Forsaken

by Jana Oliver

  A few years ago he would have risked it, wouldn’t have given a damn, but now he had Riley to worry about.

  Beck groaned. “Dammit, how’d I get into this mess?”

  By not saving Paul. It all came down to that. Now Riley was his responsibility, at least until she was eighteen or one of her family stepped up and took charge of her. Like he knew anything about playing big brother to some girl.

  Beck pulled himself out of the truck, locked the door, and headed for the nearest Stop ’n’ Rob on foot. Once there he scoured the aisles, steering clear of the old guys buying cigarettes. He didn’t know how they afforded them, not at a hundred a carton. That had made it easy for him to kick the habit.

  He needed to get back in the game tonight, but trapping while buzzed was a sure ticket to joining Paul in the dirt. He grabbed a six-pack of energy drinks and a large bag of peanuts—salty ones. The peanuts would make him thirsty, and all the fluid he’d have to chug would dilute the booze.

  “Pack of rubbers,” he said to the clerk. “Extra large.” Why they kept them behind the counter he had no idea.

  The clerk, a young black woman, gave him the once-over. He smiled in return. Though some thought it sacrilegious, the condoms were for Holy Water. He used them in places where the glass spheres weren’t welcome. Like swimming pools and shopping malls. Of course, he wasn’t going to tell the clerk that and ruin her daydream.

  Once he was in his truck he started in on the food, alternating energy drinks and peanuts. He could remember when the drinks came in aluminum cans. Now they used thin plastic that cracked too easily, just one of the reasons he usually put the stuff in an empty whiskey bottle.

  As he drank, the ache under his breastbone kicked in again. He’d like to believe it was sore muscles, but it wasn’t. It was the same feeling he had when his granddaddy died. Every time he lost someone he cared for a bit more of him went with them. In time, there wouldn’t be much of him left.

  Now that Paul was dead he’d have to trap every night to keep both him and Riley in good shape, at least until her aunt came for her. From what Paul had said, the woman was like a buzz saw. Still, she was a relation and that was important.

  “No more playin’ pool,” he said, shaking his head. No more doing what other guys his age liked to do. He’d lost his childhood to Sadie’s drinking, and now he was going to lose even more of his life to taking care of Paul’s kid. He twisted off the top of another bottle and took a long swig, followed by a handful of nuts. His stomach rumbled, complaining about the abuse.

  By the time the first three bottles of energy drink were gone, he’d thought out a plan. It was a simple one: Find the fucking demon who’d killed his friend and waste the thing. It was an insane plan, but Beck didn’t care.

  “I’m gonna carve ya up, ya bastard. Send a message to Hell.”

  To do that he’d have to work the lower ranks of demons until one of them squealed on the Five, gave him an idea where to find it. He knew Paul wouldn’t want him jonesing for revenge, but he didn’t care. Beck wanted payback.

  And not just for the kid.

  * * *

  In a few short hours Riley knew one thing for sure—she needed earplugs. From what she could tell each necro had a different sales pitch, like infomercials. As predicted, Mortimer was the nicest. The next four had grown increasingly malicious. All but Mortimer tried to breach the circle and went away with scorched shoes and a bad attitude.

  By the final visitor she was so bitchy, so sleep deprived, she’d told him off even before he’d opened his mouth. That had earned her a profanity-laced rant that would have impressed a rapper. Simon surged to his feet and told the guy to blow off, without using curse words. To her surprise, the necro had done just that.

  After his rare flash of anger, her companion went to sleep, curled up in a sleeping bag, his hand thrown over his face like a cat. Every now and then he murmured to himself, though she couldn’t make out the words.

  Much to Riley’s annoyance, she had to wake him a few hours later. It was either that or she’d wet herself.

  “I’ll stay awake until you return,” he said, still half asleep. “Be careful.”

