Forsaken (32 page)

Could Riley have been rolled by a demon?

“No, the trapper’s on the level.”

“You sure? Sometimes you can’t tell. It’s not like they’ve got a big brand on their forehead or nothing.”

“No. Both a Five and a Three have tried to kill her. Lucifer won’t snuff one of his own.”

“Her?”

Patterson he could trust. “If I tell ya who it is, ya can’t spread it around.”

“Doesn’t go any further.”

“It’s Paul’s daughter, Riley.”

“What’s she doing in the business?” Before Beck could answer, Jeff added, “Following her dad, I guess. Anything else weird about her?”

Beck told him about Riley trapping the Three, how she brought it down on her own. “It was the one that double-teamed us the night Paul died.”

“Blackthorne’s dead?” the man exclaimed.

Beck felt like a fool. He shook his head at his stupidity. “Ah, I’m sorry, man. I thought ya’d heard.”

“No, I’ve been out of town fishing in Canada. You should do that sometime. Get your mind off the job for a few days.” A pause. “How’d he die?”

Beck made it brief. There was a long silence, and then Jeff cleared his throat. “I’ve never heard of this kind of thing before.”

“So what do ya think about all this?”

“I think I’m damned glad I’m up here.”

Beck sighed.

“If Lucifer’s fiends know her on sight and they’ve already gone after her, she needs a change of scenery,” Patterson replied. “Out of Atlanta, for sure.”

“Yeah, we’re ass-deep in demons right now.”

“We’re not. You could send her up here. Course, that doesn’t mean they won’t track her down, but it might be a local thing, you know?”

Beck had a better idea. “She’s got an aunt in Fargo.”

“Put her on a bus. Those Dakotans are a testy bunch after the fiends caused those big floods a few years ago. Demons don’t get too much of a chance up there anymore, if you know what I mean.”

“Thanks. I owe ya, Jeff. I mean it.”

“You’re buying the first round next time we meet. Later, guy.”

Beck closed his phone and dropped it on the blanket like it was a live grenade. His gut felt like he’d swallowed a mile of barbed wire.

“Too much weird shit goin’ on,” he muttered. Most of it seemed to be centered around Paul’s daughter, but that didn’t make any sense. Hell was taking too much of an interest in her. The Pyro-Fiend had been the final straw.

No matter how much he’d enjoyed teaching Riley the ropes like her daddy had taught him, he shouldn’t have taken her trapping with him. She’d done fine, better than most apprentices, but he was just being selfish. It was hard to admit he liked being around her. She reminded him of Paul in a lot of ways, and when they were together the ache in his chest faded, at least for a little while.

There was only one way to handle this—cut her loose, make her hate him like she did when she was fifteen. He had to get her out of town until things settled down. This was a battle he had to win.

If not, Hell would have the last word.

*   *   *

For once Riley
wasn’t nervous about seeing Beck, despite his numerous phone calls. This afternoon had proved they could get along, have fun together. He’d even given her a present, one that no other girl in Atlanta could claim.

The moment she crossed the circle, he was on her.

“Why didn’t ya answer yer phone?” he groused.

“Because I was busy learning about spheres,” she said, puzzled at his attitude.
Like you told me to.

“Who’d ya talk to?”

“Ayden. Simon introduced us. She gave me her card in case I had more questions.”

“Simon?” he snapped.

“Yeah, we made a date of it.”

Something passed over his face for a fraction of a second, but she couldn’t decipher it.

“Why am I surprised?” he grumbled. “Here’s the word: Ya need to call yer aunt, see about stayin’ with her.”

What? Where’s that coming from?
“I want to stay here.”

“Ya need to be with family,” he said.

“I don’t need to be with family that can’t stand me. You don’t know her.”

He shouldered his duffel bag. “Doesn’t matter. Just make the call.”

This was his “my way or the highway” tone again. He was worse than any parent. At least the ’rents made the effort to explain after they ordered you around.

“Everything was good with us this afternoon. What happened?”

He huffed but didn’t answer, as if she weren’t deserving of a reason.

“Is this because of Simon?”

