Soul Thief-Demon Trappers 2 (13 page)

Beck began to hum under his breath, trying to break through the allure of the demon’s seductive message as it trickled through his mind. The humming worked, allowing the dizziness to ebb long enough for him to kneel like he was tying a bootlace. Instead, he cautiously opened the zipper to his trapping bag where it sat underneath the pool table. When he rose, still facing the mirrored wall, he had both hands full—a purple Babel sphere in the right and a Holy Water sphere in the left.

When he turned toward the threat the demon’s eyes locked on him immediately. He couldn’t see beneath the illusion, not until he used the Babel sphere, but there was no doubt this was Hellspawn.

Beck hummed louder, one of his favorite Carrie Underwood songs.

The Jezebel wrinkled her face in what passed for demonic annoyance. “You resist me,” she said.

“That’s for damned sure,” he said. That took his attention off the song just long enough for her to send another message to his brain, one that would make a prostitute blush.

“No way,” he said, shaking his head to clear it. He began to sing to himself. The song was a sad one, about a love lost, and it proved stronger than the fiend’s seductive message.

“Trapper,” she warned, moving closer to him. “Come to us.…”

Beck waited until the last moment, then slammed the purple sphere at the demon’s feet. It burst open, setting off a fountain of flickering lights and scenting the air with cinnamon. The magic inside the sphere veered toward the demon, and the transformation began immediately. The girl’s voice went from sultry to rasping, as her features melted away and the body contracted. Smaller and smaller she shrank, her clothes vanishing. Left behind was a short, squat body that looked like it’d been coated in brown mud. Hellfire red eyes gleamed at him, and a long barbed tail thrashed back and forth. The claws were black and sharp.

The other patrons’ dull expressions rapidly changed from seduced to shocked.

“Oh, my God, that’s a demon!” one of them spouted, backpedaling.

“No shit.” Beck caught a glimpse of the bartender; Zack was shaking his head in dismay. Beck shrugged and turned his attention back to the fiend. It was gnawing on one of its claws in agitation and glaring up at him.

“Well done, trapper,” Lenny said.

“Thanks,” Beck said, pleased. “This one doesn’t have much power to it.”

He didn’t have a proper container to put the thing in, but he’d find a way of getting it to a demon trafficker, and then he’d collect his money. Not a bad deal: Shoot some pool, drink some beer, and collect four hundred dollars for his trouble. To think he’d wasted all that time in Demon Central when the action was here.

A bizarre chuckle issued from the demon. Then it started to laugh. That wasn’t right. It should be angry at being captured, spouting off a bunch of curse words, offering a boon for its freedom. Instead it was laughing like he was the joke.

“What’s so funny?” he demanded.

“Ah, trapper…” Lenny said, pointing toward the entrance.

Beck swore under his breath. Another figure stood in the doorway clad in black leather with silver-white cropped hair and a fortune in body piercings. In her right hand was a whip, and she was grinning like she’d just won the lottery.

That was why the first one had said, “Come to us.” There were
two
demons, and the younger one was the weaker of the pair, an apprentice learning the ropes while the master waited outside in case of trouble. Beck had proven to be that trouble.

The older demon flicked the whip and allowed her barbed teeth to show, causing some of the patrons to knock over their chairs and scramble backward.

“Time to play, trapper,” it called out.

Beck had no choice but to bluff so he raised the Holy Water sphere. “Back off, demon. Ya don’t wanna go there.”

A sharp crack filled the air as the end of the whip caught the orb and shattered it in his hand. Cursing, he pulled his steel pipe from the trapping bag.

He sized up the situation, and it sucked. “Lenny, get the others out of here.”

“But I can—”

Beck shook his head. “Don’t try it. This one’s too dangerous. Just get outta here.”

“If that’s what you want,” the summoner whispered, then edged toward the others in the bar, urging them to follow him to the rear exit. Beck wished he could join them.

“What the hell are you?” a man called out, staggering toward the demon. The way he was moving, the guy had more booze in his system than blood. That made him prime demon bait. “This is our bar, and we don’t take kindly to some skanky bit—” He was on his knees a second later, clawing at his throat for air. It was the only reason he wasn’t screaming.

