The Demon Trappers: Foretold

by Jana Oliver

  Not. Your. Call. She forced herself to behave.

  When Beck climbed back into the truck, he noticed her sour expression. ‘What’s wrong?’

  Riley pointed at his phone. ‘Justine. She’s missing you.’

  He huffed and then promptly deleted the text. ‘Nothin’ I hate more than a woman who doesn’t know when it’s over.’

  Was there a message for her in there somewhere?

  He parked at the west end of the building and right before he got out of the truck, he tossed her a key, which meant she had her own room.

  ‘Won’t stop the gossipin’, but it’s the way it has to be.’

  As the door to her room creaked open, Riley prepared herself for the worst. The room was better than she’d expected: there was an antiquated wall heater under the window, a small desk hugged one wall and there were two double beds with forest green bedspreads. The carpet was generic brown. As Riley stepped inside she took in a lungful of that spray housekeepers use to scent the air. It made her cough. She placed her backpack on one bed and did a bounce on the other, the one closest to the door.

  Not bad.

  The bathroom had a shower and adequate space on the counter for her stuff. There was even a hairdryer.

  ‘This works,’ she said.

  ‘Glad you approve,’ Beck said from behind her. He dropped her suitcase on the extra bed and then sank down next to it. Ignoring his presence, she began to unpack, hanging her few clothes in the closet. At least with her own room he wouldn’t claim she was hogging all the hangers.

  ‘Gotta set some ground rules,’ he said.

  Here it comes.

  ‘You don’t open the door unless I’m here and you don’t go off on yer own. Be careful who you talk to and don’t trust anyone.’

  He wasn’t quite this crazy up in Atlanta. ‘Why are you so edgy?’

  ‘Just bein’ careful.’

  It was time to cut through all this b.s. ‘But we’re in the middle of nowhere. You have to give me a reason for all the paranoia.’

  Beck took a deep breath before he answered. ‘There’s folks down here who don’t like me. Some might think hurtin’ you would be a good way to get even.’

  Whoa . . . ‘Are you going to tell me what hideous transgressions you have committed or should I wait for the movie?’

  He ignored her as he moved to the connecting door and flipped open the lock. ‘Leave this open. That way if there’s any trouble I can get to you quicker.’

  ‘Are we under siege down here?’ she asked, his unease feeding hers.

  ‘No, but it’s still . . . We need to be careful.’

  ‘What about the demons?’

  ‘We got a few. Sadlersville shares a trapper with Waycross and mostly he catches the littler ones, but every now and then a Three shows up. For the most part, what problems we’ll have will be with our kind, not them.’

  The outer door slammed behind him. A short time later he unlocked his side of the connecting door and opened it.

  By the time she’d emptied her suitcase and stashed it in the closet, he had his clothes stacked on the end of his bed, tidy piles of jeans, T-shirts, socks and underwear. His briefs were navy or black: no tighty-whities for him. His suit hung in the closet, all ready for his mother’s funeral. It was the same one he’d worn to her father’s service.

  As he tucked his clothes into the bureau, she flopped on her tummy on his spare bed, scrolling through her text messages. Nothing new other than Peter screwing up his courage to ask a fellow classmate on a date. Riley sent him a text announcing she was officially in the middle of God Knows Where with a deranged country boy.

  She became aware she was being watched and found Beck just outside his bathroom. ‘I’ll be ready to leave in a minute or so.’

  Riley took the hint and headed for her room, finishing the text as she walked. Figuring she had a bit of time, she made a quick run to her bathroom to tidy herself up. She combed her long brown hair and then touched up her make-up, pleased to see that the bruises from the cemetery battle were well hidden and the dark circles under her eyes were nearly gone. She felt ready to meet Beck’s mom.

  When the toilet flushed in the other room, Riley slung her backpack on to her shoulder and stepped outside into the warm afternoon sunshine. The moment her eyes adjusted she saw the cop leaning against the front bumper of Beck’s truck. His squad car was parked right behind it, blocking them in. The lettering on the side said this was the country sheriff who’d come to call.

