The Demon Trappers: Foretold (21 page)

‘Ah, damn,’ he said, agitated now. ‘You both better be alive when I get back.’

‘It’ll be OK,’ she replied.
Now I’m sounding like my dad
. ‘You should get going. It’s almost dark.’

With one last look at Beck, Ray began to edge his way out of the clearing. The fiend tensed, hissing again. The moment it launched itself at the guide, Riley was on the move, her Holy Water
sphere arcing towards the rushing Hellspawn. The demon shrieked in agony as the sacred liquid impacted its chest, scalding its skin, and with a snarl it whirled and vanished into the
undergrowth.

‘Go!’ she cried.

Ray took off at a run towards the canal, feet pumping and Holy Water sphere in hand. If he didn’t make it to the boat, she and Beck were in big trouble.

Knowing she didn’t have that much time before the fiend returned for Round Two, she dug in her backpack. Tucking a bottle of Holy Water under her left arm, she used the steel pipe to
inscribe a circle in the earth round Beck and the tree. She made it at least fifteen feet in diameter, to give her room to move. Every few feet she’d pause and fill in the circle with the
liquid, building a sacred barrier as she went. It was hard going. Her back cramped, her knees trembled, but she kept at it.

Beck roused and began to sing about a good old boy who went to war and whose family made moonshine, his voice cracking at the higher notes. Riley smiled at the tune, but kept constructing the
barrier.

About halfway round she ran out of Holy Water. After collecting another pint, she kept digging in the dirt, pouring the liquid, over and over. Another bottle gone and she’d only brought
four. Once the circle was completed, she took the third bottle and walked the line, filling in any gaps. When she was sure the holy barrier was as strong as she could make it, Riley sank on the
ground near Beck. As long as there was only one Hellspawn, it’d hold. If it brought back friends, it would get ugly.

In the distance she heard the sound of a boat motor revving up, signalling that Ray had made it to the canal. Or it was the demon making her think help was on the way.

We’ll know in the morning.

Riley twisted open the lid on a quart bottle of water and offered it to Beck. He grabbed on to it with both hands and began to drink earnest.

‘God . . . that’s good.’ Another long swig.

With her knife, she cut the seam of his left trouser leg, beginning at the ankle. The demon wound was a long slice on the outside of the calf and Riley shuddered at the copious drainage. Once
the wound was completely exposed, she gave him the warning.

‘I need to treat this with the Holy Water. You ready?’

He gave a faint nod and she let a stream of the liquid drop on to the wound. As the infection bubbled in reaction, Beck sucked in a sharp gulp of air. Then he swore, long and loud.

Sorry.

Once the wound looked fairly clean, she rinsed it with clear water, then applied a light bandage. She’d be repeating the task every two hours until the infection was gone. After
she’d stashed away the supplies, Riley insisted he take some aspirin and finish off the water. He still had a high fever, but that would disappear with the infection.

As Beck dozed fitfully and the night deepened Riley sat vigil, her nerves on a razor’s edge. She was prepared for the demon’s return, the magical knife her friend Ayden had given her
in the sheath at her waist. The steel pipe sat to her left and a Holy Water sphere to the right. Now that she’d found the man she loved, there was no way Hell would have him.

I will die first.

When Beck struggled back to consciousness, he was pleased to find he felt better. He raked his nails over his chest in broad swipes. His fever was dropping and he was hungry,
all of which was good news. But when he saw Riley he growled under his breath.

‘What the hell are ya doin’ here?’ he demanded, cloaking his concern in anger. ‘This isn’t some damned picnic.’

She ignored his question and fired one back. ‘Why are you itching?’

‘Bug bites. The things are in my shirt, eatin’ me alive.’

‘That I can fx,’ she replied.

Between them they managed to pull off his jacket and shirt. After shaking her head at the mass of red marks on his chest, she handed over a packet of hand wipes. Beck was going mad from the
itching, so he gave in. Though the wipes were cold, they felt good and he used them to clean his hands, face, arms, pits and chest. Riley did the honours to his back. By the time she was done, he
was shivering in the chilly night air, his skin dotted with goose bumps.

