Forsaken (13 page)

“You’re right.” He took one of the blankets, covered himself, and settled back in place. She snuggled close, feeling warm and secure for the first time since her father’s death. That she could feel that way said a lot about Simon.

“Thanks. You’re … really sweet.”

“It’s easy with someone like you. Now get some sleep. Dawn is in a few hours,” he whispered.

Knowing he was there to watch over her, Riley drifted into an uneasy dream filled with leering necros, thieving Magpies, and dark laughter.

*   *   *

Simon’s wristwatch beeped and he sat up and stretched.

“Good morning,” he said.

Riley blinked her eyes open, then wiped the sleep out of them. When she sat up, her hair moved weird. She ran a hand through it. To her relief there were no icicles.

Sleeping outside sucks.

“It’ll get easier each night,” Simon said. “Just be sure you don’t sleepwalk.”

He made another trip around the back of the mausoleum to water the grass.

So unfair.

When he returned he sat Indian style, fingered his rosary beads, and began to pray. Definitely an NCB—a Nice Catholic Boy, as her mom called them. Polite and so not a sleaze. No wonder her dad liked him.

After a few minutes of prayer he tucked the rosary away.

“Good morning,” he said again, more cheerfully this time.

“Yeah, right … morning,” she said, struggling into a sitting position.

“You usually this grouchy?” he asked, as if taking notes for future reference.

“I’ve earned the right. My butt hurts, I’m tired, I’m cold, and I want to go home. This has been one of the worst nights of my life.”

“Oh.” There was hurt in his voice.

Riley slapped her forehead. “Sorry! That was dumb. Thanks for staying with me tonight. I would have been freaked on my own.”

Simon recovered instantly, smiling at her like she hadn’t been a completely ungrateful dork. “Glad I could help.”

Can this guy be for real?
If he was, he had to have a girlfriend with six more waiting in line.

“Did you get any sleep?” he asked.

“A little. I had weird dreams about demons who acted like angels. Confusing.” She thought for a moment. “Have you ever seen them … angels I mean?”

“One or two. They only reveal themselves when they want to.” He sounded disappointed.

“Dad said there’s this glowy sort of light around them, but to me they look like everyday people.”

“Maybe someday we’ll see them clearly,” Simon replied wistfully. “I’d like that.”

A voice called out. It was right before dawn, so it should be the cemetery guy. At least she hoped it was.

A man walked up to the line of candles and gave a toothy smile.

“Good morning. My name’s Rod. I’m here for the day shift. You Miss Blackthorne?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Glad to meet you. Don’t worry, I’ve been doing this for years. No body’s been stolen on my watch.”

“That’s good to hear.”
Really good to hear.

The volunteer waited until Simon issued the invitation, then he stepped over the candles. They flickered and returned to normal.

Riley let out a sigh of relief.

The newcomer chucked off his coat, revealing a heavy sweatshirt. He set up a camp chair and dropped a bag marked “Vigil Supplies” next to it.

“Those are for tonight when you reset the circle.”

“Thanks,” she said. She hadn’t even thought that far.

Out of his backpack came a newspaper opened to the sudoku page, followed by a pencil and a big green thermos.

Thermos equals hot chocolate.
She made a note to bring one.

While he was settling in, Riley rolled up the sleeping bags as her companion folded the blanket. By the time she was ready to leave the volunteer was already in his chair, paper on his lap.

“So who showed up last night?” he asked cheerfully.

“One guy named Mortimer and some others who didn’t say who they were. They swore at me a lot.”

The volunteer broke out in a smile. “Figured Mort would stop by. Best of a bad lot.”

“So I noticed.”

“Just make sure you’re here before sundown. If there’s an emergency, call the office and let them know.”

“Got it.”

Riley gingerly crossed the circle, ears popping once again. She doubted she’d ever get used to that. After she’d stashed the sleeping bags and blanket in the mausoleum, she locked the door. Out of habit she gave them a firm rattle to make sure they were secure.

Simon fell in step with her as she headed for the parking lot.

“Congratulations. You’ve survived your first night.” He sounded genuinely proud of her.

“Yeah, I did.” Then it dawned on her. “Do you have wheels?”

