by Jana Oliver
“You look very nice,” he said.
“Thanks. It’s good not to be green anymore.”
Dork! Why did I say that?
“Are you up for a hot chocolate run?”
“Yes. YES! Anything to get out of here,” she exclaimed.
Riley grabbed her bag by the door. Something landed on the floor in a rattle of metal. The two key rings. Beck had returned them and not said a thing.
You are such a creeper.
The moment she locked the apartment door, Simon offered his arm. Way old-fashioned, but thoughtful, especially since her leg could go from fine to crampy in a matter of seconds.
“Too bad the elevator’s broken,” he said. “It’d be easier for you.”
He was always thinking of other people.
“I could carry you down the stairs,” he offered. “You don’t weigh that much.”
He isn’t joking.
“Ah, no, that’s okay. I have to get used to this. It’s feeling better, honest,” she fibbed.
When Riley faltered a few steps down, he moved his hand to around her waist. Not too tight, but enough to let her know he wasn’t going to let her fall. She hoped he’d leave it there.
“So what have you been doing since Beck’s grounded you?” he asked.
“I’ve tried to find Dad’s manual.” Each step made the thigh cramp, which shot a bolt of pain into her groin. “I’ve gone through every drawer, bookshelf, and box,” she said, trying to keep her mind off the discomfort. “No go.”
“You try his car? Like maybe under the spare tire?” Simon asked.
Riley gaped at him.
“I saw him put it in there after one of the meetings. He made me promise not to tell you. But now, well…”
Now it didn’t matter. “Thanks! I’d never have thought of looking under the tire.”
His grin widened. “Duh! Why else would he have put it there?”
She elbowed him. “What’s happening with Harper?”
“I hear he’s got a new apprentice,” Simon replied. “A pretty one.”
“How hard is he going to be on me?”
Simon’s good humor withered. “Way hard. He’ll tear you apart. He does that to all of his apprentices, and it’ll be worse for you because of your dad.”
“What happened between them?”
“No idea,” he said, shrugging. “But whatever it was, Harper’s never forgotten it.”
“And now he has another Blackthorne to torment.”
“He’s expecting you at nine in the morning. I’ll give you directions.”
When they reached his car, Simon opened the door for her. She climbed in, but it proved harder than she’d expected. Finally she realized it was best to sit and then use the center console as an anchor so she could pivot herself inside.
“Ouch, ouch, ouch,” she said, rubbing the leg to try to ease the cramp.
Simon knelt next to her, concerned. “Anything I can do?”
“Just get me high on hot chocolate, that’s all.”
His worried expression eased. “For you, anything.”
* * *
Her friend Simi changed her hair color more often than she did boyfriends, which was saying something. Tonight her locks were coal black with brilliant purple highlights. On anyone else it would have looked silly, but Simi’s exotic face allowed her to do almost anything and look great. It came with her unique ancestry—a mashup of Lebanese, Chinese, Irish, and Native American.
“Hey, Blackthorne!” the barista called out. Heads turned and Riley inwardly groaned. The coffee shop wasn’t that busy, but she much preferred to be anonymous right now. The family name had been in the papers too much recently.
“I escaped!” she replied, holding her hands up in triumph.
“You did. I’m impressed. You get the card?”
“Yes,” Riley said. “Thanks!”
“It was the trapper’s idea. He brought it in and had us sign it,” Simi admitted.
Beck bought the card? Why didn’t he say that?
“So is he, like, dating or anything? He’s way hot,” Simi remarked.
Beck hot? Well, maybe a little. His serious case of attitude got in the way of his hotness every time. In lieu of an answer, she gestured toward Simon.
“This guy has offered to buy me all the hot chocolate I can drink,” she said, beaming up at her escort.
“Niiice,” Simi said, raising a black eyebrow. She didn’t mean the “all the hot chocolate” part either. “You want the same?” Her eyes remained on Simon.
“Yes, thank you,” he replied.
