Forsaken

by Jana Oliver

  “Chew yourrr bones!” it cried, waving its arms in the air.

  A second later, all Riley could see was a whir of black and white, all teeth and claws, moving toward her at frightening speed. She stumbled, nearly falling. Cursing, she tossed one of the spheres at the oncoming fiend. It missed and smashed to bits on the uneven ground close to where her father had breathed his last.

  Riley ran, the messenger bag banging into her side. Once she got to the car the thing wouldn’t follow her, would it?

  The beast had other ideas, growing closer, calling out her name. It snarled and clawed the back of her jacket, spinning her around like a top. Falling hard, the wind knocked out of her, Riley rolled to protect her final sphere. She shrieked as the demon dove at her, claws raking across the asphalt in a trail of sparks just inches from her face. It yowled in frustration when it missed. Riley regained her feet only a second before it dodged sideways, sending its glistening ebony spikes at her belly. She forced the bag forward, trying to block its lethal reach. It gnawed on the canvas, snarling and growling as she fumbled for the last sphere.

  A thick paw arced around the bag and dug into her left thigh, burying the claws deep into her flesh. Riley screamed in agony and slammed the sphere into the fiend’s open maw, imbedding the glass into the beast and deep into her palm. In slow motion, the Three ripped its claws out of her leg and sank to the ground, bloody and unmoving.

  Riley fell to her knees and began to retch, the adrenaline making her heart thud so fast she thought she’d faint. Prickles of light danced at the corner of her eyes. She forced herself to slow her breathing, studying the still form. The demon was taking quick puffs of air through its mouth, its laser red eyes staring up at nothing. Black blood dripped from its tongue onto its neck. Riley forced herself to her feet and, with fumbling hands, broke open the seal on the steel bag.

  How do I get this thing inside?

  In the end, she kept jamming the fiend’s legs, body, and arms into the bag, like stuffing a pillowcase with foul-smelling fur. The thing stank like sulfur and rotten meat, making her stomach roil and acid singe her throat. She worked left-handed as the right was bleeding, waves of pain telegraphing up her arm.

  With incredible effort, she locked down the two clamps that secured the demon inside the bag. She’d actually done it—caught her first Grade Three Hellspawn.

  Rising to her feet, Riley wobbled for a few seconds. The adrenaline was gone, leaving a sour stomach and a sick, pounding headache. It was only then she dared look at her thigh. Thick red blood bubbled out from the six holes in her slashed jeans, one for each claw. The leg felt numb, which was weird. It should be hurting like hell.

  “Trapper … scores,” she said weakly. Sorta. Folding out the steel bag’s handle, she dragged the dead weight up the street one-handed. It was slow going; the fiend was much heavier than she’d expected.

  How am I going to get this thing in the trunk? It certainly wasn’t riding up front with her.

  “One problem at a time,” she said, refusing to admit this was more than she could handle. Riley looked down at her catch. She couldn’t wait to see Beck’s face.

  Hey, Backwoods Boy! Guess what I did tonight?

  It was going to be sooo sweet.

  She heard laughter. For a moment it didn’t register as a threat.

  “Hey, girlie!” someone called out.

  Riley whirled around to find two guys following her. One of them was chunky, like a Beck gone to seed with a roll of flab around his middle. He was wearing a faded ball cap, and his long hair needed washing.

  “She looks tasty for a trapper,” the second said. He was short and wiry, with an unlit cigarette dangling out of his mouth.

  Just a couple of jerks from the Guild trying to psyche me.

  Riley fired up the attitude. “I’m with Beck,” she fibbed. “He’s not going to be happy you’re messing with me.”

  “So where’s this guy?” the first one asked. He had a load of chew in his mouth and he kept working it.

  “Down there,” she lied, pointing toward the end of the street.

  The big man spit. “Ain’t no one down there. You’re on your own.”

  “Just the way we like ’em,” the second added.

  This was bad. These guys weren’t trappers. They were too shabby, and neither of them had any trapping equipment with them.

  “What do you want?” Riley asked, tightening her grip on the steel bag.

