by Jana Oliver
His phone rang and he dug it out of his jacket pocket.
“Beck.”
“Simon. She’s home safe.”
He sighed in relief. “Thanks, man, I owe ya.”
“I didn’t mind it a bit.”
Beck flipped the phone closed and frowned. “Bet ya didn’t.”
He wasn’t quite sure what he thought of Simon Adler. Just because he was religious didn’t mean he might not hit on Riley. Any guy would. She was real pretty. No ignoring that fact.
“If things were different, I might have asked her out myself.”
But not now.
Beck settled back against the seat and closed his eyes, if nothing more than to keep the increasing sunlight out of them. In the distance he heard a garbage truck pick up one of those big dumpsters and bang the hell out it. After a long yawn, he did the perimeter scan again. This time the lot wasn’t empty.
“Dudes at ten o’clock,” he said, shifting his position. He moved his steel pipe closer to him on the seat and then did the same with his SIG 9mm. The pipe was the first resort, the gun the very last.
He was in a part of town where people came in two kinds—predator and prey. He knew where he stood, but some of the locals might not have gotten the memo. Like the three gangbangers who were sauntering toward the truck. “Urban youth,” as Paul called them. They could be poster kids for multiethnic Atlanta—one white, one black, and one brown.
All stupid. He could guess that much from their swaggers. They were wearing the latest fashion, their jeans pulled down over their high-tops with long red laces woven up the leg and tied below the knee. The color of the laces was supposed to tell you what gang they belonged to. Beck didn’t care. They were all losers to him.
They started laughing among themselves and pointing in his direction. Probably figured he was a drunk, snoozing off the buzz. They could score some cash, a truck, and give him a good ass kicking just for fun.
“Got no sense,” he said, shaking his head.
When they were within twenty feet, he hopped out of the truck, leaving the steel pipe on the seat just behind him. If he was lucky he wouldn’t have to go all medieval on these guys.
“Mornin’!” he called.
One of them flipped him off. Beck’s fingers curved around the pipe. He adjusted his grip, keeping it hidden behind the door.
“Now that’s not polite. Didn’t yer momma teach ya manners?”
“What you doin’ here, asshole?” the kid demanded. He pulled a knife and the others followed his lead.
“Waitin’ for breakfast. Ya got some?”
The kid sneered. “We ain’t no fuckin’ McDonald’s.” They began to fan out, getting into position, watching for a chance to jump him.
“Breakfast isn’t for me, dumbass. It’s for them.” Beck hammered on the side of the truck with his fist. “Chow time, guys!”
The demons erupted into snarls as they thrashed around in their steel bags. The noise was impressive in the still morning air. One reared up just high enough for the losers to see him, claws and all.
“Oh, shit, man, those are—”
“Demons,” Beck said. “And boy, are they hungry. Can y’all step a little closer, make it nice ’n’ easy for ’em?” he asked, all serious.
The trio took off in a panicked retreat. One fell, rolled, and was back up on his feet without taking a breath. If it had been an Olympic event, Beck would have given him a 9.8 or a 9.9, but the kid lost points for dropping his weapon.
He peered down at the demons. “Sorry, guys. Looks like yer breakfast made a run for it.”
More snarling. The fiends were cursing again.
Beck strolled up to where the switchblade rested on the concrete. He picked it up.
“Sweeeet,” he said, grinning. “And it’s all mine.”
* * *
Close to nine in the morning Beck wearily climbed the stairs to Fireman Jack’s office in the old fire station. The demon trafficker was behind his desk, a steaming mug of coffee in front of him. His barber-pole suspenders made a nice contrast to the black chamois shirt and blue jeans. A thick stack of papers sat in front him. When he wasn’t buying demons, he wore his lawyer hat and handled the Guild’s legal work.
“Beck!” he called out. “How you doing?”
“Jack.” He slumped in the closest chair and rubbed his eyes in exhaustion.
“You look like crap,” his host observed.
“Feel like it. Been up too long, I think.”
