by Jana Oliver
“A team of hunters descended on Malcolm’s home in the wee hours and butchered everyone they could find. Hacked them ta death, even the bairns. Malcolm they burnt at a stake, claimin’ he was a warlock.”
“Sweet Jesus,” Beck said, his gut twisting at the thought.
“Aye,” Stewart replied. “Malcolm’s son, Euan, had the good fortune ta be in Edinburgh that day. Knowing he’d be next for the stake, he came up with a brilliant scheme. He ordered the rest of the family ta trap demons and deliver them ta their priests, as many as possible in the shortest period of time.”
“Smart,” Beck said, seeing the plan clearly. “The Stewarts couldn’t be workin’ for Lucifer if they were trappin’ demons.”
Stewart nodded. “Euan was a canny one. After he’d trap a demon, he’d leave a few coins behind. Word got around. It was better ta get some brass for yer demon rather than havin’ the hunters burn yer house and put yer family ta the sword.”
Beck couldn’t stop the grin. “Way smart.”
“Aye. Because of that, the trappers became verra popular. That’s why there’s always been demon trappers in our family, even when some went Protestant.”
Beck retraced to the beginning of the story. “What happened to the hunter who led the raid?”
A wolfish smile filled his host’s face. “He vanished a short time after the massacre. They found him up in the heather. It took four men over an hour ta gather enough pieces ta bury.”
“Righteous,” Beck replied. He took another sip of the whisky, surprised at how things were playing out. Stewart wouldn’t be sharing this knowledge unless Beck was going to make master. That stirred a rare feeling of pride.
“So that’s why the hunters don’t like us much,” his host said. “That hasn’t changed in over eight centuries. If anythin’, it got worse once they came under the Vatican’s thumb.”
Beck’s cell phone rang. He swore at the interruption and flipped it open. “Yeah?”
“It is Justine,” a light voice said.
He didn’t bother to hide the smile. “How ya doin’?”
“Very well, thank you. Is it possible for us to meet tonight?”
He shot a look at Stewart and then said, “I’m kinda busy.”
“I am about to finish the article, and I have a few more questions.”
Beck gave in. There was a triumphant lilt in Justine’s voice as they worked out a time and a place to meet.
After the call ended, the Scotsman eyed him intently. “More whisky?”
“Yeah. I think I’m gonna need it.”
TWENTY-TWO
Riley was met at the door by one of Simon’s younger brothers, but which one she wasn’t sure. Like his elder sibling, he had the trademark blond hair and deep blue eyes of the Adler clan. He said “the grump” was in the den and that no one could watch the television because of it.
“Have some of the other trappers been here?” she asked. Maybe they could get through to Simon, help him get back on track.
“A few. You just missed one guy, but I don’t think he was a trapper,” the boy said.
“Who was it?” Riley asked, curious.
The boy shrugged. “He visited him at the hospital, too. I wish he wouldn’t come here: Simon just gets weirder after he talks to him.”
“What’s this guy look like?” Another shrug. Maybe it was McGuire. He’d make anyone grumpy. “So Simon’s still not himself?” Riley asked. She got a sullen shake of the head. “Then it’s time to change that.”
“Good luck,” his sibling muttered and then disappeared into the kitchen to raid the refrigerator.
Riley took a moment to check herself out in the hall mirror. She’d spent extra time on her hair and makeup and wore the nicest sweater she owned. It was bright blue and did good things for her complexion. She paused again outside the room, unusually nervous.
Please let him be better. She’d do anything to see that golden smile, know that everything was right between them again.
To her relief she found he had the lights on and the curtains open, but a tense frown settled on his forehead as she entered the room. In his lap was a Bible, its pages dog-earred, thin strips of ribbon bookmarking different sections. On the table next to her boyfriend was his rosary, an uneaten sandwich, and a can of soda. A bright red afghan sat over his lap, the fringe tickling the carpeted floor. Probably his mother’s handiwork.