Riley pulled off her jacket, then a sweater, revealing a heavy sweatshirt. It was one of his, and as it came off her shirt rode up and the edge of a pink bra peeked out. He knew better than to
mention it.

Riley helped him dress and the sweatshirt felt good. It smelt of her and for some reason he liked that.

‘Stealin’ my clothes while I was gone?’ he asked.

‘Only the sweatshirt,’ she replied. ‘Your jeans didn’t fit that well.’

God, he’d missed her humour. As he studied her, he noted fresh bruises on her face and he asked about those.

‘McGovern,’ she replied. ‘He wanted to bring me out here to keep you company because I wouldn’t stop trying to find you. He’s in jail now.’

Beck felt a ball of fury ignite in his gut. It was best that bastard remain behind bars or he wouldn’t be above ground for long.

‘What the hell was this all about? He wouldn’t tell me.’

‘He was covering his tracks.’ Riley leaned back against the tree and spun him the whole tale. The longer she spoke, the more he worked out for himself.

‘He killed Nate and Brad, didn’t he?’

‘That’s what Donovan thinks,’ she replied. ‘He would have killed you too if he’d known you were sleeping it off in the boat. You would have just disappeared like
the other two boys.’

Beck moved his gaze to the far tree. Were their bodies under those leaves? Had the demon done them all a favour without intending to?

When she offered him his jacket, Beck shook his head. ‘The critters are in that too. They’re from the Spanish moss.’

‘OK . . .’ Riley set the garment aside and unpacked a large silvery blanket from her backpack, then laid it out about five feet away from where he was sitting. ‘Let’s
move you over here. This will keep you warm and get you away from the bity things.’

Though he was already too warm from the fever, it seemed like a good idea. He made it to his feet with her considerable help and then hobbled over to the new location, his leg throbbing with
every step. The moment he was settled she tucked the silver blanket around him.

‘What about you? It’s gonna get colder,’ he said.

‘I’ll be OK.’ She wouldn’t be in a couple of hours, but they’d cross that bridge later.

‘So what else ya got in that pack of yers. Any food?’

‘I thought this wasn’t a picnic,’ she retorted, arching an eyebrow.

He frowned at her. Why did she have to challenge him all the time?

‘Ya scare me when ya do this kind of crazy stuff, girl.’

‘I scare myself too,’ she admitted.

A few moments later he had an unwrapped power bar in his hand. It vanished within seconds, followed by a handful of orange slices and some beef jerky. He took a healthy chug from a bottle of
sports drink, then leaned back against the tree in relief. His stomach wasn’t happy that he’d eaten so fast, but that couldn’t be helped.

‘So what’s the story with the rifle? Is it McGovern’s?’

‘No, I found it here,’ he said, unwilling to get into whose it was or what that might mean. ‘No ammunition, so it didn’t help me much.’

He closed his eyes and he could hear her moving around, then he caught the scent of wood smoke. She’d lit a fire without his help – he didn’t think city girls knew how to do
that. After a time he dozed, images of his mother and the dead boys haunting his dreams.

When the demon returned a few hours later, it was evident the Holy Water had hurt it. Its chest looked like it’d been attacked with a flamethrower and every now and then
Riley could hear a whimper of pain cross its lips.

‘You will die here,’ it growled, glaring at her. ‘You will pay for my pain.’

She ignored it, refusing to allow the thing to get a foothold in her mind.

‘Remember, Denver Beck? Remember how I told you of her angel lover?’ the fiend taunted.

‘Give it a rest, demon,’ Beck mumbled.

‘Has she told you of her soul? How it is ours now? How she gave it to
him
. . . forever?’

There was a rapid intake of breath behind her as Beck digested that bit of news.

‘Thanks for that,’ she muttered. Riley had intended to reveal her secret when the time was right, if there ever was such a thing. Now it was out in the open, flopping around like a
dying carp.

‘Tell me it’s lyin’,’ Beck demanded.

