Demon Ex Machina: Tales Of A Demon-Hunting Soccer Mom - Plot & Excerpts
Laura asked, as she moved around my kitchen, randomly opening and closing drawers and straightening whatever out-of-place utensils got caught in her sharp, obsessive gaze. “That Lisa isn’t the She-Demon, I mean?” “Considering she was about to kill me, I don’t really see the point of lying,” I said, with a glance toward Timmy, who was amusing himself by whapping my clean silverware on the floor. “So yeah, I’m thinking she’s only a minion.” “A scary, horrible, freakish minion with a toddler consort. Ick. Major, major, major ick,” she added, putting her back into the scrubbing now, so much so that I almost reached out and made her sit down—her constant motion was making me jumpy—but I understood the reason for her movement. Nervous energy. And Laura, for better or for worse, didn’t get the chance to work hers off with a stiletto or a crossbow. At the same time, Laura wasn’t the one with her arm stinging from disinfectant. I scowled and rubbed my hand over the bandage, still more than a little amazed that not only was I alive, but that all of the women in our group believed my off-the-cuff story about how Lisa was a plant to prove the point that even people who are skilled in self-defense (that would be me) can get their ass kicked if they’re not constantly on guard.
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