The Demon Trappers: Foretold (4 page)

‘You don’t open the door unless I’m here and you don’t go off on yer own. Be careful who you talk to and don’t trust anyone.’

He wasn’t quite this crazy up in Atlanta. ‘Why are you so edgy?’

‘Just bein’ careful.’

It was time to cut through all this b.s. ‘But we’re in the middle of nowhere. You have to give me a reason for all the paranoia.’

Beck took a deep breath before he answered. ‘There’s folks down here who don’t like me. Some might think hurtin’ you would be a good way to get even.’

Whoa . . .
‘Are you going to tell me what hideous transgressions you have committed or should I wait for the movie?’

He ignored her as he moved to the connecting door and flipped open the lock. ‘Leave this open. That way if there’s any trouble I can get to you quicker.’

‘Are we under siege down here?’ she asked, his unease feeding hers.

‘No, but it’s still . . . We need to be careful.’

‘What about the demons?’

‘We got a few. Sadlersville shares a trapper with Waycross and mostly he catches the littler ones, but every now and then a Three shows up. For the most part, what problems we’ll
have will be with our kind, not them.’

The outer door slammed behind him. A short time later he unlocked his side of the connecting door and opened it.

By the time she’d emptied her suitcase and stashed it in the closet, he had his clothes stacked on the end of his bed, tidy piles of jeans, T-shirts, socks and underwear. His briefs were
navy or black: no tighty-whities for him. His suit hung in the closet, all ready for his mother’s funeral. It was the same one he’d worn to her father’s service.

As he tucked his clothes into the bureau, she flopped on her tummy on his spare bed, scrolling through her text messages. Nothing new other than Peter screwing up his courage to ask a fellow
classmate on a date. Riley sent him a text announcing she was officially in the middle of God Knows Where with a deranged country boy.

She became aware she was being watched and found Beck just outside his bathroom. ‘I’ll be ready to leave in a minute or so.’

Riley took the hint and headed for her room, finishing the text as she walked. Figuring she had a bit of time, she made a quick run to her bathroom to tidy herself up. She combed her long brown
hair and then touched up her make-up, pleased to see that the bruises from the cemetery battle were well hidden and the dark circles under her eyes were nearly gone. She felt ready to meet
Beck’s mom.

When the toilet flushed in the other room, Riley slung her backpack on to her shoulder and stepped outside into the warm afternoon sunshine. The moment her eyes adjusted she saw the cop leaning
against the front bumper of Beck’s truck. His squad car was parked right behind it, blocking them in. The lettering on the side said this was the country sheriff who’d come to call.

If Riley had expected a stereotypical Southern cop she’d have been disappointed. This man was on the tall side, lean and without an ounce of fat, his dark blond hair cut short. He was
wearing sunglasses, a trooper-style hat and his hands were crossed over his chest in a
piss me off at your own peril
pose.

When Beck exited his room, he halted in his tracks. His expression went unreadable in a heartbeat.

Uh oh.

The cop took off his sunglasses and tucked them in his shirt pocket. ‘Heard you were back in town,’ he said in a soft drawl much like Beck’s.

‘Just got here,’ her fellow trapper replied, setting his backpack down.

‘Been to see your momma yet?’

‘Headed that way.’

‘From what I hear it won’t be long now.’

‘I hear the same,’ Beck replied, his jaw tight.

Hello? Am I invisible here?

As if the cop had heard her, he shifted his attention in her direction and tapped his hat in respect. ‘I’m Sheriff Tom Donovan.’ He looked over at Beck at this point.
‘Denver and I go way back.’

Beck chuffed in disgust.

‘I’m Riley . . . Blackthorne.’

‘You any relation to the master trapper in Atlanta?’ the cop asked.

‘He was my dad.’

The man nodded now that he’d made the connection. ‘Pleased to meet you, Miss Riley. Since Denver here couldn’t be bothered to pick up a phone, I had the pleasure of talking to
your father every now and then.’ Another glance at Beck, then back to her. ‘Sorry to hear of your loss.’

