Forsaken

by Jana Oliver

  Beck absorbed her tirade without a twitch.

  It wasn’t fair chewing on him. He wasn’t the problem.

  “Sorry.” She unlatched the chain and waved him in.

  He didn’t budge. “I thought we might go for a ride. Talk it out.”

  “I’m not in the mood for—”

  “I’m trappin’ this afternoon and I need backup.”

  “What are you after?” she asked, still dubious.

  “A Firebug.”

  A Pyro-Fiend. He knew what kind of bait to use.

  “Well?” he asked, hands jammed in his jeans pockets. It made him look his age for a change.

  “Will Harper be pissed if I trap with you?”

  “Count on it, if he finds out. Does that bother ya?” he asked.

  “After this morning? No way.”

  Riley barely climbed into Beck’s truck before it was in gear and rolling out of the parking lot. She hastily attached her seat belt. She knew if she let him steer the conversation they’d keep talking about Harper, so she headed it in another direction.

  “Simon trapped a Four at your pool hall this morning. It was really slick how it got into my head.”

  “Hard to ignore ’em, especially if they’re comin’ on to ya.” Beck gave a dry chuckle. “There was this succubus who worked the convention circuit downtown. Damn, she was a hottie. I really hated trappin’ her, but I had no choice.”

  “She didn’t get to you?” Riley asked, curious. “I mean, in your head and all.”

  He smirked. “She got to me every way she could, and then some. The things she was sayin’ to me…” He whistled. “It’d make any man fall on his knees and beg to be her slave.”

  Riley gave him a long look. “Then how’d you tune her out?”

  “Carrie Underwood. Hummed one of her songs. Did the trick just perfect.”

  Beck dodged a streetcar and continued north along Peachtree Street.

  “So where is this Firebug?” she asked.

  “At the law library.”

  Riley swung her head toward him, panicking. “I can’t go there! Not after what happened the other day.” He cracked a wicked grin. “You lie!” She landed a light punch on his shoulder because he so deserved it. “So where are we going?”

  “It’s in a parkin’ garage at Atlantic Station.” He eyed her. “Have ya found yer daddy’s manual yet?” She nodded. “How far are ya into it?”

  “Grade Threes. Pretty disgusting reading. They even eat fiber-optic cable. How sick is that?”

  “Well, that’s about as far as yer gonna get.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I took out the back section, the parts that covered Fours and up. Don’t want ya tryin’ to trap an Archfiend or nothin’. Ya made the rest of us look bad enough takin’ out a Three, ya bein’ an apprentice and all.”

  It took a while register what he’d done.

  “You removed the rest of the manual,” she said flatly. No wonder the thing hadn’t been as thick as she’d expected.

  He shot her a broad grin. “Just keepin’ ya safe, Riley girl. Ya’ll thank me one day.”

  Not in this lifetime.

  * * *

  It took the better part of an hour of skulking around the parking garage to finally locate the fiend in question. As they hiked through the multistory concrete structure, Beck remained on guard the entire time. It felt weird trapping with him, but she had to admit she wasn’t afraid.

  He can handle anything. Her dad had taught him well.

  “Not quite what ya thought trappin’ would be?” Beck asked. It sounded like Harper’s question, except there was no malice in it.

  “I figured it’d be more exciting. Less hiking, for one.” She’d managed to keep up with Beck, but it had been a struggle with her sore thigh. “I’ve never seen a Pyro.”

  “Evil critters. They love fire. It fascinates ’em.”

  “Like Fireman Jack.”

  “Yeah, ’cept he doesn’t go around settin’ ’em.” Beck did a quick one-eighty, surveying the area around them. “It won’t be out in the open on the top deck, so this floor has to be it.”

  “Glad to hear it. All this incline stuff isn’t feeling good on the leg.”

  He shook his head like he’d been stupid. “I’m sorry, girl, I didn’t think of that. Ya wanna wait in the truck?”

  Did he just apologize? That had to be a first.

  “I’m good,” she said, ignoring the jittery muscles and the cramping as best she could.

  Beck scrutinized the area with wary anticipation. “Ya need to stay behind me. If this goes wrong, book it,” he ordered.

