Forsaken (37 page)

“Damn, that’s nice,” exclaimed one of the trappers sitting near her. “Never seen a claw necklace before.”

“Is it the real thing?” Jackson asked.

“Totally,” Riley replied.

She picked up a pint of Holy Water. “I bought this at the market tonight.” She handed it Jackson and he ripped off the seal. Riley dipped the claw inside. After several seconds there was no reaction.

“Maybe you need a live demon,” someone said.

“It should work,” Collins replied. “It was once part of a fiend so the Holy Water should recognize that.”

Jackson opened another pint and she repeated the test. Nothing.

“So which one do you think is kosher?” he asked. At least he believed her.

Riley tapped on the next one. “Its label doesn’t smear when it gets wet.”

Jackson ripped off the lid and she dropped the claw in.

And nothing happened.

Ah, crap.
If this didn’t work, she was going to be in big trouble.

“Riley,” Simon began in a worried voice.

The pint bottle erupted in a torrent of bubbling water that shot out of the top and flooded both her and Jackson. She yanked out the claw, fearing it would be destroyed. The talon was snow white. As it dried, it turned black like an overripe banana.

“Wow!” Jackson exclaimed, wiping his face with a sleeve.

Take that, Harper.
As she mopped off her face, she caught a glimpse of him out of the corner of her eye. He was frowning but not at her.

“What about the Holy Water for the ward?” Morton asked, all trace of humor gone. “Is it okay?”

“It’s good,” Riley said. “I checked the labels.”

“Well, that’s a relief,” Beck said. He popped the top of his second bottle of beer and drained half of it in one swig.

While trappers argued among themselves, Riley slumped into her chair, head buzzing. They’d actually listened to her. Her dad would be so proud.

Simon touched her arm. “Good job,” he said. His praise was at odds with the frown. What was bothering him? “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“If it went wrong, I didn’t want you in the middle of it.”

He nodded, but the frown remained.

It took the Guild president some time to call the room to order. Nearly every trapper was talking, gesturing at her then the bottles.

Collins leaned forward on the podium and rubbed his face wearily.

“Well, this sucks,” he said. “It looks like not all the Holy Water is the real deal. Since some of us are having the same issues with the spheres, I have to assume a portion of those are bogus as well.”

Harper rose. “This is getting out of hand! We got traffickers buying demons under the table and Holy Water that’s as useless as spit.”

“Is this happening anywhere else in the country?” Morton asked.

Collins shook his head. “There’ve been no bulletins from the national office.”

“Maybe Hell is finally getting it together,” Jackson suggested.

“That’d explain a lot,” Harper said. “Bet there’s an Archdemon behind this somewhere.”

“But why here?” Beck asked. “Ya think it’s all connected somehow?”

“That’s what we have to find out.” Collins looked over at Stewart. “Call the archbishop and the CEO of Celestial Supplies. Set up a meeting. This is priority one. If we don’t this get straightened out, we’re going to start losing trappers. We need to get a handle on this now before it gets worse.”

Riley relaxed. These guys would deal with it.

At that, Collins glanced over at her, nodding his approval. “Well done. That’s impressive work from an appren—”

Collins’ eyes went wide and his mouth dropped open.

Someone touched her shoulder.

Riley figured it was Simon, but both his hands were on the table in front of him. Probably one of the trappers wanting to see the claw. She turned and gasped.

Paul Blackthorne’s corpse stared back at her.

Someone had reanimated her father.

THIRTY-FIVE

“Dad?” Riley whimpered.

“Paul?” Beck called out as he rose, his chair toppling over. Others surged to their feet, transfixed by the spectacle.

“My God, it’s Blackthorne!” one of them cried out.

Her dad was dressed in the suit and tie they’d buried him in, his skin a sallow gray. Immense sadness filled his brown eyes. He stood just inside the Holy Water ward.

“Run … Riley,” he croaked. “Run. Too many.”

“Too many what? How’d you get—”

Deep growls echoed through the building, causing heads to turn. Furry bodies lumbered out of the darkness.

“Demons!” someone shouted.

Trappers surged to their feet, all talking at once.

Riley watched in horror as the Threes headed toward them. There were at least a dozen, maybe more. They lined up around the circle, snarling and slobbering, claws flicking in the air.

