Forsaken (22 page)

Oh.

The card wasn’t from Beck but from the baristas at the coffee shop. They’d signed their names in different colors, along with more smiley faces. Simi’s was in bright orange.

Riley made sure to smile anyway. “Cool.”

“Thought ya’d like that.” He placed something next to the brownie. It was a demon decal. She’d receive one for each Three she trapped. Most trappers put them on their vehicles like fighter pilots did during the wars. Beck’s truck had a lot of them. He’d joked they were what held it together.

She grinned, studying the decal. “Way cool! Thanks!”

“Ya earned it.” He took a long drink of the soda, gave a distinct burp but no apology. A white envelope landed next to the decal. “For your rent. Consider it a loan.”

“How much?”

“Five hundred.”

Five hundred more reasons you’ll think you own me.

“Thanks,” she muttered. She’d accept the cash or sleep in the streets. No coin flip needed.

Riley peeled off the plastic that entombed the brownie. As long as she had a fix of chocolate, she could handle anything. “Who is watching Dad tonight?”

“One of the journeymen. Don’t worry, nothin’ will happen.”

He seemed so sure.

“How’d the meeting go?”

Beck frowned. “How’d ya know about that?”

“Carmela. She dropped by to make sure I hadn’t gone all furry or anything.”

“Ya won’t. Not ’til the full moon,” he said. “I can’t wait to see that.”

“I do, and you’re the first one I maul.”

He didn’t look worried.

“Meeting?” she nudged. Simon had hedged when she’d asked him about it on the phone, which meant she might not like the news.

Beck took another sip of soda, this time minus the burp. Slouched against the couch, he had one booted foot up on the packing box like he was watching a football game.

“Did ya hear from Simon?” he asked, changing the subject. She nodded. “He comin’ over?” She nodded again.

He fell silent, which made her wonder if he was happy with that bit of news.

“Let me help you here,” she said, reluctantly placing the brownie on her lap. “I say, ‘How’d the meeting go, Beck?’ and you say ‘Well, Riley, it was…’ ” She gestured for him to complete the sentence.

That got her a glower. “Not terrific. Harper was on his high horse, and the Guild knows ya were out trappin’ on yer own.”

“You ratted me out?”
You couldn’t wait to tell them, could you?

“Yeah,” he said, but his face told her he didn’t find any joy in that. “The Guild’s not happy about yer stunt.”

“Surprise.” She’d be naive to assume they’d give her a round of applause.

The enticing scent of chocolate wafted into her nose. She closed her eyes and savored the moment as a tiny moan escaped her lips.

“What is it with girls and chocolate?” Beck grumbled after another swig of soda. “Tastes like burnt coffee to me.”

Her eyes snapped open, annoyed he’d ruined the moment. “This from a guy who guzzles energy drinks out of recycled whiskey bottles?”

“Better than that stuff.”

This wasn’t getting her anywhere. “So what happened?”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. It made it stick up in the front. “Yer not to trap again until yer workin’ with a master. Period. The end.”

Better than she’d expected. Riley took a bite of brownie in celebration. The chocolate hit her mouth like gooey bomb.

Heaven.

“So who’s going to train me?” she asked around the confection.

Her visitor didn’t answer, suddenly fascinated by the ingredients listed on the back of the soda bottle.

Stall alert.
“Harper?”

A curt nod. “He’s senior. He has the right.”

“But he hates me! He’ll make sure I fail. That’s not fair.”

Beck walked to the kitchen while guzzling the last of the soda. The glass bottle landed in the recycling bin with a rattle. When he returned, his right eyebrow crooked upward.

“Not fair? If ya want fair, Princess, don’t be a trapper.”

Princess?

Beck paused near the door. “If yer good, ya survive. If not?” He shrugged like it was no big deal.

So much for sympathy.
“What about my car keys?”

“Take the damned bus. It’s good for the environment.”

Then he was gone, combat boots thumping on the stairs.

Riley sighed and scratched her thigh through the denim. The wounds were torturing her in a new way—near constant itching.

“Wait a minute,” she said, a grin sprouting. There was
one
bright side to apprenticing with Badass Harper and that was his other apprentice. Simon would be training alongside her for a few months until he became a journeyman. “Maybe this isn’t as horrible as I think.”

