by Jana Oliver
Mostly because cut corners could make for a very short trapping career.
The girl nodded. “I understand. I wouldn’t want you to.”
After chatting with the three of them for a few more minutes, Riley chose a seat near Reynolds. He gave her a quick smile and returned to typing something out on his cell phone. At the front of the room, Grand Master Stewart sat on one side of the podium. His expression, at least for those who knew him well, promised considerable unpleasantness. He caught her eye and delivered a solemn nod. Riley returned it.
Her own master sat on the opposite side of the podium. The scar on his face was pulled tight, a sure sign he was angry. Though he was now clean and sober, he was still one tough bastard, and no one relished getting on his bad side.
Jackson, the Guild’s current president, took his place at the podium, and the group quieted down immediately.
“I’m calling this meeting of the Atlanta Demon Trappers Guild to order. We have a lot of business to handle.” Even his tone was sharper than normal.
“The shit is gonna fly tonight,” Reynolds whispered.
“About time,” Riley muttered.
It was a good deal Beck wasn’t here, or it’d be worse. Even distance didn’t blunt his primal drive to protect her. If anything, it made it stronger, and any action that remotely resembled a threat to his fiancée sent him over the deep end.
Riley had learned not to tell him everything, which seemed wrong. But then, she knew that he didn’t tell her everything either. As long as the secrets didn’t overwhelm their love, they’d be good. It was a fine line they walked, and they both knew it.
The first portion of the meeting dealt with announcing new policies from the National Guild, which garnered the usual boos, as well as recognizing those trappers who had passed their exams to move from apprentice to journeyman. Clapping ensued when the names were announced.
“Go, Butler!” one of the trappers called out, and the new journeyman executed a short bow. Smiling, Riley joined in the clapping. She’d trapped with him and he was solid.
“Anything else we need to talk about before we get to the other part of the meeting?” Jackson asked.
Journeyman Kevin Remmers stood. He was a genial fellow, one of the five African Americans who were in the local Guild now. Riley always liked to trap with him because he had a great sense of humor.
“Had a run-in with a damned necromancer the other night,” he said. “SOB summoned a Four.”
Riley huffed. “No way could that go badly.”
“Did you catch the dude’s name?” Jackson asked.
“He refused to tell me.”
“What color robe was he wearin’?” Stewart asked.
“Light brown.”
Necromancers’ level of magical ability was indicated by the color of the robe; the darker, the more powerful the summoner. The one Riley had seen in Demon Central had been wearing dark blue, so it wasn’t the same one.
Summoning a Mezmer was a stupid move. You had to have a healthy respect for a fiend who could co-opt your will and make you its bitch. Or drain your life force like it was soda pop pouring out of a can. That was the problem with the spell slingers—they believed they had more power than they really possessed.
Even their most senior summoner, Lord Ozymandias, had learned that lesson. Unfortunately the lesson had cost lives, both civilian and trapper.
“If we can find the damned fool’s name, I’ll hand it off to Lord Ozymandias and he’ll deal with the problem,” Stewart said.
“What? Give the bastard a slap on the wrist?” a trapper called out. It was McGuire, who always seemed to have a rod up his butt.
“No, His Lordship will make sure the offender is a pile of smokin’ dust,” was Stewart’s terse reply.
“He kills them?” another trapper asked.
“Aye. Once he’s certain of the facts, the necro is history.”
Reynolds whistled under his breath. “At least we don’t do that kind of thing anymore,” he whispered.
Want to make a bet?
These guys didn’t know that one of the tasks of a grand master was to ensure that master trappers remained on the good side of things. If one went dark, as they called it, that master would die. If a grand master sided with Hell, same thing. There was no appeal. Often, “culling the herd” included journeymen as well. None of them were entirely safe if they sided with Lucifer.
“Anything else?” Jackson asked. Uneasy silence was his answer. The trappers knew what was coming and some seemed eager for a fight.
Harper shifted in his seat, scowling. As senior master and official head of the Atlanta Guild, it was up to him to take the first step.
“Last night we had a necro call up a Geo-Fiend in Demon Central. Then, he takes off.” Harper leaned forward in his chair. “We had our people up against a Five, and a damned powerful one at that. I checked your work orders and there were three of you close enough to offer backup. So where the fuck were you?”
Oh yeah, he’s pissed.
Silence was the answer.
“Don’t think I’m going to let this drop,” Harper warned.
“Same here,” Stewart added. “This willna stand.”
A chair scooted back, and Riley wasn’t surprised to find McGuire on his feet. The man glared at the masters, apparently not intimidated.
“Why should we get in the middle of that? Blackthorne’s kid can handle those things all by herself. She probably called the Five up anyway.”
“No, that’s not right,” Richard began.
Riley looked back at him and shook her head, cautioning him to be silent. He didn’t need any enemies this early in his career.
“Care to answer that, Blackthorne?” Harper asked.
All eyes swiveled in her direction.
“Yeah, I do.”
It was time to make her case. Maybe she could convince some of these morons that she wasn’t a threat.
Which would happen just about the time Lucifer and his demons built snow forts in Hell.