  The sick leer that formed on the big man’s face sent a frigid shiver to her toes. “The demon … to start with.”

  Riley shook her head. “No way. Go catch your own.”

  “Seems we just did. That thing’s worth a lot of money.”

  “You can’t sell a demon,” she protested. “You have to be a trapper.”

  “Hear that, Dodger? She says we can’t sell it.” He chuffed. “Never stopped us before. It’ll get us five hundred, no sweat.”

  Five hundred? Who’s paying that much for a Three?

  The wiry guy began to circle around her. “How’s about we share, girlie?”

  “Yeah,” the big man agreed. “Get some booze, some blow, and have a party, just the three of us.”

  Oh, God.

  “I get first crack,” the man added. “I like breakin’ ’em in.”

  Rage-laced panic exploded inside her. She couldn’t escape with the demon. It was too heavy to move quickly. Even if she dialed 911 it’d take the cops too long to get here, even if they could be convinced to come to Demon Central. By then …

  The demon or these sick perverts?

  Slinging a torrent of hellish curse words at them, Riley dropped the bag and limped off as fast as her injured thigh would let her. The wounds fired to life, sending jolts of pain into her leg. If she only had a steel pipe, anything that would keep them away from her. Keep them from touching her and …

  “Run, girlie!” Dodger taunted as he started after her. His heavy boots crunched across the pavement, moving closer with each step. He was just playing with her. There was no way she could outrun either of them.

  A strange sound filled the street, a combination of a throaty howl and a deep, raspy snarl.

  “Oh, shit,” the big man shouted. “The thing’s awake. Help me with it!”

  Riley risked a glance over her shoulder. The small guy was still gaining on her. Behind him, the demon clawed and bit at its steel prison like a rabid dog, thrashing so the metal bag rolled around the pavement.

  The smaller man was catching up. She scooped up a charred piece wood, holding it like a club, and turned to face him. A hundred words came to the tip of her tongue, but she was too scared to say any of them.

  The big man was losing his battle. “Dammit, Dodger, forget her! She’s not worth the five hundred.”

  With a snarl that would have impressed any fiend, Dodger whirled and ran at top speed to help his partner.

  Riley limped away, pushing as fast as she dared. As she turned the corner she saw the two men wrestling with the bag as the Three tried to tear it apart.

  “Go, demon,” she urged, blinking away tears of anger. Maybe it’d get free and rip those losers apart. Eat them both. “That’d be so righteous.”

  By the time Riley reached the car, she shook like a dog in a thunderstorm. Her thigh felt as if it were boiling from within, shooting pain into her groin and all the way down to her toes. Popping open the trunk, she grabbed the pint bottle of Holy Water, broke open the seal, and soaked her thigh, jeans and all, making it look like she’d wet herself. Instead of the burning pain she’d expected, it only stung a little then eased off.

  Maybe the wounds aren’t that bad.

  Riley swallowed, twice, and took some deep breaths. Her heart still drummed in her ears and her stomach felt seconds away from erupting. At least the claw marks wouldn’t infect, though she’d still feel like crap for a couple of a days. Like a bad case of the flu is how her dad described it.

  “I have nothing to show for it,” she growl
ed. Tossing the empty bottle in the trunk with more force than was necessary, she slammed the lid. There’d been no choice. If she tried to fight them, they would have jumped her and …

  “You asshats!” she shouted, thumping her uninjured fist on the trunk lid. She’d bagged her very first Three and they’d taken it away from her like a bully steals a kid’s lunch money.

  If Dad had been here …

  Tears welled in her eyes again. If her dad had been here, they’d have that demon in the trunk and those two losers would have learned what it meant to tangle with a master trapper. Instead they’d tangled with her, and won.

  Epic fail.

  “Beck is so going to kill me.” The Three had been her best defense against his anger. He’d have bitched at her, but in the end he would have respected her.

  Not now. He’s never going to trust me again. He’ll just tighten up his leash.

