Soul Thief-Demon Trappers 2 (22 page)

How would they sell her father?
Own the city’s most legendary demon trapper! Learn the secret mysteries of Hell.
Would they want him for his Civil War knowledge or maybe as a tutor to their kids?

There was a thrum of organ music and a clash of thunder. Applause followed. Herbert’s auction was over. Riley made her way back to her seat, apologizing when she stepped on Mort’s toes. The final sales price was displayed on the tombstone in bright red LEDs. Eighty-five thousand dollars.

There’s always money to be made in death.
The guy at the Deader tent had been right.

“So who gets all that?” she snarled. “You guys?”

Mort shook his head. “The family will receive eighty-five percent, tax free.”

“They agreed to this? How could someone do that?”

“Herbert wanted it this way,” Lady Torin’s frosty voice said from behind them. “He wanted to ensure his wife and children had as much financial security as he could provide, even after his death.”

“That’s what life insurance is for,” Riley retorted.

“Yes, but he wanted to go the extra mile. I just wish this could have been a private sale. Far more dignified.”

“So what happens in a year? He ends up in a dumpster?”

The necromancer moved so close she caught the scent of whisky.

“My people
do not
end up in dumpsters, Miss Blackthorne. My people are given all the respect they are due. Don’t you dare accuse me of not caring, do you understand?”

Riley nodded numbly. “Sorry. I’m…”

“You’re not using your head, or you wouldn’t be challenging me like this.”

“Hey, why not? I already dissed Ozymandias. Why not make it a full sweep?”

What is it with my mouth tonight?

She tensed, waited for the searing blast of magic. Maybe she’d end up with a furry tail. It would be a good bet it wouldn’t be the same color as her hair.

Instead, there was a wry chuckle. “You do like to live dangerously.”

The next reanimate was a young man just a few years older than Riley. He held a sword like he had no idea what to do with it and stomped around the stage misquoting more Shakespeare. He went for five thousand, sold for his gardening skills. By the time they reached the seventh Deader, Riley had begun to wish she was legal age. Anything with booze in it would be great right now.

Three more Deaders crossed the stage, all sold for their various talents. Riley fidgeted in impatience. “Is my dad here?” she asked. She frowned when Mort shook his head. “How do you know that?”

“The server showed me a list of those up for auction,” he replied.

“So why in the…?” She counted slowly to five. “Why did you make me sit through this?”

“Because you have to know what you’re up against.”

The current offering
,
a middle-aged housewife whose rendition of a tune from
The Phantom of the Opera
had scarred Riley for life, went for considerably less. Thankfully the emcee called an intermission.

“Now what?” Riley quizzed as she and Mort filed out of the balcony.

“Now is when I get to ask questions.”

N
INETEEN

The summoners didn’t hang with the moneyed elite, but had their own reception room, complete with crustless sandwiches and tuxedoed servers toting silver trays loaded with drinks.

Mortimer made his way through the group, Riley trailing behind. She knew everyone was staring at her. She was easy to spot: Other than the waitstaff, she was the only one not wearing a cloak.

Lenny walked up to them. “Miss Riley,” he said. His usual pimp suit wasn’t in sight, hidden by a light gray cloak. His cheeks were flushed red, probably because of the cocktail glass in his hand and the empty he had in the other. “How goes it?”

Lenny was pretty harmless, so chewing him out wasn’t going to get her anywhere. Besides, he was friends with Beck. “Not going that well, Lenny. It’d be better if I could find my dad.”

“Ah, I heard about that. Sorry, girl. I had three buyers lined up, and you would have got the money. I warned you it could get nasty.”

You did
. “Any idea who took him?”

Lenny narrowed his eyes then announced, a bit too loudly, that he needed to get his drink refilled. She watched him head for the bar.

“Better let me do the asking,” Mort counseled.

Riley had come to a few conclusions by herself. “The guy who did this had a lot of power. That’s not Lenny, right?”

“Right. To conjure up that sort of illusion requires something more than an entry-level summoner.”

“So where are you on the scale between newbie and Dark Lord?” she quizzed.

Her escort didn’t reply, suddenly uncomfortable.

