by Jana Oliver
No, it does not work for me. Riley did not want to go trapping. She wanted to stay here in the coffee shop, do her homework and talk to Peter. Then maybe she’d go back to Stewart’s, catch some TV.
‘Do I have to go?’ she asked, trying to determine if this was an order issued by one of the masters.
‘Ya don’t want to?’ Beck asked, confused. Then he nodded in resignation as if something had suddenly become clear. ‘Ya don’t want to go with me, is that it?’
Peter sprang up from his seat. ‘OK . . . I think I need . . . to refill on my iced tea. I’ll be back.’ He was headed towards the counter before she could respond, though his glass was still three-quarters full.
Coward. He knew this might spiral down into a shouting match.
‘Just tell me if I’m the problem, OK?’ Beck pushed. ‘I need to know where we stand on this.’
‘It’s not you, Beck. It’s the whole trapping thing. All the crazy hours, the crazy people, the demons. I’m so tired of it.’
His expression softened. ‘I hear ya, girl. Hell, I’d love nothin’ more than to jump in my truck and go fishin’ for a week, away from everythin’. It’s gettin’ too much to handle.’
Riley had never expected to hear Beck admit he felt he was in over his head.
‘It’s not only me, then,’ she said.
He picked up a straw and folded it into a square so the two ends nested together. ‘No, it’s all of us. Even the masters.’
‘If I don’t go, will you be out there alone?’ she asked.
‘No, Jackson will be with me. Harper says we work two-man teams from now on. It’s no longer a choice.’
As long as he has back-up, he’ll be OK. ‘Then I’m staying here and doing my homework.’
‘Fair enough.’ He rose and placed the cap on his head. ‘See ya later, girl.’
As Beck cleared the front door, Peter slid back into the booth, setting his full ice tea glass in front of him. ‘No fireworks. I’m impressed. I figured you two would go thermonuclear in a heartbeat.’
‘No. We’re both too tired to go there. Too much has happened between us.’
‘Hey, he’s still talking to you, even after the guy with the wings. That means something, even if you don’t want to go there.’
It did mean something.
Riley turned her mind back to the maths questions – those were always a safe subject – but her mind remained restless. Part of her wanted a normal life, the other part craved the excitement, the danger that demon trapping amply provided.
I’m so messed up.
*
Peter packed it in about seven, having promised his dad he’d be home for a late dinner. The moment he left, Simi took his place.
‘Is the dude dating anyone?’
‘Who? You mean Peter?’ Riley asked, confused. Simi was known for changing subjects at whim. ‘Not that I know of. Why?’
‘I like him – he’s cool.’
‘He told me you blew him off when he asked you out.’
Simi hitched a shoulder, pushing her multicolour braids in all directions. ‘I do that sometimes, to figure out of the guy’s worth the hassle. He has to meet certain criteria before I go out with him. Good hair is tops. A little weird is good. Some smarts, though that isn’t always required. Did you know some of the best kissers are nerds?’
Riley thought of Simon. ‘Yeah, I did.’
‘So name your poison – you want to talk about this Ori guy or about the hunky trapper?’
Her friend was blunt to a fault. ‘Neither.’
‘Choose one or I will,’ Simi shot back.
Ah crap. ‘Beck.’
‘Good choice,’ her friend replied, nodding her approval. ‘Why are you two dancing around each other?’
Simi didn’t know their history: she and Riley had met after the Beck debacle. Riley gave her a short version of the Princess vs Backwoods Boy saga and their current battle over Ori. Without mentioning her overnight romp with the angel, or the demon hunters.
‘Be right back,’ Simi said, popping up and motoring towards the counter for a refill of her coffee.
She’s like an overactive chihuahua. But underneath that flakiness was a working brain, one of the reasons Riley liked her so much.
Simi surged back in her seat, her cup full again. ‘So let’s recap: you like him. He likes you. Agreed?’
Riley had to grant her that assessment.
‘OK, first thing, apologize for hanging with this Ori guy. Then he can stammer an apology for being a jerk. Then you two can hook up.’
