by Jana Oliver
“I know. I’m just a damned apprentice,” she retorted. “I’m so tired of people blaming me for everything. I’m tired of the lies, the sick jokes, all of it. I should just … just…”
Quit. The word teetered on the tip of her tongue. If she just pushed it out, it’d be over. No more harassment, no more fingers pointed in her direction. She could be Riley Blackthorne again, high school student and hot-chocolate enthusiast, not some demon trapper wannabe.
Just tell them I’m out of here. She bit the inside of her lip, drawing blood. If I do, they win. The next female will have it twice as bad.
Riley swallowed the words. “But I’m not giving up,” she said, staring right at McGuire. “I’m a trapper, from a family of demon trappers. And Blackthornes don’t quit.”
“You tell them, sister,” Remmers called out.
Her anger exhausted, Riley folded into her chair, intertwining her hands in her lap so no one could see how badly they were shaking. Her muscles had knotted from the tension, and she had a dull headache thumping right behind her eyeballs.
Harper rose again. “If we fight each other, we can’t beat the demons,” he said simply. Then he shot a look at McGuire and some of the others at the back of the tent. “And just for the record, if anyone’s going to run Blackthorne’s brat out of the Guild, it’s me. Got it?”
There were murmurs in the crowd: Message received.
“Okay, so let’s move on,” Jackson said, clearly relieved that was over. “Anyone know a church where we can meet?”
“The Tabernacle was a church,” someone protested. “Helluva lot of good it did.”
“It’d been desanctified,” Stewart replied. “No services had been held there in years.”
“We could meet in a cemetery,” Beck suggested.
Riley groaned. There’s a plan.
“We’ll work it out,” Jackson replied. “Let’s get together Friday night at eight. We’ll hold elections, try to get back on track.”
“We meeting here?” Remmers called out.
“Sure,” Jackson replied. “Look at this way: At least the rent’s cheap.”
Riley waited until Beck was deep in an animated conversation with Master Stewart to make her escape. It felt cowardly, like she wasn’t brave enough to face him. She’d just stepped outside the tent when she heard her name. Harper.
“Sir?” she asked, turning toward him.
The moment her master exited the tent a piece of paper came her way. “Need some food. Drop it by my place. We have to talk … tonight.”
“Ah, I’m supposed to be on holy ground after dark.”
“Won’t take long.”
At least Ori would watch over her. “Why didn’t you tell them about—”
“Later,” her master retorted, cutting her off abruptly. “Now get going, brat.”
Confused at his behavior, Riley studied the list as she walked to the car. There was nothing out of the ordinary, just food and supplies, all of which could have waited until tomorrow morning. Which meant he wanted to talk about the hunters and their interest in Paul Blackthorne’s daughter.
Jamming the list into a pocket, she rubbed her temples to ease the headache that had struck her the moment she’d unloaded on Beck. Guilt. That was what she was feeling. Industrial-strength guilt. She’d acted mean and childish, just as nasty as Simon, and Riley knew how that felt on the receiving end.
Why did I do that to him? Why did I cut Beck down like that?
There was an answer and she didn’t like it one bit: The stick chick. Justine Armando just made her feel mean. It wasn’t jealousy, not the usual kind anyway, it was because the reporter was so not in Beck’s league. He was simple, plainspoken, no-nonsense. The kind of guy who always watched your back. The reporter was all flash and abundant money. And she was really pretty. No wonder Beck had homed right in on that.
She’s going to hurt you, Backwoods Boy.
For all his bluster, Denver Beck had deep insecurities, and Justine was using those to get what she wanted. When she finally threw him away he wouldn’t know how to deal, not with his history of one-night stands. It’d cut him deep. Riley knew how bad it felt, and no matter how much he annoyed her, she didn’t want to see him hurt. He’s too good for that.
