Forgiven (3 page)

Was this a sign of what her future held? Would Ori continue to push at her mind until she screamed for release? Would Beck throw away his life to save her soul?

With another groan, Riley rooted in her messenger bag and excavated two Advil and a bottle of water. She washed the tablets down, hoping they’d stay put, then leaned back against the headboard.

‘This seriously sucks.’ The verbal acknowledgement only made her head thump harder.

Once she’d shaken off the worst of the dream, she headed for the bathroom and made a totally useless attempt to do something about her hair. When she pulled on her clothes, she was relieved they smelt less like the lying angel now. It was a pity that the memory of his touch wouldn’t fade as easily.

Out of habit she retrieved her cellphone, but a second before powering it on she hesitated: did she dare check her messages? Would the hunters be able to track her here?

‘Better not,’ she said, leaving the phone off. It felt weird to be so out of touch. How would she let her friends know what was happening? Her best buddy Peter freaked if he didn’t hear from her regularly. Simi, her barista friend at the local coffee shop, would wonder what happened to her, especially since she insisted on updates every couple of days.

Staying with Mort was too dangerous for all of them. Eventually the hunters would come here. The only choice was for her and her dad to make a run for it, hide out until the Vatican’s boys got bored and returned to Rome.
We’ll have to start over. Find a place to live. I’ll have to get a different job.
If they survived all that, eventually she’d have to convince Lucifer to put her dad back in the ground.

All because I wanted someone to love me.

*

While some would argue that the Westin Peachtree Plaza wasn’t a jail, the earnest demon hunter parked near the hotel room’s door told Beck he wasn’t free to come and go as he pleased. Since it looked like he was here for the time being he made his way to the bathroom. Running a wet facecloth over his hair took most of the dirt out of the blond strands. He made sure to keep the bandage dry.

Riley’s selfish actions had brought the hunters to his doorstep. That angered him, not only because of what she’d let that Fallen do to her, but because he’d promised her father he’d keep her safe. Still, Beck’s wounded pride was the least of his worries: what would the hunters do to Paul’s daughter when they caught her? Would they put her on trial? Lock her up? Or worse?

Knowing that his questions were not going to be answered by staring into the bathroom mirror, Beck returned to the bedroom. The hunter tracked his movements, vigilant as ever. Dusting himself off, which left a trail of dried grass on the carpet, Beck unlaced his work boots and dropped on to the king bed. It was one of those fancy ones you find in expensive hotels. He’d learned to sleep on some of the world’s hardest surfaces during his stint in the army, so something this soft made him uncomfortable.

By his count there were two hunters guarding him: one in the corridor and one in the room with him. He could try to escape, but it’d probably buy him a bullet. Captain Salvatore had promised to call Master Stewart, and for some reason Beck trusted him to do just that. If he was patient, the Scotsman would get him out of here.

The guard in the room was Hispanic with dark, intense eyes and a fighter’s bulk. He kept his attention riveted on his prisoner’s every move.

‘Can ya not do that?’ Beck growled. ‘Yer drivin’ me crazy.’

The guy gave a shrug then settled back in the rolling chair, his attention a few feet to Beck’s left. That was some improvement.

‘How long is this gonna take?’ No reply.

Knowing he wasn’t going to be told anything of value until his captors were damned well ready, Beck pulled himself off the bed and went through his exercise regime to blow off steam. Fifty push-ups followed by fifty sit-ups. Then another fifty push-ups, a number of those one-handed. As he worked up a sweat, he tried hard to block the memories: Riley crying in his arms, the knowing smirk on that fallen angel’s face. How disappointed Paul would be if he knew his daughter had been deceived like that.

Dammit. I did what I could, but it wasn’t enough. It’s never enough.

He lost count of the push-ups and finally slumped to the carpet when his arms grew too weak to support him and his back felt like it had been scorched by molten lead. The pain did as he’d hoped, blocking things he didn’t want to think about. Muscles quivering, he returned to the bed, tucked his arms behind his head and stared up at the pebbled ceiling.

Someone had known Riley was at his house this morning and that list was pretty short unless one of his neighbours was a spy for the hunters. Master Stewart knew she was there: Beck had called him the moment he’d left her at the house, seething in anger at what had happened between her and the angel.

Then there was Justine Armando, the woman he’d been with overnight. Justine was a new addition to Beck’s life, a freelance journalist who’d arrived in Atlanta at the same time as the hunters. She trailed after their teams as they did the Vatican’s dirty work across the world, writing up glowing newspaper accounts of their exploits. Beck had been interviewed by her . . . twice. Then they’d taken it a step further and he’d landed in her bed. That’s where he’d been this morning, in this same hotel, when Riley’s panicked phone call had reached him. When he’d heard that terrified voice, he’d bailed out of Justine’s arms and bolted out of the door, sure Paul’s daughter was in grave danger.

Had Justine told the hunters where Riley was? He had to admit he wasn’t sure. All Beck could remember was the petulant frown on her face as he bent over to kiss her goodbye.

Couldn’t be her.
He wasn’t willing to accept that, though he knew Riley would believe it in a heartbeat. He could still hear her warning him about Justine and how he was going to get hurt.

He huffed at the thought that he was responsible for Riley’s problems. If she’d taken his advice, she wouldn’t be in this world of hurt. He’d be the first to admit his words were at war with his heart. Everyone made mistakes and most didn’t end up with Hell or the Church breathing down their necks.

When there was a knock at the door, the guard cautiously checked the peephole, then opened it, revealing Lt Amundson.

