Forgiven (28 page)

‘What are you talking about?’

Riley ran down the events at the abandoned building, skipping most of the ‘here’s where we could have been eaten’ parts so as to not upset her father. She stressed the ‘demons that wouldn’t stay dead’ portions instead.

‘That’s . . . that’s
so
against the rules,’ Mort stammered in shock.

In contrast, her father was silent. In fact, he didn’t seem surprised at all.

‘Dad?’

‘Yes,’ he said solemnly.

‘Did you know this was going to happen, the undead demons thing?’

No reply.

‘Come on, stop dodging my questions. We need to figure this out. Does Ozy have something to do with this?’

Her father’s hand touched hers and then he suddenly embraced her, catching her off guard. He whispered, ‘I love you. No matter how this plays out, that will never change. Always remember that.’

His seriousness frightened her. ‘Dad, what’s wrong?’

When the sound began, a barely noticeable low frequency hum, Mort surged to his feet, knocking the bench seat over in his haste to rise.

‘No!’ he said. ‘You wouldn’t dare!’

The hum grew in intensity, higher in pitch, causing the china cups on the picnic table to rattle. It built, stronger and louder, until Riley’s whole body vibrated along with it. The tea pot jostled off the table, smashing on to the wood floor, followed by the cups and Mort’s books. Riley scrambled to move the old volumes away from the flowing liquid.

‘What is happening?’ she called out.

In lieu of an answer, the summoner raised his hands at chest level, palms out. Blue waves of magic swept around him, arcing to the ceiling and deep into the floor. If it hadn’t been so eerie it would have been pretty.

Mort chanted in Latin, his face beet red. The hum became unbearable, then exploded in sharp fragments, like musical shrapnel. Riley covered her ears, but it did no good. The power drove into her skull, into her bones. Glass shattered somewhere in the house.

Then nothing – magic on, magic off – like someone had flipped a switch.

Had one of Mort’s magical spells gone wrong?

Riley’s father rose and walked a few paces away, seemingly unconcerned with the chaos.

‘Dad?’

He shook his head, indicating she should stay where she was.

What’s going on here?

Fresh air poured into the room. As Riley’s vision cleared, she realized the magical wall was gone and there was a clear path to the back door and the alley beyond. Mort crumpled on to the floor like a tired doll. His entire body quaked.

‘Mort! Do something!’ she pleaded.

‘Can’t,’ he moaned. ‘Too strong.’ He pressed his hand against his nose and it came away bloody.

There was movement in the hallway as a figure strode towards them out of the late afternoon sunlight. Something flowed behind it, like a cloak.
Or a duster.
Ori had worn one of those.

Were the Fallen free of Lucifer’s bondage? Was he here to exact his revenge?

The figure that entered the room wasn’t the least angelic. Lord Ozymandias’s flowing cloak was the empty black of midnight and his silver hair set off the stark and pulsating green sigil in the centre of his forehead.

‘Ah, Summoner Alexander. Good day,’ he said in a jovial tone, obviously pleased his efforts had been a success. ‘Sorry about this. Your magical wards were better than I anticipated.’

‘What are you doing?’ Riley demanded.

Those bizarre eyes turned to her and ceased being amused. ‘I would think that was obvious.’ His attention moved to her father. ‘Time to go, Paul Blackthorne. I’ll skip the threats. You know what I’m capable of.’

‘You can’t take him,’ Riley protested. ‘He’s not yours.’

‘Of course I can. Mortimer is out of the fight and you were never in it.’

Riley lunged forward and impacted a solid wall of . . . nothing. Careening backwards, she tried again and bounced off something invisible, but impenetrable. Magic scratched against her skin like razor blades.

‘Dad! Don’t go with him!’

‘It’ll be OK, Riley,’ her father said. ‘Trust me.’

Her panic mounting, she rammed her fists against the invisible barrier, but it wouldn’t yield. ‘Dad, no!’

Ignoring her attempts to escape, Lord Ozymandias clapped a hand round her father’s shoulders and led him towards the back of the house. ‘Tell me, master trapper,’ he said, ‘who summoned you from your grave?’

‘Lucifer, the Prince of Hell,’ her father replied, not missing a beat.

The necromancer’s deep laugh echoed throughout the building. ‘I was so hoping you’d say that.’

The moment after Ozy and her father vanished through the back door, the magical barrier fell and its disappearance caught Riley unawares. She sprawled to the floor in a heap. Crying out in despair, she curled up into a heap, but this time the scalding tears wouldn’t come. Instead they burned deep inside her, trapped by a grief that she couldn’t possibly exorcise. She’d lost her father, over and over. There was no peace for Paul Blackthorne, not in this life or the next.

Mort hadn’t moved. Pushing her grief aside, Riley hurried to the summoner. As she reached out to him, he shook his head, flinging blood in all directions.

‘Don’t touch me!’ he said. ‘Wards broken. Inside me.’

‘What can I do?’ she asked, panicking.

‘Too weak . . . to ground magic.’ His face was alabaster now, his breathing hoarse. Mort wasn’t going to survive this if she didn’t get help quickly. Maybe one of the other summoners might know what to do.
But how do I let them know?

‘Riley?’ a voice called out

Ayden.
‘Back here!’ Riley cried.

A few seconds later Riley’s witch friend stormed in. Her eyes swept the scene.

‘Oh my Goddess, it’s as bad as I thought.’ She shooed Riley away and knelt in front of Mort. ‘Summoner? Can you ground yourself?’