TWENTY-NINE
When her headache didn’t improve, Riley gave in to the craving for mood-altering chocolate. The moment she pushed open the door to the Grounds Zero she was instantly cocooned in the lusty aroma of fresh-brewed coffee. The place was busier than usual, and she noticed that some of the patrons wore name tags; apparently there was a woodworkers’ convention in town.
A couple was just leaving “her” booth, and Riley hurried to claim the space with her coat. Then she joined the line behind two old guys discussing orbital sanders. Simi was at the counter and gave Riley a wide grin. Tonight her friend’s hair was brilliant orange, with black spikes.
“Wicked,” Riley said. “I bet they can see it from space.”
“That was the plan,” the barista replied. “The usual?”
Riley nodded. Simi always made sure the hot chocolate was topped with loads of whipped cream and chocolate shavings. Unfortunately, it would remind her of Simon, but the craving had to be fed.
“So where’s the boyfriend, the one with the gorgeous blue eyes?” the barista asked. “He’s totally hot.”
“Simon’s history.”
“That sucks. How about the trapper?”
After what I said to him? “Also history.”
Simi gave her a concerned look. “You’re going through these guys like I do coffee filters, girl. Better slow down.”
When Ori came to mind, Riley made sure to hide the smile from her friend.
Simi set the cup of hot chocolate on the counter and rang up the purchase. Riley automatically dropped the change in the tip jar: That would earn her a refill if she wanted one.
The trip to the table wasn’t easy with all the conventioneers wandering around, but she made it without a spill and slid into the booth. While she waited for the drink to cool, Riley nibbled on some of the chocolate shavings.
I so deserve this.
A chiming sound came from her bag, barely audible in the midst of the boisterous coffee house. She dug out her phone, accessed the text message, and promptly smiled. Ori.
MISSING YOU. SEE YOU LATER?
She typed the YES before she could stop herself.
What could it hurt? Maybe he’d take her on another angelic picnic. Unlike Martha, he hadn’t expected her to save the world or anything. As she watched, his text disappeared like it’d never existed.
How does he do that? Angel mojo apparently. She didn’t even think Ori had a phone, but then sending a text without it was no big deal to someone with his job description. Making it disappear—just as easy.
Riley put her cell on the table and tested the hot beverage. The whipped cream deposited a white mustache on her upper lip, resurrecting good memories. The coffee-house run was a Blackthorne tradition. Riley would always have hot chocolate, and her dad would drink coffee, but in a real cup: He couldn’t stand the paper ones. Now as she sipped she could visualize his mussed brown hair, the laugh lines at the corners of his eyes, that shy smile. This booth was his favorite, in the back, quieter than others. She wouldn’t share this spot with anyone, not even Ori.
Riley closed her eyes, allowing the background noise to recede and in its place she heard the clink of a spoon against a ceramic cup as her dad stirred his coffee. She could smell his aftershave, hear him talking about his day, about her mom, about anything. It didn’t matter. She could feel his presence, and that comforted her. As long as she could hold that moment, preserve it, he would always be part of her, even if he was slaving away for some rich creep.
The bench seat across from her creaked and she heard someone say her name. Riley’s eyes flew open, her heart wanting to believe in miracles. It was Beck. A quick look around told her they’d have to stay put: There were no other places
available.
He peeled off his Atlanta Braves cap, dropped it on the table, and ran a hand through his hair to tame it. It was longer now and it looked good on him. For an instant she saw something in his eyes, but whatever it was disappeared in a heartbeat, like he’d realized he was showing more than he wanted.
“I figured I’d find ya here.” Then a nod of approval came her way. “Ya look pretty tonight. I like yer hair that way.”
Riley hadn’t expected the compliment, and she fought the blush. She’d just put on makeup, nothing special. “Thanks.”
“It’s for him, isn’t it?” he replied, his tone darkening.
She knew who he meant, but she decided not to go there. “Harper? No way.” That got her a puzzled look. “I’m going to his place after I finish my cocoa. He wants to chat.”
