The Demon Trappers: Foretold

by Jana Oliver

  He fumbled with the sheets.

  ‘I still remember the look on her face. It was so . . . cruel.’ He cleared his throat. ‘“Stay here, Denver,” she said. “If ya stay right here and ya don’t cry, I’ll tell ya the name of yer daddy.”’

  Riley’s mouth dropped open. ‘And you believed her?’

  ‘Hell, yes,’ Beck snapped. ‘I was a kid. All I wanted was for her to love me and if that meant staying out there, I’d do it.’

  ‘Oh my God,’ Riley said, her blood running cold. Sadie had used the one lure that her son would never resist. The woman was evil.

  Beck’s hands were clenched on either side of him now. When he realized it, he forced himself to let them fall slack on the covers.

  ‘Sadie said she was teachin’ me how to take care of myself because no one else would.’

  ‘How long were you . . .’ Riley barely choked out.

  ‘Two days and three nights. By the second mornin’ I knew she wasn’t comin’ back for me, so I set off on my own. It was right before sunset when the park ranger found me.’

  ‘How did he know where to look?’

  ‘He didn’t, but by then Donovan knew I was missin’ so they’d put out an alert.’ Beck ran his hand over the sheet again, smoothing out the wrinkles.

  ‘Why the hell isn’t she in jail?’ Riley demanded. When he didn’t reply, the truth hit her. ‘You didn’t tell them what really happened, did you?’

  Beck shook his head. ‘I said I ran away. Donovan knew better, but he didn’t have any proof. They couldn’t charge Sadie for anythin’.’

  ‘But she left you to die!’ she protested, outraged that this horror had been allowed to stand.

  ‘I know,’ he said, his voice trembling. ‘When you want someone to love you, you’ll do anythin’. Even lie for them.’

  Then she never told you about your father. What a cold-hearted bitch.

  Now Riley understood that profoundly sad expression in his eyes. He’d been betrayed by the one person who should have always been there for him.

  As if exhausted by the confession, Beck shut off the reading light and curled up with his back to her. That’s what she would have done if she didn’t want him to know she was crying. He might be nearly twenty-three years old, been to a war and back, but he was still that little boy in the swamp. He would always crave acceptance from the one woman who would never give a damn.

  ‘Beck?’

  ‘Yeah?’ he said, his voice muffled.

  ‘Sadie hates you because you were better than her from the moment you were born.’

  He rolled over, a sheen in his eyes. ‘You really mean that?’

  ‘Yes. And I’ll trash anyone who says different,’ she said defiantly, her fists clenched.

  ‘You might have to back up those words if we stay in this town much longer.’

  ‘Then let’s do what we have to and go home,’ she said.

  With a murmured ‘Yeah’ he rolled over again, crawling back into his shell.

  She looked down at him, all rumpled in the bed, his hair askew. He was so lost she really wanted to hug him and never let go. Every time he let down more of his defences she discovered his hopes, dreams, his hidden pain. Every revelation made her love him that much more.

  Riley left the doors between their rooms open, more for him than her. She never wanted Beck to think that she didn’t trust him, especially not now.

  As she curled up her own bed, tears formed in her eyes. Some were for her parents and the gaping hole their deaths left inside her. Most were for a little tow-headed boy who’d nearly died trying to prove he was worthy of his mother’s love.

  Morning brought noises: The sound of a shower running, then the buzz of an electric razor. Riley finally blinked open her eyes. Though the connecting door she spied Beck standing in front of a full-length wall mirror, clad only in a pair of tight black briefs as he addressed the stubble on his face. If he was worried about her seeing him in his underwear, he would have shut the door.

  Riley sighed in appreciation as she scoped out the scenery, running her eyes from the top of his head all the way to his calves and then slowly back up again. Her attention hung on the long jagged surgical scar on his left hip. It didn’t look like a demon wound.

  Probably from the war. Her eyes edged upward. Backwoods Boy had one of the finest butts she’d ever seen and his chest and shoulders were sculpted with just the right amount of muscle. He was definitely worth the scrutiny.

  Then her eyes met his in the mirror.

  ‘Like what yer seein’?’ he called out, grinning.