His face went as tight as his fists, causing the candle flames to shoot heavenward. “Don’t fight me, girl. Ya can’t hang ’round here anymore, goin’ on dates like this is some sorta picnic. Ya need to be out of this city as soon as possible.”

Omigod, you’re jealous.
Why hadn’t she seen it before? No wonder he’d given her a present, he was trying to compete with Simon.
Like you have a chance, buddy.

Riley clenched her own fists. “You hate it that I’m dating. That’s why you want me gone. You think we’ll break up if I go to Fargo.”

“It’s not that,” he said, shaking his head.

“Oh, yeah it is. You can’t stand me being happy. You just want me lonely and miserable like you.”

“Girl—” he began in a warning tone.

“Admit it, Beck. Nobody cares about you because you act like a butthead all the time.”

He took a menacing step forward. “Cut the lip, girl. Yer outta here, even if I have to throw ya in the back of my truck and drive yer butt to Fargo.”

“You wouldn’t dare!” she snarled.

“Ya got three days. Make it happen or I will.” He spun on a heel and marched out of the circle. It ceased blazing the moment he crossed it.

“You miserable piece of…”

Riley bit her lip as he tromped out of sight. She’d been so stupid. Why did she think he’d changed? He’d just tried to soften her up so he could get his own way.

And I almost fell for it.

*   *   *

Even by the next
afternoon the hurt still lodged in Riley’s throat like a chicken bone she couldn’t cough up. She’d spent most of the day doing odd jobs for Harper and keeping out of range of his explosive temper. She had succeeded because the master and Simon went to trap a Three near the casino in Demon Central. Once they’d left, she worked on her demonic curse words. It was amazing how many applied to Beck.

More than once she wanted to pull off the claw and throw it away, but she couldn’t make herself do it. It was
her
claw, not his. She’d earned it. She’d just have to forget that he’d given it to her.

Yeah. Like that’ll work.

All the while it was hanging there, reminding her of what it had been like when he’d been nice. Now that he wasn’t anymore.

If that wasn’t bad enough, she had the ho-bags to deal with at class this afternoon. If they had any sense they’d know not to get in her face. Her fuse was too short, and if she nailed one of them, she’d be out of school in a sec. No school equaled no driver’s license. Mass transit so wasn’t her thing.

This time Riley parked her car close to the coffee shop and in plain view of where she planned to sit. She needed to be outside before the bitches to reduce their options for vandalism.

Brandy and her band were waiting near the entrance. At least they weren’t all wearing the same color tonight. That had been too weird. Riley ignored their giggles and pointing, retrieved her messenger bag, and then locked the doors.

“Hi,” a voice said. She turned to find one of the boys standing nearby. “You’re the demon trapper, right?”

“Yes.” He was the scrawny kid who sat next to her in class. His clothes were at least a size too big for him and made him look like an emaciated scarecrow.

“So who are you?” she asked, not sure what was up.

“Tim.” He shot a nervous glance toward the pack of girls. “I … well, I got this project I’m working on and I wondered if…”

“Geek alert,” one of Brandy’s droids called out and made claxon noises.

Tim stiffened.

“Ignore them.” Riley said, turning her back on the pack.

Her move seemed to spook him, and he scooted backward. “Ah, ah…” he stammered. “I’ve been doing some research into the types of demons, and I thought, well, you being a trapper and all and…”

“Go on,” she prodded. If this took much longer, she wouldn’t be able to claim the seat she wanted.

“I’m confused as to the differences between Biblios, Kleptos, and Pyro-Fiends.”

The kid had obviously done some research.

“Why do you want to know?” she asked.

“I want to be a trapper when I’m older.”

You’ve got to be kidding.
He was way too skinny. A Three wouldn’t even consider him an appetizer.

“Don’t bother. It’s not that much fun.”

“But—”

She walked around him like he didn’t exist and headed for the front door.

“But—” he tried again, and then she heard the pack laughing. When she looked back Tim was still standing by her car, his face telling the world how devastated he felt.

“Just deal with it. I do,” she grumbled.

When Mrs. Haggerty called them inside, Riley pointedly sat in the back of the room. Brandy kept shooting her looks, followed by a knowing smirk.

They’ve got something planned.

