The Demon Trappers: Foretold (11 page)

‘I don’t think that’s a good thing, you know? Best to leave sleeping dogs lie.’

Beck finished the last signature and dropped the pen on the desk. ‘Easy for you to say if yer not the one bein’ blamed. Hell, I can’t even buy a pizza in this town because
folks are sure I’m a murderer.’

McGovern walked to a filing cabinet behind him and slid open one of the drawers, dipping his hand inside. ‘So who do you think did it?’

‘Who knows? Maybe it was the guy who gave Nate the money for the booze and the drugs. He said if the dude didn’t do what he wanted a ton of hurt was goin’ to come down on
him.’

‘Huh. It’s a pity Donovan never figured out who that was.’

‘Yeah, well, now he might get a chance,’ Beck replied. ‘I’m gonna ask him to reopen the case, get this figured out once and for all. I want this damned thing off my back
no matter who it takes down.’

McGovern turned towards him now, his expression guarded. ‘Don’t think that’s wise, Denny.’

‘Well, it’s not yer call. Are we done here?’

McGovern shut the drawer. ‘For now. I . . . might need you to come by later.’

‘OK. I’ll see you soon enough.’

Beck met Riley in the front lobby of the hospital where he searched her face for clues. It didn’t look like she’d been crying, so that was a good sign.

‘How is she?’ he asked.

‘Asleep. It won’t be much longer, Den.’

‘I figured. So . . . how’d it go?’ he asked, fearing the answer. If Sadie had been her usual nasty self . . .

‘It went OK,’ Riley replied as they stepped outside into the sunshine. ‘Neither of us tried to kill the other. I think that’s a good start.’

He shot her a quick glance. ‘She run her game on you?’

‘She tried. I shut her down. Your mother doesn’t think you killed those boys.’

‘She never told me that,’ he replied. ‘Not once.’

‘Well, she has now, at least through me. She says you should pull your head out of your butt and do the right thing for a change.’

‘What does that mean?’

‘No clue.’

There was more that Riley wasn’t telling him, but since she wasn’t really upset maybe things had gone fairly well with her and Sadie.

That’s a freakin’ miracle.

He could still remember Caitlin’s shattered expression when he’d returned from buying something for supper. She’d only been with the old lady for half an hour, but in that
short time Sadie had offloaded a ton of lies and ruined everything.

Riley isn’t Caitlin.

Maybe Sadie had met her match for the first time in her life.

A short time later they pulled into the house’s driveway and Beck geared himself up for another round of boxing up the old lady’s stuff. With each room they cleared
he felt his old life giving way. Layer upon layer of old memories being washed clean or tossed in the trash, leaving his hellish childhood behind. If he ever had kids, he’d be damned sure
they wouldn’t feel the same about him.

They tore into the cleaning like possessed people, and by the time Riley checked the clock it was nearing five in the evening. They’d just begun to make plans for dinner – Beck
thought a quick trip over the state line might be a good idea since no one would know him there – when his cellphone rang. He looked at the dial and his face went ashen.

‘Beck.’ A few seconds later he said, ‘We’ll be there.’ He scooped up his backpack and jacket, and was out of the door without a word.

There was no need to ask where they were going – Sadie Beck was about to meet her Maker.

The instant the truck came to a halt in the hospital parking lot, Beck turned it off and bolted towards the front entrance. Riley retrieved his keys and made sure the vehicle
was locked.

Please, let his mother say she loves him. Just once.

Riley had always known she was at the centre of her parents’ lives and she’d felt that love from the start. Beck never had. He’d always been an afterthought, a nuisance, a
child to be abandoned in the swamp like a sack of garbage.

Riley found the grieving son at his mother’s bedside, Sadie’s thin blue-veined hand was engulfed in his larger tanned one. He shot a look over at Riley, then back at his mother.

‘I’m here, Sadie,’ he said. ‘I won’t let you go alone.’

The woman muttered something, then closed her eyes. From Beck’s despondent expression it wasn’t ‘I love you’.

