by Jana Oliver
Riley aimed for the one place that might offer sanctuary. To her relief the witches’ tent was intact. Three of the practitioners were fanned out in a semi-circle. They all had some weapon in hand, including her friend Ayden, who held a sword like she knew what to do with it. Then Riley saw a body near the tent. It was a witch, an older one, and she was cradled in the arms of a weeping girl.
Not even the magic users were safe.
‘I figured you had to be in this hell somewhere,’ Ayden said solemnly.
Riley’s eyes were still caught by the dead woman. ‘I sorry. I didn’t think . . .’
‘That witches don’t get hurt and die? We’re as mortal as you trappers. At least Elspeth went quick. She’s in the Summerlands now and . . .’ Ayden blinked away tears. ‘Come on, let’s see what we can do for the living.’ She tossed her sword to one of the others and headed out into the market.
Riley lost track of time as she and the witch made the rounds. A few people wouldn’t let her friend near them. Harsh words came their way, but Ayden held her tongue.
‘They need a scapegoat,’ she explained as they moved on after a man called them names. ‘Soon it’ll be all over the city that we summoned the demons in the first place.’
The witch veered towards where one of the fiends lay sprawled in the dirt. It was in multiple pieces, evidence of the crowd’s fury. Ayden knelt and then hovered her hand in the air above the thing’s severed head. She closed her eyes, murmuring something. A frown came next. Then she went totally still. Riley gasped.
The point of a sword rested against the back of Ayden’s neck.
‘Don’t you think it killed enough folks today, witch?’ a man growled. His shirt was scorched and he had a wicked burn on his cheek. He appeared to be one of the vendors, a money bag tied round his waist. ‘You trying to raise it from the dead again?’
‘Why would I want to do that?’ Ayden replied evenly.
His sword arm shook in rage. ‘Because you’re one of Hell’s own.’
Beck came out of nowhere, his face sweaty and jacket smeared in demon blood. ‘Ya know, it’s been a bitch of a day,’ he said. ‘Let’s not make it any worse, OK?’
‘Why the hell do you care?’ the man asked, glaring at the trapper.
‘Because yer about to make a mistake that’s gonna cost ya yer life,’ Beck said, casually wiping the blade clean on his jeans. ‘This lady is not a threat.’
‘I don’t see any of their kind bleeding.’
‘I’m sure the dead witch at their tent might disagree,’ Riley retorted.
The guy hesitated. ‘You trappers are as bad as these damned witches. I should kill both of you right here and now.’
It might have got uglier if Captain Salvatore and two of his men hadn’t pushed through the crowd and joined them.
The leader hunter assessed the situation immediately. ‘Why do you have this woman at sword point?’ He was using the don’t screw me, I’ve had a really bad night kind of voice.
‘This witch was trying to call the demon back to life. I saw it myself,’ the man reported. ‘I want you to arrest her or something. Burn her, maybe.’
Ayden’s mouth flattened in a thin line.
‘The Church is long past that horror,’ Salvatore scolded. ‘Step back and put the sword down.’
‘But she—’
‘Is not your problem,’ Salvatore replied. He snapped his fingers and his escort flanked their captain in one step, hands on their weapons.
The vendor shook his head in disgust, but the sword fell from his fingers. ‘The trappers and the witches are fooling all of you.’ Then he marched away in disgust.
Ayden rose and dusted off her skirt. ‘Thank you,’ she said.
‘You’re welcome.’ Salvatore rubbed his neck pensively as he keyed his radio. ‘This is Team Gabriel. I need four men to spread out through the market to keep an eye out for trouble.’ The order was acknowledged immediately.
The captain addressed his escort. ‘Müller, you and Tamson take a prominent position near the pagans’ tent, in case somebody decides to get creative.’ After two ‘yes, sir’s’, the hunters hiked off at a brisk pace.
‘Again, thank you,’ Ayden said.
Salvatore gestured towards a set of wooden benches. ‘Let’s have a talk, over here, where it’s quiet.’ As they walked, the captain eyed Riley.
‘I know, I was supposed to say out of the middle of things,’ she said. ‘It’s not working out that way.’
