Forgiven (13 page)

‘Sorry, no. Also, for all the money they spent, the stereo is third-rate.’

Riley laughed, liking this guy more by the minute. ‘Guess it doesn’t have to be good for all those Gregorian chants and stuff.’

He laughed too. ‘You are not as I expected.’

I’m no longer the enemy.
Whatever the orders the Pope had given the hunters had certainly made a difference to their behaviour.

Riley spied a thin band of silver on her escort’s left hand. ‘I didn’t know hunters could marry,’ she said, pointing at the ring. ‘I thought you guys were all celibate or something.’

Müller shook his head. ‘We are permitted to wed. It is not encouraged, because of the danger we face. My wife understands.’

‘How many of you are married?’ she asked, curious.

‘In this team there are two of us. Corsini is the other. His wife is expecting their first child.’

‘You have any kids?’

The hunter’s face lit up with pride, which told her she’d hit a soft spot. ‘I have a son. His name is Ritter. He is two years old.’

‘Too young to know what you’re doing,’ she mused.

‘He will someday. Perhaps he will become a Demon Hunter as well.’

She studied him anew. ‘That doesn’t scare you?’

‘If it’s God’s will, he shall follow in my path.’

‘Like me and my dad, I guess,’ she said. ‘I just
knew
I had to be a trapper.’

Riley had always thought of the hunters as cold, calculating demon-killing machines. Now she realized they were like trappers: they had families and separate lives away from their work. They were so very human.

When they pulled up to the kerb in front of her apartment building, she expected her escort to follow her and wait while she packed for her stay at Stewart’s. Instead Müller remained in the vehicle, talking to someone on his cellphone in German. From the gentle expression on his face it was mostly likely his wife.
What time is it in Germany?
It was probably like the military, the family answered the phone whenever the soldier had a chance to call, even if it was in the middle of the night.

Riley’s home looked like it always did – worn around the edges. Once a hotel, now it was living its second life masquerading as an apartment complex. She checked the mailbox and was rewarded with a pile of bills and a notice that the rent was rising as of the first of April. If she was lucky, her dad’s insurance check would be in by then. If not, she’d have to borrow money from Beck. That thought did not bring her any comfort.

He’ll make my life a living hell.
Which she so richly deserved considered all she’d put him through.

Riley held her breath as the door to her apartment swung open, sure the hunters had taken it apart. But they hadn’t. Or if they had been inside they’d been respectful as nothing looked out of place.

The door across the hall squeaked open and her neighbour’s wrinkled face appeared, crowned with a white head of hair. Mrs Litinsky was in a simple navy nightdress and wore a thick pink sweater. In the background a television droned on about the weather.

‘Ah, you are home now,’ the elderly woman said with a whisper of a Russian accent.

‘Yeah. Sorry. A lot going on.’
How much does she know? Did the hunters say anything to her?

‘Mr Beck was looking for you. You know, the nice trapper.’

Sure wasn’t nice the last time I saw him.
‘He found me.’

As they talked, her neighbour’s Maine Coon cat sauntered over to Riley then promptly rammed his shoulder into her calf, followed by a plaintive meow. Max always did that. She knelt to scratch him and he leaned to her fingers as she worked the silky area under his chin. His purr engaged at full blast.

‘Some men were here yesterday,’ Mrs Litinsky added. ‘Demon hunters. They were looking for you.’

‘They found me. It’s all done now.’ At least Riley hoped that was the case.

Her first priority was to let her dad know she was safe, but she wasn’t sure if she could trust any of her phones. She solved that problem by asking Mrs L if she could use hers. It was a weird request, but her neighbour didn’t seem troubled by it. Sometimes Riley wondered if the old woman knew more than she was letting on.

Once the call to Mort was completed and the phone returned to its owner, Riley followed Max into the apartment, hoping her little demon roommate wasn’t around. Trappers didn’t usually have wee Hellspawn for roomies, but the Grade One Klepto-Fiend refused to leave. Since there seemed to be no way to get rid of the thing, short of putting Holy Water down at all the entrances, she let him come and go as he pleased.