  If Riley had expected a stereotypical Southern cop she’d have been disappointed. This man was on the tall side, lean and without an ounce of fat, his dark blond hair cut short. He was wearing sunglasses, a trooper-style hat and his hands were crossed over his chest in a piss me off at your own peril pose.

  When Beck exited his room, he halted in his tracks. His expression went unreadable in a heartbeat.

  Uh oh.

  The cop took off his sunglasses and tucked them in his shirt pocket. ‘Heard you were back in town,’ he said in a soft drawl much like Beck’s.

  ‘Just got here,’ her fellow trapper replied, setting his backpack down.

  ‘Been to see your momma yet?’

  ‘Headed that way.’

  ‘From what I hear it won’t be long now.’

  ‘I hear the same,’ Beck replied, his jaw tight.

  Hello? Am I invisible here?

  As if the cop had heard her, he shifted his attention in her direction and tapped his hat in respect. ‘I’m Sheriff Tom Donovan.’ He looked over at Beck at this point. ‘Denver and I go way back.’

  Beck chuffed in disgust.

  ‘I’m Riley . . . Blackthorne.’

  ‘You any relation to the master trapper in Atlanta?’ the cop asked.

  ‘He was my dad.’

  The man nodded now that he’d made the connection. ‘Pleased to meet you, Miss Riley. Since Denver here couldn’t be bothered to pick up a phone, I had the pleasure of talking to your father every now and then.’ Another glance at Beck, then back to her. ‘Sorry to hear of your loss.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘How old are you?’

  ‘What? I’m seventeen. Why?’

  ‘Just checking,’ the man replied. ‘Folks will hear that Denver’s back in town and that he’s got someone with him. He has a history with the local girls, so tongues will wag. I can shut some of that down by knowing the real story.’

  Beck took a step forward, a clear challenge. ‘Riley’s not one of those. She’s here to help with . . . her.’

  Donovan sobered. ‘It won’t scald your tongue to call Sadie your momma.’

  ‘The hell it won’t.’

  The sheriff shook his head and walked to his car. After he opened the door, he looked back at Riley. ‘Welcome to Sadlersville, Miss Riley.’

  ‘Thank you,’ she said, still unsure of what had just happened.

  The cop car pulled out of the parking lot and headed up the road.

  ‘So what was that all about?’ Riley asked.

  Beck dumped his backpack on the truck’s seat.

  ‘Just welcomin’ me home,’ he replied.

  Chapter Four

  The centre of Sadlersville was a curious mix of old and new. As Beck cruised along hunting for a parking place, Riley spied a kid with a laptop perched on a park bench, rocking away to something coming through his headphones. Right behind him was a barber shop with one of the old red-and-white poles. The city’s water tower dominated the air above the town and most of the buildings were old, mom-and-pop shops rubbing elbows with the occasional chain store. There were none of the mini shops you found in Atlanta’s parking spots. In fact, there were no parking meters so the street was full of cars and pickups. One had a giant sign in the back window proclaiming that Jesus was returning soon.

  He’s going to be really disappointed.

  Beck noticed her studying the sign. ‘Folks take their religion serious down here.’

  ‘And folks in Atlant
a don’t?’ she parried.

  He shrugged, conceding that point. ‘It’s different down here.’

  ‘Already figured that one out.’

  Once they were parked, Beck made a show of locking the truck’s doors, on the alert, like he expected trouble with every step. He waved her up the street and they walked past a busy hair salon where necks craned to catch a glimpse of them, then a flower shop that still had Valentine’s Day specials in the window and a thrift store.

  Riley caught Beck’s elbow. ‘I need a new jacket. I don’t want to wear my mom’s good one for trapping.’

  He didn’t argue, but followed her inside and waited by the door as she found herself a replacement denim jacket for the one the demon had roasted. As she paid for it, Beck kept his attention on the street.

  Once her purchase was complete, they returned to the truck so she could switch out her mom’s coat for the new one. It was then she saw the strange little wooden figure tucked underneath a windshield wiper. It was made of sticks, tied with green yarn, in the shape of a man.

