The Demon Trappers: Foretold Page 31

  Riley lowered her face to Beck’s ear. ‘I don’t care about those odds. Those mean nothing to me. All I know is that Rennie and I need you, so don’t you dare die on us, you hear? Don’t. You. Die.’

  Then she closed her eyes and began to pray.

  Later, when Carmela insisted on examining her, Riley tried to push the woman away until Stewart intervened.

  The doctor’s touch was gentle. ‘Your face has a bad sunburn from the angel’s sword. I’ll give you some ointment for that. As for your eyes . . . I’ve got some drops. Use them every two hours. A cold compress wouldn’t hurt either. If your eyesight isn’t better by tomorrow, you’ll need to see a specialist.’

  Riley nodded, but none of that mattered. There was nothing in this world she wanted to see without the man she loved at her side.

  As time passed, Beck began to murmur in a nonsensical language, like the one Ori had spoken right before he’d died. Stewart said it was the mother language of the angels, but how would he know?

  Sometime near midnight, Father Harrison joined her for the vigil. It felt good to have him here, even if she wasn’t Catholic. He had a way of offering hope even when you were surrounded by impenetrable darkness.

  ‘I spoke with Father Rosetti an hour ago,’ he said. ‘They’re offering a healing mass for Beck at St Peter’s Basilica in the morning. And there are prayer chains active throughout Atlanta.’

  Maybe God would listen to all those people if He didn’t listen to her.

  ‘What about the demon exorcist guy?’ she asked. ‘Is he alive?’

  ‘Yes. He’s not saying much. I think he’s as frightened as everyone else.’

  ‘No need to be. Not any more. Sartael is dead.’

  Hours passed. Friends came and went: Fireman Jack, Peter, Simi, then Ayden and Mort. Even Justine called to wish Beck well.

  Every now and then someone would bring her a drink – water or juice. Riley took what was offered, but refused anything else in the way of food. Sometimes she’d talk to Beck like he could hear her. Other times she’d just hold his hand and will him to live.

  Towards dawn, he grew more agitated, calling out in delirium. At his cries, Stewart stirred from the chair on the other side of the bed. The old master hadn’t left the house since the battle, still wearing the same blood-stained clothes from the night before.

  ‘What is happening to him?’ Riley asked.

  ‘He’s bein’ tormented . . . in Hell. It’s the fate of anyone who kills a Fallen.’

  She jolted back in surprise. ‘He doesn’t belong there. They don’t own his soul.’

  ‘Aye, but that’s what’s happenin’.’ He looked over at the injured trapper. ‘Despite how bad it looks, he has somethin’ to fight for now. Yer the lighthouse in his storm, lass.’

  ‘Will it be enough?’

  ‘That’s up ta God.’

  She’d used her one favour for Ori, not realizing that Beck would be in dire need as well. She knew what the angel would have done – he would have insisted her favour be given to the mortal she loved.

  Which is why you deserve to be in Heaven.

  ‘Maybe if I talk to Lucifer . . .’

  ‘I know ya love this lad more than yer own life,’ Stewart replied, ‘but if yer thinkin’ of makin’ a deal with the Prince to save him that would be a mistake. Beck has ta do this himself. Ya ken?’

  Her eyes began to cloud. ‘No, I don’t ken. Everyone gets what they want. For once, why can’t I?’

  ‘It has ta be his battle. I know that makes little sense ta ya, but that’s the way of it.’

  She really didn’t want to believe the old master, but in her heart she knew he was right. If she did a deal with Hell to save Beck’s life, it would never be the same between them.

  Riley bent over and laid her head on her boyfriend’s chest, tears rolling down her cheeks. ‘Come on, Backwoods Boy,’ she said fiercely. ‘Don’t let them win. Don’t let them take you away from me.’

  As she sobbed, Stewart’s hand touched her shoulder. It shook as the older man wept with her.

  Beck heard her calling to him. Though Riley urged him to live, he felt so alone in this barren place. He should have known he’d been damned either way—if he killed Sartael or not. Hell never played fair.

  When he was a kid, the preachers always conjured up gruesome descriptions of fiery pits full of boiling sinners or maniacal demons cutting people into pieces and roasting them over open flames.