  Busted. ‘I’d like it better if it had clothes on,’ she lied, then pulled the covers over her head so he wouldn’t see her blush.

  ‘You lie,’ he replied, and then laughed.

  There was the sound of a drawer opening, then the slide of clothes on flesh. A short time later the bottom of her bed indented. She peeked out to find him sitting on the edge, pulling on his thick socks.

  ‘What time is it?’ she mumbled.

  ‘A little after seven.’ He put on a boot and expertly laced it up. ‘Pretty late, by my way of thinkin’.’ The second boot went on and he double knotted it like the first. ‘How about I find us somethin’ to eat while yer gettin’ ready?’

  ‘That works.’ Come back in a couple of hours . . .

  ‘Would a breakfast sandwich work for you? How’s about some orange juice?’

  It was obscenely early to be talking about food. ‘Whatever.’

  ‘Coffee?’

  ‘Tea. Hot.’

  ‘Won’t be gone long so don’t go back to sleep, you hear?’

  Riley mumbled a swear word under her breath. Even her dad had understood it took her a while to get going in the morning. The door to her room closed and a few seconds later Beck’s truck roared to life, headed towards some fast-food place. She rolled over, savouring the peace and quiet. Riley was just drifting back to sleep when her cellphone rang. Plucking it off the nightstand, she didn’t bother to check the display.

  ‘Hello?’ she growled.

  ‘You want hash browns too?’ Beck asked, amusement in his voice. He’d done this on purpose. ‘Riley? I didn’t wake you, did I?’ Then he laughed again.

  Jerk.

  Riley turned off the phone and dropped it on the nightstand. ‘All right!’ she snarled. ‘You win! I’m up!’

  As she hauled herself to the shower, she knew one thing for certain: there would be payback sometime down the line.

  Bent over a book, it took Stewart a moment to realize he was not alone. He glanced up and his eyes locked on the figure in the library doorway.

  The Fallen angel that had seduced Paul’s daughter studied him solemnly.

  ‘Yer alive, then,’ Stewart said, shutting the book with a thump. ‘Why have ya dared ta enter the house of a Grand Master without his permission?’

  In lieu of a reply, Ori tossed him one of Stewart’s own swords and the master caught it one-handed. He rose in a swift motion, despite his damaged leg.

  ‘If yer thinkin’ about tryin’ ta kill me, it’ll not be in this room. I’ll nay have yer blue blood soakin’ into my fine books.’

  ‘I’m not here for you, Angus Niall Stewart.’

  ‘Why the blade, then?’

  ‘I thought it might comfort you in my presence.’

  Stewart snorted in derision. ‘God, yer as arrogant as yer master.’ He gestured. ‘If yer not here to fight, have a seat, angel.’

  Ori pulled out a chair and sat across from the master. He looked much the same as he had in the cemetery, but there was something subtly different now. The dark eyes seemed colder, more feral. Haunted.

  ‘Does yer boss know yer makin’ a social call?’ Stewart asked as he placed the blade on the table between them.

  No reply.

  ‘Look, yer on borrowed time here. I’m not takin’ kindly to havin’ ya in my house, so ya’d best start talkin’ or I will be needin’ this sword.’

  ‘So muc
h for that famed Scottish hospitality,’ Ori replied. ‘Hell is in turmoil. Sartael remains in chains, but his supporters have not given up.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘It is only a matter of time before those supporters free their master.’

  ‘While the Prince has his back turned? That I doubt. If Sartael is freed, it is because Lucifer wishes it so.’

  ‘The Prince is losing control. There are those who wish a . . . change. There are some that believe I should take my master’s place.’

  ‘Really?’ Stewart replied. ‘Looks as if I will have to kill ya today.’

  ‘You can try,’ the angel replied evenly.

  ‘Since we’re layin’ it all out here, do ya hold Riley Blackthorne’s soul?’

  ‘Yes. I accepted it during the battle at the cemetery. The fact I have not offered it to Lucifer is part of the disagreement between us.’

  That caught Stewart off guard. ‘Why haven’t ya done so? It’s customary.’

