Forgiven (8 page)

As the necro dialled Master Stewart’s number, Riley crawled out of the car, not waiting to hear the conversation. Wending her way through the downtown crowd, she expected to be surrounded by hunters at any moment. Instead it was like any other day in Atlanta: people out shopping, going about their business.

She walked for a couple of blocks, checking out the shops along the way. They were located in parking spaces, the bankrupt city’s idea of generating revenue any way it could. Tucked up against a place selling used clothes was a store that sold sacred items.
Holy Relics
the sign said. In between statues of the Virgin Mary, Jesus, Buddha and Kuan Yin, the Chinese Goddess of Mercy, sat a pile of wooden crosses. They had a hole drilled in the wood and a long leather cord so you could wear them.

‘Holy crosses made from the sacred Tabernacle,’ the man called out from behind the counter. ‘Blessed by angels.’

Somehow the enterprising shop owner had scavenged wood from the damaged building and fashioned it into crosses. If the wood even came from there.

Riley pushed through the crowd and confronted the guy. ‘What do you think you’re doing?’ She pointed to the pile of crosses. ‘Trappers died in that building. How could you do this?’

‘Because my customers want them,’ the man replied, nonplussed.

‘No angels blessed these crosses. The only thing on them is trappers’ blood.’

‘Of course they did. I saw them on the television,’ a customer retorted, then turned her attention to the shop owner. ‘Do you have one about this size?’ the woman asked as she indicated the required length with her fingers, ‘but with the knotty wood in light brown?’

It was like she was picking out new living-room furniture.

‘God, who do you think you are?’ Riley said, balling her fists.

‘It’s not like it’s hurting you personally,’ the owner said.

‘But I was there! I know what happened. I saw them die.’

‘Sure, right.’ The vendor said. ‘Go someplace else and throw your hissy fit or I’ll call a cop.’ He went to help his customer find the ‘perfect’ cross.

A scream of rage rose in Riley’s throat, but she swallowed it down. There was no fighting this. People believed what they wanted, even if it was a lie. If it made them feel safe, gave them a reason to ignore the truth, they were all over it.

Eyes blurring in tears, she turned to walk away. And stopped short. The captain of the demon hunters stood behind her, clad in his crisp uniform, his face pensive.

‘Miss Blackthorne,’ Salvatore said.

‘How can they do that when so many died?’ she said, trying to gain control over her emotions. They seemed all over the map now.

‘The practice is centuries old. Did you know they used to make charms out of the bones of saints?’

‘It’s still not right.’

‘No, it’s not,’ he said. ‘Especially with what you’ve been through.’

She was instantly wary: this guy was too nice. Was this a ploy to gain her confidence, then spring some sort of trap?

‘Shall we?’ he said, gesturing down the street towards the hotel. They walked side by side. Why hadn’t Salvatore summoned any of the other hunters? Slapped her in handcuffs and frog-marched her through the streets?

‘How did you know I was here?’ she asked.

‘Stewart called me and said you were turning yourself in, that you should be at the hotel very shortly. I decided it was time to take a walk and see if I could find you before the others.’

‘Why?’ she asked, her suspicions increasing.

‘I have my reasons,’ he said.

‘Who told you I was at Beck’s house?’

‘I’m not sure.’ At her puzzled look, he explained, ‘We have an anonymous tip line for demon spotting. The call came through there. We receive a lot of information that way, most of it totally bogus.’

‘So it could have been Beck,’ she said, her heart sinking.

The captain gave her a penetrating look. ‘Why would he want us to raid his own home?’

He wouldn’t.
Beck was too much of a private person. He would have scooped her up and dumped her in this hunter’s lap before allowing his personal space to be violated.

‘Why did you threaten to charge him for something he didn’t do?’ she demanded.

‘Father Rosetti has control of this investigation. It was his order.’

That still didn’t explain why they’d done it.

The walk was quick and mostly silent. It was only when they reached the stairs leading to the Westin’s front entrance that the captain paused. ‘What do you think is going on in Simon Alder’s head?’ the hunter asked.

It wasn’t a question she’d expected. Before the Tabernacle attack she and Simon had been dating and everything had gone just great. After he’d been seriously wounded, he’d come to believe that Riley or her dad had somehow conspired with Hell to destroy the Atlanta Guild. Simon’s bizarre accusations had ended their relationship on a bitter note. In his own way, he’d sent Riley right into Ori’s arms.

Instead of unloading her heartbreak, Riley shook her head, too weary to go there. ‘Simon’s changed. He was so nice and kind and now suddenly he’s seeing Hellish conspiracies everywhere. He’s nothing like he was before the fre.’

‘Post traumatic stress disorder?’ the captain asked. ‘Or is someone playing with his mind?’

She looked up at the hunter, surprised by the latter suggestion. ‘Maybe a little of both.’ Lucifer had said something to that effect, but she didn’t dare tell the hunter he was closer to the truth that he might imagine.

Salvatore nodded thoughtfully, as if she’d confirmed a suspicion. ‘How do you like being a demon trapper?’

Another question she hadn’t expected. ‘I like it, when I get to do it. There’s been too much . . . drama recently. That’s not much fun.’

‘I’ll tell you a secret,’ he said, looking around as if he was worried someone might overhear him. ‘Being the captain of the demon hunters isn’t as much fun as I thought, either.’

