by Jana Oliver
Riley’s heart double-beat. They were definitely moving this relationship along at warp speed. As if sensing her bewildered emotions, he tugged her closer and they remained that way until it was time to go inside. For once, Riley wished the rest of the world didn’t exist.
THIRTY-FOUR
By the time they returned to their seats there were forty-some trappers milling around the center of the hall, trading stories and proudly displaying their latest wounds. It was definitely a guy thing.
Beck gave her a curt nod, but Jackson waved, clearly pleased to see her.
“See, they’re accepting you,” Simon remarked.
“Some of them.”
Riley had expected her personal nemesis to tromp over and annoy her right off, but Beck and his two beer bottles kept their distance. If anything, he was pointedly ignoring her.
You are so jealous.
It was Harper that worried her. If she was going to tell the Guild what she’d discovered, her master had to know about it first. That was the way things worked.
She took a deep breath and went to him. “Sir?”
“Yeah?” he said, his bloodshot eyes telling her it hadn’t been a good day. “What do you want?”
“I’ve discovered something about the Holy Water. Not all the bottles are the real stuff. Some of it doesn’t work like it should, and I’d like to tell the Guild what I found.”
His intense gaze made her itch. “Why the hell didn’t you tell me about this before?”
“I just figured it out this afternoon.”
He thought for a moment.
What if he doesn’t let me tell them? What would she do then?
“Ah, what the hell, go ahead. I can’t wait to hear this,” he said, leaning back in his chair. The sly grin told her he was looking forward to her public humiliation.
“Thank you, sir.” Right before she moved away, he grabbed her arm, digging in those fingers, causing Riley to grit her teeth. Why had she let her guard down?
He leaned toward her and whispered, “You make me look bad and you’ll pay for it, girl.”
I already am.
When Collins called the meeting to order, she made a point of not sitting near her master, breaking with tradition. Simon weighed his options and sat next to her.
You might regret that.
After roll call, Collins started the meeting. “You heard about that TV show coming to town?”
Hoots of derision echoed through the big hall.
“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Collins said. “The producers want to work with us. They say they want the show to be more realistic.”
“They can start by making the demons look like the real deal,” Jackson said. “I’ve yet to meet one who wears an Armani suit and drives a Ferrari.”
“Ah, hell, they all do,” Morton replied. “At least in L.A.”
Laughter broke out.
“They asked if a couple of us would show them around the city, let them see what we really do,” Collins explained.
“Why aren’t they working with the Vatican?” Jackson inquired.
“The Vatican’s reps shot them down, so now they want to slum with us.”
“Setting us up to make us look stupid,” Harper said.
“That’s a real possibility,” Collins replied, “but if we blow them off we might regret it.”
“What about those hotties? Are they coming?” a young trapper called out.
“A few are. And they’re paying for our time. Do I have volunteers?”
Hands shot up, and Collins took note of the names. The promise of babes and cash tipped the scales. Riley was surprised to see Beck wasn’t one of the volunteers.
The president pointed right at her. “And you too.”
“Me?” Riley squeaked.
“They say they want a female’s take on all this,” he said. “You okay with that?”
She felt Simon stir next her. “Get Harper’s permission first,” he whispered.
Good idea.
“Only if Master Harper is okay with it,” she said.
The old trapper’s eyebrows arched upward, like he’d figured out her game. “As long as the work gets done,” he said, nodding.
Don’t worry, you’ll get a cut of the money.
“Then I’ll let them know we’re good to go,” Collins said, making a note on a piece of paper.
Riley couldn’t believe how easy that’d been. Maybe not toasting Brandy and her bunch had been a good thing.
Collins consulted his notes. “Anything else?”
Her heart jumped when Harper rose to his feet.
What is he doing?
“Blackthorne’s kid,” Harper began. Riley winced. “She ran into some trouble the other day when I sent her over to Roscoe’s to sell some Ones.”
Beck’s eyes rose from his brew. His reaction was instant: The muscles along his jaw tensed as the knuckles on his right hand tightened around the beer bottle.
Let it go. Don’t piss him off. He’ll just take it out on me.
“What was the trouble?” Collins asked.
“Roscoe offered her one-twenty a piece for the demons as long as she didn’t do the paperwork.”
Beck’s eyes snapped to her. She saw condemnation in them.
You think I sold them under the table. You jerk!
“She told him to stuff it up his ass,” Harper explained.
Beck sagged in relief. She glowered at him, and he shrugged in apology.
“No trafficker’s ever tried to roll one of my apprentices.” Harper’s scar tightened along with his jaw. “It’s not going to happen again, I can tell you.”
“You’ll handle it?” Collins asked.
“Damned straight.” The master returned to his seat.
Riley let out the air she’d kept pent up.
“Anything else?” Collins asked.
Now or never. Riley pulled herself out of the seat, her heart thudding.
“Yes sir … I … have something.”
Out of the corner of her eye she saw Harper’s face; it resembled a vulture waiting for something to die so he could feast on its corpse. She ignored him, focusing on the podium so she didn’t lose her nerve.
“I have a question about the Holy Water. Is it possible for it to be blessed in different batches?”
