Soul Thief-Demon Trappers 2 (17 page)

“Where have you been?” he demanded, scowling. “I called your house over and over, and you didn’t answer. Are you blowing me off on purpose?”

Riley counted to ten so as to not buy into his anger.
He’s just frustrated. He has to vent.

“I’m not home much anymore,” she explained. “Call my cell.” Then Riley remembered why that wouldn’t work. “I’ll get you the new number. My phone got toasted so I’m using Dad’s.”

If she expected that to mollify Simon, it didn’t work. “Why weren’t you here this morning?”

“I’ve been busy. I’ve had our master to take care of, a Magpie to trap, funerals and a wake to attend. That doesn’t leave much time for sitting around the house waiting for your call, Simon.”

“Wake?” he replied. “Why would
you
go to that?”

Because I’m a trapper?
“Don’t start,” she replied. “I had to listen to McGuire complain about me being in the Guild. I don’t need to hear it from you.”

Simon looked away, but no apology was forthcoming.

“Look, I’m really tired, so I’m kind of bitchy,” she said, trying to salvage the conversation. “Let’s start over, okay?”

When he didn’t respond, she reached over one of the side rails and touched his hand. Simon flinched and pulled away.

“What is going on with you?” she asked.

“I would think that would be obvious,” he replied, scowling over at her.

No, or I wouldn’t have asked.
“Look, just hang in there. You’ll be getting out of here soon. You’ll be coming back to work and maybe in a couple weeks we can go to a movie or something. Spend some time together. I’d like that.”
I really need your strength right now.

“A date?” he retorted, his knuckles white as he clenched the rosary. “How can you think about that? How can you be oblivious as to what is going on in this city?”

Riley’s temper reared its head. “I know what’s happening, Simon. I know better than anyone, but—”

“I never realized how shallow you are,” he said, staring at her like he’d just learned her darkest secret. “Don’t those dead trappers mean anything to you?”

“Now look here,” she retorted, trying hard to control her voice so as not to disturb his roommate. “Don’t give me this ‘You don’t care’ crap. I’m not oblivious, Simon.”
I just want to get things back on track with us.

“That’s not what I’m seeing,” he said, waving a hand dismissively. “We have to find out what happened at the Tabernacle. We have to find out who betrayed us.”

Betrayed?
Riley forced herself to sound calm, though her emotions were seething. “No one betrayed us, Simon. You know that as well as I do.”

“Do I?” he asked, a strange light in his eyes. “This is a battle for our very souls, Riley. Nothing is like it seems. We can trust no one until we know what happened.”

Riley gave up. She was too tired for all this drama. “Then you work it out. I’ve gotta go.”

When she dropped a kiss on his cheek, Simon’s jaw tensed underneath her lips.

“I’m not giving up on you,” she said, defiantly.

“And I’m not giving up until I find the truth.”

*   *   *

Instead of dragging
herself into the solitude of the church’s basement and listening to the furnace do its on-and-off dance, Riley sat on the stone steps that led to the building’s front entrance. It was after dark now, the streets alight with cars and busy with pedestrians headed home for the night. Right now the Five seemed a remote threat. A bigger worry was Simon and what was happening between them. The possibility of losing him weighed on her heart.

“Heaven can’t be that cruel,” she whispered.

A slight breeze made her tuck her coat tighter. She heard the light footsteps before she saw him. Ori. He settled onto the steps next to her, dressed in a black leather jacket and jeans. He said nothing for a long time, as if he was respecting her need for silence. Finally Riley knew she had to say something.

“I didn’t see you following me from the hospital,” she said, looking over at him.

“I’m very good at what I do,” he replied. “Something happened there, didn’t it?”

“It’s more what
didn’t
happen.” She twisted the strap on her messenger bag in agitation, then realized what she was doing and shoved it away. It was a stupid habit. “My boyfriend’s gotten weird. I know he’s been really ill and all that, but…”

“But?” Ori nudged.

“Simon’s changing. He used to be so sweet and kind. Now he’s nasty, even to me, like it was my fault he got clawed up.”

“Do you think it’s your fault?”

