Forbidden

by Jana Oliver

“Sure. That’ll work.” He hung up.

  Was he upset because of her nearly dying at the Tabernacle or was it something else? No way she would know unless he was willing to talk, which didn’t seem to be the case. She shelved that away as another potential problem.

  A quarter of an hour later—Riley kept checking her watch every few minutes—the cemetery dude arrived. He was younger than she’d expected, about twenty-five, and wore glasses. His heavy coat hung off a thin frame. He moved up the road like someone who’d been viciously mugged and expected to be a victim again.

  This was the volunteer who’d failed to keep her father safe. Last night she could have happily thrown him to a demon, and tonight wasn’t much better. Still, she’d almost broken the circle twice herself, only catching Ozymandias’s clever ruses at the last moment.

  The guy stopped a good ten feet from where she was sitting on the steps that led to the cemetery office. It was easy to see the look of devastation on his ruddy face. He was a walking apology. They stared at each other for a time, neither willing to speak first. At any little noise, he jumped, casting a worried glance in the direction of the sound. What had it taken for him to come here tonight?

  This was too painful. “Tell me what happened,” she said.

  He winced. “I … did everything like I was supposed to.”

  Oh, God. He sounded just like her after the disaster at the law library. She’d used those exact words when Beck had demanded an explanation.

  The volunteer kept fidgeting, and finally she beckoned him to sit next to her on the stairs. He did so with great reluctance, as if it were physically painful to be anywhere near her.

  “What’s your name?” she asked.

  “Richard.”

  “I’m Riley,” she said, keeping her voice neutral. This was hell for her, and it couldn’t be any different for him. “Tell me what happened.”

  He sighed and adjusted his leather gloves before answering. “I set the circle like I always do. No problems. Necros came and necros went and—”

  “Which ones?” That could be important.

  He pondered on the question. “Mortimer and that guy who dresses all flashy. I think his name is Lenny.”

  “Anyone else?”

  He shook his head. “I was reading a book, and then the wind picked up. I ignored it. That happens sometimes, and usually it’s a summoner playing with my head. Then the ground in front of the circle began to glow like it was a pool of lava. It was a real strange red and gold.”

  “And?”

  “Then it blasted out of the dirt like a rocket,” he said, throwing his arms out like an explosion.

  “It? You mean the dragon?”

  “Yeah. I’ve always been afraid of them ever since I was little. My parents bought me a stuffed one because they thought it was cute. I was sure it was going to eat me, so I hid it in the back of the closet.”

  She’d expected him to blame someone else, but this guy was taking it all on his shoulders.

  “Did you tell anyone that you were afraid of dragons, I mean like one of the necros?” she asked. Maybe that might give her a clue.

  “No,” Richard replied. “It’s not something you go around telling people.”

  He had a point.

  “What did it look like?”

  He rubbed his face, his fingers making a scratchy noise on the stubble around his chin.

  “It was huge, at least twenty feet tall. It had these thick mirrored scales that changed color when it moved. I could see all the candle flames in them. It was really eerie.”

  “It didn’t fly into the graveyard,” she said, more to herself than him. Like you’d think a dragon would.

  “No. It came right out of the ground. You should have seen its claws. They had to be at least three feet long. It kept staring at me, hissing. I could hear it in my mind, telling me to break the circle or it’d roast me alive.”

  “And you did?” she asked, working to keep her anger out of her voice.

  “No!” Richard retorted, shaking his head instantly. “I closed my eyes and tried to think of anything else but that damned thing.”

  “So how did the circle get broken?”

  “When I didn’t do what it wanted, it leaned back on it rear legs and roared,” he said. “I saw tombstones shatter, and the roof exploded off the mausoleum. Then this wall of flame came right toward me.”

  Richard was shaking at this point, so Riley hesitantly put a hand on his arm. It seemed to comfort him.

  There was no evidence of destruction near the mausoleum. “All illusion,” she said.

  Richard took a deep breath and then pushed on. “When the flames hit the circle, the candles began to rock. It got so hot I thought I was being baked alive. I dove under a blanket and tried to hide, but somehow I must have kicked over one of the candles.”

