Soul Thief-Demon Trappers 2

by Jana Oliver

  Ori made sure his gaze met that of the older demon. It winced at his power and averted its eyes. “Stay away from Blackthorne’s child. If you tempt her, I will execute you like the cockroaches you are.”

  The elder demon hissed again and stepped backward, feeling the seething power of Ori’s anger. The younger demon began to protest, but after another blow from its superior, the pair hurried away, changing into human form as they moved.

  Ori watched them, curious as to whether they’d go back after the trapper. To his relief they didn’t, but instead they encountered a young man on the street. His eyes glazed over as the elder demon put her hand on his heart and began to drink his life essence.

  Ori wasn’t about to interfere. They had their job. He had his.

  And mine is the girl.

  TWELVE

  The sound of church bells brought Riley out of her vivid dreams. Waking up in a new place was always strange, but the bells calling the faithful to Mass sounded surreal. She rubbed her eyes, yawned and sat up. Another yawn. The bells continued and they made her think of Simon. After a quick trip to the bathroom, Riley crawled back under the covers and dialed his sister.

  Please let him be better. She’d uttered that prayer right before she’d fallen asleep, along with requests to find her father and one that Peter would stay put in Atlanta. The prayer list was getting longer every night.

  To her relief, the news was positive: Simon was improving, though still not talking much, and there was a chance he’d get to go home in a day or two. Amy said it was a miracle. She was right, but it had a lot to do with the fact that the wounds were demonic and being treated by freshly blessed Holy Water courtesy of Father Harrison. Between Heaven’s intervention and the priest, Simon had no choice but to survive.

  Riley disconnected the call with a broad smile. Once he went home Simon would loosen up. His family would see to that, and if not, his girlfriend sure would.

  A cold morning greeted her as she stepped outside the church. A few cars along the street exhibited a layer of alabaster frost on their windshields. As she walked around to unlock her ride, she found a pure white rose stuck in the driver’s side door handle. She carefully pulled it free, mindful of thorns, and sampled its fragrance. It was amazing. More surprising was the fact the hard freeze hadn’t affected it.

  Must not have been out here that long.

  Riley’s first thought was of Simon, but he was in the hospital. Beck didn’t seem to be the romantic type. That only left …

  Ori? But why would he give her a rose? After a quick look around and finding no sign of him, she decided not to tax her brain and just enjoy the gift. Maybe today isn’t going to suck after all.

  With no time for a trip home and oatmeal, she drove through the closest fast-food place and bought what her father used to call “death in a bag.” High-fat, high-carb food. She was completely awake by the time she walked into Harper’s place where there was the scent of fresh coffee layered on top of the old automotive smells. Apparently he’d felt good enough to use the coffeemaker.

  As she entered the office, she braced herself. Harper liked to yell at her just for breathing. No shouting this time, in fact, he barely gave her a second glance. To her relief she found he was still sober. Despite that improvement, she kept out of range and spent time cleaning up, washing dishes, and emptying the trash cans, none of which had anything to do with trapping. It was expected that an apprentice would take care of the master, even if he was an asshat.

  “Anything else?” she asked, hopeful she could blow out of there.

  He shifted in his recliner as if no position was comfortable, which was probably the case.

  “Get those Holy Water jugs out into the parking lot. A recycling truck should be coming by to pick them up this morning.” Another shift in position. “I want every one accounted for. I’ll need the money since I can’t trap.”

  “Shouldn’t we keep some of the counterfeit ones for evidence?” she hedged. “The ones I had were destroyed in the fire.”

  “Hold back five of them.” Then he frowned. “Why didn’t Saint catch that those bottles were wrong the last time he did the inventory?”

  “Because none of them were. The screwed-up consecration dates just showed up in the last three weeks.”

  He chuffed in disgust. “I’d love to find the bastard behind that scheme. I’d throw him to a Three and watch the thing gut him.”

  Riley shivered: She knew exactly what that looked like. Harper caught her reaction, but he didn’t chide her about it like she figured he would.

  “There’s an order on the desk,” he said. “It’s a Magpie. You’ve trapped them before, right?”