Mort shook his head. ‘Can’t focus. Can’t see the spell.’

The witch sucked in a deep breath. ‘Riley, go get an ice pack.’

‘But what about him?’

‘Go!’ her friend commanded.

Riley took off, suspecting that Ayden was about to do something she didn’t want her to see. In the front hall, Tereyza, Mort’s dead housekeeper, cowered near the open door. Mort’s reanimate cook was in the same pitiful state, hiding under the table. Riley had to rummage through the drawers to find a plastic bag. After scooping up heaps of ice from the freezer, she wet a kitchen towel and ran back towards Mort’s office. She was almost there when the world lurched underneath her feet, flinging her into a wall. Riley clutched the ice pack to her chest and waited for the quaking to cease, then took off again at a sprint.

When she skidded into Mort’s office, the room felt different now. Less . . . volatile. Ayden stood behind the summoner, a hand on each shoulder, her eyes closed. Her eyes snapped open at the same time as the summoner sat upright. They were brilliant blue. She blinked a few times and they returned to their usual brown.

Whoa . . .

‘You can touch him now,’ Ayden said, then shook her head like she had a hive of bees trapped inside her skull. Her fingers still pulsed with magic. When she noticed, she leaned back against the wall. Brilliant spiky green halos formed round her body then embedded themselves into the individual bricks.

‘What are you doing?’ Riley asked.

‘Grounding the magic.’

Riley gave the summoner the ice pack and he pressed it against his forehead. She knelt and delicately began to clean his face with the wet towel.

There was a lot of blood on his shirt. ‘Are you going to be OK?’ she asked.

There was a nod. The ice pack lowered, revealing two bloodshot eyes.

‘Help me up, will you?’

Riley righted one of the bench seats and helped the necromancer rise. He tottered to the seat and sank on to it with a weary sigh.

‘I’ll have to file a formal complaint with the Society,’ the necromancer said.

Ayden snorted. ‘You know that won’t do a damned thing.’

‘I have no other recourse,’ Mort replied. ‘Do you have any idea what it’s like to have your wards torn away, have your house violated by some . . .’

‘Don’t get pissed at me, summoner,’ the witch snapped. ‘I wasn’t the one who did this.’

Mort’s shoulders sagged. ‘I know. It’s just . . .’ He took a deep breath and slowly let it out. His bloodshot eyes rose and fixed on Riley. ‘I can’t help you with the demon tooth, even if we can find it in this . . . mess. Everything is drenched in Ozymandias’s magic now, so I won’t be able to pinpoint who is enchanting the demons.’

‘So that’s it? The bad guy gets my dad and nobody will do anything?’ Riley demanded, her voice rising.

‘I’ll do what I can, Riley, but I think we’re out of options.’

You might be . . .

Riley had a wish on hold with Lucifer. She’d planned on using it for her dad’s soul, but getting him back from Ozymandias was almost as good.

How do I find the Prince of Hell?
It wasn’t like he was on speed dial.

‘I know that look,’ Ayden said. ‘Promise me you won’t go after your father.’

Riley shook her head. ‘I won’t make that promise.’

‘Come on, think it through,’ the witch urged. ‘If it was so important that Paul remain free, why didn’t the Prince protect your father when the necro came for him? Has it occurred to you that Lucifer might want your father with Ozymandias?’

Riley hadn’t considered that. It made sense, though. Her dad hadn’t looked the least surprised at Ozymandias’s sudden arrival. In fact, he’d appeared resigned to his fate.

You knew he was coming for you. That’s why you said goodbye.

The feeling of helplessness that poured through her at that moment was nearly overwhelming. Knowing if she remained here any longer she’d be on the floor, sobbing, broken beyond repair, Riley picked up her backpack and fled. As she ran down the alley that led to the street, she swore she heard Ozymandias’s mocking laughter.

Beck finished off his supper of steak and eggs in record time. He actually felt pretty good for all the abuse his body had taken over the last few days. For once he’d actually followed most of the doctor’s advice and it had worked. The dull throb in his shoulder told him it was about time for more pain pills, but he’d wait until his meeting with Justine was at an end. He needed a clear head for that.

He glanced at his phone, checking the time: the reporter was late. That wasn’t like her, but then Justine had said she had a meeting with the mayor right before this.

As he sipped his coffee, he recalled his visit with Paul this morning. It’d been rough for both of them and not only because he felt so much guilt for not saving his friend. The master was hiding the truth from him.

Why won’t ya tell me who summoned ya? Why is it such a damned big deal?
Beck had even promised not to kill the necro who did it, but Paul wouldn’t budge.

‘Not the right time,’ his friend had said. So that’s the way they’d left it.

Beck hadn’t mentioned his visit to Riley because he saw no point. Paul would the next time she saw him.

After another long sip of coffee, and considerable thought, he talked himself into making a call he’d been avoiding since the moment Paul had died in Demon Central. It was time Riley’s aunt in Fargo knew the girl was on her own. As far as he could tell, Esther Henley was Riley closest relation, the sister to the girl’s mom. He also knew some of the family history: Esther had disliked Paul from the start, beginning the night he’d started dating her sister. Once Miriam died, Esther had pretty much ignored the remaining Blackthornes.

No choice.
The woman needed to know of Riley’s situation. What Aunt Esther did after that was on her head. Beck knew it’d been a low stunt digging through Riley’s cellphone to find the phone number, especially when she hadn’t given him permission, but she’d never make the call. Or so he kept telling himself.

Just get it done.
He dialled the number and waited as the waitress refilled his coffee.