‘Apparently not.’ He moved his attention to Ayden as she sank on to a bench. ‘What were you doing with the demon corpse?’
‘I was hoping to sense the magical signature, get an idea of who is behind all this. What I felt was part necromancer, part something else. The something else was very old, no pagan or summoner magic.’ Her eyes were on Riley now, trying to send her a message.
‘Come to the Westin. We can talk about it there,’ the captain offered.
‘No. Somewhere neutral,’ she replied, voice strained. ‘If I come to your headquarters, that implies guilt. One mistake and the pagans in this town are going to be paying for something they didn’t do.’
Salvatore considered her observation. ‘What about Master Stewart’s house? You have good relations with the trappers, don’t you? That would be neutral ground.’
‘If it is OK with Master Stewart, I’m good with it. Give me time . . . to get things taken care of.’
‘I understand. I’m truly sorry about your loss.’
The witch seemed caught off guard by the compassion. ‘As I am for yours,’ she said, then swept away.
‘Who’d ya lose?’ Beck asked as he mopped off his forehead with the cleanest coat sleeve. It still left a smear of black on his skin.
‘One of our newer hunters,’ the captain replied. Salvatore’s gaze drifted back towards the centre of the market. Vendors were trying to retrieve their goods from the wreckage. A line of bodies lay near one of the tents, covered by whatever was at hand.
‘Why didn’t y’all have swords?’ Beck asked. ‘Ya knew bullets are useless.’
Salvatore’s eyes flared at Beck’s dressing down. ‘The Vatican is weighing the issue,’ he said tersely. ‘They’re not known for making decisions lightly. Or with any speed.’
‘So more folks are gonna die while they’re talkin’ it out?’ Beck snarled.
‘Isn’t that always the way?’
Chapter Twenty-Seven
It was Jackson who took Riley to collect her car. He wasn’t his usual jovial self, too caught up in what had gone down at the market. Riley was grateful for the silence.
Should I tell the hunters about Sartael? No, better not. It would open up questions as to how she knew about the Fallen and that would lead right back to the talking statue in the cemetery. Consorting with the minions of Lucifer is what they’d call it and she’d be back in custody in a heartbeat.
To her annoyance Riley found a note stuck under her windshield wiper – it was from Allan. It had his phone number and e-mail address and his usual terse commands: Call me! Tonight!
She crumpled it up, dropped it on the ground and then pulverized it into the cracked concrete with the toe of her tennis shoe.
By the time she’d made it to Stewart’s house and taken a shower, the blowback from the market’s attack had heated up. The phones wouldn’t stop ringing. Riley heard only one side of the conversations with the mayor, the governor and the National Guild. All had the same order: put the demons back in the bottle. Now. No doubt Captain Salvatore was receiving the same butt-chewing from his superiors in Rome.
No one needed to tell them that. If the trappers and hunters failed, the city would turn into a feeding ground for every ravenous demon in the area. For some reason, the higher-ups always felt the need to state the obvious.
It was nearing eleven when the phone calls finally tapered off. Stewart decided that dessert was the solution to all their problems. Harper begged off and headed for bed, which left Riley alone with
the Scotsman and a hefty piece of peach pie with a scoop of vanilla ice cream on the side.
Stewart pushed his plate away first. ‘I talked ta Mort earlier this evenin’. Yer father has settled down a bit, but he’s still . . . out there. I wish I had better news for ya.’
Riley hadn’t expected any. ‘What’s so important that Ozymandias would do that to my dad?’
‘Masters know a fair amount of demonic knowledge, but I’m not sure exactly what the necro was hopin’ for. We may never know.’
‘What about Grand Masters?’
‘Ah, well, we are taught a lot more about demons and angels and all that.’
‘You really would have killed my dad?’
‘Aye,’ he said quietly. ‘I’ve had another friend who went dark. His face still haunts me.’
Riley pushed her plate away, her appetite gone.
Stewart sighed, then brightened. ‘Ya play chess, lass?’
‘Sometimes. I’m not very good at it.’ Actually, her father beat her every time. That didn’t bother her at all – it was Dad face time.