  She nodded. Grade One demons came in two flavors—Klepto-Fiends, who stole bright objects, and Biblio-Fiends who chewed up books and swore like rappers. If she had her choice of what to trap, the Klepto-Fiend was it. They weren’t malicious, just obsessive and stealthy.

  “When you catch it, sell it to that new guy … Dan What’s-His-Name,” her master ordered. “Don’t go anywhere near the fag, got it?”

  The fag. That would be Fireman Jack, one of the demon traffickers. Harper had a real hang-up about homosexuals.

  “I understand. Where is this Dan guy’s place?”

  Harper jabbed a finger at the desk. “His address is next to the trapping order.”

  Riley ignored the paperwork for the time being and concentrated on moving the plastic Holy Water bottles to the parking lot. After the first trip she devised a way to run a piece of rope through the handles so she could carry more of them at one time. As she made the trips back and forth, she noted that Harper’s collection of scrounged metal in the fenced yard behind the building was diminishing.

  Selling it off to pay the bills. The Guild’s disability fund wasn’t very generous.

  Once she’d finished the recount, Riley leaned against her car and waited. As long as the bottle count matched the paperwork, Harper would have no reason to bitch at her. At least not about this.

  Riley heard the truck from a block away as it ground through gears and eventually pulled up near her car, brakes screeching in protest. The truck bed had a substantial mound of plastic containers held in place by tall wooden racks on all four sides. A couple of guys hopped out of the vehicle. She handed over the clipboard with the required forms.

  “Hey, I saw you on the TV. You know, at the Tabernacle,” the younger of the two men said as the other one checked the count. “Damn, that was one helluva fire.”

  “So what happens to these bottles after you guys get them?” she asked, in an effort to change the subject away from one that fueled her nightmares.

  To her relief he took the bait. “These?”

  “Yeah, those,” she said, indicating the bottles. That hadn’t been a trick question.

  “They go to the recycling plant,” the other man said, his tone guarded.

  “Then what happens?”

  “Don’t know. Don’t care,” he said. He counted out the money, then dropped it and one copy of the paperwork into her hands.

  Riley pointed to the sheet. “Sign it, will you?”

  “Don’t need to,” the guy said, frowning now.

  “Please?” she wheedled, turning on the charm. “Master Harper will be all over me if I don’t get it signed.”

  The two men traded looks, and the younger one scrawled something on the page and handed it back to her. The signature was unreadable. Her thanks yielded no reply as they backed out of the lot in a cloud of exhaust fumes and tormented gears.

  While Riley rearranged the paperwork on the clipboard, something nagged at her. She stared at the driver’s side door. There was no logo, no text, no nothing. All the city vehicles had Atlanta’s official logo on their doors, the image of a phoenix rising from the flames.

  So who just picked up those bottles?

  * * *

  Beck didn’t like hospitals. He’d spent some time in one during his stint in the Army so he knew how they wor
ked. They harbored weird smells and seemed too sterile for his liking, so finding himself “makin’ the rounds,” as Master Stewart put it, didn’t do a thing for his attitude. In Beck’s way of thinking this was the priest’s job, but here he was trooping around the different floors, talking to bedridden trappers and their families, acting like all Hell wasn’t breaking loose. Why Stewart had insisted he do this he hadn’t a clue, but he could take orders like any good soldier.

  Beck had purposely made Simon his last stop, partly because he felt bad he hadn’t kept the apprentice from being hurt, and mostly because Simon was dating Riley. He still hadn’t sorted out his feelings about that. Not that he had anything against Adler, but it just didn’t feel right to him.

  Better’n some she could be seein’.

  Like that Allan Something-or-Other, the abusive dude she’d dated a couple years back. Beck knew he was to blame for that: Riley had been totally hot for Beck when he’d returned from the Army. Anyone could see it. That would have been okay if she hadn’t been Paul’s daughter and only fifteen. He’d pushed her aside, hard. On the rebound, she’d immediately taken up with that abusive prick, a loser who had her steal stuff for him. That relationship had lasted right up until Allan had hit her.