  She took a deep breath and did exactly as he’d said, wincing as she stepped over the glowing line. Nothing happened but a brief flicker and that strange popping sound in her ears, like she’d crossed some unseen barrier. Riley trudged off to the cemetery office. It was spooky. The Victorians were big into symbols, like weeping angels and obelisks to represent resurrection and eternal life. That only added to the creep factor. It was really dark with no moon. The faint rustle of leaves made her turn around more than once. All that was needed was a thick fog and a baying wolf and it’d be the stuff of slasher films.

  After she returned and Simon allowed her entrance, he slipped around the rear of the mausoleum for a quick pee.

  Guys have it so easy.

  When he returned he began to talk again. “Be careful when you’re here on your own. Necromancers can pretend to be cemetery employees, cops, you name it. They try to con you into breaking the circle or inviting them inside. Not everyone in the cemetery is after your dad’s body. But I’ve heard tales, you know?”

  She stifled the shiver. His warnings delivered, Simon curled up and fell asleep. She wished she could. Instead, Riley snuggled in the sleeping bag and stared up at the night sky. A hunting owl winged by a few times, then perched in a nearby tree to announce his territory. She watched him for a long time. He seemed to be doing the same of her.

  When a mouse skittered across the path, he was all business. With an expert glide and lethal talons, he collected his startled meal.

  Her back began to cramp, so she rose and walked to her mom’s grave. The flowers they’d left a couple of weeks ago were withered now, victims of the night frosts. Riley knelt and brushed away the dried leaves that covered the plain granite headstone. It was nearly three years since Miriam Henley Blackthorne had left them. There wasn’t a day she’d not been missed. Riley moved to her dad’s grave, the smell of fresh earth filling the air around her. The flowers on top of the mounded earth were tipped with a thin layer of frost.

  Mom was probably waiting for him on the other side. Riley crinkled up her face. That won’t be a good meeting. As her mother lay dying, she’d made her dad promise to keep Riley safe. Now their daughter was on her own.

  Yeah, Mom is going to be severely pissed.

  She touched the cold dirt, thinking of her father lying underneath it.

  They’re together now. It didn’t help. They were together and she was all alone. No one left to laugh at her jokes, hold her. Love her.

  A bottomless pit opened in front of her, and a choked sob escaped her throat, then another as warm tears coursed down her cheeks. She bent almost double, crying for herself more than her parents.

  Someone touched her and she jumped. It was Simon. He didn’t say a word, but opened his arms to her. She fell into them and continued to weep. He murmured comforting words, but she didn’t understand them. What mattered most was that he was holding her. When she could no longer offer up any tears, she pulled away from him and blew her nose, embarrassed she’d lost it in front of him.

  “Sorry … I…”

  “They know you love them and that you miss them. That’s what’s important.”

  “I don’t know what I’m going to do,” she admitted.

  “You’ll find your way. I know you will.”

  Simon took her hand and led her to the sleeping bags. He tucked her in. He climbed into his own bag and wiggle-wormed over until their sides touched. Pulling his arm out, he had her rest her head on his shoulder. She snuggled in, grateful for his kindness.

  “Your arm is going to freeze off,” she said in between sniffles.

  “You’re right.” He took one of the blankets, covered himself, and settled back in place. She snuggled close, feeling warm and secure for the first time since her father’s death. That she could feel that way said a lot about Simon.r />
  “Thanks. You’re … really sweet.”

  “It’s easy with someone like you. Now get some sleep. Dawn is in a few hours,” he whispered.

  Knowing he was there to watch over her, Riley drifted into an uneasy dream filled with leering necros, thieving Magpies, and dark laughter.

  * * *

  Simon’s wristwatch beeped and he sat up and stretched.

  “Good morning,” he said.

  Riley blinked her eyes open, then wiped the sleep out of them. When she sat up, her hair moved weird. She ran a hand through it. To her relief there were no icicles.

  Sleeping outside sucks.

  “It’ll get easier each night,” Simon said. “Just be sure you don’t sleepwalk.”

  He made another trip around the back of the mausoleum to water the grass.

  So unfair.

