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something about his blood sugar.
    As I unwrapped the Kiss, Carl turned the coach into the lot, shifting the behemoth to the right. I accidentally-on-purpose fell over, then used Sinclair to catch my balance. And—oh, dear!—somehow managed to smear chocolate all over his sleeve and arm in the process.
    Immediately, I started spouting apologies. Sinclair stayed stiff and silent. Possibly a tired old man. Possibly a pissed-off demon. I kept an eye on his face as I dabbed his sleeve with a Kleenex, searching his eyes for clues as to what he was thinking. More particularly, searching for some clue that he knew who I was. I hoped he didn’t; I couldn’t use the holy water until the others were off the bus (what with the whole howling in agony thing). And if he knew my secret, he’d hardly agree to lag behind so that I could help him clean up the chocolate mess.
    The thing is, my identity as San Diablo’s resident Demon Hunter was no longer a secret, at least not among the demon population. After what happened this past summer, they knew me. Or, at least, some did. There are a lot of demonic beings floating around out there, and I had to assume their grapevine was at least as developed as my neighborhood gossip network.
    But was Sinclair in that loop? I had no idea. His blank eyes revealed nothing, and neither did his breath, which was tinged with the sharp scent of cinnamon, courtesy of the packet of Trident I saw on Morrison’s tray table. Which meant I had to proceed cautiously . . . and pray for luck.
    Morrison shoved his tray back to the full upright and locked position, then squeezed into the aisle. Other folks started shuffling to stand up and gather purses and canes and the like.
    Sinclair started to stand, but I kept him down with a firm hand on his arm. “Just hang on a bit. I should be able to get this cleaned up in a flash.” I wasn’t sure I liked the look he gave me in response, but he stayed. One point for Kate.
    “Marissa,” I called, as the passengers filed toward the front. “I’m trying to clean up Mr. Sinclair’s shirt. Why don’t you and Kelly take the others in and we’ll be right behind you?”
    “Honestly, Kate. If you weren’t going to shoulder your burden, then why did you agree to help chaperone?”
    Fortunately, she didn’t seem to really want an answer. Instead she kicked into gear and started ordering the passengers to “Hurry, hurry, in one line, please!”
    I rummaged in my purse for a wipe, then kept my hand clenched tight around it. “Carl,” I said, tossing the name over my shoulder. “Maybe you could give them a hand out there.”
    To my complete amazement, he agreed and started gathering his things. Then again, maybe I shouldn’t be amazed. Marissa had spent a good portion of the drive describing the homemade cream puffs she’d dropped off at the school that morning. And, unless it was the sun reflecting off the ocean, I’m certain I’d seen Carl drooling.
    “Okay, Mr. Sinclair,” I said, keeping my voice especially cheery since Carl was still gathering his things at the front of the bus. “Let’s see if we can’t clean you up, then catch up to the others.”
    My cell phone blared, and I jumped. I think Sinclair did, too. I considered ignoring it, but since Carl was still on the bus, I decided to answer. Besides, unless my kids are safely in my line of sight, it’s damn near impossible for me to ignore a ringing phone.
    The caller ID read Allie, and my mommy paranoia spiked. I flipped open the phone, fear for my kid almost blinding me to the potential demon at my side. “Are you okay? What’s wrong? Where are you?” Our rule on Allie’s cell phone use is stringent. Emergencies only. No exceptions.
    “I won!” Allie’s excited voice filtered through the tiny speaker. “They’re going to announce it during the program. And I get a plaque and a check and everything.”
    I started breathing again, trying hard to downshift from terror to something a little