  “Wrong how?”

  “Like if this thing gets a couple cars burnin’.”

  Exploding gas tanks. Not good.

  “Hold this, will ya?” He handed over his duffel bag. It was so heavy she nearly dropped it. “Careful! There’s spheres in there.”

  “You could have warned me it weighs more than I do,” she groused.

  “Ya need to build yerself up, girl. Only way to handle a full trapper’s bag.”

  Muscles. Right. Just what I need. “Why don’t you pack lighter?” she asked.

  “Ya need all the gear with ya.”

  “Why? You know this is a Two.”

  “Higher-level demons can act like the lesser grades. Ya think yer trappin’ a Three and it turns out to be a Four, and if ya don’t have the right equipment, that’s an LLM.”

  “Huh?”

  “Life. Limiting. Mistake.” He stripped off his leather jacket and tossed it on a nearby car. He was wearing a “Take No Prisoners” camo T-shirt underneath. It was looser than most guys would wear. He wasn’t looking to show off his muscles but making sure he had plenty of room to move. Picking up a white sphere, Beck began his search. Luckily there weren’t as many cars as on the floors below. A sparking noise came from underneath an old SUV. It was one of the big monsters, the kind that no one would buy anymore, what with gas running ten or more a gallon. It was originally black, but now it was covered in a fine layer of dust like it’d been abandoned here.

  Something red, like a giant rubber band, snaked out of the tailpipe.

  As it reached the concrete floor, it took shape. It looked a lot like an eight-inch-tall red rubber doll with horns and a forked tail. It grinned a mouthful of sharp teeth, then snapped its fingers. Brilliant red-gold fire shot out of its palms.

  “Trapper,” it hissed.

  “Howdy, demon. Nice flames,” Beck replied.

  A second later a bolt of fire went streaking toward him like it had come from a military flamethrower. He deftly stepped aside, and the bolt exploded on the concrete next to him. It’d happened so fast Riley hadn’t had time to react. If Beck was frightened, he certainly wasn’t showing it.

  “Roast you, trapper!” the fiend hissed, snapping its fingers again. Then it caught sight of Riley.

  Before her companion could shout a warning, a bolt came straight at her. She shrieked and cowered as the flames raced over the top of her. There was a sizzling sound as they struck a concrete support. The scorch mark was four feet wide.

  Holy crap. Now she was scared.

  The next fireball went straight at Beck. He weaved, lost his footing on a patch of oil, and fell to one knee. The sphere in his right hand shattered and magically charged water burst forth in a rolling wave across the floor. In a few seconds ice crystals sheeted across the concrete like frost on a windowpane in deep winter. Beck struggled to his feet and quickly backed off to avoid being trapped in the rapidly freezing pond.

  “I need another one!” he called out.

  With a high-pitched cackle, the fiend hopped onto a nearby Honda and began to fire incendiaries at the unarmed trapper.

  “Throw a sphere!” Beck shouted, dodging and ducking to avoid the flames.

  Riley pulled one out without looking, about to dash it to the ground.

  “Not that one!” Beck cried out as an arc of flame caught him. “Get a whit
e one!”

  White. She put the duffel bag on the ground and frantically rummaged through the contents. Beck cried out as another gout of flame got too close. The cackling fiend was playing with him.

  “White!” she shouted. “Got it.” She hauled back to dash it on the floor of the garage.

  “Up! Throw the thing up!” Beck called out, and then rolled between two cars to avoid another burst of flame.

  “Up?” She took a huge breath and underhanded the glass ball straight up toward the concrete above them.

  The demon turned toward her, igniting a massive fireball on its palm.

  “Oh, God.”

  The sphere struck the garage ceiling an instant before the demon set the fireball loose. Beck yelled something, but by then it was too late.

  Pure white light slammed into her eyes, blinding her. Stumbling backward, she crashed into a support and landed hard.

  Beck shouted again. The demon shrieked.

  Then it began to snow.

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  Riley pulled herself up against the concrete pier. Nothing was broken as best as she could tell, but she knew she’d have more bruises by morning.