A nod. “Beck asked me to drop you at home. Said he’d be too tired this morning to do it.”

Tired? No way. He’ll be hung over. You can bet on that.

In a few short minutes she was headed toward her apartment in a car with a St. Christopher’s medal hanging from the rearview mirror and a statue of St. Jude on the dash. After she gave him directions, he went quiet. She was getting accustomed to her escort’s lengthy silences, so it didn’t trouble her.

It was only when he pulled into a parking lot near the front of the apartment building that he spoke up. “Looks like an old hotel.”

“It was. They converted it to apartments a few years back. It’s nothing fancy.”

“At least it’s a home,” he said. “If you need help tonight, call Beck.”

That sounded like he was happy to be rid of her. “Tired of me already?” she asked, hurt.

“Oh, no, I’m sorry,” he said, embarrassed. “That came out wrong. I have to trap with Master Harper tonight, so Beck said he’d be able to help you.”

Backwoods Boy? No way.
“I’ll be okay on my own. Thanks for showing me what to do.”

She pulled herself out of the car. It took a lot of effort. Sleeping on the ground was for little kids.

Simon rolled down the window. “Just don’t listen to the necros. They’re as bad as the demons.”

She put her hand on his arm. “Thanks for everything. I mean it.”

“No problem.”

Right before he turned onto the street, he gave a wave. She returned it.

What a cool guy.

Riley forced herself across the parking lot and up the stairs. She could still remember when they’d moved into the apartment. It’d been a blazing hot Atlanta day. After they’d finished, they’d gone for ice cream. Her dad had bought her a sundae and laughed when some of it had ended up on her nose.

By the time Riley reached her floor, her hand was shaking, making the keys rattle. For one last time she could believe that everything was alright. Her dad would be sitting on the couch, organizing his paperwork, a cup of coffee in his hand. He’d look up and smile at her when she came in. He’d make room on the couch and ask how her day went. He always did that. Always made time for her. Always loved her.

The door swung open on rusty hinges. The couch was empty. She could hear the soft
plink, plink
of water dripping into the oatmeal pan from yesterday’s breakfast, the faint hum of the refrigerator. A fluff of Max fur sat underneath the kitchen table. The light on the phone answering machine was blinking frantically. Probably necromancers too lazy to make the trek to the graveyard.

Her dad had said he was lucky that he had her to come home to, how some folks had no one.

Like me.

Riley swung the door closed and methodically engaged all the locks, shutting out the world that had made her an orphan.

“It’s not fair!” she hissed, slamming her fist into the wood. “Why both of them? You took Mom. Wasn’t that enough?”

No answer. No cosmic “Sorry about that.” Just emptiness. The tears came again and she let them fall.

When she’d cried herself out and blown her nose, Riley took a marker and found the date of the full moon on the calendar. She circled it and marked it with a big
D
. That would be the day her dad was truly free.

I won’t let them get you. I swear it.

TWELVE

Beck peeled open his eyes and did a slow scan of the terrain. The parking lot was deserted, unless you counted a pair of rusty shopping carts and a pile of old tires. Quiet, open space. That was the way he liked it. Not that a trapper could park anywhere else since the pair of demons in the truck bed limited his choices.

Morning wasn’t his favorite time, especially when Beck’s head felt like it was being torn apart by rabid weasels. Energy drinks and booze were a toxic combination, at least for him. Once he’d sobered up enough to trap he’d gone after the first Three he could find. It hadn’t been hard, as the thing was snuffling around the dumpster behind a butcher shop. Too busy scoring cast-off bits of fat and rancid beef to realize it had a trapper closing in, the thing was bagged by Beck without a hitch. But it wouldn’t squeal on the Five that had killed Paul. Pissed, Beck kept hunting until he found another Three. Same deal—lots of swearing, lots of threats to tear him apart, but no information.

“Honor among demons,” he grumbled. “That’s so wrong.” At least the Threes didn’t offer boons for their freedom. That would have been hard to pass up if the boon was how to find Paul’s killer.

Groaning at his thumping head he flipped the radio off, poured three more aspirin into his palm, and gulped them down with some water. The previous dose hadn’t done a thing and he figured these wouldn’t either.

