by Jana Oliver
“No!” Beck retorted, surging to his feet. He would have paced if the room had been bigger. “I want it from the beginnin’. Why ya went down there, all of it.”
She took a deep breath and told him the story, including the part about the two jerks who’d taken her prize. When she finished, she looked up at him. His frown was deeper now.
“They didn’t touch ya. Is that right?” he asked, his voice cold steel.
“No. But they wanted to.”
“Did that scare the hell outta ya?”
Riley nodded. It still scared her when she thought about it, how things might have fallen out if that demon hadn’t woken when it did.
“Well, at least ya got some sense,” he said, his voice thick with derision. “What about the Three?”
“It moved faster than I thought it would. It clawed me, so I rammed the sphere in its face.”
“Yer supposed to throw ’em.”
“I did. The first one missed.”
He dropped into the chair. “Anythin’ else?”
When she didn’t answer, he repeated the question with more force.
She sucked in a deep breath. “It didn’t look like I thought it would. They’re supposed to be black. This one was all spotted.”
“Did it have a big white patch on its neck?” he quizzed.
“Yeah. It was way heavy, and it smelled really bad.”
“They do, because of what they eat.”
She shuddered, realizing it could have been her instead of the cow guts.
“What did ya learn from this dumbass stunt?”
Here’s where she was supposed to apologize, promise to be a good little girl and never do anything like this again.
Screw that.
Riley locked eyes with him. “I learned that the Holy Water better be fresh, that I need practice throwing the spheres, and that someone has to watch my back so asshats don’t steal my demons.”
Beck’s expression alternated between anger and something she couldn’t quite comprehend. Almost like … pride.
“Ya lied to me and put yerself in danger. If the Three hadn’t ripped ya apart, those two bastards would have. Ya gotta listen to me, girl. I’ve been down this road myself.”
Riley smirked. “Those guys wanted to party with you too?”
She knew the joke was a huge mistake the moment it left her mouth.
Beck’s face went dark crimson, the veins popping in his neck.
“Dammit, girl, cut the crap! I owe it to yer daddy to keep ya safe. I can’t do that if yer jackin’ with me all the time.”
His anger ignited hers. “Guess what? You’re off the hook, Beck. I’ll take care of myself.”
“Like ya did with the demon?”
“I did okay for my first Three,” she protested. “I made some mistakes, but I caught the damned thing! Without backup.”
He smirked. “Yeah, well, from now on ya won’t be able to do diddle in this city without a master at yer side.”
“I have to trap or I can’t pay my rent!”
“I’ll loan ya the money.”
“No deal,” she said, shaking her head. “You think you own me now. It’ll only be worse if I take money from you.”
The muscles in his jaw twitched. “I’m too damned tired to argue with ya, girl. I’ll have somebody watch yer daddy’s grave. Yer here until I say otherwise.” He held up two key rings. One held her car keys, the other her father’s. “I’ll be keepin’ these, in case ya think of joyridin’ to Five Points again.”
“You can’t strand me here!” she argued.
“The hell I can’t,” he said, and stomped out of the room. A few seconds later the front door slammed, rattling the pictures on the living room wall.
“You arrogant son of…” She pounded the pillow, but it didn’t help. Why was he so mad? Did he really think she was going to let him take care of her like she was some helpless girl?
Riley slid down under the covers, pulling them over her head.
My. Life. Totally. Sucks.
As long as Beck stood in her way, that wasn’t going to change.
NINETEEN
Beck’s anger began to fade about the time he wheeled his truck into Cabbagetown and made the turn toward his house. Not that he hadn’t cursed Riley most of the way home.
She’s just like me at that age—all badass attitude. Except with him it’d involved too much booze and the belief that if he didn’t get laid at least a couple times a week, the world was going to end.
He’d not been able to tell her, but he was so damned proud that she’d trapped her first Three on her own. He hadn’t even done that. Still, it scared the hell out of him. She wasn’t thinking stuff through and that had almost gotten her killed.
