The Demon Trappers: Forgiven Page 5

  ‘No. He won’t believe it anyway. He’s sure I work for Hell.’

  ‘Could he have told the hunters you were at Beck’s?’ Peter asked.

  ‘No.’ Only Backwoods Boy knew where she was this morning.

  ‘Why does this feel like a bad episode of Buffy the Vampire Slayer?’

  Riley smiled through tears. ‘What would Buffy do now?’

  Peter thought for a moment. ‘She’d kick some ass, and look smoking hot doing it.’

  ‘I’m worried you’ll get caught up in all this, Peter. I don’t want you hurt.’

  ‘A little late for that. Ayden said I needed to be there for you, that what you were facing was off the scale scary, though she wasn’t exactly sure what it was.’ He gave a lengthy sigh. ‘She doesn’t exaggerate, does she?’

  ‘No.’ Riley blew her nose on a tissue. ‘She’s going to be totally pissed I was so stupid with the angel.’

  ‘No comment,’ he replied. Another truck pulled in at that moment and Peter let her go, turning his attention to the job at hand.

  Now he knows it all. Well, most of it. It appeared that her best friend wasn’t going to walk away and let her swing in the wind.

  Please God, don’t let him get hurt because of me.

  Chapter Six

  Peter needed to leave a little after ten, as late as he dared and not get busted by his dad. He tried to get her to come with him, arguing that it wasn’t safe for her to be on the roof alone.

  ‘It’s not safe for me anywhere,’ she’d replied. ‘Not any more.’

  Peter swore under his breath, then shot a look heavenward. ‘Hey, you up there,’ he called out, as if anyone was actually listening. ‘If Riley is that important, then you keep an eye on her, you hear? Do not let her get hurt or you’ll have me to deal with. Yes, that’s Peter King in case you’re taking notes.’

  Any other time she would have found that hilarious, but Peter’s tone told her not to laugh at him. She gave him the number of her new phone and after more fretting and fussing he finally he gave her hug, told her he’d be back at seven thirty in the morning, then took off. A few minutes later she heard the sound of a car starting, then there was silence.

  ‘You’re such a cool guy,’ she whispered.

  It was a typical Atlanta night in early February – cold and dark with stars in the clear night sky. The time passed much like it did in the graveyard when she’d been watching over her father – edging along like an arthritic turtle.

  Peter’s worried ‘status check’ calls finally tapered off after one a.m. From his hushed voice, it sounded like her confession had taken something out of him. She knew he’d never see her the same way. How could he? She’d hooked up with Hell and lived to tell the tale.

  As the night passed, Riley see-sawed between two poles: first she chewed herself out for being so naïve, then cursed the angel for being a lying rat with wings.

  I should have listened to Beck.

  Weary from the mental self-flagellation, she dozed fitfully until a pair of addicts launched into a heated discussion about the fascist police state and how their individual freedom to get totally jacked on meth was being infringed upon. It involved a lot of shouting and ‘f’ words. Riley clutched a broken brick and waited for them to try to negotiate the stairs. They didn’t bother, but eventually wandered off, leaving her in peace.

  ‘Maybe Heaven does listen to Peter,’ she said.

  Riley would have slept through the next delivery if the twin slams of a truck’s doors hadn’t woken her. She groggily peered over the top of the low wall and found guys hurriedly unloading bottles into a huge wire basket on wheels. Once the basket was full, two men pulled it inside the plant. Another empty basket and even hastier unloading.

  She tried to take a picture, then remembered the lens cap. After clicking a few shots, Riley fired up the video recorder and let it run. Nothing appeared out of the ordinary other than one of the men was extremely nervous, pacing around as he watched the street. As the last batch of bottles went into the building, she yawned. It was good her BFF was at home in bed: at least one of them would get a decent night’s sleep.

  To her surprise, the wire basket contraption appeared in the doorway again, this time loaded with bottles that were swiftly moved into the back of the truck.

  ‘So what’s this?’ Maybe they were taking the processed bottles to the bottling plant in Doraville. It was open 24/7.