Sleep.
That’s what he needed, but that was going to be tough with all the caffeine skulking in his body. If he was lucky he’d flame out sometime this afternoon. If not, it could easily be tomorrow.

His phone rang and he dug it out of his jacket pocket.

“Beck.”

“Simon. She’s home safe.”

He sighed in relief. “Thanks, man, I owe ya.”

“I didn’t mind it a bit.”

Beck flipped the phone closed and frowned. “Bet ya didn’t.”

He wasn’t quite sure what he thought of Simon Adler. Just because he was religious didn’t mean he might not hit on Riley. Any guy would. She was real pretty. No ignoring that fact.

“If things were different, I might have asked her out myself.”

But not now.

Beck settled back against the seat and closed his eyes, if nothing more than to keep the increasing sunlight out of them. In the distance he heard a garbage truck pick up one of those big dumpsters and bang the hell out it. After a long yawn, he did the perimeter scan again. This time the lot wasn’t empty.

“Dudes at ten o’clock,” he said, shifting his position. He moved his steel pipe closer to him on the seat and then did the same with his SIG 9mm. The pipe was the first resort, the gun the very last.

He was in a part of town where people came in two kinds—predator and prey. He knew where he stood, but some of the locals might not have gotten the memo. Like the three gangbangers who were sauntering toward the truck. “Urban youth,” as Paul called them. They could be poster kids for multiethnic Atlanta—one white, one black, and one brown.

All stupid.
He could guess that much from their swaggers. They were wearing the latest fashion, their jeans pulled down over their high-tops with long red laces woven up the leg and tied below the knee. The color of the laces was supposed to tell you what gang they belonged to. Beck didn’t care. They were all losers to him.

They started laughing among themselves and pointing in his direction. Probably figured he was a drunk, snoozing off the buzz. They could score some cash, a truck, and give him a good ass kicking just for fun.

“Got no sense,” he said, shaking his head.

When they were within twenty feet, he hopped out of the truck, leaving the steel pipe on the seat just behind him. If he was lucky he wouldn’t have to go all medieval on these guys.

“Mornin’!” he called.

One of them flipped him off. Beck’s fingers curved around the pipe. He adjusted his grip, keeping it hidden behind the door.

“Now that’s not polite. Didn’t yer momma teach ya manners?”

“What you doin’ here, asshole?” the kid demanded. He pulled a knife and the others followed his lead.

“Waitin’ for breakfast. Ya got some?”

The kid sneered. “We ain’t no fuckin’ McDonald’s.” They began to fan out, getting into position, watching for a chance to jump him.

“Breakfast isn’t for me, dumbass. It’s for them.” Beck hammered on the side of the truck with his fist. “Chow time, guys!”

The demons erupted into snarls as they thrashed around in their steel bags. The noise was impressive in the still morning air. One reared up just high enough for the losers to see him, claws and all.

“Oh, shit, man, those are—”

“Demons,” Beck said. “And boy, are they hungry. Can y’all step a little closer, make it nice ’n’ easy for ’em?” he asked, all serious.

The trio took off in a panicked retreat. One fell, rolled, and was back up on his feet without taking a breath. If it had been an Olympic event, Beck would have given him a 9.8 or a 9.9, but the kid lost points for dropping his weapon.

He peered down at the demons. “Sorry, guys. Looks like yer breakfast made a run for it.”

More snarling. The fiends were cursing again.

Beck strolled up to where the switchblade rested on the concrete. He picked it up.

“Sweeeet,” he said, grinning. “And it’s all mine.”

*   *   *

Close to nine in
the morning Beck wearily climbed the stairs to Fireman Jack’s office in the old fire station. The demon trafficker was behind his desk, a steaming mug of coffee in front of him. His barber-pole suspenders made a nice contrast to the black chamois shirt and blue jeans. A thick stack of papers sat in front him. When he wasn’t buying demons, he wore his lawyer hat and handled the Guild’s legal work.

“Beck!” he called out. “How you doing?”

“Jack.” He slumped in the closest chair and rubbed his eyes in exhaustion.

“You look like crap,” his host observed.

“Feel like it. Been up too long, I think.”

“Coffee?”

“God, no more caffeine.” He leaned back in the chair and it creaked in protest.