Forbidden

by Jana Oliver

  The demon snorted flames at the use of its true name. “I shall feast on your corpse, Divine, then I shall destroy Blackthorne’s child.”

  “Not tonight,” Ori said, raising his blade. “Not ever.”

  With a tremendous shout that even Heaven would have heard, the angel charged into battle.

  A ferocious wind caught him mid-leap, but Ori used it to his advantage and spun in the air, landing a slicing blow to the fiend’s left shoulder. It shouted in pain, then slashed at him with its claws. One caught the trailing edge of a wing, ripping deep into the feathers and tendons.

  A second before the other claw would have hooked him, Ori spun out of its reach. A sudden downdraft pulled him toward the earth. His wings acknowledged it, but the injured one didn’t have enough lift to counteract the plunge. As he fought to regain altitude, the demon cast a torrential rainstorm against him, drenching his wings and driving him hard into the red clay and gravel. Ori managed to scramble away to avoid being flattened by the fiend’s taloned foot.

  Killing a weather-worker should have been nothing for a Divine, yet this one had more power than he’d ever seen. “Who is helping you?” Ori panted. “Name your demi-lord!”

  “I shall tell you as you draw your last breath,” the demon promised.

  A bolt of lightning sheared down from the sky, hitting Ori’s blade. He reeled back from the blow but did not drop the weapon. Instead, he channeled the power of the storm upward, gathering the wind, the rain, the hail, and the lightning into one massive strike. Then he threw it at the demon with every ounce of power he possessed.

  As the fiend fought against the onslaught, Ori drove his blade deep into the beast’s chest. He carved through the ribs until its heart burst free, smoking black like hot tar. The demon’s eyes widened in fear.

  “Boon…” it cried. “Boon I grant thee.”

  “Death is thy boon,” the angel replied.

  Ori unsheathed his sword from the demon’s chest and fell to his knees only a few feet away from his foe. The rogue was whispering, gathering in power, probably trying to heal itself.

  The power around the demon shifted, grew stronger. With a final dying breath, it cast forth that energy in a shock wave that blew across the parking lot like a hurricane’s winds. Ori cried out a warning, but it was too late.

  * * *

  Riley awoke in someone’s arms as a soft voice told her she was safe, that the demon was dead. She blinked, trying to clear her vision. It didn’t work. Everything was fuzzy, like she was looking through gauze.

  “Hold very still,” Ori said. He gently touched a finger above one eye, then the other, and a tingle spread across her face. Riley blinked again and everything became clear. Then the angel took her hands in his and performed the same miracle. The gravel embedded in her palms dislodged as the wounds healed. He repeated the healing with her knees.

  “That’s serious angel mojo,” Riley said, trying to smile.

  “Better be.”

  She forced herself to sit up. “You’re hurt!” His one wing bled, a brilliant blue fluid leaking from between the feathers.

  “It is already healing. Do not worry,” he said. As she watched, the wing did knit together and the feathers grew back in place.

  “Wow,” she said. That was the only word that seemed to apply. She turned to look at where the demon had been. There was just a smoking crater now. “Please tell me it’s dead.”

  “Dead and buried, just as I promised.” He paused, as if hearing something she couldn’t. “Time for me to go. Your master killed the demon. Do you understand?”

  “Why should I lie?”

  “It’s for the best. They cannot know what I’ve done here.”

  “But when will I see you again?”

  “At the cemetery, tonight. Come to me when you can.”

  “But what about—”

  He touched a finger to the middle of her forehead and white light sent her into oblivion.

  THIRTY-ONE

  Someone held her, calling Riley’s name. The voice sounded so worried, frantic even.

  “Ori?” she asked. When she opened her eyes she realized it wasn’t the angel. From the expression on the man’s face, he wasn’t happy she’d called him someone else’s name. Especially that name.

  “Beck,” she said. His worried expression diminished.

  “Thank God,” he said. “When I felt the earthquake, I thought ya were done for.”

  Not yet. “Harper?”

  “Bitchin’ up a storm. He’ll be okay.” Beck looked around. “Must have been a helluva show,” he said, his voice thick. “Sorry I didn’t get here in time.”