It was not that simple. ‘Beck is . . .’
‘A total pain in the butt,’ Simi retorted. ‘But I know the signs: there’s a really cool guy under that skin, who’ll be totally worth all the hassles. You’re an idiot if you let this one slide, girlfriend.’
Riley’s father had said almost the same thing. ‘But . . .’
‘You’re talking to the hand now,’ Simi said, raising the appropriate body part. Up she popped again, her braids swinging. ‘Let’s go somewhere fun. I want dessert.’
Hurricane Simi propelled Riley out of the coffee shop and into the street before she could protest. Then her friend suddenly gave her a big hug.
‘What’s that all about?’ Riley said, smiling at the unexpected gesture.
‘It felt right,’ Simi replied. She sobered for a fraction of a second. ‘I meant it about Beck. Make it right between you. Trapping is way scary stuff and he might not be around someday. You’ll hate yourself forever if he gets hurt and you never got things fixed between you.’
‘I’ll try.’
‘Excellent! Now let’s go find some ice cream.’
‘You’re not going to mix the four flavours again, are you?’ Riley moaned.
‘Of course. What is life without a little danger?’
Chapter Seventeen
Though Simi had pleaded with unbridled passion over large helpings of ice cream, Riley had passed on the opportunity to go to a club to hear some new band. Instead, she’d gone to her apartment to charge her phone and to collect fresh underwear. Two pairs of panties left and those were the ones with the frilly lace on them. Oh well, at least no one sees them. She loaded up on pills for her cramps. They’d ratcheted down a notch, but they were still there.
As she waited for the spare charger to bring her cellphone back to the land of the living, she used the landline to call Captain Elias Salvatore for her daily check-in. Riley thought of it as her ‘I’m still in Atlanta, I’m staying out of trouble and I’m not partying down with Lucifer and his buds’ status report. As she gave him a sanitized version of her activities there were background noises that sounded a lot like gunshots. She made sure to keep the conversation brief.
Riley had barely reached her car for the trip back to Stewart’s when her phone rang. It was the master himself.
‘Lass? Where are ya?’ he demanded.
‘On the way to your place.’
‘No, get ta Beck’s house as fast as ya can. The lad’s been hurt.’
Riley didn’t hesitate. ‘I’m there.’
Tossing her phone in the backpack, she peeled out of the parking lot.
Riley rolled into Beck’s driveway at high speed, slammed on the brakes and bailed out of the car. She needn’t have bothered – his truck wasn’t there and knocking on the front door received no response.
Oh, God. He’s really bad. They took him to the hospital.
Before she could dial Stewart to find out what was going on, Beck’s pickup pulled in behind her car. Jackson was driving. He climbed out and then went to the passenger side door and opened it.
When Riley joined him, she gasped in shock. Beck had a thin line of blood curling down his face and into his collar. His eyes were pinched shut and his expression reminded her of how her mother looked when she was fighting one of her killer headaches.
‘What happened?’
‘Fell . . .’ Beck said. ‘Hit . . . the ground.’
Ri
ley gave the other trapper a withering look.
‘He refused to go to the hospital,’ Jackson explained. ‘Carmela will be by to check him out.’
‘Let’s get inside,’ Riley muttered.
It took all their efforts to move the wounded trapper on to his porch. Riley dug his keys out of his jeans pocket and fumbled with the lock. The moment the door opened, the alarm started to beep. Riley tapped in the numbers she’d used the last time she’d been here. The alarm kept ticking down the time.
‘What’s the code?’ she called out. Beck stared at her blankly, leaning heavily on Jackson. ‘Beck! Help me here.’
The injured trapper closed his eyes in an effort to concentrate. ‘17 . . . 88.’
That’d be my first guess. She typed it in and the alarm went silent.
With Jackson’s help, the trapper made his way to the couch and flopped down with a deep groan. Then bent over and held his head like it was exploding from within.
Probably is. Riley had a headache of her own and she hadn’t collided with the pavement. As Jackson retrieved Beck’s duffel bag, she made up an ice pack.