‘Thank you.’

‘How old are you?’

‘What? I’m seventeen. Why?’

‘Just checking,’ the man replied. ‘Folks will hear that Denver’s back in town and that he’s got someone with him. He has a history with the local girls, so tongues
will wag. I can shut some of that down by knowing the real story.’

Beck took a step forward, a clear challenge. ‘Riley’s not one of those. She’s here to help with . . .
her.
’

Donovan sobered. ‘It won’t scald your tongue to call Sadie your momma.’

‘The hell it won’t.’

The sheriff shook his head and walked to his car. After he opened the door, he looked back at Riley. ‘Welcome to Sadlersville, Miss Riley.’

‘Thank you,’ she said, still unsure of what had just happened.

The cop car pulled out of the parking lot and headed up the road.

‘So what was that all about?’ Riley asked.

Beck dumped his backpack on the truck’s seat.

‘Just welcomin’ me home,’ he replied.

The centre of Sadlersville was a curious mix of old and new. As Beck cruised along hunting for a parking place, Riley spied a kid with a laptop perched on a park bench, rocking
away to something coming through his headphones. Right behind him was a barber shop with one of the old red-and-white poles. The city’s water tower dominated the air above the town and most
of the buildings were old, mom-and-pop shops rubbing elbows with the occasional chain store. There were none of the mini shops you found in Atlanta’s parking spots. In fact, there were no
parking meters so the street was full of cars and pickups. One had a giant sign in the back window proclaiming that Jesus was returning soon.

He’s going to be really disappointed.

Beck noticed her studying the sign. ‘Folks take their religion serious down here.’

‘And folks in Atlanta don’t?’ she parried.

He shrugged, conceding that point. ‘It’s different down here.’

‘Already figured that one out.’

Once they were parked, Beck made a show of locking the truck’s doors, on the alert, like he expected trouble with every step. He waved her up the street and they walked past a busy hair
salon where necks craned to catch a glimpse of them, then a flower shop that still had Valentine’s Day specials in the window and a thrift store.

Riley caught Beck’s elbow. ‘I need a new jacket. I don’t want to wear my mom’s good one for trapping.’

He didn’t argue, but followed her inside and waited by the door as she found herself a replacement denim jacket for the one the demon had roasted. As she paid for it, Beck kept his
attention on the street.

Once her purchase was complete, they returned to the truck so she could switch out her mom’s coat for the new one. It was then she saw the strange little wooden figure tucked underneath a
windshield wiper. It was made of sticks, tied with green yarn, in the shape of a man.

When Beck saw it, his jaw tightened.

‘What is that?’ Riley asked. ‘Is it like some sort of warning?’

‘No, it’s someone tryin’ to protect the truck.’ He carefully removed the stick man, and once he unlocked the doors he hung it from the rearview mirror.

‘That’s kinda weird, you know?’ Riley said.

‘Not if yer used to it. There’s a couple of wise women in town and they’ve takin’ a likin’ to me. They probably figure someone will trash the truck if they get a
chance, so they’re letting them know that’s not a good idea.’

‘So it’s not all Baptists down here,’ Riley replied.

‘No, not at all. The swamp has its own kind of magic and people have learned how to use it.’

They retraced their steps. In time, Beck paused in front of the door to a diner, put on his game face and then opened it to allow Riley to enter first.

The restaurant looked like it was right out of an old movie. Notices were stuck on the wall near the door – someone had a car for sale, another had free kittens to a good home. She and
Beck had just missed Sandhill Crane Awareness Day. The floor was aged black-and-white checked linoleum. A long table took up the wall to the left, covered by a blue vinyl tablecloth and loaded with
old guys with newspapers and half-empty cups of coffee. Their average age seemed to be about seventy.

High-backed booths lined the walls and five tables formed a straight line down the middle of the room as lazy ceiling fans gently stirred the air above them. Along the back wall were shelves
with row after row of mugs. Some had been personalized.