The cat didn’t go ballistic so apparently the demon was out ripping off sparkly stuff from her neighbours. Instead, Max investigated something white and rectangular just inside the door. With a flick of a paw he began to bat it across the floor. After distracting him, she picked it up.

Division of Family and Children Services (DFCS)

Riley knew it was only a matter of time before someone in the state government took an interest in her living arrangements. She’d been too high profile, what with the Tabernacle massacre and the continuous coverage on CNN, for someone not to notice she was an orphan. Flipping over the card she found the lady had penciled a note.
Call me, please!

Riley dropped the card into her backpack. Providing Armageddon didn’t take out the world in the next week or so, she’d make the call. Until then, it could be safely ignored.

After a trip to the bathroom, she checked in with Peter on her cellphone. If the hunters wanted to trace it, that was fine.

‘Hey, it’s Riley. I’m home. It’s all good.’ Which was stretching the truth a bit, but that’s what Peter would want to hear.

Her friend sighed in relief. ‘I’ve been freaking, you know,’ he admitted. ‘So did they use the thumb screws on you?’

‘No. They were scary and there were lots of questions, but they liked the answers. I have to stay at Master Stewart’s for the time being.’

‘Under house arrest?’ he joked.

‘Sorta. What did you find out about that
project
of yours?’ she asked, hoping Peter would understand the need for discreet conversation.

He caught on immediately. ‘Doing just fine. Master Stewart knows all the deets.’

‘Got it,’ she said, smiling now. ‘I should go, Peter. Thanks for everything.’

‘No sweat. Glad to hear you’re not in a cell wearing an iron mask or anything.’

That made her laugh. ‘You’re not the only one, dude.’

As the van pulled into the long driveway that led to Stewart’s home, Riley recalled the last time she’d been here: Christmas Eve last year. Instead of spending the night alone in the apartment as her father trapped demons, they’d been invited to the master’s home for supper. The house had been decorated for the holidays, including a huge Christmas tree in the entryway and evergreens laced through the banister leading to the second floor.

It’d been a magical evening. Stewart was witty and charming while the food was plentiful and really tasty. Even better, it was time spent with her dad, which was always precious. There were even presents; Stewart had given her father a gift card to a grocery store and Riley received one for a discount clothing shop. She’d used it for ‘new’ shirts and jeans. Never once had their host looked down on them as being poor, but had treated them both like they were family.

At the time, Riley had found it difficult to talk to Master Stewart as he seemed so much larger than life. Now, as she looked back, that evening had been special for a reason she’d not expected. It was the last Christmas with her father – three weeks later he would be dead.

After she thanked Müller for the ride, Riley ascended the steps to the broad wooden porch, her overstuffed backpack hanging off a shoulder. Painted in various shades of blue, Riley thought the Old Victorian structure looked like a giant dollhouse. When she pushed the doorbell, melodic chimes echoed inside the house. It took time for the door to open, mostly because Stewart didn’t move that fast with his crippled leg.

‘Lass,’ he said, waving her in.

‘Sir.’ She gave a wave to the hunter and entered the house.

Inside there was the delicate scent of aromatic pipe smoke and the faint aroma of a previous meal. Roast beef, she thought. Now that she was here, she remembered the house with more clarity. Unlike Mort’s home there were no pictures on the walls, only a long expanse of blue floral wallpaper with dark oak wainscoting underneath.

As Stewart stepped aside to let her in, the floor creaked underfoot. That was the other thing about the house – it had its own personality, much like its owner.

‘Yer aware of what the Vatican requires of ya?’ he asked.

‘Yes. Keep out of trouble. Stay here until you tell me to leave.’

‘That’s pretty much it.’

Impatient, she blurted, ‘What did Peter find out about the Holy Water?’