Stewart pushed back his chair. ‘Come along. I’ve got somethin’ ta show ya.’
Though this really was the last thing Riley wanted to do, she followed him anyway. He’d taken her side against the hunters, given her a place to live and treated her with respect. A chess game wasn’t going to kill her.
Stewart retrieved a plain black box from his office and carried it into the library where he set it in the centre of the table. The set was old, ancient even, carved out of wood, each piece hand painted. The white pieces wore kilts.
‘The Scots versus the Sassenach,’ Stewart said, laying out the pieces. At her bewildered expression, he added, ‘The Scots versus the English.’
‘Oh,’ Riley said, picking up a kilt-clad knight who held a honking huge sword. ‘How old is this set?’
‘About three hundred years. It’s been passed down through the family.’
‘1718?’ she said, astounded. ‘I can’t even imagine what it was like then.’
‘People don’t change that much, lass. We just think we do. Since yer a Blackthorne, ya can represent the English side.’
She lined up her pieces and prepared to be slaughtered.
‘Have ya ever seen yer namesake? The tree, I mean?’ Stewart questioned as he moved a pawn forward. Riley shook her head. ‘Wicked thorns on the thing, but it has delicate little flowers and the sweetest berries, but only after a hard frost of course.’
She wondered where he was going with his arboreal lecture. ‘Ah, that means what?’
He smiled patiently. ‘Trials and setbacks. Strife often leads ta a sweeter life. That’s the lesson of the blackthorn.’
‘I’m due for some of the sweet, I think.’
‘Aye. We all are, lass.’
He fell silent after that as they played. It was hard to concentrate, but she tried, not wanting to look like a complete dork in front of the master. Riley suspected he had another reason for spending time with an amateur chess player when the world was melting down around them. Stewart would get to the point when he was ready.
The old master won handily. Left on the board were only a few pieces, the majority of which were his. He picked up one of her pawns, twisting it between his thumb and middle finger as he examined it. ‘I’m guessin’ this is how ya see yerself right now.’
Riley nodded.
‘Ya’ve been doin’ research in the library. Ya left the books out.’
‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I won’t do it again.’
‘It’s nay a problem, lass,’ he said, and set the chess piece down. ‘After all that readin’ about fallen angels, tell me what ya think is goin’ on.’
Riley marshalled her thoughts, since the old master was too savvy to allow her to throw just anything at him.
‘Ozymandias has found a way to mess with the demons. Someone, who isn’t a necro, is helping him.’ It seemed the right time to reveal her secret. ‘I’m thinking that’s Sartael. He’s the fallen angel who lied to Ori, told him that Lucifer wanted my soul.’ She took a deep breath. ‘He turned Simon against me and he set the Five on my dad.’
One of Stewart’s silver eyebrows arched. ‘How do ya know this Fallen’s name?’
She told Stewart about Ori and his status as a statue, courtesy of Lucifer. Then she related her conversation with the two Divines in the cemetery.
The master leaned back in the chair, pensive. ‘Why did ya think it was wise ta go to the cemetery?’
‘No choice. He kept shouting at me and it was driving me crazy. I thought my head would explode.’
‘Ya do know that move put both of our lives in peril?’ he asked, sterner now.
‘I know, but Martha wanted me to talk to him. She gave me Sartael’s name so I could use it against Ori.’
‘Really?’ He scratched his chin in thought.
‘Do you have to tell the hunters about this?’
Stewart groaned. ‘By God, I should. I won’t, because we need ta work as a team and we can’t do that if we’re in the Vatican’s custody awaitin’ trial.’
‘Thanks,’ she murmured. ‘What do you think is going on?’
The Scotsman sat forward in his chair. ‘At best, Lucifer keeps a tentative hold on Hell’s denizens. Many of those have been eager for a final battle. Sartael is one of the chief among them. If he’s been whisperin’ in a certain necromancer’s ear, the result would be undead demons in our midst.’
‘Why hasn’t Lucifer taken out the dude?’
‘The prince is a strategist. If there’s going to be a war in Hell, he needs ta know exactly who he can trust. Sometimes the best way ta flush out yer enemies is by playin’ them against each other.’