“Hey, Simon,” Riley said, “I brought you cookies from the coffee shop. I thought you might like some.” She placed the bag on the couch near him. He ignored it as his blue eyes flickered in irritation.
“What’s going on?” he demanded. “No one is telling me anything. I want to know what the Guild is doing.”
So much for the “How are you, I’ve really missed you” part of this conversation. Riley gave in and delivered the news bulletins. “Beck and I did the paperwork so the life insurance policies will be paid. Harper is healing pretty well. He’s wondering when you’re coming back to work. Oh, and the demon hunters arrived today. Downtown traffic’s a mess because of it.” She’d have been down there, too, just out of curiosity, but Simon took precedence.
“That wasn’t what I asked,” her boyfriend retorted. “I want to know how the demons got through the Holy Water. I want to know what the Guild is going to do about it.”
Back to that again. She’d tried to explain this before and he’d blown her off. One more time. “Father Harrison says there were too many of them, that they overwhelmed the ward. It’s been known to happen.”
“He told me that, too. I don’t buy it.”
He doesn’t believe his own priest? “You saw them; they kept pushing until the ward broke.”
“I didn’t see that. I saw them swarm us. I saw them kill and…” He looked down at the Bible in his lap, his hands quivering now.
She knew how that was. Did he get panic attacks, too? His blue eyes rose to meet hers. There was no tenderness in them, not like in the past.
“Why did the Five come for you?” he asked in a low voice.
Simon had been too badly hurt to see the Geo-Fiend himself. So who told you it was after me?
“I don’t know,” she admitted. “It’s the same one that killed my dad and tried to destroy the library. It must have this thing for Blackthornes.”
There was a long pause as Simon shifted in his chair, his face suddenly flushed. He leaned over the side of the chair and picked up a pint water bottle, but he didn’t take a drink from it. When he finally spoke, his voice was acidic, full of accusation. “Lucifer has sent his devils after you. What have you done, Riley?”
“Huh?” she spouted. “I haven’t done anything.” Except save your life.
“You’re lying. Hell has you in its sights. Why else would your father be at the Tabernacle?”
“Whoa, what are you saying? My father has nothing to do with Hell.”
“Your father was summoned by evil magic. That you can’t deny. He was researching Holy Water. Why? Was he trying to find a way to break the ward for his unholy master? Did he tell you how to do it?”
Riley gaped at him, astounded at the venom coming from her boyfriend’s mouth. “You’re accusing my dad of killing those trappers? How can you say that?” She sucked in a hasty breath. “I don’t even know if he made it out of that furnace.”
He sneered. “Why would it matter? He’s dead, or have you forgotten that?”
Riley’s mouth fell open, astounded at his callousness. “What is wrong with you? You were never like this before. You actually cared about people. Now you’re just … mean.”
“I’m seeing things for what they really are. You, for instance,” he said, his hands gripping the water bottle tighter. “If you’ve sold your soul to Lucifer, just admit it.”
Sold my soul?
Riley pointed an accusing finger. “You know, I’ve cut you a lot of slack, but are you listening to yourself? You’re, like, totally paranoid.”
“He said you’d say that.”
>
“Who has been talking to you? Is it McGuire?”
“It doesn’t matter. All I can think of is what you told me before the meeting started.”
“What did I say?” She just remembered the kissing.
“You said it was all part of your cunning plan. Now I’m thinking that’s really true, that Lucifer is destroying the trappers from within, using you and your father as his weapons.”
She’d only been joking with him that night; there was no plan other than falling in love with this guy. Now he was trampling on her heart, grinding it under his feet.
Riley grabbed the bag of cookies off the couch. “I’ll keep these. You’ll probably try to exorcise them or something. When you decide to be the old Simon again, give me a call.”
He shook his head, resigned. “That Simon is gone. My eyes have been opened to the battle that lies before us. You have sold your soul, or you’re a…” He took a shuddering breath that hitched at the end. “I have to know the truth.” A second later she was drenched in water, launched at her from the bottle Simon held in his hands. Riley shot to her feet, stunned, liquid dripping off her face, chest, and hands. It tingled in a way she knew so well.