‘All in due time, lass,’ her host said, gesturing down the hallway. ‘We’ve got other fish ta fry first. And that fish is named Harper.’

Here be dragons.

Master Harper had moved in with Stewart after his home had been destroyed, at least until he could find a new place to live. That meant he’d be here tonight.

‘How much does he know?’ she asked.

‘Everythin’ ya told me.’

‘All of it?’ she gulped.
Ori? Lucifer? Armageddon?

‘All of it.’

‘Oh God. I am so screwed.’

‘We’ll get it sorted,’ Stewart urged, waving her forward.

This was going to be just as bad as facing down the hunters. At least with Stewart present, Harper wouldn’t leave bruises on her like he had in the past.

Her host led her to a room that was at least the size of Riley’s entire apartment. She remembered it from last Christmas. There was a big fireplace with a Scottish flag above it, family pictures on the wall and comfortably padded chairs.

A cranky Master Harper sat in one of those chairs, glaring at her. He was probably in his early fifties. The lengthy scar along the side of his face was pulled taunt as if he was still in pain, but his colour was better than the last time she’d seen him. He’d been in considerable pain then, hobbling around the remains of the tyre shop that he’d converted into living quarters, trying to salvage his belongings after the Grade Five had completed its home-destruction project.

‘Sit there,’ Stewart said, pointing to a chair near the fireplace, which would put her in between the two masters. Riley sank into it, craving the warmth. The heat that had surged through her veins post Ori was gone now, replaced by a cold she could not tolerate. She wished she’d put on something heavier, like her new hoody.

Stewart poured her a glass of water from a pitcher and handed it to her, without bothering to ask if she wanted one. Then he sat in his own chair, resting his leg on an ottoman.

Riley raised her eyes to Master Harper and found his were riveted on her. She braced herself for the coming onslaught.

‘Talk,’ he ordered.

His terse command set her off. ‘You said I was twisted like my dad and you were right. Are you happy now?’

Harper’s expression told her he wasn’t.

‘Yer not twisted, lass,’ Stewart interjected. ‘Yer . . . bendin’. Heaven doesn’t take a stake in someone with a black heart.’

‘Which is the only reason I’m talking to you right now,’ Harper replied coldly. ‘What makes you so damned special?’

Riley hitched a shoulder. ‘I was an easy mark. Heaven knew I wasn’t going to let Simon die.’

‘I’m thinkin’ that’s why Rome let ya go,’ Stewart said. ‘The Pope and his people would know the signs of the comin’ conflict.’

‘Blackthorne’s brat is going to save the world?’ Harper chided. ‘Then it’s a helluva poor time for me to quit drinking.’

‘Hey, I didn’t ask for any of this!’ Riley snapped.

‘None of us did,’ Stewart said.

‘Tell me exactly what Lucifer said to you,’ Harper ordered.

‘It was more what he didn’t say,’ she began, recalling her surreal conversation with the Prince. ‘Something’s going on in Hell so he’s testing his angels, trying to figure out who he could trust. Lucifer said there’s another Fallen in Atlanta, besides Ori. I don’t know his name, but I think he’s been talking to Simon.’

Whispering lies her boyfriend had been
so
willing to accept.

‘Oh ho,’ Stewart hooted, nodding his head in understanding. ‘I wondered why the lad had gone all paranoid on us.’

‘I’ll keep an eye on him,’ Harper replied. His attention returned to Riley. ‘Did your old man tell you he sold his soul to become a master?’

Riley gaped at him. ‘How did you know that?’

Stewart muttered something under his breath.

‘I didn’t, until now,’ Harper replied, smirking. ‘I’ve always suspected it. Blackthorne changed after he killed that Archdemon. He became . . . invincible, and that’s not the way it works. What did he sell it for? Sure as hell wasn’t money.’

Riley’s anger blazed anew. ‘He bargained his soul to stay alive until I made master. That way I wouldn’t starve.’