It's Only Tuesday

 “We need Joseph,” Francine said, glancing around the room. She knew them all except for the woman and the child. And even then, she felt as though she had met them before. In a dream… or somewhere else.

“Francine, you know that’s not possible,” Carl said. “He’s gone. He’s not coming back.”

“We don’t know that,” Deb said. The hope in her voice was faint, but it was there.

“Agreed,” Francine said. “We just need to find a way to let him know we need him.”

“We don’t need him,” Hunter growled. “We can handle this creature without him.”

“Really?” Francine asked, fighting the irritation creeping into her voice. She knew Hunter was jealous of Joseph. He always had been. “I know you’re thinking of that low-level demon my father conjured, but this one is different. You didn’t see it. I think it’s more dangerous than the one my father tried to bring through.”

Carl nodded. “We barely escaped the diner.”

“He’s not a demon,” Jessie said quietly. “He’s my husband.”

“Dead husband,” Francine corrected. “And very much a demon. Shit. The last thing I wanted to deal with was a demon. It’s only Tuesday.”

“I don’t know what Tuesday has to do with it,” Deb said. “And I can’t believe you left me behind. That thing could have torn you apart.”

“I’d like to see it try,” Francine said, flashing her fangs.

The truth was, she was terrified.

Three months earlier, she had woken from a dream certain she was dealing with another ghost, though not quite like her father. William had been evil enough, with his plan to murder her and claw his way back into the world not as a spirit, but as something immortal.

They had forced him back into the spirit realm with the help of Aunt Penny. Carl had almost died that night. Grandma and Kira, Hunter’s wife, had crossed over to pull him back. Both were spirits. Both were gone again.

Not completely gone.

Francine wondered if they could help now.

Carl’s near-death experience left him walking between worlds. He could still speak to them, but it drained him. And he hated doing it.

Aunt Penny had once stood beside William. She had claimed it was to protect Carl. She had raised him after their parents died. In the end, she sacrificed herself to save him when she realized William meant to kill Carl too.

Now she lingered, trying to earn forgiveness Carl could not give.

Francine suspected he would not feel so exhausted after each encounter if Penny would just leave him alone.

“Well, we have to do something,” Hunter said. “It has come into our world. And it is not going to stop until we send it back.”

“We could just let it have what it came for,” Sandra said.

She had been sitting in the corner, silent while the rest of them argued about the demon. Francine had almost forgotten she was there. Now she turned toward her, stunned by the flatness in her voice.

“No?” Sandra asked in her thick Russian accent. But there was something else beneath it. Not indifference. Calculation.

“No,” Francine said. “We said we were going to help Jessie and Heidi, and we will.”

“You said. I didn’t.”

The words landed heavier than they should have.

Francine stared at her. This was not like Sandra. She was guarded, yes. Practical. But not cruel. Not someone who abandoned people in danger.

Unless she knew something they didn’t.

Francine remembered the night Hunter had attacked her. Then the night she’d been turned. Sandra had not coddled her, but she had stayed. She had explained what hunger felt like. What control meant. She had helped her survive the first weeks of her new life.

Sandra was half vampire, a dhampir born of a mortal woman and a vampire father. Kira’s sister. She understood monsters better than most of them.

So why did she look almost resigned?

“Why are you helping us?” Jessie asked suddenly. Her voice trembled despite her effort to steady it. “I didn’t even know you until today.”

“You didn’t,” Francine said gently. “But Heidi did. In her own way. She sent out a cry for help the night your house burned down.”

Jessie shook her head. “No. She didn’t. She couldn’t have.”

“She’s a powerful psychic,” Francine said. “She entered my dream and pulled me into your house. I saw everything.”

“You’re saying my daughter invaded your mind?” Jessie’s voice sharpened. Defensive. Fracturing. “She’s eleven.”

“She was terrified,” Francine said. “That kind of fear can open doors.”

“Psychics aren’t real,” Jessie whispered. But her eyes were wet now. Her breathing shallow. “None of this is real.”

“And neither are vampires,” Deb snapped. “Or werewolves. Or ghosts that try to crawl back into bodies. But we’ve checked all those boxes, haven’t we?”

“Deb,” Carl warned.

“No.” Deb stepped forward, anger flashing in her eyes. “She needs to stop pretending. That thing at the diner wasn’t a grieving husband. It wasn’t confused. It knew what it was doing.”

Jessie flinched.

“And you know it too,” Deb pressed. “You felt it when it looked at you. That wasn’t love.”

Silence swallowed the room.

Sandra finally spoke again. “Demons do not cross over without purpose,” she said quietly. “They come for something specific.”

Her gaze shifted to Jessie.

“And they do not leave without it.”