Soul Thief-Demon Trappers 2 (32 page)

Riley pushed the door closed, then leaned against it, stomach churning. There was the thump of combat boots on the stairs and then silence.

They want a scapegoat and I’m it. The next time I won’t be able to stall them.

T
WENTY-EIGHT

The big blue tent at the far edge of the Terminus Market seemed an unlikely place to hold a trapper’s meeting, but according to Jackson nobody else in the city would rent them space.

“Can’t blame them,” the trapper said as he parked himself in a folding chair next to Riley inside the tent. His arm was still bandaged, but he seemed able to move it without much pain.

“Do you want me to do the Holy Water ward?” she asked. It was usually Simon’s job, but she doubted he could handle it right now.

“One of the others is doing it.”

And Riley knew why. “You don’t trust me to do it right,” she said, more hurt than she cared to admit.

“If it was me you’d be doing the ward, but Stewart suggested a journeyman handle it for the time being. That way if anything happens, you won’t be blamed.”

“So will it always be this way? Nobody trusting me, that is?” Riley demanded.

“I honestly don’t know,” Jackson replied.

“We didn’t do anything to the ward.”

“I know that. Sometimes the truth is harder to accept than a lie.”

Jackson was trying to make her feel better, in comparison to other trappers who kept frowning and muttering “Blackthorne” under their breath like it was a curse word.
Asshats.
How could they believe she’d let the demons in? All her father had done was protect his daughter.

When Jackson moved to the front of the tent, she looked over at her master. Harper hadn’t said a word to her about her phone call this afternoon, like his apprentices were visited by the demon hunters every day. Which meant he thought she deserved their wrath. So did Simon, who sat next to him, grim. When one of the trappers said hello the apprentice only nodded, his mind stuck in some dark mire of conspiracy theories.

Why is everything so wrong now?

Someone called out Beck’s name, and a moment later he appeared at the tent flap. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days.

Bet it wasn’t because you were hunting demons.
Not with the arrogant smirk on his face.

He took a seat next to her, placing his trapping bag on the ground. “Girl.”

The faint hint of something flowery caught her nose and she reacted instantly. “How’s the reporter chick?”

Beck gave her a startled look. “What do ya mean?”

She took an exaggerated sniff. “The reporter chick, the one with the red hair? Unless you’re letting your inner girl show, you smell just like her.” When he began to protest, she waved him off. “She was at my apartment this afternoon trying to interview me, so I remember her perfume.”

“Did ya talk to her?” Beck asked, suddenly worried.

“Was I supposed to?”

“No way. Ya know that. Everythin’ goes through Harper or Stewart.”

The stick chick lies like a pro.
“You’re always giving me advice; here’s some for you: She’s playing you. She lied to me, told me you said it was okay if I talked to her.”

“That’s what reporters do,” he said, but his frown told her he wasn’t happy with the news. “I thought ya knew that.”

“I know a lot of things, Beck, and she’s not your type.”

“Ya sayin’ I’m not good enough for her?” he said, his voice harsher now.

“No. I’m saying she’s not on the level.”

A scowl formed on his face. Riley knew what was coming. “Ya called Fargo yet?”

“No, I’ve been too busy trying to destroy the Guild and corrupt Simon’s soul. Being evil is a full-time job.”

Beck snorted. He angled his head toward where her ex-boyfriend sat at the other side of the tent. “No need to hang around for him anymore. He’s moved on. That sure didn’t last very long, did it?”

Ouch.
Riley knew they should step away from this before someone went too far, but the need to retaliate became overwhelming.

“I’m not staying at the church from now on,” she announced. “Ori’s watching over me. He won’t let anything happen. He’ll get that Five, you wait and see.”

A chuff of disgust came her way. “Bull … shit. Pretty boys like that don’t know jack when it comes to demons. They’re just flash.”

Riley leaned closer to her father’s favorite trapping buddy, eager to spear his insufferable arrogance in its heart. “Ori was the one who saved me from the Five at the Tabernacle.”

“What?” Beck spouted.

“You heard me.” She let three seconds pass before delivering the verbal knife-thrust between his ribs. “He was there for me when it counted, Beck. So where were you?”