“Hold your positions!” Harper shouted. “They can’t get to us, not with the Holy Water.”

“Why are there so many of them?” Simon asked. “This can’t be happening.”

What are they waiting for?

The answer came a split second later.

“Pyro-Fiends!”

Red rubbery bodies ran along the sides of the building, leaping and twisting like ballet dancers, leaving bright crimson ribbons of liquid fire in their wake.

A Three launched itself against the ward and then flew back, howling and shrieking. It rose to its feet and assaulted the holy line again. Others joined it as trappers scrambled for their gear.

Beck was next to her, his duffel bag on his shoulder, the steel pipe in his hand. “Where’s Paul?”

She looked around but couldn’t see him.

“Dad?” she called. No reply.

Beck shoved her out of the way a split second before a Three broke through the ward. It scrambled to its feet and dove at a trapper. The man screamed in agony as it pinned him to the wooden floor with its claws.

“The ward’s down!” Beck shouted.

“Out! Everybody out! Move it!” Collins shouted. Stewart began to herd his apprentices toward the nearest exit.

“Where’s your trapping bag, Adler?” Harper demanded.

“In the car,” Simon called back.

“Damn lot of good it’s doing there.” The old trapper dumped his into the apprentice’s hands. “Snow globe!” As Simon dug in the bag, Harper gave Riley a shove, causing her to stagger backward. “Go!”

Not without Dad.
Riley looked around blindly, but she couldn’t see him. A cheer went up as someone lobbed a sphere high in the air. It broke open and snow began to fall. Then more snow globes. A thick blizzard fell into the smoke that crawled across the floor like a gray snake. Shouts echoed around her.

As the snow landed on her it melted instantly, plastering her hair to her skull. Riley wiped her eyes. She could only see a few feet in front of her; the exit signs were completely obscured in the storm.

Bumped from behind, Riley sprawled to the floor, barking her shins. Something grabbed her leg and she struggled to pull free. There was a cry of pain and then a vicious snarl. She scrambled to her feet, knowing if she stayed down she was dead.

A Three stood between her and Simon, claws clicking, unable to decide who to eat first.

“Go!” Simon shouted to her. “Get out of here!”

His cry sent the demon his way. She saw it leap on him, rending and snarling. They rolled over and over on the floor, crashing into chairs and upending the tables. Blinded with fury, Riley grabbed the nearest wooden chair, folded it, and swung hard at the demon’s head.

“Get off my boyfriend, you bastard!”

There was a sound like a cracking egg, and the fiend crumpled. Its paws twitched pathetically, then it stopped moving. She’d actually killed the thing.

“Simon?” She dropped the chair in horror.

“Oh, God,” he moaned. “Oh, God it hurts.…”

His eyes wide in terror, he clutched his chest and belly as blood gushed through his fingers. She saw Jackson and grabbed him.

“Help me get him out of here!” she shouted.

They levered Simon to his feet, his face as gray as her dead father’s.

“I got him,” Jackson said, taking the weight from Riley. “Get going!”

A Three swept by her, howling in triumph as it vaulted toward one of the men. The trapper cried out and then vanished under a mass of fur and slashing claws. The demon raised its face, gore dripping from its muzzle.

When she turned to make her escape, Simon and Jackson were gone, hidden in the snow. Around her, demons leapt through the smoke, picking off their confused or injured prey. One of the Pyros hung from the big chandelier, raining fireballs from above.

She finally found Harper; he was hemmed in by a pair of Threes. Crazed with the smell of blood, they tore at anything that came near, even each other. That gave Riley an idea.

She crept to where her messenger bag had fallen. After looping it over her shoulder, she reached inside and her fingers closed around the only ammunition she possessed—a sub sandwich she’d planned to eat at the graveyard.

Harper slammed a Holy Water sphere into one of the demons. It didn’t even react.

“Goddammit,” the master swore. The fiends moved closer, knowing they had him.

“Harper?” she called. “Get ready to run!”

“Get out of here, Brat!” he shouted.

She did a high overhand pitch that sent the plastic-bagged sandwich between the two fiends. It hit the floor and they fell on it like junkyard dogs, slashing and clawing at each other. One began to tear into the sandwich. Enraged, the other demon attacked it. A battle ensued, the fiends were too interested in gutting each other than human prey.

