Forgiven (43 page)

The injured man nodded grimly, his back up against a tree. ‘Better than I hoped for.’ He swallowed and looked around. ‘I don’t know about you, but there’s no way I’m saying a word about this,’ Remmers replied. ‘No one will believe me. Not a chance.’

‘I hear ya. I’ll make sure someone gets ya into an ambulance.’

‘Thanks, Den.’

‘Thanks for watchin’ my back, dude. I owe ya.’

Beck found Master Stewart leaning against a flame-scorched tree, flask in hand. The Scotch came his way and, after a tilt of the container, liquid ran red hot down his parched throat. He handed it back to its owner.

‘How’s Riley doin’?’ the master asked.

‘She’s . . . talkin’ at least. I asked Carmela to check on her.’

‘She stood her ground today. If she hadn’t, it would have been the end of us all.’

Beck rolled his right shoulder in an effort to stop it cramping, though that did nothing to prevent the muscle twitches: wielding a sword wasn’t for wimps.

‘I always thought Armageddon was some story they dreamed up to scare kids. I never expected to be right in the middle of it.’

When the flask came his way again, he took another long swig. Stewart still owed him an answer to a question that had been plaguing him ever since the Vatican’s team had arrived.

‘Back when we first met with the hunters, the priest said he knew who we served. When I asked ya about that, ya didn’t answer me.’

Stewart remained silent.

Beck lowered his voice. ‘We serve Hell, don’t we? The hunters are Heaven’s favourites and we’re Lucifer’s. Am I right?’

‘It’s not that simple, lad,’ Stewart remarked. ‘It’s not so much a matter of whether we serve the Prince, but that we are the opposite of the hunters. The other side of the coin. Everythin’ in this world hangs in the balance between the light and dark.’

‘That doesn’t make a damn bit of sense.’

‘It’s not an easy concept. Even the origins of the demons isn’t clear. Some think Lucifer created them as a mockery of God’s work. Others claim that they’re damned souls, sent ta Hell to learn their lesson.’

‘Yer sayin’ that if I kill a demon it might be someone I knew?’

Stewart hitched a shoulder. ‘I don’t know for sure. I still don’t understand it and I’ve been trappin’ for over fifty years.’

Which meant Beck had little chance of grasping it today.

‘Don’t let it trouble ya, lad. Yer not a servant of the dark, that’s for sure.’ The master laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. ‘I’m very proud of ya. Ya showed great courage.’

‘I did OK,’ Beck replied, shrugging off the praise.

‘Ya took on an Archfiend,’ the master replied, reclaiming his liquor at the same time as he removed his hand. ‘That’s better’n OK.’

‘I didn’t kill it,’ Beck said. He remembered Riley stabbing it in the butt and then laughed, because it felt good. ‘Damn, it’s good to be alive.’

‘Aye. Now get Riley out of here. Take her ta my place if she’ll go. This will hit her hard soon enough.’

Beck hesitated, not sure if he should ask the question. ‘What happens to a Fallen when it dies?’

Stewart took another long pull on the whisky. ‘Some say that Heaven takes them back if their souls have been cleansed. Others believe they become a demon and start all over again.’

Which meant no one really knew the truth.

There’s a lot of that in this job.

Beck found Paul’s daughter sitting where he’d left her, the blanket still round her shoulders. Her tangled hair rested on dirt-smeared clothes, her skin unnaturally pale. He sat next to her, waiting for her to speak first.

‘How many did we lose?’

‘Twelve,’ he replied. ‘The hunters lost ten. We’ve got a lot of injuries, but I think most of them are gonna live.’

Riley searched across the stretch of ground around them, looking for someone. Her attention paused on one hunter and she sighed in relief. ‘Müller’s alive,’ she said. ‘He has a little boy at home.’ Then her face saddened. ‘Corsini won’t ever get to see his new baby.’

She’s in shock.
Beck put his arm round her. ‘Stewart wants me to take you to his place.’

Riley instantly shook her head. ‘No, I want to go home.’ She took her time rising from the step, telling him she was in pain.

‘The doc seen you yet?’

‘I wasn’t bleeding to death so she’ll check me over later.’

Beck suspected Carmela had said more than that.

Riley looked up at him, her eyes glistening. ‘The angel said Dad isn’t in Hell any more,’ she murmured. ‘He’s free of the demons.’

Not in . . .
‘Yes!’ Beck shot a fist in the air. ‘Way to go, Paul.’ Then he sobered. ‘Come on, let’s get ya out of here.’

As they walked down the asphalt road past the others, Riley kept her eyes on the path. He knew how it went after a battle. You focused on what you could handle, which was damned little.

She paused only when she found Mort sitting on the kerb. He had a bottle of water in his hand and there was a giant red mark on his left cheek. His summoner’s robe was destined for the trash.

‘You OK?’ she asked.

‘I’m just tired,’ he mumbled. ‘I’ve never done that much magic before.’

‘Did you know my dad was going to be here?’ When there was no reply, she stepped closer, her body taut. ‘Did you know what he was going to do?’

Beck gently touched her arm. ‘Later. I’m sure Mort will be happy to talk to you, but not right now.’ He gave the necromancer a look that told him that conversation would be happening or Beck would make it a personal issue.

‘I’ll tell you all of it. Come to my house tomorrow, after we’ve both got some sleep,’ Mort said.

Riley swung away and moved down the road at a pace she wouldn’t be able to sustain. She flagged near the front gate, stopping to catch her breath. Stretchers rolled by them on the way to a street crowded with ambulances and cops.

‘Yer hurtin’, aren’t ya?’ A nod. ‘Can you make it to the truck?’

