The Demon Trappers 3: Forgiven

by Jana Oliver

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Beck finished off his supper of steak and eggs in record time. He actually felt pretty good for all the abuse his body had taken over the last few days. For once he’d actually followed most of the doctor’s advice and it had worked. The dull throb in his shoulder told him it was about time for more pain pills, but he’d wait until his meeting with Justine was at an end. He needed a clear head for that.

  He glanced at his phone, checking the time: the reporter was late. That wasn’t like her, but then Justine had said she had a meeting with the mayor right before this.

  As he sipped his coffee, he recalled his visit with Paul this morning. It’d been rough for both of them and not only because he felt so much guilt for not saving his friend. The master was hiding the truth from him.

  Why won’t ya tell me who summoned ya? Why is it such a damned big deal? Beck had even promised not to kill the necro who did it, but Paul wouldn’t budge.

  ‘Not the right time,’ his friend had said. So that’s the way they’d left it.

  Beck hadn’t mentioned his visit to Riley because he saw no point. Paul would the next time she saw him.

  After another long sip of coffee, and considerable thought, he talked himself into making a call he’d been avoiding since the moment Paul had died in Demon Central. It was time Riley’s aunt in Fargo knew the girl was on her own. As far as he could tell, Esther Henley was Riley closest relation, the sister to the girl’s mom. He also knew some of the family history: Esther had disliked Paul from the start, beginning the night he’d started dating her sister. Once Miriam died, Esther had pretty much ignored the remaining Blackthornes.

  No choice. The woman needed to know of Riley’s situation. What Aunt Esther did after that was on her head. Beck knew it’d been a low stunt digging through Riley’s cellphone to find the phone number, especially when she hadn’t given him permission, but she’d never make the call. Or so he kept telling himself.

  Just get it done. He dialled the number and waited as the waitress refilled his coffee.

  ‘The number you have dialled is no longer in service,’ an automated voice announced.

  Oh, hell, ya gotta be jokin’. He disconnected the call, then tried it again in case he’d dialled wrong. Same message. All that hassle and the girl’s aunt was AWOL? To cover all his bases, he dialled directory assistance and learned there was no listing for Esther Henley in snow-bound Fargo. Apparently the woman had found a warmer place to live and not bothered to tell either her brother-in-law or her niece.

  Though Beck wasn’t sure why, part of him was pleased at the news.

  There was a swish of fabric as Justine slid into the bench seat opposite him. The reporter was dressed in a pale cream pantsuit that set off her brilliant red hair and deep emerald eyes. As usual, she looked perfect. As she settled her belongings on the table, her perfume drifted across to him.

  The waitress poured her coffee and then left them alone after Justine refused the menu.

  ‘Sorry I’m late,’ she said.

  Beck glanced at the newspaper on the table, the one with his photo. He jabbed a finger at it. ‘Who told ya Riley’s a jinx?’

  Justine shook her head. ‘I do not reveal my sources.’

  ‘Well, it’s a lie. She’s a damned good trapper.’

  ‘Then why did the hunter’s mission go wrong today?’ Justine asked. ‘Why didn’t they kill the demons? What really happened in that building?’

  Apparently the hunters had closed ranks and Justine wasn’t getting her usual flow of info; she was hoping Beck would fill in the missing pieces.

  ‘No comment,’ he said.

  A slight frown creased her forehead. ‘Perhaps I should ask questions you will answer.’

  ‘Not gonna be many of those now,’ he said coldly.

  Her eyes flared. ‘Why didn’t you tell me your mother was dying?’

  Beck nearly dropped his coffee. ‘What?’

  ‘Your mother. She is gravely ill and you never said a thing to me.’

  ‘How do ya know that?’ he demanded.

  ‘I have been researching you for the next article,’ Justine replied. ‘I spoke with her on the telephone. She is quite . . . bitter. No wonder your life has been so hard.’

  Beck didn’t need her pity. He needed her to back off.

  ‘Ya had no right diggin’ into my life,’ he said, trying to keep his voice down. How dare the woman do this to him? Sure, she was a reporter and it was her job, but there were lines you didn’t cross, not with people you cared about. ‘Besides, Sadie’s on pain killers. Ya can’t believe half of what she says.’