If she could survive Harper’s blistering bitchiness, she’d become the first fully licensed female trapper in Atlanta’s history.

“Then I’m gonna kick your ass, Backwoods Boy.”

*   *   *

Three outfits later,
Riley finally decided what to wear. Simon had seen her post-library disaster in all her green-hued glory, but this was a chance to look good for a change. She glanced up at the clock on the nightstand. Twenty more minutes before he was scheduled to arrive at her door.

“Please don’t be early,” she muttered. Beck had taken up more time that she’d realized, though the brownie had given her extra energy.

Riley hopped into the bathroom and donned her makeup. At least Simon hadn’t seen her in full rotting mode. There was no amount of foundation or lip gloss that would erase that image.

She scrutinized herself in the mirror. Her hair was back to normal—which meant it had a will of its own—and the pink on her cheeks had nothing to do with a fever. After another liberal dose of lotion to the demon scars in the vain hope they’d stop the itching, she dressed in black slacks, a red turtleneck, and black boots.

She fidgeted in front of the long mirror on the back of the bedroom door, adjusting the turtleneck’s sleeves, her hair, everything. Nothing seemed right.

H
ER REFLECTION:
You’re freakin’, girlfriend. Get a grip!

H
ER:
Of course I am. This is Simon. He’s totally cute.

H
ER REFLECTION:
No argument. So what’s the problem?

H
ER:
Why’s he coming to see me? He’s got to have a girlfriend. He’s too hot not to.

H
ER REFLECTION:
Yeah, I can see Simon cheating on his lady. Not! Why don’t you ask him if he’s taken?

H
ER:
Because I might not like the answer.

H
ER REFLECTION:
Now that’s honest.

H
ER:
Shut up.

Only one way to solve this—find a way to ask the guy without sounding pathetic. Then he’d say he was dating and it’d be all over.

At least I’ll get out of this cage for a while.

Simon was all smiles when he appeared at her door wearing a black jacket, navy blue shirt, and blue jeans. The navy went well with his white-gold hair and deep blue eyes. As usual, the wooden cross was in plain sight.

For half a second Riley eyed him, soaking in the view.
Yummy.

“You look very nice,” he said.

“Thanks. It’s good not to be green anymore.”

Dork! Why did I say that?

“Are you up for a hot chocolate run?”

“Yes. YES! Anything to get out of here,” she exclaimed.

Riley grabbed her bag by the door. Something landed on the floor in a rattle of metal. The two key rings. Beck had returned them and not said a thing.

You are such a creeper.

The moment she locked the apartment door, Simon offered his arm. Way old-fashioned, but thoughtful, especially since her leg could go from fine to crampy in a matter of seconds.

“Too bad the elevator’s broken,” he said. “It’d be easier for you.”

He was always thinking of other people.

“I could carry you down the stairs,” he offered. “You don’t weigh that much.”

He isn’t joking.

“Ah, no, that’s okay. I have to get used to this. It’s feeling better, honest,” she fibbed.

When Riley faltered a few steps down, he moved his hand to around her waist. Not too tight, but enough to let her know he wasn’t going to let her fall. She hoped he’d leave it there.

“So what have you been doing since Beck’s grounded you?” he asked.

“I’ve tried to find Dad’s manual.” Each step made the thigh cramp, which shot a bolt of pain into her groin. “I’ve gone through every drawer, bookshelf, and box,” she said, trying to keep her mind off the discomfort. “No go.”

“You try his car? Like maybe under the spare tire?” Simon asked.

Riley gaped at him.

“I saw him put it in there after one of the meetings. He made me promise not to tell you. But now, well…”

Now it didn’t matter. “Thanks! I’d never have thought of looking under the tire.”

His grin widened. “Duh! Why else would he have put it there?”

She elbowed him. “What’s happening with Harper?”

“I hear he’s got a new apprentice,” Simon replied. “A pretty one.”

“How hard is he going to be on me?”

Simon’s good humor withered. “Way hard. He’ll tear you apart. He does that to all of his apprentices, and it’ll be worse for you because of your dad.”

“What happened between them?”

“No idea,” he said, shrugging. “But whatever it was, Harper’s never forgotten it.”