“Coffee?”
“God, no more caffeine.” He leaned back in the chair and it creaked in protest.
Jack reached into the mini fridge near his desk, then offered Beck a cold bottle of water.
“Thanks. Maybe that’ll help.” Beck drained half of it without pausing for breath.
“What have you got for me this fine morning?”
“Two Gastros.”
“Two? You’ve been a busy boy,” Jack said, smiling. “Who are you trapping with now?”
“No one.”
“You took those down on your own?” Jack asked, surprised.
“Yeah. I know, it wasn’t smart. Don’t wanna split the money with another trapper. Until Paul’s life insurance comes in, his kid’s gonna need cash to live on.”
Jack rose, opened his safe, and counted out the money. He placed it in front of Beck, who stashed it away in his jeans pocket. After signing the paperwork, he pushed it across to Jack to finalize the deal.
“Who’ll be her new master?” Jack asked, settling back into his chair.
“I’m hopin’ it’s Stewart,” Beck said, tucking away his copy of the paperwork. “He’d be good for her. He doesn’t yell at everythin’ that moves, not like Harper.”
“I’d love to find out what idiot put a burr up Harper’s ass all those years ago. I’d personally feed the fool to the first demon I saw.”
“Ya’d have to stand in line,” Beck said.
“How’s Riley doing?”
Beck shook his head. “Lost. Ya can see it in her eyes. She’s tryin’ to be tough, but it’s killin’ her.”
“Can’t imagine what it’s like losing both your parents.”
“Sucks, that’s what it’s like.”
Before Jack could reply, Beck’s phone erupted in music. He flipped it open without looking at the Caller ID. “Yeah?”
“Oh, my God, they’re going to dig him up!”
“Huh? Riley?” he asked. “What’s wrong?”
“One of the debt guys was here and he said they’re going to take Dad and sell him.”
It took a moment for Beck to realize what she was saying. “What debt guy?”
“The one for Mom’s medical bills. Consolidated Debt Collectors. He was really mean.”
Beck’s anger ignited. The kid had just buried her only surviving parent, and some parasite was harassing her about money.
“Did ya sign anythin’?” he demanded.
“Of course not!” she retorted. “I’m not stupid.”
“Okay, calm down. I’ll ask Jack what we should do.”
“Fireman Jack?”
“Yeah, he’s the Guild’s lawyer. Just hold on.” He muted the phone and laid out the situation. Jack listened without interruption, penciling notes on a legal pad, his brow furrowed. Once Beck was finished he leaned forward and tented his fingers.
“First thing, she’s a minor, so she’s not responsible for any of her parents’ debts. Don’t let them guilt her into paying a cent.”
“That’s good, but what about diggin’ him up? Can they do that?” Beck pressed.
“If Paul’s loan agreement had that option, they can. They just need to present the proper paperwork to the cemetery and he’s theirs.”
Beck shook his head. “I can’t imagine he’d go for somethin’ like that.”
“Probably figured he was going to be in too many pieces for a necromancer to mess with. Unfortunately, that’s not the case.”
“So what do we do?” Bec
k asked.
“I’ll request a copy of the contract from the debt company and see if they left us any wiggle room. If not, Paul could be out of the ground in short order and his daughter won’t see a penny of that money.”
“That’s the best ya can do?” He got a curt nod in response. “No wonder everybody hates lawyers.”
“Tell me about it.”
Beck relayed the news to Riley. He could imagine her pacing around the dinky apartment, scared she’d lose her dad. Again.
“Sorry, I kinda freaked,” she admitted. “I just got to sleep and he scared me.”
Beck knew how much it took her to admit that, at least to him.
That bastard’s lucky I wasn’t there.
“Don’t worry, yer daddy stays in the ground no matter what.” Brave words that he might not be able to back up, but she needed some hope right now.
He heard a weak “Thanks” and then she hung up.
“Just keeps gettin’ worse,” he grumbled, and dropped his phone into a pocket.