“Mortimer is about three-quarters of the way there,” Lady Torin said as she joined them. She held a plate full of cheese wedges and crackers. “Of course, he won’t admit that. He likes to appear harmless.”

Mort gave her a gracious nod and held her eyes a second longer than was needed. Was there something between these two? As if he realized he was showing more than he wanted, Mort headed toward another summoner, one who had made the mistake of getting caught with his hands full of food and drink and no place to run.

Riley turned her attention to the other necromancer. “So how about you? How close are you to being Dark Lord?”

Torin’s mouth twitched in a grin. “I’m about seven-eighths of the way. Except in my case, it would Dark Lady.”

“And Ozymandias?”

Torin’s eyes met hers. “He doesn’t even register on the scale anymore.”

Whoa.
“Who do you think took my dad?” Riley asked.

“Someone Mortimer’s level or above,” the lady replied. “That’s his mistake, you see. He’s asking questions of every summoner, rather than focusing on those at Theta level and up.”

“But one of those lower dudes might know something.”

“A lower-level summoner is not going to tattle on someone higher on the food chain.”

“Out of respect?” Riley asked, curious.

“Out of fear.” Torin finished demolishing the cracker.

Riley and the lady talked to five summoners before the lights flickered and it was time to go back into the theater. With absolutely no results. Mort joined them, and she could tell from the expression on his face he’d struck out, too.

“You might as well go home,” he conceded. “I’ll talk to the others, but most of them are too scared to say anything.”

“Thanks anyway,” she said, her heart sinking. As Mort and Lady Torin began to converse in lowered voices, Riley tromped down the stairs, her mood as dark as a senior necro’s cloak. Ozymandias stood near the front door, like he was waiting for her. There was no one else around except for the bouncers outside. The only way to get to her car was to pass by him.

She halted and stared up into his really weird eyes. “If you took my dad, just tell me. I have to know where he is.”

The summoner regarded her solemnly. “Stop hounding Mortimer to find your father. You’re going to get him hurt if you keep interfering. Is that what you want?”

“No. I just want what’s mine.”

Ozymandias raised a silvery eyebrow. “As do I.” He swept back into the theater, but the magic still danced across her skin.

How is that possible?

Riley pushed her way out the door, past the bouncers, and into the night. In the parking lot the woman who’d been turned away looked over at her, forlorn, her hands full of tissues. Was this Herbert’s wife? Was she regretting his decision to support their family by making the ultimate sacrifice?

Riley had just made it to her car when her cell phone chimed. It was Mort.

WAIT FOR ME. I HAVE AN IDEA.

After one particularly lengthy yawn, she spied the summoner hurrying toward her, his cloak flapping behind him. When he joined her, he gave a wary look back the way he’d come.

“I hesitate to say this, but there is another way to find your father,” he said. “It’s risky, but it might be worth a try.”

A sharp tingle of hope shot through her. Riley straightened up. “Go on.”

“A certain type of summoning spell will call forth your father’s spirit,” Mort explained. “If he appears, maybe he can tell you who took him and where he’s located, providing he can reveal that information.”

Now we’re getting somewhere.
“Can you do this spell?”

“I can…” he started, “… but I won’t. It will put me on the wrong side of the Society, and I’m already pushing the envelope as it is.”

“What would they do to you?” she asked.

He sagged against her car, apparently not worried his cloak would get dusty. “The Society doesn’t solve its internal problems by kicking someone out. In my case, I’d probably be found dead, just an overly large pile of ashes. It’s not like I’d get a slap on the wrist.”

“Oh.” That
was
serious. “Okay, who else can do this location thing?”

“Anyone who is a magical practitioner.” Their eyes met. “Like a
witch
, for instance. But you didn’t hear that from me.”

“Gee. I know one of those,” she said, grinning.

“I figured you might. Most trappers do.”

“So what keeps the Society from turning my friend into a pile of ashes if she gets in their face?”

“For all their New Age beads and incense, witches pack some serious power, and they protect their own. The last magical war we had with them ended in a draw, so we’re not eager to repeat that mistake. There’s still bad blood between us.”

