Forsaken

by Jana Oliver

  “Go on,” she prodded. If this took much longer, she wouldn’t be able to claim the seat she wanted.

  “I’m confused as to the differences between Biblios, Kleptos, and Pyro-Fiends.”

  The kid had obviously done some research.

  “Why do you want to know?” she asked.

  “I want to be a trapper when I’m older.”

  You’ve got to be kidding. He was way too skinny. A Three wouldn’t even consider him an appetizer.

  “Don’t bother. It’s not that much fun.”

  “But—”

  She walked around him like he didn’t exist and headed for the front door.

  “But—” he tried again, and then she heard the pack laughing. When she looked back Tim was still standing by her car, his face telling the world how devastated he felt.

  “Just deal with it. I do,” she grumbled.

  When Mrs. Haggerty called them inside, Riley pointedly sat in the back of the room. Brandy kept shooting her looks, followed by a knowing smirk.

  They’ve got something planned.

  Math flew by, followed by a short state-mandated course in personal hygiene. That drew a lot of snickers since the info was pretty basic, though a couple of the guys in the back of the class definitely needed the refresher.

  Then Mrs. Haggerty moved on to the Civil War.

  “We’re going to start with a discussion about the burning of Atlanta. Anyone got any thoughts?” she asked.

  A boy on the other side of the room raised his hand. “It was just symbolic, nothing more. Other than Sherman tearing up the train tracks, it wasn’t going to bring the war to an end any faster.”

  “Exactly,” another kid chimed in. “It didn’t matter either way. It was only a hit on the South’s ego.”

  Riley fought the urge to raise her hand. Best to keep out of the spotlight.

  “Riley?” the teacher prodded. All heads turned toward her.

  That didn’t work.

  “Atlanta was a storage depot for the South’s war supplies, so burning the city was a major strike against the Confederacy,” she explained. At least all those years of listening to dad ramble on about the war were finally paying off.

  “But you don’t approve of Sherman’s tactics, do you?” Mrs. Haggerty asked.

  Riley was blindsided. How did she know that?

  “Why don’t you tell us your view of General Sherman. It’s unique, to say the least.”

  Oh jeez. “I think he was a domestic terrorist.”

  One of the kids whooped in support of her theory. “Radical!”

  “Why do you believe that?” Mrs. Haggerty pressed.

  Riley had no choice but to give it up. “He didn’t have to destroy the city. I think he liked playing God, and if he’d done the same thing today he’d be labeled a terrorist.”

  “Even in the time of war?” the first kid asked. She thought his name was Bill.

  “Sure. The city had surrendered and been evacuated. Then the day he’s leaving town, Sherman has it burned to the ground. That’s just evil.”

  “But he didn’t burn all of it,” Bill argued. “He left the churches.”

  “Why did he do that?” Mrs. Haggerty probed.

  Riley knew the answer but figured it was best not to be labeled a know-it-all.

  Bill struggled. “He didn’t want to?”

  The teacher shook her head. “A priest pleaded with Sherman not to burn the churches and hospitals.” She let that sink in. “For your homework assignment: I want you tell me if you think the general’s actions were warranted or not.”

  There were groans and Riley’s was one of them. She rose, stuffing her notebook into her messenger bag.

  “Riley?” the teacher beckoned.

  Not good. That would give the droids time to mess with her car.

  “Yes, Mrs. Haggerty?” she said, walking to the desk. Hopefully this would be quick.

  “When they sent over your file, your term paper was in it.” She handed it over. “I might not agree with your views but at least you had the courage to say them.”

  Riley stared at the red letter at the top of the first page. She broke into a grin. “I aced it?”

  “You did. Solid research, sound argument, even though it was preachy at times. Good work.”

  Riley’s smile grew wider. “Thanks!” Wait ’til I tell Peter!

  She jammed the paper into her bag and headed for the door. A kid was standing in front of it, blocking her way. It was the one who always sat away from the windows and didn’t say much.

  “You really a demon hunter?” he asked. His eyes looked weird, as if he were wearing some kind of special contacts.

