Soul Thief-Demon Trappers 2 (16 page)

Easy for you to say.

More silence. She almost turned on the radio, but the music she liked would only earn her hassles from her companion. “Trapped a Magpie today. At a jewelry store,” she said, figuring that was a safe topic.

“It go okay?”

“Real well.” She was about to tell him how she’d pulled it off, then changed her mind. He might not like the idea of Peter being there.

They made it through four more intersections before he gave in. “Ya see Simon today?”

“No. I’m going to stop by tonight.”

“Good; he’s askin’ for ya. It’s gonna take him a while to get over what happened.”

“Same for all of us.” She heard a grunt of acknowledgment. Time to move to more sunny topics. “Mort’s trying to help me find Dad.”

“Does he know who took him?” Beck quizzed.

“No. He thinks it’s odd that no one’s talking. I’m just hoping it’s not Ozymandias. Ayden says he’s into dark magic.”

Beck looked pensive. “That must be the guy Lenny was talkin’ about. I’ll pay him a visit.”

“He’s not like Mort or the others. This one’s evil.”

“Evil I can do,” Beck said, as if the problem were solved.

“I’ll go with you.”

“Not happenin’, so don’t even think about it,” he retorted.

Why is everything a battle with you? Why can’t you let me make my own decisions?

In response to the tension, Beck began to rearrange the contents of his duffel bag. From what she could tell, it didn’t need the attention, but he focused on that rather than talking. A nervous habit. She had a few of her own.

He finally stopped fussing with the bag. “There were two Mezmers at the lounge last night.”

“What?” she said, giving him a quick glance before returning her eyes to the highway. “Did you get them?”

“No,” he said. “I tagged the first one, but before I could get it secured, the second one showed up. It was … more than I could handle.”

She pulled up to a stop sign, jamming on the brakes. “Beck! You’re okay, aren’t you?” He nodded. “How did you get away from it?”

Her passenger shrugged. “Don’t really know. It was workin’ me over somethin’ fierce, and then both of them just took off.”

“Did you tell Stewart?” she asked, more worried now that he didn’t have a solid answer.

“Not yet. I will, once everythin’ settles down.”

Riley could tell there was more here than he was admitting. What if that thing
had
gotten his soul? Would she be able to tell? A sick knot formed in her chest. “Beck…” she began, her voice quavering.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he ordered. “It’s over and I’m still in one piece.”

But you might not have been.

*   *   *

Beck had been
planning his move from the moment the funerals had ended. As Riley pulled into the pub’s parking lot, he hopped out of the car, hoping to avoid a confrontation. “Thanks, girl. Call when ya get to the church so I know yer safe.”

There was no way he could ignore the expression on Riley’s face. He knew it well enough; it promised defiance, so it wasn’t any surprise when she turned off the car, undid the seat belt, and climbed out. Beck watched her walk across the street toward the pub, her hair swinging back and forth, boots clicking on the pavement.

Ya shouldn’t be here
. It wasn’t dangerous or anything, but it was a guy thing.

“We’re gonna get drunk, we’re gonna swear and tell a lot of war stories,” he called out. “That’s about it.”

Riley paused at the entrance to the Six Feet Under Pub and Fish House. “I know. Dad told me about these things.”

“It’s no place for a … girl.”

“But it is for a trapper,” she said, and left him standing there like a moron.

“Why do ya fight me on everythin’?” he snarled. He had no choice but to let her have her way. Dragging her out of there by the hair would just make both of them look stupid.

He found Riley at the bar, ordering a glass of Pepsi. Just like he figured, the bartender was giving her the once-over.

“You’re new,” the guy said, turning on the charm.

“Uh-huh,” Riley replied, laying a five on the counter and looking around. “Where are the trappers?”

“Oh, you’re here for that, huh? They’re upstairs, on the roof,” he answered, pointing toward a set of stairs near the entrance. Then he plunked the glass down and gave her the change. As Beck approached, Riley picked up her drink and headed for the stairs, acting as if he didn’t exist.

“Hey, man,” the bartender called out. “I heard about the Tabernacle. Sorry.”

“It was a bitch, that’s for sure,” Beck said. “Thank yer boss for the flowers. The families really appreciated them.”

