Soul Thief-Demon Trappers 2 (34 page)

Now that
would
really
suck.

He caught up with them on Broad Street. There were six of the Vatican’s crew all decked out in their commando gear, and there’d be more in the surrounding streets. From the five furry bodies lying in the street, they’d been busy. A single shot to the Threes’ skulls did the trick, at least when the bullets were hollow points loaded with papal Holy Water. Fifteen hundred dollars’ worth of demon carcasses had bled out on that pavement, and no trapper was going to get a bit of that money.

“What a damned waste,” he grumbled.

Beck had expected to be challenged right off, but he was waved through the perimeter by one of the hunters. Captain Salvatore stood near one of the high-tech black vans. There was a map spread out on a portable table, and he was talking to his second-in-command.

“Good evenin’,” Beck said politely. He got a nod from the captain and a glower from his subordinate.

“What are you doing here?” Amundson demanded.

Beck set his trapping bag down by the van. “Wanted to see how the big boys work.”

Amundson opened his mouth, probably to order him to take a hike, but his superior waved him off. “It’s okay, Lieutenant. Go check on Chavez and Rimsky.”

From his frown, Amundson didn’t like the order, but he obeyed and headed down the street, assault rifle in hand.

Beck pointed at the line of dead demons. “Ya know, if ya don’t have to kill those things…” he said, just to stir up trouble.

Salvatore carefully refolded the map. “If we don’t kill them, they’ll just come back and eat more of your people.”

“I thought y’all had that handled. Somethin’ to do with monks and a lot of prayin’. I heard the demons just disappear.”

“They do disappear,” Salvatore replied, leveling his gaze with Beck’s. “Then they return to this realm and start killing again. Hell has the ultimate recycling plan.”

Beck wasn’t sure if the guy was messing with him or not. “Yer jokin’, right?”

The captain shook his head. “If we kill them, they don’t bother us again.”

“That don’t track,” Beck argued. “Hunters have been wastin’ demons for centuries and we’re not runnin’ out of ’em. Maybe Lucifer gets ’em either way, livin’ or dead.”

The captain gave the theory some consideration. “That’d be a bitch, wouldn’t it?”

Beck cracked a grin.
Maybe this guy isn’t such a tool after all.

“So why are you here, Beck? It’s not to see how we do our work.”

Busted.
“It’s about Riley Blackthorne. I heard that one of our apprentices told ya a wild tale about her and her dad workin’ for Hell. That’s not true.”

“Of course you’d say that,” Salvatore replied. “You wouldn’t turn on the man who trained you, or his daughter.”

Beck frowned, shifting his weight from one foot to another. “I would if they were shillin’ for Hell, in a heartbeat. I saw too many of our guys ripped apart that night to let somethin’ like that slide.”

Salvatore gave a cautious nod. A gunshot in the distance was followed by a low, mournful wail.

“And another one bites the dust,” Beck muttered.

“You sure the Blackthornes are on the level?” Salvatore asked.

Beck nodded. “Paul was a straight arrow. Same with his daughter.”

“Grand Master Stewart says the same thing. So if Riley is not the nexus of the demonic power in this city, who is?”

“Don’t know. The demons have changed their tactics, gotten bolder. They’re actin’ weird now.”

“Not the first time,” Salvatore replied. “In Moscow in ’ninety-three—”

The earth began to shake beneath their boots. It paused and started up again, triggering car alarms that howled into the night like electronic wolves.

“That’s a Five,” Beck said, his throat tightening. He grabbed his duffel bag and began scanning the area. There were shouts from the streets around them as the hunters sprinted back toward their captain.

Salvatore stepped to the van’s open side door. “Where did that come from, Corsini?”

A dark-skinned man stuck his head outside the vehicle, holding some sort of electronic device. “Southeast of here, Captain, nearly two kilometers.”

Two kilometers.
That was near Harper’s place.

Beck turned on his heels and sprinted up the road, his trapping bag slapping into his side. Behind him, he heard the captain calling out his name, but he kept running as if his life depended upon it.

Because it does.

