I Married a Demon Page 8

My response wasn’t what she’d wanted to see. Yet, being a good friend—a better friend than I was being to her—she took it in stride and noticed my preoccupation. “Are you okay, Jenn? You seem distracted.” She moved closer, took my hand and led me to the couch. “Sheesh, I am such a nut. Here I come barging into your home and I don’t even notice how bummed you are.” She wrapped her arm around me in a comforting move. “Is it the Society? Is it your boss, Max?”

  “Mac, not Max. And nope, this has nothing to do with the Society, or Mac, or my job.”

  “Oh. For a minute, I thought maybe you’d had a bad run-in with a gargoyle, or maybe a ghost or goblin.” She tried to hide her hopefulness behind a fake sad face, but I knew her better. Myra dreamed of becoming a Protector one day and loved hearing about my exploits. She was the only non-Society person who knew about my alternate identity.

  “No. Nothing that fun.” My mind flashed to the glimmer of ghoulism Michael had shown, but I dismissed it again. Maybe I needed more time off. “Blake took off a minute ago. Supposedly, he’s meeting with a client.”

  She bit her lip in consternation. “Sounds like you don’t believe him.”

  The rush of uncertainty passed through me, putting my heart in a vise and my stomach in knots. “Which bring us to my problem. I feel like the worst wife in the world because I don’t believe him.”

  Honey, Is That Lipstick on Your Collar? Or Blood?

  Blake came home around midnight, sneaking into the bedroom like a cheating husband who thinks he’s fooling his wife. Turned away from the door and his side of the bed, I tried to tell myself pretending to sleep was my way of avoiding an argument. But the real reason was more what if we do argue and I find out he really is one of those cheating husbands?

  Sleep, however, declined my invitation. Instead, I studied the shadows on the wall and contemplated the shadows lingering in my husband’s life. I’m not sure how long I lay in the dark, listening to Blake’s breathing and trying to decide if the dark shape at my window was made by a tree branch on the big oak outside, or from a goblin scrambling along the newly-installed aluminum siding on the house. Goblins loved aluminum for a reason unknown to the Society. However, the branch theory seemed more reasonable and I finally fell asleep for what amounted to a long nap.

  As I said, I don’t like having serious emotional conversations and would rather kick supernatural butt, so I woke up before daylight, took a quick shower, dressed and headed out of the house before Blake awakened. With a sinking heart, I slipped into the driver’s side of the Jag and hit the garage door opener. I don’t know why I thought I might wake up Blake. The man sleeps the sleep of the dead.

  “Good morning, darlin’.”

  My responding jolt sent me toward the roof of the car. “Shit!”

  “Are you all right? I didn’t mean to startle you.” Partner’s flickering lights blinked a fast succession of red and green as if trying to decide if I was okay (green light) or not (red light).

  I rubbed my head and picked Partner up to see the cowboy riding a beautiful black stallion. “I’d forgotten about you.”

  “Well, shoot. Thanks for making a pardner feel needed.” His lights blinked off and the screen filled with the image of storm clouds.

  Resting him on the passenger’s seat again, I concentrated on maneuvering the car out of the garage and into the street. At the moment I started to cram my foot down on the accelerator, I noticed the curtains in Mrs. Hardgrave’s house move, flashing a brief slash of light onto her front yard. “Oh, crap. How does she know when I’m about to gun my car? Doesn’t she ever sleep?” Call it a professional hazard, but I immediately wondered if the old nosy body was an Otherworlder. Yet, aside from behaving much like Mrs. Kravitz from the old Bewitched television show, she seemed perfectly normal. “Naw, she’s just weird and a pain. This one’s for you, Madame Nosy!”

  I squealed the tires knowing full well the old biddy would spread the word of my careless driving around the neighborhood by the time I made it home. Yet instead of telling everyone the time was five a.m., she’d no doubt say it happened at high noon with scores of children crossing the road. I didn’t care. Saving the world took priority over squelching the scandals of Rose Hill Lane.

  “Hey! Take it easy, darlin’. I don’t have any hands to hold on for dear life, you know.”