“Real nice,” she said, then went to work creating the drinks. “How’s your leg doing?”
“Better,” Riley replied. “Itches a lot. Feels like I’ve been bitten by a five-hundred-pound mosquito.”
Simi gave a sympathetic nod. “The trapper said you’d gone after a demon on your own. Is that right?”
Riley nodded. “Wasn’t the smartest thing I’ve done.” She heard a grunt of agreement from Simon.
Simi’s eyes lit up. Since they’d been talking about demons, Riley knew what was coming.
“No, I did not watch Demonland last night,” Riley said, hoping to short-circuit the subject. It never worked, but she still tried.
“Oh, man, it was awesome,” Simi proclaimed. “Blaze took out a Winnebago full of demons with a Walmart shopping cart.”
Any television producer who would put Walmart, demons, and an RV in the same episode was just asking for trouble, but then Hollywood’s idea of the Vatican’s Demon Hunters was more flash than reality.
“Was Blaze wearing those screw-me heels again?” Riley grumbled, leaning against the counter for support.
“Yup. And that skintight leather outfit you hate, the one that barely covers her butt,” Simi replied. “It was a totally kick-ass episode.”
“But the demon hunters don’t admit women,” Simon said, perplexed.
Simi gave him a look like he’d just flattened her favorite puppy.
“You’ve never watched the show, have you?”
Simon shook his head. Riley’s estimation of him grew tenfold.
“Then you can’t judge it,” the barista said, returning with the hot chocolate. “You have to admit last season’s final episode was truly epic.”
Simon gave Riley a raised eyebrow.
“One of the hunter guys destroyed a mega-demon on top of Saint Peter’s Basilica,” Riley explained.
“Saint Peter’s is holy ground,” Simon began, “so no demon can—”
“Are you, like, an authority or something?” Simi retorted.
Riley left them to it, limping her way to the closest booth. She slid in, happy to let her thigh rest. It was doing its dull burn thing now.
Her eyes tracked to her booth along the far wall, the one where she and her dad had always sat. A familiar shard of guilt drove itself in a little deeper. How could she be out with Simon when she should be watching over the grave? Not that Beck would let her until her leg healed, but it still felt selfish.
“No, Dad would want me here,” she said resolutely. He liked Simon.
Her escort delivered the hot chocolate.
“Who won?” Riley asked, angling her head toward the barista.
“It was a draw. Either that or coffee stirrers at twenty paces.”
For the next few minutes they drank in silence. Riley spent that time savoring the exquisite goodness of the drink and screwing up her courage to ask The Question.
“Ah, thanks,” she said. “This is really good.”
“There’s more if you want some.”
Simon didn’t seem like he wanted to be somewhere else, and he wasn’t checking his phone every few minutes as if he were expecting a call.
Just ask him.
“Are you dating someone?” she blurted. Oh, that was smooth.
His forehead crinkled in amusement. “Maybe.”
“Oh.” She sighed. Of course he’s dating, you idiot. He’s w
ay too cool to be on his own.
“I’ve just started seeing someone,” he said.
That made it even worse.
Simon touched her hand with his fingers. “There’s this really nice girl. She’s got the most amazing brown eyes and an incredibly sharp mind.”
“Oh.” So not me.
“And we’ve got something in common. We both trap demons.”
It took her a second to realize he was talking about her.
“Me?” she asked. He nodded. Me! “Then it’s all good.” Really good. She gifted him with a smile
“But we can’t let Harper know we’re dating or he’ll make it worse for you.” He gnawed on his lip for a moment. “Will you promise me something?”
“What?” she asked, caught off guard by his serious expression.
“Promise you won’t go hunting on your own again, at least not until you’re a journeyman.”
What? Where was this coming from?
She pulled her hand away. “I can’t make that promise, Simon.”
“Riley, you’re really brave, but you’re still a—”
“Girl?” she asked, her temper rising.
