Soul Thief-Demon Trappers 2 (8 page)

“You should. It’s your debt.”

“No, it’s not. I’m seventeen, so I’m not responsible for anything my parents did. You people are totally hosed, and you know it.”

He glowered. “Then we’ll play hardball. We’ll confiscate your father’s life insurance payment.”

Can they really do that?
“Whatever,” she said. She just didn’t care anymore.

“You’ll regret this,” he called out.

“The regrets line forms to the right,” she said.

The CDC guy retrieved his foot microseconds before she slammed the door.

*   *   *

In Riley’s search
for the Guild’s priest, the church secretary used the words
temporary
and
mortuary
in the same sentence and sent her to a location just west of downtown. After a bit of hunting she located the building, a music shop that still had sun-faded posters in the windows announcing the latest albums from several years back. Now it was home to the Guild’s fallen, as no mortuary would touch a trapper if the cause of death was demonic in origin. Another weird superstition, as if
death by demon
was somehow contagious. Apparently Father Harrison had found a sympathetic soul who had agreed to let them use the location until the trappers were buried.

Eight pine caskets sat in a neat row down the center of the store, their lids closed. Each had an index card attached with the name of the coffin’s occupant. These eight were just the start: Not all the bodies had been identified by the coroner yet, and others were still buried under the rubble at the Tabernacle. Standing near the head of the coffins was a trapper about her father’s age. That was tradition: A member of the Guild remained with the dead until they were buried. It had been Simon’s choice to perform that duty for her dad. Riley didn’t know this particular trapper’s name, but he gave her a solemn nod, which told her the man wasn’t an enemy. She made sure to return the gesture.

Father Harrison was attempting to comfort an older woman. “I didn’t want him to do this,” she said in between sobs. “I told him it’d get him killed.”

The man next to her, probably her husband, mumbled something reassuring, but it didn’t seem to help. The woman only sobbed louder. As they left the building, Riley stepped aside to give them space.

Father Harrison joined Riley in the doorway. About thirty with brown hair and eyes, today he appeared older, dark circles beneath his eyes.

“Ethan’s parents,” he explained. “He was their only son.”

Riley dug for tissues as tears began to burn. The priest held his silence until she’d pulled herself back together. He’d probably been doing that all day.

“I heard about your father’s reanimation,” the priest said. “I’m so sorry.”

“Yeah, I thought I had it covered.” She blew her nose one more time, jammed the tissues in a pocket, then leaned against the building. “You know about the Holy Water problem?”

The priest nodded. “The Archbishop called me. He said you’d discovered the consecration dates were incorrect and that some of the Holy Water was counterfeit.”

“I bought some from the vendor at the market and took it to the meeting so we could test it. Some of the bottles didn’t react right.”

“Tested? How?” Harrison asked. He, too, was leaning against the building now.

“I put my demon claw inside the bottles.” Riley pulled the item out from under her shirt, all three inches of ebony lethalness. Its former owner, a Grade Three Gastro-Fiend, had not so kindly left it in her thigh as a souvenir when it had tried to kill her. Beck had made it into a necklace, and now she wore it with perverse pride.

The priest leaned closer to her, studying it intently. “Wicked thing, isn’t it?”

“Totally,” she agreed as she tucked the talon away. “The real Holy Water went nuts when it touched the claw. The fake stuff didn’t do a thing. And I found out that the fake bottles have labels that smear when they get wet, so that’s a quick way to check them.”

Harrison swiped a hand over his face. “I’d heard rumors that the Holy Water wasn’t working as it should, but I never thought someone might actually be counterfeiting it.”

“I checked the labels on the bottles Simon used for the ward, and they were good.” There was more to it than that. Riley lowered her eyes, not wanting to see the priest’s face when she made her confession. “But I didn’t check what was inside those bottles. Maybe if I had, those trappers would still be alive.”

She waited for the condemnation. Instead she heard a profound sigh. “It wouldn’t have mattered, Riley,” Harrison murmured. “It’s not your fault. There were a lot of demons in that building, am I right?”

Her eyes rose. “They were everywhere. It was
so
scary.”

“Holy Water loses its potency in the presence of sustained evil, unless it’s consecrated by the Pope.”