  This Hell wasn’t like that. At least not the part he was in. There were demons here, but he felt them more than saw them. They pressed around him, touching him, cursing him for daring to venture into their realm. It was like being clawed to death by invisible rats.

  That was bad, but what really frightened him were the faces of the damned in the walls and the ceiling of the long corridor in front of him. Tormented eyes followed him, mouths cried out to him. Some insisted they were here by mistake. Others, more cunning, offered to help him if he would just free them. All he needed to do was touch the entombed face and then they’d show him the way out.

  Beck knew better than that. He heard the lies, so he kept walking, praying that the corridor would end and he would find himself outside of purgatory.

  The Prince of Hell materialized out of nowhere. There were wide swatches of black demon blood smeared across his armour, but he wasn’t carrying a sword.

  ‘Denver Beck. Welcome to my domain,’ he said magnanimously. ‘What do you think of it?’

  Beck kept walking. The ache in his left shoulder grew a hundredfold now, throbbing with each rapid heartbeat. He was miserably cold, as if he was already in the grave, though the air around him was filled with steamy mist.

  ‘I can send you home,’ the Prince continued. ‘You could be back with Blackthorne’s daughter this very instant. Just say the word.’

  Beck forced one foot ahead of the other. The Prince didn’t bother to catch up with him, but just appeared further down the hallway in front of him.

  ‘I don’t see one of Heaven’s angels offering to help you out,’ Lucifer said slyly.

  Beck ground to a halt in front of Hell’s ruler. ‘I may not have any more time with the woman I love, but my soul is still my own. That’s not gonna change. So go torment some other poor bastard.’

  ‘What will it matter? You’re here, whether your soul is yours or not.’

  ‘It’s a pride thing,’ Beck said. ‘Now leave me be, angel.’

  ‘Well, I did try,’ Lucifer said lightly. ‘It is my job, after all.’

  Then the Prince vanished, leaving him with only the voices of the damned for company.

  An eternity later, Beck began rethink the proposal. He could be free of this place, with Riley, and no one would ever know he’d bargained his soul to save himself. They could get married and have kids and . . .

  She had given up her soul to save the world. Why couldn’t he do it to save himself?

  The damned all began shout at once, a roaring sound that beat at him like a solid wall of sound. Beck covered his ears, trying to shut them out, to prevent them from driving him mad.

  ‘God, help me!’ he cried out.

  Someone touched him on the shoulder and he jumped in surprise.

  ‘Momma?’

  His mother wore the dress Riley had chosen for the burial. Her eyes burned with that same eerie fire like those in the walls.

  ‘Come, boy,’ she said, offering her bony hand. ‘Ya don’t belong here.’

  ‘I’m not givin’ up my soul.’

  ‘I know that. Come on!’

  He dare not trust her. She had lied and hurt him all her life, left him to die in the swamp. And yet here, in this purgatory, he had no one else to trust.

  ‘Come on, Denver. Don’t be a fool,’ she said. ‘The girl is waitin’ for ya.’

  The moment he offered his hand, Sadie yanked him forward. They moved at incredible speed, their feet never touching the floor, as the faces in the corridor blurred to grey.


  Sadie abruptly halted. The area in front of them held . . .nothing. No faces, no walls or ceiling. Oblivion. She pointed into that endless nothingness. ‘Go there.’

  ‘I don’t understand,’ he said.

  ‘Yer not dead, boy. If ya fight hard enough, ya might make it back alive.’

  That was the one thing he did know how to do: he’d fought all his life.

  ‘Come with me,’ he said, tugging on her hand.

  She pulled herself free. ‘I can’t, Denver. I belong here.’

  This might be the last time he’d see her. ‘I love ya,’ he said. ‘I know ya never loved me, but that didn’t matter.’

  Her face tightened. ‘I know. I see what it all means now. I’m sorry, Denver. I truly am.’

  The shade that was Sadie Beck faded away.

  ‘Goodbye, Momma,’ he said.

  It seemed colder now and Beck shivered from head to toe. With uneasy steps, he moved forward, his hand clasping Paul’s ring so tightly it dug into his skin.

  He just had to trust his mother one last time.