  ‘She is not my only source.’ Justine picked up her coffee cup, the expression on her face much like a child who’d found a secret stash of candy bars. ‘I spoke on the telephone with a few of your neighbours in Sadlersville. You appear to have quite a reputation, Beck.’

  Oh, sweet Jesus. What had they told her? Was this what Donovan was warnin’ me about? He dropped his voice to a low growl. ‘I do not want my personal life in the papers.’

  ‘Grow up,’ Justine shot back. ‘People want to read a story like yours. A trapper from a broken home with a dying mother who has no notion of who his father is? That’s award-winning material. It sells papers. It helps pay my bills.’

  Beck’s muscles bunched. ‘Ya forget, it’s my life.’

  ‘You are a public figure now. It’s a great story, Beck – the small-town boy who pulls himself out of poverty and becomes a war hero. Will he succeed or drown in alcohol like his prostitute mother?’ She leaned forward, eager. ‘Why haven’t you visited her? I would if my mother was dying.’

  ‘I’m warnin’ ya, Justine, back the hell off!’ he said through gritted teeth. If she keeps diggin’ . . .

  Her eyes narrowed. ‘I do not respond to threats, Beck.’

  ‘I thought we had somethin’ goin’ here.’

  ‘We do, but it goes both ways. You receive information about the hunters from me and I get an award-winning story from you. Quid pro quo.’

  He had no idea what that meant, but he suspected he was the one who would come out of it on the short end of the stick.

  Riley was right. She’s just usin’ me.

  ‘I’m askin’ ya all polite. Don’t listen to those old gossips down south.’

  ‘Then tell me your side of the story,’ Justine urged. ‘Have your say for a change.’

  I trusted you. I should have known better. Beck shook his head. ‘We’re done here.’

  ‘There is no reason to be this way.’

  ‘We. Are. Done,’ he repeated. ‘In bed and every other way.’

  ‘I see,’ Justine said, glowering at him. ‘I thought you’d be more professional about this.’ When she rose, he didn’t bother to do the same. This wasn’t a lady – this was a predator in expensive clothes.

  ‘Have no fear, Beck – soon I will know everything about you and then I will tell your story to the world,’ she retorted. ‘I will make you famous, whether you want it or not.’

  That was his worst nightmare.

  *

  Beck took his outrage to his house, away from anyone who might see him. The way he felt wasn’t healthy. It wanted him to go to the closest bar and get hammered and then beat the hell out of someone. Anyone. That wouldn’t do a thing for his Justine problem. If anything, it’d reinforce her pack of lies.

  Since the day Paul had challenged him to become something better, Beck had done his damndest to do just that. He’d gone into the Army, learned some discipline. Learned that life is precious in a world where death came calling without any warning. When he’d returned to Atlanta, Paul had been there to take the reins, teach him how to trap, how to respect himself as someone more than the illegitimate son of a drunk. Even Paul didn’t know all his secrets.

  There was already talk at the National Guild about restricting who could become a master. It wouldn’t be enough that you took down one of the higher level fiends and completed the tests. Th
ey were discussing intensive background checks, interviews with family members and the like. Beck’s past could ruin his future.

  What could he do? Go to Stewart? Lay all his sins on the table?

  ‘No, he’ll boot me out before the Guild does.’ The events from that summer when he was fifteen wouldn’t leave Stewart any other choice.

  When his phone began to buzz, he answered it immediately. It was the Scotsman.

  ‘One of the necromancers came for Paul this afternoon,’ Stewart announced. ‘Mort had no choice but ta let him go.’

  ‘Which necromancer?’ Beck asked coldly.

  ‘Their High Lord Ozymandias. Yer not goin’ after him, lad. If ya try, I’ll personally throw ya out the Guild, providin’ yer still alive. Ya ken?’

  Beck knew a direct order when he heard it, even though it chafed him.

  ‘Yes, sir.’ I’ll get that bastard someday. ‘How’s Riley takin’ it?’

