The Demon Trappers 3: Forgiven

by Jana Oliver

  Show? Still confused, she did as he asked, tugging her coat closer for warmth. When he joined her, he dutifully tucked the second blanket round them, which put her in close proximity to him, close enough to smell his aftershave and see the short blond stubble on his chin.

  ‘What am I supposed to be doing?’ she asked.

  ‘It’ll be a while. Just wait,’ he said. Below them cars and people went by, but up here was another world. Quieter. Like they were looking down from Heaven and watching all the little people scramble around. As if the world wasn’t bent on destroying everyone she loved.

  The silence split open her grief. Riley closed her eyes, trying to seal it shut, but it broke through in a choked sob. At the sound, Beck’s arms went round her, pulling her close.

  ‘Go on, ya’ve earned the right,’ he said. ‘Hell, I’d do the same if I could.’

  The tears came in unrelenting torrents. Riley wept until there was no more to give. When she finally looked up, Beck’s eyes were moist. She offered him a tissue, but he shook his head.

  ‘Guys don’t use those,’ he said, trying hard to sound tough.

  ‘I won’t tell anyone.’

  He took one from her, but didn’t wipe his eyes.

  Nestled against him, Riley blew her nose. ‘Talk to me, Beck. Talk to me about anything but necromancers, dead fathers and weird demons. I want some normal for a change. I want to stop hurting inside.’

  He sighed in her ear. ‘So do I, girl.’

  Beck thought for a time, as if he had to struggle for a topic that was safe. ‘Did . . . you see that computer program I got? It was on my desk.’

  Riley nodded, though she had no idea why he’d thought of that subject. ‘Is it helping you?’

  ‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘I’m readin’ better. I listen to it when I have time.’ The corners of his mouth tugged into a smile. ‘Would ya . . . you be willin’ to help me?’

  It would be her way of honouring her father’s legacy. ‘Sure, I’d be happy to, Beck.’ Riley blinked – something was wrong with what he’d said. ‘“You”? What happened to “ya”?’

  Beck took a slow and deliberate breath. ‘I’ve been workin’ on how I talk.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I’m proud to be a Georgia boy and that’s never gonna change. But . . .’ He swiped a hand through his hair, always a sign he was agitated. ‘Stewart says he wants to take me over to Scotland and have me meet the masters in the International Guild.’

  ‘Wow!’ said Riley, shifting so suddenly the blanket slid off her shoulders. ‘That’s a big deal, Beck. He wouldn’t do that if he didn’t think you were amazing.’

  ‘I don’t know about that,’ he hedged, ‘but I want to do the man proud. I don’t want to sound like a hick.’

  ‘It’s just the way you speak.’

  ‘Yeah, well, people judge ya . . . you just the same.’ He paused, clearly planning out the next sentence. ‘You call me Backwoods Boy. That’s not because I sound . . . educated.’ The Southern drawl was still there, but smoother now, like sinfully rich chocolate.

  ‘Backwoods Boy is just a nickname,’ Riley replied. ‘You call me Princess and I don’t live in a castle.’

  ‘I know. It’s just I’ve been listenin’ to the tapes and I find myself changin’ how I talk. I don’t think that’s a bad thing.’

  There was more here than Stewart and his plans for Beck’s future with the Guild. ‘Did Justine say something to you about this?’

  He nodded. ‘She thinks I sound quaint. I don’t want that. I want folks to take me seriously.’

  Who does the stick chick think she is? Then again, if he was willing to make this big a change, maybe he was more serious about the reporter than Riley realized.

  What do you see in her?

  Someone had to be on Beck’s side. ‘Don’t let anyone tell you how you should talk or act or any of that. Be yourself. That’s cool enough.’

  ‘Thanks, I will,’ he said. ‘I’ve seen how it works. I dated this girl in the Army. Her name was Caitlin. She was from North Carolina, but I never knew it until she told me. We were . . . close.’

  The way he spoke, it was more than just a hook-up kind of thing. From his melancholy expression, she decided she’d best not ask for any details.