“That’s Holy Water!” He’d just tested his girlfriend to see if she was a demon.
Immense sadness filled Simon’s eyes, like he knew he’d crossed a line from which there was no return, but he wasn’t willing to admit the mistake. “It’s best we don’t see each from now on. I can’t be with someone I don’t trust.”
“What?” He’s breaking up with me? He can’t do this. I saved his life. Maybe if she told him about Martha, about the deal she’d made. He’ll never believe me.
He waved her away. “You need to leave now, Riley. You’re not welcome here anymore.”
Tears broke loose and she didn’t bother to wipe them away as they threaded down her already damp cheeks. Dropping the bag of cookies, Riley fled the house.
The demons had killed more than just trappers that night. They’d destroyed her future with the boy she loved.
* * *
Beck worked on his second cup of coffee, trying to burn off the Scotch before he met Justine in an hour. He had one final question to put to the old trapper before he left, the one that had been nagging at him since the meeting with the hunters.
“What did the priest mean?” he asked. “Who guards our kind?”
Stewart was silent for a long time. Finally, he nodded to himself. “It’s only right ya know.” He took a lengthy gulp of his liquor. “More history,” he said. “Sorry.” Another long sip, like he was preparing to deliver bad news. “Some of the angels weren’t happy when man was created, not likin’ the competition for God’s affection. Lucifer, in particular, refused ta bow his knee ta somethin’ made of clay.”
Beck nodded encouragingly, hoping to keep the man talking.
“God doesn’t like someone challengin’ Him, so He cast out Lucifer and all of the Divine who’d opposed man’s creation. I’ve heard it was over a third of them; some say over two hundred; others believe it was in the millions.”
Beck whistled. “That’s a lot of damned angels.”
“Aye. The demons first appeared when Adam and Eve gained the knowledge of good and evil. Not too many ta start with, but as we moved ta the cities they came with us and grew in number. The fiends serve a purpose, they’re part of God’s plan.”
Stewart shifted his weight in the chair, gathering his thoughts. “Back at the beginnin, God told Lucifer, ‘If ya think these humans are so awful, then test them for me, winnow out the wheat from the chaff. Find those whose faith is unshakable.’ So He made Lucifer His Adversary, His hasatan. It’s the Prince’s job ta test our love of God, like a prosecutin’ attorney, and he uses the demons for just that purpose.”
Beck took a deep breath to try to clear his mind. It had to be all the whisky. Stewart couldn’t be saying that Lucifer was on the level, could he? “But he’s the Devil.”
“There’d ya’d be wrong,” Stewart said. “Now mind ya, there is a Devil and he’s damned evil, but Lucifer is under God’s thumb … more or less.”
Beck worked on his coffee for a time, thinking things through. This was so confusing and made his head buzz worse than the whisky. “Then what did the priest mean?”
There was another lengthy silence as Stewart stared into the fire. “Even Harper doesn’t know this, and it’s best none of the others do, either.”
“Know what?” Beck asked, his patience wearing thin. Would this man ever answer the question?
“Hell didn’t want us ta die the other night.”
“No way,” Beck retorted.
“It’s all part of the Grand Game, the one that keeps everythin’ in balance. Hell does somethin’; Heaven retaliates. Back and forth across eternity. The trick is not ta push the other too far, or there’s war.”
“But—”
Stewart held up his hand for silence. “Neither God nor Lucifer want Armageddon. They both know it’ll go badly and the balance will be upset. Now a few of the Archangels and the Fallen, they’re hot ta fight. So there’s always tension, in Hell particularly.”
Beck ran his hand through his hair, frustrated. “I respect ya and all, but there’s no way ya can say Hell wasn’t tryin’ its best to slaughter us.”
Stewart locked eyes with him, his face somber. “Those angels, the ones that kept us alive. Who do ya think sent ’em?”