  Once the circle was broken nothing kept the necromancer from summoning her father.

  “What was it like when my dad…” she began, tucking her hands into her lap.

  Richard looked over at her. “The dirt flew everywhere, and there was the crack of wood. I think it was the coffin lid. Then your dad just rose out of the ground. I tried to stop him, but he shook his head and pushed me away.”

  “Did he … say anything?”

  “Yes, and that was really creepy. Your father walked up to the dragon, stared at it, and said, ‘It just had to be you.’” Richard swallowed hard. “Then the thing just vanished, taking your father with it.”

  “But you never saw the necromancer?”

  “No.”

  “How about a swirling bunch of leaves?” That was Ozymandias’s favorite disguise.

  “No.”

  Richard was no longer shaking, as if telling the story had somehow exorcised a portion of his fear.

  “I’m really sorry,” he said. “I feel really bad about this. If I hadn’t been so frightened…”

  She could blame this guy for everything or let it go. Hating on him for the rest of her life wasn’t going to help. Well, maybe just a little hating, but he didn’t need to know that.

  “I understand. I almost fell for the ‘Let’s sacrifice a kitten’ trick.”

  At his puzzled look, Riley explained Ozymandias’s brilliant scheme, how he’d threatened to cut a kitten’s throat if she didn’t break the circle. Luckily the cat wasn’t real, nothing more than a bit of his dark magic.

  “Wow. I’ve heard about him. You think he’s the one who took your dad?”

  “Maybe.”

  Silence fell between them for a time. Finally Richard cleared his throat and rose. “Thanks for listening. I was afraid you’d be too angry to talk to me.”

  “You did what you could.”

  The young man shook his head. “All I did was let your dad’s body be stolen. I don’t deserve your gratitude.”

  He slumped down the road. Riley watched him until he took the turn toward the entrance. She wondered if he’d guard anyone else’s grave or whether Paul Blackthorne had been his last gig.

  “It just had to be you.” Her father had known who had summoned him. Was it Ozymandias?

  “Doesn’t feel right,” she said. Ozy would want her to make the mistake, not a cemetery volunteer. So he could gloat.

  Her phone rang deep inside her messenger bag. She was tempted to ignore it, but it might be Amy giving her an update on Simon. It was Beck. She groaned.

  “Ya on hallowed ground?” he asked without bothering to say hello.

  “Yes.” She was, though she wouldn’t be once she crossed under the cemetery archway.

  “Stay there.” It wasn’t a request.

  “You know, I’m glad I never had brothers.”

  “Why?” he asked, clearly puzzled.

  “If they’d been like you I’d have run away from home.”

  “Go ahead. Just make sure it’s to Fargo,” he shot back.

  Jeez, you just don’t quit. He’d been on this “Move in with yer aunt” kick ever since he found out she had
a relative in North Dakota. It didn’t seem to matter that her aunt had hated her dad and disliked Riley by default. Once Beck got something into his brain, it was as immovable as a lump of dried concrete.

  Time to change the subject. “I’m sleeping in my own bed tonight,” she announced, knowing that would set him off.

  “I’m sure yer neighbors will really like that when they get barbecued.”

  “Huh?” He wasn’t making any sense.

  “Nothin’ would keep a couple Pyros from torchin’ yer apartment buildin’ just so that Five can get ya.”

  She hadn’t thought about that. It seemed pretty far-fetched, but fiends attacking the Tabernacle hadn’t seemed like a possibility either.

  “I want to be in my own place, Beck. I’m tired, I need a shower, and I hurt all over.” Her dad’s things would be around her at home. Maybe that way she wouldn’t feel so alone.

  “I hear ya, girl, but that’s not the most important thing in the world.”

  He was lecturing her again like he knew all the answers to life’s questions.

  “Good night, Beck.”

  “Riley…” he said in warning.

  “I got the message,” she said, hanging up.

  And I’m so ignoring it.

  * * *

  Though she hadn’t seen anyone when she’d climbed into her car at the cemetery, she was unnerved when a motorcycle fell in behind her. It followed her until the next intersection, then it pulled even with her driver’s side door.

