Forsaken (28 page)

“Blackthorne’s daughter,” one of demons howled. The others picked up the chant and magnified it.

She kept the shiver to herself as she passed by the last cage.

Two flights of stairs got her to Jack’s office, though it took some time to get there since her thigh didn’t like the hike. The office was big and airy with light streaming through four skylights, illuminating the old red brick walls. She liked this place. It felt good. Maybe if she got rich someday she’d buy a fire station. A quick look around proved it wasn’t just Jack’s place of work. A queen bed sat in one corner along with a tidy kitchenette, and on the other wall a flat screen streamed stock quotes.

The owner of the place sat behind a large wooden desk. It wasn’t a fancy piece of furniture, but it’d seen years of use. Jack looked near her father’s age. Mid-forties. Old but not ancient like Harper. Jack had dark brown hair with silver streaks at his temples and wore blue jeans, a red shirt, and those barber-pole suspenders. Not hard to spot him in a crowd. A baseball cap sat on his desk. He was a Yankee fan.

The man was on the phone. He raised a hand to give him a second, then went back to the call. He was questioning someone about regulations regarding demon disposal.

While she waited, Riley checked out the long wall to her left, which was blanketed in pictures and paintings. There was a common theme—famous fires. London, 1666. Chicago, 1871. Atlanta, 1864 and 1917. Even the Lenox Plaza fire just last year. That had been started by a couple of horny Pyro-Fiends. Luckily that didn’t happen too often, but when it did the results were way incendiary.

Jack hung up the phone and pointed toward a wooden high-backed chair.

“Riley! Have a seat. How are you doing?”

“Okay, I guess. I’m with Harper now.”

Jack made a gagging motion with his finger, and it set her to laughing.

She could see why her dad liked this guy.

“Actually, that’s not fair,” Jack said. “He may be a platinum-class dick, but he’s a good trapper. You’ll learn a lot, providing you don’t kill him first.”

“So far I’ve become an expert at cleaning up demon crap.” She raised her chapped hands for proof.

“Gotta start at the bottom,” he said, smirking. The smirk faded as he opened a drawer and dropped a file folder on top of the desk. It was full of legal-size papers. “I had a look at the contract the debt collectors sent over.”

“And?” she asked, unable to read the news on his face.

“They have a solid claim against your dad’s body.”

She banged the back of her skull against the wooden chair, the discomfort short-circuiting the anger and tears. “No way we can stop them?”

“I’ve filed a motion asking the court to rule on some specifics of the claim. The best we can do is stall long enough that it doesn’t matter.”

“I’d pay the money if I had it,” she said. “I really would.”

“Since you are a minor, you don’t owe them anything. The reason they are going after the body is that’s the only money they can hope to receive. Sorry I don’t have better news.” He put away the folder. They studied each other for a few seconds. “Anything else I can help you with?”

“I’m here to sell you some Ones.”

Jack pulled a face. “Why me and not one of the other traffickers?”

“Harper sent me to Roscoe. We couldn’t come to a deal.”

Jack leaned over the desk. “He sent you to Roscoe? Good God. Does Beck know?”

“No.”

“Make sure he doesn’t find out. He’ll go ballistic.”

“I know. The sleaze offered me a job making porn flicks.” It was her turn to make a gagging motion. “Then he offered me one hundred and twenty dollars for each demon.”

Jack gaped. “One-twenty? He can’t be selling to the Church at that price. We only get eight-five apiece for them.”

“Could Harper be setting me up?”

“Maybe. You never know with him.” Jack thought for a moment. “I don’t usually buy anything below a Grade Three.”

“I figured, well, you and Dad were buds and…” she said, turning on the charm.

The trafficker laughed. “Playing me already? Well, you got the face for it. How many?” he said.

“Four. All Biblios.”

Jack leaned back in his chair, slipping his thumbs under those garish suspenders. “If you turn out half as good as Paul, you’ve got a future in this business. I’m not stupid. I don’t want to piss off the next generation of trappers.”

She cocked her head and waited. It felt like there was more.

“Okay, I admit it,” Jack said. “I love it when an underdog wins, so I’m pulling for you. You’ll get a lot of grief because you’re female. Give it right back to them, okay?”

