by Jana Oliver
She heard a truck door slam and the sound of boots pounding up the front stairs. Her heart clenched, knowing what was to come. Beck was through the door and at her side in only a few steps. His duffel bag clunked down on the wooden floor, and then he was kneeling in front of her, his face wreathed in worry.
“What’s wrong? Are ya sick? Should I call Carmela?” he panted.
“No.” He’ll hate me when he knows what I did.
“Riley? Tell me what’s happened. Yer so pale.” He reached out to touch her face. The tender gesture pushed her over the edge.
Tears burst out of her in torrents, her body shaking to its core. He wrapped his arms around her, and that made it even harder. Ori had stolen so many precious things from her, and Beck’s friendship was one of them.
She heard him murmuring in her ear, telling her it would be okay.
No, it’s only going to get worse.
Finally, when she’d cried herself out, she pulled back. Beck was still kneeling in front of her. There was a wad of tissues in her hand, and she had no idea how it got there. She blew her nose, wiped her tears, and then cleared her throat. “Ori…”
Beck’s face went stony. “That bastard? Did he hurt ya, girl?” When she didn’t answer, he demanded, “Did he force…” His voice faded and she could see the dread in his eyes.
Riley shook her head and laughed bitterly. “No. He didn’t force me. I gave it to him.”
The thick intake of breath told her she’d been right. Beck was going to hate her for this.
“Oh, God,” he muttered. “Ya let him.… Why the hell would ya do that? I told ya he was no good.”
She couldn’t meet his eyes. “He said I was special. He said that he loved me.” Even now, as she spoke the words, she could hear how weak they were. “He said…”
“Ya were one of a kind, that he always wanted to be with ya. We all use those lines, girl.”
And we always believe them.
“Goddammit!” he shouted, jumping to his feet. His sudden motion frightened her, and she cringed back against the couch. “Why him? Why not … someone who cares about ya?”
Someone like you.
She had never considered that Beck might be interested in her in that way, but from the expression on his face, it was true. It was knowledge gained too late.
“So why the hell are ya here? Ya pregnant?” he snapped.
Am I? Had Ori lied about that, too? “That’s not the problem.”
Beck dropped into the chair across from the couch like he had no more strength in his legs to keep him upright. “Then why come runnin’ to me?”
“I made a mistake, I know that, but there’s more to it. I need your help because Ori … isn’t human. He’s an angel.”
“Angels don’t fuck mortals, girl. He’s lyin’ to ya again.”
She grimaced at the raw language and the barely contained fury behind it. “He showed me his wings.”
Beck smirked. “Bet that isn’t all he showed ya.” Then a frown came. “Why would an angel want ya?”
Riley had asked herself that a hundred times, but now she knew the answer. “Because I’m Paul Blackthorne’s daughter. Because he wanted my soul.” So he’d have a matched set.
“Angels don’t want souls. Only Hellspawn pull that kinda—”
She could tell the moment the truth hit him.
“Sweet Jesus, he’s a Fallen?” Beck retorted. “How could ya be so stupid?”
Her anger finally stirred. “I made a mistake, okay? I trusted him. You’re doing the same if you believe everything the stick chick tells you.”
“Leave Justine out of this,” he said, his face growing crimson.
“Ask yourself why she wants you. Is it because you’re good at knocking boots, or is it because of something else? You sure she’s not after your soul, too?”
Beck grabbed up his duffel bag and surged to his feet, a feral snarl erupting from his throat.
“I’m not gettin’ lectured by some dumbass girl who puts out for demons,” he shouted. “I always thought ya were different than the others. I was such a damned fool.”
He was out the door in only a few steps. Seconds later his truck roared to life. She stepped to the window, knowing this was the last time she’d see him. She’d have to go to Fargo now, get out of Atlanta. Leave Denver Beck, the Guild, all her friends behind.