The moment the door shut behind them, heads turned and conversations stilled, every eye on them. When one of the old guys elbowed another and whispered something, Beck ignored him and selected
the booth closest to the front window and the door. Riley slid into the other side.

A waitress wandered up to them, forty, maybe older, with large breasts that really demanded a better bra. Her make-up was overdone and her black skirt ended at just below the knee, followed by
an expanse of tanned legs, pink socks and red tennis shoes.

‘I heard you were back,’ the woman said, her eyes totally on Beck. Then they moved to Riley. ‘I heard you weren’t alone.’

‘Karen. How ya doin’?’ he asked politely.

‘Not bad. You?’

A shrug. He didn’t bother to flip open the menu, probably because he wouldn’t be able to read it. ‘I’d like a burger and a double order of fries. Oh, and some black
coffee, please.’

Riley had to speed-read the offerings. Who know what the food would be like in a place like this? She opted for the safest choice.

‘A burger, some cottage cheese and a glass of un-sweet iced tea.’

The woman gave her a look like she’d ordered a plate of worms. ‘Un-sweet, huh. Where you come from?’

‘Atlanta.’

‘Figures. All Yankees up there.’ The waitress took off towards the back of the diner and the swinging door that led to the kitchen.

Riley leaned over the table and lowered her voice. ‘We’ve been here, what, twenty minutes and everyone already knows it? What is it with these people?’

‘Anythin’ interestin’ happens and it gets spread real fast.’

‘We’re not interesting, Beck.’

‘Ya’d be wrong there, especially since yer with me.’

His speech was already changing, reverting back to his roots, the drawl more noticeable now.

‘Does all this
interest
have something to do with your history down here?’

He nodded. She beckoned for him to give it up. He shook his head.

‘OK, then I’ll fill in the pieces.’ She lowered her voice so no one else would hear her. ‘You were a total horndog, right? If it was female, you were all over
it.’

To her surprise a lopsided grin appeared on Beck’s face. ‘Some might say I was just bein’ . . . social.’

‘So how many did you date?’

‘Only a couple. The rest were hook-ups.’

Ohhhkay . . .
This guy definitely fell into the ‘no commitment’ category.

The waitress reappeared, placing Beck’s coffee in front of him and a tall glass of iced tea near Riley.

‘Un-sweet,’ the woman said, shaking her head. Her tennis shoes squeak-squeaked across the linoleum as she headed towards another booth.

‘So were you . . .
social
. . . with our waitress?’ Beck shook his head. ‘Good. Then she won’t spit on our food.’

Before he could respond to that, the diner door swung open. His eyes rose to the newcomer and he tensed in recognition. It was then Riley realized why he’d chosen this spot: it was a quick
way out in case of any hassles.

The newcomer made his way to their booth. He was about six feet tall, dressed in jeans and a chamois shirt with greying hair and a moustache that needed trimming. His eyes were a pale, watery
brown and he squinted as if glasses were in his future.

The man smirked. ‘Denny Beck, well I’ll be damned. I heard ya were back and here ya are, the devil himself.’

‘Mr Walker,’ Beck said, no warmth in his voice. He took a slow sip of his coffee, but Riley could see by the way he gripped the cup he was expecting trouble.

‘It’s been a long time. Where ya been? Prison?’

‘No, Atlanta.’

When he didn’t get a rise out of her companion, the man checked her out. ‘I see yer still going after the ones too dumb to know yer trouble.’

If this guy kept it up, Beck was going to be all over him. Fortunately, the waitress provided the perfect diversion.

Riley gave Walker a hard stare. ‘Could you move, please?’

‘What did you say?’ he said, frowning.

She pointed behind him at Karen and her tray. ‘I like my food hot.’
And you out of my face.

The guy glowered at her, but backed off, grumbling under his breath.

The waitress delivered the plates, hiding a smile. ‘Anything else?’ she asked.