by Jana Oliver
This is all over the Internet. People in foreign countries would watch it and laugh at her. Mock her. There would be no hiding from this.
“Look at all that stuff blowing around,” someone exclaimed.
Beck sucked in a sharp breath as the bookshelves committed suicide. The final portion of the video showed Riley limping out of the library, bloody and battered.
“My God,” her father whispered, pulling her into an embrace so tight she couldn’t breathe. He wasn’t mad at her or disappointed. He only hugged that hard when he was scared. When they broke apart, she saw it on his face, though he tried to cover it. Then he smiled, soft crinkles appearing at the corners of his brown eyes. “You did very well, Riley. I’m so proud of you.”
Her mouth fell open as the threat of tears returned.
“Ditto,” Beck said as he returned to his beer.
When she looked up, all eyes were on her. A couple of trappers gave her a nod of respect. Jackson looked over at Harper, then back at her.
“That sure as hell wasn’t just a Grade One,” he said.
“I agree. That’s a Geo-Fiend for sure,” another said.
Harper straightened up. “Doesn’t matter. We can’t give this one a pass. Makes us look bad.”
“Oh, go screw yourself, Harper,” Jackson growled. “You’ve hated every apprentice we’ve had. Those you train you treat like dirt. I should know.”
“If you weren’t such a jerk-off, Jackson,” the master began.
Her dad tugged on her sleeve. “Why don’t you go outside? It’s going to get nasty, and I’d rather not have you hear it.”
“But what about my license?” she asked.
“That’s why it’s going to get nasty.”
Oh.
Beck tossed his keys on the table in front of her. “Keep the demon company, will ya? He’s probably missin’ ya by now.”
She glowered at him.
Her father intervened. “Wait in the truck and lock the doors. I’ll be out soon. Go on. It’ll be okay.”
It’ll be okay.
It sounded like a curse.
FOUR
The moment Riley reached the truck she kicked the closest tire, imagining it to be Beck’s head. It was a stupid thing to do because now her foot ached like the rest of her. Her anger wouldn’t make a bit of difference. If Harper bullied the others long enough they’d revoke her apprentice license. Once they voted her out, she was done. There was no going back.
Then what? She’d have to get a job waiting tables or something. That’s so not me.
A chittering sound brought her eyes upward as a whirl of bats exploded from under one of the Tabernacle’s eaves. She watched them skitter away into the dusk, envying their freedom. In the distance a thin chorus of howls echoed in the streets. Coyotes. They hunted every night, slinking around in packs looking for a stray meal to wander their way. The city slowly reverted to nature’s laws.
She eyed Beck’s ride. It was so him. Who else would drive around in a battered rust-red Ford F-250 with a Georgia state flag decal in the rear window? Next to that was the official Trappers Guild emblem and underneath, the unofficial slogan—“Kicking Hell’s Ass One Demon at a Time.” A mass of beer bottles in the truck bed rolled around like bowling pins every time Beck took a corner. He’d be adding more to the pile soon enough.
She unlocked the door and climbed in, eager to get out of the cold. The interior smelled like the owner’s leather jacket. Digging under the seat, she retrieved her demon and stuck it in her bag. She ignored its offer of a favor to free it and then the upturned middle finger. Sometimes the sippy cup’s transparent sides weren’t a blessing.
How long will this take? “Just vote me off the island and move on,” she groused. If it took too long she’d have to start the truck to get some heat, but that would be wasting gas.
To try to keep her mind off all the drama, Riley raided the glove compartment. It was a lot like snooping in someone’s medicine cabinets: You learned a lot about a person that way. The first thing she found was the gun. That didn’t surprise her. Trappers went into rough neighborhoods. She cautiously pushed it out of the way. Next up was a flashlight. She flicked it on and spied the condoms. There were three of them and they were marked “extra large.”
Riley snorted. “In your dreams.” Then she hit pay dirt—the horndog’s Trappers Manual.