  But that’s the point, isn’t it?

  Simon would treat Riley right. He wouldn’t beat her or talk her into stealing things, but every time Beck tried to tell himself that, it stuck in his throat. Did that mean he was jealous?

  He shoved that unnerving thought aside and entered Simon’s room. He found the patient awake, watching something on television. Beck’s eyes flicked toward the screen; it was a talk show about what had happened at the Tabernacle. Every now and then a picture of the inferno would pop on the screen.

  Just what ya shouldn’t be watchin’.

  “Simon.” A weak nod returned as Beck slowly approached the bed. “How’s it goin’?” he asked, keeping his tone conversational. Just like a priest would.

  A shrug returned.

  “I hear the wounds are healin’ good.” A nod. It appeared that Beck would have to do all the talking. “I’ve been visitin’ some of the others. Looks like they’re gonna make it, though Barton needs more surgery on his leg.”

  “Good,” the patient mumbled, his eyes not meeting his visitor’s.

  Beck hadn’t figured Simon was going to be all perky, but he had to talk this out or it’d eat him alive. Beck knew about that firsthand.

  He tried another approach. “Did ya see the angels?”

  Simon’s expression saddened. “No, I didn’t.”

  “Well, they were truly awesome. I’ve seen the ministerin’ kind before, but these were the big boys. They were seriously kick-ass.”

  “Jackson told me about them,” Simon replied. “He said they had fiery swords and you could feel this sort of power around them.”

  “Ya shoulda seen the demons. They ran for it.”

  Silence.

  Beck leaned on the bed rail. “Ya know, it’s real hard after a battle,” he said. “Ya can’t believe half of what happened, and part of ya is too damned frightened to deal with it. Just know, it’ll take time.”

  Simon swallowed heavily. “I thought I was going to die.”

  “Same here.”

  The apprentice’s eyes met his. “Were you frightened?”

  “Hell, yes.”

  “I shouldn’t have been. I knew God was with me.”

  “That don’t keep ya from bein’ afraid. That’s natural,” Beck explained. “Nothin’ to be ashamed of.”

  “I saw on the TV that the demons are all over the city now.”

  “A few. They’re actin’ strange, but we’ll get ’em; don’t worry.”

  Simon frowned. “Why hasn’t Riley come to see me again?” he demanded, his voice harsher now.

  That wasn’t a question Beck had expected. “She’s helpin’ Harper out and she’s tryin’ to find Paul. I figure she’ll be along directly.”

  “That’s no excuse. She should be here.”

  Oh, lord. “I’ll let her know yer askin’ for her.”

  That seemed to mollify the patient. When Simon spoke again, his voice was quieter. “They’re going to blame me for this.”

  “No one’s blamin’ anyone,” Beck said. “There are too many things we don’t understand yet.”

  Simon’s eyes swung in his direction. “You mean like why Master Blackthorne was there?”

  “Surprised the hell outta me, that’s for sure,” Beck replied. “We’re tryin’ to work it all out.”

  The frown returned. “What’s to work out? Either the Holy Water was counterfeit or someone broke the circle and let the demons in.”

  “Riley said the Holy Water was good. I trust her on that. No one would break the circle. It’d just get them dead.”

  “Not if they were dead already.”

  Beck straightened up, knowing that the next words out of the young man’s mouth would be condemning Paul. That he wouldn’t tolerate. “I’d best be goin’,” he said.

  Simon’s eyes closed, his mouth a grim line. “I think you should,” the apprentice retorted.

  He thinks Paul sold us out. That didn’t promise a rosy future between Riley and her new boyfriend. She would stick up for her father no matter what.

  Ya sure know how to pick ’em, girl.

  THIRTEEN

  Peter hopped into her car and slammed the door the moment Riley pulled to the curb near the Grounds Zero. He was in his usual jeans and sweatshirt, the one with the picture of a guy taking a sledgehammer to a computer keyboard. The caption said COMMENCE REBOOT.

  He set his computer bag on the floorboard, then stared at her. “Your hair. It’s different.”