Master Stewart shook his head. “I’ve been ta the plant. They’ve got massive tanks, holdin’ hundreds of gallons of water. The priest blesses one tank at a time. Then all they do is put it in the bott-els.”
“So every batch number should have the same consecration date?” she asked, feeling excitement rising within her. That’s what the brochure said, but she wanted to lay the foundation for her radical claim.
“Of course. Why ya askin’, lass?”
“I found some of my dad’s notes. He was trying to find out why the Holy Water didn’t always work right. He was worried that the demons were building up a tolerance to it.”
Collins and Stewart traded looks. “Go on,” the Guild’s president urged.
“This is a master list of all the production runs for the last six months,” she said, displaying the pages. “These show the batch numbers, which include the date the Holy Water was blessed.” She set them down and took a hasty swallow from her soda.
Now it gets harder.
“I was recycling the Holy Water bottles for Master Harper and I noticed that some shared batch numbers, but the consecration dates were different.”
“You sure?” Collins asked.
Riley nodded and pulled out three of the recycled bottles, setting them in a row on the table in front of her. She put a hand on top of one of the pints. “This one was blessed ten days ago.” She continued down the line. “This one seven days ago, and this one five. They’re all from one batch. According to the manufacturer’s master list, this batch was actually blessed and bottled four months ago.”
“Let me see those,” Jackson said, walking over. He compared each of the pints, then his eyes rose to h
ers. “I’ll be damned. She’s right, these do have different dates. But why would someone do that?”
“Money,” Beck called out. “I’ve got a buddy who works at the plant where they bottle the stuff. He said they’re runnin’ three shifts and can’t keep up. A pint is going for ten bucks now.”
“Twelve,” Riley corrected. “I bought some before the meeting. Also the labels are different. Some of them don’t react to water; some of them smear really easily. The fake bottles have the smeary labels. I wanted you guys to know about this so you can figure out what’s going on.”
“This happened in Cleveland sometime back. Someone was refillin’ the bott-els with tap water,” Stewart said.
“So is it just bad labels, or is the Holy Water counterfeit or both?” Collins asked.
“Let’s test it,” Morton said. “Anybody got a demon in their pocket? How about you, Beck?” he jested, but she could hear the tension in his voice.
“No,” Beck replied flatly. “Wait a minute.” He turned toward her and tapped his chest. When she didn’t respond, he did it again.
The claw. They couldn’t get a live demon across the ward, but the claw wasn’t alive.
“I think we might have something that’ll work,” she announced, pulling the silver chain into view. The black talon hung in the air, twisting at the end of the chain.
“Damn, that’s nice,” exclaimed one of the trappers sitting near her. “Never seen a claw necklace before.”
“Is it the real thing?” Jackson asked.
“Totally,” Riley replied.
She picked up a pint of Holy Water. “I bought this at the market tonight.” She handed it Jackson and he ripped off the seal. Riley dipped the claw inside. After several seconds there was no reaction.
“Maybe you need a live demon,” someone said.
“It should work,” Collins replied. “It was once part of a fiend so the Holy Water should recognize that.”
Jackson opened another pint and she repeated the test. Nothing.
“So which one do you think is kosher?” he asked. At least he believed her.
Riley tapped on the next one. “Its label doesn’t smear when it gets wet.”
Jackson ripped off the lid and she dropped the claw in.
And nothing happened.
Ah, crap. If this didn’t work, she was going to be in big trouble.
“Riley,” Simon began in a worried voice.
The pint bottle erupted in a torrent of bubbling water that shot out of the top and flooded both her and Jackson. She yanked out the claw, fearing it would be destroyed. The talon was snow white. As it dried, it turned black like an overripe banana.
“Wow!” Jackson exclaimed, wiping his face with a sleeve.
Take that, Harper. As she mopped off her face, she caught a glimpse of him out of the corner of her eye. He was frowning but not at her.
“What about the Holy Water for the ward?” Morton asked, all trace of humor gone. “Is it okay?”
“It’s good,” Riley said. “I checked the labels.”
“Well, that’s a relief,” Beck said. He popped the top of his second bottle of beer and drained half of it in one swig.
While trappers argued among themselves, Riley slumped into her chair, head buzzing. They’d actually listened to her. Her dad would be so proud.
Simon touched her arm. “Good job,” he said. His praise was at odds with the frown. What was bothering him? “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“If it went wrong, I didn’t want you in the middle of it.”
He nodded, but the frown remained.
It took the Guild president some time to call the room to order. Nearly every trapper was talking, gesturing at her then the bottles.
Collins leaned forward on the podium and rubbed his face wearily.
“Well, this sucks,” he said. “It looks like not all the Holy Water is the real deal. Since some of us are having the same issues with the spheres, I have to assume a portion of those are bogus as well.”
Harper rose. “This is getting out of hand! We got traffickers buying demons under the table and Holy Water that’s as useless as spit.”
“Is this happening anywhere else in the country?” Morton asked.
Collins shook his head. “There’ve been no bulletins from the national office.”
“Maybe Hell is finally getting it together,” Jackson suggested.