“So if it had just been one or two of them they might not have gotten through?”

The priest nodded. “Even if the Holy Water Simon used was counterfeit, he’d created a ward for the previous meeting, and the ones before that. The effects wouldn’t fade that fast unless there was an immensely evil presence or all the Holy Water was bogus.”

“The trappers aren’t going to believe that. They’re going to think he made a mistake or that I did something wrong.”

“Or that your father let them inside the ward.”

Her eyes veered upward. “He didn’t! He was trying to save me, not kill all of us.”

“I know,” the priest said, gently touching her arm. “Your father was an honorable man, but that doesn’t mean others might not want to make him a scapegoat. Or you, for that matter. You have to prepare yourself for that possibility, Riley.”

“It’s already started,” she admitted.

“I feared as much.”

For one wild instant she felt the need to tell the priest about her deal with Heaven. Then her eyes shifted to the trapper standing vigil over the caskets. She didn’t dare, not with him here. He might overhear her, and then he’d tell the others, who’d make fun of her, accuse her of being crazy. Master Harper might find a way to use that to force her out of the Guild.

I don’t want Simon to know.
He’d feel like he owed her something, and that wasn’t the way she wanted their future to play out. She’d tell Father Harrison her secret someday.
Just not today.

When Riley left a few minutes later she felt better for having talked to the priest and she’d received his permission to use Beck’s bolt hole at the church for her temporary living quarters. No more cold nights in the graveyard.

One problem solved.
That left countless others. On impulse, she dug out the list she’d made at the coffee shop and studied it. Nothing to cross off yet. The least she could do was buy her groceries.

If Harrison was right and concentrated evil had taken out the Holy Water ward, then neither she nor Simon had caused the deaths of their fellow trappers. That was a profound relief.
Simon has to know he isn’t to blame.
It was what the priest
hadn’t
said that weighed on her mind.

If the Holy Water isn’t strong enough, how do we stop the demons?

E
IGHT

Riley knew she should be at Harper’s place by now, but dealing with her master rated a negative five on a scale of one to ten. The feeling was mutual. So she’d bought groceries, one thing off her list, and now she was savoring a big cup of hot chocolate at the coffee shop and wasting time by staring at nothing. If she stared hard enough she couldn’t hear the sound of roaring flames. Or the cries of the dying.

“Hello?” a voice called out. “Earth to Riley.”

Riley glared up at the unwelcome interruption. Her barista friend, Simi, was clad in a criminally short jean skirt, black tights, and blood-red T-shirt that said
PHREAKS ARE PHUN
, her hair a wild mishmash of electric blue and hot pink. On her, it all looked good because she was a potpourri of Irish, Native American, Lebanese, and Chinese. Simi had never really explained how all that global DNA had connected, which was probably for the best.

Her friend pulled out a chair and took a seat. Her purse, a plush vampire bat with huge purple fangs, dropped on the table in front of her.

“Why are you here? You’re not working today,” Riley muttered.

“Looking for you. I think it’s time for a Simi intervention.”

Riley groaned. The last intervention had been two years ago, right after Allan, the soon to be ex-boyfriend, had socked her in the jaw. It’d been Simi who’d figured out how to apply enough makeup to cover the massive bruise so there’d be no questions from her classmates, but not so much that Riley looked like a zombie.

“No one has hit me today,” Riley retorted. “Just go away. I’m busy brooding, okay?”

“Not okay. You’re coming with me,” Simi said, jumping up from her chair so fast it spooked a couple of customers nearby. Maybe it was because the girl lived on coffee. “I’m going to take care of your follicular issues.”

“My hair is fine.”

“No, your hair is fried, toasted, and shriveled. It needs help. Just like you.” Simi leaned over the table. “You know I’m right. You don’t want your trapper boyfriend to see you like this.”

“He already has.”

“And he’s probably praying he won’t see you like this again.”

“I don’t want—”

But that was the problem with her friend—the world ceased to exist until Simi got her way, which she usually did by sheer force of will. Riley continued to protest as she was pushed and tugged out of the coffee shop and onto the street. She gave her friend the glare that always worked on her other friends. No response. Apparently Simi was immune, so Riley gave up.