Riley rubbed her face in thought. “Maybe. What if the Five brought those other demons just so it could get to me? What if I’m the reason all those guys died?”

Ori gently placed his hand on her arm, giving it a gentle squeeze of reassurance.

“If the Five wanted you, it just had to wait for the right time to kill you. It did not have to orchestrate an attack on the Tabernacle.”

Riley searched his face and found only compassion. She needed that support right now. Simon certainly wasn’t giving her any. “You really believe that?”

Ori nodded. “The demons are not acting normally. Something, or someone, is driving them to this grotesque behavior.”

“Lucifer?”

“No. Not his style. The Prince of Hell likes order above all things.”

“But who—” Riley let it drop, too tired to try to work through it. Stewart and the others would take care of it. She had her boyfriend and her dad to worry about.

“I thought that Simon’s faith would help him through this. I mean, he’s really religious. I thought we’d deal with this together, but he’s not moving on, all he’s doing is looking backward.”

“While you’re looking forward?”

Riley nodded. “That’s what I do when it goes wrong. If I slow down I don’t think I can handle my screwed-up life, so I just keep moving, hoping it’ll get better. It never does.”

Ori put his arm around her, drawing her close to his body, which allowed Riley to rest her head on his shoulder. She inhaled the crisp, cool scent that was him.

“Simon’s journey is his own,” he said. “If he’s foolish enough to push you away, then that’s his loss. Don’t give up on him just yet.”

“I hope he gets his head straightened out. I really like him.”

“Then he’s a lucky boy.”

She straightened up, uncomfortable with how close they’d become in such a short time. She knew so little about this man, and it was a good bet once he caught the Five, he’d be gone.

“Do you ever look back and regret things you’ve done?” she asked wistfully.

Ori stared into the middle distance before he answered. “No,” he said, shaking his head. “I don’t have that luxury.” As he rose, he looked down at her with a sad smile.

“And neither do you, Riley Blackthorne.”

*   *   *

In Ori’s experience
it was quite easy to find a demon, especially the ones that ate everything. All you had to do was pitch your ears toward the snarls and home in. He’d already found two of them, older, more feral ones, but they hadn’t been helpful. He’d left their bleeding corpses in the murky dark of this place the trappers called Demon Central.

Now he’d found another, a younger one who hadn’t developed its second row of teeth yet. It was rounder, more bulky. It almost looked harmless, but in a few months it’d thin down and become a dedicated killing machine.

It had just caught itself a large rat. The rodent’s head was already gone, but this fiend, unlike most of its kind, wasn’t a gobbler. It seemed to be savoring the meal.

Ori moved quietly to a position about five feet from the thing. Then he let it see his true form, wings, sword, and all.

It shrieked and jumped back in terror, clutching its bloodied meal to its chest as its black hair stuck out like a porcupine. After a quick look around, it realized it had no place to run.

“Hellspawn,” Ori said. “You know what I am.” There was a whine of fear from the abomination. “And you know what I want.”

The demon began to shiver. Gastro-Fiends, or Threes, as the trappers so quaintly called them, weren’t very intelligent, all their brains geared toward acquiring food. This one had enough smarts to know that if it pointed Ori in the direction of another demon, that might mean its death. Especially when the other fiend was a weather worker capable of killing a master trapper.

“Where is the rogue demon called Astaring?” Ori demanded.

The fiend’s face scrunched up in what passed for thought, then it cautiously extended the rat toward him. A bribe for its life, perhaps?

Ori sighed and shook his head. “No. That is not what I want.” He took a menacing step forward. It got the reaction he’d hoped for: The Hellspawn cowered in fear.

“Tell me, pitiful one,” he ordered, putting power behind the command.

The creature began to babble in Hellspeak. Most of what it said was a list of complaints about how badly it was treated by the other demons, but at the very end it gave Ori a glimmer of information.

“Thank you. Enjoy your meal.” Finally he had a lead on the rogue that had killed Master Blackthorne. Ori turned on a heel and hiked down the alley. He knew not to check on the fiend; it would be down the closest hole by now.

A short time later, he stood in the middle of a street that looked like a war zone. It wasn’t his doing, at least not yet. His quarry was close. He sensed the thing. Felt its power.