‘Yes.’ Then her eyes flared and she shoved him away. ‘What were you doing, you idiot? You don’t know how to kill an Archfiend. It could have ripped you in half.’

‘I didn’t want it to hurt you,’ he said honestly.

‘Why do you have this insane need to get yourself killed?’

He smirked. ‘I’m still alive and it isn’t.’

‘Only because Ori killed it.’

‘Don’t remind me. Were ya really tryin’ to stab that demon in the ass?’

Riley groaned. ‘No, I was aiming for its leg and it moved. I looked like a total dork.’

‘Not to me.’

Beck slipped his arm round her waist and they continued on to the truck. So far the press hadn’t been allowed anywhere near the scene. That would end soon and he wanted her out of here before that happened.

‘I’m sorry about yer angel,’ he said, meaning it. ‘I figured he was as evil as they come, but now I think he was tryin’ to make it right in his own way.’

Riley swallowed hard. ‘Why didn’t Lucifer take out Sartael himself? Why let it go this far?’

‘A leader sends his best man to challenge the enemy. The top dog only gets involved when it goes wrong. Or to claim victory. Been that way forever.’

‘It cost Ori his life.’

‘Maybe.’

She looked up at him. ‘You don’t think he’s dead?’

‘Not sure. Lucifer’s a tricky bastard, and if keepin’ that angel alive is a way to play with yer head he’ll do it.’

‘That’s what I was thinking.’

Riley woke to the comfort of her own bed in that muzzy sort of haze that didn’t tell her what day it was, how long she’d slept or whether the nightmares she’d had were real or not.

Had to be a dream.
That would be good. No rampaging necromancers, revolting Archfiends or epic battles. No dead Ori.

Her eyes opened. The warm light in the room hinted at late afternoon. She rolled her head on the pillow and studied the clock – it was past four. Memories rushed to fill the empty spaces: Beck walking her to her apartment, her heading for the shower, scrubbing herself until the water ran cold. Finding out that Ori had been right once again – she was not pregnant. Never had a period been so welcome.

One thing had changed: the inscriptions on her palms were visible now and looked likely to remain that way.

Then Max had joined her in bed for feline purring therapy. Carmela had zipped in at about noon, pronounced her bruised, but alive, which seemed pointlessly obvious. Mrs Litinsky had followed on her heels, hot chicken soup in hand. After all that care and feeding, Riley hadn’t been able to keep her eyes open.

Hauling herself out of bed, she let Max out and curled up on the couch, wrapped in a thick comforter. Though she really didn’t want to go there, she began to methodically review all she could remember of the events at the cemetery. Some of the memories made her so sad, like her father’s sacrifice. He’d been the hero, not her. As she gazed up at her parents’ wedding photograph on the bookshelves, Riley whispered a prayer that her dad was with her mom now. That they’d be together forever.

‘I love you guys and I’ll never forget you,’ she whispered.

Then she buried her head in the comforter and wept until there were no more tears.

It was close to ten that night when Riley’s cellphone ran. It vibrated across the nightstand, making an unholy racket. She retrieved it, half-awake. ‘Hello?’

‘Hey, Riley, how’s it goin’?’ Beck asked, his voice louder than normal.

She pulled herself up in bed. ‘What is all that noise?’ Singing, she thought, and bar sounds.

‘Me and Elias are gettin’ ripped,’ he explained.

‘It’s not only the captain,’ she said. Too much noise for two guys.

‘Nah, it’s a whole bunch of us.’ Someone asked him a question and he called out, ‘Put me in for five. No way Jackson can balance a pint on his forehead. What do you take me for, some dumbass hick?’

‘Hey!’ she called out, smiling now. He sounded happy and it was contagious.

‘What?’ he asked, and then she heard a long slurp through the phone.

‘I thought the hunters didn’t do that kind of stuff.’

‘Tonight the rules are bein’ ignored. We’re havin’ a wake at the Six Feet Under. Everybody’s here, even the priest. Well, except Simon and that jerk Amundson. Too good to hang with us, I guess.’

She didn’t know about Amundson, but she was willing to bet Simon was in church, on his knees, praying for all he was worth.

‘Do not get yourself arrested, you hear?’ she urged. ‘I am not going to bail your butt out of jail, mister.’

‘Now who’s goin’ all old geezer, huh?’ He snorted. ‘I’m gonna get drunk and pass out on my bed at home. Haven’t done that for so long I can’t remember.’

‘Probably a reason for that, Beck. You’re killing brain cells and you don’t have that many to spare.’

‘Yeah, yeah, all you give me is grief, woman. Look, I gotta go. If you want, I can call you later.’

‘Not if you’re drunk.’

There was a pause. ‘Yeah, better make it mornin’, then.’ Another pause. ‘OK, late afternoon. It’s gonna take time to get past the hangover.’

‘Have fun, Backwoods Boy.’

‘See ya later, Princess. Don’t forget those cookies.’

Riley growled at the phone, then dropped it on the nightstand. She owed the mouthy Southern Dude those oatmeal goodies. If she was nice, she’d wait until tomorrow afternoon to deliver them, allowing him time to get over his hangover.

Or she could deliver them in the early morning and relish every minute of his head-splitting pain. With an unholy grin, Riley climbed out of bed and headed towards the kitchen and the baking supplies.

To Beck’s amazement, Jackson
could
balance an empty pint glass on his forehead. Now he was working on a full one.

‘That takes talent,’ Beck said in awe.

‘I sure don’t have it,’ Salvatore said, his words slightly slurred in deference to the beer in his system. ‘Was that Riley?’

‘Yeah, it was,’ he said, smiling. ‘Rome isn’t gonna give her a bunch of crap about what happened, are they?’