Stepping out of its sphere was just wrong.

  I mean, some women have a thing for shoes. God knows I’m not one to throw stones at any woman’s personal addiction, but no way would I spend several hundred bucks on something for my feet. For chrissakes, streets are filthy, you know? Why would I spend all that money on something only to get it dirty?

  Nope. Shoes were just utilitarian to me.

  But a good purse was a thing of beauty.

  I sighed just thinking about my small but excellent collection. I kept up the IRA for Thea’s sake, but stashed spare cash to feed my addiction. Coach
, Dooney & Bourke, Fossil, Fendi. I love ’em all. Which was why just looking at the weirdo’s cheap vinyl pocketbook was nearly painful.

  “Cassidy Burke,” the wacko intoned like a voice from a bad horror movie, “it is your time.”

  I stiffened. This was suddenly not so funny. “How’d you know my name?”

  She crossed her legs, swung one foot and almost clipped Sugar’s nose. The dog whimpered.

  “My name is Jasmine,” the woman said, which was just fascinating, but didn’t answer my question. She opened her purse to pull out a large spray bottle filled with a murky, light brown liquid.

  “Fabulous. But that doesn’t tell me how you know my name. Or what you’re doing here. Or why I haven’t tossed your bony ass out yet.”

  She sniffed at that, as if she knew I wouldn’t carry through on my threat. Okay, fine, I talk a good game, but there was no way I’d actually toss her anywhere.

  “I’m here to guide you.”

  “That’s really great,” I said, keeping a wary eye on her as I listened to Leo grunting and moaning over the old washing machine. Apparently, Bob had gotten through to him and convinced him to change his mind about taking the old machine away. One battle won. Now all I had to do was get psychic, crazy granny out of my kitchen. “But I don’t need a guide. Born and raised right here in La Sombra. I’m good. Really. And I’m too busy for a destiny, but thanks for asking.”

  She reached into her purse again and pulled out yet another large spray bottle. God, it was like one of those clown cars you see at the circus: Looked small, but apparently it was bottomless.

  “These are your weapons,” she said, pushing both bottles toward me.

  “Right. Weapons. What am I supposed to do?” I asked, picking up one of the bottles to play along. The liquid was nasty looking and had lots of little green flecks floating in it. I so didn’t want to know. “What’s this for, anyway? To stain the bad guys?”

  She sighed. “This liquid is an antidemon mixture, a secret recipe which has been handed down from generation to generation.”

  Antidemon mixture?

  “What? They’re allergic to dirty water?”

  On the service porch, the washing machine crashed into a wall, and Leo yelped. Visions of lawsuits danced in my head.

  “You are an unusually stubborn woman, aren’t you?” Jasmine asked, her lip curling just a little.

  “I think I’m being pretty broad minded, if you ask me,” I countered. “I’m letting you sit here in my kitchen instead of calling the home and getting you picked up, which is what I’m about to do.”

  She inhaled sharply and gave me a look that I’d once gotten from Sister Alphonsus in sixth grade when I tried to sneak in on the whole altar-boy-lesson thing. I mean, now girls can serve in Mass, but back then, I’d been a feminist rebel, and the nun who should have been an Army general had wanted to smash me like a bug.

  “Your grandmother hasn’t told you anything, has she?” Jasmine asked.

  That caught my attention. “Gram? You know Gram?”

  “Of course,” she said, waving one hand in dismissal. “And I must say, when it was her time to be called, she wasn’t nearly as much trouble as you are being.”

  “Sure.” My grandmother knew the wacko? What? Were they best friends in high school or something? Shouldn’t she have warned me that a crazy who knew the family might be showing up at my back door someday? As soon as I got Jasmine and Leo the hell out of my house, I was going to put in a call to Gram and try to get some answers.

  “It’s imperative that you listen to me, Cassidy Burke.”

  “Okay.” I wondered if she’d notice my dialing 911 if I kept my hand at my side and just talked really loud.

  “The mixture will identify demons and even slow them down a little.” Then she added with a saucy wink, “Plus, it’s an excellent window cleaner.”

  “Good to know.” I grinned companionably, assuring her that we were all crazy together and wasn’t life great? before wheeling my eyes to the service porch, hoping Leo would look in to say he was finished and I could signal him to strap the old biddy to his dolly and give her a ride to the curb.

  No Leo.

  “You must listen to me,” she said.

  “Oh, I am,” I assured her, trying to look interested.

  “You,” she said, flattening her hands on the table and leaning in to make her point, “are the latest in a long, proud line of Demon Dusters. For centuries, the women in your family, on their thirty-second birthdays, come into their ‘gift.’ Now it is your time. You must accept your destiny.”

  Okay, this was just getting weirder and weirder. She knew my name. Knew it was my birthday and how old I was, for God’s sake. She had to be a friend of Gram’s. It was the only explanation.