With each gasping breath Sadie appeared to suck more life out of her only child, as if somehow their lives were physically intertwined. Through it all, Beck stood resolutely by the bed, refusing
to move. Time crawled by. Five minutes, then ten. The nurse came in and checked the patient, then left on silent feet.

There was a groan from the bed and Sadie’s eyes lit on Riley, reflecting a wild panic, as if she’d finally realized this was the end. Riley moved closer and took the woman’s
other hand.

Her mom had died peacefully, surrounded by her loving family. Sadie fought every last breath, as if she was too proud to admit that her time had come. Or too frightened of what she would face
when she was no longer on this earth.

Riley bent down near the woman’s ear. ‘Please, make it right, for both of you.’

The woman weakly shook her head, each breath tighter. ‘Keep . . . him . . . safe . . .’ When Riley didn’t reply, Sadie gripped her hand tighter. ‘Promise.’

Riley bowed her head. ‘I promise.’

Sadie Beck took her last breath and died.

When Beck realized she was gone, emptiness overwhelmed him, as if it had poured out of the lifeless body and sought refuge inside him.

He’d pleaded for only two things – her love and the name of his father.

Sadie had taken both to her grave.

Tears swarmed down his cheeks, shaming him, visual evidence of what he’d lost and what he’d never had. He collapsed into a chair, no longer having the strength to stand as the bitter
dampness on his cheeks scalded his face. All those years of hoping, praying that he’d been wrong, were over.
She never loved me.

Someone touched his hands and when he peered through the dark mist it was Riley, kneeling next to him.

‘I’m here, Den,’ she said, lightly touching his face. Her touch was so soft, so caring. Riley was at his side, and, though he was afraid to admit it, she really cared for him,
maybe even loved him. She would guard him, protect him. Keep the darkness at bay.

‘It’s over,’ she said, wiping away one of his tears with a fingertip. ‘You did everything you could for her.’

He knew what she really meant. Sadie could no longer hurt him.

‘It doesn’t . . . feel that way,’ he whispered. ‘Why didn’t she didn’t tell me who he was?’

‘Do you think she knew?’

Beck jolted at the question. He shouldn’t have. He’d asked it of himself enough times. ‘I don’t know.’
It’d be like her to lie to me.

To his surprise Riley tentatively placed a kiss on his cheek.

‘I’m sorry, Den. I really am.’

It took some time for Riley to calm her own tears. They weren’t for Sadie, but for her son. When Beck offered her the truck so she could return to the motel, claiming he
could catch a ride after the paperwork was done, she declined. Riley heard the false bravado behind his words. She’d used that same tactic after her dad died.

‘I’ll wait for you outside,’ she said.

His grateful expression told her it’d been the right choice.

Riley groaned to herself as she leaned against the pickup.
I promised to watch over him.
The vows she’d made in the past had always come back to haunt her, but
maybe this one will be different.

Why did Sadie trust me to watch over her son?
If she hadn’t loved him, why did she care what happened to Beck after she died?
Maybe she didn’t know how to tell him she
cared.
Or maybe she thought love was a weakness.

Riley dialled Stewart and he answered on the first ring.

‘Beck’s mom has passed away,’ she reported. It sounded so clinical.

‘I’m sorry ta hear that. How’s the lad doin’?’

‘He’s hanging in there, but it’s really hard for him.’

‘Aye. Anythin’ else I should know about?’

It wasn’t her place to tell the master about the Keneally brothers and Beck’s supposedly sordid past, so she mumbled, ‘Not really.’

She wasn’t sure if Stewart caught the fib or not, but he didn’t press her on it.

‘Call me when ya have the funeral arrangements in place. Harper and I will be sendin’ flowers.’

That was nice. ‘I will. That’ll mean a lot to Beck.’

A lengthy pause. ‘So what was his mother like?’ the master asked.

‘Cold and hard, like she’d been hurt so many times she hated everyone, no matter how good they were to her. I understand Beck better now. Which is why you wanted me to come down here
with him, wasn’t it?’

‘I’m that transparent?’ the man said.