  Oh, crap, now what? The motorcyclist flipped up the helmet’s visor. Ori. He replaced the visor and fell in behind her again once they cleared the intersection. It felt strange having an escort, but she had to admit he totally owned that bike. Absolute bad boy. The kind you dream about but really shouldn’t date because you know it would never work out.

  They couldn’t have been more different—saintly Simon of the most holy kisses, and Ori, who stirred primal emotions she didn’t understand. Riley shook her head again. Can’t go there. Simon’s perfect for me. And he’s all mine. Even her dad had liked him. She suspected that wouldn’t have been the case with the hot guy on the bike.

  When Riley parked in the lot near her apartment, Ori pulled into a slot next to her.

  “I hope I didn’t frighten you,” he said, walking over to her car.

  “A little. I’m not used to having guys follow me around.”

  “I’m surprised to hear that,” he said smoothly.

  Riley felt the warmth creep onto her cheeks. Luckily the parking lot wasn’t well lit, so he probably didn’t notice. “Just demons follow me around.” How many guys could handle that statement? Only trappers, and most of them weren’t that cool.

  “Ah, well,” Ori replied, “I’ll just have to deal with that problem.”

  “You know, you don’t carry a duffel bag or anything. How do you kill fiends without any weapons or Holy Water?”

  He gestured toward the saddlebags. “I’ve got a few things tucked away.”

  But you don’t carry them with you all the time, not like Beck.

  “So this is where you live?” he asked. It was like he’d wanted to change the subject. He did that a lot.

  Riley went along with the shift of topic. “This is it. It used to be a hotel. Now it’s an apartment building with lots of dinky rooms.”

  Ori studied her home. “It’s got a roof and four walls, so that’s all you need, right?”

  No. It wasn’t all she needed. There was so much more to it than just a place to live.

  Somehow her escort was closer to her now. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you,” he said softly.

  She looked up into his dark eyes. “Not your fault,” she replied, shrugging. “Just the way it is now.”

  “Maybe that will change,” he said. Ori gently brushed a strand of hair out of her face. “In fact, I’m counting on that.”

  Her cheeks heated up again. What is it with this guy?

  A moment later he was rolling out of the parking lot. Apparently his idea of watching over her didn’t mean camping underneath her window.

  Probably a good thing. Or she might be tempted to invite him inside.

  * * *

  When Riley eased open the apartment door, it creaked on its hinges. The place felt wrong: It suffered from a severe lack of Dad. Her father’s clothes still hung in the closet, his electric razor sat in the bathroom, and all his books were still here, but he wasn’t. That’s why it felt wrong. She’d hoped to find solace here, but the emptiness just made it worse.

  There was a solid bump at calf level, and she jumped in surprise. The neighbor’s cat.

  “Hey, Max.” She knelt to give him a scratch as he leaned against her, purring. His front paws stood on her tennis shoes, the claws kneading into the fabric as his whiskers tickled her hand.

  Max was a Maine coon, a solid mass of feline that weighed in at close to twenty pounds. He was Mrs. Litinsky’s and seemed to think Riley’s apartment was just an extension of his owner’s.

  “Sorry, you can’t come in tonight.” Normally she’d enjoy the company, but now all she wanted was a shower and a good night’s sleep. Max would expect a great deal of human fawning, and she wasn’t up to it.

  After another thorough scratch under his furry chin she managed to get through the door without him following. She heard a petulant meow from the hallway but didn’t allow the guilt to get to her like it usually did.

  She dropped her messenger bag on the secondhand couch and she joined it a second later. The timer had turned on the one light in the living room, and it illuminated the compact space. Since the building was originally a hotel, they’d made this apartment from parts of two separate rooms. Between the drab beige walls and carpet and the jigsaw layout, the end result lacked anything resembling coolness.

  At least it’s mine as long as I keep paying the rent.

  Riley pulled herself up off the couch, yawned, and then eyed the answering machine on the table near the old computer. The message light was urgently blinking red. She needed an incentive to tackle whatever lived on that machine, so she retrieved a strawberry yogurt out of the refrigerator.