He didn’t call me girlie, Baby Doll, or Princess.
Jack moved up to the top of her Good People list.

“Let’s see the little guys.”

She set them out, one by one. The Biblios were swearing again.

“What does the Church do with them?” she asked.

“The official answer is that they put them in special containers, ship them off to monasteries in Europe, and the monks pray over them. It puts them to sleep. Eventually they disappear. The Church thinks their souls are saved. I think they return to Hell and are recycled.”

“How long does that take?” she quizzed.

“I don’t know. I honestly think they disappear so they don’t have to listen to the endless chanting.” He studied her intently. “You sure you want to sell them to me?”

“Yeah, why not?”

Jack hesitated for a second then tightened the cup lids, even though she’d just done the same thing.

“Okay, it’s on your head then. Seventy-five apiece.”

She nodded, though it was considerably less than what Roscoe had offered. While Jack counted out the money, she thought things through. “Did my dad say anything to you about Holy Water?”

“No. Why?” he asked, looking up from the vintage green safe behind his desk.

“I found some notes of his. He was researching it, but I don’t know why.”

“Ask Beck. He’d know if anyone does.” Jack swung the safe door closed and handed her an envelope. “Don’t put this in your bag. Someone might try to take it. The locals know folks coming out of here have cash on them.”

She tucked the envelope in the waistband of her jeans. They signed the paperwork and the deal was done. He rose and offered his hand, and they shook firmly.

“Remember me when you get your journeyman’s license. I’ll be interested to see what you catch. I’ll buy whatever you bring me.”

Now that rocks. At least someone is on my side.

TWENTY-SEVEN

Riley laid the cash on the master’s desk in a neat stack right next to his box of cigars.

“You sold them?” Harper asked. There wasn’t a whiskey bottle in sight, and his eyes were predatory, like he was waiting to pounce. It gave her the creeps, and she wished Simon were here, not out buying trapping supplies.

Riley dumped the paperwork in front of him. A frown appeared as he flipped the pages. She’d sold the demons for the amount he’d said and brought him the cash and forms. Why was he upset?

“You sold them to the fag!” he bellowed.

Uh-oh.
That’s what Jack had meant when he said it was on her head.

“Why the hell didn’t you go to Roscoe like I told you?” Harper demanded, his voice echoing off the open rafters. “Can’t you do one damned thing right?”

“I went to the perv. He wouldn’t sign the papers.”

“Why the hell not?”

“He said he’d give me one-twenty apiece for the demons as long as I did the deal under the table.” She took a gulp of air. “He said to tell you I got seventy-five and lost the paperwork, then I could keep the rest.”

Harper’s eyes turned flinty black. Faster that she thought he could move, his hand shot across the desk and grabbed her forearm. The fingers dug in like iron. “You’re lying.”

She tried to twist out of his grasp, but he only tightened his hold. “I’m not lying! Stop it. That hurts.”

The master suddenly released her and she staggered a few steps away, fear coursing through her. Harper was too volatile. The next time he might hit her.

He produced a full bottle of whiskey from a drawer. The amber liquid sloshed into a cracked glass. “I don’t sell to fags. Never have, never will.”

“I didn’t know,” she retorted.

“You just did it to make me look bad. You’re as twisted as your old man,” he spat.

You leave my dad out of this!

“Get the hell out here,” he shouted, “or I swear you’ll be bleeding.”

Riley barely reached the front door when glass shattered in the office.

“Goddamn Blackthornes!” Harper cursed.

Simon looked up as she fled into the parking lot. When he saw her face, he dropped a box back into the trunk of his car and hurried up to her.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“Don’t go in there,” she said, shivering. “He’s crazy. He’s throwing stuff.”

Simon studied her for a moment, then after a quick look at the building he put his hands on her shoulders and gave them a gentle squeeze.

“What happened in there?” he asked.

If she told him, what could he do? Argue with Harper? Get tossed out of the Guild? That wouldn’t help either of them.

Riley shook her head, pulled away from him and hurried toward her car.

It’s not your fight.

*   *   *

The shakes finally
subsided by the time Riley slumped on her couch. She pulled up her sweatshirt sleeve and studied her arm. Five dark finger-sized bruises stood out against her skin. She tugged the sleeve down. The bruises would eventually fade. Her fear wouldn’t.