  “Demon trapper,” she corrected, trying to dodge around him. He wouldn’t move. “Look, I’ve got to go.” What were the droids doing to her car? If they’d lipsticked her windshield again …

  “You hunt us,” he said with a faint lisp.

  “Not unless you’re a demon,” she said.

  “Some say we are.” The pale kid smiled. His canines were pointed. Add in the pallid flesh, the inky black clothes, the frilly white shirt, and suddenly she got the picture.

  A vampire wannabe. Give me a break.

  “You will not harm us,” he said solemnly, precise weight on each word.

  What is it with the plural thing? It wasn’t like he was the King of England. “Look—whatever your name is—I trap demons. Dee-mons. That’s it. I don’t go after vampires, werewolves, shape-shifters, none of those things.” Or crazy people who think they are one of the above. “I’ve got too much to deal with as it is.”

  “That’s not what we hear.”

  “We who?” she asked, frowning.

  “The Nightkind.”

  “The night kind of what?”

  The boy’s face twisted in a grimace. “We rule the dark hours and fear no one. Not even a hunter.”

  “Trapper. Whatever.” I so don’t need this. “Now can you move?”

  He swept backward and let her pass. “We won’t forget this,” he called out as she sailed through the door.

  I will.

  The car looked fine, at least at first glance, but the expressions on Brandy and her bitches told her that might be a false assumption. She checked the tires. All fine. No way they could get under the hood. They couldn’t put anything in the gas tank because the gas cap was locked. Riley’s worry faded. They were playing with her head, and they’d done a good job of it. She hopped in her ride and heaved a sigh of relief when it started. As she drove out of the parking lot she checked the rearview mirror. The pack was laughing hysterically.

  What’s with them?

  THIRTY-ONE

  The right rear tire was flat—as in Riley wasn’t going anywhere. Now she knew why Brandy and her bunch were so merry.

  I am going to kill them all. Slowly. Painfully. And in public.

  Now what? Call Beck?

  “No way.” He’d take that as an opportunity to give her more grief.

  Simon? That was a possibility, but time was running short. By her watch she had half an hour to get to the cemetery and recast the circle.

  Putting her to-go hot chocolate on the top of the car, she unearthed the spare and jack out of the trunk. Her dad had taught her a lot of things, but changing a tire wasn’t one of them. “This should be fun to watch,” a voice taunted. Instantly furious, she turned to incinerate the fool. The words died on her lips—it was the romance cover dude from the market with a bemused smile on his tanned face.

  Riley’s fury went flat like the tire. “Oh! It’s you,” she said, feeling like an idiot. “You’re the sword guy.” His smile widened. “Did you buy it? The sword, I mean?”

  “No. The … heft was all wrong.”

  Riley’s throat went dry. She swallowed, twice.

  “I’m Ori, by the way.”

  “Rrriley.”

  When he moved closer her skin started to tingle. “Need some help?” he asked.

  She could only nod
, trying hard not to drool.

  He handed her the hot chocolate, saying he didn’t want to spill it, then jacked up the car. The way his muscles moved made her wonder why he even bothered using the jack. Riley realized she might owe the skanks a big thank-you. This guy was soooo nice to watch in action. Despite the scenery, she gave her watch a quick glance. If he was quick about the tire changing, she’d still make it to the cemetery with a few minutes to spare. Dad came first, hunk or no hunk.

  The lug nut things that held the wheel spun off. Spare tire on, lug nuts tightened, jack down. He tossed the flat tire in the trunk after giving it a once-over.

  “Someone mad at you?” he asked.

  “Why?”

  He pointed at the valve stem. “This has been messed with. That’s why you had a flat.”

  Riley let loose a stream of curse words.

  “You’re really fluent in Hellspeak.”

  She cocked her head. “How do you know I was swearing in demon?”

  “Just well educated,” he said. He slammed the trunk lid and then pulled out a handkerchief to clean his hands. It made him look strangely aristocratic.

  Her watch beeped, reminding her the world was still in motion.

