by Jana Oliver
“What if the body goes rogue or something? Starts eating people.”
Simon laughed softly. “That’s only in the movies. These guys aren’t good at thinking things through, and they’re definitely not zombies. They don’t eat at all.”
“But they’re not mindless,” she said, thinking of the woman on the street with the briefcase.
“No, somewhere in between.” He steered her elbow again. “Come on.”
As they walked away, she noticed a man watching her from the tent where knives and other sharp pointy things were sold. He was holding a sword. Not holding it actually, but owning it, like he knew exactly what he was doing. His sleek black hair was pulled back in a ponytail and tied with a leather cord. A glossy black leather jacket covered his broad shoulders and muscled arms. With a bit of imagination Riley could picture him on the cover of a romance novel. He turned in her direction, then saluted with the blade like a cavalier might his queen.
It was an effort not to melt in her tracks.
“Riley?” her companion nudged.
“Ah, sorry,” she said, but she really wasn’t.
When she looked around again, the man was gone.
Who was that guy?
“Bell, Book and Broomstick,” Simon announced, unaware her mind was elsewhere. The midnight-blue tent was sprinkled with gold and silver stars, and there was a long table in front of it laden with amulets, velvet bags, and other witchy stuff.
Riley knew Simon well enough not to use the W word. He was way touchy about anything supernatural and somehow had convinced himself that the spells inside the crystal spheres weren’t really magic. No matter what he called it, it was magic and the trappers used it or they ended up dead.
And sometimes they died anyway.
Behind the counter was a tall woman in Renn Faire garb, her russet-brown hair an unruly mass of curls. A multicolored dragon tattoo started at her neck and descended deep inside her dark green peasant blouse. When she saw Simon, she leaned over the counter, displaying ample cleavage for his benefit.
“Hey, how’s my favorite trapper?” the witch asked. From her tone, Riley could tell she loved playing with Simon’s head.
Riley’s boyfriend noted the cleavage but pulled his eyes away with amazingly little effort. “Just fine. Ayden, this is Riley,” he said, gesturing. “She’s an apprentice trapper.”
“Paul’s daughter?” Riley nodded. “Goddess…” the witch replied. She stepped from behind the table and enveloped Riley in a big hug. Her hair smelled of patchouli incense.
“We all miss him,” the woman said, stepping back, her eyes clouded.
An awkward silence fell between them.
Riley cleared her throat. “Beck would like you to tell me about the spheres.”
The witch brightened. “Ah. Sphere Lecture One-Oh-One. My pleasure.”
“I’ll wait here,” Simon said, his hand in the pocket where he kept his rosary.
“I promise I won’t turn you into anything that eats flies,” Ayden teased.
Simon stiffened, but didn’t move.
The witch waited until they were inside the tent and then leaned close to Riley. “I love messing with him. He’s a real sweet guy, but he hasn’t learned that his faith isn’t in competition with anyone else’s.”
“Did you give him the sphere lecture, too?”
She nodded. “He wasn’t that receptive.”
As they walked deeper into the tent, the soothing scent of jasmine enveloped them. Lanterns hung from the tent poles and in one corner someone was having a Tarot card reading. Waving her forward, Ayden knelt in front of a large wooden chest adorned with arcane symbols. Some of them Riley recognized—an ankh, the Eye of Horus. The rest was anyone’s guess. Celtic maybe.
“We keep them in the chest because they’re easily broken,” Ayden explained, opening the lid.
Tell me about it.
The witch dug out three spheres and placed them in Riley’s hands. One red, one white, and one blue. It made her think of Roscoe’s front window, which wasn’t a good thing.
“So how do you make these?” Riley asked.
“We buy the glass spheres, blend the ingredients, and fill them using a funnel through that little port.” Ayden pointed toward a small cork plug on the side of the sphere. “Once they’re filled, we reseal them. Then we go into the forest on a full moon and charge them with magic,” the witch said.