  Last one. She dutifully added that item to the grocery list. The three entries before hers were in her dad’s handwriting. Her heart constricted, and she was forced to swallow a thick lump in her throat that had nothing to do with the yogurt. Yet another reminder that someone she loved used to live here.

  She sank into the chair in front of the computer, pushed the play button on the machine, then began spooning yogurt and strawberries into her mouth. Five of the messages were from the CDC—the Consolidated Debt Company, not the germ people. Her father had taken out a loan to pay for her mother’s hospital bills, the ones the Guild insurance policy didn’t cover. Now the CDC wanted their money back. The first message was polite, but they became less pleasant with each subsequent call. By the last one the caller was shouting into the phone about how she had to pay the debt she owed them and if she didn’t they’d exhume her father and sell his body to defray their expenses. The date on that one was yesterday morning.

  “Too late for that, guys,” she said, pausing in her enjoyment of the yogurty goodness. “Someone else beat you to it.” For half a second Riley actually liked the necro who’d screwed these guys over.

  The rest of the calls didn’t require her immediate attention, which was a blessing. The moment the yogurt was finished, a yawn erupted.

  Shower. Bed. Sleep. In that order.

  But it wasn’t to be a good night. Apartment buildings generate ambient noise, and though these sounds weren’t any different than normal—someone on the floor above flushing the toilet and the occasional cry of the new baby down the hall—all of them woke her up.

  “Thanks, Backwoods Boy,” she growled, using the nickname she’d invented to describe Beck when he was getting on her nerves. Which was most of the time. He’d seeded the idea that the demons would come calling, and now she couldn’t get that out of he
r mind, even with Ori doing sentry duty. With a sigh, Riley rose and walked to her window, pushing back the curtain. The moon glared off the car windshields in the parking lot below, but no sign of Ori.

  “Watching over me, huh?” If he was, he was invisible.

  After staring at nothing for some time, she trudged back to bed and pounded her pillow into shape. “Maybe I should have let Max in tonight.” He would have curled up against her and purred her to sleep.

  A slight shifting noise came from her dresser, and she remembered why an overnight cat wouldn’t be a good idea—her fellow lodger. Max would destroy the apartment just to get the thing.

  More movement, or at least the faint hint of movement. “I hear you,” she said, quietly.

  The sound halted abruptly, followed by a minute sigh.

  There were a number of things a demon trapper was supposed to do: Riley was expected to trap fiends, keep the proper paperwork, protect the public, and prevent Hell’s Minions from making a real mess of the world.

  She was not supposed to be sharing an apartment with one.

  This was a Grade One Klepto-Fiend, or Magpie, as the trappers called them. He was about three inches in height, with brown skin and dressed like a ninja. He even carried a little bag like a cat burglar. He wasn’t dangerous, just prone to ripping off shiny items such as bright pennies or pieces of jewelry. Sometimes she’d find them in bizarre places in her apartment, like in the silverware drawer. Often they’d be stuff that wasn’t hers.

  Riley had trapped and sold this fiend to a demon trafficker but it had promptly returned, like one of those missing dogs you read about in the paper, the ones who travel hundreds of miles just to find its owner. Not that she owned this fiend. He was definitely one of Lucifer’s critters. She wasn’t even sure if it was a “he” but as she saw it, girl demons probably dressed nicer.

  Riley rolled over, thumped her pillow, and tried to shut down her mind. Instead she heard a teeny voice, the demon talking to himself. Probably counting his stash of goodies.

  At least you don’t start fires.

  And with that in mind, she drifted into an uneasy sleep.

  SEVEN

  Morning felt as cruel as a dull knife slicing across her throat. To Riley’s annoyance her head ached as much as her body, like she’d overdone it with some of Ayden’s highly potent witchy wine. Every little noise had made her think of crackling flames and the taunting cackles of the Pyros. As a result she’d slept poorly, bouts of being awake interspersed with seriously bad dreams that had featured fountains of blood and lots of screaming.