Retro Demonology (5 page)
He’d been there often enough to know how that felt, but right now that wasn’t the issue. Why would a senior demon play games with an apprentice trapper? What was the point? She wasn’t a threat to Hell in any real sense.
At least not yet.
Riley shut down after that, staring out the passenger-side window and fidgeting with the strap on her bag. Beck had a lot of things he wanted to say—like how he was proud of her for holding up as well as she did. Paul always said the mark of a good trapper is how he handled the bad stuff, but telling Riley that wouldn’t work. She’d only believe it if she heard it from her father, not someone she considered the enemy.
They passed a long line of ragged folks waiting their turn to get a meal at the soup kitchen on the grounds of the Jimmy Carter Library. The line’s length hadn’t shortened from last month, which meant the economy wasn’t any better. Some blamed the demons and their devious master for the city’s financial problems. Beck blamed the politicians for being too busy taking kickbacks and not paying attention to their job. In most ways, Atlanta was slowly going to Hell. Somehow he didn’t figure Lucifer would object.
A few minutes later he parked in a junk-strewn lot across from the Tabernacle and turned off the engine. He was used to ass chewing, but the girl wasn’t. If there were any way he could take her place tonight, he’d do it without thinking twice. But that wasn’t the way things worked when you were a trapper.
“Leave the demon here,” he advised. “Put him under the seat.”
“Why? I don’t want to lose him,” she said, frowning.
“They’ll have the meetin’ warded with Holy Water. He’ll tear himself apart if ya try to cross that line with him in yer bag.”
“Oh.” Before every Guild meeting an apprentice would create a large circle of Holy Water, the ward as it was called, which would serve as a sacred barrier against all things demonic. The trappers held their meeting inside that circle. Beck was right, the Biblio wouldn’t cross the ward. She pulled out the cup, tightened the lid, and did as he asked.
“One piece of advice: Don’t piss ’em off.”
Riley glared at him. “You always do.”
“The rules are different for me.”
“Because I’m a girl, is that it?” When he didn’t answer, she demanded, “Is. That. It?”
“Yeah,” he admitted. “As long ya know that goin’ in.”
She hopped out of the car, hammered down the lock with her uninjured fist, then slammed the door hard enough to make his teeth rattle.
A green finger jabbed in his direction the moment he stepped out. “I’m not backing down. I’m Paul Blackthorne’s daughter. Even the demons know who I am. Someday I’m going to be as good as my dad, and the trappers will just have to deal. That includes you, buddy.”
“The fiends know yer name?” Beck asked, taken aback.
“Hello! That’s what I said.” She squared her shoulders. “Now let’s get this over with. I’ve got homework to do.”
JANA OLIVER is an award-winning author who lives in Atlanta, GA. She’s happiest when she’s researching outlandish urban legends, wandering around old cemeteries and dreaming up new stories.
Visit her at
www.JanaOliver.com.
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