  My snort was loud and clear. Although I realize a snort isn’t the most ladylike reaction, it was the one that fit the situation. “If you’re gonna ride shotgun with me, Partner, you’re gonna have to learn to hang on.”

  “Easy for you to say. You get medical benefits. Me? I get thrown in the recycle bin at the main office.”

  “Yeah, but if your case gets cracked, all they have to do is download your information and upload it—you—into a new machine. If I crack my case”—I loved adding the finger quotes—“I’m out of commission for the long haul.”

  “True enough,” he agreed with me and played a happy tune. “Darlin’, you’ve got voicemail. Would you like me to play your latest message?”

  Maneuvering my car onto the merge ramp, I watched for oncoming traffic, checked my blind spot and moved into the nearest lane. “Do I have a lot of messages? Never mind. Play the most important ones first.”

  “You have twenty-five messages, but they’re all from the same person─your boss, Mr. Swindle. He wants—and I quote—‘your ass at the Madison Open House early this morning’. He said the Madisons left spur-of-the-moment on vacation yesterday and the place needs some cleanup before clients start arriving.”

  Normally getting stuck with an open house assignment would’ve ruffled my feathers big time, but I was actually glad for the excuse to stay away from my home and Blake. At least I was until I thought about how many pawn shops I could visit. Instead, I’d be stuck showing a rather average home to lookie-loos, unqualified buyers and neighbors who’d always wanted to see inside the Madison family home. Didn’t they realize every house on the block was exactly the same?

  “Dammit. I thought Wanda was the agent for this house.” I pulled to the left, made a U-turn and headed back the way I’d come—away from all the pawn shops of Tulsa.

  “She is. But Wanda’s got a shitload of listings and, since you surveyed the home with her on the day it came on the market, he wants you to co-agent this one with her. He said you’d remember the lock box combination. If you sell the house, you’ll get a portion of the commission.” Partner made a whirring sound. “He said he’s trying to help you get some money in your pocket and your name on the Board. He said you should thank him. He said—”

  “Ack! Shut up. I don’t want to hear another ‘he said’.” Taking a short cut I knew through a nearby subdivision, I tried to remember which road led to Piper Street and the Madison home. At last, a rooster-topped mailbox reminded me where to turn and I soon rolled into the driveway.

  “Darlin’, it’s none of my business, but don’t agents normally park their cars in the street? Leaving the driveway uncluttered makes the front of the house appear bigger, cleaner and more accessible. It’s a little info I gathered from the database at the main office.”

  Picking him up and slipping him into my pocket, I approached the front door, opened the lock box and retrieved the key. The first rays of the sunlight cast my shadow on the wall. “Are you seriously telling me how to do my job? My cover job, that is.”

  “’Course not, darlin’. I’m trying to be helpful, is all.”

  “If you want to help me, try calling some of my fellow agents to come and take over for me. I’m not spending a day here when I should be out scouring the shops for the Bracelet.”

  “Oh, are you making me your assistant?”

  Partner’s petulant tone put me in a sour mood.

  Crossing over the threshold and into the foyer, I glanced around at the cluttered messy home. No wonder they wanted someone to clean up before the open house started. But since when did my job as a realtor involve working as a maid? “Start calling unless, of course, you�
��ve got a pair of hands to lend me.”

  I picked up a teddy bear and grimaced at the biggest wad of gum I’d ever seen stuck on the end of his nose. The disgusting stuffed animal could’ve passed for the underside of a school desk. “I bet Swindle volunteered my services as maid. I wouldn’t put it past him to pull this kind of crap.”

  Somehow Partner made a few beeps sound like a chuckle before answering. “Too bad I can’t help you with the hard labor. This is one time I like being a mechanical device and not a human assistant.”

  “Fine. Then if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got some housecleaning to do.” With a pat on my pocket for good measure, I went to work. Most of the time I stay as far away from housework as I can possibly manage. However, I have to admit I can wield a mighty vacuum when necessary and poor dust bunnies have no chance of surviving my onslaught. By the time the open house began, I had the entire house shipshape and more than presentable. My commission, as far as I was concerned, was already in the bank.