  She swallowed and then grimaced. Her mouth felt like it was full of dirt.

  “Water?” she croaked.

  He laid her back down and dug in his duffel bag. Then she was back in his arms sucking down the cool liquid. It felt so wonderful. She struggled to sit up, cradling the water bottle between her hands.

  “Easy,” Beck warned.

  She nodded, but sat up anyway. Her palms tingled. She inspected one: The skin was pink but there was no sign of the gravel burn.

  No doubt about it. Angels are awesome.

  She drank more of the water to clear her throat. “Harper went after it,” she said. “He told me to stay in that pit thing inside the building.”

  “But ya didn’t stay, did ya?”

  She shook her head. “I had to help him.”

  A tortured sigh. “Well, yer alive and ya got the bastard. I just wish I’d been the one to take it down,” he said.

  She realized it was more than just scoring a Five; it was all about Beck extracting revenge for her father’s death. “If you’d been here, you would have; I know it,” she said.

  He gave her a nod, telling her he appreciated the gesture.

  A paramedic knelt next to her. “How about you lay back down and I’ll check you out, okay?” the woman said.

  Riley did as ordered, though she didn’t think anything was broken. She answered the paramedic’s questions until the woman was satisfied there were no serious injuries.

  “I think it would be wise if you went to the hospital, just in case.”

  Riley shook her head. “I’m fine.”

  “Your call.” The woman repacked her case and took off.

  Riley sighed in relief and sat up again. Beck was near what was left of the building, talking to Jackson and a couple of the other trappers. Firemen milled around, and there were a few cops as well.

  Her eyes skimmed across the parking lot to the smoking hole where the Five had been. Ori said he’d get the thing, and he had. He’d kept his word. But why did he wait so long to show up?

  She heard Harper’s voice, sharp and sarcastic. He was sitting upright, holding an ice pack to his head, growling at the paramedic who kept fussing with him.

  You’re just a tough old bird, aren’t you? But when the time had come, he’d protected her. That she hadn’t expected.

  When Riley stood her head spun, so she waited until she regained her balance and then walked across the debris-strewn parking lot to her master.

  He looked up at her with bloodshot eyes. “Brat,” he said.

  “Master Harper.”

  His paramedic tried the same “You should go to the hospital” spiel with him and failed just as miserably. Once the fellow had cleared off and they were alone, Harper eyed her.

  “So where the hell’s the demon?” he asked so quietly only she could hear him.

  She knelt next to him. “Dead,” she said. “You killed it.” Please don’t ask me how.

  He frowned. “I don’t remember doing that.”

  Time to change the subject. “You could have let that thing flatten me, but you didn’t. Why?”

  “I could ask you the same question.”

  She was too tired to edit her mouth. “You’re my master. I couldn’t let that thing kill another trapper, even if I think he’s a total asshat.”

  Harper looked at her f
or a long time then cracked a toothy grin. “And you’re one mouthy bitch, but you’re my apprentice. I don’t need the reputation that my people die because I don’t protect them.”

  That was fair.

  He slowly turned toward the building, and the grin fled. She followed his gaze. The back wall was still intact, but the front was a mound of concrete blocks and protruding metal. Steam rose from a couple of the piles, curling up into the air. Papers fluttered in a light breeze, and the office chair’s legs stuck up into the air like an overturned turtle.

  “Damn, I really loved that place,” Harper murmured.

  How could anyone love an old smelly garage?

  “My dad was a mechanic,” he replied, as if he’d read her mind. “I used to hang around and watch him work on cars. He could fix anything.”

  “So this place reminded you of him?” Riley asked, intrigued.

  “Yeah.”

  “Was he a trapper?”

  A nod. “He died taking down an Archdemon when I was sixteen.” Harper swallowed and then coughed, hard. He looked up at her, no hint of arrogance in those ancient eyes. “It’s why I became a trapper.”

  He’d suffered a loss just like hers. She never would have guessed.

  “Riley?” Beck called out.

