Forgiven (31 page)

Little girl?
Riley would have risen, but Beck’s fingers closed round her arm.

‘Stay put. Let Stewart handle it,’ he whispered. She gritted her teeth and remained seated.

‘On behalf of the Atlanta Demon Trappers Guild and the National Guild,’ the master began, ‘we
require
the return Master Paul Blackthorne so he may go ta his final rest.’

‘Require?’ Ozymandias took a position near the front of the room. ‘That’s a bold statement.’

‘Ya don’t want ta make enemies of us.’

‘Oh, you’re talking about the
International
Guild now. It may come as a surprise, but I have no awe for you
Grand Masters
. You’re just jumped-up rat catchers.’

Riley gasped at the insult.

‘Ya son of a . . .’ Beck murmured.

Stewart held himself in check, his eyes flinty. ‘Return Paul Blackthorne and we’ll back away from this like gentlemen.’

‘I need a better argument than that, trapper,’ Ozymandias replied, toying with the master.

Mort shot up from among the pack. ‘Lord Barnes, I would like to speak, if I may?’

‘The chair recognizes Summoner Alexander.’

The necromancer trudged to the front of the room, then turned towards his fellow summoners. There was a sheen of sweat on his face, which told Riley he was about to do something risky.

‘Section Four, Item Thirteen of the Summoners’ Code allows for the transference of ownership should the original summoner no longer be able to conduct his or her duties in regard to the reanimate.’ He placed a document on the podium in front of Barnes. ‘Paul Blackthorne has designated me his summoner of record. Therefore, in conjunction with the Trappers Guild, I request that his body be returned immediately to my care.’

Go, Mort!

Ozymandias glared at him. ‘You challenge me, Summoner Alexander?’

‘No, Lord Ozymandias, I will not challenge you to a duel of magic, though I have adequate cause.’ Mort drew himself up. ‘You shattered the wards on my house, you
stole
Paul Blackthorne without my permission. Those are heinous crimes within our Society.’

The summoners began to whisper amongst themselves. If Ozy could do that to Mort, he’d do it to one of them. Suddenly this whole stolen-corpse problem had become personal.

‘Order!’ Barnes shouted, waving his hands. It seemed odd that he didn’t do something magical to get their attention.

It was Stewart’s turn. ‘The proper paperwork has been issued and Summoner Alexander has requested that this Society do what is right in this matter.’ He shifted weight on his cane. ‘Paul Blackthorne was a good man and he deserves ta be returned ta his daughter’s care.’

Ozymandias thoughtfully adjusted a cloak sleeve. ‘I somehow doubt that a
good
man would be summoned from his grave by the Prince of Hell himself.’

A collective gasp ran through the room.

Oh, great. Now the whole world knows.

Beck grabbed her arm again, eyes wide. ‘For God’s sake,’ he said in a tense whisper, ‘tell me he’s lyin’.’

‘No,’ she replied. ‘He’s not.’
Which is why Dad never told you the truth.

Riley dislodged his fingers and rose. She fidgeted while she waited for the confusion to die down.

‘Miss Blackthorne,’ Barnes said. ‘You wish to add something?’

Since it was out in the open, why not use it to her advantage?

She turned so that all the summoners could hear her. ‘It’s true – Lucifer did summon my dad,’ she said. ‘He did it for one reason: to keep my father out of Ozymandias’s control.’

‘
Lord
Ozymandias,’ her nemesis replied.

‘Whatever,’ Riley snarked back, ignoring Ozy’s glare. ‘All I want is my dad. I don’t care about the rest of this. Just give him back.’

Her nemesis delivered a cunning smile. ‘How eloquent,’ Ozymandias said. ‘However, as a token of my appreciation for Paul’s assistance in my . . . studies, I’ve cleared your outstanding loan.’

The necromancer produced a single sheet of paper from nowhere and sent it sailing to the podium. It landed in front of Barnes with a rustle. ‘There is the paperwork. The debt you owe for your dead mother’s medical care is no more.’

He’s trying to buy me off.
‘I don’t care about the damned money,’ Riley declared. ‘I want my dad. How hard is it for you to get that? You want me to beg? OK, I’ll do it.
Please
return my father, O High Lord of All Dark Things!’

‘Careful, lass,’ Stewart warned.

Nervous whispers erupted around them. Instead of a blast of magic, Ozymandias seemed amused by her outburst.

‘The child did say “please”,’ he replied, chuckling. ‘How can I resist such courtesy?’ With a theatrical wave of one hand, the necromancer vanished in a swirl of blinding light. In his place was a bewildered Paul Blackthorne.

‘Dad?’ Riley cried. She rushed forward, trying to wriggle through the crush of chairs and bodies. When she reached where he’d been standing, her father was gone.

‘Dad?’ she called out. ‘Where are you?’
If this was all a trick . . .

When a summoner pointed towards the double doors, Riley took off at a run, barrelling past the startled butler and down the long expanse of hall. She found her father cowering behind an azalea bush near the far end of the building. He would have been weeping if that was possible. Instead, he trembled from head to toe, his face tormented by horrors only he could see.

‘Dad?’

His pale brown eyes tracked up to hers. ‘Demons, demons everywhere,’ he said, rocking back and forth like a toddler awakened from a horrific nightmare.

‘Dad? It’s Riley.’ When she touched his arm, he jerked away in fear, like she was a stranger.

Mort knelt near them. ‘Paul? You remember me? I’m Mortimer.’ The summoner’s calm voice made her dad look up at him. He seemed less freaked by Mort than anyone else.
Even his own daughter.