The trapper’s mouth flopped open in astonishment.

Jackson’s timing was perfect: He called out for silence. As trappers settled into their chairs, Beck continued to stare at her in disbelief.

“I’m calling this meeting to order,” Jackson said, waving his hands to gain attention. “We lost the gavel in the fire, so we’ll just have to deal. The masters have asked me to be acting president until we have an election. Is that okay with you folks?”

There were murmurs of agreement.

“Fine. First thing, Pritchard is the only one still in the hospital. He’ll be going home in a couple of days, but he’s done trapping. That’s a mixed blessing, but at least he’s still alive.”

“Thank God,” someone called out. Riley thought his name was Remmers or something like that. He was the only other African American in the Atlanta Guild.

“I second that,” another said.

“The remainder of the funerals will be out of the area, so I need volunteers to attend those services.” Hands shot up and Jackson made note of the names. “Thanks, guys. Master Stewart, you want to give a report on the demon hunters?”

The Scotsman rose from his chair, leaning heavily on his cane. “As we expected, they’re goin’ ta do their own thing. My advice is ta stay outta their way. They’ll kill a few demons and then leave, if we’re lucky.”

“And if not?” Jackson asked.

“Then it could get ugly. We don’t want any more casualties, so don’t cross these guys. Just back off and live for another day.”

“We should just let them do whatever they want?” someone called out.

A wily grin settled on the Scotsman’s face. “No, I’m not sayin’ that. Ya have a problem with them, call me or Beck. We’ll get it sorted.”

“Anything from the Archbishop about the Holy Water problem?” Jackson asked.

“Not yet. He’s checkin’ his sources, but so far the city claims there’s no problem at all.”

Riley held her tongue. No reason to let the others know she’d been investigating on her own, at least not until she’d figured out the whole scam. Then she’d be happy to drop it in their laps.

“Anything you want to say, Harper?” Jackson asked.

Riley’s heart began to thud.
What if he tells them about the hunters? What if he demands they toss me out of the Guild?

The older trapper shook his head. “Not right now.”

What?
He’d had the perfect opportunity to ruin her career and he’d passed on it.
What’s he up to?

“On to other business, then,” Jackson continued. “It seems like we’ve got more press in this city than we have demons, at least that’s what it looks like. Be careful what you say to these folks. We need to present a solid front.”

“Better tell Beck about that,” a trapper called out. Riley didn’t recognize the voice.

Her companion shifted uneasily in his seat. “I know how to handle ’em.”

“So we noticed,” was the swift response. Crude jests flew through the tent, followed by laughter.
Even
they
think you’re sleeping with her.

Jackson shuffled papers. “The National Guild is requesting trappers to come to Atlanta to help us out, at least in the short term. They’re also trying to line up a master for us. It’ll be a while before that happens.”

“What about that television show?” Reynolds asked. “They still coming?”

“I haven’t heard anything to say they’re not,” Jackson replied. “Let’s talk about what happened the other night,” Jackson added, opening the floor to whoever wanted to have their say.

There were different schools of thought: the Holy Water was neutralized or the bogus Holy Water was to blame. The third explanation cut too close to home:
Someone
had purposely broken the ward.

“Riley?” It was their temporary president and he was looking right at her. “Could you tell us what your father said to you that night?”

She rose, nervous when all eyes turned to her. “He said I should run, that
they
were coming. That there were too many of them.”

“And he was inside the ward, wasn’t he?” Jackson asked.

“Yes. He was right behind me.”

Voices erupted from the back of the tent as she sank into her seat.

“I told you he did it!” McGuire shouted.

Harper rose, a hand pressed against his sore ribs. “That’s not what I saw. The ward was still up when Blackthorne was talking to his kid. It didn’t break until it was overrun by the demons.”

Harper doesn’t blame my dad?
She had to be dreaming.

“What’s yer theory on all this?” the Scotsman asked Harper.

“Same as yours—too much evil in one place,” her master replied and sank back into his seat.

As Simon rose to his feet, all eyes went to him. “How can you…” He paused to suck in a tortured breath. “How can you believe that God’s Holy Essence can be destroyed?”