T
HIRTY

To Riley’s relief there were no demon hunters waiting at her master’s place. Harper was in his office, in his recliner, eyes closed. The television was off. That had to be a first.

She set the grocery sack on the desk. “I found the soup you said you liked.”

No reply. She took that as a hint and put away the food. When she returned to the office, Harper’s eyes were open. She’d expected a smirk, but there was none. That made her more nervous. What if he trashed her apprenticeship because of Simon’s allegations? She had no way to prove her innocence.

Instead Harper went in a direction she’d not anticipated. “Saint’s going to be a problem,” he said in a gravely voice. “I don’t trust you any further than I can spit you, but I
will not
have an apprentice who is working with the hunters.”

For some bizarre reason, Riley felt the need to defend her ex. “Simon is really confused right now and—”

“Don’t alibi for him!” Harper shouted, his voice echoing off the open rafters. “He sold you out, called the hunters down on one of his own. What the hell is he thinking?”

“He’s not. That’s the problem.”

She got a grunt of agreement. “His crisis of faith is chapping my ass,” Harper said.

“Not doing much for mine, either.”

Another grunt. “I’ll be talking to him about this in the morning. Then as soon as possible we’ll go trapping. We’ll catch a Three and see if we can get Saint back on track. I don’t want to lose him.”

“You think Simon can handle that after what he’s been through?” she asked, unsure.

“He has to or he’s done. It’s that simple.” Harper eyed her. “Then it’ll be your turn.”

Riley figured that was coming. Could she face one of those slavering monsters again?

“I’ve seen this before,” Harper conceded. “Until Saint settles his argument with his God, he’s going to doubt everything and everybody.”

“Just as long as he doesn’t blame my dad for what happened.”

“Blackthorne knew what was going down or he wouldn’t have warned you.”

Riley frowned, putting her hands on her hips. “Oh right, he gave me, what,
five seconds
to be out of there before it became a death trap? If he really wanted to kill all of you, he’d have made sure I wasn’t near that building.”

Harper’s face sagged. She could see that simple fact was bugging him. “I talked to Rosetti right after they left your place. They’re going to keep digging, seeing what they can find on you and your father. If you have sold your soul to Hell, you will bring down the Atlanta Guild, do you understand?” he demanded.

Riley shivered at the thought. She didn’t like a lot of the guys in the Guild, but destroying it would put them all out of work and put the city at risk.

“Got it.”

Harper sighed. “Stewart thinks something else is up. I don’t buy much of his mystical crap, but he usually knows what he’s talking about. We’ll get with him and see what we can do to settle things down. I want the hunters out of this town as quickly as possible, for all our sakes.”

That was the longest conversation they’d ever shared. Since her master seemed to be listening to her for a change, she decided now might be a good time to tell him about her fruitless following-recycling-trucks-all-over-Atlanta investigation. Maybe he’d have some suggestions.

“I’ve been working on that Holy Water problem.” The man’s eyes swiveled in her direction. At least they weren’t bloodshot like before. She told him about the unmarked truck and how the drivers hadn’t been good with her questions. “I checked out the recycling place,” she said, cautiously editing out Peter’s part of the investigation. “The bottles go there for stripping and cleaning, then they’re sent to the Holy Water plant. I think they’re being stolen somewhere along the way.”

Though Harper’s brow furrowed, the smackdown didn’t come.

“You might be right,” he said. “Used to be the city would send their own truck to collect the bottles, then I’d have to wait for the check. Now they’ve made some deal with a recycler to pick ’em up and pay me right then and there in cash.”

“When did that change?”

“About three weeks ago.”

“Just about the time the consecration dates went weird.” She knew that much from the paperwork she’d had to complete. When Harper’s previous apprentices filled out the forms, all the bottles had proper consecration dates.

“So if I want to steal a bunch of empty bottles that just happen to have the city’s tax stamp on them,” she mused, “I make a deal with the city to collect them, skim some off the top, fudge the paperwork, and no one knows the bottles are missing. I fill those with tap water and sell them just like they’re the real thing.”

Harper gave her a hard look. “You’ve got a twisted mind, brat.”

She couldn’t argue with that. “So we just have to talk to the distributor, see if any bottles are missing.”