Math flew by, followed by a short state-mandated course in personal hygiene. That drew a lot of snickers since the info was pretty basic, though a couple of the guys in the back of the class definitely needed the refresher.

Then Mrs. Haggerty moved on to the Civil War.

“We’re going to start with a discussion about the burning of Atlanta. Anyone got any thoughts?” she asked.

A boy on the other side of the room raised his hand. “It was just symbolic, nothing more. Other than Sherman tearing up the train tracks, it wasn’t going to bring the war to an end any faster.”

“Exactly,” another kid chimed in. “It didn’t matter either way. It was only a hit on the South’s ego.”

Riley fought the urge to raise her hand. Best to keep out of the spotlight.

“Riley?” the teacher prodded. All heads turned toward her.

That didn’t work.

“Atlanta was a storage depot for the South’s war supplies, so burning the city
was
a major strike against the Confederacy,” she explained. At least all those years of listening to dad ramble on about the war were finally paying off.

“But you don’t approve of Sherman’s tactics, do you?” Mrs. Haggerty asked.

Riley was blindsided.
How did she know that?

“Why don’t you tell us
your
view of General Sherman. It’s unique, to say the least.”

Oh jeez
. “I think he was a domestic terrorist.”

One of the kids whooped in support of her theory. “Radical!”

“Why do you believe that?” Mrs. Haggerty pressed.

Riley had no choice but to give it up. “He didn’t have to destroy the city. I think he liked playing God, and if he’d done the same thing today he’d be labeled a terrorist.”

“Even in the time of war?” the first kid asked. She thought his name was Bill.

“Sure. The city had surrendered and been evacuated. Then the day he’s leaving town, Sherman has it burned to the ground. That’s just evil.”

“But he didn’t burn all of it,” Bill argued. “He left the churches.”

“Why did he do that?” Mrs. Haggerty probed.

Riley knew the answer but figured it was best not to be labeled a know-it-all.

Bill struggled. “He didn’t want to?”

The teacher shook her head. “A priest pleaded with Sherman not to burn the churches and hospitals.” She let that sink in. “For your homework assignment: I want you tell me if you think the general’s actions were warranted or not.”

There were groans and Riley’s was one of them. She rose, stuffing her notebook into her messenger bag.

“Riley?” the teacher beckoned.

Not good.
That would give the droids time to mess with her car.

“Yes, Mrs. Haggerty?” she said, walking to the desk. Hopefully this would be quick.

“When they sent over your file, your term paper was in it.” She handed it over. “I might not agree with your views but at least you had the courage to say them.”

Riley stared at the red letter at the top of the first page. She broke into a grin. “I aced it?”

“You did. Solid research, sound argument, even though it was preachy at times. Good work.”

Riley’s smile grew wider. “Thanks!”
Wait ’til I tell Peter!

She jammed the paper into her bag and headed for the door. A kid was standing in front of it, blocking her way. It was the one who always sat away from the windows and didn’t say much.

“You really a demon hunter?” he asked. His eyes looked weird, as if he were wearing some kind of special contacts.

“Demon
trapper
,” she corrected, trying to dodge around him. He wouldn’t move. “Look, I’ve got to go.” What were the droids doing to her car? If they’d lipsticked her windshield again …

“You hunt us,” he said with a faint lisp.

“Not unless you’re a demon,” she said.

“Some say we are.” The pale kid smiled. His canines were pointed. Add in the pallid flesh, the inky black clothes, the frilly white shirt, and suddenly she got the picture.

A vampire wannabe. Give me a break.

“You will not harm us,” he said solemnly, precise weight on each word.

What is it with the plural thing?
It wasn’t like he was the King of England. “Look—whatever your name is—I trap demons. Dee-mons. That’s it. I don’t go after vampires, werewolves, shape-shifters, none of those things.”
Or crazy people who think they are one of the above.
“I’ve got too much to deal with as it is.”

“That’s not what we hear.”

“
We
who?” she asked, frowning.

“The Nightkind.”

“The night kind of what?”

The boy’s face twisted in a grimace. “We rule the dark hours and fear no one. Not even a hunter.”

“Trapper. Whatever.”
I so don’t need this.
“Now can you move?”