  ‘How about changing that drawl to a British accent?’ Riley suggested. ‘Or a Scottish one like Stewart’s?’ she said, waggling her eyebrows. ‘That’d be sexy cool.’

  ‘Don’t start with me, girl,’ he said.

  A siren blared into existence somewhere nearby, then faded into the distance.

  The oppressive sadness began to lift. Beck was helping her find her way through the darkness. For a brief moment, she wished they could be this close all the time.

  When Riley nestled up next to him again, he thoughtfully rearranged the blanket to keep her warm.

  ‘Can I ask you something?’ she said. He nodded. Unwilling to admit she’d snooped in Beck’s personal possessions, she framed the question carefully. ‘Dad said you got some medals in the Army. Why don’t you have them out where people can see them?’

  He was shaking his head before she finished the question. ‘I know some folks believe they’re real important, but all I can think of is the guys who didn’t make it back. Whenever I look at those things, I see their faces and what kind of lives they might have had if I’d saved them. I didn’t do enough to make that happen, so I can’t act like the medals make up for that.’

  That’s why he sounds so old sometimes. ‘You can’t be responsible for everyone in this world,’ she said.

  His arm tightened round her possessively. ‘I know.’ He peered out at the building beyond. ‘Look! It’s show time,’ he said. ‘See?’

  What am I looking at?

  The only difference was that the building across from them had a row of lights now, a single floor among the countless levels. Then another floor lit up and another, like a Christmas tree coming to life one bulb at a time. Other lights flicked on as the twilight gained supremacy. Some were bright white, others golden yellow – the battered city transitioning from day to night.

  ‘Watch the top of the Bank of America buildin’,’ Beck said, full of anticipation. She turned in that direction, studying the structure. It had a unique point at the top that made it look like a huge mechanical pencil.

  ‘Any time now. Throw that switch!’ Beck coaxed.

  His enthusiasm was catching. ‘Come on! You know you want to!’

  As if Beck had done the deed himself, the top of the structure began to glow like the filaments in a massive light bulb.

  ‘Ohhh, that’s so cool,’ Riley said, captivated by the beacon of light she’d always taken for granted. ‘I’ve never seen it come on before.’

  ‘That’s why I climb up here whenever things are botherin’ me. I watch the lights come on, and sometimes, if I’m up here at dawn, I watch them go off. It helps me remember I’m part of somethin’ bigger, that all those folks down there need my help and that I can’t let them down.’

  There are so many layers to this guy. You could spend forever with him and never uncover them all.

  ‘Thanks for bringing me up here. It’s really neat.’

  ‘Did it help?’

  She nodded. ‘I don’t feel so alone any more.’ It was more him than the lights, but he didn’t need to know that.

  Beck cleared his throat. ‘Can I ask you somethin’ too?’

  It was only fair. ‘Sure, as long as it’s not about the lying angel.’

  Beck grunted his agreement. ‘Paul sold his soul for you, didn’t he?’

  Riley turned towards him, astonished. ‘How did you know?’

  Beck adjusted the blanket again. ‘I just figured it out. That’s what a man should do for his daughter. Or his woman.’ He looked her straight in the eyes. ‘I’d do it for you if it kept ya safe,’ he said tenderly.

  He’d go to Hell for me. In that instant, Riley knew she’d do the same for him.

  Suddenly unc
omfortable by how intimate they’d become, she disentangled herself and went to lean against the railing. The chill wind pushed past her, on its way to wherever. Beck joined her at the rail, wrapping the blanket round her.

  Riley owed him so much, but most of all she owed him an apology.

  ‘I’m really sorry about Ori,’ she said. ‘I hurt you and I feel bad about that. It wasn’t right, not after everything you did for me. I was just . . . lonely.’

  Beck moved closer and touched her cheek with his fingers. They were rough with callouses, but surprisingly gentle. ‘I was too. That’s why I went with Justine. I’m sorry.’

  Am I dreaming? Pinching herself would mean she’d have to move and that wasn’t on the cards.

  Inevitably they had drifted towards each other, drawn by something stronger than either one of them could voice. The closer they came, the stronger the pull. Like this moment had been destined.