  Though she felt it was a complete waste of time, Riley took video of the bottles being transferred into the truck. When it was full, the loaders drove away in a haze of exhaust fumes. She was too far away to make out the licence plate number. The whole operation had taken about twenty minutes.

  Riley curled up in the blanket. As she fell asleep, she issued a silent prayer that she didn’t have to stay on the run the rest of her life.

  Riley . . .

  The dream woke her again, this time near dawn. This time Ori’s voice was clearer, more distinct. He was still at his post at the edge of the minefield, insistent that she trust him to save her. Someone else had taken Lucifer’s place and that person’s face was indistinct. Riley strained to identify the stranger, feeling it important somehow, but the dream ended abruptly. She woke to a cold and an aching body courtesy of the hard roof.

  With difficulty, she sat up and leaned back against the wall, her eyes drifting closed again. In the faint reaches of her mind Ori’s voice kept calling her name. Riley shook her head to clear it and the sound faded.

  I’m going crazy.

  Peter pulled up to the corner and helped her load the gear. Then he gave an exaggerated groan at her disguise. ‘Tongue studs. I don’t get it,’ he said, shaking his head in dismay.

  ‘I like it this way. All the effect, none of the pain,’ she said.

  ‘It’s going to take me some time to go through the videos and the pictures. You should go stay at the necro’s place until I find out if we’ve got something to work with.’

  That wasn’t in her plans, but maybe it was worth a few hours. ‘How long will it take?’

  ‘I have no idea since I don’t know what I’m looking for.’

  Maybe more than a few hours. ‘If there is nothing we can use to bribe the hunters, then what?’

  Peter sighed deeply. ‘If there’s nothing there, I’ll help you get your stuff from your apartment and drive you to Chattanooga so you can catch a bus. I doubt the hunters are looking that far north.’

  ‘Your dad will notice all the miles you’ll put on the car.’

  ‘I’ll deal.’

  He’d get grounded and then his crazy smothering mother would insist he move to Illinois and live with her. He would be screwing up his future just for Riley’s sake.

  I can’t have him do this.

  Peter was quiet after Riley gave him directions to Enchanter’s Way. The silence was broken when her new cellphone rang, startling her. ‘Hello?’ she asked tentatively.

  ‘If you’re still in town, you need to come to my house right now,’ Mort said without introduction.

  ‘I am. My dad, is he—?’

  ‘Your dad’s fine. The hunters’ have upped the stakes. You and I need to talk this out.’

  That sounded bad. ‘OK. We’re headed to your place now.’

  ‘See you soon.’

  Peter looked over at her. ‘What’s up?’

  ‘Don’t know, but Mort sounded spooked. Something to do with the hunters.’

  A short time later, Peter pulled into a parking place down from Mort’s street, just like he owned it.

  ‘How do you do that?’ Riley complained. ‘I have to circle the block for ages.’

  Her friend shrugged. ‘Always been lucky like that.’

  After a moment’s thought, Riley pulled a silver chain out from under her shirt. Tugging it over her head, she studied the pendant. The thick chain led to a three-inch black demon claw, the one the Guild’s doctor had cut out of her leg after a solo trapping disaster. She handed the pendant over
to her friend.

  ‘Wow, look at this thing – it’s sick,’ Peter blurted. ‘Where did you get this?’

  ‘Beck had it made for me.’

  Peter shook the claw at her. ‘You still don’t get this guy likes you? Wow.’

  ‘Enough, already?’ she said. ‘Keep it safe for me. If I get arrested, I don’t want the hunters to see it.’ They’d never understand why she wore it, why it was like a badge of honour, a symbol of the normal life she’d left behind.

  Right before she exited the car, she dropped a kiss on Peter’s cheek.

  ‘Hey, stay safe, you hear?’ he said, his voice trembling. ‘Let me know what’s going down! I’ll call you when I know something on my end.’

  Riley waved and then walked away, not wanting him to see the tears forming in her eyes.

  The instant she used the bracelet to open the rear door to Mort’s home, the necromancer appeared in the hallway. He looked troubled.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ she asked.