  Instead of heading for the graveyard, she drove home one-handed, tears coursing down her face. They felt icy against her skin as a full body shiver cramped her muscles and her teeth began to chatter. She turned off the heater. Sweat bloomed on her forehead despite the chilly night air.

  Once she got home, she’d call Beck, tell him what happened. Then it would get really bad.

  “Someday,” she muttered in between intense shivering sessions. Someday she’d catch up with those guys and make them pay. Someday they’d know what a mistake it was to mess with Riley Blackthorne.

  But not today.

  SEVENTEEN

  The dial on Beck’s watch glowed blue in the growing light. It was a half hour until dawn. With each passing hour he’d talked himself out of dialing Riley’s cell phone and rousting her out of her bed. The kid had to be worn out, the shock of her dad’s death hitting home about now. He knew how that felt.

  There’d always be sadness whenever he thought of Paul. The man could have easily blown him off, treated him like everyone else, but Paul told him he’d seen that spark in Beck’s eyes, that drive to be something better. Beck had never thought to argue the subject. His teacher had such a reasoned way of explaining things, it sounded like gospel.

  Beck sighed, feeling that dull ache deep in his chest again. He still expected to see his phone light up and it would be Paul, checking in on him, just wanting to talk. That would never happen again. He was truly on his own now. Just like Riley.

  It was a still night and the swirl of dead leaves immediately caught his attention. Mortimer had already visited, polite as ever. Lenny had dropped by a little after two, and another necro named Christian at three. It was as if they had assigned times. The leaves coalesced into a form outside the circle, causing the candles to flare. It reminded Beck more of a high-level demon than a summoner of the dead.

  “Wastin’ your time,” he called out.

  The form wavered for a moment and then took a more defined shape. Black cloak, carved oak staff, all the theatrical props.

  “I can give you what you most want in life,” the voice within the hood said in a sibilant whisper.

  “The hell ya say,” Beck replied, too tired to be polite. “Ya can give me a night in Carrie Underwood’s bed? Damn, that woman’s fine, and she can sing too. Or maybe a new truck. That’d be nice.”

  “Nothing so mundane.” A dramatic pause. “I can deliver the demon who killed Paul Blackthorne.”

  Beck’s heart double-beat, his humor gone. “Yer kind only messes with dead folks, not Hellspawn.”

  “I am prepared to make an exception in this case.”

  “Why is Blackthorne so important to ya?”

  The figure leaned on the staff in a pensive pose. “Just accept that he is. It’s not like Mr. Blackthorne will be in service forever.”

  The necro did have a point. Paul would be returned to his grave in a year at the latest, and the demon would be dead. There were ways to hide the truth from Riley, especially if she went to live with her aunt. With the grave so fresh, once the body was exhumed and reanimated, Beck could smooth over the dirt and she’d never know.

  “Certainly you want to see justice done,” the figure soothed, “and prevent the chance the fiend will come after the one remaining Blackthorne.”

  He played to Beck’s greatest fear. The only way to keep Riley safe was to kill that Five and send a message to Lucifer to back off. Beck wanted that more than anything else in the world, even sleeping with his favorite country music singer.

  He rose, taking a few tentative steps toward the glowing circle.

  The figure fell silent, drawing him closer. Beck slowly turned to look at the mound of dirt. What would Paul think of him if he disturbed his rest? What would Riley say if she knew he’d betrayed her?

  “All for a good cause,” the necromancer insisted. “You must keep her safe. She has a will of her own, and it has put her in danger tonight.”

  Beck whipped around. “Whadda ya mean?”

  “She went hunting in Five Points. Alone. I hear it went very badly.”

  “Yer lyin’,” Beck retorted.

  “And if I’m not?” the necromancer replied, his tone too sure for Beck’s comfort. “What if she’s dying right now? Would it make sense to guard this grave when she’s heading toward one of her own?”

  “No way she’d go to Five Points alone.” The moment Beck uttered the words, he knew he was wrong.

  Damn, girl, ya wouldn’t. He frowned, the truth hitting as hard as a slug to the gut. Yeah, ya would, just to spite me.