“Stop it!” Beck ordered. The Mezmer’s eyes swung toward him. “This is between us, demon. The rest aren’t worth yer time.”

The fiend took a step closer. “Trapper,” it said, sizing him up. It scented the air and smiled. “You are nothing,” it said.

“Oh, but I
am
somethin’. I’m a journeyman trapper, not just some apprentice.” He paused a moment for effect. “I was Paul Blackthorne’s partner. My soul would win ya serious points with yer boss.”

“Blackthorne?” the older demon hissed, and in response, the whip began to grow flames along its length.

Apparently that was the magic word. The drunk started to bellow, his ability to breathe restored. Two of his buddies pulled him away toward the back of the building.

Beck kept his attention riveted on the more dangerous of the two threats. As he watched, the female form had vanished to reveal a Hellspawn as tall as he was with pale beige skin, blazing crimson eyes, long talons, and a wickedly barbed tail. Unlike the lesser fiend, this one had horns.

Ah, damn.
This demon was close to making the leap to Archfiend. Some of them did that, working up through the ranks of Hell, slaughtering rivals with every step. Those that survived were the really evil ones. That it would show him its true form so easily told Beck he was in serious trouble.

“Killing you would be a pleasure, trapper,” it said, licking its lips. “Harvesting your soul … priceless.”

Beck didn’t have the experience to tackle one of these things, and right now there wasn’t a master in the city healthy enough to bail him out. Not that any of them would get here in time anyway. He swallowed his fear, like he had so many times in battle.

“So, demon, ya gonna just stand there lookin’ damned ugly, or are we gonna dance?”

Chilling laughter burst from the fiend’s mouth. “You will be perfect for my amusements, trapper. I wonder who will buy your soul from me?”

Then it began to whisper dark words. Beck hummed, louder this time, then started singing at the top of his voice. Nothing had any effect. He could feel the demon sifting through his mind, looking for his weaknesses. It uncovered his hidden fears, his dreams, the future that could never be.

The fiend laughed, lower this time, knowing it had hit pay dirt. “That future is yours.
She
can be yours.…” it purred.

Beck felt his will cracking like an old piece of china exposed to the bitter cold. It would be so easy to let this thing take him. Why be a hero? He didn’t owe any of these guys an ounce of his blood. He could have his secret wish.
Forever.

“No,” he said through gritted teeth. Once Hell had him in its grasp, it’d use him to destroy Riley. She would trust him even as he was leading her to eternal servitude or death. In a last-ditch effort to break the demon’s hold, he rammed the steel pipe down on his own injured thigh, sending a burst of agonizing pain through his body. Though the pain made him cry out, it wasn’t enough to break the demon’s spell.

“Your soul, trapper,” the fiend urged. “Swear it to me and I will make your dreams come true. I’ll bring her to you, and she will be yours this very night.”

Beck knew he’d lost. He felt the words forming on his tongue, the ones that would commit his soul to Hell for eternity. The words that would doom Riley at the same time.

God, no!

There was more laughter, but it sounded different. It hadn’t come from the senior demon, because it was hissing now, low at first, then louder, like a cat threatened by a pack of feral dogs.

“Interference,” it growled. “He is mine!”

Another voice cut through Beck’s fog, one he didn’t recognize. It sounded male and very, very old. He couldn’t understand the words, but whatever they meant the pull on his mind snapped like an overextended rubber band. The sheer force ricocheted him back on top of the pool table, scattering balls in all directions as his head pounded like someone had clubbed it with a sledgehammer. Tears ran down his cheeks.

When he finally opened his eyes, Lenny stared down at him, concerned.

“You okay?” the necro asked. Around them Beck could see other faces, all as worried as Lenny’s.

The blazing pain receded. “Don’t know,” he mumbled. “What happened?”

“Something spooked the demons and they took off,” Lenny reported.

“There was someone talkin’. Sounded really weird. Ya heard it, right?”

“No,” Lenny admitted. “At least you’re okay. Damn, I figured you were history.”

Yer not the only one.