  Five hours later, I was ready to use the overstuffed couch as a bonfire and walk away from the joint. I never again wanted to fake my excitement over the newly installed granite countertop or the matching stainless-steel appliances. And if I had to trot out the fantasy of the two staircases being the home’s built-in stair-steppers, I’d end up barfing all over my freshly swept carpet.

  Once the last unenthusiastic couple walked out the door, I flopped onto the sofa knowing I’d wasted an entire day not looking for the Bracelet. “Where the hell is Bellamy?” Partner had reached my fellow realtor, Bellamy, over two hours earlier and had garnered a promise to relieve me.

  “You got me.” A loud alarm rang out and lights flashed all over Partner. “Wait! He’s here. I hear a car.”

  “It’s about time.” I launched my body off the sofa and dashed toward the front door. Swinging it open, I was ready to hug Bellamy. Instead, I nearly hugged a petite blonde woman whose surprised expression matched my own. “Oh! I’m sorry. I thought you were someone else.”

  She giggled one of those sweet little-girl giggles that was way too young-sounding for her age. A handsome man stood beside her with his arm wrapped protectively around her. “This is the open house, right? I hope we’re not too late.”

  My heart thudded to my stomach. Not only wasn’t this Bellamy, but I was stuck giving another tour. Oh, how I wanted to say, “This house is basically built like a box cut up into four rooms on the ground floor and three bedrooms on the second floor. It’s like every house on the block—boring and unimaginative.” Yet, being the good realtor I am—not a word!—I kept my trap shut and let the practiced smile spread wide. I’d kill my tardy associate, Bellamy, the first second he walked through the door. The he’d really be the late Bellamy.

  “Hi. I’m Jennifer Randall-Barrington, the agent on duty, and you’ve come to the right place. Are you two looking for a new home?” Granted, the question was stupid and the answer was obvious, but it usually worked to get them talking. Right now I wanted them to talk fast and walk even faster—right out of here.

  “We just decided to start house hunting this morning, in fact.” He gave up his armrest around his wife to offer me his hand. “Hi. I’m Ryan Wallis and this is my wife, Judy.” His smile said it before his words did. “We’re newlyweds and living in an apartment, but Judy decided today was the day.”

  Judy looked past me and her eyes grew wide. Squealing, she scurried past me and into the house. “Ryan, it’s wonderful. Look at the crown molding. Isn’t it special?” She hugged herself and twirled. An almost maniacal gleam filled her expression, making me inwardly cringe.

  I followed her gaze to the ceiling. Special? If a molding anyone could find at the local home improvement store could be called special, then I guess it was special.

  Ryan grinned sheepishly at me and followed his wife. “Yeah, I guess.” Judy continued to swirl around the room, exclaiming over almost everything. “I’m sorry. I know we’re supposed to get pre-qualified and all but since I didn’t know we were looking yet…” He shrugged and watched his wife moon over the ditsy flowered wallpaper in the dining room. “The idea came up rather suddenly.”

  “Don’t worry about it. We can get you pre-qualified in no time.” Sheesh, how I hate people who don’t get their finances in line before looking at houses. Judy was still rushing around the house, but I couldn’t get over how jerky her movements were. Could the woman have arthritis? Yet my mind wandered. Could there be another reason? I considered every option, trying to keep my suspicions in check, especially since my hunches had led me into making the wrong conclusions several times. “Have you two been married long?”

  I tried not to, but I still kept coming back to my best guess. Judy was a zombie.

  Forget what you know about zombies from the movies. Zombies can take on the appearance of ordinary humans. In fact, they can retain their human appearance for days at a time if they’re an old and ancient mummy. Unless you get lucky and catch them in their decaying outer skin, the only way to tell if someone is a mummy in human guise is to watch their jerky, arthritic-like uncontrollable movements. Movements exactly like Judy’s.

  “Not long. In fact, only a few weeks. Judy and I had a whirlwind romance and she swept me off my feet.” The loyal hubby must’ve caught me scrutinizing his wife, felt the need to explain and lowered his voice. “Judy has Parkinson’s disease.”