  When Beck saw it, his jaw tightened.

  ‘What is that?’ Riley asked. ‘Is it like some sort of warning?’

  ‘No, it’s someone tryin’ to protect the truck.’ He carefully removed the stick man, and once he unlocked the doors he hung it from the rearview mirror.

  ‘That’s kinda weird, you know?’ Riley said.

  ‘Not if yer used to it. There’s a couple of wise women in town and they’ve takin’ a likin’ to me. They probably figure someone will trash the truck if they get a chance, so they’re letting them know that’s not a good idea.’

  ‘So it’s not all Baptists down here,’ Riley replied.

  ‘No, not at all. The swamp has its own kind of magic and people have learned how to use it.’

  They retraced their steps. In time, Beck paused in front of the door to a diner, put on his game face and then opened it to allow Riley to enter first.

  The restaurant looked like it was right out of an old movie. Notices were stuck on the wall near the door – someone had a car for sale, another had free kittens to a good home. She and Beck had just missed Sandhill Crane Awareness Day. The floor was aged black-and-white checked linoleum. A long table took up the wall to the left, covered by a blue vinyl tablecloth and loaded with old guys with newspapers and half-empty cups of coffee. Their average age seemed to be about seventy.

  High-backed booths lined the walls and five tables formed a straight line down the middle of the room as lazy ceiling fans gently stirred the air above them. Along the back wall were shelves with row after row of mugs. Some had been personalized.

  The moment the door shut behind them, heads turned and conversations stilled, every eye on them. When one of the old guys elbowed another and whispered something, Beck ignored him and selected the booth closest to the front window and the door. Riley slid into the other side.

  A waitress wandered up to them, forty, maybe older, with large breasts that really demanded a better bra. Her make-up was overdone and her black skirt ended at just below the knee, followed by an expanse of tanned legs, pink socks and red tennis shoes.

  ‘I heard you were back,’ the woman said, her eyes totally on Beck. Then they moved to Riley. ‘I heard you weren’t alone.’

  ‘Karen. How ya doin’?’ he asked politely.

  ‘Not bad. You?’

  A shrug. He didn’t bother to flip open the menu, probably because he wouldn’t be able to read it. ‘I’d like a burger and a double order of fries. Oh, and some black coffee, please.’

  Riley had to speed-read the offerings. Who know what the food would be like in a place like this? She opted for the safest choice.

  ‘A burger, some cottage cheese and a glass of un-sweet iced tea.’

  The woman gave her a look like she’d ordered a plate of worms. ‘Un-sweet, huh. Where you come from?’

  ‘Atlanta.’

  ‘Figures. All Yankees up there.’ The waitress took off towards the back of the diner and the swinging door that led to the kitchen.

  Riley leaned over the table and lowered her voice. ‘We’ve been here, what, twenty minutes and everyone already knows it? What is it with these people?’

  ‘Anythin’ interestin’ happens and it gets spread real fast.’

  ‘We’re not interesting, Beck.’

  ‘Ya’d be wrong there, especially since yer with me.’

  His speech was already changing, reverting back to his roots, the drawl more noticeable now.

  ‘Does all this interest have something to do with your history down here?’

  He nodded. She beckoned for him to give it up. He shook his head.

  ‘OK, then I’ll fill in the pieces.’ She lowered her voice so no one else would hear her. ‘You were a total horndog, right? If it was female, you were all over it.’

  To her surprise a lopsided grin appeared on Beck’s face. ‘Some might say I was just bein’ . . . social.’

  ‘So how many did you date?’

  ‘Only a couple. The rest were hook-ups.’

  Ohhhkay . . . This guy definitely fell into the ‘no commitment’ category.

  The waitress reappeared, placing Beck’s coffee in front of him and a tall glass of iced tea near Riley.

  ‘Un-sweet,’ the woman said, shaking her head. Her tennis shoes squeak-squeaked across the linoleum as she headed towards another booth.

  ‘So were you . . . social . . . with our waitress?’ Beck shook his head. ‘Good. Then she won’t spit on our food.’

