Forsaken

by Jana Oliver

  Simon brightened. “I’ll call her later.”

  “Anyone else know about this?” Beck asked, letting his eyes trail across the other trappers in the room.

  “Harper doesn’t, if that’s what you’re asking.” Simon retreated across the open space to take his place behind the master. Harper glared and snapped at him out of habit.

  Beck took a chair and went still, like a sniper in a tree. Besides his usual bottles of beer, in his pocket was Exhibit A, the three-inch claw the doc had excavated from Riley’s leg.

  Just in case there’s show-and-tell.

  The first part of the meeting was the usual stuff—Guild housekeeping, as Paul had called it. Collins, the Guild’s president, announced an increase in dues to cover the cost of meeting at the Tabernacle for the next year. That earned groans from the members. There were the usual complaints about trappers not filling out their paperwork properly.

  “Anyone had any problems with the Holy Water?” Collins asked.

  “I have,” Beck replied. “It didn’t take down a Three like it was supposed to.”

  “Was the Holy Water fresh?”

  “Yeah. One day old.”

  “It helps if you actually hit the demon, Mile High,” one of the other trappers jested.

  Beck wasn’t in the mood. “Paul hit it straight on, but it didn’t matter.” The mention of the dead master’s name shut down the joking immediately.

  “Speaking of which,” Collins began, “why don’t you tell us what happened the night Paul died.”

  Beck dreaded this moment. Out of respect for his mentor, he rose. The room fell silent.

  “This is hard,” he began, feeling the prickle of tears in his eyes. He blinked them away, took a long, deep breath, and delivered the report in measured tones as if he were in front of a superior officer. When it was over he remained standing in case there were questions.

  “Ya say the beasties were workin’ tagether?” Master Stewart quizzed.

  “Timin’ was too good to be coincidence.”

  “Bullshit,” Harper said, glaring over at Beck. “He’s just saying that because he fucked up and got his partner killed.”

  Beck’s heart began to hammer in his ears. Fists clenched, he forced himself to stay put, not vault across the room and take Harper out.

  “I didn’t fuck up. I did every goddamn thing right and he still…”

  Beck unclenched his fists and put his hands palm down on the table to keep from losing it.

  Better tell them now.

  When he looked up, all eyes were on him. “It was the same Five that went after Paul’s daughter in the library.”

  Harper smirked. “How’d you know that?”

  “I asked it. The damned thing laughed at us, like we were nothin’.” He hesitated and then let loose the final secret. “It was the first time I ever saw Paul afraid of a demon.”

  Some of the trappers shifted nervously, whispering among each other. If a Geo-Fiend could take out someone as experienced as Blackthorne, then any one of them was at risk.

  Even Harper. And the old master knew it.

  “Any other questions?” Silence. “Thanks, Beck. Sorry about Paul.” A pause. “Jackson, you’re up.”

  The Guild’s treasurer rose. “Got a report that someone is selling demons illegally. You guys heard anything?”

  “Fireman Jack mentioned something about it the other day,” Morton replied. He still hadn’t made master because Harper refused to sign off on his application, which had made for bad blood between them.

  “That fag?” Harper huffed. “Wouldn’t trust a thing he’d say.”

  “As long he treats us fairly, I don’t care what church he worships at,” Jackson shot back.

  “You wouldn’t.”

  Beck shook his head. Harper never failed to amaze him. The man was a natural-born asshole.

  Jackson cleared his throat, twice, his way of keeping his cool. “I checked with a few of the traffickers. One of them was complaining that someone paid five hundred for a Three earlier this week. He didn’t know who bought the thing and wanted to know why the Guild was allowing that.”

  “We aren’t,” Harper said testily. “Any you guys trap a Three this week?”

  One of the trappers raised his hand. “I did. I sold it to Jack for three hundred.”

  “Anyone else?” Seven more men raised their hands, and all of them had sold the fiends for the standard fee.

  “I sold two,” Beck added.

  “So this story is bullshit then,” Harper said. “Let’s move on.”