  ‘Riley set her own terms: her soul is mine, but I am not permitted to give it to anyone else, including the Prince. If I die before her, she will be free of Hell’s debt.’ At the master’s puzzled expression, he added, ‘I swore on the Light. I cannot break that vow.’

  Stewart leaned back in his chair, thoughtful. ‘Well, no wonder yer havin’ problems with yer boss. But this isn’t all of it.’ He frowned. ‘Something else has happened.’

  Ori’s expression darkened. ‘I sought death and it was not granted to me. I am Divine and yet I am treated no better than one of his unholy demons.’

  ‘I see. Ya still have not told me why yer here.’

  ‘Because I execute those who are traitors to Lucifer, any mortal I have co-opted is in peril. The demons will seek to destroy that person to gain revenge against me. In the past, I immediately gifted the rights to any soul to my master to spare the mortal’s life because the demons were less likely to harm them if Lucifer was involved.’

  ‘But not with Riley’s soul.’

  ‘Indeed. When she made her bargain, I saw a way out. I would die and she would be freed. Since I am still alive and the terms of our agreement do not allow me to give her soul to anyone, she is in great danger.’

  Stewart stroked his chin. ‘If I didn’t know better, I’d swear I was talkin’ to one of Heaven’s crew rather than a Fallen. Yer kind is not known for keepin’ yer word.’

  ‘I do keep my vows,’ Ori replied hotly. ‘That is why Riley must . . .’ He sighed. ‘To stay alive, she will need to sacrifice even more than her soul.’

  ‘I could kill ya. That would free her.’

  ‘Even if you could, she would still be in danger. She has to know how to fight Lucifer’s foes. I’m the one to teach her.’

  ‘So that’s the real reason yer here.’ Stewart sighed. ‘When would this trainin’ begin?’

  Ori closed his eyes, as if he was trying to discern the thread of Riley’s life. ‘Once she is finished with the trapper. Providing she is still alive.’

  Chapter Nine

  ‘Furniture shop and funeral home?’ Riley asked, peering up at the worn sign above the old brick building. ‘So you can pick out a casket and a new sofa at the same time?’

  ‘Don’t judge us by yer big city ways,’ Beck said, displeased. ‘Down here folks have to do more than one thing to get by.’

  ‘I’m not judging anyone, Beck. I’m trying to understand it. You have to admit it’s a bizarre combination.’

  ‘It’s not that uncommon. A couple centuries ago the guy who made furniture also made the coffins.’

  ‘How do you know that?’ she asked, puzzled.

  ‘Saw it on some TV show.’

  Riley followed him into the building and found it was like any other furniture store with a decent selection of sofas, chairs, tables and even a few big screen televisions. All the kinds of furnishings you’d find in Atlanta, only in a smaller space.

  The owner, a middle-aged guy with heavy jowls, watched them approach.

  ‘Denny. I heard you were back in town.’

  If one more person says that, I’m going to scream.

  ‘Hey, Bert. How’s things goin’?’

  ‘Been OK. Who’s this young lady?’

  Beck gestured at her. ‘This is Riley Blackthorne. She’s helpin’ me with Sadie.’

  ‘Bert McGovern,’ the man said, offering her a hand. She shook it, not knowing what else to do.

  McGovern turned his attention back to Beck. ‘What can I do for you?’

  ‘I need to get some funeral plans squared away.’

  ‘I understand. I lost my mother last year. It’s hard,’ the man said, nodding in sympathy. ‘Are you thinking about internment or cremation?’

  ‘Burial. She has a plot in the cemetery.’

  ‘OK, then come on back and I’ll show you what I have. I’ve got both plain and fancy coffins, depending on what you think she’d like.’

  ‘Plain,’ Beck said. ‘We trappers don’t get paid that much.’

  Riley followed the guys through the floor displays into a room with sombre beige walls and a highly polished wood floor. Seven coffins were carefully arranged in a neat row, lids open, their shiny white linings looking like the inside of a cocoon. She took one step into the room and then her knees locked up, refusing to move her forward. Vivid memories of her father’s funeral filled her mind though she desperately tried to halt them, followed by images of his busted coffin after he’d been stolen from his grave.

  Beck had been right – maybe it was too soon for her to face this. She’d pushed a lot of the grief aside to keep going and now it threatened to engulf her.