“And now he has another Blackthorne to torment.”

“He’s expecting you at nine in the morning. I’ll give you directions.”

When they reached his car, Simon opened the door for her. She climbed in, but it proved harder than she’d expected. Finally she realized it was best to sit and then use the center console as an anchor so she could pivot herself inside.

“Ouch, ouch, ouch,” she said, rubbing the leg to try to ease the cramp.

Simon knelt next to her, concerned. “Anything I can do?”

“Just get me high on hot chocolate, that’s all.”

His worried expression eased. “For you, anything.”

*   *   *

Her friend Simi
changed her hair color more often than she did boyfriends, which was saying something. Tonight her locks were coal black with brilliant purple highlights. On anyone else it would have looked silly, but Simi’s exotic face allowed her to do almost anything and look great. It came with her unique ancestry—a mashup of Lebanese, Chinese, Irish, and Native American.

“Hey, Blackthorne!” the barista called out. Heads turned and Riley inwardly groaned. The coffee shop wasn’t that busy, but she much preferred to be anonymous right now. The family name had been in the papers too much recently.

“I escaped!” she replied, holding her hands up in triumph.

“You did. I’m impressed. You get the card?”

“Yes,” Riley said. “Thanks!”

“It was the trapper’s idea. He brought it in and had us sign it,” Simi admitted.

Beck bought the card? Why didn’t he say that?

“So is he, like, dating or anything? He’s way hot,” Simi remarked.

Beck hot? Well, maybe a little.
His serious case of attitude got in the way of his hotness every time. In lieu of an answer, she gestured toward Simon.

“This guy has offered to buy me all the hot chocolate I can drink,” she said, beaming up at her escort.

“Niiice,” Simi said, raising a black eyebrow. She didn’t mean the “all the hot chocolate” part either. “You want the same?” Her eyes remained on Simon.

“Yes, thank you,” he replied.

“Real nice,” she said, then went to work creating the drinks. “How’s your leg doing?”

“Better,” Riley replied. “Itches a lot. Feels like I’ve been bitten by a five-hundred-pound mosquito.”

Simi gave a sympathetic nod. “The trapper said you’d gone after a demon on your own. Is that right?”

Riley nodded. “Wasn’t the smartest thing I’ve done.” She heard a grunt of agreement from Simon.

Simi’s eyes lit up. Since they’d been talking about demons, Riley knew what was coming.

“No, I did not watch
Demonland
last night,” Riley said, hoping to short-circuit the subject. It never worked, but she still tried.

“Oh, man, it was awesome,” Simi proclaimed. “Blaze took out a Winnebago full of demons with a Walmart shopping cart.”

Any television producer who would put Walmart, demons, and an RV in the same episode was just asking for trouble, but then Hollywood’s idea of the Vatican’s Demon Hunters was more flash than reality.

“Was Blaze wearing those screw-me heels again?” Riley grumbled, leaning against the counter for support.

“Yup. And that skintight leather outfit you hate, the one that barely covers her butt,” Simi replied. “It was a totally kick-ass episode.”

“But the demon hunters don’t admit women,” Simon said, perplexed.

Simi gave him a look like he’d just flattened her favorite puppy.

“You’ve never watched the show, have you?”

Simon shook his head. Riley’s estimation of him grew tenfold.

“Then you can’t judge it,” the barista said, returning with the hot chocolate. “You have to admit last season’s final episode was truly epic.”

Simon gave Riley a raised eyebrow.

“One of the hunter guys destroyed a mega-demon on top of Saint Peter’s Basilica,” Riley explained.

“Saint Peter’s is holy ground,” Simon began, “so no demon can—”

“Are you, like, an authority or something?” Simi retorted.

Riley left them to it, limping her way to the closest booth. She slid in, happy to let her thigh rest. It was doing its dull burn thing now.

Her eyes tracked to
her
booth along the far wall, the one where she and her dad had always sat. A familiar shard of guilt drove itself in a little deeper. How could she be out with Simon when she should be watching over the grave? Not that Beck would let her until her leg healed, but it still felt selfish.

“No, Dad would want me here,” she said resolutely.
He liked Simon.

Her escort delivered the hot chocolate.

“Who won?” Riley asked, angling her head toward the barista.