  When he returned he sat Indian style, fingered his rosary beads, and began to pray. Definitely an NCB—a Nice Catholic Boy, as her mom called them. Polite and so not a sleaze. No wonder her dad liked him.

  After a few minutes of prayer he tucked the rosary away.

  “Good morning,” he said again, more cheerfully this time.

  “Yeah, right … morning,” she said, struggling into a sitting position.

  “You usually this grouchy?” he asked, as if taking notes for future reference.

  “I’ve earned the right. My butt hurts, I’m tired, I’m cold, and I want to go home. This has been one of the worst nights of my life.”

  “Oh.” There was hurt in his voice.

  Riley slapped her forehead. “Sorry! That was dumb. Thanks for staying with me tonight. I would have been freaked on my own.”

  Simon recovered instantly, smiling at her like she hadn’t been a completely ungrateful dork. “Glad I could help.”

  Can this guy be for real? If he was, he had to have a girlfriend with six more waiting in line.

  “Did you get any sleep?” he asked.

  “A little. I had weird dreams about demons who acted like angels. Confusing.” She thought for a moment. “Have you ever seen them … angels I mean?”

  “One or two. They only reveal themselves when they want to.” He sounded disappointed.

  “Dad said there’s this glowy sort of light around them, but to me they look like everyday people.”

  “Maybe someday we’ll see them clearly,” Simon replied wistfully. “I’d like that.”

  A voice called out. It was right before dawn, so it should be the cemetery guy. At least she hoped it was.

  A man walked up to the line of candles and gave a toothy smile.

  “Good morning. My name’s Rod. I’m here for the day shift. You Miss Blackthorne?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Glad to meet you. Don’t worry, I’ve been doing this for years. No body’s been stolen on my watch.”

  “That’s good to hear.” Really good to hear.

  The volunteer waited until Simon issued the invitation, then he stepped over the candles. They flickered and returned to normal.

  Riley let out a sigh of relief.

  The newcomer chucked off his coat, revealing a heavy sweatshirt. He set up a camp chair and dropped a bag marked “Vigil Supplies” next to it.

  “Those are for tonight when you reset the circle.”

  “Thanks,” she said. She hadn’t even thought that far.

  Out of his backpack came a newspaper opened to the sudoku page, followed by a pencil and a big green thermos.

  Thermos equals hot chocolate. She made a note to bring one.

  While he was settling in, Riley rolled up the sleeping bags as her companion folded the blanket. By the time she was ready to leave the volunteer was already in his chair, paper on his lap.

  “So who showed up last night?” he asked cheerfully.

  “One guy named Mortimer and some others who didn’t say who they were. They swore at me a lot.”

  The volunteer broke out in a smile. “Figured Mort would stop by. Best of a bad lot.”

  “So I noticed.”

  “Just make sure you’re here before sundown. If there’s an emergency, call the office and let them know.”

  “Got it.”

  Riley gingerly crossed the circle, ears popping once again. She doubted she’d ever get used to that. After she’d stashed the sleeping bags and blanket in the mausoleum, she locked the door. Out of habit she gave them a firm rattle to make sure they were secure.

  Simon fell in step with her as she headed for the parking lot.

  “Congratulations. You’ve survived your first night.” He sounded genuinely proud of her.

  “Yeah, I did.” Then it dawned on her. “Do you have wheels?”

  A nod. “Beck asked me to drop you at home. Said he’d be too tired this morning to do it.”

  Tired? No way. He’ll be hung over. You can bet on that.

  In a few short minutes she was headed toward her apartment in a car with a St. Christopher’s medal hanging from the rearview mirror and a statue of St. Jude on the dash. After she gave him directions, he went quiet. She was getting accustomed to her escort’s lengthy silences, so it didn’t trouble her.

  It was only when he pulled into a parking lot near the front of the apartment building that he spoke up. “Looks like an old hotel.”

  “It was. They converted it to apartments a few years back. It’s nothing fancy.”

  “At least it’s a home,” he said. “If you need help tonight, call Beck.”

  That sounded like he was happy to be rid of her. “Tired of me already?” she asked, hurt.