‘Master Stewart knows you’re in custody and that you’re not leaving until we have the Blackthorne girl,’ he said in his heavily accented English.

At least Stewart knows where I am.
‘If that’s the case, how about some breakfast?’

There was a grunt from the lieutenant and then the door shut behind him. Staring up at the ceiling, all Beck could think of was Paul’s daughter, of her bitter tears and his unrelenting fury. How sick he’d felt when she’d told him what she’d done.

It was best he had no idea where Riley Blackthorne was hiding. The way he felt right now, he’d hand her over to the demon hunters himself.

As Riley made her way back through Mort’s house, she tried not to get lost. The place was larger than she’d first thought, the walls aged brick with exposed wooden roof beams overhead. Kind of cool in a warehouse-maze sort of way.

In the circular brick room Mort considered his office. The early afternoon poured down from the skylights, forming golden pools on the worn wooden floor. The summoner and her father were deep in conversation at a picnic table, sitting on benches across from each other.

About Riley’s height and considerably wider, Mortimer Alexander had a pleasant round face and a bright smile, though behind all that was a fierce spirit. He’d chosen to become the Summoner Advocate of Atlanta, a job that earned him no respect from his fellow necromancers who spent most of their time luring the dead out of their graves and selling their bodies as unpaid slaves to rich people.

‘Riley,’ he said. ‘Do you feel better?’

‘Yes,’ she said, politely lying. If anything, she felt worse now. The nightmare still hovered at the edges of her mind, like a monster hiding under a child’s bed.

‘There’s my favourite daughter,’ her father called out, a smile lighting his face.

He wore some of Mort’s clothes now – a T-shirt and jeans – both hideously oversized. The jeans ended at his ankles and seemed out of place with his black socks and dress shoes. She had to find him clothes that fitted, but going to their apartment was going to be difficult: It was a good bet the hunters were watching the place.

The moment she plopped on to the bench seat near her father he put his arm round her. She leaned into him. Some things never changed, even if he was no longer among the living.

Mort cleared his throat. ‘I put your car in my garage,’ he said, pointing at her keys on top of the table. ‘If the hunters are patrolling the streets, it’s out of sight.’

She hadn’t thought of that. ‘Thanks.’

‘The latest news is that Lord Ozymandias is furious someone stole your father right out from under his nose.’

As the most powerful summoner in Atlanta, Ozymandias had been after her father since the moment he’d died. During her cemetery vigil the necromancer had tried devious magic tricks to coerce her into breaking the sacred circle that protected her dad’s grave. He’d not been successful and her dad’s body had stayed put.
Until Lucifer came calling.

‘You know, that’s just tough,’ she said, totally pleased at the news. Then that happiness faded. ‘Will Ozy come here?’

Mort cringed at the casual use of the senior necromancer’s name. ‘He will if he finds out your father’s staying with me.’

Awkward silence fell after that. Her dad kept taking sips from a bottle filled with a luminescent liquid that looked like orange juice spiked with iridescent sparkles.

‘Stabilizer,’ Mort explained before she could ask. ‘A basic potion with added magical oomph. It’s why he smells like oranges. He has to drink a lot of it. A reanimate’s vocal cords are difficult to keep hydrated.’

Riley really didn’t want a lesson in Deader physiology, but she’d got one anyway. It came with hiding in a summoner’s house.

‘We talked while you slept and we both agree that Master Stewart is your best hope with the hunters,’ Mort added. ‘They’ll listen to him.’

‘Riiight,’ Riley replied. ‘They’ll brand me a heretic and fry me. I know where this is going.’

Her father touched her hand. ‘I wouldn’t put you . . . in danger.’

But you did. You made a deal with Hell and when you died they came after me.
Riley didn’t dare say any of that, so she gnawed on the inside of her lip instead.

‘I can get some money and we’ll go somewhere else,’ she suggested.

‘But where? Paul said you have an aunt in Fargo, but the hunters will look there. You can’t live on the streets. It’s not safe for a girl your age.’

She looked at her father. ‘I can’t leave you here, Dad. Mort doesn’t need the hassle from the hunters or the other summoners. We need to go somewhere else.’

‘That’s your choice, Riley,’ the necromancer said solemnly, ‘but I’d advise that Paul remain with me. He’s safer here. I can take care of him, keep him in good condition.’

‘And I can’t?’ she asked, too tired to be angry at what he was suggesting.

‘You don’t have magic behind you,’ was the gentle reply. ‘Your father’s care involves certain spells, potions and a lot of finesse. If I don’t watch over him, in a couple weeks the body will begin to disintegrate while the mind keeps working. He’ll be safer with me than with anyone,’

It was a compelling argument, though Riley wished that wasn’t the case. Next to her, her dad’s eyes began to blink more rapidly now.

‘What’s going on? Are you really tired or something?’ she asked.

It was Mort who answered. ‘Reanimates have little or no life force behind them and they wear out quickly. He’ll be going dormant here in a little bit. After a rest, he’ll be back.’

‘Oh. Can Master Stewart get the hunters to back off?’

‘No,’ Mort replied, ‘but he can negotiate with them, act as the Guild’s representative.’

The Scotsman would be a better choice than Master Harper, the trapper she was apprenticed to. Harper hated Riley and her dad. If he had the chance to bring both of them down, he’d jump at it.

‘You sure Stewart will help me?’ she asked.

‘I’ve dealt with him as the Summoners’ Advocate and he’s nothing but fair. However, you have to make a decision soon. The longer this goes on, the harder it will be to get the hunters to cooperate.’