“That’d explain a lot,” Harper said. “Bet there’s an Archdemon behind this somewhere.”
“But why here?” Beck asked. “Ya think it’s all connected somehow?”
“That’s what we have to find out.” Collins looked over at Stewart. “Call the archbishop and the CEO of Celestial Supplies. Set up a meeting. This is priority one. If we don’t this get straightened out, we’re going to start losing trappers. We need to get a handle on this now before it gets worse.”
Riley relaxed. These guys would deal with it.
At that, Collins glanced over at her, nodding his approval. “Well done. That’s impressive work from an appren—”
Collins’ eyes went wide and his mouth dropped open.
Someone touched her shoulder.
Riley figured it was Simon, but both his hands were on the table in front of him. Probably one of the trappers wanting to see the claw. She turned and gasped.
Paul Blackthorne’s corpse stared back at her.
Someone had reanimated her father.
THIRTY-FIVE
“Dad?” Riley whimpered.
“Paul?” Beck called out as he rose, his chair toppling over. Others surged to their feet, transfixed by the spectacle.
“My God, it’s Blackthorne!” one of them cried out.
Her dad was dressed in the suit and tie they’d buried him in, his skin a sallow gray. Immense sadness filled his brown eyes. He stood just inside the Holy Water ward.
“Run … Riley,” he croaked. “Run. Too many.”
“Too many what? How’d you get—”
Deep growls echoed through the building, causing heads to turn. Furry bodies lumbered out of the darkness.
“Demons!” someone shouted.
Trappers surged to their feet, all talking at once.
Riley watched in horror as the Threes headed toward them. There were at least a dozen, maybe more. They lined up around the circle, snarling and slobbering, claws flicking in the air.
“Hold your positions!” Harper shouted. “They can’t get to us, not with the Holy Water.”
“Why are there so many of them?” Simon asked. “This can’t be happening.”
What are they waiting for?
The answer came a split second later.
“Pyro-Fiends!”
Red rubbery bodies ran along the sides of the building, leaping and twisting like ballet dancers, leaving bright crimson ribbons of liquid fire in their wake.
A Three launched itself against the ward and then flew back, howling and shrieking. It rose to its feet and assaulted the holy line again. Others joined it as trappers scrambled for their gear.
Beck was next to her, his duffel bag on his shoulder, the steel pipe in his hand. “Where’s Paul?”
She looked around but couldn’t see him.
“Dad?” she called. No reply.
Beck shoved her out of the way a split second before a Three broke through the ward. It scrambled to its feet and dove at a trapper. The man screamed in agony as it pinned him to the wooden floor with its claws.
“The ward’s down!” Beck shouted.
“Out! Everybody out! Move it!” Collins shouted. Stewart began to herd his apprentices toward the nearest exit.
“Where’s your trapping bag, Adler?” Harper demanded.
“In the car,” Simon called back.
“Damn lot of good it’s doing there.” The old trapper dumped his into the apprentice’s hands. “Snow globe!” As Simon dug in the bag, Harper gave Riley a shove, causing her to stagger backward. “Go!”
Not without Dad
. Riley looked around blindly, but she couldn’t see him. A cheer went up as someone lobbed a sphere high in the air. It broke open and snow began to fall. Then more snow globes. A thick blizzard fell into the smoke that crawled across the floor like a gray snake. Shouts echoed around her.
As the snow landed on her it melted instantly, plastering her hair to her skull. Riley wiped her eyes. She could only see a few feet in front of her; the exit signs were completely obscured in the storm.
Bumped from behind, Riley sprawled to the floor, barking her shins. Something grabbed her leg and she struggled to pull free. There was a cry of pain and then a vicious snarl. She scrambled to her feet, knowing if she stayed down she was dead.
A Three stood between her and Simon, claws clicking, unable to decide who to eat first.
“Go!” Simon shouted to her. “Get out of here!”
His cry sent the demon his way. She saw it leap on him, rending and snarling. They rolled over and over on the floor, crashing into chairs and upending the tables. Blinded with fury, Riley grabbed the nearest wooden chair, folded it, and swung hard at the demon’s head.
“Get off my boyfriend, you bastard!”
There was a sound like a cracking egg, and the fiend crumpled. Its paws twitched pathetically, then it stopped moving. She’d actually killed the thing.
“Simon?” She dropped the chair in horror.
“Oh, God,” he moaned. “Oh, God it hurts.…”
His eyes wide in terror, he clutched his chest and belly as blood gushed through his fingers. She saw Jackson and grabbed him.
“Help me get him out of here!” she shouted.
They levered Simon to his feet, his face as gray as her dead father’s.
“I got him,” Jackson said, taking the weight from Riley. “Get going!”
A Three swept by her, howling in triumph as it vaulted toward one of the men. The trapper cried out and then vanished under a mass of fur and slashing claws. The demon raised its face, gore dripping from its muzzle.
When she turned to make her escape, Simon and Jackson were gone, hidden in the snow. Around her, demons leapt through the smoke, picking off their confused or injured prey. One of the Pyros hung from the big chandelier, raining fireballs from above.