  First the necro had said the demon might hurt her. Now he claimed she was already hurt, maybe dying.

  Lies.

  Beck forced himself back to the blanket. “I’m not buyin’ it.”

  The cloak shifted in what passed as a shrug. “Then it’s on your head,” the summoner replied, no hint of disappointment in his voice. “By the full moon this man’s body will be mine. Do not doubt it.”

  The form reverted to leaves and scattered in a light wind.

  Riley’s cell phone went unanswered, rolling over to voice mail again and again. When the cemetery’s volunteer arrived a few minutes later, Beck bolted for his truck.

  * * *

  Riley pried open her eyes to find sunlight on the bedroom ceiling whirling like a kaleidoscope. All sorts of colors. It was really pretty. With considerable effort, she pulled herself upright on the bed, wondering what time it was. She hiccuped, and the shivering began again as her fever rose.

  The left thigh was the problem. It was swollen, the denim soaked with something brown. The entire leg pulsated with each heartbeat.

  The Holy Water was supposed to neutralize the poison.

  “Not so much,” she said, falling back onto the pillow. Time slowed.

  Riley knew what was happening. She’d heard her dad talking to her mom about this when he thought she wasn’t listening. Her leg would go septic in a few hours and the poison would spread throughout her body. It would kill her.

  Maybe that’s best. She could be with her parents. Do whatever angels did all day. No worries about money or school or demons.

  An annoying noise pulled her out of her fevered imaginings. It was her cell phone. She faded out until it started making noise again. With sweaty hands Riley flipped it open. Someone called out to her in a frantic voice. “Riley? Are you okay?”

  “Sick…”

  “What happened?” the voice asked.

  “They … stole it.”

  “Stole what?”

  “Demon got me.… Sorry. You were … right.”

  She flipped it closed and let the phone fall next to her on the bed, knowing that Beck would find her body and bury her next to her parents.

  No vigil needed.

  * * *

  Violating scores of traffic laws on the way to the apartment, Beck worked his cell, calling in favors. He started with Carmela, rousing the doc out of bed and earning him an earful until he explained the situation. Then he called the Guild’s priest. Father Harrison had just stepped out of the shower but promised to come
over as quickly as possible.

  After making a parking place where there wasn’t one, Beck leapt out of the truck and took the stairs, two at a time. Hammering on Riley’s door got no response. He called out. Nothing. He tried Mrs. Litinsky’s, then he remembered something about her going to visit her family in Charleston.

  For half a second he thought of kicking in the door but discarded the idea. Paul had spent a lot of time reinforcing it, worried about Riley staying home alone at night. He had to find a key.

  Swearing under his breath, he ran down two floors to the door marked “Superintendent.” He banged on it. Time crawled by until a scrawny, unshaven face appeared at the door. Beck physically bullied the guy up the stairs, then glowered menacingly while the super fumbled with the keys.

  To his relief Riley hadn’t engaged the chain lock. The instant the door opened he shoved past the super calling out her name. She wasn’t in the living room or the kitchen. He found her in the bedroom, a tangled mass of sweat and delirium.

  It was worse than he’d feared.

  She was fully clothed, her hair matted on the pillow and her face deep crimson. The brown sludge oozing out of her thigh was the reason. The necro had been right: She’d tangled with a Three. They loved to hook their prey, drag them in so they could gnaw on them. Their claws were lethal.

  Huge sweat rings soaked her T-shirt. Her eyes were closed and she moaned with each breath. The sweet, cloying smell of infection clouded the room. But it was her leg that made Beck nauseous, swollen twice its usual size. He knew all about that. His first Three had clawed him. He’d gotten sick, but not this bad. Paul had made sure of that.

  The super took one look at the feverish body and fled.

  Beck threw his jacket in the corner and flung open the rusty window to gain some fresh air. He gulped it in to keep from throwing up. He knew what the sweet smell meant. She was rotting from the inside out.

  He heard someone call his name. “Back here!” he said.

  Carmela paused in the doorway. “Den?” Her eyes went from him to Riley. “Holy shit.”