“Not destroyed … neutralized. There is a difference,” Stewart replied.

“Not to me,” Simon shot back. “Either you believe Heaven has ultimate power to destroy evil, or you believe that Lucifer can win this war. There is no middle ground.”

The silence within the tent became oppressive. No one wanted to challenge him, not after what he’d been through.

It was Harper who finally spoke. “No one is claiming that Heaven can’t kick Hell’s ass. What we’re saying is that the Holy Water did what it was supposed to do, but there was just too much evil.”

“I refuse to accept that,” Simon replied, glaring at Riley as he lowered himself into his chair. “Hell had help that night. That’s the only explanation.”

She lurched to her feet, eager to tell him how wrong he was about her dad, about her. How much Simon had hurt her and how that agony would never go away.

“Anythin’ ya want ta say, lass?” Stewart asked.

Her anger made her visibly tremble, and she cursed herself for that weakness. “My dad loved being in the Guild,” she protested. “He wouldn’t have done anything to hurt you, Simon. Or any of those guys.”

“So if it wasn’t him,” McGuire called out, “how about you, girl? Did you break the ward?”

She turned toward her accuser. “And get myself eaten by a demon? Do I look stupid?”

“Maybe they said they’d let you go. Hell makes some powerful deals.”

“Talking from experience, McGuire?” she snapped.

“Riley, he’s a journeyman, and yer—” Beck warned.

“I know. I’m just a damned apprentice,” she retorted. “I’m so tired of people blaming me for everything. I’m tired of the lies, the sick jokes, all of it. I should just … just…”

Quit.
The word teetered on the tip of her tongue. If she just pushed it out, it’d be over. No more harassment, no more fingers pointed in her direction. She could be Riley Blackthorne again, high school student and hot-chocolate enthusiast, not some demon trapper wannabe.

Just tell them I’m out of here.
She bit the inside of her lip, drawing blood.
If I do, they win.
The next female will have it twice as bad.

Riley swallowed the words. “But I’m not giving up,” she said, staring right at McGuire. “I’m a trapper, from a family of demon trappers. And Blackthornes don’t quit.”

“You tell them, sister,” Remmers called out.

Her anger exhausted, Riley folded into her chair, intertwining her hands in her lap so no one could see how badly they were shaking. Her muscles had knotted from the tension, and she had a dull headache thumping right behind her eyeballs.

Harper rose again. “If we fight each other, we can’t beat the demons,” he said simply. Then he shot a look at McGuire and some of the others at the back of the tent. “And just for the record, if anyone’s going to run Blackthorne’s brat out of the Guild, it’s me. Got it?”

There were murmurs in the crowd: Message received.

“Okay, so let’s move on,” Jackson said, clearly relieved that was over. “Anyone know a church where we can meet?”

“The Tabernacle
was
a church,” someone protested. “Helluva lot of good it did.”

“It’d been desanctified,” Stewart replied. “No services had been held there in years.”

“We could meet in a cemetery,” Beck suggested.

Riley groaned.
There’s a plan.

“We’ll work it out,” Jackson replied. “Let’s get together Friday night at eight. We’ll hold elections, try to get back on track.”

“We meeting here?” Remmers called out.

“Sure,” Jackson replied. “Look at this way: At least the rent’s cheap.”

Riley waited until Beck was deep in an animated conversation with Master Stewart to make her escape. It felt cowardly, like she wasn’t brave enough to face him. She’d just stepped outside the tent when she heard her name.
Harper.

“Sir?” she asked, turning toward him.

The moment her master exited the tent a piece of paper came her way. “Need some food. Drop it by my place. We have to talk …
tonight
.”

“Ah, I’m supposed to be on holy ground after dark.”

“Won’t take long.”

At least Ori would watch over her.
“Why didn’t you tell them about—”

“Later,” her master retorted, cutting her off abruptly. “Now get going, brat.”

Confused at his behavior, Riley studied the list as she walked to the car. There was nothing out of the ordinary, just food and supplies, all of which could have waited until tomorrow morning. Which meant he wanted to talk about the hunters and their interest in Paul Blackthorne’s daughter.