  ‘Poorly. She was there when it went down.’

  ‘Oh, God. Does she need me to come over?’

  ‘No need. She’s gone ta bed early and that’s the best place for her. One other thing – that article in the paper? From this point on yer ta have no contact with Miss Armando. She’s trouble.’

  Amen to that. ‘Already done, sir.’

  ‘Good. We’ve got a meetin’ with the Summoners’ Society tomorrow evenin’. Ya need ta be there.’

  ‘I can’t wait,’ Beck said, clenching and unclenching his free fist.

  The moment the master hung up, Beck slammed that fist into the closest wall. Once for Justine. Once for Paul. All it did was make his hand hurt and put a dent in the wallboard.

  Stupid.

  Slinging his trapping bag on to his shoulder, Beck headed out of the door. It was time to do his job, at least until they took it away from him.

  *

  Ori was strangely silent at dawn. That creeped Riley out more than him shouting at her. Unable to sleep any longer – it’d been a fitful night – she slogged downstairs to the library and began her homework. The maths, the history, the sociology seemed useless now, but at least it kept her mind off her kidnapped dad.

  Riley was rousted out of her studies at nine by the housekeeper who insisted on feeding her up. She had no appetite, but she did what she could to the meal or the woman would have fretted about her health. After showering, she returned to the library and went back to work. After she’d finished the basic research on Sartael and his role in Hell, Riley found a book about the history of demon trapping written by one of Stewart’s ancestors in the early nineteen century.

  The history of demons and their role in the history of mankind made for lengthy but interesting reading. The consensus was that the demons had first appeared when Adam and Eve were shown the door out of Eden. As mankind grew more sophisticated, so did the Hellspawn. As humans built city states, the demons were right there with them, exploiting every weakness. As technology evolved, so did the Hellspawn. The invention of computers led to the appearance of the Techno-Fiends and so forth. As humans grew in number, so did the role of Lucifer’s minions, back and forth across the ages.

  When the chapter ended, Riley stretched and then glanced at the cellphone to check the time and froze. Oh crap! I can’t be late for class.

  The last thing she needed was detention.

  *

  Her teacher, Mrs Haggerty, had already summoned the students into the defunct Starbucks that served as their classroom. Riley hurried in and dropped her backpack near the small table that was her desk. There was a frown of disapproval from her teacher, but no public humiliation or detention.

  As Riley settled into her chair, she inhaled deeply to savour the lingering aroma of fresh-ground coffee. There was none, of course, but the building would always retain that smell. She wasn’t complaining: with the budget cuts she could be back in an abandoned grocery that had smelt way worse.

  Peter sat to her right. He mouthed a greeting and she nodded back. The girl in front of her, Brandy, wasn’t actually a friend, but not an enemy either. Just someone who tolerated Riley as long as she seemed useful.

  Her long brown hair kept swishing across Riley’s desk and her notebook. Tempting as it was to tie something to it and see if Brandy ever noticed, Riley decided not to go there. That would only make the offending party consider retaliation.

  Riley scooted her desk back with a noticeable squeak.

  ‘Mute or turn off those phones, people,’ Mrs Haggerty warned.

  The moment Riley turned hers to silent, it vibrated, as if taunting her. She surreptitiously checked the incoming text, her actions partially hidden by her notebook. Then swore under her breath. The text was from Allan, her ex-boyfriend, who sat only a few desks away.

  Hang with me after class?

  Riley deleted the text with extreme prejudice, then forced herself not to look in his direction. She’d dated Allan a couple years before and had accumulated a lifetime of experiences, all in one punch.

  How did he get my number?

  Peter wouldn’t have given it up, even under extreme torture. That left Brandy or one of her girl pack. The phone vibrated again, but this time Riley ignored it, dropping it into her backpack. When Peter shot her a questioning look, she frowned in response.

  Once the maths homework had been corrected, Mrs Haggerty moved on to another lengthy lecture about the Civil War. It would have been interesting if Riley hadn’t grown up with a dad devoted to the subject. Some of her earliest memories were of her teacher father surrounded by books and campaign maps, muttering about General McClellan’s tactics or the Battle of Kennesaw.