  They don’t know about Riley’s demon. Beck weighed the situation. He might be able to bury her misadventure deep enough that they’d never find out, but it wouldn’t change the fact that someone was stealing demons and selling them illegally. That would eventually come back to haunt them.

  Pain now. Pain Later. Never a good call.

  Sorry, girl, the shit’s gonna hit the fan.

  “There was another Three caught this week.”

  “Who trapped it?” Collins asked.

  “Paul’s daughter. She took it down in Demon Central Sunday night.”

  Harper broke out in a thick laugh. “Nice one, kid.”

  “I’m not jokin’. She was worried about payin’ her rent, so she loaded up Paul’s gear and went huntin’. She took down a Three … on her own.”

  “No way,” Jackson said. “For real?”

  “For real.”

  “She tell you that?” Harper asked. Beck nodded. “Then she’s lying.”

  Beck’s muscles tensed. He moved his neck to loosen them, like a fighter does right before a bout. Harper caught the gesture and sneered at him.

  “She’s got six claw marks in her leg that say otherwise,” Beck retorted. “And just in case you think I’m lying…” He raised the claw fragment in the air so the others could see it. The trapper closest to him winced.

  “Doc Wilson dug this out of her thigh.”

  “Claws marks don’t mean she trapped the thing,” Harper protested.

  “Once it hooks you, it only goes two ways: You trap it or it eats you. There’s no other options,” Morton replied. He gave Harper a hard stare. “I would expect a master to know that.”

  Harper spat on the floor in disgust.

  “I did some checkin’,” Beck replied. “Seems there’s a couple of losers down there who like rollin’ folks. Riley trapped the Three and then they showed up. They told her they could get five hundred for it.”

  “You sayin’ they stole her demon?” Jackson asked, astonished.

  Beck nodded. “It was easy. Young girl on her own. They figured they’d score some serious cash and have a party. She had to leave the demon behind if she didn’t wanna get jumped.”

  “That ain’t right!” someone called out from the back of the room. “Those two need some thumpin’.”

  “Amen to that,” another voice said.

  Collins looked over at Beck. “How’s the kid?”

  “Healin’. And seriously pissed.”

  There were nods around the room. Beck kept the smile to himself. These guys were hard-core, with a simple view of how the world should work. Trapper Rule No. 1: No one messed with your capture. Rule No. 2: No one messed with a fellow trapper. Violate either of those rules and serious pain was in your future.

  Jackson frowned, his face deep in thought. “Who’s buying these fiends for that kind of money? The legit traffickers know better. The world falls in on them if they deal under the table.”

  “What do they do with the demons after they buy them?” Morton asked. “They have to go to the Church. But if the buyer’s illegal, they can’t do that without the paperwork.”

  “We need to get a handle on this,” Collins interceded. “Stewart, can you check in with the Archbishop and find out if anything’s happening on that end?”

  “Aye,” the master replied.

  “What about Blackthorne’s brat?” Harper asked. “She was trapping illegally. We c
an’t let that happen.”

  Stewart chuckled and rose, supported by a cane. “Nay, we canna. Paul was one of the best damned trappers I ever knew. If his lass can pull down a Three at this stage, I’d say it be in the blood.”

  “You willing to take that on?” Collins asked. “She sounds damned willful.”

  “Aye, I’d be pleased ta train the lass. All she needs is a firm hand.”

  Beck allowed himself to exhale. Stewart was a good man. A bit slower now that he’d gotten banged up tangling with an Archdemon, but still a lot kinder than the other choice. And a lot less prejudiced.

  “No,” Harper barked. “I’m senior trapper and I get my choice of apprentices. Blackthorne’s brat is mine to train.”

  Stewart eyed his rival. “Ya gonna be fair with her?”

  “Just as fair as she deserves,” Harper retorted. The unholy smile on his face said it all.

  Simon went pale. He gave Beck a desperate look, but there was nothing they could do. Harper had seniority.

  Shit. His plan had failed.

  Collins gave Harper a long look. “We’ll want regular reports on her progress.”

  The smirk grew wider. “And you’ll get them, trust me.”

