Soul Thief-Demon Trappers 2 (19 page)

She spun out of her chair and found herself near the big window, the one overlooking the parking lot. Below, someone was lugging groceries toward the entrance. It was proving difficult, as their poodle wanted to anoint every car tire it passed.

Beck was right behind her now. “I won’t keep any of that money, girl. It’s yers. Yer daddy wanted it this way, I swear.”

“He didn’t trust me.”

“No, he didn’t trust the debt collectors. He didn’t want ya to lose the only thing he could leave behind.”

Beck hesitantly put his arm around her shoulder and drew her close. She could feel him shaking.

“I won’t let ya starve,” he whispered. “I’ll do whatever it takes. I promise that on yer daddy’s grave.”

Her father had trusted him.
Why don’t I?

They stood there for a few minutes, just looking out the window, neither of them talking. Finally Beck pulled away and returned to the table and the paperwork. Riley forced herself to join him. They worked through the remainder of the files in silence.

Once they were done, he placed the files in his duffel bag, picked up his jacket, and offered his thanks. Riley locked the door behind him, feeling she really needed to say something but wasn’t sure what it would be.

It wasn’t until later that she found the thick white envelope tucked underneath the pile of bills. The envelope was stuffed with twenties, and she counted them into one-hundred-dollar stacks. There were ten.

One thousand dollars.

Beck must have put it there when she’d gone in search of the tissues. Riley bowed her head in despair. She’d practically accused him of stealing her money, and all the while that envelope had been sitting there. He’d never said a thing.

She remembered him standing at the window, deep in thought. How defensive he’d become because he could barely read and write. How her father had trusted him to do the right thing.

Denver Beck was a hard guy to like and even harder to understand. One thing was clear: His word was golden.

Why can’t I accept that?

S
EVENTEEN

“What is it about this place?” Riley grumbled as she drove past the Oakland Cemetery and then cut down one of the side streets in search of a parking place. “Why do I spend most of my life here?” The universe had no answer for her, so she kept driving up and down the streets. This field trip would be her first day back in class after the Tabernacle disaster. Her classmates would want to know what it was really like, badger her with questions because she’d been there when it all happened.

It wasn’t like talking about it made it go away. It was just the opposite: The hellish images were too fresh in her mind, searing deeper every time she thought about them. If she could hold her classmates off today, maybe something else would have caught their interest by the next time.
As long as it has nothing to do with me.

The schools made these mandatory historical education trips three times a year, dividing up the classes across different days. There’d probably be two hundred kids here today, and the school district didn’t bother with buses anymore. Though the classes were designed to arrive at thirty-minute intervals, that hadn’t lightened the number of bodies tromping toward Oakland’s entrance like a herd of well-dressed zombies.

She finally found a place to park three blocks from the cemetery. As she approached the brick archway that led into the graveyard, a familiar face caught her notice. “Peter?” she murmured. Her best friend stood by the main gate, scanning the knots of students as they passed by. He brightened up the moment he spied her, and waved.

“Hey!” he said as she joined him. “I was worried you’d blow this off.”

“No way. Mrs. Haggerty will take roll, and I don’t need detention.”

He shoved a package toward her. “A reprint of your father’s Holy Water research. I read it this time. Your dad was amazing.”

“Yeah, he was,” she said, taking the package. “I think I might have a lead.” She told him about the unmarked truck that had collected the recycled Holy Water bottles. “Maybe if I follow those guys around I might be able to figure out who’s stealing the bottles and refilling them.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Peter said, nodding his approval. “Let me know if you need someone to ride shotgun.”

Cool.
“It’s a deal.” They passed underneath the brick arch into the cemetery. “I thought you were supposed to be here tomorrow.”

“I’ve been transferred to your class,” Peter replied, grinning.

When Riley stumbled to a halt, a student behind her swore when he almost ran into her. “Sorry,” she said, then turned back to her friend. “Do you mean that you hack—”

Peter clapped a hand over her mouth. “As I was about to say, I’m happy to report that our educational overlords have decided I shall be in your class.” He lowered his hand and winked. “Imagine my surprise.”