“Will do.” The bartender stacked a couple glasses as he watched Riley climb the stairs. “Now that’s a total hottie.”

“Don’t even think about it,” Beck warned.

“Oh, sorry,” the guy said, raising his hands in surrender. “I didn’t know she was spoken for.”

Beck realized he’d been a jerk. “No, not yer fault. I’m kind of … well … she’s a trapper. She’s Paul’s daughter.”

“I thought she was a groupie or something. Thanks for setting me straight.” He went into bartender mode. “The usual?”

“Yeah. Make it a pitcher this time, and start a tab.”

“You got it.”

*   *   *

The rooftop portion
of the Six Feet Under was open to the air, so Riley made sure to sit near one of the radiant heaters. She selected an empty chair at the end of a long wooden table. Three tables, actually, all nosed together to accommodate the trappers. As she sat, heads turned. A few faces frowned. She was pleased to see not all of them did.

“Hi there, Riley,” Jackson called out. He was drinking coffee instead of a beer, probably in deference to his wounds.

“How are you doing?” she asked.

“Not bad. Hurts like hell, but the doc said I don’t need grafts, so I’m not going to complain.”

“That’s really good news.”

“Amen to that. Where’s Den?”

“Here!” Beck called out as he walked up. He set his pitcher and pint of beer on the table next to Riley’s glass. Shooting her a snarky grin, he said, “Now don’t ya get those mixed up, ya hear?”

Riley gave him a scathing look, which was a complete waste of time. The group went quiet, except for Beck, who took a long gulp of his brew.

“God, I love this stuff.” Then he looked down at the others. “What’s the problem, guys?”

McGuire angled his head toward Riley. He was in his early forties, tall with thin hips and thin brown hair that covered his collar. If the deep crease lines on his face were any indication, a scowl was his default setting.

“Apprentices are always at these things. How else are they gonna learn anythin’?” Beck asked.

“But she’s—”

“A trapper,” Jackson said.

“Not in my book,” McGuire replied.

“You can bitch all you want, but I saw her take down a Three with a
folding chair,
” Jackson replied. “We would have been burying Simon tonight if it hadn’t been for her, so I think maybe you should just can it.”

“The hell I will. First it’ll be her, then there’ll be more of them. We’ll have to take anyone who wants to be a trapper,” McGuire complained.

“I’d say the more the better. We could use ’em right now,” Beck said.

McGuire rose to his feet. “No disrespect to the dead, but I can’t be here if she is.” He slugged down what remained of his beer and then stomped off toward the stairs.

Riley shook her head.
Another enemy. Like I don’t have enough already.

One of the trappers pounded the table enthusiastically. “Good deal. McGuire’s such a downer.” He gave Riley a hundred-watt smile. “I’m Lex Reynolds, by the way. Pleased to have you here, miss.”

She nodded in reply. Reynolds had a full beard and hair that went below his shoulders. He looked like a surfer, muscled, with a deep golden tan. He wasn’t a good ol’ boy, that was for sure.

The trapper rose and lifted his glass. With a nudge from Beck, she stood like the others.

“Rest in peace, guys,” Reynolds called out, and then everyone took a long drink. “You keep those Pearly Gates open for us, and we’ll bring the beer.”

“Amen!” a few of the trappers shouted.

Chairs skidded on the floor as the group returned to their seats.

“Collins owed me twenty bucks,” Jackson announced. “I’m never going to see that, am I?”

“Twenty? He owed me fifty,” another trapper called out.

“Y’all are screwed,” Beck laughed. “I bet he’s laughin’ his ass off right now.”

“God, I miss him. He was so much fun,” Reynolds said. “Remember when he went after that Four at Georgia Tech, right after he became a journeyman?”

“I don’t know that story,” one of the trappers replied. He was an older guy with an exquisite handlebar mustache.

“Well, there was this Four eating up fraternity boys like candy. So Collins gets the job. He goes up to this chick and she offers him a good time, so he drops a load of Holy Water on her.”

Jackson chortled. Apparently he knew how this story played out.

“You see, she wasn’t a demon.” Reynolds grinned. “She was an undercover vice cop. Man, did they bust his balls.”

Riley laughed along with the others.