  He’s going to kiss me. Her heart began to beat faster. She’d dreamed of this moment, fantasized about how wonderful it would be. Now it was happening.

  Let it be awesome.

  Beck was so close all she could see was his eyes. In a fleeting moment she thought she could peer deep into his unguarded soul.

  His hand shook where it touched her cheek. He’s nervous. She was too. Trying to let him know this was all right, Riley put her hand over his. Closing her own eyes, she waiting for their lips to touch.

  On the street below, a cop car flew by, siren wailing.

  Riley could feel his breath in her hair now, smell his aftershave. She inhaled deeply, memorizing his scent. The faint touch of his lips came a second before the sharp blast of an air horn. Startled, they jumped apart, the tender interlude ruined.

  From the shocked expression on Beck’s face, she saw he knew it too, and he stepped further away as if she presented too much temptation. Shaking his head, he murmured. ‘Sorry, I shouldn’t have done that. I had no right.’

  Before she could tell him that he had every right, his cellphone rang. As he took the call, Riley glowered down at the city that seemed determined to screw up her life.

  Damn! One little kiss? What would it have hurt?

  A pair of black vans sped round the corner, then a third. All had the demon hunter insignia.

  Beck was facing west now, towards Centennial Park. ‘We’ll be there.’

  Before she could ask what was going on, he’d snatched up the blankets and headed towards the exit. He had his trapper face on now, no hint of the nervous young man who’d almost kissed her.

  ‘What’s happening?’ she called out as he wrenched the door open.

  ‘There’s demons in the market,’ he replied. ‘They’re tearin’ everythin’ to hell.’

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  When they reached his truck, Beck tossed the blankets on the seat, then turned towards her. ‘Yer not gonna stay out of this, are ya?’ he asked, frowning.

  ‘Would you?’ she said, adjusting the backpack on her shoulders.

  ‘No.’ He dug around behind the seat and came up with his spare steel pipe. ‘Use it wisely.’

  ‘Thanks, Yoda.’

  He frowned and took off towards the market. For such a solidly built guy, he could move fast. As she jogged, the backpack kept thumping into her kidneys, but there was no time to adjust it. Streams of people fled towards them. Some had obvious wounds and others were hysterical. One man doused himself with a bottle of water to extinguish his smouldering clothes.

  The market itself was a sea of colourful tents and campers, all strung with lights to allow sales to continue late into the night. Now only chaos was shopping here. Gunfire echoed off nearby buildings, either from the hunters or vendors who were armed.

  Beck spied a Three near a barbecue tent, gnawing on a roasted goat hanging from the spit. The shop’s owner kept trying to shoo it away with a tablecloth, yelling in agitated Spanish.

  ‘Get away from it!’ Beck shouted at the man. The demon turned at the sound of his voice and howled. Leaving its meal behind, it careened towards the trapper, forcing him to take to his heels. As he ran, Beck kept calling out to the thing, leading it away from Riley and the others.

  You’re going to get yourself killed.

  Another Three scrambled across an open area, then leaped a table to take a man down. His buddy hit the fiend hard on the head with a tent pole, dazing it, then dragged his wounded friend out of reach. When he returned with a revolver, he put a single shot into the demon’s head. Pleased, he turned his back on it.

  ‘Look out!’ Riley shouted, but it was too late. The demon rose and cut him down with its razor-sharp claws.

  Bullets were useless today. These Hellspawn weren’t the dying kind.

  Peter’s litany of zombie-killing techniques tumbled through her mind. It took a while for her to orient herself; the scene was so disjointed it was hard to remember where the sword vendor had his tent. Riley kept moving at a jog, dodging panicky people and demons on the prowl. One of the Hellspawn had a huge patch of bleached white fur on its neck. She knew that one personally – it was the Three that had nearly killed her at Demon Central.

  Riley hurried past a shop with toppled bookshelves. Past the Deader tent. All of the reanimates were gone, the sides of the canvas slashed. She jogged by a burning tent and the soft pop, pop, pop of custom-designed candles crackling in the flames.

  It was dark enough for the shadows to play tricks on her, looking like demons where there were none. Riley finally found the one she wanted. It was a popular location as the owner was handing out swords to anyone who would take them, not expecting payment. With a ‘thanks’, she grabbed one that looked like it might do the job, then headed out to find Beck.