“He’s going to keep doing this. He’s going to keep hurting me until I quit.”

Her eyes filled with tears.

I don’t know if I can do this anymore, Dad. I’m so scared.

Her phone rang and she jumped at the sound. Reluctantly she dug it out of her bag. It was Simon.

“Riley, where are you?” he asked. Behind him she could hear street noise.

“I’m at home.”

“Please tell me what happened. I don’t want to walk in on him without knowing.”

“I sold the Ones to Jack. Harper didn’t like it.”
And then he hurt me.

“Did he … hit you?”

She sat up on the couch. Apparently she wasn’t Harper’s only target.

“I’m okay, Simon.”

“I’m so sorry. I was hoping he’d be better with you.”

Not a chance.

She flipped the phone closed. Her fear sheeted off her like a thin layer of ice in the full sun. “Harper, you miserable…” He’d dissed her dad. He’d hurt her and Simon.

Her father’s voice asked the question as clearly as if he were sitting next to her.

Do you believe you deserve to be hit?

“No.” And though Harper scared the hell out of her, she wasn’t giving up. She’d just stay out of his reach from now on. He’d had his one shot at her, and there would be no others.

There was a tentative knock at her door.

She opened it, leaving the chain in place, still on edge. It was Beck, who wasn’t known for knocking so softly.

“What?” she grumbled.

She could tell by the way he held himself that he was upset.

“Simon called. He was worried. He thought Harper had hurt ya.”

“I’ll handle it,” she said evenly.

“Riley, he’s a vicious SOB. That’s why I wanted ya with Stewart.”

“I’ll handle it,” she repeated. How she’d do that she had no idea, but if Beck got involved he’d end up in jail for assault and lose his trapping license.

“What set him off?” She told him. “Oh, God, I thought ya knew Harper didn’t like Jack.”

“How would I know that?” she complained. “I’m an apprentice. I’m not supposed to know stuff, but everybody thinks I do because my dad was a master.”

Beck absorbed her tirade without a twitch.

It wasn’t fair chewing on him. He wasn’t the problem.

“Sorry.” She unlatched the chain and waved him in.

He didn’t budge. “I thought we might go for a ride. Talk it out.”

“I’m not in the mood for—”

“I’m trappin’ this afternoon and I need backup.”

“What are you after?” she asked, still dubious.

“A Firebug.”

A Pyro-Fiend.
He knew what kind of bait to use.

“Well?” he asked, hands jammed in his jeans pockets. It made him look his age for a change.

“Will Harper be pissed if I trap with you?”

“Count on it, if he finds out. Does that bother ya?” he asked.

“After this morning? No way.”

Riley barely climbed into Beck’s truck before it was in gear and rolling out of the parking lot. She hastily attached her seat belt. She knew if she let him steer the conversation they’d keep talking about Harper, so she headed it in another direction.

“Simon trapped a Four at your pool hall this morning. It was really slick how it got into my head.”

“Hard to ignore ’em, especially if they’re comin’ on to ya.” Beck gave a dry chuckle. “There was this succubus who worked the convention circuit downtown. Damn, she was a hottie. I really hated trappin’ her, but I had no choice.”

“She didn’t get to you?” Riley asked, curious. “I mean, in your head and all.”

He smirked. “She got to me every way she could, and then some. The things she was sayin’ to me…” He whistled. “It’d make any man fall on his knees and beg to be her slave.”

Riley gave him a long look. “Then how’d you tune her out?”

“Carrie Underwood. Hummed one of her songs. Did the trick just perfect.”

Beck dodged a streetcar and continued north along Peachtree Street.

“So where is this Firebug?” she asked.

“At the law library.”

Riley swung her head toward him, panicking. “I can’t go there! Not after what happened the other day.” He cracked a wicked grin. “You lie!” She landed a light punch on his shoulder because he so deserved it. “So where
are
we going?”

“It’s in a parkin’ garage at Atlantic Station.” He eyed her. “Have ya found yer daddy’s manual yet?” She nodded. “How far are ya into it?”

“Grade Threes. Pretty disgusting reading. They even eat fiber-optic cable. How sick is that?”

“Well, that’s about as far as yer gonna get.”