The Demon Trappers 3: Forgiven Page 7

  ‘Pardon?’ Rosetti asked, puzzled.

  The priest had no sense of humour. ‘I didn’t find out he worked for Hell until later.’

  Amundson spoke up. ‘Are you trappers so ignorant you don’t recognize a Fallen when you see one?’

  ‘Would you?’ she shot back. ‘It’s not like there was a big X on his forehead or anything.’

  ‘There are ways to tell who they serve,’ the man replied.

  ‘Well, nobody told me, and I’m certainly not a mind reader,’ Riley replied. ‘He was polite and didn’t treat me like a child, unlike about every other person on this planet.’

  A faint smile curved at the edges of Stewart’s mouth. ‘Apprentice trappers are not taught about the Fallen. It is assumed they will never encounter one until they reach master level. Clearly it’s time ta revise that assumption.’

  The priest nodded gravely. His eyes went back to Riley. ‘Where is your father’s corpse at this moment?’

  Rosetti had unknowingly given her an out by specifying ‘at this moment’. Her dad could be at Mort’s or he might be somewhere else by now.

  ‘I’m not sure.’

  ‘Did you pledge your immortal soul to Hell?’

  Though he frightened her more than any of the other hunters, she glared at Rosetti. ‘No, I did not give up my soul,’ she insisted.

  Leaning forward, the priest rested his elbows on the table. ‘You are the first female in the Atlanta Demon Trappers Guild. I understand that your apprenticeship has been turbulent, to say the least.’ He paused for effect. ‘Perhaps you were angry at how you’ve been treated by the other trappers and saw a means to seek your revenge.’

  ‘I’m not getting you,’ she said, wary.

  ‘Was it you who let the demons inside the Holy Water ward at the Tabernacle?’

  ‘What?’ Riley replied. ‘You’re crazy. Simon almost died that night.’

  ‘Ah, Mr Adler,’ the priest said, shuffling papers until he reached the one with a picture of Simon and a lot of tiny writing. Like a dossier. The priest’s attention rose from the document. ‘We have spoken to him. He has serious concerns as to where your loyalties lie.’

  That was an understatement.

  ‘He was so concerned that he tested you with Holy Water.’

  Stewart’s attention swivelled her way, his brows knotted. ‘Lass?’

  Thanks for that, Simon. ‘He wanted to see if I’d sprout horns. He seemed really upset when it didn’t happen.’

  ‘He tells us that you own a demon claw,’ the priest said. ‘Are you wearing it now?’

  Riley shook her head, pleased she’d had the good sense to take it off. They’d probably just destroy it.

  ‘Why do you possess a symbol of Hell? Does it make you feel closer to your master?’

  ‘Harper?’ Then it dawned on her who the priest meant. ‘You mean Lucifer? Get real. I kept the claw because the thing almost killed me. I have the scars to prove it.’ Not that I’m going to show them to you.

  ‘You have to see this from our perspective, Miss Blackthorne,’ the priest continued. ‘You are in close contact with a Fallen and you often wear a symbol of Hell.’ He paused for effect. ‘You came out of the Tabernacle unscathed.’

  ‘Unscathed? All these nightmares I have are nothing?’

  ‘Compared to others, you are untouched.’

  This guy’s logic didn’t track. ‘Why would Hell try to kill me if I was one of theirs?’

  ‘Perhaps it is to push you into giving your soul to the Fallen.’

  That she hadn’t considered. Had it all been a set-up so Ori could save her and she’d feel so grateful she’d give him anything he wanted?

  ‘Perhaps his seductions failed to convince you,’ the priest added.

  Oh God, they know. Or maybe Rosetti was trying to get her to admit what had really happened.

  ‘What would that get him? I’m seventeen. I’m not the president of the United States or anyone important.’

  ‘Hell corrupts one soul at a time. It is the Prince’s plan.’

  Then why didn’t Lucifer want my soul?

  ‘One last time – did you surrender yourself to Hell?’ the priest demanded.

  Riley’s patience hit empty. ‘No. No. And No. Are you, like, deaf?’

  ‘Easy, lass,’ Stewart murmured.