‘Not usually.’ Nevertheless, Stewart rarely did anything that didn’t have a least four layers of strategy behind it.

‘Things are gettin’ unruly up here. I’m in the mall right now and there’s magic fyin’ all over the place. It’s good yer down there, lass.’

‘It depends on your point of view, sir.’

Stewart stood at the far end of the shopping mall near two magic users he now considered friends: Mortimer Alexander, a summoner, and Ayden the witch. They’d been called
to put a stop to a magical dual and this was their second such call today. ‘Any idea how this started?’

‘Trash talking, probably,’ said Mort, his dark navy summoner’s robe hanging loosely from his shoulders. It looked like a tent on him as he was as wide as he was tall.
‘Ever since Lord Ozymandias raised those demons, there’s been hell to pay.’

He ducked a particularly poorly aimed spell and it struck the front of a New Age shop. Every single crystal inside lit up a Christmas display.

‘Witches can’t aim worth a darn,’ he said to their other companion.

Ayden cranked an eyebrow at the summoner, her auburn hair and full cleavage tattoo commanding attention no matter what clothes she wore. ‘You necros aren’t any better with that aim
thing,’ she said, gesturing towards a gaping hole in the mall’s ceiling.

‘True, but –’

They both jumped as a blast of magic impacted a few feet from them, generating a swarm of tiny armour-plated butterflies armed with swords. A counterspell enveloped them and the winged warriors
turned to brightly coloured confetti.

‘Time to shut this nonsense down,’ Stewart said.

He stepped forward and planted his feet to prevent himself from being toppled by the magical waves rippling through the structure. ‘I’m Grand Master Stewart of the Atlanta Demon
Trappers Guild. Cease and desist, this instant!’ he roared.

The dualists – a younger witch and an older summoner – ignored him. A wave of magic clawed its way up the walls, causing them to turn transparent, revealing the pipes and wiring
underneath.

Mort joined the master. ‘Hey!’ he shouted. ‘Knock it off!’

The guy in the pale green robe opened his mouth to argue, but then clamped it shut, no doubt noting that Mort’s robe was darker than his. The darker the robe, the more power. This guy was
outclassed and he knew it.

‘Ah, only if the witch stops,’ the necro called out, clearly nervous now.

‘Your turn,’ Mort murmured.

Ayden took her place next to the other two. ‘It is time to end this,’ she said.

‘He started it!’ the witch called back, slowly working a spell between her hands.

‘You’re not three years old. Lobbing spells around makes us look ignorant and we don’t need the bad press.’

‘But – ’

‘There are people who believe we work for Hell and would love to kill us because of that. We’re trying to get them to think otherwise,’ Ayden replied, her voice tighter now.
She gestured at the destruction, including the line of fizzling magic playing along the rafters. ‘This is NOT helping. You understand me?’

The witch mumbled under her breath but the spell she’d been forming died out.

‘Go home, people. Do not start a war ya canna win,’ Stewart commanded.

The combatants frowned at each other, then they headed in different directions, trailing magic in their wakes.

Mort let out a sigh of relief. ‘Better than this morning.’

‘That was ugly. At least the bystanders’ hair will grow back . . . someday,’ Ayden replied.

‘You know, my mother wanted me to be a dentist,’ Mort said as he rolled up the sleeves of his robe. ‘No, I just had to be a summoner. Look what it got me.’

‘A steady job,’ Stewart replied, smiling now that the dual had ended. ‘Someone has ta clean up the magical Hazmat and yer good at it.’

‘Don’t remind me.’ Mort looked over at Ayden. ‘You ready?’

She nodded and began extracting various witchy supplies from the tapestry bag on her shoulder, including candles, crystals and magical chalk.

‘I’ll leave ya ta it, then,’ Stewart said.

As he walked away, he heard them discussing the best place to set the circle from which they’d disperse the residual magic. There was some professional disagreement, but it was good
natured, not confrontational. It appeared that the battle at Oakland Cemetery had forged a bond between them, one of mutual respect.