He’s not playing nice. This is the real guy.
She’d seen all the hunters as enemies, but maybe that was being shortsighted.

‘What are you going to do with me?’ she asked.

‘Ask a lot of questions,’ he responded.

‘What if you guys like the answers?’

‘You’ll be set free.’

‘And if you don’t?’

No response.

‘Got it,’ Riley whispered.

After a night spent in fitful sleep, it came as a welcome relief when the guards returned to Beck’s hotel room a little after nine. During all those hours he’d spent too much time dwelling on ancient history, most of which was littered with regrets, the kind that get a chokehold on you and never let go. Why hadn’t the Guild bailed him out?

If they can’t find Riley, will they let me take the fall?

The door opened. ‘Come with us,’ a hunter announced, beckoning to him.

Beck swung his feet over the side of the bed and pulled on his boots, lacing them with deliberate slowness while trying to read the situation. Was he free to go or was this the start of something worse?

‘What’s up?’ he asked.

‘Not my place to say,’ his guard replied.

When he reached the hallway, Beck saw a grim-faced Captain Salvatore headed towards him.

‘What’s this all about?’ Beck demanded.

Before the hunter could reply, he had his answer. At the end of the corridor, Lieutenant Amundson exited the elevator. The guy looked like he’d just won the lottery. Behind him, inside a cluster of four-heavily armed hunters, was a shorter figure.

Oh, God, they found her.
No matter how angry he was at Riley, Beck had hoped she wouldn’t have to face this. To her credit, she wasn’t crying. In fact, her chin was up in defiance.

Amundson’s booming voice echoed down the hall. ‘Get that trapper out of here, now!’

‘I’m not goin’ anywhere,’ Beck shot back.
No way I’m leavin’ her on her own.

Salvatore positioned himself between Beck and the approaching men, no doubt sensing the trapper’s potential for violence. His hand was on his firearm.

‘If you remain, it’ll be harder on her. Grand Master Stewart is on his way,’ he advised. ‘We’ll not question her until he’s present.’

Beck eyed him. ‘I got yer word on that, hunter?’

‘Yes, you have my word.’

It was the best Beck could do. Grinding his teeth, he spun and then marched in the other direction. The hunter guarding the stairway moved out of his path in self-preservation.

The walk of shame.

Riley’s fear translated into knocking knees and sweaty palms. She made sure to take deep, deliberate breaths to keep from spiralling into a panic attack. No need to look any guiltier.

The row of hunters positioned along the hallway was heavily armed, like they expected something bad to happen even in a downtown hotel. Beck had told her the guns used special ammunition that could take down a demon. She figured the same would happen with a human. Their eyes held no emotion, as if they’d seen all the evil in the world and it no longer registered.

Was this what Simon wanted to become? Maybe that was what it took to become a demon hunter – a close and brutal encounter with a fiend that forced you to see the world in only black and white, holy and hellish, with no room for shades of grey. If the job required selling out those you loved, her ex-boyfriend was all set.

A door opened further down the hallway and Beck exited, a dark scowl on his stubbled face. The front of his T-shirt was filthy, his jeans as well, like he’d been tossed into a pile of dirt. The look on his face was more than anger. Under it she read resentment and distrust, and all of it was aimed in her direction.

He and Salvatore traded words, none of which she caught, and then Beck erupted in a snarl and was gone, stomping away like he couldn’t stand to share the same air as her. Her knees shook harder.

When she reached the room he’d had just vacated, one of the hunters beckoned for her to hand over her backpack. Salvatore had warned her they would do that, so she relinquished it without a struggle. Riley wasn’t prepared for the other hunter insisting she lean against the wall so he could pat her down.

‘It’s not needed, Corsini,’ the captain said. ‘Secure her in the room. We’ll wait until the Guild’s representative arrives.’

‘But, sir, Father Rosetti said he wanted to talk to her immediately,’ the hunter replied.

‘It will do no good. She isn’t going to answer our questions until Stewart is here.’

Which was her clue to do exactly that.
Whose side is this guy on?

‘But, sir . . .’ Corsini protested, no doubt realizing he was going to take the heat if the priest’s orders weren’t carried out properly.

‘I’ll talk to Rosetti. Make her comfortable. That’s an order.’ The captain turned towards Riley. ‘If you need anything, let me know.’

Riley nodded. There seemed to be one decent guy in this shark tank. Unfortunately, he wasn’t the one running the Inquisition.

As she entered the room, Riley let out the lungful of air she’d been holding tight inside her. After all the hunters and the weapons, the room seemed out of character. A sumptuous king bed, a royal blue couch and a large window overlooking the city. The morning sun filtered through the curtains. She noticed a tray on the desk, the remnants of the previous prisoner’s breakfast. Next to it was a newspaper.

At least they didn’t starve you.

Not knowing what else to do, she sat on the side of the bed. It was warm and the pillow had an indentation, suggesting that Beck had been here a few moments before. Ignoring the hunter sitting by the door, she stretched out, turning her back to the guy. The pillow smelt like Beck’s aftershave.

I was so wrong.
Even Peter thought Beck liked her, and he’d only met the guy once, at her father’s funeral. Every time Beck tried to help her, she just pushed back, creating an increasingly unbreakable wall between them. Her way of paying him back for dissing her. Now she just felt like a stupid little kid.

I’m sorry. For all of it.

Maybe someday she’d get the chance to tell him that in person.