  It was snowing in the parking garage. Serious snowage, like somehow they’d moved this battle to Chicago in January. There was already three inches on the concrete, and it wasn’t melting.

  She hunted through the falling white until she found the demon. His fire was out, thin tendrils of gray smoke curling upward from his hands. He stormed and shouted and cursed but couldn’t generate a flicker.

  “Beck?” she called out.

  He hauled himself out from behind a car. “Ya okay?”

  Ouch. My butt hurts. “I’m good.”

  Carefully he worked himself across the frozen pond and tagged the Pyro. It didn’t try to run, its movements slowed by the cold.

  “Kiss my ass, demon!” Beck whooped, and shot a fist in the air.

  He slid his way over to her, nearly falling. “Hold this,” he said, and dropped the Pyro into her hands.

  It was uncomfortably warm, like a hot rubber ball, and it glared at her malevolently.

  “Blackthorne’s daughter. We know thee. Boon we grant…”

  She ignored it. What she couldn’t ignore was the weird look on Beck’s face.

  “What?” she asked.

  “It said yer name.”

  “They all do,” she said, shrugging. “Always have. I told you that.”

  “They don’t do that to me.”

  “That’s cuz I’m special,” she said, winking. Adrenaline flowed out of her body by scoopfuls, and she felt really tired.

  “Special, huh,” Beck mumbled. He pulled a lunch tote from his trapping bag. It was large for a tote, bigger than the one Simon had used for the Four, and it had a logo on the side from some Gainesville bait shop. He unzipped it, revealing jagged chucks of dry ice.

  The demon began to wail and curse, twisting in Riley’s grip.

  “Tough break, asshole,” Beck said. He took the demon and dropped it headfirst into the dry ice. The ice hissed and went white. The cursing stopped as Beck zipped the container closed.

  “Do those magical charms really work?” she asked, pointing at a nest of them attached to the handle. They seemed to be made of jade and wood.

  “Supposed to, at least that’s what the witches claim.”

  “Just checking here: I thought I was supposed to watch,” Riley said, unable to resist pulling his chain.

  “Ya were,” Beck replied, suddenly serious. “If anyone asks, I threw both globes, okay? If not, there’ll be hell to pay.”

  She nodded wearily. “Whatever.”

  It had stopped snowing, though there was at least five inches on the garage floor. The giant pond was covered with it.

  “Should have brought our ice skates,” Riley said.

  Then another idea dropped into her head. How many times would she get a chance like this in Atlanta? Turning her back to her companion, she packed herself a snowball.

  “Beck?” she called out, all innocence.

  “Yes, kid?” he replied, turning toward her.

  Kid? That did it. She threw the snowball and it struck center chest. He oofed, glared, and then stalked toward her, intent on his prey. “You called it, Princess!” She turned to escape, but a snowball hit her right on the butt. He’d planned a similar ambush.

  “That wasn’t hard to hit,” he joked.

  “Are you saying my butt’s big?” she demanded.

  His grin grew wider, egging her on.

  “Die, Backwoods Boy!” Two more went his way and only one connected, splattering him just north of his belt buckle. She scurried to rearm herself, knowing the battle was heating up.

  “Backwoods Boy?” he called out, frowning. “Ya got no respect, girl.”

  He slid on the ice, moving faster than she’d anticipated, and swooped in like a basketball star. A mushy snowball dropped down the front of her jacket. It melted into her bra and onto her skin, making her shriek and dance around until the remaining snow fell out of the bottom of her sweatshirt.

  Laughing at her antics, Beck was already packing another missile. She ducked at the last minute, and it glanced off an expensive sports car.

  “Step away from the car!” the auto’s alarm voice commanded. “Step away from—”

  “Let’s get out of here before someone calls the cops,” he advised.

  The Corvette’s alarm was still issuing orders when they reached his truck on the first level. He toted the demon and the duffel bag while she took control of his jacket.

  “You okay?” she asked, noticing the back of his T-shirt had a sizable scorch mark.

  “A little crisped but not bad. That’s why I took off my coat. It’s the third I’ve bought this year.” He eyed her as he stowed the gear in the front seat. “Ya really don’t know the spheres by color?”

