The Demon Trappers: Forgiven

by Jana Oliver

  ‘No worries about that.’

  We’re lying and we both know it.

  Beck rose and dusted off his jeans, though they didn’t need it. ‘I should go. Stewart’s waitin’ for me. Says he wants to teach me how to use a sword properly.’

  Riley hooted. ‘Can I watch? This should be totally hilarious.’

  ‘Ya’ve got no respect, woman,’ Beck retorted. After the door closed behind him she realized what he’d said.

  ‘Woman?’ He wasn’t calling her girl any longer.

  If that wasn’t a sign the world was ending, what other proof did she need?

  Chapter Thirty

  At six in the morning they gathered their forces at the west entrance to Oakland Cemetery. They’d chosen the graveyard because holy ground was the ultimate weapon against Hellspawn. For Riley, this hour seemed symbolic – the light pushing back against the dark as the sun rose for a new day.

  The weather was like most days in February, with frost lacing the brickwork above the cemetery’s arched entrance. Their mingled breaths clouding the air, twenty hunters stood in two rigid lines outside the entrance gate. They were dressed in combat gear, their red ears and noses the only hint that the cold was having any effect. Each had a sword lying on the ground in front of them. They were currently on their knees, heads bowed, as Father Rosetti intoned a prayer.

  ‘That’s not changed much over the centuries,’ Stewart said quietly as he joined her, angling his head towards the hunters and their priest. ‘We always seek divine assistance right before a battle.’

  ‘Did you?’ she asked, looking up at the man who felt more like a grandfather to her than a master.

  ‘Aye, I said a few words ta the Almighty. Whether He listened, I have no notion.’

  ‘I did too,’ she admitted. ‘I keep wondering if there was something I could have done to prevent this.’

  Stewart heaved a sigh, his face lined with worry. ‘I doubt it, lass. Once yer caught in a whirlpool, there is no way out.’

  Off to the side, the trappers stood in their own group well away from their rivals, a motley bunch compared to the Vatican’s spit-shined team. Some wore leather coats, other denim. There was an assortment of weapons, including swords, steel pipes and baseball bats. They talked among themselves and every now and then she heard her name mentioned. Simon was with them. Riley should have expected he’d be here, but it troubled her nonetheless. She really didn’t want to see him hurt again. He looked over at her from time to time, no warmth in his eyes.

  Probably blaming me for this whole thing.

  Beck was chatting with Jackson and McGuire. She wanted to talk to him, possibly for the last time ever, but the crowd around him didn’t allow for that. Instead, she smiled in his direction. Hopefully he could read something in that smile that told him how she really felt about him.

  Turning away, Riley reluctantly joined the magic users. Mort was clad in his cloak and fedora, though the hat seemed oddly out of place. He stomped his feet to stay warm. Ayden wore sleek leather gloves and a thick emerald cloak, the hood up. Peeking out from under the garment was a scabbard.

  They both had large tapestry bags at their feet. Who knew it took so much stuff to do a little hocus pocus? Riley only had her backpack filled with objects that meant something to her – the locket containing the photo of her parents, an envelope with a tiny braid of her mom’s hair, a picture of her and Peter. The demon claw hung round her neck.

  The plan, as she understood it, was for her and the magical folks to lure the demons to the cemetery while the hunters and the trappers lay in wait on hallowed ground. Once the Hellspawn clustered around the edge of the graveyard, the men would attack them and hopefully kill them all.

  Too many things can go wrong.

  When Ayden and Mort headed into the cemetery, Riley didn’t budge. She couldn’t make herself take another step. Surely they could do this without her.

  Ayden turned. ‘Riley? You OK?’

  She shook her head, shivering. ‘No.’

  ‘Scared?’ the witch asked gently.

  ‘Yeah. Out-of-my-mind scared. I don’t know if I can do this.’

  ‘If you think I want to be here, you’re a lunatic,’ Mort said.

  ‘Same with me, but it’s the job,’ Ayden replied. ‘You can step up and face your fears or let them rule you. It’s your choice. No one else can tell you what to do next.’