Riley had seen that animosity firsthand when Ozymandias had threatened Ayden and the witch had returned the threat without batting an eye.

“Okay, Mort, I got this covered,” she said. Mindful of the High Lord’s warning, she added, “You’ve done enough for me as it is.”

“Just be cautious,” he said. “Whoever took your father isn’t going to appreciate you nosing around, especially if it’s done with witch magic. It could get really unpleasant.” He looked toward the theater. “And if it’s Lord Ozymandias…”

With that, Mort trudged back to the vendue. Now it was time for Riley to move the ball forward on her own. She sent a quick text to her friend Ayden with the unusual request. Now she’d have to wait and see what the witch thought of the plan.

As Riley turned to open her car door, she became aware of someone standing near her. A second before she realized it was Ori she gave out a squeak of surprise. And then felt really dumb. “Whoa, warn a girl, will you?” she complained.

A stunning white rose came her way. “Will this serve as an apology?” he asked.

Riley stared at the offering. Why was he doing this? “Where do you get these? They’re way expensive.” She knew that because she’d bought one on the anniversary of her mom’s death to place on the grave and it’d cost her two weeks’ worth of hot chocolate purchases.

“I have my sources,” he replied.

She accepted it and inhaled its rich fragrance. It was just as amazing as the previous one.

“Where to next?” Ori asked, lounging against the car. “Shopping? The coffee shop?”

All of that sounded good, but … “Time to go to the church, I guess.”

“No reason to go there. I’m watching over you.”

“You’re just hoping the Five makes its move on me.”

“That, and I enjoy your company.”

Give this guy points for knowing the right thing to say. “Thanks, but I am tired. It’s been a long day.”

“Your call.” Ori straightened up. “Mind if I ride with you?”

“What about your bike?”

“I’ll come back for it.”

“Aren’t you afraid someone will steal it?”

“No,” he said. “No one will touch it.”

He seemed so sure and Riley had no objections to the company. Ori waited until she’d unlocked the passenger-side door and then slid into the car. She set the rose between them, careful not to damage any of the petals. Part of her felt guilty accepting it—she
was
dating someone else—but it was so pretty and had the most intoxicating scent. Besides, what would it hurt?

As she pulled onto the street, she looked over at him and frowned. “Seat belt, dude.”

“I’m sure you’re a safe driver,” he replied.

“Doesn’t matter. The city wants money, so the cops will ticket you. And me, for letting you be in the car that way.”

Grumbling under his breath, Ori fumbled with the thing then clicked it home.

“Don’t you get tired of following me all over the place?” she asked, heading south into the city.

“No, you lead an interesting life. Today you went to class at a cemetery, visited your injured boyfriend, and then came to the theater and hung with a bunch of stuffy necromancers. That’s not boring.”

“You
have
been following me.”
Everywhere.
It bordered on the creepy if she hadn’t known he was trying to kill the Five. “But I thought the Geo-Fiend would only come after me at night.”

“It’s strongest then, yes, but I don’t like to take chances.” He turned toward her. “So what was it like, the summoner thing?”

Riley told him how awful it had been. How her dad wasn’t there and how afraid she was of never finding him again. Tears blurred her eyes and she cursed under her breath. As she blinked them away, she felt his hand on her arm, warm through her jacket. He didn’t say anything, but just his touch made her feel better. That’s what she’d been wanting from Simon.

What is it about this guy? Why do I feel so completely different when I’m with him?
When Ori’s hand retreated, she missed it immediately. Her passenger was frowning now, and the temperature inside the car seemed to drop a degree. “I thought I had a lead on the Five last night, but it didn’t work out,” he admitted.

“What kind of lead?”

“I convinced a Gastro-Fiend to tell me where the rogue is hiding. The silly thing tried to bribe me with a half-eaten rat. Absolutely pathetic.” He sighed. “Unfortunately, someone else tipped off the Five and it disappeared before I could find it.”

“Why would someone do that?” Riley asked, puzzled.

“Hell has its informers, just like Heaven.”

“So I’m still bait?” she said glumly.

“I’m afraid so.”