“Come on!” she shouted, scooping up Harper’s heavy duffel, the wide strap digging deep into her shoulder. The master trapper cautiously backed away from the fray and joined her.

“What the hell was that?” he demanded, eyes still on the squabbling Threes.

“Demon psychology.” If it’s thrown at them, it had to be food.

Harper seemed to accept that. “Where’s Saint?”

“Outside,” she shouted back. Or at least she prayed that was the case.

Harper motioned for his trapper’s bag. He dug inside and armed himself with a steel pipe. It made her think of Beck.

Squinting, she tried to see though the falling curtain of snow, but there was no way she could find him.

Beck will be okay. He has to be.

Following Harper’s lead, they made their way toward the closest wall, hoping to find an exit. Riley began to see the bodies. Chunks were missing, ropy entrails gaping from wide holes. Her stomach roiled at the stench of fresh blood, and she fought the urge to vomit.

A Pyro-Fiend ran in front of them, cackling as it laid down a trail of fire. Harper stomped on the flames with his heavy boots as they continued to edge forward. Panicked shouts rose as one of the lights crashed to the floor, sending a spray of glass in all directions. Riley realized she could see farther now as the snow globes exhausted themselves. Smoke billowed from the stage curtains as greedy flames inched higher into the building’s superstructure.

No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t see her dad or Beck.

“Girl!” Harper growled. “Get him up!”

Riley found Jackson hunched in agony, his left arm burned to the elbow. She helped him up, seeing the panic in his eyes.

“Collins. They got him,” he moaned. Riley couldn’t bear to look at his wounds, but the smell of burnt flesh attacked her nose with every breath. She nearly gagged.

“Where’s Simon?”

“Outside,” Jackson wheezed.

The flood of relief nearly took Riley to her knees.

“Keep moving. We’re almost there,” Harper said, more to the injured man than to her. “We stay in here and we’re done for.”

*   *   *

Beck heard the growl
and found a Three in full stalk mode. He’d know it anywhere. It was one he’d tried to trap with Paul. The one Riley had captured. Its eyes blazed a strange yellow, but the rest of it was like he remembered.

Someone had set it free.

“Trappperrr…” it snarled. A sphere shattered against its back. It twitched for a moment, but kept coming. Beck struck it with his pipe and it fell to the ground, then trotted off in search of a less-aggressive meal.

Beck found Morton by his side.

“The Holy Water’s not slowing them down,” the man said, breathing heavily. “Riley was right.”

“Shit,” Beck spat. He wiped a line of sweat off his brow.

“Yeah, I hear you.” Morton set off toward a demon that was slashing through a table to get to a trapper.

Beck heard a shout and turned toward one of the exits. Through the billowing smoke he saw Riley. Harper and Jackson were with her.

“Thank God,” he said. “Get her out of here.”

The old trapper pushed open the door, checked to ensure there was nothing lurking outside, then gestured for Riley to leave. She ignored the master, looking back into the building, searching for someone. Then her eyes found him.

Beck gave her a salute. “Go!” he shouted.

She shook her head, waving for him to come with them.

His eyes met Harper’s. The old trapper gave him a nod and shoved the girl outside over her protests. No matter what he thought of the old man, he owed him.

As long as Riley’s safe nothin’ else matters
.

His heart singing of war and payback, Beck waded into the battle.

*   *   *

Chaos had set up
camp in the parking lot. Wounded trappers sprawled on the asphalt, moaning, bleeding, and dying. Riley kept hunting until she found Simon. Someone’s coat was jammed behind his head, and Stewart was bending over him, using a sweatshirt to stanch the blood pouring from his abdomen. Her boyfriend was unnaturally pale, his hands quaking as lips barely moved in prayer.

Another trapper knelt to take over for Stewart. He’d stripped off his shirt and applied it as a compress. It was immediately saturated with blood.

In the distance she heard the high wail of sirens, lots of them.

“We need ta get the lad out of here,” Stewart said. “First ambulance, ya hear?” The other trapper nodded.

More men gathered around them.

“We’re too close to the fire,” Harper said.