Apprentices received their manuals in sections as they progressed through their training to prevent them from going after bigger demons before they were ready. All she had was the section about Grade Ones, like the Biblio-Fiends. Denver Beck was a journeyman trapper, one step below a master. This manual had almost all of the good stuff, except the parts on the higher-ranking fiends and Archdemons.
Riley hesitated. They were going to kick her out, so why bother?
But if they don’t … She’d never get an opportunity like this again.
She did a mental coin flip and curiosity won. It always did with her.
Riley made sure the doors were locked, then she angled her body so the flashlight hit the pages and began to read, lured like the time she’d found her mom’s stash of smutty romance novels.
“Grade Three demons are territorial and are best known for their ability to completely gut and eat a human in as little as fifteen minutes.”
Maybe this isn’t such a good idea.
She’d just started on the section on how to trap Threes when a knock came at the window. Riley jumped. After frantically jamming the book and the flashlight into the glove compartment, she looked up. It was Simon, Harper’s apprentice. Embarrassed at being caught, she sheepishly climbed out of the truck.
“Sorry I scared you,” he said, stepping back a few paces, seeming to understand she needed her space. Not all guys did that. “I thought I’d check and see how you’re doing.”
Here I am with a seriously hunky guy and I’m covered in demon pee. Why does the universe hate me?
She tried to run a hand through her hair, but the bandage pretty much ended that effort. Feeling she should say something, Riley stammered, “I was … was reading…”
A slow grin crawled onto Simon’s face as he adjusted the computer bag on his shoulder. “… The manual. I saw that. But it wasn’t yours. Too thick.”
Busted. She slumped against the truck. “It’s Beck’s. You won’t say anything, will you?”
Simon shook his head. “I pulled the same stunt with Harper’s manual, except he was the one that caught me.” His face darkened at the memory.
“Dad doesn’t tell me anything. I hate it.” A moment after she vented, she wondered if that was a good thing. Could she trust Simon?
“Harper’s the same way, and then he yells at me when I don’t know something he thinks I should.” Simon frowned. “I’ll make journeyman yet, just to prove him wrong.”
“I won’t. They’re going to throw me out.”
“You never know,” he said. “Some of them were pretty impressed.” He paused and then added, “I think you were awesome.”
That caught her off guard. He thinks I’m awesome? “Ah … thanks!”
Simon smiled, and suddenly she didn’t feel so cold anymore.
They heard voices: Beck and her dad were headed in their direction, talking animatedly. Neither of them looked happy. Beck was gesturing, and she thought she heard a curse word or two.
Simon began to edge away. “Better go. Nice to meet you, Riley,” he said.
“You too, Simon.” Right before he crossed the street, he looked back at her. She waved. That made his smile widen.
He’s really cute.
Riley hopped into the truck to get the Biblio that had caused all the problems. The flashlight was still on inside the glove compartment, issuing a glow around the edges of the door. She hurriedly fixed that problem, then grabbed her messenger bag.
“I see Simon was keeping you company,” her father said as he walked up. “I’m glad he checked on you.”
That made her feel even better. If her dad
liked the apprentice, then he was probably okay.
“So? What’s the verdict?” she asked, clenching her hands into fists to prepare for the bad news. The one with the demon bite promptly throbbed in response. “They tossed me out, didn’t they?”
“You’re still an apprentice, for the time being,” her dad announced. “The video convinced them there was another demon present, one that you weren’t qualified to trap. The next time there’s a problem, you’re out.”
They weren’t telling her everything. “And?” she pressed.
Her dad and Beck traded looks.
“There’re also sanctions against me,” her dad replied. “If you lose your license I won’t be able to take on another apprentice for another year.”
“That was Harper’s little roadside bomb,” Beck grumbled. “Miserable bastard.”
Riley was stunned. Her dad was a born teacher, whether it was history classes in high school or bringing a new trapper up through the ranks. Not only would he lose his one joy in life but the stipend they paid to train new members. That money bought their groceries. No apprentice, no food. It was that simple.