“If they have the legal right to reanimate him, what are you going to do?” Jack asked.
“Too god-awful to think about.”
Their eyes met. “If you really want to keep Paul from being sold, it may come to that. They won’t touch him if he’s not whole.”
Beck swallowed, his stomach executing a warning lurch. “Just do what ya can. Send me the bill. I don’t care what it costs.”
“It’s Guild business, so I’ll bill them.”
Beck heaved a long sigh of relief. “Thanks.”
“Let’s get those demons unloaded. Then you go get some sleep. I do not want to attend another friend’s funeral anytime soon, you got that?”
“Yeah, I hear ya.”
THIRTEEN
Peter’s voice rose in indignation. “You’re, like, kidding me, right? They want to sell your father’s corpse?”
“Yeah, that’s the plan,” Riley said, cradling her phone against her shoulder as she waited for her computer to boot up. “The guy said Dad was a fung … a something asset.”
“Fungible,” Peter corrected. “It means interchangeable. In this case he’ll act as payment against the money you owe them.”
“Whatever. Beck talked to the Guild’s lawyer. He’s going to try to stop them.”
“God, Riley, that sucks.”
“Welcome to my new life. One long moment of suckage.”
There was an awkward pause. “What’s it like now?”
Riley thought a moment before answering. “Too quiet. I always knew Dad would be home every morning, so the quiet didn’t bother me. Now it’s … forever.”
“Not forever,” Peter said. “Maybe you could get a roommate or something.”
“How many people want to live with someone who stores demons in their kitchen cupboard?”
“Good point.” More silence. “So what are you working on?” he asked, sounding eager to change the subject.
“My computer is getting weird again, so I thought I better do a backup.”
“Weird how?”
“It locks up all the time and I lose stuff.”
“Yeah, definite backup time. I’ll see if I can get over there this weekend and work on it for you.”
You’ll come here? Peter had never been to the apartment. What would he think of it?
“Will the warden let you loose?” she asked.
A tortured sigh came through the phone. “I don’t know. She’s just not that into you, Riley.”
“I noticed. Why doesn’t your mom like me?”
“Because I do.”
Riley blinked a couple of times. “Wow, that’s radical.”
“Just the truth. All of us are on short leashes after what happened to Matt.”
Peter’s oldest brother—the one who’d mixed a fatal combo of alcohol and automobile. His girlfriend had supplied the brew and walked away from the crash with a few cuts. Pete’s mom never forgave her.
“But we’re just friends, not like Matt and Sarah.”
“She doesn’t see the difference. In her mind any girl is a threat to her sons. It’s how she copes.”
“Sorry, Peter. That has to be brutal.”
“It is. But don’t worry, I’ll find a way to get over to see you.”
“Cool.” Something to look forward to. Maybe she’d make pizza.
Riley spied the yellow computer disk near the keyboard. Apparently her dad had dropped it off before he went trapping. Before he …
She shoved that thought away, pushing it behind that opaque curtain. It was that or she’d be blubbing tears onto the keyboard. She pushed the disk into the slot, and its contents appeared on her monitor. There was only one file, and it was labeled “Research.”
“Password? What’s this?” she mumbled.
“Riley?” Peter asked. “Talk to me. What’s going on?”
“This is weird. Dad never locked any of his files. I mean, who would want to read about the Battle of Shiloh?”
“So what’s his password?” Peter prompted.
Riley tried a couple—her name, her mom’s. Nothing happened.
“No clue. Damn, now he’s got me wondering what’s on this thing.”
“Bring it to school. I’ll hack it for you. I’ll need your birthdates, common stuff like that. People use those rather than something harder.”
“Will do.” She popped out the yellow disk, dug in a shoebox next to the computer, and inserted a blue one. That one wasn’t password locked. The computer whirled and the backup commenced.
Riley noted the time on the monitor. “Gotta go. It’s going to take a while to pack for the cemetery. I need much warmer clothes.” Tonight there would be no Nice Catholic Boy to snuggle up next to. Drat.