  Riley looked back over her shoulder at the hunters. They were gearing up for what was to come. The trappers were doing the same. She found herself watching Beck again as he joked around with Jackson, trying to master his own fears.

  You’re as frightened as I am. All of them are.

  Beck turned towards her, gave a faint smile and excused himself from the other trapper. He joined her just inside the cemetery gate.

  ‘Riley . . .’ he began, then halted, like he wasn’t sure what to say.

  This was what she’d really wanted, a chance to say goodbye, but now it was way awkward. Too many eyes were on them and that made Riley nervous. Beck noticed and drew her away from the entrance and down a side path, out of sight of most of the others.

  The witch took the hint. ‘You can catch up with us,’ Ayden said, and walked away, Mort at her side.

  Riley gazed up into Beck’s deep brown eyes. What do I say to this guy? What if this is the last time we ever see each other alive?

  Beck took a deep breath. ‘Stewart told me what yer up against, what Heaven expects ya to do.’

  That jarred her. ‘Why did he tell you that?’

  ‘So I wouldn’t be an idiot.’

  She had no idea what he was talking about.

  ‘Beck, I . . .’

  He gently caressed her hair, studying her face with near reverence.

  ‘I’ve been a damned fool, Riley. I pushed you when I should have backed off. I wasn’t there for you when I shoulda been.’

  ‘No, you were always there for me.’

  ‘Not like I’d wanted. I wish . . . we’d had a chance.’ He looked away for a moment, then back at her. He placed his forehead against hers. His breath was ragged and uneven. ‘Do what ya have to do to pay off yer debt with Heaven,’ he said, his concern for proper speech abandoned. ‘But ya do not die on me, ya understand? I can’t live without ya. Yer all I got, woman.’

  Her breath caught in her lungs. ‘I don’t want to be here if you’re not.’

  Beck’s hands slipped round her waist, pulling her closer. She could feel each of his breaths, so close they were almost one. Their lips touched, hesitantly, and to her relief the skies didn’t rain demons or the earth boil under the feet. Emboldened, he deepened the kiss, pulling her body tight against his. Her hands slipped through his hair as the passion built between them. She felt the heat roar through her body, singeing her, marking her as his. It was the kiss of a man who had waited years for the moment, and feared that it would never come again.

  When it ended, Beck pulled her into a bone-crushing embrace. It was hard to breathe, but she didn’t want it to end. Riley rested her head on his shoulder and felt their world change.

  Someone called out his name and he swore under his breath.

  ‘I have to go,’ he whispered, then stepped away, suddenly all business. There was dampness in his eyes, evidence he’d felt the power between them. Riley straightened his collar and though it proved nearly impossible she pasted on a fake smile.

  ‘Go kick some demon butt, Backwoods Boy,’ she said, trying to sound brave.

  ‘You do the same, Princess.’ He caressed her cheek. ‘I’ll see you soon, wherever that might be.’

  By walking away first, Beck proved he was stronger than she was. When he joined Stewart outside the gate, the master asked him a question and Beck nodded. He looked back her for a second, wistful, then turned away.

  Why did we wait until now? Why were we so blind?

  She took the time to catalogue Beck in detail. His unruly blond hair, his deep brown eyes, his broad shoulders. She
memorized how he held himself, that boyish smile, how he felt in her arms. She wished it had been him who’d been her first lover rather than the angel.

  Reluctantly, Riley turned and hiked into the cemetery, each step away from Beck agony. She finally caught up with the witch and necromancer near the Watch House.

  ‘That was a kiss for the record books,’ Ayden said, arching an eyebrow.

  Riley couldn’t muster a blush. ‘Saw that, huh?’ A nod returned. ‘Totally earthshaking.’

  ‘Then remember every second of it and what it means. It’ll give you a reason to stay alive.’

  That she could do.

  They continued on in silence, each caught in their own thoughts. Past the stark white Bell Tower, Riley could see the roof of her family’s mausoleum and those creepy gargoyles. Her eyes strayed to Ori’s statue. Melancholy still clung to his body like the frost.