“Show yourself, Astaring,” he shouted.

A second later he leapt upward to avoid the rush of brilliant flames that blew out of the ground at his feet. He twisted in the air, spreading his wings, sword ready for battle. The flames vanished, leaving a crater rimmed with smoking asphalt. If he had been a few seconds slower, he’d have been a pile of smoking feathers.

“You’re a cunning one,” he said. “Now stop hiding like a silly child.”

A laugh cut through the air, cold and cruel, but the demon did not materialize. “The war comes, Divine,” it said. “On whose side will you be?”

Then the fiend was gone, its power fading away in the night air. Ori hovered in the air, studying his surroundings, trying to determine if it was a trick.

“Coward,” he grumbled.

He floated downward, tucking his wings behind him as his feet landed. Demons always spoke of war. They craved it. Like they had a chance of winning against Heaven.

But this time, the fiend was speaking the truth. “The war comes.”

S
IXTEEN

The only reason Beck was out this early in the morning was sitting in the booth near the restaurant’s front windows. At 7:00
AM
the red-haired reporter had called him and then sweetly but firmly refused to let him off the hook. The interview just had to happen
this morning.
Beck had finally agreed so he could get this woman off his back.

When the reporter saw him, she smiled warmly. “Good morning, Mr. Beck.” She had an accent he couldn’t place. Something foreign, maybe French or Italian.

“Ma’am,” he said, sliding into the booth across from her. He’d shaved and showered and put on the best work clothes he owned, but he was still uncomfortable. There was no good reason for him to be talking to this lady, especially after the wake last night. He’d not gotten drunk, but it’d been close, and now his body was making him pay for that bar tab.

The reporter daintily offered a manicured hand across the table. “I am Justine Armando,” she said. “I wish to speak with you about Atlanta and her demons.”

Bottomless emerald eyes held his gaze.

He gently shook the hand and forced himself to relax. This babe was a knockout, and the way she said
deemons
was cute. She looked like a model, not a reporter, but then that probably worked in her favor. Her olive skin glowed in the morning light streaming in through the windows, which also set fire to the gold highlights in her hair. It made him wonder if she had chosen that location on purpose. He also noted she wasn’t wearing a wedding ring.

As the waitress poured him a cup of coffee, Beck pulled his head back to business. “What can I do for ya, ma’am?”

“Justine, please. I am not old and gray,” she said, her green eyes twinkling.

“All right, then, Justine. What is it ya wanna know?”

“I want to tell the story of an Atlanta demon trapper. Your Master Stewart said you were one of the best, that is why I asked to interview you.”

She was shoveling the crap pretty high. He took another slug of coffee to buy time to sift through the mixed signals he was receiving. Usually if you didn’t talk, the other person would fill in the silence and you’d learn something. The reporter was a pro: She sipped her tea and waited him out.

“Who do ya write for?” he asked.

“I am freelance. I sell my stories to newspapers all over the world,” she said.

“Must be a nice job.”

“It has its benefits,” she replied, flicking a switch on a sleek microrecorder that sat near a notebook and a gold pen. Then she smiled, pointing at the recorder. “Shall we begin?”

“Yes, ma’am.”
Let’s get this done.
Not that he minded the scenery.

“I have researched you, Denver Beck,” Justine said. “You were born in Sadlersville, Georgia, moved to Atlanta, and then you were in the military. You were awarded medals for bravery in Afghanistan.”

“Yes, ma’am.” That was as far as he was going on
that
topic.

“Why did you want to become a trapper?” she asked.

“Because of Paul Blackthorne,” Beck replied. “He gave me a future.” He knew that sounded hokey, but it was the truth.

“He died recently. You were with him when that happened,” the reporter said, her voice softer now. “I understand that his corpse has been reanimated and that he was at the Tabernacle the night the demons attacked.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She put down her pen and gave him a pleading look. “I really need more than just a ‘Yes, ma’am,’ Mr. Beck.”

“Just Beck. That’s what folks call me.”

“Well, then,
Just
Beck…”

He opened his mouth to tell her she’d gotten it wrong, but then saw the corners of her mouth curve up in a smile. She was pulling his chain.