The truck peeled rubber out of the drive and onto the street. As Beck drove away, he was talking to someone on his phone, gesturing toward the house. Probably telling Stewart how badly she’d screwed up.
Her mistake, her BIG mistake was already rippling outward like a tsunami. Her apprentice license was gone. No way they’d let someone who’d been with a Fallen stay in the Guild. Beck would hate her for life. That hurt the worst.
Damn you, Ori, you’ve ruined everything. And I let you.
* * *
Riley bent over the sink in Beck’s small bathroom, splashing her face with cold water. No matter what she did, she felt like she was burning up inside, as if the lump of coal in her stomach had spread heat throughout every single cell of her body. Was it because she’d been with a Fallen? Would it ever stop? She stared up at her reflection in the mirror. Sweat beaded on her forehead, and her face was flushed, despite the cold water.
God, I look old. As if one night with Ori had subtracted three decades of physical payment. The dark circles under her eyes were more pronounced now, and her skin seemed translucent, but not in a good way. Riley plucked at a silver strand of hair that poked out at her temple. She was only seventeen. How could she have gray hair? She yanked it out, glowered at the strand, and washed it down the drain with extreme prejudice.
A sharp rapping noise brought Riley upright. Someone was banging on the bathroom window. It wouldn’t be Ori. He’d just appear out of nowhere, grab her, and disappear them to a remote location where he could torment her. Like Hell, where those stupid soccer-ball demons lived.
The banging continued, more frantic now, and she thought she heard a familiar high-pitched voice. Riley pushed aside the window curtain and started in surprise. The Magpie from her apartment was gesturing frantically, jumping up and down on the sill.
“What are you doing here?”
He shrieked something.
“Settle down. What are you trying to say?”
“Deeemon hun … ters!” he shouted.
“Where?”
“Here!” the Magpie shouted back. “Coming for you!”
Omigod.
Riley bolted from the bathroom, grabbed her messenger bag, and fled out the back door. A few seconds later she was in her car and speeding down the back alley. As she slowed to make the turn onto the street, she saw a black van roll into Beck’s drive. Then another. Their side doors opened and armed men burst out of them, heading for the front and back of the house in a coordinated assault.
How could they know about Ori? How did they know I was here?
The answer struck her like a brick to the forehead. Beck had been on the phone when he’d driven away. He hadn’t called Master Stewart—he’d called the hunters down on her because she’d chosen Ori over him.
Riley’s hands shook so hard she found it difficult to drive. The bile rose in her throat, but she forced herself to swallow it down. He had said he’d always look after her, honor her father’s memory, but once his guy ego got bruised, Beck was all about payback.
Her phone rang. It was him. She tried to ignore it, but the fury was too much.
“Riley?” Beck said as she answered the phone. “I—”
“You sold me out, you hick bastard!” she shouted. “You’re no better than Simon or that damned angel. I should have known you’d screw me over.”
“What are ya—”
Riley jabbed the button on the phone, cutting him off. When it rang seconds later, she turned it off and threw it into her bag. With her luck the hunters could track her by it. Who knew what kind of crazy technology the Vatican possessed.
; The shakes caught up with her seconds later, causing her to pull into an abandoned parking lot and lean her head on the steering wheel. This time her lungs didn’t constrict, didn’t fail to pull in the air she needed. If anything, they expanded. The anger fueled her desire to survive. She would never let anyone hurt her again. Never.
But where could she hide? Her apartment? No, they’d look there for sure. She didn’t dare go to either of the masters; that would just make trouble for the Guild. Same with Ayden and the witches. Peter wasn’t an option without causing a bunch of hassle with his dad. She had to disappear, make them think she’d left town until she had time to do just that. There was only one person who might be able to help, providing he was willing to accept the risk.
THIRTY-FIVE
It took only a few minutes to make it to Little Five Points. It took longer to locate a parking place. Finally she stashed the car behind a health food store, away from the main street. Maybe that would buy her time in case the Vatican was working with the local cops.
Paranoid much?