  Maybe this time it wouldn’t be a lie.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  When Beck’s eyes jerked open, a soft light touched them. He blinked a few times and the scene became clearer. It was morning and he was in his own bedroom. Someone was sitting in a chair near the bed, reading aloud. The words were from the Bible, he thought. Psalms. When he cleared his throat to try to speak, the man looked up.

  ‘Lad?’ Stewart said, dark, heavy bags under his eyes. ‘Oh, thank God.’ The master placed the book on the nightstand and leaned closer. ‘How are ya feelin’?’

  ‘I hurt like hell,’ Beck said. He cautiously shifted his left arm and was pleased to find it was no longer numb.

  Someone was missing. Panicking, he tried to rise off the mattress and failed. ‘Riley? Where is she? Is she hurt?’ If she’s dead . . .

  ‘Riley’s friends are tryin’ to force some food down her. She’s barely left yer side since ya were wounded.’

  She’s alive. Oh, thank God. Beck took a deep breath to calm himself. ‘It was so weird. I . . . was in Hell, for real.’

  ‘Aye, ya would have been. We’ll talk of that when yer stronger.’ Stewart gently placed his hand on Beck’s uninjured shoulder. ‘I’m verra proud of ya, lad. Well done. Now I’d best go tell yer lady the good news or she’ll have my head.’

  When the master reached the kitchen, Beck heard voices, one of them Riley’s. She was telling someone exactly where they could put the sandwich they’d made for her.

  Yeah, that’s my girl.

  Stewart announced the news, and for a moment there was profound silence. Then a whoop of joy followed by someone racing down the hall. Riley didn’t launch herself on the bed like he’d figured, but sat next to him, looking worse for wear. Her face was blotchy, crimson in places, and she wore a pair of sunglasses . . . inside the house.

  She pulled off the glasses and set them aside, revealing swollen eyes and puffy cheeks.

  ‘You OK?’ he asked. ‘Yer eyes . . .’

  ‘Are getting better,’ she replied, her voice huskier than usual. ‘That’ll teach me to get close to a fiery sword.’

  Still troubled, he gestured with his uninjured arm for her to lay her head on his chest. It wasn’t comfortable, but he didn’t care. He heard her sigh as he stroked her hair, savouring that simple pleasure.

  Sartael is dead. He’ll never hurt us again. And I killed him.

  Beck couldn’t suppress the well-earned grin.

  There was a shuffling in the doorway and he discovered four smiling faces watching them. One belonged to Jackson, his arm in a cast, then Riley’s friends Peter and Simi, and finally Stewart himself. Eight thumbs shot upward in unison.

  ‘Thanks, guys,’ he said, overwhelmed.

  There were congratulations, then the master cut in.

  ‘All right, the lot of ya, out! They need their privacy. We can celebrate later.’

  The old guy understands.

  The instant the front door closed, Riley raised her head, blinking her eyes repeatedly. ‘I thought I’d lost you,’ she said, running her fingers through his hair.

  ‘We Georgia boys are . . . hard to kill.’ His mind flashed back to his mother. How she’d led him out of Hell and that she’d had to stay behind. ‘Sadie helped.’

  ‘What?’

  He shook his head. There was no way he could explain that.

  ‘Thank you for coming back to me,’ she murmured.

  ‘Wouldn’t have it any other way,’ he said.

  Beck raised his eyes to the ceiling, as if somehow he could see Heaven.

  You never listened to me before, but this time you did. I won’t ever forget that.

  Then the tears he’d been holding back began to trickle down his face as he wept along with the woman he loved.

  The next three days proved harder than Riley had expected. Though he was regaining his strength, Beck’s mood would veer from morose to jubilant and back into depression in a fraction of a second. One minute he wanted to hold her, the next he wanted his space. That irrationality made for a few tense scenes.

  Stewart insisted the patient’s behaviour was normal, but after the love of her life had snarled at her about the taste of the meal she’d lovingly made for him, Riley’s patience snapped. She retreated and called in reinforcements.

  The master took over, tactfully suggesting she catch up on her homework while he tried to manoeuvre the patient back on an even keel. Riley decamped from Beck’s house and left the grump behind with few regrets.

  Beck wasn’t in the mood for a social call, his nerves as brittle as a thin sheet of pond ice in the spring. He was on the couch now, tired of the bed, but that change of location hadn’t helped his mood.