“Do you dance around a fire or something?”
“Depends on the magic. Sometimes we’re skyclad, sometimes not.”
“Sky … clad?” Riley asked.
“Nekkid, as they say in these parts,” Ayden said, winking.
“The mosquitoes must be a bitch.”
The witch issued a rich laugh. “You should come sometime.”
Not if I have to be nude.
Riley slowly turned the sphere in her hand. “The Holy Water bottles have a tax stamp. Why don’t these?”
Ayden groaned. “I hear that’s on the legislature’s agenda next year, but our lobbyist is trying to push that back. They want to tax all magical items.”
“How much do you charge for these?” Riley asked, tickled to find someone who would give her straight answers for a change.
“We ask for a donation to cover our costs. It doesn’t seem right to charge you guys for keeping evil at bay.”
Riley’s appreciation of the witches rose even further.
“Okay, I admit we have an ulterior motive, besides the good karma, that is. It makes it harder for some of the radical groups to claim we’re in league with Hell when we’re supplying the means to take them down.”
That made sense.
“First thing I always say about the spheres: Think outside the box. The trappers like to believe that a certain sphere should only be used on its primary target. Like a Babel sphere for Fours or a snow globe for Pyro-Fiends. That’s shortsighted.”
“Why?”
“Because the magic can be used in a number of ways. Think about the properties of the spheres and match them to the effect that you want to create. You can combine the spheres so they enhance each other’s properties. Every time I mention something like that to a trapper they get all weird on me.”
“Even my dad?” Riley asked. He’d always been open to new ideas.
Ayden spread her hands. “Paul was beginning to come around, but old habits are hard to break.”
Riley’s cell phone chirped. She pulled it out and muted it. Probably Peter checking up on her. After Riley dumped the phone in her bag, Ayden held up a sphere. White particles swirled inside like a vintage snow globe. The only thing that was missing was an ice skater in the center.
“So let’s start with a white and go from there,” the witch said.
A half an hour later Riley was outside the tent, her head swimming in details. Whites were created using air and water magic. The grounding spheres were a combination of earth, air, and fire magic. It went on from there.
I’ll never keep all this stuff straight.
She found Simon pacing outside the tent. “You done?” he asked, clearly eager to be somewhere else.
Riley nodded. “Want some hot chocolate?”
“No, thanks. I need to get home.”
Oh. So much for making this a date.
Riley checked her cell phone. Three calls, all from Beck. He hadn’t left a message.
I knew it was too good to last.
THIRTY
Quit stallin’.
Beck sorted out his trapping bag, which hadn’t needed the attention, then did it all over again in a new configuration. If he’d had his gun-cleaning supplies he would have stripped his Sig and given it a thorough cleaning. None of his efforts helped him forget the Two’s voice calling out Riley’s name. Lower-level fiends didn’t do that. To them all trappers were the same.
In his gut he knew it meant something. He needed advice, but who could he ask without screwing up Riley’s future with the Guild?
“Harp
er?” he mused. “No way.” The bastard would use the information to throw her to the wolves. “Stewart?” That was a better choice, but the master might feel inclined to let the Guild know Hell was taking a personal interest in Paul’s daughter.
“Ah, damn.” What could he do?
After much thought, Beck decided on a less-risky course of action. He waited until Mortimer had made his rounds and then fired up his cell phone, his nerves pushing him along. The call was to an old trapping buddy in New York City who he could trust with a secret.
“Patterson. What kind and where?” the gruff voice asked.
“Jeff? It’s Beck.”
“Hey, Den. What’s up? Long time, no hear.”
“Got a couple questions for ya. Ever seen demons workin’ together? Like a Geo-Fiend and a Three?”
“Nope. That’s the only thing that saves our asses. If they ever get smart, they’ll nail us. Why?”
“It’s happenin’ here. That ain’t all. Ya ever hear tell of lower-level demons callin’ a trapper by name?”