  “I’ve gotta get out of here. Thanks for helping out.”

  “Not a problem. Maybe we’ll see each other again sometime.”

  There were a million other questions she wanted to ask, but they’d have to wait. After climbing in the car and buckling her seat belt, she looked up to give her helper a wave good-bye. He was gone. She searched for him on the sidewalk. On the other side of the street. No Ori.

  It was like the earth had swallowed him up.

  How do you do that?

  * * *

  The moment Riley had everything in order at the graveyard—setting the circle went off without a hitch—she dialed Ayden. The witch had to know some seriously spooky ways of settling the score with Brandy and the droids.

  “So let me get this straight,” the witch said, the noise of the market making her hard to hear. “You want to bring the wrath of Riley down on these girls, am I right?”

  Wrath of Riley. Oh, yeah.

  “That’s it. Plague of frogs, the whole Biblical thing.”

  “Okay. I’ll be there about eleven. What part of the cemetery are you in?”

  Witches make house calls? Who would have guessed?

  Riley gave her the information and Ayden hung up.

  “You hags are so going to eat it,” she said, grinning.

  From that point on the evening played out like clockwork. She spent some quality time with her dad, telling him about her day like he could hear her, then there was Mort’s usual visit. Lenny appeared wearing a new coat that seemed to glow in the dark. He seemed especially proud of it, but it didn’t get him any leverage when it came to her dad’s corpse.

  “I hear some debt collectors got paperwork in the pipeline to have your dad exhumed,” Lenny said, adjusting his tie. “Save yourself the grief, girl. Let me take care of him. I’ll make sure you get the money.”

  “Nope,” she said, slicing up a Fuji apple with a pocket knife from her dad’s trapping bag. “They’re not getting him. Neither are you.”

  “Stubborn. I have to respect that, even if it’s stupid.”

  “Stubbornly stupid,” she said. “That’s what I’m good at.”

  “You’ll change your mind.”

  “Nope. Besides, you’re nowhere as scary as that creepy guy who does all the dark magic stuff.” At Lenny’s puzzled look she added, “You know, wears a cape and turns into a mass of swirling leaves.”

  Lenny’s face went pale. “Oh man. I didn’t know he was after your dad.” The summoner took a step backward. “If he asks, I wasn’t here. Ever.”

  “But—”

  Lenny was already hustling away as if a pack of Hell hounds were on his tail.

  “Whatever works,” she said and popped a slice of apple in her mouth.

  The witch arrived a few hours later, and after the invitation she waltzed through the candles like they didn’t exist. She placed a small picnic basket on Riley’s sleeping bag and sat down. After taking some time to arrange her voluminous purple skirts, Ayden popped open the basket.

  “Wine?” she asked.

  “I’m underage,” Riley said. “I might get you in trouble.”

  “Not if I’m a witch.”

  “How does that make a difference?”

  “You do magic, don’t you?” Ayden asked, gesturing toward the lighted circle. “Then that makes you one of us. As long as the witch is at least sixteen, they’re allowed to drink during magic ceremonies. You are over sixteen, right?” Riley nodded. “Good. I hereby declare this a ceremony, so therefore you can drink legally.”

  Riley frowned. “I’ve never heard of that law. You’re making that up.”

  The witch raised her right hand. “I swear it’s true. The bill snuck through the last legislature. I think the politicians were trying to throw a bone to the Pagans. We’re getting to be a big voting block.”

  Riley filed all that away for future reference as Ayden poured them each a glass. The witch raised hers to the sky.

  “Hail to the God and Goddess. Keep us safe this night and help Riley Blackthorne find wisdom.”

  That wasn’t quite what Riley had in mind, but she took a long sip of the wine anyway. It was really good, a blend of cherry and grape and some other fruits she couldn’t quite place. She noted the bottle didn’t have a label.

  Her head immediately began to buzz. Definitely homemade.

  “So tell me what you want to happen,” Ayden said, leaning back on an elbow. With her long skirt, curly hair, and well-rounded figure she looked like an oil painting you’d find in some musty old gallery.