She couldn’t meet his eyes. ‘No, I gave my soul to Ori.’

‘Oh, girl,’ he murmured.

The demon barked in triumph. ‘Why is she here? Is it for you, trapper, or for her demi-lord? Did he order her to find you? Did he order her to
kill
you?’

Riley exploded off the ground. ‘Where do you come up with this stuff? Do you losers have a giant book of lies and you choose which ones sound good?’

She took a couple of steps forward, her knife out of the sheath now. Then she halted. The demon was baiting her, trying to get her to break the circle.

‘Is that what’s happenin’ here?’ Beck asked. ‘That angel tell ya to kill me?’

He’s sick and this damned thing is playing with his mind.

‘No.’

‘How can I believe ya?’

She shot a look over her shoulder at the wounded man. ‘But you’d believe this piece of Hell crap?’

The fiend chortled to itself, then blended into the brush. It had sown the seeds of doubt and now it just needed to let them grow.

You’re history, demon. I don’t how I’m going to do it, but you’re dead.

Beck went silent after that, refusing to talk to her. In time, he fell back asleep, but he wasn’t resting easily. He kept jerking awake, his eyes wide, then he’d close them again.
She’d just stoked the fire when he lurched out of a dream, his eyes darting around, wide with fear, as his breath came in short pants.

‘Beck? What’s going on?’ she asked, moving closer.

‘Demon. It keeps pushin’ on my mind. I hear it over and over tellin’ me what that damned angel did to ya and –’ He jammed his palms against his ears. ‘Oh,
God, make it stop!’

Panicking, she knelt next to him. Singing country western songs to block the demon’s mind games wasn’t going to do it. They needed something stronger than Hell’s lies.

Love.

Riley didn’t know whether he loved her, but she knew he adored her father. She gently guided his hands away from his ears. ‘Beck, hey, look at me.’ His eyes tracked to hers,
pleading. ‘Tell me about my father. You know, how you met and what he was like.’

‘What?’ he said, bewildered.

‘Talk to me about my dad,’ she ordered. ‘The demon can’t screw with you when you’re thinking about someone you love.’ She wasn’t sure if that was true
or not, but it was the only weapon they had against the dark voice in Beck’s mind.

‘Yer playin’ with me, tryin’ to get me to—’

‘No! I’m trying to help you. Please listen to me. I would never do anything to hurt you, Beck. I swear that on my father’s grave.’

He blinked, then nodded his head, the message getting through to him. ‘I did love Paul. He was so good to me. He was like the daddy I never had.’

‘Tell me about the first time you guys met. It was in class, right?’

Beck gritted his teeth as if the demon had tried to cut across his thoughts. ‘It was . . . the American history class. I’d only been in school a few days and I was still pissed at
Donovan for haulin’ my ass up to Atlanta.’

Riley sat next to him, tucking her jacket around her for warmth. ‘Go on, I want to hear it all.’
Keep talking . . .

Beck took a deep inhalation then let it out slowly. ‘I told Paul that I didn’t do any effn’ homework, that there was no point. He said I should stay after class. I figured I
was goin’ to the principal’s office and then maybe get detention. If I did that enough times, they’d kick me outta school and then I could do what I wanted.’

‘Then what happened?’ Riley executed a quick demon check. It had to be out there somewhere.

‘Instead of bustin’ my ass, Paul sits me down and asks me a bunch of questions – where I’m from, what TV shows do I like, stuff like that. I couldn’t figure out
what he was doin’.’

Beck grimaced again.

‘Don’t listen to that other voice. Tell me the story,’ she urged.

‘I . . . I told Paul to go screw himself. So he gives me an assignment: I was to write a paper about the one person in the whole world I thought was awesome. I told him there wasn’t
anyone like that. Then he said I should write down what that person would be like if there was one.’

She remembered this part – her father had said he wasn’t sure if he’d ever be able to reach the boy. Then, after a solid week of pressure, Beck had finally turned in the
assignment, six barely readable sentences, riddled with misspellings.