“Might not be that simple. The distributor could be kosher, but someone is stealing from them or getting their bottles from some other place. Buying new ones, maybe.”

“But they’d have to have a tax stamp.”

“No reason someone inside the city isn’t selling them under the table.”

Riley hadn’t even thought of that. “Now who’s got a twisted mind?” she said. A second after she’d made the comment, it hit her what she’d said. Harper didn’t seem upset. “The Holy Water vendor in the market is in on it too, I swear.”

“We need to take control of this situation. Too much is getting by us,” Harper said. “I’ll talk to Stewart and—”

The ground shook, a tremor so light Riley could almost believe she’d imagined it. Harper sat up in his chair, flipping down the footrest, on alert.

Riley held her breath.
Please God, not here.
Another tremor followed almost immediately, rattling the plates in the kitchenette. She had to hold on to the desk for support, as items jittered across the top and tumbled to the floor.

“Oh, hell,” Harper said, jumping to his feet. “It wouldn’t dare…”

A blast of straight wind rammed into the front of the building, shattering the windows in the two overhead doors.

“Down!” Harper bellowed. A second later the doors exploded, converting the wood to lethal missiles.

Riley barely hit the floor before debris speared the room, burying wooden shards deep into the back walls like jagged arrows. Then came the laughter. Low, chilling, and totally demonic.

The Geo-Fiend had come for her.

Where is Ori?

Rolling waves coursed across the ground, causing the building’s remaining window glass to shatter and its masonry to crack. Dust poured down in a choking fog.

“Pit!” Harper shouted, catching her by the arm and dragging her out of what remained of the office. Another tremor slung them to the ground. Harper crawled back on his feet, hampered by his injury. Above them, the metal supports shrieked in protest as the joints began to fail.

“Help me!” he called, scrabbling at something with his fingers. Through the swirling dust, Riley realized he was trying to pull up a piece of plywood covering a section of the garage floor. Putting her back to the wind and dust storm, she dug into the crevice between the concrete and the wood, attempting to gain leverage on the warped plywood. Lifting it proved impossible with the force of the gale, so with incredible effort they shifted it sideways.

Grimacing in pain, Harper pushed her into the pit. It stank of old oil and dirty rags.

“Cover your head!” he cried. Above them the building twisted on its foundations as concrete blocks ground into each other then dislodged themselves to tumble to the earth.

Riley beckoned for him to join her, but her master shook his head. “Stay here!”

With his trapping bag in hand, he wove himself through the falling debris, then crawled out a gaping hole in the side of the building.

What is he doing? The demon will rip him apart.

The other trappers would come to help them, or maybe the hunters would. He could not take on a Five by himself.

Harper had told her to stay here. That’s exactly what she should do. Riley hated him, hated how he treated her and her dad. She remembered every bruise he’d given her, every insult.

But he’s my master.

With a cry of anguish, she hauled herself out of the pit and ran to join him.

The moment she exited the ruined building the wind died, causing an eerie silence to beat against her ears. She found Harper in the parking lot thirty feet from the towering Geo-Fiend, guarding his injured side, his face coated with a thick layer of dust like a coal miner.

The demon was the one from the Tabernacle. The thing was tall, deep black skin stretched over a thickly muscled chest and bulky arms. Muscles rippled in its bull-like neck and horns adorned the sides of its head, tapering upward into wicked points. Brilliant crimson flames seethed inside its maw.

The demon observed her with blazing crimson eyes. “Blackthorne’s daughter,” it cried.

Harper turned, then glowered at her. “Get back in there!”

Riley shook her head, taking her place next to him. This was the demon who had killed her father; she would not hide from it.

Without asking permission she reached into the trapping bag hanging off her master’s shoulder and retrieved two grounding spheres. When she handed one to Harper, he studied her for a moment, then nodded grimly, his pale scar stretched tight.

“You know what to do?” he croaked.

“Yes.” Her fear felt so real she swore it was pouring out of her skin like water from a faucet.

Harper angled his head, indicating she should move to the right. As she took the first few steps, she heard the demon chuckle in amusement.