“Bottom line, you’re still in the Guild. We’ll worry about the rest later.” Her dad put his arm around her. “Come on, let’s get you home.”
“Yeah, I hear she’s got homework to do,” Beck chided.
She threw him a glare but didn’t bother to reply. He was the least of her hassles.
* * *
As they pulled out of the Grounds Zero drive-thru, Riley’s hot chocolate steamed up the side window and made her feel good for the first time all day. She had to admit it wasn’t only the hot beverage. She was with her dad, and that always made her feel better. The feeling wasn’t going to last. Once they got home he’d take off with Beck for another night of trapping. They’d been trying to capture a Grade Three demon down in Five Points and it kept getting away. Now it was a matter of pride for both of them.
Riley knew it was selfish to be upset that he was gone all the time. She knew they needed the money, but sometimes she craved spending more time together, even if it was trapping demons. But that wasn’t going to happen until she learned to trap a Three. Then she and her dad could work as a team and Beck would have to find someone else to trap with. She wondered if Backwoods Boy had figured that out yet.
Riley poked absentmindedly at the rip in her jeans. She wouldn’t bother to mend it; ripped jeans were okay, but the green demon pee was another matter. It bleached out the denim. There was no way she could afford a new pair.
When she set her hot chocolate in the center console, she spied a computer disk next to a pile of crumpled gum wrappers. Probably some of her dad’s Civil War research. When he had free time, which wasn’t very often, he’d go to the library and use one of their computers. Faster than the one they had at home, that was for sure.
“So what is it this time?” she asked, pointing at the disk. “Antietam or Battle of Kennesaw?”
He seemed startled at the question and quickly tucked the disk into his pocket. “How’s this for a deal? After I make the rent money I’ll take a night off. We’ll get some pizza, maybe watch a movie.”
She nodded enthusiastically. “Sounds good! I’d love that.” Every night. Then a thought came to her. “Just us. No Beck.”
“You really don’t like him, do you?”
“No, I don’t. On the way to the meeting he said he wanted to help me, but he didn’t do a thing. He’s a creeper.”
Her dad shook his head. “You’re not seeing the bigger picture.”
“Really? He sat there drinking his beer, acting like it was some picnic. You said his mom’s a drunk, and the way he’s going, he’s going to end up the same. I don’t know why you bother with him.”
Her dad didn’t answer, his brow furrowed in thought. Riley cursed to herself. Why did they always argue about him?
Feeling guilty, she blurted, “What do you think of Simon?”
Her father appeared pleased at the change of topic. “Quiet kid. A lot going on in that brain. He’s a methodical trapper. He’ll do well in the business if Harper ever signs his journeyman’s card.”
“I like him.”
“And I think he likes you. Just be careful of Harper. He’s really hard on the boy.”
Riley’s phone emitted a chorus of cricket chirps. She studied the display and smiled. It was her best friend. “Hey, Peter. How’s it going?”
“Hey, Riley. I saw your video. You rock! The stats are off the chart. You’re going viral!”
Riley groaned. Just what she always wanted—thousands, millions of people laughing at her.
She could hear the sound of a keyboard. Peter was into multitasking, so he was probably IM-ing with a couple of his buds while talking to her on the phone.
“It wasn’t that much fun in person,” she admitted.
“Yeah, but you nailed that little guy. All that stuff flying through the air looked like something out of Harry Potter!”
Peter would love that kind of thing. He’d collected all the books and the movies.
“Hold on,” he said. She heard a voice in the background. That would be Peter’s mom finding out who he was talking to. “Okay, I’m back,” he said. “It was the warden making sure I hadn’t escaped.”
Riley looked over at her father and then sighed. She liked talking to Peter, but her dad wasn’t going to be around all evening.