“Sounds like somethin’ I’d do,” Beck joked.

A trapper named Thomas jumped in with a tale about Morton catching a Three in a meat locker at a grocery store. Then someone related the joke they’d pulled on Stewart involving a goat in Demon Central. It was only then she realized the masters weren’t here.

When she asked Beck why that was the case, he replied, “So the guys can say anythin’ they want and not worry they’ll get in trouble. They can blow off steam that way.”

Riley settled back in her seat, letting the stories surround her. This wasn’t about remembering the dead but honoring those that were still alive. These trappers were the real deal, and for a moment she felt a strong sense of pride at being one of them.
This was why Dad did this.
It wasn’t just bringing in the demons or earning a paycheck. It was about being one of the guys.

But I never will be one of the guys.
She didn’t have the right equipment and that would make all the difference. Even if she rose to the rank of master, she’d never really belong. Depressed, Riley finished off her drink and stood. All eyes went to her.

“You’re not leaving, are you?” Jackson asked. “The night’s young.”

“I need to get some sleep,” she admitted, then wondered if that made her sound weak. It was a better explanation than having to stay on holy ground after dark.

“’Night, Miss Riley,” someone called out from the group, though she wasn’t sure who it was. She called out her own farewell and headed down the stairs. Beck quickly fell in step with her, following her out to the car.

“I thought ya were gonna drive me home,” he chided.

“Changed my mind.”

“Glad to hear it.” He hesitated and then added, “I need help with somethin’ tomorrow. Will ya be home around noon?”

“Help with what?”

“Just somethin’.”

Okay, be mysterious.
“I’ll be home then.”

“Good. I’ll bring barbecue for lunch.”

“That works.”

They’d reached her car. As Riley pulled out the keys, he said, “Call me when ya get to the church.”

“Why do you do that?” she demanded, turning on her heels to face him.

“What?”

“You go all old on me, like you’re a geezer or something.”

“Ya don’t understand,” he said, running a hand through his hair.

“What don’t I get, Beck? That you had a craptastic childhood? That you can’t change what happened to you so you’re going to micromanage my every waking hour?”

His face hardened. “Yeah, that’s part of it. I had to take care of myself since I was little. I know what it’s like.”

“You keep it up and you’re going to be like Harper, a sad old guy who hits people and bitches about everything.”

“Ya don’t understand,” he repeated.

“Then tell me why you have to be like this. One good reason.”

“Because…” He slumped against the car. “I don’t know any other way to be.”

Finally the truth.
And from the expression on his face, it looked like she’d carved it out of his heart.

She leaned against the car next to him, hands crossed over her chest. “Promise you’ll stop going all senior?”

He looked over at her. “Will you call yer aunt?”

Here we go again.
“I won’t be any safer in Fargo. If the demons want me, they’ll find me.”

Beck put his hand on her arm. “Please,” he pleaded.

Riley stared at him. That word just wasn’t one of his favorites. For him to use it meant he was desperate. When she didn’t reply, he removed his hand in defeat.

“I just need to know that there’s someone who’ll take care of ya … if … somethin’ happens to me.”

Without another word her companion walked back toward the pub. At the last moment he looked back over his shoulder. This time his emotions were unmasked and she could read them easily.

Fear. For him and for her.

What aren’t you telling me? What really happened at the pool hall?

F
IFTEEN

It took some time for Riley to find Simon: He’d been moved out of ICU. As she drew closer to his room, a man passed her in the hallway. He wasn’t hospital staff, so for a moment she thought maybe he was a priest, but he wasn’t wearing a clerical collar.

Probably a friend of the family
.

Riley paused outside the room to gear herself up for this. It shouldn’t be this way. She should be really looking forward to seeing Simon, but something wasn’t right between them.
I’m overreacting. He’s just scared like the rest of us. He’ll come out of it.

She cautiously stuck her head in the door and found him in the bed closest to the door. The curtain was pulled, shielding him from his roommate, who was watching television.

Her boyfriend was staring at nothing, hands tangled around a rosary, his face as pale as it had been the last time she’d seen him. She moved to his side, set her messenger bag on the chair and waited for him to acknowledge her. When he did, he frowned like she wasn’t welcome.