  ‘Paul asked me to call Master Stewart. The news isn’t good. If you haven’t turned yourself in by nine this morning, the hunters will take Beck in front of the news cameras and charge him with aiding one of Lucifer’s own.’

  ‘What?’ she blurted. ‘He has nothing to do with this!’

  ‘The hunters know that. They’re just using him as bait.’

  Riley slumped against the closed door, then immediately pushed away as magic as sharp as cat’s claws scratched up her back. She might have issues with Beck, but he couldn’t take the fall for her. ‘I need to talk to my father.’

  ‘He’s in the garden.’

  Paul Blackthorne sat on the stone bench in front of the fountain. He appeared to be running at quarter power.

  When Riley settled next to him, he hugged her tightly. ‘Oh, God, I thought you’d already gone.’

  ‘Peter wouldn’t let me leave town. Now with the hunters blaming Beck . . .’

  She told her dad about the Holy Water recycling plant and what she’d been up to overnight with her friend.

  ‘Something is wrong there. I couldn’t figure it out. Maybe Peter can.’

  ‘You’ll work it out,’ he said. ‘You’re both very smart. Just be careful.’ He hesitated and then asked, ‘What are you going to do about the hunters?’

  ‘Beck can’t take the fall for me.’ For so many reasons.

  She had to tell her father the truth. If not now, she might never have the chance.

  ‘I . . . made a mistake with Ori. A big one. We . . .’

  Her dad lightly touched her hair and that nearly pushed her over the edge.

  He has to know why this is happening.

  Leaning close, she whispered her dark secret, how she was no longer his little girl. It was the hardest confession she’d ever had to make.

  Her father’s response was to cup her head in his hands and kiss her forehead. His brown eyes searched deep into hers. ‘It’s all my fault,’ he murmured.

  ‘No. I listened to the angel.’

  He touched her cheek with genuine fondness. ‘You’ve been hurt so badly. I’m sorry . . . I should have let that demon kill me.’ His eyes blinked like a sleepy toddler’s. ‘Trust Stewart. He’ll help you. Tell him who . . . summoned me.’

  ‘You sure?’ A nod. Riley curled up with her head on his shoulder, the scent of oranges tickling her nose. He was lukewarm, somewhere between dead and alive.

  ‘I love you, Dad.’

  Her father’s eyes weren’t moist, that was beyond him now, but she heard the emotion in his voice. ‘I’ll . . . always love you, Riley. No matter what.’

  His eyes closed as he went dormant. She gave him one last fierce hug, then rose.

  Her poor choices had put her on a collision course with the Guild and the demon hunters. It was time to pay the price for those mistakes, whatever that might be.

  Instead of dropping Riley off in front of the Westin where the hunters had their headquarters, Mort found a spot five blocks away. In his own way he was giving her time to prepare for what she was about to face.

  ‘It’s probably best you not wear the bracelet,’ he said, pointing at her wrist.

  Riley peeled it off and handed it over, along with the cellphone he’d loaned her. She’d cleaned off most of the calls on her own cellphone so the hunters wouldn’t know who’d been helping her.

  ‘I’ll contact Master Stewart as you asked,’ Mort said.

  That had been her other decision: to turn herself in before Stewart arrived on the scene. That way it looked like she’d stepped up to the plate, not been forced into it by the Atlanta Demon Trappers Guild. It was a stupid pride thing, but it was about all she had left.

  Riley handed over Ayden’s crinkled business card, the one she’d found at the bottom of her messenger bag. ‘Please call her and tell her what’s happened. I want Ayden to know.’

  Mort studied the card with trepidation. ‘You’re asking a summoner to call a witch?’ he said. At best, the magical relationship between the necros and ‘those women’ was an uneasy one.

  ‘Ayden’s OK. She won’t turn you into a frog or anything.’

  He raised an eyebrow as he tucked the card away.

  ‘Just keep my dad safe. That’s all I ask.’

  ‘I promise I won’t let the hunters get him,’ he replied solemnly.

  ‘Thanks, Mort. I mean it. You’re awesome. You’ve been awesome since the first time we met.’

  A faint blush appeared on his round cheeks. ‘I do what I can.’