Beck closed his eyes for a moment and then smiled. He might not understand how it all happened, but the bottom line was that his soul was still his. The bad news was that Hell knew his greatest weakness now, and it was a safe bet they’d use it against him every chance they got.

*   *   *

As the bartender
and the guy in the garish clothes saw to the prostrate trapper, Ori slipped through the double doors in search of the fiends. Normally he wouldn’t have interfered, but the elder fiend had invoked Riley Blackthorne’s name. That made it his business. Besides, having the trapper’s soul in the clutches of Hell would only complicate Ori’s job.

It didn’t take him long to find the pair—they stood in a smudge of sulfured air in the parking lot, arguing.

“You had almost the trapper,” the younger one snarled in that particularly convoluted Hellspeak younger demons employed once their true forms were revealed. Parts of that form still peeked out from around that of the young woman, a nightmarish mashup of bared flesh, clothes, sagging breasts, and talons. “Why us leave?” it demanded.

The older demon raised its hand for silence and sniffed the air. “Divine,” it spat in warning.

Ori halted about ten feet away, not bothering to reveal his true form. They knew what he was, and he could get to his sword quicker than the Hellfiends could move.

The twin horrors spun to face him. Power ripped across the skin of the elder fiend. A succubus rarely had the chance to become this powerful, as the Archdemons killed them to ensure they didn’t have any more competition. That meant this one was particularly vicious.

“I thought I smelt you,” it growled.

“I’m surprised you could over the stench of the brimstone,” Ori said, waving his hand to clear the air.

“Interfere you, why?” the younger demon demanded. It was a mere pup, or the trapper wouldn’t have been able to shut it out of his mind. And stupid, or it wouldn’t have challenged a Divine so openly.

Ori issued a casual grin in response, though all he really wanted to do was cleave these two in half for their arrogance. “Who set you on the trapper?” he asked.

“Why want you to know?” the younger one asked. The older one snarled and promptly cuffed it on the ear, causing it to whine in fear.

“We work for the glory of Hell,” the senior demon responded, trying to regain the upper hand.

Too late.
The younger Hellspawn had confirmed Ori’s suspicions: Someone had deliberately targeted the trapper in an effort to get to Riley.

Ori made sure his gaze met that of the older demon. It winced at his power and averted its eyes. “Stay away from Blackthorne’s child. If you tempt her, I will execute you like the cockroaches you are.”

The elder demon hissed again and stepped backward, feeling the seething power of Ori’s anger. The younger demon began to protest, but after another blow from its superior, the pair hurried away, changing into human form as they moved.

Ori watched them, curious as to whether they’d go back after the trapper. To his relief they didn’t, but instead they encountered a young man on the street. His eyes glazed over as the elder demon put her hand on his heart and began to drink his life essence.

Ori wasn’t about to interfere. They had their job. He had his.

And mine is the girl.

T
WELVE

The sound of church bells brought Riley out of her vivid dreams. Waking up in a new place was always strange, but the bells calling the faithful to Mass sounded surreal. She rubbed her eyes, yawned and sat up. Another yawn. The bells continued and they made her think of Simon. After a quick trip to the bathroom, Riley crawled back under the covers and dialed his sister.

Please let him be better.
She’d uttered that prayer right before she’d fallen asleep, along with requests to find her father and one that Peter would stay put in Atlanta. The prayer list was getting longer every night.

To her relief, the news was positive: Simon was improving, though still not talking much, and there was a chance he’d get to go home in a day or two. Amy said it was a miracle. She was right, but it had a lot to do with the fact that the wounds were demonic and being treated by freshly blessed Holy Water courtesy of Father Harrison. Between Heaven’s intervention and the priest, Simon had no choice but to survive.

Riley disconnected the call with a broad smile. Once he went home Simon would loosen up. His family would see to that, and if not, his girlfriend sure would.

A cold morning greeted her as she stepped outside the church. A few cars along the street exhibited a layer of alabaster frost on their windshields. As she walked around to unlock her ride, she found a pure white rose stuck in the driver’s side door handle. She carefully pulled it free, mindful of thorns, and sampled its fragrance. It was amazing. More surprising was the fact the hard freeze hadn’t affected it.