It seemed that just about everyone was out to get her. Well, except the Five, and that was because Ori had killed it. Or did he?
Absolutely everything she’d believed was up for grabs. She’d thought Simon was the perfect boyfriend, that they had a future together, but that relationship had gone down in flames. She was certain that Beck would always be there for her. Not so much. The only thing she could be sure of was that her dad was dead and that she’d slept with a Fallen. The rest was pretty much smoke and mirrors.
Riley hurried down Enchanter’s Way, moving past the café, the witches’ place, and then left into the alley that led to Mortimer’s house. She kept turning around every few steps to see if she was being followed. After she knocked on the necromancer’s door, she fidgeted with the strap of her messenger bag.
What if he won’t take me in? Then she’d have nowhere to go.
The door slowly opened. She had expected Mort’s housekeeper. Instead it was the summoner himself. “Hello, Riley.” His smile looked genuine. “It’s good to see you.” Then he frowned. “Are you okay?”
“I…” She looked around nervously. Any minute armed men might storm down the alley to arrest her. “I’m in deep trouble. The demon hunters are after me.”
Mort’s eyebrows rose in tandem. For a second she was sure he’d slam the door in her face, but to her amazement, he beckoned. “Then you’d better come inside.” He shut the door behind her, bolting it. “What’s happened?”
Riley couldn’t tell him everything, but at least she could give him the short version. He deserved that if he was going to help a fugitive.
It came out in a rush. “I’ve got a Fallen Angel who wants to steal my soul, I owe Heaven a big favor, and the demon hunters want to arrest me because they think I’m working for Lucifer. I need a place to hide until I can get this worked out.”
“That’s all?” the summoner asked, quirking a smile.
Riley stared at him. How could he be so calm about all this?
“What are the hunters up to?” he asked.
“They’re raiding Beck’s place. They could come here, too.”
“Wouldn’t do them any good,” he stated. “They won’t find you, even if they come inside the house. Magic has its benefits, you see.”
“You could get in big trouble taking me in,” she cautioned.
“Most certainly. Where did you park?” She told him. “Give me your keys. I’ll hide the car.”
Riley handed over the key ring, along with the vehicle’s description, knowing she just had to trust him.
Mort pointed down the hallway toward the circular room. “I’ll have my housekeeper bring you some food. You look like you could use it.”
“Thanks. I really mean it. I didn’t have anywhere else to go,” she admitted.
“I don’t get to play the good guy very often. It’s fun.”
Not if the hunters arrest you.
Mort opened the front door then looked back at her. “He said you’d come.”
Before she could ask who he meant, the necro was gone.
Riley walked down the hallway and into the big room, each step feeling like it was a mile long. The smell of wood smoke tickled her nose as she dumped her messenger bag on the picnic bench. She issued a heavy sigh. It was answered by an odd sound, like the shifting of dry leaves. It reminded her of Ozymandias’s illusion at the graveyard. Had Mort sold her out, too?
Then she saw the figure as it rose awkwardly from a chair in the corner, a thin scarecrow in a suit and red tie. It slowly moved into the brighter part of the room, a strand of brown hair dangling across its forehead in a way that was so familiar.
“Pumpkin?” the figure called out.
“Daddy?” she cried.
Riley flung herself at her father, nearly knocking him over. As they embraced, the scent of cedar chips and oranges filled her nose.
“My beautiful daughter,” he murmured, hugging her tight. “I’ve missed you so much.”
“It’s all gone wrong, Dad. I’ve made so many mistakes.”
“It’ll be okay,” he soothed. “We’ll get through this … together. I won’t let you down.”
She was with her father again. The whole world might be searching for them, but that didn’t matter now.
As Riley’s tears soaked into his suit coat, she made one final vow:
I swear that Hell will not have this man. Even if it means I take his place.
Read on to see a
SNEAK PEEK AT THE NEXT THRILLING DEMON TRAPPERS NOVEL!