  As the necro dialled Master Stewart’s number, Riley crawled out of the car, not waiting to hear the conversation. Wending her way through the downtown crowd, she expected to be surrounded by hunters at any moment. Instead it was like any other day in Atlanta: people out shopping, going about their business.

  She walked for a couple of blocks, checking out the shops along the way. They were located in parking spaces, the bankrupt city’s idea of generating revenue any way it could. Tucked up against a place selling used clothes was a store that sold sacred items. Holy Relics the sign said. In between statues of the Virgin Mary, Jesus, Buddha and Kuan Yin, the Chinese Goddess of Mercy, sat a pile of wooden crosses. They had a hole drilled in the wood and a long leather cord so you could wear them.

  ‘Holy crosses made from the sacred Tabernacle,’ the man called out from behind the counter. ‘Blessed by angels.’

  Somehow the enterprising shop owner had scavenged wood from the damaged building and fashioned it into crosses. If the wood even came from there.

  Riley pushed through the crowd and confronted the guy. ‘What do you think you’re doing?’ She pointed to the pile of crosses. ‘Trappers died in that building. How could you do this?’

  ‘Because my customers want them,’ the man replied, nonplussed.

  ‘No angels blessed these crosses. The only thing on them is trappers’ blood.’

  ‘Of course they did. I saw them on the television,’ a customer retorted, then turned her attention to the shop owner. ‘Do you have one about this size?’ the woman asked as she indicated the required length with her fingers, ‘but with the knotty wood in light brown?’

  It was like she was picking out new living-room furniture.

  ‘God, who do you think you are?’ Riley said, balling her fists.

  ‘It’s not like it’s hurting you personally,’ the owner said.

  ‘But I was there! I know what happened. I saw them die.’

  ‘Sure, right.’ The vendor said. ‘Go someplace else and throw your hissy fit or I’ll call a cop.’ He went to help his customer find the ‘perfect’ cross.

  A scream of rage rose in Riley’s throat, but she swallowed it down. There was no fighting this. People believed what they wanted, even if it was a lie. If it made them feel safe, gave them a reason to ignore the truth, they were all over it.

  Eyes blurring in tears, she turned to walk away. And stopped short. The captain of the demon hunters stood behind her, clad in his crisp uniform,
his face pensive.

  ‘Miss Blackthorne,’ Salvatore said.

  ‘How can they do that when so many died?’ she said, trying to gain control over her emotions. They seemed all over the map now.

  ‘The practice is centuries old. Did you know they used to make charms out of the bones of saints?’

  ‘It’s still not right.’

  ‘No, it’s not,’ he said. ‘Especially with what you’ve been through.’

  She was instantly wary: this guy was too nice. Was this a ploy to gain her confidence, then spring some sort of trap?

  ‘Shall we?’ he said, gesturing down the street towards the hotel. They walked side by side. Why hadn’t Salvatore summoned any of the other hunters? Slapped her in handcuffs and frog-marched her through the streets?

  ‘How did you know I was here?’ she asked.

  ‘Stewart called me and said you were turning yourself in, that you should be at the hotel very shortly. I decided it was time to take a walk and see if I could find you before the others.’

  ‘Why?’ she asked, her suspicions increasing.

  ‘I have my reasons,’ he said.

  ‘Who told you I was at Beck’s house?’

  ‘I’m not sure.’ At her puzzled look, he explained, ‘We have an anonymous tip line for demon spotting. The call came through there. We receive a lot of information that way, most of it totally bogus.’

  ‘So it could have been Beck,’ she said, her heart sinking.

  The captain gave her a penetrating look. ‘Why would he want us to raid his own home?’

  He wouldn’t. Beck was too much of a private person. He would have scooped her up and dumped her in this hunter’s lap before allowing his personal space to be violated.

  ‘Why did you threaten to charge him for something he didn’t do?’ she demanded.

  ‘Father Rosetti has control of this investigation. It was his order.’

  That still didn’t explain why they’d done it.

  The walk was quick and mostly silent. It was only when they reached the stairs leading to the Westin’s front entrance that the captain paused. ‘What do you think is going on in Simon Alder’s head?’ the hunter asked.