“Apprentice,” he replied, an edge to his voice.
“Who happens to be a girl,” she pushed back. That was always the bottom line with these guys. She wasn’t one of them.
“No!” he said emphatically. “Not everything is about gender. This is about you being safe.”
Riley’s eyes bored holes into her cup. She really liked this guy, and yet here he was trying to box her in, just like Beck.
“Do you think I’m crazy wanting to be a trapper?” she demanded.
Simon frowned. “Yes.” When she opened her mouth to protest, he raised his hand to cut her off. “I understand why you could want this so badly. I know I do, even if it makes no sense.”
He’s not playing power games. He really cares.
The realization left her breathless. Simon took her hand again and squeezed it, rubbing his thumb over her palm in a gentle motion. “Just be careful, will you? That’s all I ask.” His voice was so gentle.
“Only if you promise the same.”
“Deal.”
They held hands for another minute or so, and then he rose to fetch more hot chocolate. After he placed the order, he looked over at her and smiled. The rest of the room faded to gray. There was only him, his brilliant blue eyes, and that amazing hair.
Something had changed between them. Whatever it was, it felt right.
TWENTY-TWO
It took Riley a while to decipher the peeling sign on the concrete building. “Ming and Sons Auto Repair.”
The sign boasted Ming could fix transmissions, radiators, and CV boots.
Not anymore. Now the building housed the most senior trapper in Atlanta, and the one with the shortest temper.
At least it’s close to the cemetery. Real close, like down Memorial Drive. Now that she went to school in Midtown, she’d have to drive through Atlanta to class, put in her three hours, then drive all the way down here to spend the night watching over her dad.
She yawned at the thought. Only five more nights. Despite her tummy being full of luscious hot chocolate and the toasty inner glow Simon had kindled, Riley hadn’t slept well. Too worried what today would bring.
Her cell phone began chirping. It was Peter.
At least he’s talking to me again.
“Hey, dude,” she said, making sure not to let the relief show in her voice.
“I cracked it!” he crowed.
It took her a moment to realize he was talking about the computer disk.
“So what was the password?”
“Eleven, nineteen, eighteen sixty-three.”
“Huh?”
“The date of the Gettysburg Address,” he replied proudly.
“Makes sense. Dad wrote his thesis about it.”
She heard a groan. “You couldn’t have told me that up front and saved me hours of hacking?”
“Don’t give me that. You loved every minute of it.”
She knew he was grinning. “Busted,” he said. “I’m still digging through the files. From what I can tell, it’s research about Holy Water. History, folklore, all of it. It’ll take a while to get through all this.”
“I wonder what he was up to,” Riley admitted.
“We’ll find out. So what’s your day like?”
“I’m standing outside my new master’s place. Not impressed.”
“Well, have at it. Call me when you get a chance.”
“Later, Peter.”
She put away the phone and trudged across the gravel parking lot to the metal door located at the front of the building. The door was battered and scratched and definitely needed a paint job. She raised her hand to knock, but the door opened before she could do the honors.
It was Simon and he was frowning. “Riley.”
“Hi. How are you?” she asked, remembering how pleasant last night had been.
“Good,” he said, but it didn’t sound that way. “Harper’s inside. Be careful.”
Riley nodded and mustered her game smile. “It helps that you’re here.”
He shook his head. “It’ll only make it worse, for both of us.” He pushed past her and headed toward his beat-up silver Dodge.
Ohhkay.
After he’d pulled away, she had no further reason to stall. The moment she stepped inside the smell hit her. Lube. Old tires. And something else. Raw sulfur.
Demon.
The building was laid out like any garage—twin double doors led to service bays. All the metal lifts were gone, and the exposed ceiling rafters sported wires and ropes that ran over the beams like spaghetti. In one corner was a huge pile of plastic jugs and bottles, the kind used for Holy Water. Apparently, Harper’s place was some kind of recycling location.