  When Mort asked her what location felt right to cast the spell, Riley chose the exact spot where she’d sat vigil for her father. Knowing she had little to contribute until the other two were done unloading magical paraphernalia and grouching at each other, Riley stayed out of their way. Snippets of conversation reached her ears: where to place the candles, cones of power, why witch magic was less powerful than necro magic and why the witch thought that was total BS.

  In an effort to shut them out, Riley walked to the base of Ori’s statue. Would he come to life at dawn like always? Would she still be alive to talk to him one last time?

  Riley gazed up at the tortured eyes. ‘I don’t think you were lying to me. That makes it even harder, angel.’

  When she returned to her companions, they had constructed a complicated pattern of coloured marks on the ground. Those looked to be Mort’s doing as they were similar to those she’d seen in his house. The candles and the crystal spheres were Ayden’s contribution.

  ‘Do summoner and witch magic mix?’ Riley asked, realizing that’s exactly what they’d be doing in a few minutes.

  Ayden gave her a raised eyebrow. ‘A lot like a stick of dynamite and a match.’

  ‘So if the demons don’t kill us we might blow ourselves into itty bitty pieces?’

  ‘Being blown into bits would be a good outcome,’ Mort replied.

  ‘What if Ozy shows up?’

  ‘Then we’re in deep trouble. I’m not strong enough to out-magic him.’

  ‘Neither am I,’ the witch admitted. ‘But together? We’ll have to find out, won’t we, summoner?’

  ‘You wouldn’t sound that bold if you knew what he’s capable of,’ Mort argued.

  ‘You forget, I know exactly what he’s capable of,’ Ayden retorted. ‘I saw what he did to your wards.’

  ‘Ah, guys, let’s keep it cool here,’ Riley said. ‘It won’t matter who’s right if there is no tomorrow, you know?’

  That seemed to shut down the magical kindergarten. It wasn’t like they hated each other – it’s just that there was no trust between them.

  Riley’s butt instantly complained about the cold ground the moment the two connected. For some reason she’d not packed anything for this do-or-die scenario. What would you pack for Armageddon? Sunscreen and shades? Flame-proof underwear? Maybe a travel guide to the Underworld?

  There was a sleeping bag in the mausoleum. As she unlocked the twin bronze doors, she was immediately surrounded by all the memories of this place: the day they’d buried her mother, the many hours she’d been here watching over her father, the night she’d shared the wine with Ayden and got totally ripped, the time she’d spent here with Beck after the Tabernacle burned. How he’d held her close though he was injured. Then that night with Ori. The mausoleum was more to her than a resting place for departed relatives – it was an integral part of her personal history, both good and bad.

  A red rose lay on the storage box in the rear of the structure, the one Ori had given her the night they’d made love. Though it had been over a week, the petals were only just beginning to wilt. Angel magic. Riley set it aside, then raised the heavy marble lid of the storage box. As she reached in, she found a white envelope lying on top of the sleeping bag. It was addressed to her in her father’s handwriting.

  It hadn’t been there the last time she’d opened the box so apparently he’d put it here sometime after he’d been reanimated.

  Dearest Riley,

  Everything hangs in the balance now. No matter your choice, no matter what happens, you will always be in my heart, for you are my beloved child. Forgive me for what I have done and for what I will do. It was all meant for you.

  With all my love,

  Dad

  A tear trickled down her cheek. ‘There is nothing to forgive, Dad. You did what you thought was right. I’ll try to do the same.’

  Riley kissed the note, then carefully returned it to the envelope. On a whim, though it wouldn’t be comfortable, she tucked it inside her shirt next to her heart. If her father couldn’t be with her, his love would be.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  ‘Looks like we’re ready,’ Mort announced.

  ‘What do I need to do?’ Riley asked. Luckily the circle was big enough to accommodate her sleeping bag without trashing all their complex preparations.

  ‘You can tell the hunters we’re about to begin and then turn down the radio.’

  With considerable nervousness, Riley clicked the communication device they’d given her. ‘Ah, hello?’

  Captain Salvatore immediately responded. ‘Go ahead Team Demon.’

  At least that was better than Team Hellbound.