  She pointed across the table at her accuser. ‘He’s not listening. I didn’t sell my soul. I didn’t get a bunch of trappers killed. My only mistake was to trust some guy with wings.’

  ‘If you are unwilling to confess, then we shall be required to test you,’ the priest concluded. Rosetti didn’t seem very eager about that, like he’d hoped it wouldn’t come down to this moment.

  ‘Let me guess,’ she said, her heart rate soaring in panic. ‘This is the part when you put me on a dunking stool and see if I drown, right?’

  Stewart shook his head in dismay. Riley knew she wasn’t supposed to be this way, but contrite wasn’t working for her. She was frightened and tired and that gave her mouth a will of its own.

  ‘We are not barbarians, Miss Blackthorne,’ the priest replied coolly.

  ‘Right. So that whole Inquisition thing was just a tea party?’

  ‘Your attitude is not helping your case,’ Salvatore cautioned.

  She swung towards the hunters’ captain. ‘I’ve got attitude because you guys are not listening. I didn’t give Ori my soul. That’s the truth.’

  I gave him enough as it was.

  The cleric produced a small metal flask from a pocket. It looked like the kind you filled with liquor, but it had a cross emblazed in gold on the front of it. ‘Put out your right hand.’

  ‘No way. Not unless I know what you’re doing.’

  ‘Do you have something to hide?’ Rosetti pressed.

  Yes. ‘No. I want to know what you going to do.’

  ‘Please tell her what to expect,’ the captain said. ‘You’re scaring her needlessly.’ Salvatore’s eyes radiated compassion, as if he knew what it was like to be on her side of the table. Did they test the hunters the same way?

  Rosetti place his pen on the table. ‘I apologize. I should have taken the time to explain the procedure.’ It was the first indication that there was a beating heart underneath the churchman’s cold, stony exterior.

  The priest held up the flask for her inspection. ‘This is Holy Water and when it is applied to your skin, it will reveal if you are tainted by Hell.’

  ‘It won’t do a thing,’ Riley argued. ‘I handle that stuff every day. You’re wasting your time.’ At least she hoped that was the case.

  ‘This is blessed by the Holy Father himself.’

  Super strength Holy Water. Oh goodie. She looked over at Stewart. ‘Do I have to do this?’

  ‘If ya don’t, they will assume yer guilty.’

  ‘What would you do?’

  ‘I would take the test.’

  Perhaps the master had some plan in mind. With a sigh, Riley extended her right hand and tried not to twitch when the priest took hold of her arm. This was going to do nothing but make them look stupid.

  A single drop of clear liquid descended from the lip of the flask and splashed on to her palm. Then Rosetti let go of her hand.

  Yawn. I told you.

  A second later a white-hot burst of heat rocketed throughout her body, causing her to cry out in shock. Stunned by the pain, Riley snatched her hand back. Embedded in the skin was something like a tattoo, but it didn’t appear to be made of ink. About two inches in length and solid black, it was the image of a sword with flames rolling off the blade. It looked cool, but that probably wasn’t a good thing given the grave expression on Rosetti’s face.

  ‘As I suspected,’ the priest said mournfully. ‘I do wish you had confessed when given the opportunity.’ He appeared genuinely distressed at the discovery, like he’d hoped she was innocent.

  ‘What is that thing?’ Riley demanded, rubbing at it now that it’d stopped hurting. ‘Where did that come from?�
� She’d never been into tattoos, couldn’t legally have one in the state of Georgia because of her age.

  ‘It is Hell’s inscription, their brand,’ Salvatore explained. ‘Lucifer has claimed you as one of his own.’

  Chapter Nine

  Riley gave Stewart a panicked look, but the master didn’t appear surprised at the mark on her palm. He knew this would happen. Why do I keep trusting these guys?

  ‘Claiming her is not the same as owning her soul,’ the master argued.

  The priest readily nodded his agreement. ‘The reaction would be profoundly more painful if that was the case. Still, she has Hell’s mark upon her. They consider her one of their own.’

  Stewart gestured. ‘Show us yer left palm, Riley.’

  ‘Why?’ she hedged.

  ‘Please, lass,’ he said.

  Riley turned over her left palm and gasped again. Embedded in the flesh was a delicately filigreed crown. ‘Oh, great. Another one.’ Desperate to get rid of it, she wet her finger and rubbed the mark but it didn’t disappear.