‘I gotta go. I need to get back to Demon Central,’ Jackson. ‘Remmers has a lead on those two guys who stole your demon last month. We’re hoping we can find them and figure out who is buying the fiends illegally.’
Riley nodded, juggling the ice pack in her hands to keep her fingers from freezing. ‘Thanks, Jackson.’
‘No sweat. Call if you need me.’ The door shut behind him.
Remembering a lesson learned from her mother’s headaches, Riley found the biggest bowl in the cupboard in case Beck’s stomach decided to weigh in.
Though the bathroom was clean, the medicine cabinet was nearly empty: a box of aspirin and spare razors. No bandages or peroxide. It took her a moment to remember where she’d seen them during one of her other visits. The hall closet had everything she needed. She selected the supplies and hurried back to the front room.
Beck hadn’t moved. She knelt next to him and asked quietly, ‘How are you doing?’
His brown eyes met hers. ‘Hurts like hell.’
‘Worse than a hangover?’
‘Yeah.’
That’s not good.
‘I’d kill for some aspirin,’ he admitted.
Somehow she didn’t think that was a good idea.
Riley had just begun to clean the wound when there was a knock at the front door, then the Guild’s doctor ploughed inside without waiting for an invitation.
Carmela sat next to Beck on the couch, her medical bag on the floor at her feet. ‘My life would be perfect if it weren’t for stubborn, macho trappers,’ she complained. ‘Oh look, here’s another one.’ She pulled out a small flashlight and took hold of his chin. ‘Try not to blink, OK?’
The doctor took her time checking out both his pupils. ‘No dilation. That’s a good thing.’ Then she felt around his head and asked him a bunch of questions, like the day of the week, how old he was and the name of the governor. Then she had him grip her hands. Finally she examined the head wound. ‘OK, the cut is not that bad, which is the only reason you’re not bleeding all over the place. You can stay here unless something changes. If you get worse, you’re in the hospital, no argument.’
Beck sagged against the couch. ‘Thanks. I’ll call ya both in the mornin’ if I need anything.’
Riley and the doctor traded looks.
‘Nice try,’ Riley said. ‘I’m not going anywhere.’
‘Ya don’t need –’ Seconds later Beck needed the big bowl, his body quaking violently. Once he’d stopped heaving, he leaned back. ‘OK, y’all win,’ he said weakly. ‘Ya can stay.’
‘That was too easy,’ Carmela replied. Drawing Riley aside, she explained: ‘Every two hours I need you to do neurological checks. These will determine if something’s going wrong inside his skull. If the test results change, or he gets drowsy or you think something’s not right, get him to the hospital immediately, then call me.’
‘OK . . .’ The doctor gave her the instructions, but they were so involved she had to take notes on a grocery receipt she found on the table.
‘You got all that?’ Carmela asked. ‘If not, we’ll woman-handle him into my car and take him to ER.’
‘I got this.’
The doc knelt next to Beck. ‘No pain pills until I’m sure you don’t have a concussion. It’s going to be a rough night, for both of you. I’ll be back in the morning unless I get a call before then.’
‘Thanks,’ Beck said.
‘You owe me a beer when you’re better. And Thai food.’ The doctor paused. ‘This is the second injury this week, Den. You’re pushing too hard. Back off and give yourself time to heal.’ She rose. ‘And next time, don’t take a civilian on a trapping run. That was damned dumb, no matter what National says.’
Having delivered her broadside, Carmela sailed out of the door, medical bag in hand, off to treat the next casualty.
Civilian? Trappers didn’t take regular folks on the runs. It was too dangerous. Who would want to be where they could get clawed up or eaten? Who would be that crazy . . .
A reporter. Maybe like the one Backwoods Boy was dating.
Now it all made sense: Justine had been on the run. Beck was naturally protective of women; it was hardwired into him. He was that way with Riley and he’d be doubly so with someone he was hooking up with. Something had gone wrong and he’d been the one to get hurt.
Riley knelt next to Beck to ask the question, then changed her mind. He was in too much pain.
If this is the stick chick’s fault, she is so dead.