“Where are we going?” she asked.

“You’ll see,” her friend trilled.

As they threaded their way through the city’s streets, Simi kept up a running conversation about the club she’d been to the night before. Some place called the Decadent Vampire.

“Let me guess: They wear fake teeth and lurk a lot,” Riley said, conjuring up an image of her faux-vamp classmate who lisped and wore overly frilly shirts.

“Some. Not all. It’s a mixed crowd. I really liked the band last night and—” She lost track of what she’s saying, distracted. “OMG! Hunk at two o’clock.”

Riley wasn’t in the mood, so she didn’t bother to check the guy out. What was the point? There were more important things to worry about than handsome guys, at least in her world.

“He’s coming this way!” Simi said, primping a couple of her pink dreadlocks. “Could you, like, fake a heart attack or something so he’ll stop and talk to us?”

Riley scowled at her friend. “Are you kidding? No way.”

“Come on. Just for me? He’s amazing.”

Riley finally eyed the oncoming hunk and then smiled. It was Ori, dressed to kill. Literally, if you were a demon.
Simi is going to be so jealous.

Actually, her friend fell speechless when Ori stopped in front of them, which had to be a first.

“Riley,” he said in a voice that would melt steel.

“Ori,” she said. Somehow the day felt better already. “How’s it going?” At her side, Simi had fallen into full-stare mode.

“You … you know this guy?” she asked breathlessly.

“Sure. Ori and I met at the marketplace. He was trying to buy a sword.”

“Occupational hazard. You slay dragons and you go through a lot of swords,” he jested, turning those bottomless eyes on Simi and playing the rogue. Actually, it was more the default setting with him.

“God, you’re so cute,” her friend blurted.

Riley did a mental face-palm. “Simi works at the coffee shop. And lives on caffeine.”

“Ah, that explains it,” Ori replied politely. He didn’t seem the least bit troubled by her friend’s adulation. “Glad to meet you.”

“You really slay dragons for a living?” she asked, her eyes locked on him.

“On occasion. And rescue damsels,” he said, winking at Riley.

For a second she thought Simi was going to tackle this guy.

As if Ori sensed the danger, he said, “I best be going. Good to meet you, Simi. I’ll see you later, Riley.” Then he walked off, duster flowing behind him.

The barista grabbed Riley’s arm. “You have been holding out on me, girlfriend. Give me the deets, now!”

“No details. He’s got business in Atlanta, and we see each other every now and then.”

“See each other? Has he kissed you yet?”

What?
“Pleeeze. I’m dating another guy. You think I’m a skank or something?”

“A kiss wouldn’t hurt. I mean, you’d probably explode from the ecstasy, but, hey, it’d be worth it. You just don’t see guys like that very often.”

Simi was right, Ori was top-shelf material. Which meant he wasn’t in their league.

“True, but he’s not in Atlanta for that long. Once his job is done, he’s outta here. Simon is not going anywhere.”

Simi herded her down a side street. “Don’t be an idiot. This Ori guy likes you, or he wouldn’t be hanging around all the time.”

“Not going there.”

“You’re too stuffy, girl. You need to be wild every now and then.”

“You do wild. I’ll do sane.”

Luckily the conversation ended as Riley was shepherded into a salon. The hair stylist had colors even crazier than Simi’s, which didn’t do a thing for Riley’s confidence. But after the shampoo, scalp massage, and deep conditioning, she began to relax. The woman seemed to know what she was doing, deftly removing the frizzled hair, shaping it as she wielded the scissors.

“You are overdoing the curling iron,” she said. “I’ve never seen hair this badly damaged.” In the mirror Riley could see her friend gesturing frantically, trying to derail the conversation. The stylist kept on. “Just what are you doing anyway?”

Before Riley could figure out a way to avoid talking about just why she was in this state, Simi tugged on the stylist’s arm and then drew her aside for a private talk.

When the woman returned she was repentant. “Sorry, I didn’t know. We’ll make your hair look good, and there’s no charge.”

“But…” Riley said.

“No. I should have recognized you from the television. Don’t worry, you’ll look great when I’m finished. You deserve that for all you’ve done for us.”