California Demon Read Online Free PDF Page A

grabbing the opportunity. “And that means I need to be familiar with all our charges. In case we need to locate someone at the school or if some sort of emergency comes up.”
    Marissa looked like she was going to respond to that, but I turned to smile at the passengers. “I know a lot of you already, of course, but not everyone. So if you’ll just bear with me.” I ran my finger down the clipboard to the first name on the list and started in with “Tamara Able.” Ms. Able, a blue-haired and pink-cheeked bird of a woman raised her hand with a perky, “Right here, dear.” I made a little check mark, just for show.
    Between napping passengers and defective hearing aids, it took five full minutes to get to the “S” names. “Arthur Simms?” A man snorted, then his hand shot into the air. “Right here, girlie. Or are you blind?”
    “Right,” I said. “Got you.” I cleared my throat. “Dermott Sinclair?” No response. My heart slowed in my chest. Had I been wrong? Had he left the nursing home by some other means? Or worse, was he still there, with Laura and my little boy?
    I cleared my throat and tried again, willing myself not to be alarmed. Not yet. “Dermott Sinclair?”
    Still no response, and that little bubble of panic was just about to lodge in my throat when I saw a pudgy, bald man—earlier, he’d answered to Edmund Morrison—shift in his seat. Beside him, a rail-thin wraith of a man sat staring out the window. Morrison’s elbow connected with his companion’s rib cage, and the wraith turned sharply, his eyes flashing hot with irritation.
    I didn’t even need to hear the rest. The wraith was Dermott Sinclair. And he was a demon. I’d bet good money on that. Even more, I’d bet my life. In fact, I was just about to do that.
     
 
Discretion might be the better part of valor, but it’s also a pain in the rear. There I was in a motor coach full of elderly residents, a PTA vixen, the driver, and one potential demon. I needed to keep everyone safe, maintain my secret identity, and confirm Sinclair’s demonic status. You’ll forgive me if I was feeling a little stressed.
    I was also feeling a little impotent. I’d wanted to get the task out of the way before reaching the school, but short of knocking Carl upside the head and hijacking the bus, I wasn’t sure how to accomplish that. I had the holy water, sure. But if I used it, Sinclair would lash out—either in rage or in pain. Carl might lose control of the bus and send it tumbling over a cliff toward the rocky Pacific shore. I’d end up dead. Worse, I’d be late for Family Day.
    Frankly, neither possibility worked for me.
    Which meant I needed to wait until the bus stopped. And, ideally, I needed to get Sinclair alone. The question, of course, was how.
    Three minutes later, we were pulling into the big parking lot by the football field, and I still didn’t have a foolproof plan, but I did have Hershey’s Kisses and a Ziploc bag full of baby wipes. Not typical tools of the demon-hunting trade, but I’m the woman who once helped her daughter make a diorama of the Vatican out of eggshells and soda crackers. I’d make do.
    As Carl maneuvered the bus toward the back of the school, I rummaged in my purse, found the bag, and opened it. Then I opened the vial of holy water and dumped it in with the wipes. I could practically see the ad campaign: Blessed be your baby’s bottom . . . Now with Aloe!
    I shook myself and pressed on.
    With the bag still hidden in my purse, I stood up, making a show of keeping my balance as I moved down the aisle toward Sinclair. “Okay, people,” I said as I moved. “After the bus stops, we’re going to get off, form two lines in the parking lot, and then go into the school together.”
    I leaned my hip against the seat in front of Sinclair and casually pulled out a Hershey’s Kiss. “Would you like one?”
    Sinclair grunted something that I took as a no. His seat-mate, Morrison, looked tempted, then mumbled