“No, only Fours and above. It’s not until they reach that level they have that sort of knowledge. And an Archfiend, hell, they can tell you the size of your dick and when you last cheated on your wife.”
“Good reason not to get married.”
Jeff laughed. “Why are you asking?”
“We got an apprentice who’s bein’ called out by every demon from a One on up.”
“Damn. Has Lucifer got his hooks in the guy? That might explain why Hell knows him.”
Could Riley have been rolled by a demon?
“No, the trapper’s on the level.”
“You sure? Sometimes you can’t tell. It’s not like they’ve got a big brand on their forehead or nothing.”
“No. Both a Five and a Three have tried to kill her. Lucifer won’t snuff one of his own.”
“Her?”
Patterson he could trust. “If I tell ya who it is, ya can’t spread it around.”
“Doesn’t go any further.”
“It’s Paul’s daughter, Riley.”
“What’s she doing in the business?” Before Beck could answer, Jeff added, “Following her dad, I guess. Anything else weird about her?”
Beck told him about Riley trapping the Three, how she brought it down on her own. “It was the one that double-teamed us the night Paul died.”
“Blackthorne’s dead?” the man exclaimed.
Beck felt like a fool. He shook his head at his stupidity. “Ah, I’m sorry, man. I thought ya’d heard.”
“No, I’ve been out of town fishing in Canada. You should do that sometime. Get your mind off the job for a few days.” A pause. “How’d he die?”
Beck made it brief. There was a long silence, and then Jeff cleared his throat. “I’ve never heard of this kind of thing before.”
“So what do ya think about all this?”
“I think I’m damned glad I’m up here.”
Beck sighed.
“If Lucifer’s fiends know her on sight and they’ve already gone after her, she needs a change of scenery,” Patterson replied. “Out of Atlanta, for sure.”
“Yeah, we’re ass-deep in demons right now.”
“We’re not. You could send her up here. Course, that doesn’t mean they won’t track her down, but it might be a local thing, you know?”
Beck had a better idea. “She’s got an aunt in Fargo.”
“Put her on a bus. Those Dakotans are a testy bunch after the fiends caused those big floods a few years ago. Demons don’t get too much of a chance up there anymore, if you know what I mean.”
“Thanks. I owe ya, Jeff. I mean it.”
“You’re buying the first round next time we meet. Later, guy.”
Beck closed his phone and dropped it on the blanket like it was a live grenade. His gut felt like he’d swallowed a mile of barbed wire.
“Too much weird shit goin’ on,” he muttered. Most of it seemed to be centered around Paul’s daughter, but that didn’t make any sense. Hell was taking too much of an interest in her. The Pyro-Fiend had been the final straw.
No matter how much he’d enjoyed teaching Riley the ropes like her daddy had taught him, he shouldn’t have taken her trapping with him. She’d done fine, better than most apprentices, but he was just being selfish. It was hard to admit he liked being around her. She reminded him of Paul in a lot of ways, and when they were together the ache in his chest faded, at least for a little while.
There was only one way to handle this—cut her loose, make her hate him like she did when she was fifteen. He had to get her out of town until things settled down. This was a battle he had to win.
If not, Hell would have the last word.
* * *
For once Riley wasn’t nervous about seeing Beck, despite his numerous phone calls. This afternoon had proved they could get along, have fun together. He’d even given her a present, one that no other girl in Atlanta could claim.
The moment she crossed the circle, he was on her.
“Why didn’t ya answer yer phone?” he groused.
“Because I was busy learning about spheres,” she said, puzzled at his attitude. Like you told me to.
“Who’d ya talk to?”
“Ayden. Simon introduced us. She gave me her card in case I had more questions.”
“Simon?” he snapped.
“Yeah, we made a date of it.”
Something passed over his face for a fraction of a second, but she couldn’t decipher it.
“Why am I surprised?” he grumbled. “Here’s the word: Ya need to call yer aunt, see about stayin’ with her.”