  “Okay, let’s move on. What’s this about not telling mall security when you’re trapping in a department store? You guys know the rules.”

  TWENTY-ONE

  Riley heard the telltale clomp of boots in the hallway before the knocking started. It was close to eight at night. Simon wasn’t due until nine, which meant this was probably Beck returning for another lecture.

  “Hey, girl, ya awake?”

  Riley muted the television and hopped to the door. With a groan, she flipped the locks and opened the door partway but not enough to allow her nemesis to barge in. “What’s up?”

  Beck waved a bag in front of her face. It sported the logo of the Grounds Zero. “Brought ya one of their brownies. Thought ya liked them.”

  “I do. Just don’t like the delivery guy.”

  “Sucks, don’t it?” he said. “So do ya let me in or do I toss this in the dumpster on the way out?”

  Riley gasped at the thought of such cruelty and waved him in. Beck plopped on the couch, placing the bag on the packing box coffee table. He still looked tired, like sleep no longer held any value for him.

  “New coat?” she asked. His old one had been dark brown. This one was a creamy brown, and it looked good on him.

  Beck nodded. “Found it at the market. It’s used, but I like ’em that way. Not as stiff, makes it easier to move.” He stared at her for a few seconds. “Ya have any soda?”

  Riley hobbled into the kitchen, retrieved the drink, and then began to fume. She was the one with the gored leg. Why wasn’t he getting his own drink? When she returned to the living room she realized why. He’d set out the plastic wrapped brownie, and leaning up against it was a colored envelope adorned with a smiley face.

  He bought me a card?

  She handed over the drink and then eagerly thumbed open the envelope.

  Oh.

  The card wasn’t from Beck but from the baristas at the coffee shop. They’d signed their names in different colors, along with more smiley faces. Simi’s was in bright orange.

  Riley made sure to smile anyway. “Cool.”

  “Thought ya’d like that.” He placed something next to the brownie. It was a demon decal. She’d receive one for each Three she trapped. Most trappers put them on their vehicles like fighter pilots did during the wars. Beck’s truck had a lot of them. He’d joked they were what held it together.

  She grinned, studying the decal. “Way cool! Thanks!”

  “Ya earned it.” He took a long drink of the soda, gave a distinct burp but no apology. A white envelope landed next to the decal. “For your rent. Consider it a loan.”

  “How much?”

  “Five hundred.”

  Five hundred more reasons you’ll think you own me.

  “Thanks,” she muttered. She’d accept the cash or sleep in the streets. No coin flip needed.

  Riley peeled off the plastic that entombed the brownie. As long as she had a fix of chocolate, she could handle anything. “Who is watching Dad tonight?”

  “One of the journeymen. Don’t worry, nothin’ will happen.”

  He seemed so sure.

  “How’d the meeting go?”

  Beck frowned. “How’d ya know about that?”

  “Carmela. She dropped by to make sure I hadn’t gone all furry or anything.”

  “Ya won’t. Not ’til the full moon,” he said. “I can’t wait to see that.”

  “I do, and you’re the first one I maul.”

  He didn’t look worried.

  “Meeting?” she nudged. Simon had hedged when she’d asked him about it on the phone, which meant she might not like the news.

  Beck took another sip of soda, this time minus the burp. Slouched against the couch, he had one booted foot up on the packing box like he was watching a football game.

  “Did ya hear from Simon?” he asked, changing the subject. She nodded. “He comin’ over?” She nodded again.

  He fell silent, which made her wonder if he was happy with that bit of news.

  “Let me help you here,” she said, reluctantly placing the brownie on her lap. “I say, ‘How’d the meeting go, Beck?’ and you say ‘Well, Riley, it was…’ ” She gestured for him to complete the sentence.

  That got her a glower. “Not terrific. Harper was on his high horse, and the Guild knows ya were out trappin’ on yer own.”

  “You ratted me out?” You couldn’t wait to tell them, could you?

  “Yeah,” he said, but his face told her he didn’t find any joy in that. “The Guild’s not happy about yer stunt.”