Coming Winter 2012
Copyright © 2011 by Jana Oliver
ONE
2018
Atlanta, Georgia
Riley Blackthorne’s tears were no more. She’d cried herself dry, but remained in the arms of a dead man. If given the chance, she would stay there for the rest of her life.
When she looked up, sad brown eyes gazed back. Her father, Master Trapper Paul Blackthorne, was a reanimated corpse now, summoned from the grave by none other than the Prince of Hell. Like the day he’d been buried, her dad was still wearing his suit and his favorite red tie. The one she’d given him as a present.
“I never thought I’d find you,” she whispered.
“I always knew you would,” he said, smiling. The smile wasn’t quite right, like a cheap imitation.
Riley laid her head on his chest, but it wasn’t like it should be. His heart was dormant now. The essence of her father had been silenced.
Reluctantly they broke apart. With the Vatican’s demon hunters searching for her, she’d taken refuge in Mortimer Alexander’s house; she had nowhere else to run. She hadn’t expected to find her missing parent waiting for her.
Her father took her hand. “Come with me.” She followed him down a hallway, then outside into the morning light at a pace that was just above a shuffle. They entered a walled garden. Cardinals and blue jays flitted around a bird feeder. Water cascaded from the hands of a nude stone nymph perched in the center of a broad fountain. She was laughing, flicking water off her fingers as if her world was only this small courtyard. Riley and her father settled on a stone bench still covered with frost.
Too many questions careened inside Riley to be held at bay.
“What’s it like?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
“Very … peculiar.”
That wasn’t an answer. “You can’t tell me, can you?”
“No. Not like I thought,” he murmured.
The next question was just as hard. “You didn’t get to see Mom, did you?” she asked.
There was a minute shake of his head as those eyes went even sadder, if that was possible. Her mother was dead and now that her dad had made a deal with Lucifer, he wasn’t headed to Heaven. He’d never get to see Riley’s mother again.
“Dad…” His eyes met hers. “Lucifer told me what you did. How you gave up your soul for me.”
The truth still hurt: A few
years before, her dad had faced death at the hands of an Archfiend and had pleaded for his life—for her sake. He’d pledged his soul to Hell in exchange for staying alive until his only child made master trapper, so Riley wouldn’t be on her own, wouldn’t starve or become a ward of the state.
“Did Mom know?” A nod. “Why didn’t you tell me?” she asked.
“You were too young.”
“That’s crap and you know it,” she retorted. “I was old enough. What else haven’t you told me, Dad? What else is waiting to fall on my head?”
He didn’t reply, his eyes not meeting hers now. Which meant there was more.
Her father pulled her into a tight embrace. Every time he moved there was a crinkling noise, like old paper. Something to do with being reanimated.
“I did what was best. My soul isn’t important.”
It was so important that Lucifer wanted it. Even though he hadn’t wanted Riley’s.
She closed her eyes, inhaling the scent of oranges and cedar chips, trying to find the good in all this. There was very little, other than she was with her father for a little while longer. Right now every second counted.
Soon you’ll be in Hell with all those demons. How do I live with that?
* * *
To Denver Beck, there were many ways to welcome a new day—spread-eagled on his own lawn, wrists secured by flex-cuffs wasn’t the best of them. Not to mention the rifle barrel jammed into the back of his head.
“What the hell is goin’ on?” he bellowed into the dirt.
The response was the sound of combat boots tromping around inside his house as their owners’ voices called out to one another in Italian. When there was a sharp shatter of glass, he swore, trying to lift his head to see what was happening. The rifle barrel only pressed harder, jamming his face back into the ground.
Beck closed his eyes to keep the dirt out of them and forced himself to relax. If he fought back, the demon hunter behind him might feel the need to put a bullet in his skull.
I’ll be damned if I die like this.
His only choice was to remain here until the Vatican’s elite team finished their search. Which, from all the commotion, involved tearing the house apart in the hopes of finding something.