  She welcomed the interruption. It felt strange having a regular conversation with Harper, and she suspected his next move would be to destroy this touchy-feely moment with a caustic remark.

  Riley rose. When her balance faltered, Beck caught her elbow. They both turned as four black vans pulled into the parking lot, one after another, throwing gravel as they screeched to a halt.

  “Took them long enough,” Beck grumbled. One of the hunters stood out immediately: His body language told Riley he was in charge. He ordered his men to fan out, then headed her way.

  “Who’s that?” she asked.

  “Elias Salvatore. He’s their captain. Just be careful what ya say to ’em.”

  That was a given. At least the priest wasn’t here tonight.

  “Next time, tell us where you’re headed,” Salvatore growled, his frown aimed at Beck. “We could have been here sooner.” Then he turned his attention to Riley. “You okay?” She nodded. “So what happened here?”

  “It was a Geo-Fiend,” her master replied, looking up at the man, his face stern.

  “Grounded?”

  “Dead,” Harper said. His eyes met Riley’s and the message was passed. No matter what really happened, the hunters weren’t on their side.

  The captain signaled to two of his men. “Check out the crater.” He turned back to the master trapper. “Any other demons besides that one?”

  Harper shook his head. “That was enough.”

  “You have my admiration, Master Harper,” the captain said, tilting his head in respect. “They are very difficult to kill.”

  Harper coughed up more dust. “So I noticed.”

  Salvatore crossed the lot to join his men near the smoking hole, talking back and forth in what sounded like Italian. There seemed to be some debate going on, with lots of gestures.

  Harper dropped the ice pack and then extended a hand to Riley. “Get me up off this damned ground.”

  Once she and Beck helped him up, he hobbled into the rubble, his shoulders bent and his gait uneven. Jackson joined him and they talked quietly among themselves. Then Harper pointed at something. The other trapper began to unearth it.

  “So where the hell’s yer fancy boy?” Beck asked. “Why wasn’t he here keepin’ ya safe?”

  She wasn’t going to take the bait.

  “Whatever,” she murmured. It didn’t matter what Beck thought.

  Any doubts she had about the angel had perished with the demon.

  * * *

  It was close to eleven when Beck finally made it to Stewart’s place. Harper had refused to leave his scrap metal collection unguarded, so they’d loaded it into one of the trapper’s trucks and stored it in Beck’s garage. The rest of Harper’s stuff was in the back of another truck headed for a storage unit. At least they’d been able to salvage his filing cabinets and business records, though his personal belongings were pretty much history.

  Exhausted, Beck sank into the same chair he’d occupied during his last visit.

  “Scotch?” Stewart asked.

  “Yes, but not much.” He didn’t need to get drunk, he needed to sort out his feelings. When he’d seen Riley lying in that parking lot, he was sure she was dead. He’d run to her, praying to a God that he wasn’t sure existed, praying for a miracle. Then he’d cradled her body in his arms. When her soft breath had touched his face, he’d almost lost it in front of her and the other trappers.

  “Lad?”

  Beck jerked out his thoughts. A tumbler half full of amber liquor sat on an end table next to his chair. He took a long suck on the whisky.

  “Yer not lookin’ good,” Stewart said, settling into one of the chairs. “What’s wrong?”

  Beck shook his head. He wasn’t ready to talk about it. “Where’d Harper end up?”

  “He’s upstairs, in bed.”

  “No, I’m not,” the older trapper replied. He shuffled into the room and chose a seat near the fireplace. The way he eased himself into it told Beck the man was hurting.

  “What would ya like ta drink?” Stewart asked. Beck noted he’d not offered the man liquor.

  Harper fumbled in a pocket and produced a bottle of pain pills. “Water.”

  Beck did the honors, though it took some time to hunt through the kitchen cabinets to find a glass. Once he was back in his chair, they all stared at their drinks. None of them wanted to talk about what had happened tonight.

  No choice. “How’d ya kill the Five?” Beck said.

  The master shook his head. “I didn’t. The last thing I remember is being rolled across the parking lot like a bowling ball. The Five was still kicking when I went down.”