  She relayed the news and Captain Salvatore acknowledged it. ‘Teams Gabriel and Angelus are in place. May God grant us victory,’ he said.

  ‘Go us,’ she said, then lowered the volume on the radio.

  ‘Turn off your phone too,’ Mort advised. ‘We don’t need any distractions.’

  Right before she did as he asked, she sent a last text message to Peter.

  It’s about to go down. Wish us luck. Prayers are good too. Love you!

  Once the electronics were tamed, it was a matter of watching the others work their magic. All the woo-woo reminded Riley that she really was an outsider to their world of spells and charms.

  ‘Magic is a lot like trying to work around high power lines,’ Ayden cautioned, adjusting a candle and the corresponding crystal next to it. ‘You’ve got to stay focused or you’ll get fried. We’ll help you through this as much as possible. Just keep your mind focused on the task at hand.’

  It was the witch who built the cone of power, weaving the potent spell that would hopefully protect them from Ozymandias, should he decide to retaliate. As Ayden patiently constructed the spell, Riley felt spiky magic crab-walk across her skin. There were sparkles in the air around them now, like inside one of those holiday globes you find in the stores at Christmas. Ayden finished calling the corners and invoked the circle to life. Immediately there was a sharp spark and a pop. Riley grimaced as her ears slowly adapted to the air pressure change. This was a protective circle on steroids.

  The magic swirled around and above them, peaking about ten feet in the air as iridescent patches glimmered in the predawn light. Everything beyond the circle – the gravestones, the Bell Tower, even the trees looked gauzy and indistinct, like she was viewing them from inside a soap bubble.

  Mort nodded his approval, his equivalent of a standing ovation.

  Maybe this will work.

  Riley’s palms began to itch. Oh boy. The inscriptions were pulsating, clearly visible. Somehow the magic had triggered them. She resisted the urge to scratch them.

  ‘Do I want to know what those mean?’ Mort asked, staring down at her palms. She shook her head.

  ‘Ignorance does have its good points,’ Ayden replied. ‘Especially in this case.’

  Once the circle had been secured, the summoner sat next to Riley and methodically arranged his supplies. The main object was a leather spell book engraved with a complex symbol on the front cover, probably the necr
omantic equivalent of a skull and crossbones.

  ‘This is my book of spells,’ Mort explained, caressing the aged cover with genuine fondness. ‘It’s been passed down through my master’s line for hundreds of years.’

  Like Stewart’s chess set. ‘They gave you that when you first started?’ That certainly wasn’t the way the trappers handled things; they dribbled out information to keep apprentices from dying a quick death at the hands of a senior demon.

  ‘I didn’t receive this until my master passed away. Then I was ready.’

  Riley was tempted to ask how that death had happened, then decided against it. She doubted the guy had died of boredom.

  Mort opened the spell book to a page dense with Latin. It wasn’t typeset, but in calligraphy. The letters literally glowed. It reminded her of one of those texts the monks used to create in their little stone cells.

  Riley gulped as her heart rate rose. ‘This is really hard to read,’ she said, hoping that might give her a pass.

  ‘I know. That’s why we have this,’ he said, handing her a typed sheet of paper. ‘It’s the same incantation with the pronunciations underneath each word.’

  OK, that’s better. Sort of.

  Riley had never wanted to do magic, but here she was. If she succeeded, she bet the Vatican would reopen her investigation even if the spell saved every one of the hunters’ lives.

  The summoner flicked his fingers and a miniature ball of light hovered over the top of the printed page. At least she could see the words now. It also revealed there was a fine sheen of sweat on Mort’s forehead, which showed he was worried. That didn’t help Riley’s confidence.

  Damn! She’d been pushed into this corner by Lucifer, by Ori and by her own foolish choices. There was a crackle under her shirt, her father’s letter. It’ll be OK. That’s what he always said. Maybe this time you’re right.

  ‘We’ll need the demon claw,’ Mort said. ‘Place it in the centre of the book.’ Riley did as he asked, the silver chain coiling round the black talon. It reminded her of Beck, of the day he’d given it to her and how concerned he’d been she might not like it. Even then he was telling her how much he cared for her.