  “Dad wouldn’t tell me about them.”

  Beck mumbled something under his breath. “He figured ya’d quit, get a real job.” He thought for a moment and then nodded to himself. “Let’s find some food and we’ll work on that.”

  “Can we get barbecue?” she asked, suddenly hungry. “I haven’t had barbecued chicken in forever.”

  A big grin appeared on her companion’s face. “I know this great place on Edgewood. Mama Z’s. It’s a dive, but, damn, the food’s good.”

  “What about that thing?” she asked, pointing at the bait container.

  “We’ll do a drive-by to Jack’s. It’ll stay quiet until the dry ice thaws, then it’ll get nasty again. Best it’s Jack’s problem at that point.”

  “What’s he do with them?”

  “Throws them in a bigger canister of dry ice.”

  “Doesn’t that kill them?”

  “No way,” he said, shaking his head.

  As Beck drove out of the garage, he gave the parking attendants a big toothy smile and a wave. “There’s some snow on the fifth level. Thought ya might like to know. Y’all have a nice day, now!” he called out.

  No wonder Dad liked working with you.

  * * *

  Beck did the drive-by to Jack’s. She remained in the truck as he completed the transaction and collected the payment.

  “Two hundred and fifty,” he said, shutting the door. He promptly dropped half of it in her lap, mostly in twenties. “That’s yer cut.”

  “But—”

  He raised a callused hand. “I know, yer not supposed to be earnin’ anything unless it’s with Harper. So if anyone asks, ya didn’t get a cent.”

  She looked down at the money. “Thanks.”

  He shrugged. “Saves me having to loan it to ya. Ya did help out back there.”

  “Help out? I totally saved you.”

  She expected argument, but it didn’t come. “Sure did. Thanks … Riley.”

  An apology and a thank-you, all in one day? This has to be a dream.

  They’d picked up the food and headed for her apartment. Along the w
ay he’d shared some of his knowledge of Firebugs and how her dad had taught him the ropes. Riley didn’t interrupt, hoping this would never end. It was nice not to argue with him. She actually liked the guy when he wasn’t going all Big Brother on her. After all, they had a lot in common. They were both trappers and they both adored her father.

  “I guess it was only right ya followin’ in the business,” he said, making the turn toward her place. “Ya got it in the blood, all the way back.”

  She gave him a puzzled look. “What do you mean? My grandfather was a banker.”

  “That was his day job. Yer granddaddy and his people were all trappers. It calls to ya no matter what.”

  “My grandfather was a trapper?” Her parents hadn’t mentioned that, like it was some dark secret.

  “Yer great-granddaddy too. Blackthornes have been trappin’ since forever. Like the Stewarts.”

  “I didn’t know that.” No wonder she’d had this feeling she had to do this. In some ways, that was sorta disturbing, like she didn’t have a choice. “Why didn’t Dad tell me?” she asked, her anger stirring.

  “Never wanted his daughter to be a trapper. Too dangerous.”

  That she couldn’t argue with. If she worked at the coffee shop like Simi, she sure wouldn’t have gotten clawed up by an espresso machine.

  “What about your people?” she asked. “Where they trappers?”

  He shook his head. “Didn’t trap demons, only small varmints. Too busy runnin’ bootleg whiskey and tryin’ to stay out of jail. I’m the first one in the family.”

  “They must be proud of you.”

  “Not to hear them tell it.”

  * * *

  When Beck set the carryout bag on the kitchen table, he hesitated.

  “Which chair can I sit in?” he asked.

  “That one,” she said, pointing at hers.

  He reached for it and then changed his mind. “I better wash up first,” he said. As he walked down the hall toward the bathroom, he stripped off his T-shirt. He wasn’t just singed. There was a big red burn between his shoulder blades, intersected by newly healed claw marks.

  “Beck?”

  “Yeah?” he called out.

  “We need to treat your back.”

  “Nah, it’s okay.”

  She fished a bottle of Holy Water out of his duffel bag, checked the label to ensure it was fresh, and then wedged herself in the doorway of the bathroom so he couldn’t escape.