  ‘I don’t need you here,’ he grumbled, eyeing Stewart as the master eased himself into a chair.

  ‘Ya need ta talk about what’s goin’ on in yer head. Yer the kind who bottles things up. That’s not healthy.’

  ‘No reason to talk about it,’ Beck replied. How could he ever explain what had happened with his mother?

  ‘Come on, lad, tell me what ya saw while ya were ill.’

  ‘Just dreams,’ Beck said dismissively. ‘Nightmares.’

  ‘Of Hell, am I right?’

  Beck cautiously straightened up, mindful of his sore shoulder. The sling only did so much to reduce the discomfort. ‘Why are you really here?’

  A thoughtful smile appeared on his guest’s face. ‘I’m here to see that ya keep yer sanity after all ya’ve been through. It would be a damned waste to have ya go crazy now.’

  ‘You tell me what happened.’ Why Sadie saved me.

  ‘Yer wound exposed ya ta the power of the Divine. Because Sartael was a Fallen, ya were sent ta Hell to pay the price for slayin’ an angel.’

  ‘But I didn’t stay there.’

  ‘Aye. So who showed ya the way out?’

  Beck stared at the master in profound shock. ‘How did you know that?’

  ‘I think the best way ta answer that is with a wee story.’ Stewart eased back in his chair. ‘A couple decades back a master trapper killed a Geo-Fiend. He was feelin’ pretty damned proud of himself until a Fallen angel showed up. It was the Five’s demi-lord, ya see, and it was angry at losin’ such a powerful servant. The angel and the master fought, and by the Grace of God this lad killed the Fallen, though he was badly injured.’

  ‘So this guy went to Hell too?’

  ‘Aye. He wandered in an endless maze of thorns, teeterin’ on the edge between life and death. When he cried out for help, one of the damned souls came ta him. It was an old friend who’d gone down the wrong path many years before. That friend helped the trapper find his way out of the maze and back ta the light.’

  My God.

  ‘It was . . . Sadie, my momma,’ Beck admitted. ‘She took my hand and showed me the way out. There was no way I could save her. She’s there until . . .’

  ‘God decides
she isn’t.’

  Beck searched the master’s face. ‘Why did she do that? She could have left me down there to burn with her.’

  ‘She may not have been able ta show ya love in this life, but once we cross over, we see things clearer. All the lies we wrap ourselves in are stripped away.’ Stewart paused. ‘Yer mother came through when it really counted. If for nothin’ more, remember her kindly for that.’

  ‘I will.’ Beck slowly pieced together the connections. ‘That leg wound of yers. It wasn’t from an Archfiend, was it?’ The master shook his head. ‘You killed the angel, that’s how you know about Hell, about bein’ lost there.’

  ‘Aye.’

  There was something more here, Beck could feel it. The final connection snapped in place.

  ‘To be a master demon trapper, the Guild says you have to kill or capture an Archfiend. To be a Grand Master . . . you have to do that with an angel?’ Beck asked.

  ‘There’s no capturin’ those things. Ya have to kill them,’ Stewart replied. ‘There are only a handful of us Grand Masters in the world.’ The Scotsman smiled broadly. ‘Now there’s one more.’

  Beck could barely comprehend what he’d just heard. ‘You mean . . . I . . .’

  ‘There will be extensive trainin’ and a lot of bookwork, but ya have what it takes ta be one of us. I knew ya had the talent ta become a damned fine master. But now, lad . . . yer much more than that.’

  ‘A Grand Master,’ Beck whispered.

  ‘Now it’s not an easy life. We have duties that are . . . so very painful sometimes, but we do what we can ta maintain the balance between the dark and light. That will be yer job too, if ya care ta join us.’

  ‘But . . .’ He had to come clean. ‘I can’t read and write that good,’ Beck admitted.

  ‘That’s somethin’ ya can learn. What’s important is that yer wise beyond yer years. Ya’ve seen death close up, ya’ve killed and know the toll it takes. Ya know what true love is. That’s as much of the job as anythin’.’

  ‘A Grand Master,’ Beck repeated. Then he frowned. ‘How will this all happen?’

  ‘Once ya’ve made master here in the States, ya’ll go ta Scotland for a few months trainin’. Then every year after that ya’ll return for more education, sometimes there, sometimes in other parts of the world.’