“About what?”
Riley did a coin flip and this time Beck won. She told him about Simon’s involvement with the Vatican’s boys and how they’d shown up her place this afternoon.
“The little bastard,” he said, shaking his head. “Do whatever Harper says. He won’t let the hunters hurt ya, no matter what.”
“Glad you’re so sure about that. I’m not.”
“I’ll talk to Simon,” he offered. “Let him know just how much a prick he’s been.”
“No, don’t bother. It won’t do any good.”
Beck pried the lid off a cup and stirred the contents with one of the little sticks. It looked to be coffee, no creamer. “This stuff costs twice as much as it does at the Stop-and-Rob. I just don’t get it.”
You wouldn’t. “What are you doing here, Beck?”
“Ya ran out of the meetin’. I wasn’t done talkin’ to ya.”
That sounded for real, but she could never tell with him. One minute he was totally worried about her, giving her money to live; the next he acted like she was a brainless child.
You have to be angry at me. Why aren’t you yelling? That, she knew how to handle. Instead he seemed morose. Lost even.
“You need to stop worrying about me,” she said. “I’m doing okay.”
“Then yer doin’ better than me,” he murmured. “I miss Paul real bad.”
His stark honesty caught her off guard. She felt tears forming and blinked to keep them in check. “I keep thinking Dad will be in the kitchen when I get up in the morning,” she admitted. “He always made me breakfast. His way of showing how much he cared, I guess.”
Beck took a hoarse breath like something stabbed him deep inside. “I miss trappin’ with him. He was always so cool. He never yelled at me. Well, only once.”
“What did you do?” she asked, curious.
“I flipped off a cop,” he said, shrugging like it was no big deal. “Paul gave me ten kinds of hell for that. Said I had a problem with authority.”
“Duh.”
Beck eyed her. “Yer the same or ya wouldn’t be givin’ me all this grief, girl.”
He’d done it again. Just when she’d gotten a peek of what lay beneath that protective armor, he’d blown it.
“Girl?” he pressed.
“The name is Riley,” she shot back. “Learn it. Use it!”
Beck’s nostrils flared. Backwoods Boy never could stand being dissed. “I asked around. Seems no one knows this Ori guy.”
“Ori’s a Lancer.” And an angel. “End of story.”
“Seems too handy,” Beck said, his face furrowed in thought. “Guys say anythin’ to get laid.”
“He’s not like that.”
Beck leaned over the table and lined his eyes up with hers. “Get a clue, Riley, we’re all like that. We see a pretty young girl and we’ve got only one thing in mind. It’s just a matter of pushin’ the right buttons until we get ya naked.”
“Like you and the reporter chick?”
He gave her a feral grin as an answer.
Riley felt her cheeks flame. “She’s gonna screw you over; can’t you see that?”
“And this Ori guy is any different?”
“Yes, he is.”
“Then he’s a damned saint,” Beck grumbled, leaning back.
Weary of the sparring, Riley shoved her way out of the booth and headed toward the counter.
“Refill?” Simi called out as she approached.
“Make it to go.” She’d had more than enough of Beck for one evening.
When the barista handed her the cup, Simi angled her head toward the booth. “He really likes you.”
“Beck? No way.” Where did she get that idea?
“Oh, yeah. I can tell by the way he looks at you.”
“If that’s the case, why is he such a jerk?” Riley asked.
“Some guys don’t know any better.”
Riley wasn’t buying it. She wasn’t surprised that the instant she returned to the booth, Beck started in again just like she’d never left.
“Ya have to be careful. This guy could be a Mezmer. They’re way clever.”
Riley shook her head. “Ori’s not Hellspawn. He stood up to a Geo-Fiend.”
“So? A lower-grade fiend will back off from a top-level demon.”
“He sat on the church steps with me, Beck. He’s not a demon.” She knew the problem and it had nothing to do with Ori. “You’re just pissed because that Four didn’t get into his head like it did yours.”