  Silence fell all round the table. The unsettling kind. When she looked up, Riley found the priest gaping at her, his mouth open in astonishment. He crossed himself and murmured something in Latin. The captain did the same. Lt Amundson’s glare told her she was still on his enemies’ list.

  Stewart stirred in his chair, but didn’t say a word.

  ‘What is this? Am I, like, double damned or something?’ Riley asked.

  The silence continued.

  ‘Someone tell me what this means. I have to know.’

  It was Captain Salvatore who answered, and she swore she heard awe in his voice. ‘The sword means you are in Hell’s service, while the crown indicates you are in Heaven’s. To have both . . .’

  ‘Is seriously whacked, right?’

  A soft smile came to the hunter’s face. ‘You could say that, yes. This is truly astounding.’

  ‘This cannot be,’ Amundson protested. ‘This has to be Lucifer’s trickery.’

  ‘Is this because . . .’ She trailed off. All eyes were on her in an instant. Riley shot Stewart a questioning look and he nodded in reply.

  ‘Go on, it’s time they knew.’

  She took a deep breath. ‘Simon was dying and so I made a deal with an angel. She said Heaven would heal him if I would owe them a favour.’

  ‘What sort of favour?’ Father Rosetti asked, dubious.

  Riley opened her mouth with every intention of telling the truth, but something held her back. Whether that impulse came from the heavenly side of her heart, or the part Hell claimed, she wasn’t sure. Her father had always said to trust her instincts, so she did.

  ‘Just . . . a favour,’ she replied.

  Hopefully someone would give her a hint what to do when the time came. It wasn’t like there was a book in the local library entitled 101 Creative Ways to Prevent Armageddon.

  ‘Does Mr Adler know this?’

  She shook her head.

  An intense conversation erupted between the hunters, all in Italian. Even though she didn’t know what was being said, she got the notion that Salvatore was sticking up for her. Amundson certainly wasn’t, not given the tone of his voice. In between them was the cleric. Which way would Rosetti rule?

  Finally the argument ended.

  Father Rosetti spoke to her in English. ‘I am inclined to believe the lieutenant that this is Hell’s trickery, however I do not wish to make an error on something of this grave importance. I must consult Rome on the matter.’

  Rome? What if they summoned her to see the Pope? What if he didn’t believe her? Would they lock her up in a musty dungeon forever?

  Riley continued to worry the inside of her lip while inspecting the new additions to her palms. They weren’t fading away, not like she’d hoped.

  I’m going to look like a biker chick. That’s so unfair.

  As the hunters and their priest left the room, they were debating among themselves again.

  Now what? Were they going to nominate her for sainthood or start chopping firewood like they did for Joan of Arc?

  ‘Well done,’ Stewart murmured, heaving himself out of his chair.

  She frowned up at the master. ‘You knew that would happen, didn’t you?’ she asked, pointing at Heaven’s brand.

  ‘I suspected it was there. It was worth the gamble.’

  ‘Only because your butt wasn’t on the line,’ she shot back, then regretted it. She was mouthy today and Stewart had been there for her when it counted. ‘Sorry. I’m a little spooked right now.’

  ‘As ya have every right ta be. Worse case, they’ll keep ya in custody until they feel yer no longer a threat.’

  ‘How long will that be?’ she asked dubiously.

  ‘The way ya attract trouble, lass?’ Stewart said. ‘A very long time, I suspect.’

  Grounded for life by the Vatican. Just my luck.

  An aloof hunter dropped Beck off at his house, then drove away like it was no big deal. Maybe not to the hunter, but he could still see the imprint of his body in his own front yard and the black boot marks on the stairs leading to the front door. It was a safe bet every one of his neighbours had seen him out there, handcuffed like some punk-ass loser. For a long time he sat on his porch in the rocker, see-sawing back and forth in a fine fury. He was putting off the actual going inside part, because he knew it was going to piss him off even more.

  How dare they bust into his place, even if they suspected Riley was there? Since when did they have the right to do whatever they pleased?

  Ever since the mayor asked the hunters to come to Atlanta, that’s when.