  “Surprise.” She’d be naive to assume they’d give her a round of applause.

  The enticing scent of chocolate wafted into her nose. She closed her eyes and savored the moment as a tiny moan escaped her lips.

  “What is it with girls and chocolate?” Beck grumbled after another swig of soda. “Tastes like burnt coffee to me.”

  Her eyes snapped open, annoyed he’d ruined the moment. “This from a guy who guzzles energy drinks out of recycled whiskey bottles?”

  “Better than that stuff.”

  This wasn’t getting her anywhere. “So what happened?”

  He sighed, running a hand through his hair. It made it stick up in the front. “Yer not to trap again until yer workin’ with a master. Period. The end.”

  Better than she’d expected. Riley took a bite of brownie in celebration. The chocolate hit her mouth like gooey bomb.

  Heaven.

  “So who’s going to train me?” she asked around the confection.

  Her visitor didn’t answer, suddenly fascinated by the ingredients listed on the back of the soda bottle.

  Stall alert. “Harper?”

  A curt nod. “He’s senior. He has the right.”

  “But he hates me! He’ll make sure I fail. That’s not fair.”

  Beck walked to the kitchen while guzzling the last of the soda. The glass bottle landed in the recycling bin with a rattle. When he returned, his right eyebrow crooked upward.

  “Not fair? If ya want fair, Princess, don’t be a trapper.”

  Princess?

  Beck paused near the door. “If yer good, ya survive. If not?” He shrugged like it was no big deal.

  So much for sympathy. “What about my car keys?”

  “Take the damned bus. It’s good for the environment.”

  Then he was gone, combat boots thumping on the stairs.

  Riley sighed and scratched her thigh through the denim. The wounds were torturing her in a new way—near constant itching.

  “Wait a minute,” she said, a grin sprouting. There was one bright side to apprenticing with Badass Harper and that was his other apprentice. Simon would be training alongside her for a few months until he became a journeyman. “Maybe this isn’t as
horrible as I think.”

  If she could survive Harper’s blistering bitchiness, she’d become the first fully licensed female trapper in Atlanta’s history.

  “Then I’m gonna kick your ass, Backwoods Boy.”

  * * *

  Three outfits later, Riley finally decided what to wear. Simon had seen her post-library disaster in all her green-hued glory, but this was a chance to look good for a change. She glanced up at the clock on the nightstand. Twenty more minutes before he was scheduled to arrive at her door.

  “Please don’t be early,” she muttered. Beck had taken up more time that she’d realized, though the brownie had given her extra energy.

  Riley hopped into the bathroom and donned her makeup. At least Simon hadn’t seen her in full rotting mode. There was no amount of foundation or lip gloss that would erase that image.

  She scrutinized herself in the mirror. Her hair was back to normal—which meant it had a will of its own—and the pink on her cheeks had nothing to do with a fever. After another liberal dose of lotion to the demon scars in the vain hope they’d stop the itching, she dressed in black slacks, a red turtleneck, and black boots.

  She fidgeted in front of the long mirror on the back of the bedroom door, adjusting the turtleneck’s sleeves, her hair, everything. Nothing seemed right.

  HER REFLECTION: You’re freakin’, girlfriend. Get a grip!

  HER: Of course I am. This is Simon. He’s totally cute.

  HER REFLECTION: No argument. So what’s the problem?

  HER: Why’s he coming to see me? He’s got to have a girlfriend. He’s too hot not to.

  HER REFLECTION: Yeah, I can see Simon cheating on his lady. Not! Why don’t you ask him if he’s taken?

  HER: Because I might not like the answer.

  HER REFLECTION: Now that’s honest.

  HER: Shut up.

  Only one way to solve this—find a way to ask the guy without sounding pathetic. Then he’d say he was dating and it’d be all over.

  At least I’ll get out of this cage for a while.

  Simon was all smiles when he appeared at her door wearing a black jacket, navy blue shirt, and blue jeans. The navy went well with his white-gold hair and deep blue eyes. As usual, the wooden cross was in plain sight.

  For half a second Riley eyed him, soaking in the view. Yummy.