  I turned to the young man, who seemed unsure of his decision to explain, and let him know he hadn’t betrayed his wife by telling me. “I understand.” Deciding to accept his explanation over my own suspicion, I hurried to change the subject to safer territory. “A quick marriage, huh? I hear those are getting more popular.” Like my own quick marriage, in fact, but I didn’t feel like sharing my love story with him or his oddball wife. I frowned and wondered why I didn’t like the woman. Everything about her seemed very personable and friendly, and her odd movements were no longer a mystery. So why did she give me the creeps?

  “Really?” Ryan ran a hand over the nape of his neck. “Yeah. We love each other. A lot.”

  The young man didn’t sound as confident about his marriage as he obviously wanted to be. I gave him an encouraging smile.

  He continued to follow his still-moving wife, but his smile faded. “She wants what she wants when she wants it and not a minute later. Right now, she wants a house.”

  Ah, there’s the problem. Hubby got hitched before he knew wifey-poo was an overindulgent, selfish, high-maintenance bee-atch. But that wasn’t my problem. I nodded, forcing myself to retain a steady smile on my face. Every chance I got, however, I glanced out the windows hoping Bellamy would show. Getting away from this woman and out doing my real job would make me very happy.

  “Is there a basement?”

  Judy’s question brought me around to her again. “Uh, yes, there is. Although it’s not finished.” Swindler’s voice echoed in my head, telling me to never point out the negatives in a home. Shoot, a house could have skeletons hanging from the light fixtures and he’d tell everyone to admire the “creative decorative style”. I hurried to turn my negative statement into a positive. “But unfinished is good because it means you can fix it to meet your exact needs. Come on. I’ll show you.”

  Judy clapped her hands and acted like I’d dropped the price of the house twenty grand. Oh, well, there’s nothing like an enthusiastic buyer. Taking her reaction as a sign of my persuasive prowess, I motioned for them to follow me. If I was stuck at an open house, why not try to sell it?

  I was at the door to the basement when Ryan’s cell phone rang. He held up a finger and waved us to go on. With the perky bride in tow, I flipped on the lights below us and started down the steps. I ended up at the bottom in two seconds flat. Unfortunately, I hadn’t intended to take the stairs in record time. But that’s what happens when someone pushes you from behind.

  Landing on the cold cement floor, I kept rolling straight into a supporting post. “Argh! Dammit!”

  Fortunately
, however, I glanced up in time to see sweet Judy throwing herself toward me. With a silent thanks to my personal trainer, I threw my body out of her path of destruction and scrambled to my feet. “What the hell?”

  “Exactly. We’d love to have you join us in Hell, Protector.”

  Sweet little Judy went from future PTA Mom of the Year to Queen of the Damned in a split second. She let out an ear-splitting scream and slammed her body into mine with enough forward momentum to send us tumbling backward.

  Her hands wrapped around my neck, cutting off my breath, and I struggled to breathe. For a second, I forgot my self-defense course and tried to yank her hands off my neck. She laughed a high-pitched giggle and held on. Fortunately, my training finally kicked in and I went into action. I brought my knee hard into her gut, then locked my hands together, bringing my arms up between hers and breaking her chokehold on me. She fell backward and I staggered to the side, trying to get away from her long enough to gather both my wits and my breath.

  “Darlin’, what the cowbells are you doing?” Partner’s question reminded me of his presence in my pocket. “Are you trying to break me?”

  “Shut up, Partner. I’m a bit busy.”

  Zombie Judy’s screech of rage, however, warned me of her next attack and I launched a nearby box at her. She blocked the box and I scurried toward the corner of the basement where the lawn equipment was kept. She snarled at me. The dim light filtering into the room slashed across her transformed face. Gone was the innocent face of Judy. Instead, I stared at the decaying face of a zombie. Rotting skin hung from the skull and evil eyeballs clung to the eye sockets with thin tendons. Puss oozed from her mouth and her nose, or what was left of them, and a wicked smile let her toothless gums show.

  “You’re going to die, Protector, and I’m going to eat your brains with my bare hands.”

  The image of the perfect suburban housewife flipping through cookbooks for a quick and easy dish of Protector Brains, then mixing ingredients into my chopped up cranium flashed through my mind. Sometimes my imagination is way too vivid for my own good.