Beck’s scowl deepened. “Yeah, and I wanna know why. Until then, I don’t want ya seein’ him. He’s out of yer life, as of now.”
“You’re just bullying me to feel important. It’s not working.”
His face went crimson. “Call yer aunt or I will.”
“You don’t have the number.”
Beck grew a grin: It wasn’t a nice one. Then he pointed at her phone. “I do now.”
Riley’s jaw dropped. He’d gone through her cell phone address book while she’d been at the counter. “How dare you?” she growled, trying hard to keep her voice lowered. People were already staring at them.
“I promised Paul I’d keep ya safe,” he said. “If that means packin’ yer ass out of town so it doesn’t get humped by a smooth-talkin’ loser, that’s the way it’s gonna be.”
Stunned at the menace in his voice, Riley pulled herself out of the booth. This was a different side of Beck, and it frightened her. Scooping up her phone and the drink, she pushed her way out of the coffee house. As she hurried toward the car, a street vendor called out to her, but Riley ignored him. All she wanted to do was run away.
Beck fell in step with her within a half block. She didn’t dare look at him. Maybe he’d leave her alone if she ignored him.
“Wait,” he said, grabbing her arm.
Riley yanked herself free and kept going. It wasn’t until she reached the car that she realized he was still following. Her hands shook so hard she couldn’t fit the key into the lock. Drained, she slumped against the car door.
In the distance she saw Ori leaning against his bike, on the alert, probably trying to figure out if the trapper posed a threat. Riley shook her head and he nodded in return, still vigilant.
Unaware she had backup, Beck halted a few feet away from her. “Riley, please listen to me.”
“Why are you doing this? You’re scaring me, Beck.”
He recoiled, like she’d punched him in the face.
He sagged. “I don’t know why I’m like this. Too much is happenin’ I don’t understand.” She waited, knowing there was more. His eyes rose to hers, pleading. “I can’t face losin’ ya, Riley. Yer all I got left in this world.”
That brutal honesty again. He’d peeled away more armor, and this time he’d exposed his heart.
“Ori’s not the bad guy here,” she said wearily.
Beck opened his mouth to argue, then shook his head in defeat. “That might be true, but that doesn’t mean he won’t hurt ya.”
“It’s still my choice,” she said. “Just like Justine is for you.”
“I know,” he admitted. He took a few steps away, then turned back toward her. �
��I’m sorry it didn’t work between us.”
What? “Beck, I—”
“No. We’ll leave it at that. Just be careful, girl.”
As he walked away, his shoulders slumped like he’d taken a vicious beating. Gone was the overbearing bully in the coffee house, the arrogant man who thought the world should dance to his tune. In his place was someone she hardly knew.
* * *
It was late when Beck headed deep into Demon Central in search of the hunters. He’d already talked to his buddy Ike, the old war veteran who lived down here, and had learned the team was scouting the area. There was gunfire now, which meant the Vatican’s boys had grown tired of scouting and were now reducing Atlanta’s demon population one by one.
Beck adjusted his course through the darkened streets, keeping his eyes on the surroundings. It was hard to concentrate: He kept thinking back to what had happened between him and Paul’s daughter tonight. The harsh words that had been said between them.
No matter what he did, Riley only pulled further away. Beck knew it was wrong to push her so hard, but he just couldn’t stop himself. He cared too damn much. He hadn’t lied: He was afraid of losing her to a demon. Or to someone else.
“This sucks.” But as he saw it, there wasn’t much he could do but run interference for her. Besides, he had his own problems: Elias Salvatore for one. If Beck was lucky, no one had told the hunter who his ex-girlfriend was hooking up with. If someone had, hopefully the hunters weren’t looking to add a trapper to their kill stats tonight. Beck could just see the news report: “Journeyman trapper dies in tragic accident in Demon Central. Vatican issues formal apology.”
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.