Forgiven (30 page)

‘Peter,’ she warned. ‘Out with it.’

‘The best way is to cut off its head,’ he said solemnly.

‘I’ll need a sword for that,’ Riley mused. Fortunately, Stewart had a wall full of them in his office
.

‘Adding zombie hunter to your skills?’ Peter asked, smirking. He had no idea that’s exactly what was about to happen.

She looked around to ensure no one was close. ‘There are undead demons out there now. Bullets won’t kill them. That’s why I want to know.’

For a second Peter must have thought she was joking, then his smile eroded away.

‘You know, I hear Illinois is really pretty this time of year. I could go visit my wacked-out mom, hang with the little bros. Get out of town, if you know what I mean.’

‘I’d do just that if you can, Peter.’

‘For once I wish you were lying.’ He sighed. ‘If it was me, I’d use a chainsaw on the things,’ he said, warming to the subject of zombie decimation. ‘Or a machete. You don’t need gasoline for that. Maybe a guillotine might work.’

Riley was beginning to regret her question, given Peter’s gory enthusiasm.

‘What are you talking about?’ Brandy asked, inserting herself into the conversation as if it was all about her. For once, Riley actually appreciated Brandy and her entourage butting in. They were all in black this afternoon – shirts, skirts and boots. She could imagine the flurry of text messages that had flown back and forth to coordinate that fashion statement
.

‘We’re discussing zombies and how to kill them,’ Peter replied matter-of-factly. ‘Got any suggestions?’

‘Yuck,’ the girl replied, shuddering. ‘Too messy.’

Time to change the subject.
‘Why did you give Allan my number?’ Riley demanded. ‘Are you like stupid or something?’

Brandy looked confused. ‘He said you guys used to date so I didn’t think it was any big deal.’

‘The key words there are “used to”.’

‘He seems OK to me. Maybe a little creepy, but not too bad.’

At least Brandy didn’t know where she lived. The last thing she needed was for Allan to stake out her place. Or Stewart’s, for that matter.

‘Incoming lurker,’ Peter announced, shooting a glance over Riley’s shoulder.

‘Hey, Riley, I sent you a couple texts,’ her ex said. He made sure to stand too close for comfort, but she refused to retreat. His brown hair was pretty much like it’d been when they’d dated, but he’d grown taller and more muscular over the last two years, bulk he didn’t need because he already knew how to bully people.

‘I saw them. And deleted them.’

‘Why?’

‘You know why. Don’t text me. Don’t call me. Don’t act as if I exist.’

‘I told you I was sorry.’

Like I believe you.

Brandy was frowning now. ‘What’s going on?’

‘Nothing important,’ Allan replied. ‘Riley’s just got an attitude problem.’

Incensed, Peter glowered up at a guy who outweighed him by at least sixty pounds. ‘You want to know the short history of Riley and this Neanderthal?’ He didn’t wait for Brandy to reply, but ploughed on, his voice bristling with anger. ‘He got her to steal stuff for him. When she wouldn’t rip off a computer, he punched her in the face. Even loosened one of her teeth.’

The muscles tensed in Allan’s neck and he glowered at Riley’s best friend.

She knew that look – he was planning payback in some seriously painful way. If there was a fight, Peter would get creamed and then he’d get tossed out of school.

To her surprise Brandy stepped in. ‘Hey, who’s the guy in the truck?’ she called out, louder than needed. ‘He’s definitely hunky.’ Her gaggle of girls turned as one and a couple murmured appreciatively.

The hunk in question was Beck, who had just pulled into the parking lot. He took one look and was out of the truck, leaning on the door, watching the situation closely.

Your timing is awesome.
Even though she had no idea why he was here. If Allan went physical, he’d find himself up against a seasoned fighter with a steel pipe rather than a guy half his size.

‘That would be one of the trappers,’ Riley replied.

‘Niiiiice . . .’ Brandy said. ‘Can you introduce us?’

Beck and Brandy?
That would be a match made in Hell.
Time to shut the girl down
. ‘Do you like country music?’

‘Ew, no!’ she retorted, as if Riley had suggested she eat live frogs for breakfast.

‘That’s all he listens to.’

‘Boo,’ Brandy said. ‘Should have known he was too cute to be for real.’

As she walked Peter to his car, Riley shot him an exasperated look. ‘What were you doing? You’re lucky Allan didn’t nail you.’

‘Time someone stood up that jerk,’ Peter said, dumping his computer bag into the car.

‘Just watch yourself. You made him look bad and he won’t forget it.’

‘He hits me he goes to jail. Simple as that.’

‘Not so simple if your jaw is wired shut and you’re in a coma.’

He paled. ‘Yeah, that would be a bummer.’

‘I’d better go see what Backwoods Boy wants,’ she said, looking over at Beck again.

‘Call me later, will you?’ Peter said, climbing into his car.

‘Sure.’ As she walked away, she heard the door locks engage. He was driving away by the time she reached Beck’s truck.

‘What’s happening?’ she asked.

‘Stewart wants me to take ya to the summoner’s meetin’,’ he replied, his eyes tracking Allan across the parking lot as her ex headed towards his ride.

‘You know, I have a car. I even have a licence. I’m capable of driving there on my own,’ she replied.

‘The order was that ya come with me. Ya gotta problem, call the Scotsman.’

Which he knew she wouldn’t do. It wasn’t fair to rag on the messenger, so she climbed into Beck’s ride. His truck was less cramped as he’d somehow scrounged up a backpack – camo of course – and it took up a lot less space than his duffel bag on the front seat. It was worn and had tears and rusty brown spots on it, which made her wonder if it was the one he’d used in the army.