  Only one more week of this. Then the class would move on to some other dark period of American history.

  As class dragged on, she came to realize that Allan had spent most of his time staring at her. That couldn’t be good news.

  He won’t try anything, not in front of anyone. She just had to make sure she wasn’t on her own around him.

  After school, as she and Peter filed out into the parking lot, Brandy and her friends were chattering about some music video.

  Peter shot her a glance. ‘You’re acting weird. You OK?’ he asked.

  ‘No. Life sucks. One of the necros stole Dad away from Mort.’

  He stopped dead in his tracks. ‘God, I’m sorry. Any chance you can get him back?’

  ‘Don’t know. I’m meeting with the necros in an hour. Maybe they’ll take pity on a poor orphan and do the right thing.’

  ‘I wouldn’t count on it.’ His hand dived into his jacket pocket and extracted the demon-claw pendant. He held it out. ‘Figured you’d want this back.’

  ‘Thanks for keeping it safe.’ Riley hid it underneath her shirt. Then she tugged her friend away from the other students so nobody would hear what she was about to ask. She already had a reputation for being odd.

  ‘How do you kill a zombie?’ she asked.

  Peter stared at her for a second, then smirked. ‘Oh come on, everybody knows how to kill a revenant.’

  ‘Not me. I’m the one who doesn’t like scary movies, remember?’

  ‘You won’t watch a horror flick, but you’ll live in one. Go figure.’

  ‘Peter,’ she warned. ‘Out with it.’

  ‘The best way is to cut off its head,’ he said solemnly.

  ‘I’ll need a sword for that,’ Riley mused. Fortunately, Stewart had a wall full of them in his office.

  ‘Adding zombie hunter to your skills?’ Peter asked, smirking. He had no idea that’s exactly what was about to happen.

  She looked around to ensure no one was close. ‘There are undead demons out there now. Bullets won’t kill them. That’s why I want to know.’

  For a second Peter must have thought she was joking, then his smile eroded away.

  ‘You know, I hear Illinois is really pretty this time of year. I could go visit my wacked-out mom, hang with the little bros. Get out of town, if you know what I mean.’

  ‘I’d do just that
if you can, Peter.’

  ‘For once I wish you were lying.’ He sighed. ‘If it was me, I’d use a chainsaw on the things,’ he said, warming to the subject of zombie decimation. ‘Or a machete. You don’t need gasoline for that. Maybe a guillotine might work.’

  Riley was beginning to regret her question, given Peter’s gory enthusiasm.

  ‘What are you talking about?’ Brandy asked, inserting herself into the conversation as if it was all about her. For once, Riley actually appreciated Brandy and her entourage butting in. They were all in black this afternoon – shirts, skirts and boots. She could imagine the flurry of text messages that had flown back and forth to coordinate that fashion statement.

  ‘We’re discussing zombies and how to kill them,’ Peter replied matter-of-factly. ‘Got any suggestions?’

  ‘Yuck,’ the girl replied, shuddering. ‘Too messy.’

  Time to change the subject. ‘Why did you give Allan my number?’ Riley demanded. ‘Are you like stupid or something?’

  Brandy looked confused. ‘He said you guys used to date so I didn’t think it was any big deal.’

  ‘The key words there are “used to”.’

  ‘He seems OK to me. Maybe a little creepy, but not too bad.’

  At least Brandy didn’t know where she lived. The last thing she needed was for Allan to stake out her place. Or Stewart’s, for that matter.

  ‘Incoming lurker,’ Peter announced, shooting a glance over Riley’s shoulder.

  ‘Hey, Riley, I sent you a couple texts,’ her ex said. He made sure to stand too close for comfort, but she refused to retreat. His brown hair was pretty much like it’d been when they’d dated, but he’d grown taller and more muscular over the last two years, bulk he didn’t need because he already knew how to bully people.

  ‘I saw them. And deleted them.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘You know why. Don’t text me. Don’t call me. Don’t act as if I exist.’

  ‘I told you I was sorry.’

  Like I believe you.

  Brandy was frowning now. ‘What’s going on?’