  Before he could respond to that, the diner door swung open. His eyes rose to the newcomer and he tensed in recognition. It was then Riley realized why he’d chosen this spot: it was a quick way out in case of any hassles.

  The newcomer made his way to their booth. He was about six feet tall, dressed in jeans and a chamois shirt with greying hair and a moustache that needed trimming. His eyes were a pale, watery brown and he squinted as if glasses were in his future.

  The man smirked. ‘Denny Beck, well I’ll be damned. I heard ya were back and here ya are, the devil himself.’

  ‘Mr Walker,’ Beck said, no warmth in his voice. He took a slow sip of his coffee, but Riley could see by the way he gripped the cup he was expecting trouble.

  ‘It’s been a long time. Where ya been? Prison?’

  ‘No, Atlanta.’

  When he didn’t get a rise out of her companion, the man checked her out. ‘I see yer still going after the ones too dumb to know yer trouble.’

  If this guy kept it up, Beck was going to be all over him. Fortunately, the waitress provided the perfect diversion.

  Riley gave Walker a hard stare. ‘Could you move, please?’

  ‘What did you say?’ he said, frowning.

  She pointed behind him at Karen and her tray. ‘I like my food hot.’ And you out of my face.

  The guy glowered at her, but backed off, grumbling under his breath.

  The waitress delivered the plates, hiding a smile. ‘Anything else?’ she asked.

  ‘Not right now. Thanks,’ Beck replied.

  Walker had found himself a seat at a nearby table so he could continue to glower at them. Beck ignored him, squirting ketchup, then mustard and hot sauce on his burger. He carefully rearranged the pickles then picked up the burger, admiring it like it was a work of art.

  ‘Was it his daughter?’ Riley asked in a low voice.

  A shake of the head. ‘Wife.’

  No wonder he’s pissed. ‘How old were you?’

  ‘Sixteen.’ He took a big bite of his burger. After he’d finished chewing and had swallowed, he added, ‘It was right before I left town.’

  ‘Did you leave by choice or were you voted off the island?’

  He dabbed at his mouth with a paper napkin. ‘Jury’s still out on that one.’

  Riley did a quick mental recap – she was in some dorky small town with a local boy who had slept with just about every girl in sight, at least those of legal age. It was a good be
t that every one of their fathers, brothers or husbands would love the opportunity to have some serious face time with Denny Beck. She would be caught in the middle.

  Lucky me.

  Riley turned her attention to the burger and after a bit of doctoring she took a bite.

  Ohmigod. It was incredible, juicy and rich with flavour, nothing like the ones she got at the fast-food places. She focused on her meal, ignoring the staring dude at the far table and the whispered conversations at some of the others. When anyone left, they called out a goodbye to Karen or the other waitress and then took the long route round the diner so they walked right by their booth.

  ‘Just ignore ’em,’ Beck said.

  ‘Easy for you.’

  ‘Not really.’ When he’d finished the huge mound of fries, he leaned back in the booth, content.

  ‘How can you eat that much?’ she asked, still picking at her own meal. The burger had been enormous and the cottage cheese the extra-creamy kind.

  ‘I’m a growin’ boy,’ he said.

  ‘Well, you will be if you keep packing food away like that.’

  Beck lowered his voice. ‘You aren’t like throwin’ up in the mornin’ or anythin’?’ he asked, eying her closely.

  That was one subject he’d skirted until now – whether her night spent with Ori the Fallen angel had resulted in her becoming pregnant.

  ‘Nope, that’s not going to be a problem.’

  His deep sigh told her he’d been worrying about that. ‘Well, there’s some good news for a change,’ he said, followed by a long slurp of his coffee.

  Someone moved up to the booth and for a moment Riley figured it was Walker back for more harassment. But it wasn’t. This guy was a couple years older than Beck and a little taller with dark brown hair and dark eyes. He was dressed in a navy blue T-shirt that showed off his muscles and a pair of criminally-tight blue jeans. The smirk on his face was like a billboard that announced I Know I’m Hot. Beck wore that same expression every now and then, but it looked like the default setting for this guy.