‘Like Ori and Sartael,’ she murmured.
Stewart’s tired face crinkled in thought. ‘Yer a Blackthorne. Heaven doesn’t choose their champion without a lot of thought. Neither does Hell, for that matter.’
‘But what do I do?’ Riley asked, frustrated. ‘No one will tell me, at least not the angel Martha. She clams up when I ask. Lucifer won’t say a word. Neither will Ori.’
‘As best as I remember, ya will be forced ta make a decision. If ya decide correctly, then ya’ll plead humanity’s case in front of the angels.’
‘You mean when I’m dead?’ she asked, not liking where this was headed.
‘No, the angels will be massed for war,’ he responded. ‘Ya’ll be standin’ between the two armies.’
Ohmigod. ‘What can I say to keep them from toasting us all?’
‘I have no idea. All I can suggest is that ya speak from yer heart.’
In the distance a clock began to toll midnight. ‘Get some rest. Come back down at nine for breakfast. Harper and I are havin’ a meetin’ of interested parties. Ya need ta be there for the last part of it.’
‘Is it a council of war?’
‘Aye, lass. It’s time to put an end to this misery, one way or another.’
Later, as she drifted to sleep, Riley thought of Beck and the lost kiss. What would it have been like?
Amazing? Just OK? Disappointing? No, never disappointing. Beck wasn’t that kind of guy.
‘Probably awesome.’ The demons had screwed up her life again.
It’s time to return the favour.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
As instructed, Riley tromped down the stairs at nine in the morning. The kitchen table was full of coffee cake and people. Father Rosetti and Captain Salvatore were there for the hunters, Ayden and Mort for the magical folks, then the two masters and Beck. Riley pulled out a chair and eyed the plate mounded with coffee cake and doughnuts.
‘I can try to break the enchantment that binds the demons,’ Mort said, ‘but I need a focus for that spell.’
‘Ya heard Salvatore, they destroyed all the bodies,’ Beck replied, shorter than usual. He looked totally wiped, like he hadn’t slept in days. ‘There has to be another way.’
‘There is – I tr
y to break the spell and fail. Get me one of those demons and I’ll have a lot better chance.’
‘That’ll take too much time,’ Beck muttered.
‘What about that demon tooth I brought you?’
Mort shook his head. ‘It’s too magically charged to be of use. I destroyed it.’
Oh . . . Riley had another option, one the Vatican already knew about.
‘How about a demon claw?’ she said, pulling the talon out from under her sweater. ‘It belongs to one of the weird ones. I saw the thing at the market last night.’
‘How can you be sure?’ Mort asked. ‘Don’t they all look the same?’
‘It’s the one with the big white splotch on the back of its neck. It tried to eat me in Demon Central, so I remember it really well.’
‘We didn’t burn that one’s corpse, so it’s still alive,’ Salvatore said.
‘Then you can use it for whatever it is Mort wants to do,’ Riley said.
‘There’s a red flag on that play,’ Ayden replied. ‘The claw was once physically part of you, soaked in your blood. That changes things.’
‘Why would it matter?’
Ayden and Mort exchanged looks. It was the necromancer who explained.
‘You have a direct connection with that demon now.’ He let out a heavy breath. ‘That means you’re going to have to cast the spell.’
‘What? I don’t do magic.’
‘Don’t worry, I’ll help you with the Latin,’ Mort replied.
‘It doesn’t matter if it’s in Latin or whatever. I don’t cast spells. I’m a trapper. That’s enough hassle.’ Especially when Rome’s grand inquisitor was taking notes on her every move.
‘I’m sorry, Riley, but you’re the strongest candidate,’ Mort replied.
‘You should not pressure the child into evil,’ Father Rosetti retorted.
‘I’m not. I’m being honest,’ Mort shot back. ‘If we want to destroy these demons, our best chance is to have Riley perform the spell. She has a direct connection with one of them.’
‘You will be taking your soul one step closer to Hell,’ Rosetti said, speaking to her now. ‘Rome will make note of that.’