Chapter Seven
Riley rose from her chair. “I didn’t summon that Five, because I’m not suicidal. Or stupid.”
McGuire didn’t reply, so she continued. “No matter how it got there, I expected someone to watch my back while I tried to ground it. Jackson and Reynolds did just that, but that’s not enough of us to do the job safely.”
She paused, her heart pounding now. “If we hadn’t been lucky, there would have been three dead trappers last night.”
“No big loss if one of them was you,” McGuire muttered.
“What the hell is with this attitude?” Reynolds demanded, lurching up from his chair. His friendly, “I’m just a laid-back surfer from California” persona was gone.
“Even if I think you’re a dick—and trust me, McGuire, I’m good with that—I’ll watch your back because that’s what trappers do. If we don’t stick together, Hell wins.”
“No way we can win if she’s working with us,” McGuire said, jabbing a finger at her.
Riley lost it. “You would have let Reynolds and Jackson die just because you can’t handle me?”
“I didn’t want them hurt, but they chose to back you up.”
“Why do you have a problem with me? I’ve proved myself over and over to you guys.”
“I hear you’re playing house with the necromancers, learning magic. That’s not what a trapper does. You have no right to be in the Guild. Never did.”
“Even though I stood up to the Prince of Hell himself, I’m never going to be good enough?”
“Not when you’re doing magic,” the man retorted. A few trappers near him nodded. They seemed to have their very own “We Hate Blackthorne” cheering section.
“Riley,” Stewart interjected. “Tell them why yer learnin’ the spells.”
She’d suspected the grand master would go in that direction.
“We don’t need to hear excuses for why you’re working with corpse stealers,” McGuire replied.
To her surprise, Riley actually grinned. “You know, I kind of like that description. Remind me to use that down the line.”
She didn’t like where she was standing, so she moved to the front of the room. In the back of her mind, she could hear Beck telling her to “own these bastards.” She wasn’t sure that was possible, but it was worth a try.
“Some of you know I flew over to Scotland at the end of October, for my birthday.” The best part of the trip filled her mind and she held up her left hand, displaying her ring. “Beck and I got engaged there.” She lowered her hand. “But it didn’t go right at first. I walked off the plane and got kidnapped by a bunch of necromancers. They used me as bait to summon an angel. The problem was, only the lead necro knew he was actually calling up an Archfiend.”
“Shit,” someone muttered from the crowd.
“The demon killed three people.”
“Good riddance,” McGuire said.
“Easy to say if you didn’t watch them die,” she replied, glaring at him. “I thought it was over, but the necro who had set up the whole scheme came after me. She tried to make me cut my own throat so she could summon a Fallen angel.”
A low whistle came from Reynolds.
“I was able to break the spell. How I did it, I don’t know. But if I hadn’t, I would have killed myself, and Beck would have had no way to stop me. Then he and Grand Master MacTavish might have died as well.”
There was silence now, except for the occasional drip of the faucet in the corner.
“Tell them who is teachin’ ya,” Stewart urged.
“I’m working with Mortimer Alexander. He’s the necro who fought with us against the demons in Oakland Cemetery. I’m also training with Ayden, the witch. She was in the cemetery battle too.” Riley swallowed hard. “I don’t really like magic. I respect those who do it, at least if they don’t hurt anyone, but I never wanted to learn the stuff. What happened in Scotland proved there would always be someone who would want to use me because of my . . . history . . . with Heaven and Hell.”
“Then quit,” McGuire said. “Give it up. They won’t bother you then.”
“It won’t work that way,” Stewart replied. “Because she’s dealt with Heaven’s angels and with Lucifer, she’s the ultimate bait. Every necro with a taste for power wants ta use her ta gain even more power.”
“There has to be another way than magic,” one of the trappers said.
“Not if I want a future,” Riley said. “Not if I want to get married and have kids like everyone else. I have to learn how to protect myself. Being a trapper helps, but the only thing that will stop these guys is knowing protection spells. That’s why I’m doing this.”
“What keeps you from turning on us?” a voice called out from the back of the hall.
She looked the trapper full in the face. “What keeps you from giving up your soul to Hell?”
The man glared at her. “I wouldn’t do that.”
“Well, I’m not going to turn on you guys, even if you hate me. I’m doing this for my dad, because he’s not going to be here to walk me down the aisle or play with his grandkids. If that’s not good enough, you can just get screwed, because I’m going nowhere.”
She returned to her chair, shaking less than she’d expected.
“Any questions?” Harper asked.
“She can still go bad on us,” McGuire warned.
“If she does, Stewart and I will take care of the problem.”
“How?”
“Given what Riley’s been through,” Stewart said, “the International Guild has assigned me the task of keepin’ an eye on her. As has the Vatican, I might add. If she goes dark, she’s done for.”
“What are you going to do, send her to bed without her supper?”
Stewart glared. “Apparently yer not aware that grand masters have the right ta summarily execute anyone we feel is a threat ta the balance between the Light and Dark. A journeyman wieldin’ magic who goes dark, one who has had contact with Lucifer before? There will be no other judgment than death.”