  “Oh, no, I’m sorry,” he said, embarrassed. “That came out wrong. I have to trap with Master Harper tonight, so Beck said he’d be able to help you.”

  Backwoods Boy? No way. “I’ll be okay on my own. Thanks for showing me what to do.”

  She pulled herself out of the car. It took a lot of effort. Sleeping on the ground was for little kids.

  Simon rolled down the window. “Just don’t listen to the necros. They’re as bad as the demons.”

  She put her hand on his arm. “Thanks for everything. I mean it.”

  “No problem.”

  Right before he turned onto the street, he gave a wave. She returned it.

  What a cool guy.

  Riley forced herself across the parking lot and up the stairs. She could still remember when they’d moved into the apartment. It’d been a blazing hot Atlanta day. After they’d finished, they’d gone for ice cream. Her dad had bought her a sundae and laughed when some of it had ended up on her nose.

  By the time Riley reached her floor, her hand was shaking, making the keys rattle. For one last time she could believe that everything was alright. Her dad would be sitting on the couch, organizing his paperwork, a cup of coffee in his hand. He’d look up and smile at her when she came in. He’d make room on the couch and ask how her day went. He always did that. Always made time for her. Always loved her.

  The door swung open on rusty hinges. The couch was empty. She could hear the soft plink, plink of water dripping into the oatmeal pan from yesterday’s breakfast, the faint hum of the refrigerator. A fluff of Max fur sat underneath the kitchen table. The light on the phone answering machine was blinking frantically. Probably necromancers too lazy to make the trek to the graveyard.

  Her dad had said he was lucky that he had her to come home to, how some folks had no one.

  Like me.

  Riley swung the door closed and methodically engaged all the locks, shutting out the world that had made her an orphan.

  “It’s not fair!” she hissed, slamming her fist into the wood. “Why both of them? You took Mom. Wasn’t that enough?”

  No answer. No cosmic “Sorry about that.” Just emptiness. The tears came again and she let them fall.

  When she’d cried herself out and blown her nose, Riley took a marker and found the date of the full moon on the calendar. She circled it and marked it with a big D. That would be the day her dad was truly fre
e.

  I won’t let them get you. I swear it.

  TWELVE

  Beck peeled open his eyes and did a slow scan of the terrain. The parking lot was deserted, unless you counted a pair of rusty shopping carts and a pile of old tires. Quiet, open space. That was the way he liked it. Not that a trapper could park anywhere else since the pair of demons in the truck bed limited his choices.

  Morning wasn’t his favorite time, especially when Beck’s head felt like it was being torn apart by rabid weasels. Energy drinks and booze were a toxic combination, at least for him. Once he’d sobered up enough to trap he’d gone after the first Three he could find. It hadn’t been hard, as the thing was snuffling around the dumpster behind a butcher shop. Too busy scoring cast-off bits of fat and rancid beef to realize it had a trapper closing in, the thing was bagged by Beck without a hitch. But it wouldn’t squeal on the Five that had killed Paul. Pissed, Beck kept hunting until he found another Three. Same deal—lots of swearing, lots of threats to tear him apart, but no information.

  “Honor among demons,” he grumbled. “That’s so wrong.” At least the Threes didn’t offer boons for their freedom. That would have been hard to pass up if the boon was how to find Paul’s killer.

  Groaning at his thumping head he flipped the radio off, poured three more aspirin into his palm, and gulped them down with some water. The previous dose hadn’t done a thing and he figured these wouldn’t either.

  Sleep. That’s what he needed, but that was going to be tough with all the caffeine skulking in his body. If he was lucky he’d flame out sometime this afternoon. If not, it could easily be tomorrow.

  His phone rang and he dug it out of his jacket pocket.

  “Beck.”

  “Simon. She’s home safe.”

  He sighed in relief. “Thanks, man, I owe ya.”

  “I didn’t mind it a bit.”

  Beck flipped the phone closed and frowned. “Bet ya didn’t.”