  Riley straightened up, her head still buzzing. “I want to tag those hags. You know—make their hair fall out or get their periods for a month. Something like that.”

  Ayden raised an eyebrow. “That would make you happy?”

  “It would make them back off.”

  “But what would it do to you? Would it make you feel better?”

  Riley groaned. “No,” she admitted. “I’m so tired of people dissing me.”

  Ayden leaned over and put more wine in Riley’s glass.

  “Goddess, you sound like me at your age. Here’s what I’ve learned: You can’t make them like you. All you can do be is be stronger than they are.”

  “You mean I should screw with their cars?”

  Ayden rolled her eyes. “No! You’ve got enough problems without inviting more backlash.”

  Riley wiggled on the blanket, uncomfortable at the witch’s tone.

  “Then what can I do?” she asked.

  “What you do is build up your inner strength.”

  Riley groaned. She’d hoped for a righteous, butt-kicking spell and instead she was getting the Yoda treatment.

  “You need an example?” Riley nodded. “Okay, we’ll take some folks you know. Simon, for instance. His faith is his strength.”

  “I know that.” This wasn’t getting her anywhere.

  “What about Beck? What’s his strength?” Ayden quizzed.

  “Backwoods Boy?” Riley smirked. “Chugging beer? Being a control freak? Playing God?”

  “Whoa, things not going well between you two?”

  “Just peachy as long as I do whatever he commands, but when I tell him to get screwed, things get nasty.”

  “Ohhkkkay.” Ayden took a deep breath. “The question still remains: What is Beck’s strength?”

  “Being a hick.”

  “You’re sure of that?”

  “He was born near the Okefenokee Swamp. You don’t get more hick than that.”

  “Beck plays the role for a reason. Sure, he’s a South Georgia boy, but he’s good at being what everyone else expects. If they don’t expect much, he can get away with a lot.”

  Riley didn’t buy that, but she wasn’t going to argue. “I don’t see what
that has to do with me.”

  “Beck has found his strength and he uses it. So has Simon. You need to find yours. What is it that makes Riley special? What is it that you stand for? Do you really want to use magic against these silly girls? Are you willing to reap the consequences of bespelling them? Because trust me, there is always a cost to magical retribution.”

  Damn. “No,” Riley admitted. “I just want them to treat me right.”

  “That may or may not happen. Sometimes they’re going to hate you.”

  Now the witch sounded like Peter. “So what can I do?” Riley asked.

  “Be yourself. You’re an apprentice trapper. You’re a girl. That’s a cool combo. Don’t hide that.”

  Riley shook her head. “That’s not going to help with this crowd. They think I’m knocking boots with Lucifer.”

  Ayden snorted. “That’s their problem. You’ve got enough of your own.”

  Riley fidgeted with the chain, then pulled out the demon claw. The witch’s eyes clamped on it.

  “Is that what I think it is?”

  Riley nodded. “It came out of my leg. Beck had it made into a pendant for me.” The expression on Ayden’s face told her another lecture was coming. “Please don’t tell me how he’s looking out for me.”

  “Okay. Lie to yourself if it makes you feel better.”

  Riley shot the witch a glare. “Do you have anything that will help me with those hags, or are you just here to make me feel bad?”

  The witch reached into the picnic basket and pulled out a light brown chamois bag about the size of a playing card. “Maybe this will help you. It’ll boost your self-esteem.”

  Now we’re getting somewhere. Riley took the bag and opened it. She looked to the bottom to find … nothing.

  “Ah, it’s empty.”

  “Of course,” Ayden replied. “It’s up to you to fill it. Find things that mean something to you, that represent times where you’ve overcome an obstacle, learned something important. Put those items in the bag and they’ll help you find your strength.”

  “I’m not sure if that’s going to help much.” Unless I put a brick in it and nail Brandy between the eyes.

  The witch suddenly tensed. She pulled an amulet bag from a pocket and clenched it in her hand, her eyes riveted on something outside the circle.