  Beck dug out his phone and was about to dial Justine to let her know he was a free man when he stopped cold. Glaring at his cellphone, he tore the back off. Nothing appeared different inside, but the Vatican probably had technology that would make it look that way while recording every word he spoke.

  As he reassembled the phone, he decided not to make the call. When he could no longer tolerate the suspense, Beck unlocked his door and went inside the house. The shattered drinking glass still lay on the floor in his kitchen. The chairs were moved around, the table scooted out of place. Someone had opened the door to his storage closet and rummaged among the trapping supplies.

  Cursing under his breath, he went from room to room surveying the damage. More drawers open and stuff rearranged. Someone had thrown his Demon Trappers Manual on the floor. He picked it up, smoothed the wrinkled pages with reverence and swore some more.

  None of this was needed if they were searching for a five-foot-seven-inch girl. They were messing with his head, letting him know how little they thought of demon trappers, and him, in particular. Since Amundson had been in charge of the actual raid, all this had happened with his blessing.

  Beck tidied what was out of order, but it still didn’t do anything for his sense of personal violation. When he finished cleaning up the glass in the kitchen, he broke out a beer. Then another. Eventually, he lined up a six pack of bottles and the opener on the floor next to the couch and began to work through them one by one. That would be more than he usually had in a week.

  As he sucked on the brew, his mind conjured all sorts of plots. Had they bugged the place? Was his home phone safe to use? What about his computer? Had they seen his kiddie books and realized he couldn’t read? Had they told Master Stewart that secret?

  ‘Damn arrogant pricks,’ he said.

  All of this could be laid at Riley’s doorstep. He’d done everything he could for the girl, trapped long past exhaustion to earn money to keep her fed and in her own place. She’d blown him off. Worse, she’d ignored every bit of advice he’d given her. Then she’d thrown herself at a fallen angel.

  At least Simon wouldn’t have gotten ya naked. He drained the fourth bottle and began on the fifth. His stomach protested at the abuse while his head buzzed like it was home to a hive of outraged wasps. Beck didn’t care. He wanted to get so wasted he wouldn’t feel any more. Couldn’
t think of Paul’s daughter and that fiend together.

  Another long swig. ‘What’s so special about that winged bastard?’ he demanded of the empty room. ‘Why couldn’t ya have waited another year or so and then we . . .’ The hand holding the beer bottle began to quake. ‘My God, ya never gave us a chance.’ Because, deep in his heart, he knew he didn’t deserve her.

  There was a noise outside his door, someone on the porch. Then a knock.

  Beck ignored it. Another knock, louder this time. ‘Go away,’ he bellowed.

  ‘Lad?’ a voice called out in an unmistakable Scottish accent. ‘We need ta talk.’

  Stewart. ‘Ah, dammit,’ Beck said, rising. He stared at the empty bottles lying on the floor. He could hide them, but there was no way he’d disguise the level of alcohol in his system.

  ‘Lad?’ The voice was stronger now. ‘Open this door!’

  Beck cursed to himself and then let the man inside. Stewart headed to the living room and then sank on to the couch. His eyes took notice of bottles and nudged an empty one with his cane. ‘Is that the first six pack or the second?’ Stewart enquired.

  ‘First.’

  ‘Is the booze helpin?’

  ‘Don’t know yet.’

  ‘Well, we’ll get back ta that in a bit.’ The older man looked around. ‘First time I’ve been here. It’s a nice place. Feels like a home.’

  What the hell is he doin’? Instead of saying what he was really thinking, Beck muttered his thanks.

  ‘Riley’s still with the hunters. They’re trying to figure out what ta do with her so they’ve asked Rome for guidance. It’ll be a while before we hear their decision. In the meantime, they’re treatin’ her right.’

  ‘Where’d they find her?’

  ‘She came to them.’

  ‘What? Why?’ Beck demanded.

  ‘If she hadn’t, ya were gonna go down in her place.’

  Ah, God . . . She turned herself in. It didn’t mean anything. Stewart probably badgered her into it.

  ‘Tell me about this Fallen,’ the master ordered.

  How much does he know? Did Riley tell him the truth?

  Beck didn’t care any more. ‘Did she tell ya she slept with him?’ he asked bitterly.