“Watch out for the big, bad necromancers,” Peter said, jokingly.
“I will.” I’ll ignore them and they’ll all go away.
* * *
Rather than drive the car up to the mausoleum, Riley parked in the lot and proceeded to load herself up like a burro. As she hiked her breath puffed out in the chilly air. The exercise felt good, but it reminded her that she was still sore from playing tag with library demons.
The cemetery guy from this morning was gone, replaced by a woman sitting in a chaise longue. She was wearing a heavy black dress that came to her ankles and pair of orthopedic shoes with really thick soles. On top was a thick black coat. Her bright silver hair pegged her at about seventy, maybe older.
“Hello!” the volunteer called out brightly.
What is it with these people? Do they, like, give them happy pills or something?
“I’m Martha, by the way,” the woman explained. Before Riley could reply, the lady rattled on. “It might rain. Did you bring an umbrella?”
Riley waved at the pile at her side. “It’s in there somewhere, I think.”
“Good. You should get some plastic tarps. They work great for keeping you dry, and you won’t have to sit on the wet ground.”
“Thanks,” Riley said, meaning it.
The old woman’s eyes twinkled. “You learn a few tricks over the years. If the weather really gets bad, just make the circle bigger and sit vigil inside the mausoleum.”
Riley made a note of that one. “Do you really enjoy doing this?”
“Yes, I do! I’m in the fresh air and I help people,” Martha replied. “I love this old cemetery. No better place in this world.”
Riley decided not to argue that point.
Martha drew herself up. “If you mean no harm, then pass within.”
Riley cautiously lifted her gear over the candles and walked inside.
“You need help setting up the new circle?” the volunteer asked.
Riley almost said yes but changed her mind. She’d have to do this on her own eventually. “I’ll be okay.”
“Then have a safe night, dear.” The woman marched up the path like she was half her age, with a folded chair in one hand and a paisley knitting bag in the other.
“Okay,” Riley muttered. Now it was up to her. “This is doable,” she said, although it felt like there were a swarm of monarch butterflies in her stomach trying to migrate in all directions at once. “How hard can it be? I lay out the circle, do the invocation, and I’m good.”
It sounded too easy.
Riley dug through the canvas bag marked “Vigil Supplies.”
“How many candles do I need?” She did a quick count of the ones currently in place and added a few more just in case. After a nervous glance at the booklet she began the ritual. Holy Water in one direction, then the other. She carefully set a new line of candles on top of the moistened ground, just inside the existing circle, trying hard to keep the exact distance between them. Carrying the pamphlet and the fireplace lighter she’d borrowed from Mrs. Litinsky, she began igniting the candles while saying the Lord’s Prayer in English. She added, “Keep us safe, please,” and waited. All the candles went out at once, including the ones in the old circle.
“Omigod! No, don’t do that!”
Her dad was totally unprotected.
Riley panicked. It was too close to sunset for mistakes.
I’ll call Simon. No, he’s trapping. Beck? No way I’m calling him. He’ll think I can’t do anything on my own.
She took two deep breaths to steady herself and opened the book.
“Oh, jeez!” Serious Simon hadn’t told her one vital bit of information. If there was only one person setting the circle you lit the candles first then did the invocation and the intention. From what she could tell, the invocation wasn’t mandatory, but ensuring that the circle knew whom to repel was the most important part.
She relit the candles and then paused. The Lord’s Prayer was okay, but it didn’t feel right for her. But what to use? She heard a car door slam and jumped. Maybe now was not the time to be picky.
“Ah, God, sorry to bother you, but this is Riley … Blackthorne. Could you keep my dad safe inside this circle? I mean, don’t let the necromancers take him away. I’d really appreciate it if you could.”
The candles didn’t flare like they were supposed to. Maybe she hadn’t been specific enough. Or put enough force of will behind the words.
Taking a deep breath, she called out, “If someone wants to harm us, do not let them inside this circle!”