Surprise. Right.
Peter had managed to hack the computer system that housed the student data and set up a transfer. If he was caught he’d be expelled, exiled to darkest Illinois with his unglued mother.

“Are you insane?”

“Of course. It wasn’t that hard, not once I figured out I had to transfer two or three others at the same time to cover my tracks. It’s all about camouflage.”

“You moved other people to our class?”

“Sure did.” He smiled, clearly pleased with himself. “Easier than I’d thought, actually.”

“But—”

Someone stepped in front of them on the road, blocking their way.

Oh, jeez.
As if life wasn’t absurd enough, the obstruction was her class’s vampire wannabe, the kid with the jet-black hair and the alabaster skin. Today he had on a black frock coat and a bloodred shirt with decorative lace at the collar. A cameo sat at his neckline. The face on the cameo sported fangs.

You’ve got to be kidding.

“You are thtill alive,” he lisped, glaring at Riley, his dark eyebrows furrowed. The fake pointed canines were definitely causing the speech impediment.

“Yeah, I’m alive. And your point is?” she asked, annoyed at the interruption.

“We will not be vanquithed,” he replied. The lisp really came through this time, along with some spit.

Gross.
“Can you move, please?”

The fake vamp didn’t budge but continued to glower and display his plastic teeth. Riley strode around him, shaking her head.

As they moved farther down the road, Peter asked, “Ah, what was that?”

“That is our vamp wannabe. He drinks red soda and uses the imperial
we
all the time. He’s harmless. Just ignore him.”

Peter looked over into the graveyard. “Kind of hard to do,” he said, pointing.

The kid darted among the graves, skulking behind trees and the larger monuments. Every now and then he’d leer out from behind a stone obelisk or angel.

“What’s he got against you?” her friend asked.

“He thinks I hunt vampires. I told him I only trap demons, but he doesn’t believe me. He has this need-to-be-a-victim thing going on.”

Peter gave her a confused look. “Ah, correct me if I’m wrong, but that’s so not a vamp’s operating system, you know? They don’t do victim.”

“Tell him that.”

“So what’s his name?”

Riley shrugged. “I was afraid to ask.”

Out of the corner of her eye she saw her vamp stalker trip over a headstone and do a total face-plant in the dirt, fake teeth and all.

Why me?

*   *   *

Having a parent
who was into the Civil War meant Riley’d been to this section of Oakland Cemetery more times than she could count. Her father had always found an excuse to swing down to the Confederate graves when they visited the family mausoleum.

“Soon all the flowers will be in bloom,” she said wistfully. “It’s so pretty then.”

Peter gaped at the rows of white markers. “Wow. Look at all the gravestones. It’s unreal.”

“Never been here before?”

He shook his head. “It’s seriously awe inspiring.”

At least the first few times.
After years of listening to her father talk about the war, Riley could quote death tolls from most of the major battles. She resisted the impulse. The neat rows of bleached gravestones spoke eloquently enough.

Peter was a numbers guy. “How many graves are there?” he asked, looking over at her.

“Almost seven thousand, and there’re Union war dead here, too.”

“I knew there were a lot of casualties, but you can’t really deal with it until you see it in person,” he said, waving a hand to indicate the scene in front of them.

A piercing sound cut through the air as Mrs. Haggerty gave a shrill whistle. The class gathered around her under one of the ancient magnolia trees.

“We’ll be starting in a minute or two,” she advised. Haggerty gave a stack of papers to the nearest student. “Pass these out. These need to be completed and handed in by the end of class.” That set off a round of grumbles. “I know, but at least it’s not raining, okay? It could be worse.” Once the paper distribution was in progress, Mrs. Haggerty called out, “Riley, are you here?”

Riley waved a hand from the edge of the crowd, wondering what this was all about.

“Oh, good, glad to see you’re still with us. I’m so sorry about the other night, dear.”

Riley could only nod. There were a lot of eyes on her now, and that bothered her.

The teacher returned her attention to the group. “I got word this morning that we have new students in the class. I need to see your transfer papers, people, so all of you come on up.”

Peter grinned and then dutifully headed for their teacher.