“Jesus,” someone behind her muttered. “That blows.”
Welcome to my world. She would always be under someone’s scrutiny. Screw up, and she was in deep trouble.
“That good enough for ya, McGuire?” Stewart demanded.
A low grumble.
“I dinna catch that.”
“Yeah, for the time being. I still don’t trust her.”
“I don’t give a damn if you trust Blackthorne or not. The next time she or any of our people call for help, you’ll be there,” Harper snarled. “If you’re not, I will personally bust your ass right out of the Guild, right after I beat the living hell out of you. Got it?”
“Yeah. Got it.” The man sank down in his chair, glowering at her.
Oh boy.
The meeting ended shortly after that, though tensions still ran high. Riley didn’t exactly sprint out of the room, but she didn’t loiter either.
Reynolds called after her as they reached the parking lot. “You okay?”
She shrugged. “It was supposed to be easier. Get past the apprenticeship, become a journeyman, and then it’s a smooth coast to becoming a master.”
He chuckled. “You actually believed that?”
“Not really, but I kinda hoped some of it was true. Thanks for standing up for me in there.”
“My pleasure,” he said, smiling. “The next time a Five comes after me, I want to know I’m covered.” A car horn honked and he looked over at a shiny Toyota; his smile grew broader. “Got to go. My hot date awaits.”
Reynolds took off at a lope toward a pretty blonde. They kissed through the open window.
Glad you have a real life, dude.
Maybe someday she’d have one too.
As Riley unlocked her car, her cell phone pinged.
HOW DID IT GO?
She blinked. She hadn’t told Beck what had happened the night before, or that the meeting was anything but routine. That meant either Stewart or Jackson had ratted her out.
There was no way to hide it now.
AS GOOD AS IT COULD HAVE. MCGUIRE IS STILL AN ASSHAT.
U WANT ME TO POUND HIM WHEN I GET HOME?
“Tempting,” she muttered. But that wouldn’t do.
She typed back, NO NEED. MAYBE I’LL TURN HIM INTO A FROG OR SOMETHING.
JACKASS. LESS MAGIC.
Riley laughed, desperately needing the release. I LOVE YOU SO MUCH.
LOVE U TOO. SEE U NEXT WK. GOTTA GET TO BED NOW.
GOOD NIGHT!
NIGHT PRINCESS
Riley checked the time—it was close to eleven in Scotland, which meant he’d stayed up late just to chat with her. Given his heavy academic load, that was a sacrifice.
I so don’t deserve you.
Since it was just a little after six here, the Grounds Zero Coffee Shop—home of the best hot chocolate in the city—was still open. She had just enough time to fuel up before she headed to Mort’s for another lesson in defensive magic.
Given the way things were playing out, she’d better be a quick study.
Chapter Eight
Mortimer Alexander lived in Little Five Points, often called L5P by the locals, a part of Atlanta that was home to a significant number of magic users, both witches and necromancers. It had a New Age feel and Riley had grown to like the area more with each subsequent visit.
Though they both employed magic, the witches and the summoners did not always make good neighbors. Most of the time they ignored each other. Other times, there was open hostility and magical feuds, which never made much sense to Riley. What was all the fuss a
bout?
Her dad had once described the acrimony as being like the rivalry between Georgia Tech’s and the University of Georgia’s football fans; it was just a thing, and you learned to live with it. Except rabid football fans didn’t sling spells around like confetti.
Back when Riley’s friends Ayden and Mort had first begun to work together, their relationship had been like that of two annoyed porcupines: lots of prickly moments. After the horrific battle at Oakland Cemetery—and what could have easily become Armageddon—the two magical folks had grown to respect each other. That still didn’t stop the sniping, but at least the verbal fencing was good-natured now.
As Riley pulled into a parking place, a horse-drawn carriage trotted by. There were fewer of them now, as gas prices slowly sank from a high of over ten dollars a gallon. Currently at just below eight fifty, it seemed like a bargain. Though the carriages were quaint, no one would miss the horse droppings in the streets.
Mort lived on Enchanter’s Way, which was aptly named as it had a big metal arch over the entrance to the street, and that arch was enchanted. Since metal meant money to thieves, the spell was a smart move. Otherwise, the arch would be long gone.
More an alley than a street, Enchanter’s Way was lined with small businesses and homes, the majority of the latter belonging to the magical folk.
Riley stuck her nose in at the Bell, Book, and Broomstick to see if Ayden was working, and was pleased to find her arranging crystals on a long glass shelf. As if knowing she was being watched, the witch turned toward her, and a smile came immediately. Ayden’s curly auburn hair was up in a loose bun, and she was wearing a blouse and long skirt that would have been at home in a Renaissance faire.
“There you are,” she said. “You’ve been pretty quiet the last few days.”
“Yeah. It’s been . . . rough.”
Ayden’s brow furrowed. “Trappers bothering you?”
“Yeah, it’s getting worse.” After a quick check to make sure there was no one else in the shop, she unloaded the story of the last two nights while Ayden’s frown grew more pronounced.