If Harper finds out about your little adventure, there’ll be hell to pay. The master had been jonesing to have her license revoked, and this time he might pull it off.
Might be for the best. But it wouldn’t be right. The Three she’d caught was the one Paul and he had been hunting for the better part of a week. She’d brought the thing down on her own, newbie mistakes and all.
“Damn, Riley girl, ya got stones,” he muttered, shaking his head in astonishment. Problem was, this job took smarts as well. You had to think out a situation, not bulldoze your way through.
“God, now I sound like Paul,” he said. That was damned ironic.
After a shower and a quick run through McDonald’s, a trip to Five Points was on his radar. Riley had mentioned seeing an old black guy on the street with a strange sort of shuffle. That was probably Ike. The old veteran might know what really went down the other night.
* * *
Beck had always believed that the homeless guys living around Forsyth Street had more on the ball than the politicians at the state capitol. Ike was a good example. He was a transient, as the bigwigs liked to call them. As in, they hoped Ike and his kind would move on to Birmingham or Chattanooga, anywhere as long as it wasn’t Atlanta. None of that bothered the old guy. His family had been here since the Civil War. Once he figured out how to work the system, leaving Atlanta wasn’t in the cards.
That’s not exactly how the city had imagined their social experiment would work. A few years ago they’d put yellow and blue “donation meters” around downtown so folks would feed the meters rather than whatever panhandler was pestering them. The cash was collected and was supposed to go to the shelters, but with the city short of money, who knows where it ended up. Though fewer people donated now, Ike had learned he could score cash for his booze and food if he collected his cut before the city. It just took a crowbar and a little leverage.
Beck wandered up to the guy, slow and easy. It was best not to spook him, because Ike had logged his time in hell during the First Gulf War and still suffered nightmares. They shared common ground in that department.
“Ike,” he said politely, setting his duffel bag on the ground.
The old black man looked over, and his face broke out in a toothy smile. “Denver, good to see you.”
Ike was whippet-thin underneath the layers of grimy clothing. The clothes were mismatched—whatever he could scrounge at the local shelter, including the Steelers stocking cap. His fingers were gnarled by arthritis, and he had a strange shuffle that made it seem as if he were trying to go forward and sideways at the same time.
Beck pulled the McDonald’s sack from his bag. “Figured ya might like some food.”
The smile grew toothier. “Never turn down chow. Give me a moment, will you? Need to do some banking.”
After a look around to ensure they were alone, Ike placed a hand over the front of the donation meter. A little bit later he lowered it and waited. The hatch at the bottom of the meter sprung open and coins spilled out. He shoveled them into his pockets, tossed a few in for seed, and then fished something out of the meter, which he carefully placed in the opposite pocket. No crowbar needed.
Ike clicked the meter shut and grinned. “All done.”
B
eck frowned, trying to determine what had just happened.
“Figure it out?” the man teased.
Then it clicked. “It’s a demon, isn’t it?”
Ike nodded. “Found him outside the casino digging through the trash. We made a deal. He gives me the money out of the meters and I make sure he gets lots of pretty stuff for his stash.”
He fished the fiend out of his pocket. The Magpie was wearing the trademark bandana and holding a little bag of treasure, like all Klepto-Fiends. “I call him Norton.”
Beck studied the demon, who frowned back, recognizing a trapper when he saw one. “Hi, Norton.”
The fiend squeaked in return, clutching his bag like Beck was going to snatch it away from him. Little Norton was a problem. Trappers were supposed to capture Hellspawn, even if they were keeping a buddy fed.
Ike scrutinized him, like he’d heard Beck’s thoughts. “You’re not going take my demon away, are you?” The fiend issued a worried squeak.
Beck raised his eyes from the infernal thief, knowing what he had to do.
“Demon?” he asked. “Where? I don’t see one.”
Ike chuckled and returned a relieved Norton to his pocket.