“Hey, Riley,” Brandy said, gliding up. The brunette was dressed in black jeans and jacket and an unholy pink shirt. Her entourage wasn’t with her. Instead they were a short distance away laughing over a text message on one of the girl’s cell phones.

“Brandy,” Riley said, testing the waters. When Riley had first joined this class, Brandy had gone out of her way to make the new kid feel right at home. Providing the new kid liked sabotaged tires and defaced windshields.

“So who’s the new guy?” the girl asked.

“That’s my friend Peter. He just transferred in.”

“He looks like a nerd.”

“He’s smart but he’s cool. Give him a chance.”
You pick on him and I’ll be on you so fast you won’t know what happened
.

Her best friend returned and handed her the class assignment. When he saw Riley wasn’t alone, he issued a pleasant smile. “Hi, I’m Peter.”

“This is Brandy,” Riley said, more a warning than an introduction.

“Oh,” he replied, the light dawning. “You’re the one who vandalized Riley’s car … twice.”

Brandy blinked. Clearly she hadn’t anticipated the nerdy guy to have a mouth. “Just playing with her head,” the girl replied.

“I do that all the time, except I don’t flatten her tires.”

“We’re okay now,” Brandy added, giving Riley a meaningful look.

Until you decide we’re not.

“Okay, folks,” the teacher called out. “Work on the sheets and turn them back in one hour. Off you go!”

Peter looked over at Riley. “Why don’t you tell me about this lion statue,” he said, waving her toward a massive marble sculpture. She gamely followed him to the metal fence that divided the world from the Lion of Atlanta.

A few seconds later Brandy joined them. “Ah, I have to write my paper on this. Can I listen in?”

Riley heard Peter’s muted chuckle. “Sure. Any problems with that, Riley?” he asked, all innocence.

“No problem.”
I love playing tour guide.

Riley pillaged through her memories and recounted the statute’s history, courtesy of her father. “It’s called the Lion of Atlanta or the Lion of the Confederacy. It guards the graves of the unknown soldiers, and it was modeled after a statue in Switzerland. The dying lion is a symbol of courage, and it’s lying on a Confederate flag.”

“You can almost feel its pain,” Peter said, his voice quieter now. “It’s really haunting.”

“This whole place is,” Riley replied.

“I don’t get why all this metal is still here,” Brandy said, gesturing to the fence. “I mean, why hasn’t it been stolen?”

“Don’t know,” Riley replied. That was a good question.

Brandy took a deep breath. “I’m so sorry about the other night,” she said. “That had to be really bad.”

Riley looked at her, shocked. She’d never expected the girl to care about anything else outside of her own little world.

“I saw a picture in the paper of you and that cute guy who was hurt so bad,” Brandy added. “Is he going to make it?”

“Yeah, he is.”

“That’s good.” A pause and then: “Is the TV show still coming to town? I mean, the demons didn’t scare them away, did they?”

That’s more like it.
This was the real Brandy, the one who wanted Riley to get her an autograph of her favorite
Demonland
actor while the film crew was in town.

“I haven’t heard anything about that.” What with the Tabernacle fire, Riley had totally forgotten about the television series wanting to work with the trappers while they filmed in Atlanta.

“Well, just remember, I want Jess Storm’s autograph. And a photo would be awesome,” Brandy replied.

“If the show is in town, I’ll get it,” Riley said. This was the price of peace between them, and she was willing to pay it to keep Brandy and her crew off her back. She really didn’t need any more hassles from her classmates.

Someone called out her name, and she shivered in response. The voice was familiar and not in a good way. Riley turned and then stared in disbelief.

“Allan?” she said as a figure approached.

Peter scowled. Her friend knew the tale of her ex-boyfriend, how she’d dated Allan and how he’d become the ex when he’d punched her in the face when she refused to steal a computer for him.

It’d been two years since she’d last seen him. Allan was taller now, wider, too. His body was football-player solid, and his brown eyes were just as piercing. An arrogant smirk seemed permanently chiseled in place. That much hadn’t changed. As he drew near, her jaw throbbed like he’d just struck her and she resisted the urge to touch it.