It took a quarter of an hour of the summoner’s patient coaxing until Riley’s father would rise from the ground. The curious crowd of necromancers who’d gathered around hadn’t helped the man’s skittishness. Once Paul was mobile, Mort steered him towards the parking lot.

‘We’ll take him to my house,’ he said, his attention never leaving the frightened man.

‘I want to come with you,’ Riley replied.

‘No, you’ll only confuse him more. Right now he needs to rest. I’ll let you know how he’s doing.’

Mort was right: her father was in his own little hell-filled world and the compassionate summoner was the best person to help him.

As her dad and Mort prepared to leave, Riley touched the car window that stood between her and her parent.

What if he never remembers me again?

Numb from shock, Riley went on auto-pilot. She climbed into Beck’s truck, clicked the seatbelt, then stared out of the side window. She didn’t ask where they were going. It didn’t matter. If she went home, she’d be alone in the apartment, surrounded by echoes of her dead father: the refrigerator that still held his favourite soda, his clothes in the closet and his toothbrush in the bathroom.

Riley choked up, jamming a fist to her mouth.

‘Hang on, girl. I’m takin’ you somewhere quiet,’ Beck said softly. ‘We’ll talk it out, just the two of us. I won’t leave ya alone, not until ya want me gone.’

‘I don’t want to be alone.’

‘I know. Me neither. Not right now.’

In time he parked behind a multi-story apartment complex, one designed for older people. It was probably built in the seventies, but it was well maintained and offered a decent view of Centennial Park.

‘What is this?’ she asked, puzzled. ‘Why are we here?’

‘Ya’ll see,’ Beck said. He retrieved a pair of blankets from behind the seat and got out of the car. ‘This way,’ he said, gesturing to a side door in the building.

Beck produced a key and ushered her into a hallway, then a service elevator that went to the top floor. Despite everything that had happened, Riley’s curiosity began to grow.

At her quizzical expression, Beck explained. ‘I trap here every now and then, mostly Magpies. The supervisor made it so I can come and go without troublin’ him.’

When they reached the top of the building and stepped outside, Riley shivered in the brisk breeze. ‘Can’t say I like roofs that much, not after the last one.’

‘It’s safe. No demons on this one.’ Beck laid the first blanket on the far side of a stack of air-conditioning equipment, which provided shelter from the wind ‘Have a seat. The show will start in a little bit,’ he said.

Show?
Still confused, she did as he asked, tugging her coat closer for warmth. When he joined her, he dutifully tucked the second blanket round them, which put her in close proximity to him, close enough to smell his aftershave and see the short blond stubble on his chin.

‘What am I supposed to be doing?’ she asked.

‘It’ll be a while. Just wait,’ he said. Below them cars and people went by, but up here was another world. Quieter. Like they were looking down from Heaven and watching all the little people scramble around. As if the world wasn’t bent on destroying everyone she loved.

The silence split open her grief. Riley closed her eyes, trying to seal it shut, but it broke through in a choked sob. At the sound, Beck’s arms went round her, pulling her close.

‘Go on, ya’ve earned the right,’ he said. ‘Hell, I’d do the same if I could.’

The tears came in unrelenting torrents. Riley wept until there was no more to give. When she finally looked up, Beck’s eyes were moist. She offered him a tissue, but he shook his head.

‘Guys don’t use those,’ he said, trying hard to sound tough.

‘I won’t tell anyone.’

He took one from her, but didn’t wipe his eyes.

Nestled against him, Riley blew her nose. ‘Talk to me, Beck. Talk to me about anything but necromancers, dead fathers and weird demons. I want some normal for a change. I want to stop hurting inside.’

He sighed in her ear. ‘So do I, girl.’

Beck thought for a time, as if he had to struggle for a topic that was safe. ‘Did . . . you see that computer program I got? It was on my desk.’

Riley nodded, though she had no idea why he’d thought of that subject. ‘Is it helping you?’

‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘I’m readin’ better. I listen to it when I have time.’ The corners of his mouth tugged into a smile. ‘Would ya . . . you be willin’ to help me?’

It would be her way of honouring her father’s legacy. ‘Sure, I’d be happy to, Beck.’ Riley blinked – something was wrong with what he’d said. ‘“
You
”? What happened to “ya”?’

Beck took a slow and deliberate breath. ‘I’ve been workin’ on how I talk.’

‘Why?’

‘I’m proud to be a Georgia boy and that’s never gonna change. But . . .’ He swiped a hand through his hair, always a sign he was agitated. ‘Stewart says he wants to take me over to Scotland and have me meet the masters in the International Guild.’

‘Wow!’ said Riley, shifting so suddenly the blanket slid off her shoulders. ‘That’s a big deal, Beck. He wouldn’t do that if he didn’t think you were amazing.’

‘I don’t know about that,’ he hedged, ‘but I want to do the man proud. I don’t want to sound like a hick.’

‘It’s just the way you speak.’

‘Yeah, well, people judge ya . . . you just the same.’ He paused, clearly planning out the next sentence. ‘You call me Backwoods Boy. That’s not because I sound . . . educated.’ The Southern drawl was still there, but smoother now, like sinfully rich chocolate.

‘Backwoods Boy is just a nickname,’ Riley replied. ‘You call me Princess and I don’t live in a castle.’

‘I know. It’s just I’ve been listenin’ to the tapes and I find myself changin’ how I talk. I don’t think that’s a bad thing.’

There was more here than Stewart and his plans for Beck’s future with the Guild. ‘Did Justine say something to you about this?’

He nodded. ‘She thinks I sound
quaint
. I don’t want that. I want folks to take me seriously.’