“Thanks, man. The priest tells me I’m going to Hell for doing this.”
Beck gestured at the broken city. “And that would be different … how?”
Ike guffawed. “Let’s go up the street. I like to be on holy ground as much as possible, even when I’m eating.”
Smart. The homeless learned that lesson quickly—stay on sanctified soil or risk being taken down by a Three. That’s why there were always scruffy men clustered on the steps of nearly every downtown church.
A block farther on they passed a mailbox. Ike dropped off the demon, and the fiend wasted no time scrambling up the side and then diving down the mail slot. Beck could only imagine what sort of fun it would have going through all the letters and packages.
They settled on the stairs that led to the Shrine of the Immaculate Conception on Central Avenue. Beck handed over the supersized cheeseburger, the fries, and the large vanilla shake. The more calories the better. Ike looked like an ebony toothpick.
“No onions. Got it right, man,” Ike said, peering under the bun. “You always remember.”
Beck pulled out his supper, which was pretty much the same, except he went for extra cheese on the burger to up his protein intake. They ate in silence, too hungry to be chatty. It wasn’t until the burgers were gone and they were closing in on the last of the shakes that Beck posed his question.
“A few nights ago a trapper got rolled by pair of losers down here. One of them is called Dodger. Ya know these guys?”
“Yeah, I do. They hang around looking for someone on their own. Then they pick ’em off. Mostly it’s the casino folks.” He chuckled. “They’re stupid, though. They hit ’em after they’ve been inside and lost all their money.”
“Have ya heard anythin’ about them traffickin’ in demons?”
“Don’t know about that, but I saw ’em with one the other night. It was in a steel bag like the kind you guys use. They were dragging it along the street, bitching and moaning how heavy it was. Man, was that thing howling up a storm.”
“Was that Sunday night?” Beck asked. Ike nodded and took a long slurp of his shake. “Ya see a girl down here?”
“Sure did. Young thing. She was pulling a bag out of a car, acting like it was too heavy for her.”
“That was Paul Blackthorne’s daughter.”
Ike’s expression saddened. “Ah, man, I heard about him. Sorry. I know you were tight.”
“Yeah, we were.”
“Why’d you let her down here alone? You know what it’s like,” Ike scolded, shaking a bony finger at him. “You lost your mind?”
“I was watchin’ her daddy’s grave. I didn’t know what she was up to.”
“She okay?” Ike asked.
Beck shrugged. “Got clawed up, but she’ll make it. Those two assholes took her demon. I wanna let them know that’s not polite.”
“I can imagine how that’ll go,” Ike said and smirked, issuing a wheezy chuckle. “Want me to keep an eye out for ’em?”
“Sure do.” Beck rose, wadding the paper bag in his hands and giving it a twist like it was someone’s neck. “Just be careful, okay?”
“I will,” Ike said. “She’s a good-looking girl. You sweet on her?”
Beck hesitated, not sure what to say. “She’s real young.”
“You looked in a mirror today? You’re not much older than her.”
“Way older up here,” Beck said, tapping his temple.
“Yeah, well, that don’t count until you been over there,” Ike replied. “The rest of the world don’t understand.”
“God, that’s the truth.” Beck fished out a twenty and handed it over. “Thanks for yer help.”
“No sweat,” Ike said, palming the bill. “Could you drive me to the shelter? It’s a long walk for my old bones.”
“Sure. I’ll go get the truck,” Beck offered. As he walked down the street, Ike descended into a deep coughing fit, one that shook his thin frame like an earthquake.
That’ll be me someday.
TWENTY
“You trapped a what?” Peter asked, confused. Riley had called him to complain about Beck, in particular, and about losing her demon, in specific.
“A Gastro-Fiend. Look them up on the Internet,” Riley advised. She’d hopped her way out to the couch and was enjoying a leftover piece of pizza she’d found in the refrigerator. It was all vegetables, which made her think it wasn’t Beck’s. “Any luck cracking the password on the disk?”