“Ah, Pete, can I call you later? I’m with Dad right now, and he’s going to have to leave pretty soon and…”
“Understood. Call me when you get a chance, okay?” her friend said. “You still rock, by the way.” Then he was gone.
Her father halted at a stop sign as an old man puttered across the intersection. Tied to his shopping cart was a scruffy dog toting something in its mouth.
“You see that?” her dad asked.
“You mean the old guy?”
“You don’t see the white outline around him?”
All she saw was an old guy with a dog.
“He’s an angel,” her father explained.
“No way!”
Riley stared at the man. He looked like any one of the other homeless dudes in the city. “I always thought angels would have wings and wear robes or something.”
“They do. The ministering kind can look like us, unless they want to reveal their true form.”
The man/angel reached the sidewalk, petted the dog, and set off again.
“There are more of them in Atlanta now,” her dad observed.
Something in his tone caught Riley’s notice. “Keeping an eye on the demons. That’s good, right?”
Her father shrugged. “Not sure.”
“Do they really do angel sorta things, like miracles and such?”
“So it’s said.” He was silent for a while, concentrating on his driving. Then out of the blue he asked, “You and Peter ever going to date?”
She blinked in surprise at the question. Where did that come from?
“Ah … no.”
“Why not? He’s a nice kid.”
“He’s … Peter. I mean…” She struggled to come up with the best explanation for what seemed obvious to her. “He’s just a friend.”
Her dad smiled knowingly. “Got it. I knew a girl like you when I was in high school. Never once thought I might have a thing for her.”
Dad rarely talked about his past. She couldn’t resist. “Who was she?”
“Your mom.” He waggled his eyebrows at her groan.
“He just calls me because he’s lonely,” she explained.
“Or because he really likes you.”
“Yeah, yeah. Nice try. He’d got his eye on Simi.”
“The punk barista at the coffee shop?” her dad quizzed. “The one with neon hair?”
Riley nodded. “You should have seen her last month. She had black and white stripes with purple tips. Seriously breathtaking.”
“Don’t even think it,” her dad replied, lifting a warni
ng eyebrow.
“As if.” She had enough problems as an apprentice without looking like a Halloween costume gone wrong.
“How’s school going? They still have you juniors sit near the dairy case?” he quizzed.
Riley wrinkled her nose. “It’s okay. The store smells like moldy cheese and has all the old signs hanging from the ceiling. It’s yucky in there. There are mice creeping around and dead roaches.” She wiggled her fingers in disgust.
Before her father lost his job and started trapping demons, she and Peter had attended a real school. Now, because of budget cuts, they went to night school three times a week in an abandoned grocery store. Most of the teachers had other jobs hauling garbage or selling hot dogs at convenience stores.
“Some of my teacher buddies are saying there are plans to reorganize the classes again,” her dad warned. “You might be moving locations.”
That wasn’t good news. “Just as long as Peter goes with me, I don’t care where they stick us.”
“At least you got a grocery store this time. It could have been an old Mexican joint, and you’d come home smelling like stale bean burritos.”
“Euuuu…” she said.
“I always figured I’d have a teaching job for life,” her dad admitted. “I even thought it was a good deal when the city sold the schools to Bartwell, figured it would get us more money for education.” He shook his head. “I was so wrong.”
Riley knew this story well. Bartwell Industries had leased the school buildings to the city and kept raising the rent. In the midst of a budget crisis and unable to handle the increased expense, Atlanta farmed out their classrooms to uninhabited businesses, hoping to pressure their landlord to lower their rates. Bartwell promptly went bankrupt. The result was dilapidated school buildings, classes held in defunct grocery stores, and a lot of unemployed teachers.
“At least I can trap,” he said ruefully.
“We both can.”
He nodded, but she could see he wasn’t eager to agree.
Her father was usually in a hurry to leave, keen for the hunt, but they took their time walking from the parking lot to the apartment complex.
“I don’t expect you to become a trapper just because I am,” he said, his tone pensive.