  Her eyes met his and he knew what was happening without her saying a word.

  ‘I’ll be done in a little bit if you want to wait outside,’ he said softly.

  Riley gave him a nod of gratitude and hastily retreated. Then she immediately felt bad: She was supposed to be here to support him, not the other way round.

  She picked a chair near the front window so she could watch the townsfolk as they passed by, anything to keep her mind off the industry of death. A few of the locals gave Beck’s truck the once over, talking among themselves after pointing at the vehicle. She could pretty much imagine the conversation, all beginning with ‘I heard Denny Beck was back in town’.

  Beck and the store owner were finished in about five minutes. Apparently it was going to be a really simple funeral.

  ‘Have the hospital call when it’s time,’ McGovern said. ‘Don’t worry, we’ll give her good send off.’

  ‘That’s all I ask,’ Beck replied.

  Beck fell into one of his funks after his visit to the funeral home. Instead of pressuring him to talk, Riley followed him around a dinky grocery store, buying cleaning supplies. As she bent over to inspect a bag of sponges, a twitch crept across her shoulders. Then a small voice whispered, ‘Blackthorne’s daughter.’

  Gazing upward she found two red eyes peering at her from round the handle of a floor mop. It was a Klepto-Fiend, one of Hell’s little cat burglars, but not the one that lived in her apartment.

  ‘Hi there, demon,’ she muttered. As she moved down the aisle, she swore the thing was following her. Probably one of Lucifer’s hench-fiends keeping an eye on her for its Big Boss.

  As she picked up a bottle of drain cleaner, she heard Beck’s voice, low and tense. When someone responded, she knew why. Cole. She didn’t think he was the kind to hang around a grocery store, which meant he’d tracked them down on purpose.

  ‘Yer a total sleaze, Hadley.’

  ‘Why are you being a jerk?’ Cole asked. ‘You can’t still be pissed about Lou. Get over it, man,’ he replied. ‘That was years ago.’

  ‘Not to me.’

  ‘That’s your problem. What’s the score with the cute chick? She’s a little young for you, isn’t she?’

  Riley shook her head in dismay. What was it about testosterone that made guys so stupid? Cole was purposely goading Beck, like some kid who’d fo
und the world’s largest hornets’ nest. He couldn’t resist poking it with a stick to see what he could stir up. It was time to shut this down before it got ugly and someone (Beck) landed in jail for assault.

  Riley walked round the corner as if she hadn’t been listening in.

  ‘I got some window cleaner and paper towels.’ She looked over at the other guy. ‘Cole,’ she said, then walked past him. Maybe if she acted disinterested he’d take his stick and play somewhere else.

  ‘How about you and me go for some ice cream, Riley?’ he called out.

  In February? ‘No, thanks. Got too much work to do,’ she said, and kept walking.

  Beck said something under his breath and then joined her.

  After they’d paid for their supplies and loaded the truck, Cole watched their every move from the sidewalk.

  ‘He’s strange,’ Riley said under her breath.

  ‘He’s more than that,’ Beck replied, slamming the tailgate and locking the roof box. ‘He’s big trouble.’

  ‘How about I sit with your mother while you do whatever you need to do,’ Riley offered. ‘I should be there if you’re not.’

  ‘You sure?’

  She nodded in return.

  Riley might be, but Beck wasn’t so sure this was a good idea. It’d be an act of faith to let Paul’s daughter anywhere near her again. Or extreme foolishness. Despite Riley’s assurances, there was a good chance that when he picked her up after his errands she’d be crying and ready to return to Atlanta. Desperate to leave him behind, much as Caitlin had.

  No. Not like Caitie. Riley was younger than Caitlin, but she’d survived more hell than anyone he knew. Caitie had believed Beck to be her white knight, the one who’d carry her off to his castle and keep her safe forever. Riley wasn’t like that. She was tough and had scars, both inside and out, and she’d earned every one of them. She’d learned that good guys could screw her over just like bad ones.

  When he’d dialled the hospital to get an update, the nurse said Sadie was weakening – but he had bills to pay and the sheriff to visit. He really didn’t have a choice about this.