“Not yet. I’ve tried all the obvious ones. I’ll get it. Only be a matter of time.” More keyboard noises. “Holy crap! These Three things are wicked!”
Before Riley could respond, there was a voice in the background—Peter’s mom asking why he was shouting. It was like the woman lurked outside his bedroom door. He gave her some lame excuse and then came back on the line.
“Sorry, it was the warden.”
“Did she see the demon on your computer?” Riley asked.
“No way. She doesn’t like you as it is. If she thought you were hanging with things that look like abominable snowmen, she’d freak.”
“Too short for an abominable. More like a really tall Tasmanian devil.”
“Does it make all those weird noises?”
Riley laughed. “Pretty close.” Right before it eats you.
“So was Beck impressed?”
“Ah, not so much.” She gave him an overview of what had happened, without mentioning how close she’d come to joining her mom and dad.
There was a prolonged silence on the other end of the phone. She thought maybe he was IM’ing one of his buds, but there wasn’t any keyboard clicking.
“Peter?”
“Are you, like, crazy?”
“I need the money.”
More silence.
“Peter?”
“I always thought your dad would look out for you, and now that he’s gone it’s … more dangerous.”
“Stop worrying. I’ll apprentice with one of the master trappers and get my full license. Then I can go after that Geo-Fiend.”
Peter’s voice got all strange. “Ah, I need to go, Riley. Let me know what the new school is like. Anyway … later … bye.”
Riley found herself listening to the dial tone. He’d never left her hanging on the phone like that, even when pestered by his mom.
“Thanks, dude. I knew I could count on you.” She clicked off the phone and dropped it on the couch next to her. When it bounced off the cushion and hit the floor, she made a gun out of her fingers and riddled it with bullets. No one understood what it was like unless they were a trapper.
Which was how her life was going to play out from now on. She’d put in her time at school until she got her diploma, but her real life was the demons. And just like Peter, there would always be people who w
ouldn’t understand that. Wouldn’t know the thrill of trapping a Three and living to tell about it. She’d never be normal again.
If I ever was.
Leaning back on the couch, Riley stared at nothing, letting her thoughts ramble. At least until the nothing moved. Sitting up, she caught sight of something small and stealthy toting a little canvas bag as it crept along the edge of a bookshelf.
The Magpie had returned. At least it looked like the same one she’d caught that night in the hallway.
“How’d you get away?” The demon just grinned and parked itself on the edge of the shelf, legs swinging back and forth like a kid. It began to unpack its bag, laying out a variety of shiny objects with studied reverence. One of them was the N key from her keyboard. Riley bet if she checked her dresser the silver earring would be long gone.
She could catch it, and that would be seventy-five bucks, money she really needed. If it was that good at escaping it’d just come back and she could earn another seventy-five bucks. She could make her rent off this one demon.
Riley rose off the couch. In a flash the fiend was gone, along with the bag. It hadn’t moved that fast the other day.
“Wow. You’re supersonic.” Clearly it’d decided it was going to stay. “Just don’t let anyone see you,” she advised. “And put my N back right now!”
There was a blur toward the keyboard and then to the shelf. The key was in place, and not one foul word had been uttered.
“So not a Biblio.”
* * *
Beck had barely walked inside the Tabernacle and settled at a table for the Guild meeting when Simon edged up to him.
“How is she?” the young apprentice asked, keeping his voice low. At Beck’s quizzical expression, he added, “Doctor Wilson told me what happened.”
“She’s doin’ better.”
“Would Riley like me to visit her?” Simon asked.
Riley might, but I’m not so sure I do. He hadn’t quite worked out what he thought of Simon, especially since the guy definitely had his eyes on Paul’s little girl.
Ah, what the hell.
“Yeah, go see her,” Beck replied. “She’d appreciate talkin’ to someone who doesn’t piss her off.”