What? Where’s that coming from? “I want to stay here.”
“Ya need to be with family,” he said.
“I don’t need to be with family that can’t stand me. You don’t know her.”
He shouldered his duffel bag. “Doesn’t matter. Just make the call.”
This was his “my way or the highway” tone again. He was worse than any parent. At least the ’rents made the effort to explain after they ordered you around.
“Everything was good with us this afternoon. What happened?”
He huffed but didn’t answer, as if she weren’t deserving of a reason.
“Is this because of Simon?”
His face went as tight as his fists, causing the candle flames to shoot heavenward. “Don’t fight me, girl. Ya can’t hang ’round here anymore, goin’ on dates like this is some sorta picnic. Ya need to be out of this city as soon as possible.”
Omigod, you’re jealous. Why hadn’t she seen it before? No wonder he’d given her a present, he was trying to compete with Simon. Like you have a chance, buddy.
Riley clenched her own fists. “You hate it that I’m dating. That’s why you want me gone. You think we’ll break up if I go to Fargo.”
“It’s not that,” he said, shaking his head.
“Oh, yeah it is. You can’t stand me being happy. You just want me lonely and miserable like you.”
“Girl—” he began in a warning tone.
“Admit it, Beck. Nobody cares about you because you act like a butthead all the time.”
He took a menacing step forward. “Cut the lip, girl. Yer outta here, even if I have to throw ya in the back of my truck and drive yer butt to Fargo.”
“You wouldn’t dare!” she snarled.
“Ya got three days. Make it happen or I will.” He spun on a heel and marched out of the circle. It ceased blazing the moment he crossed it.
“You miserable piece of…”
Riley bit her lip as he tromped out of sight. She’d been so stupid. Why did she think he’d changed? He’d just tried to soften her up so he could get his own way.
And I almost fell for it.
* * *
Even by the next afternoon the hurt still lodged in Riley’s throat like a chicken bone she couldn’t cough up. She’d spent most of the day doing odd jobs for Harper and keeping out of range of his ex
plosive temper. She had succeeded because the master and Simon went to trap a Three near the casino in Demon Central. Once they’d left, she worked on her demonic curse words. It was amazing how many applied to Beck.
More than once she wanted to pull off the claw and throw it away, but she couldn’t make herself do it. It was her claw, not his. She’d earned it. She’d just have to forget that he’d given it to her.
Yeah. Like that’ll work.
All the while it was hanging there, reminding her of what it had been like when he’d been nice. Now that he wasn’t anymore.
If that wasn’t bad enough, she had the ho-bags to deal with at class this afternoon. If they had any sense they’d know not to get in her face. Her fuse was too short, and if she nailed one of them, she’d be out of school in a sec. No school equaled no driver’s license. Mass transit so wasn’t her thing.
This time Riley parked her car close to the coffee shop and in plain view of where she planned to sit. She needed to be outside before the bitches to reduce their options for vandalism.
Brandy and her band were waiting near the entrance. At least they weren’t all wearing the same color tonight. That had been too weird. Riley ignored their giggles and pointing, retrieved her messenger bag, and then locked the doors.
“Hi,” a voice said. She turned to find one of the boys standing nearby. “You’re the demon trapper, right?”
“Yes.” He was the scrawny kid who sat next to her in class. His clothes were at least a size too big for him and made him look like an emaciated scarecrow.
“So who are you?” she asked, not sure what was up.
“Tim.” He shot a nervous glance toward the pack of girls. “I … well, I got this project I’m working on and I wondered if…”
“Geek alert,” one of Brandy’s droids called out and made claxon noises.
Tim stiffened.
“Ignore them.” Riley said, turning her back on the pack.
Her move seemed to spook him, and he scooted backward. “Ah, ah…” he stammered. “I’ve been doing some research into the types of demons, and I thought, well, you being a trapper and all and…”