  Müller and the captain of the hunters ran past her, the leader shouting orders into his radio as he coordinated the attack. Salvatore frowned at her, but kept moving.

  No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t stay out of trouble.

  Riley finally found Beck hemmed in by a Three near a small travel trailer that had seen better days. He was guarding the door, a woman and two small children huddling inside the camper.

  Not a hero, huh?

  ‘Beck!’ she called, holding up the sword. He didn’t hear her, too focused on the teeth and claws in front of him. ‘Hey, Backwoods Boy!’ That got his attention. Cautiously moving closer, she tossed the blade so it landed near his feet, barely missing one of his boots. In one swift movement he threw the pipe at the Three to distract it, picked up the sword and was back in a fighting stance in an instant. When the demon lunged, he struck at it, cutting a slice from its shoulder. When the second cut did more damage, the demon howled in rage.

  ‘Cut off its head!’ she shouted, slicing a thumb across her throat for emphasis.

  With a nod to say he’d got the message, the third sweeping slice delivered the death blow as the demon’s skull ceased to be part of its body. Both portions tumbled on to the Georgia clay . . . and stayed down.

  Peter had been right.

  ‘Yes!’ Beck crowed, pumping his fist into the air. ‘That rocks!’ Then he charged off in search of another Three to decapitate.

  Riley sighed to herself. ‘I’ve created a monster.’

  Knowing she really wasn’t a match for a demon right now, she went from tent to tent telling those inside how to stop the slaughter. Some thought she was crazy, but a few of the merchants took her seriously.

  Riley watched in fascinated horror as the bookshop owner bashed a Three over the head with a shovel. When it hit the ground, another stall owner joined in, and between the two of them they savagely decapitated the fiend. When it didn’t rise from the dead, the men shouted their victory and hurried after another demon.

  The tide slowly began to turn in favour of the humans. Some of the shop owners had died from claws or teeth, but the rest of them weren’t giving up.

  As Riley made her way through the tent city and the damaged trailers, she stopped to help the injured. There wasn’t much
she could do but offer sympathy, or hold down a compress to slow the bleeding. Most of the injured had claw marks and those would be infected very soon if not treated properly.

  As she held a young boy’s hand, she instructed his father to pour Holy Water on to the child’s leg wound. The boy cried out in pain the moment the liquid hit it.

  ‘It’s supposed to do that. You’ll be OK,’ she said.

  ‘How do you know?’ he demanded, fat tears rolling down his face.

  ‘Because I’m a demon trapper,’ she said, feeling pride at being able to say that.

  ‘Where the hell were you? Why didn’t you stop them?’ the child’s father demanded, his worry shifting to anger now that he had a viable target.

  Riley’s pride faded. ‘We’re trying.’ She pointed at the bottle of the sacred liquid. ‘That’s the good stuff. Keep using it on his leg every two hours. It’ll heal him.’

  She moved on down the line, testing every bottle of Holy Water she found. Running a wet finger over the label told her if it was fake or real. She was tempted to use the demon claw to test the liquid, but given the mood of the survivors that might not have been a smart idea. If the Holy Water proved to be fake, she poured the liquid on to the ground and explained why. Not everyone believed her.

  ‘What the hell are you doin’?’ one man complained. ‘I need that for my buddy. The stuff’s supposed to cure him.’

  His buddy had a gaping stomach wound and wasn’t going to be around for long if his friend kept treating him with tap water. ‘Take him to the hospital. They’ll have real Holy Water there. This stuff is fake. It will kill him.’

  ‘You’re lying.’

  ‘No,’ Riley said, shoving the empty quart bottle into the guy’s hands. ‘I’m not. Get him out of here! Now!’

  The guy actually backed off. ‘OK, don’t go psycho on me, girl.’

  ‘Sorry.’

  When a team of paramedics trotted by, followed by a policeman, Riley realized the battle was over. Looking back into the heart of the market was like seeing an open wound. There were cries and shouts and the sound of a fire engine in the distance.