Damn silly question. “Heaven, of course. Who else would bother savin’ our butts?”
“No, lad,” Stewart replied, his voice almost a whisper. “Those warrior angels were sent by the Prince of Hell himself. I swear it on the Stewart name.”
The old man is serious. He really thinks Hell saved our butts. Beck’s mind fought against the obvious question: If those were Lucifer’s folk, then who sent the demons?
TWENTY-THREE
Driven by some internal autopilot, Riley found herself at St. Brigid’s. She parked and turned off the car’s engine. Blowing her nose again, she flipped down the visor. Her mascara had realigned itself into vertical smudgy trails down her face. She mumbled a caustic swear word and mopped off as much as she could with a tissue. Hopefully the stuff would come out of her sweater. Not that she’d probably ever wear it again: It’d just remind her of him.
“I was such a fool.” She’d daydreamed of their future, what it would be like if she and Simon had married, how many kids they’d have. She’d fallen hard for him, and now all that was gone, washed away by his irrational paranoia and a lukewarm bottle of Holy Water.
“You self-righteous hypocrite. How could you do that to me?” He’d really cared for her, she knew it. She’d felt it when they were together, and yet he’d thrown it all away as if it were nothing.
Once inside the room, she sat at the table. This was her life from now on. Once Ori killed the Five she wouldn’t have to spend it on hallowed ground, but not much else would change. She would never find a boyfriend who would understand what she did, what she had to do. Beck had been right: There was a huge price for keeping Hell in line, and she was going to pay it for the rest of her life.
The twin roses sat in a glass in the center of the table—the one she’d found on her car and the one Ori had given her the night before. She pulled the glass closer and tested the fragrance. Still strong. The scent seemed to calm her. She closed her eyes and tried to remember Simon before he’d been injured, but the memories were there but too painful to address.
Her cell lit up. If it was Mr. Righteous and he thought he was going to apologize …
It was Beck. “Yeah, what?” she snarled.
“I just got a call from Simon. He’s carryin’ on like a crazy person; says yer workin’ for Hell. What’s goin’ on?” he demanded.
Oh, no. She hadn’t wanted Beck to know her love life had imploded.
He didn’t wait for her reply. “Here’s the deal, girl: I got too damned much on my plate as it is. I don’t need this silly kid drama right
now.”
Kid drama? “Gee, you’re all heart.”
“Yer boyfriend issues are not my problem. Ya steer clear of him.”
How’s that’s going to work? We have the same master.
And right on cue, her caller added, “Maybe now’s a good time to call yer aunt.”
Riley hung up on him. To her relief, he didn’t call back.
* * *
There was more crying over the bathroom sink, choking sobs that felt more like she was standing in front of Simon’s coffin than just breaking up with him. Then the doubts came to call, dark, insidious, like nightmares that never give you a moment’s peace.
Maybe it’s my fault. Maybe if she’d done something different and—
“Stop it!” she shouted at her reflection. “It’s not your fault. You did what was right. You saved his life.”
And lost him forever.
Riley crawled into the bed, her nose stuffy from crying. Simon’s ugly words kept throwing themselves at her like missiles. How could he turn away from her so quickly?
Her phone rang, vibrating across the table and bumping into the drinking-glass vase. She ignored it. It rang a few minutes later. She turned to face the wall, unable to talk to anyone right now without melting down into an emotional mess. Then a text came through. Then another.
Maybe it was something really important. Maybe something had happened to Beck.
It was Peter. His final text message read: CALL ME NOW! I HAVE TO TALK TO SOMEONE!
That sounded ominous, so she gave in and dialed his number. “Peter? What’s wrong?”
“Hold on.”
There was the sound of footsteps across wood, a door opening and then closing.
“Okay, I’m outside now.” His voice was as rough as hers, like he’d been crying.
Peter was never like this, and it scared her. “What’s happened?” she asked.
“I finally told Mom I wasn’t going with her and the ghouls to Illinois.”
Riley winced as she climbed back into the bunk bed.