One half of the building had been sectioned off. To her right along the wall were five heavy-duty steel cages, only one of which was occupied. Unlike the demon she’d tangled with, this Three was all black, like they were supposed be. It slavered and slobbered, reminding her of an overly hairy dog, except this one’s long claws raked against the sides of the reinforced steel enclosure like it was sharpening them.
“Blackthorne’s daughter,” it growled.
Before she had a chance to reply, a voice bellowed, “Get the hell in here, girl!”
With a pleading look heavenward, Riley made the journey into what must have been the shop’s office. It was small and crowded with furniture. On one side of the room was an old wooden desk with an equally ancient desk chair. On the other, Harper was sprawled in a tattered dark blue recliner that had been new before computers were invented. His eyes were red and his face unshaven, probably because of the half-empty bottle of Jack Daniel’s at his elbow. His shirt was clean but wrinkled, and his jeans had black stains in them. Behind him was a wooden door that led into the rear of the building. Through it she could see an unmade bed and what looked like a kitchenette. Dirty dishes were piled in the sink.
He lives here? She’d expected he had apartment or a house, like the other trappers.
Riley had never really paid much attention to Master Harper, mostly because he was always hating on her dad. Now she’d be with him for the next nine months. Less if he wants to get rid of me.
“Mr. Harper,” she said. No reason to piss him off right off the bat.
“Brat,” he replied, daring her to challenge him. He flicked a lighter on the end of a cheap cigar.
“I’m Riley, sir.”
“No, you’re Brat.” Smoke coursed out of his mouth, revealing surprisingly decent teeth. “Or maybe I’ll call you Bitch.”
She sighed. “Brat works for me.”
Establishing the pecking order. Maybe that was as far as it’d go.
“All my apprentices need to know one thing: My word is law. You fuck up and you’re gone, and no other master in this country will touch you. Got it?”
Annoy you and I’m g
one. “Yes, sir.”
“Just because you’re Blackthorne’s girl doesn’t mean you’re going to get any slack. I don’t trust you as far as I can spit you, got it?”
“Yes, sir.”
“It’s clear to me Blackthorne was doing a piss-poor job of training you, so we’re starting over from the beginning.” He pointed to a battered metal bucket and a scrub brush in a corner. “The floor under the cages need cleaning. Get to it.”
“Yes, sir.” She looked at the implements, remembering the sizable piles of demon crap. “Do you have a shovel and some gloves?”
He took a pull on his bottle. “Yeah, I do.”
She waited, but he didn’t move, didn’t tell her where to find them. Then it dawned on her. She wasn’t going to be using them.
“You can shovel the shit like I did when I started … with your hands. Put it out back. It kills the roaches.”
She opened her mouth to protest, then jammed it shut. He was waiting for her to refuse; she could see it in his bloodshot eyes.
“Out back. Got it.”
* * *
As the morning progressed, Riley began to learn a lot about demon scat. It stank like brimstone and whatever the thing had eaten recently, which was about everything. The crap stained concrete, and it stung her skin like scalding water if it was fresh.
She’d started on the farthest cage from the occupied one, kicking at the mound of dried excrement with the toe of her tennis shoe. Mistake. The kicking had no effect on the mound.
Leverage. That’s what I need.
Digging around the back of the building revealed a collection of junk and a fairly decent stockpile of discarded metal that included bent hubcaps and broken manhole covers. Since the yard was fenced and secured with a padlock, it made Riley wonder if her new overlord traded in the stuff.
More digging unearthed a tire iron and a hammer with a cracked handle.
Better than nothing.
After prying, pounding, and tugging until her arms ached, the mound of crap broke up chunk by chunk. The outside might have been like concrete. The inside wasn’t.
“Oh, gross,” she muttered, her stomach churning as the smell and heat reached her nose. Had her dad started out like this?
Another scrounge around the warehouse turned up a battered garbage can lid, but nothing to scoop with. That made her think Harper had hidden anything she might be able to use.