To keep herself out of ranting mode, she hurried to the restroom with the bowl and dumped it into the toilet, wrinkling her nose at the smell. After rinsing it out, she wet a facecloth with cold water: it’d feel good on his forehead.
As she wrung out the cloth, her hands shook. He could have died tonight. Simi had warned her – maybe she didn’t have that much time to make things right with Beck.
She replaced the bowl at his feet, then began to clean the blood off his face with gentle strokes.
Beck roused. ‘Is the doc gone?’
‘Yes.’ Unless you go really bad on me, which you better not do, mister.
‘I need ya to do somethin’.’ There was a long pause and then he sighed. ‘Lock the door.’
That was a weird request, but she did as he asked.
‘Ya can’t tell anyone about this,’ he said. ‘It won’t look right.’
‘Got that. What can I do for you?’ she asked, her exasperation rising.
‘In the small bedroom. Ya’ll know what I mean.’
As she moved down the hallway, Riley chose the first door she came to, hoping it was the right one. She cautiously pushed it open, then felt around for a light switch, unsure of what she’d find. Who knew with a guy like Beck? The light came on, illuminating a big poster on the far wall. A beautiful blonde woman, totally clothed, beamed a wholesome smile in Riley’s direction. It was Taylor Swift, Beck’s favourite country western singer.
‘You’re such a fanboy,’ Riley said, shaking her head. She half expected a shrine underneath the poster, but instead there was a desk with a laptop computer, a chequebook and a stack of what looked like bills. As she studied the space, movement in the corner of the room caught her notice. She stared, the sight taking a few seconds to register.
Something small and furry sat inside a huge cage on the floor, something that was really cute.
‘Oh, wow!’ Riley said, breaking out in a wide smile. She knelt in front of a rabbit cage so big it could have housed at least three bunnies. The metal alone would have been way expensive, and the resident even had a special floor mat.
Beck has a rabbit? Riley would have expected a dog, a poisonous snake or maybe a tarantula to go with his tough-guy image, not something fluffy and adorable.
It was a small bunny, maybe all of two pounds, with gorgeous fawn-coloured fur and expressive dark eyes. The critter stu
died her, nose twitching.
‘You want to come out?’
The bunny executed an energetic bounce, which Riley took as a yes. She bent over the enclosure and removed the occupant as carefully as possible. When she was a kid, she’d played with the one at school, though its teeth and claws had always scared her. Not now. Not after tangling with a Three.
When she returned to the living room, she found Beck sitting up, the icepack on the back of his neck. He looked a bit better, which gave her hope that maybe nothing was going wrong in that brain of his.
After she set the rabbit on the couch, it promptly hopped over and settled next to him like it knew exactly what he wanted. Beck scratched it, then looked up at her, eyes wary.
‘Don’t start,’ he warned.
‘What?’ she said, grinning. ‘I’m sure all the big, bad trappers have a bun-bun in their house.’
His cheeks spotted crimson. ‘She’s not mine, not really.’
‘Then why is she here?’
He sighed. ‘I was hookin’ up with this girl . . . and she was movin’ away and she asked me to turn Rennie loose in one of the parks.’ He sucked in a deep breath. ‘I thought that wouldn’t be right because somethin’ would eat her so I . . . never got around to it.’
In Beck’s world, the longer the explanation the more he was embarrassed.
‘Ya can’t tell any of the trappers,’ he said, genuinely worried now. ‘None of them.’
That was the truth: the others would give him tons of grief over this little bundle of cuddly fur. Wouldn’t be guy enough for them.
‘Did the hunters see her?’
‘No. She was at the neighbour’s that mornin’. Mrs Merton watches over her sometimes.’
That’s why he was so hot to get home last night. He was worried about his rabbit.
‘Did Dad know?’ Beck slowly nodded, a tremendous effort given his injury. ‘Don’t worry, we’ll keep it our secret,’ she said.
He sagged in relief. This really did mean a lot to him.
‘Why name her Rennie?’
‘It’s Renwick,’ he said. ‘I shortened it.’
Renwick? Now there’s a name. ‘Why keep a bunny?’