  “This is a joke, right?” If I were rich and famous, I’d figure that Ashton Kutcher was out there somewhere with his Punk’d crew, getting this all down on film. But since I was nearly broke and hardly famous, and the show had been cancelled, that wouldn’t fly. “I’ve seen the TV show. Everyone knows that Slayers are way younger than I am. Tell you what: Why don’t you wander on down to the high school and see who you can find?”

  Her mouth flattened and pinched like an ill-tempered librarian’s. “Don’t be ridiculous. The Fates would never send a child into battle with demons.”

  “Oh sure,” I said, nodding again, “I’m the one being ridiculous.”

  “Your mother was the chosen one before you, but she died too young to take up the mantle of responsibility.”

  So, (a) how the hell did she know about my mom? I was twelve the year my mother died at thirty-one in a car accident. And (b) where the hell did granny get off making my mother sound like a slacker for dying?

  “Since she was not there to cleanse the demons in her time,” the woman continued, “their numbers have grown substantially.”

  “Busy making little demons, huh?” Nice to know someone was having regular sex.

  “This is not a joking matter.”

  “Trust me on this: I’m no longer laughing.” For God’s sake, did I have a damn sign over the house? WEIRDOS WELCOME HERE?

  The phone rang and I jumped, startling Sugar, who WOOFED loud enough to make the windowpanes rattle. The old woman didn’t even flinch. Nerves of steel and a sieve for a mind.

  “Hello?” I snapped, idly shaking the spray bottle, watching those green flecks dancing around.

  “Ms. Burke?” A female voice with the purr of a professional greeter. “I’m calling for Mr. Devlin Cole to confirm your appointment for this afternoon?”

  Damn it.

  I swallowed hard, straightened up and swung my hair out of my eyes like I was on a videophone—and, hey, thank God I wasn’t. How had I forgotten about this? Oh yeah. I remember. The Day of Disasters. That’s how.

  “Hi, yes. Of course,” I said, slapping a smile on my face so it would hopefully come across in my voice. The old woman was staring at me, Leo was still cussing up a storm, and Sugar’s whining was starting to take on a panicked edge.

  “Then I can tell Mr. Cole you’ll be here at four?”

  “You bet,” I assured her, glancing at the clock and nearly whimpering myself. It was already almost three, and I still had to shower and change. Oh, and get rid of Jasmine, Leo and my old washing machine. No problem. “I’ll see him then.”

  “We must go over our strategies,” Jasmine (a fabulous name for a woman who looked more like a Myrtle) said.

  “Nope,” I said, tossing the phone. “What we must do is get you outta here so I can shower and change and then impress the hell out of Devlin Cole so he’ll give my company the cleaning contract at his club.”

  “But I must explain about the mixture.”

  I held the spray bottle in one hand and had a tight grip on her arm with the other. As I dragged her up and out of her chair, I nodded and said, “Shake and spray, right? Got it. Won’t forget.”

  Leo was just finishing up on the service porch, still m
uttering about the inequities of life, poor baby, when I hustled Grandma Ugly Purse out the back door. Ordinarily, I might have given her a lift back to the loony bin, but not today. Today I had to make that meeting if I wanted to get a contract that would keep my company floating and me and Thea eating. One thing we both really liked was eating.

  “So, thanks for stopping by,” I told her, pushing Mr. Charm out behind her at the same time. “I’ll tell all my friends to watch out for those slippery ol’ demons.”

  “Demons?” Leo echoed, eyes wide, eyebrows arching up into what was left of his hairline.

  “Spray him!” Jasmine screeched.

  “I’m not spraying him,” I argued, still trying to get her scrawny yet surprisingly agile body out the back door. Leo had been easy in comparison. “God knows what you put in that stuff.”

  “I’ll show you!” she shouted and covered my hand with hers to squeeze the trigger on the bottle.

  “Hey!” Leo shouted and leaped back.

  Too late.

  A stream of dirty brown liquid shot out in a wide arc. I watched as it hit the window, the wall, the door and, finally, the top of Leo’s head.

  He screamed and slapped both hands to the tiny plume of smoke already lifting off his scalp.

  “Ohmigod!” Panicked, I peeled granny’s clawlike grip off my hand, grabbed a dish towel and tried to swipe at Leo. But he danced back out of reach, still rubbing at his head. And now his palms were smoking.

  I glanced at the spray bottle and then dropped it, fast. Holy Marc Jacobs leather tote! “What the hell did you put in there?” I shouted. “Acid?”

  Leo wasn’t listening. He took off like someone had shot him out of a cannon, and for a portly guy, he could really move. I was a couple steps behind him, shouting apologies and trying to convince him on the fly that going for a personal injury suit would only get him a pitiful IRA balance and a few good purses.

  He didn’t even slow down. He hit the driver’s side of his delivery truck, yanked it open and hopped inside. He had the truck in reverse and was barreling down the driveway before I could latch onto the grille and dig my heels into the concrete. Thank God, he’d already loaded up the old washer. I had a feeling I was never going to see Leo again.