‘How’s the head?’ she asked.

‘Better.’ He turned on to Peachtree Street and joined the flow of traffic. ‘Jackson and Remmers picked up those two guys who ripped off your demon a few weeks back. They’re bein’ real helpful.’ He smirked at the thought. ‘They gave me the name of the dude who’s buyin’ the Hellspawn under the table. I’ll be settin’ up a meetin’ with him. I’m lookin’ to bust that racket wide open.’

‘Cool. Just be careful,’ she cautioned.

‘Don’t worry, Jackson’s comin’ along as back-up. We’ll get it done.’

Beck manoeuvred them through a crowded intersection with a minimum of horn honking. ‘I know it’s probably none of my business, but that big guy who was standin’ next to ya in the parkin’ lot? I’m thinkin’ he’s got issues. The violent kind.’

Riley looked over at him, intrigued that he’d figured out Allan so quickly. ‘Why do you think that?’

‘He feels . . . bad. He thinks he owns the world. The way he was lookin’ at ya made the hair on my neck stand up.’ Beck executed a turn, then added, ‘That doesn’t mean ya should go out of yer way to date the dude because I don’t like him. I made that mistake with that angel.’

Riley grinned, savouring the irony. ‘Too late. Already been there. That’s Allan, the psycho-ex. Well, the first psycho-ex, if you count Simon.’

‘The one that hit ya?’

‘Yup. He’s in my class now. Isn’t that special?’

‘If he . . .’ Beck took a deep breath and swallowed whatever he had planned to say. ‘I figure ya can handle him. If not, let me know. I’ll be happy to pound his ass into the ground for ya.’

Who are you and what have you done with Backwoods Boy?

‘Thank you,’ she said, not sure what had just happened.

Like Peter, if anything happened to her she’d head for the cops. That had been their mistake the last time: rather than earn Allan a police record her dad had talked to his parents, hoping to get the creep some professional help. Instead her ex had gone on to terrorize other girlfriends.

‘Ya be careful,’ Beck said. ‘I’ve seen the type before. They beat ya and then apologize. Then they hit ya again because they can get away with it. No matter what, yer always to blame.’

There was too much emotion overlaying his words for this to just be a warning.

‘Did that happen you?’ she asked, fearing the answer.

Beck nodded.

How many monsters are hiding in your closet of horrors?

The Summoners’ Society was housed in a grand three-storey building where ivy clung to the weathered grey stones and ran riot over mullioned windows. There was a portico at the front of the building, but Beck ignored that and parked in a lot on the south side near Stewart’s car. When he climbed out, he whistled his appreciation of the structure.

‘I’m thinkin’ I should have been a grave robber.’

‘I think they do their chants in Latin, Beck.’

He scowled. ‘Yeah, well, then I’d be screwed.’

They were met at the entrance by a portly butler who looked like he’d been an extra in an old British movie. After he ensured their names were on the official guest list, they were led down a panelled hallway to a set of double doors.

Beyond those doors was a ballroom littered with summoners. Riley guessed there were at least fifty of them, each in coloured robes befitting their status within the Society. Clusters of them gossiped away in a room that would have been fashionable during the Civil War. Two massive fireplaces sat at either end of the room, both giving off generous heat, which promptly headed for the ceiling at least fifteen feet above them. Weighty, blood-red damask drapes hung at the windows, sealing out the night’s chill, while a string quartet played something by Bach.

It’s like something out of a Victorian novel
.

They found Master Stewart near one of the fireplaces. He steered them away from the closest summoners.

‘No matter what,’ he said in a lowered voice, ‘do not mention the undead beasties we’ve been seein’. If that becomes public knowledge, there will be panic. Ya ken?’

They both nodded.

‘Do you think they’ll give us Dad back?’ Riley asked.

‘I don’t know, lass. We’ll give it our best.’

A few minutes later, the meeting was called to order. Riley, Beck and the master were shown to chairs near the front of the room as the final strains of J. S. Bach melted away. Behind them, summoners found their own seats, as if this was a performance. Maybe to them it was.

The man running the meeting, Lord Barnes, laid out the complaint in excruciating detail. Then it was Stewart’s turn. The master spoke of her father’s death, how Beck had valiantly tried to save his friend’s life. Riley’s eyes burned, on the verge of crying as she dug her fingernails into her palms to keep the tears away. Beck’s face was stony now, no doubt reliving that night in vivid memories.

The master movingly described the many nights she’d spent in the graveyard protecting her father’s corpse, and the summoners’ attempts to buy his body. He took particular care in describing Lord Ozymandias’s heinous magical tricks. There were murmurs behind her and they weren’t happy ones. Apparently some of the necros thought the dark lord’s behaviour had been over the top, at least by their standards.

Where is he? Did the jerk not even bother to show up?

The question was answered a moment later when the rear doors opened. Heads turned.

Lord Ozymandias was in his customary black cloak and toting his staff, the sigil on his forehead pulsing like a star.

‘Really, Master Stewart,’ he said, sweeping dramatically down the aisle, ‘you make me sound like a predator.’

‘That’s because ya are. Weavin’ magic against a young lass ta steal her father’s body is dishonourable. It’s not what bein’ a summoner is all about, and ya know it.’

‘Oh dear, I have been chastised,’ Ozymandias laughed, touching his chest in mock horror. Then his tone went icy cold. ‘I do what any summoner does – I reanimate the dead. If that corpse happens to be a master trapper, one known for his skills, I will do anything I can to achieve my goal. Even if it frightens a little girl.’