  “It needed a trim. It got really frazzled in the fire.”

  “I like it. It looks good.” Her friend handed over an insulated cup. “Hot chocolate with whipped cream,” he announced, then swiped at his own brown hair to get it out of his face.

  “You brought me hot chocolate. You rock, Mr. King.”

  “I do, and your timing’s excellent. I’ve only been here a few minutes.”

  “You take the bus?” she asked.

  “No, David dropped me off. He wanted out of the house as much as I did.”

  No doubt. “I’ve got a trapping run.”

  Peter swiveled in his seat, eyes widening. “What kind of demon is it?”

  “It’s just one of the small guys, a Grade One Klepto-Fiend. I figured you’d want to stay in the car.”

  “Why? This could be fun.”

  This wasn’t the Peter she knew. He was always playing it safe to avoid getting grounded by The Warden. Now, with his parents divorcing, it looked like he had decided to branch out a little.

  Riley gave him a dubious look as she pulled up to an intersection. “You sure?”

  “Yeah, unless that Five is going to be there.”

  “It shouldn’t be.” Not during the day, at least.

  At the next intersection a man stood in the middle of the chaos clad in an orange vest and white gloves, like a cross between a butler and a traffic guard. Since most of the city’s traffic lights had been stolen by thieves, he was part of the city’s new scheme of HTLs—human traffic lights. For a little over five dollars an hour he had the privilege of standing in the intersection, trying not to get squashed.

  As she waited for her turn to move forward, Riley asked, “Is it getting any better at home?”

  Peter slumped in his seat. “No. Mom’s still guilting us, and Dad’s not saying much at all.”

  “Who do you want to live with?”

  “Dad, for sure. He’s cool. He has rules, and some of them are kinda stupid, but he’s nothing like Mom.”

  “What will happen if you tell her that?”

  Peter shook his head in despair. “Cue total meltdown. If I tell her the truth, she’ll just throw Matthew’s death in my face.”

  “Sounds seriously hideous, Peter.”

  “It is,” h
e murmured. “Mom hasn’t been right since the twins were born.”

  Riley remembered the day her friend had announced that his mother was pregnant. He’d been thirteen at the time and majorly grossed out to think that his parents were having sex.

  “I feel sorry for the ghouls,” he said, his term for the twins. “They just don’t get what’s going on and so they’re really fussy right now.”

  A pair of cranky three-year-olds. No wonder her friend wanted out of the house, even if it was to trap a Magpie.

  “Well, I’d just tell her and get it over with, Peter. It’s tearing you up, I can tell.”

  He nodded but didn’t reply.

  At least my parents never stopped loving each other.

  With a gloved wave from the human traffic light she edged through the intersection and continued east to the jewelry shop in Poncey Highlands. Peter’s sharp eyes spotted the sign before she did. Riley glided to a halt in front of the store, one of those mom-and-pop kind of places that looked like it’d been at the same location for decades.

  As Riley turned off the engine and scooped up her messenger bag, Peter appeared to be having second thoughts.

  “Is this dangerous?” he asked.

  “No way. These guys are all about stealth. That’s why we call them Hell’s cat burglars. They’re just into bling.”

  “What kind of bling?” he asked.

  “The shinier the better.”

  He thought that through. “Okay, I’ll see what it’s all about. If it gets weird, I’m outta there.”

  That was fair.

  Right before she exited the car, her cell phone pinged—a text from Mortimer: The vendue was on, and if she really wanted to be there, she needed to be available tomorrow night. Time and directions followed. A second message arrived before she could reply: IF YOU ATTEND, DON’T WEAR JEANS.

  She was supposed to be on hallowed ground after sundown. Did she dare risk it?

  “Riley?” Peter nudged. “Something wrong?”

  “No, just trying to decide something.” What if the Five came after her at this vendue thing? Then she remembered who would be there—summoners who wielded magic for fun and profit. She couldn’t imagine a demon would take that on when it could wait for another time when she wasn’t protected. Besides, Ori would be on her tail. She sent Mort a quick text telling him she’d be there.