  “But how…”

  “Riley know how ta take down a Geo-Fiend?” Stewart asked.

  Beck and Harper shook their heads at the same time.

  “Then it appears we have a mystery, gents.”

  More silence.

  This wasn’t going to be easy, but Beck knew it was time to come clean. “I think I know who took out the demon.”

  The eyes of both masters shifted to him.

  “There’s a Lancer in town named Ori. He’s been hangin’ around Riley. She told me he was the one who saved her from the Five at the Tabernacle. Maybe he was the one that killed it tonight.”

  “Why wouldn’t she just say so?” Harper asked.

  Beck shrugged. “Don’t know. This one’s an arrogant bastard, and I think he’s got more on his mind than just killin’ demons.”

  “Which means yer opinion of him might be biased,” Stewart replied, a slight smile on his lips now.

  “Yeah, maybe,” Beck admitted. Just tell ’em. If it kills my chances at bein’ a master, so be it. “This guy was at the Armageddon Lounge a few nights back. A couple Fours came in, workin’ as a team. The older one had me dead to rights. Next thing I know the demons blew out of there like their tails were on fire.”

  When Stewart scowled, Beck knew his next question. “My soul’s still my own. But this Ori guy just sat there and watched the whole thing go down. They didn’t seem to bother him at all.”

  “Why didn’t ya mention this earlier?” the Scotsman demanded.

  “Too much hittin’ the fan. And I wasn’t proud I’d almost been taken down. That’s the truth of it.”

  The master took a big jolt of whisky. “Next time, ya tell me, ya hear?” he said gruffly.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Did those demons know he’s a Lancer?” Harper asked.

  “Don’t think so,” Beck replied. “They didn’t act like they knew he was there.”

  “A pair of Fours, and this guy doesn’t make a move on them? That’s not right,” Harper said. “Freelancers are always after money on the hoof.”


  “Same thing tonight: If he’d killed that Five, he’d have stayed behind to make sure he got credited with the kill,” Beck replied. And to make me look bad in front of Riley.

  Stewart’s face was pensive now. “Push yer personal emotions aside, lad, and do a gut-check about this fella. What are ya feelin’?”

  Beck tried, but it was difficult. Too much of Paul’s daughter was tangled up inside of him now.

  “This guy’s really smooth, but somethin’ about him’s not right, and it’s not just because of … her.”

  “Could it be another Four?” Harper suggested. “Is that why the Mezmers ignored him?”

  “I’m thinkin’ not. A Geo-Fiend wouldn’t back down from a Four,” Stewart murmured.

  “Riley said he’d been on holy ground. He’s not a demon,” Beck added.

  Stewart sat straighter in his chair as if he’d realized something. “Is Riley stayin’ at the church tonight?”

  “No, she’s at home now that the Five is dead,” Beck replied.

  “Call her and have her come here.”

  “But…”

  “Just do it,” Stewart ordered, his voice unusually crisp.

  As Beck dialed the number he saw a look pass between the two masters.

  “What are you thinking, Angus?” Harper quizzed.

  Stewart gave a quick shake of his head. Which meant he didn’t want to talk about it in front of Beck.

  The call rolled over to voice mail. Same thing with her home phone. “She’s not answerin’.”

  “Find her. Bring her here.”

  “I’ll have to give her a reason.”

  “She doesn’t need one,” Stewart said curtly. “She’s stayin’ here until we know exactly who this Ori fellow is.”

  “What’s goin’ on, sir?” Beck asked. “Why ya so worried?”

  “Just an old Scotsman’s paranoia. Get it done, lad.”

  Beck left his whisky behind, heading for the front door. Behind him he heard muted voices—Stewart telling the other master just why he was paranoid. Beck couldn’t catch the words, and part of him didn’t want to.

  THIRTY-TWO

  True to his word, Ori leaned against the red brickwork of the cemetery gate, arms folded over his chest. He looked like he had the first time Riley had seen him: His hair slicked back into a ponytail, and wearing that black leather jacket. No sign of those wings, no hint that he took orders from Heaven. Just a hunky guy hanging around a graveyard.