The Demon Trappers: Foretold (28 page)

He was sort of cute, but he had nothing on Beck.

The thought of Backwoods Boy made her frown. She’d expected a phone call at least, a ‘Hi, how ya doin’, Princess?’ Instead she’d been given the silent treatment for
daring to speak from her heart.

‘Jerk,’ she grumbled. Riley pulled her attention away from the actors, scanning the surrounding area for anything furry and ravenous. There was something that fitted that description
under one of the catering tables – a sleek rat. Her father claimed they were like canaries in a mine: as long as the rodent wasn’t freaked, things were good. They did seem to have a
sixth sense when it came to Threes, mostly because they were high on the fiends’ menu choices along with trappers and fat pigeons.

The director joined the actors, an assistant at his elbow. You could always tell that species – a clipboard was a required fashion accessory.

‘OK, let’s get this in the can,’ their boss ordered. ‘In this scene you two are going to argue about the previous night’s near tryst, then Jess rescues you from a
demon.’

‘Come on, Arnold,’ the actress complained. ‘Raphael rescued me last week and Jess the week before. I’m not liking where we’re headed here. I used to take down
demons on my own.’

‘The ratings show the female demographic likes the guys saving your butt,’ the director replied. ‘Besides, it’s more realistic.’

Riley nearly gagged.
Realistic? You have got to be kidding me.

When Blaze actually growled under her breath, she smiled. Maybe the actress wasn’t such an airhead after all.

The first take went down in flames – Jess flubbed his lines. From the whispered remarks of a couple crew members, it was a common occurrence.

Three more takes and it still wasn’t going right. Tempers were growing short and the poor guy portraying the demon was having trouble with his costume since one of his clawed feet kept
falling off.

Hollywood magic at its best.
It was best her friends never knew about this side of the show.

They were partway through the fourth take when one of the main lights snapped off, causing the director to swear in colourful terms. Clearly this wasn’t something that happened that
often.

Riley did another quick rodent check and found that it had dropped its morsel and was on its hind feet, peering into the night, nose twitching frantically. Then with a squeak it took off,
bolting for the nearest hole.

She set off along the perimeter of the set, pulling out a Holy Water sphere and the steel pipe as she manoeuvred her way over the tangle of electrical cables. When she caught Reynolds’s
eye, the other trapper gave a nod and began moving in a giant circle in the opposite direction from her. Blaze and Jess remained in the centre, bickering among themselves as they waited for the
lighting problem to be sorted out.

‘Come on, people. Get it together,’ the director called out. ‘We’ve got to get this scene done before—’

The light came back on and Riley shielded her eyes to keep from it destroying her night vision. A second later a low-pitched snarl came from somewhere nearby as a Three lumbered out of the
darkness near a crumbling brick wall. It paused, sized up the competition and then bellowed, ‘Blackthorne’s daughter!’

This was the real deal.

This time, the demon headed right for her at top speed, claws making sparks on the pavement. Reynolds sprinted towards her, a steel pipe in hand. They didn’t need to talk strategy –
there wasn’t time.

The Three sped up, claws glistening in the remaining lights, drool streaming down its furry chin. To Riley’s astonishment, Reynolds put himself between her and the demon. He gave it a
solid blow to the left shoulder, but it managed to wrap its claws round the pipe, attempting to pull the trapper into its other set of claws.

He wisely turned the pipe loose and the demon flung the weapon at her, the cylinder tumbling end over end. Riley executed a quarter spin to avoid the missile, and flung her sphere, which crashed
directly in the centre of the demon’s face. The fiend howled, took a few steps forward, then did a solid face plant into the ground, scattering dust and debris in the process.

‘Yes!’ Reynolds shouted, executing a fist pump. He sprinted for his pack and dashed back with one of the steel mesh bags in hand and between them they shoved the Gastro-Fiend into
the steel prison as quickly as possible. He’d just engaged the clamps when the demon stirred and began to yowl like a banshee.

‘That was damned fine work,’ her fellow trapper said. ‘You’re really good with those spheres.’

Usually she wasn’t. Did this have something to do with Ori’s protection?

Shaking, Riley rose to find the entire television crew staring at them. Most of them wore an
Ohmigod, that was for real
expression.

Blaze broke into a genuine smile. ‘Gee, Arnold,’ she said. ‘Looks like girls can trap demons too. How’s about we make that happen on the show?’

The director frowned.

‘That rocked,’ Blaze pressed. ‘Admit it.’

The man reluctantly nodded. ‘We’ll duplicate the scene, but without using those weird spheres.’ He turned to his assistant. ‘Have all that broken glass up swept up and
we’ll do a walk through.’ The director shot a look towards Riley and her fellow trapper. ‘You two, get off the set and take that beast with you.’

‘It appears our one minute of fame is over,’ Reynolds said.

Riley issued an unladylike snort.

Knowing Reynolds would handle the Three, Riley made her way to a canvas chair, desperately needing to rest. The whole takedown had been too close. If she’d missed with that sphere . .
.

But I didn’t. That’s what counts.

Something made her look up and at the edge of the set she spied a familiar figure, one whose blond hair and handsome face she’d dreamed about often enough.

Beck turned and limped up the street before she had a chance to call out.

Why are you avoiding me?

She suspected the answer didn’t bode well for their future.

Jackson had taken her place at nine thirty as the shoot was running late and Stewart didn’t want her in Demon Central in the wee hours of the morning. It was nearly ten
when Riley reached her apartment complex. As she’d feared, her mailbox was jammed full and it took her some time to retrieve all the bills and advertisements. While she hiked up the two
flights of stairs to her place, she sorted them according to importance. One in particular caught her notice – a letter from the landlord, no doubt reminding her that the rent was going up
soon.

After she’d let herself into the apartment, she clicked on the light to reveal that no helpful fairies had dropped by and magically replaced the third-hand furniture with something that
looked decent. The packing box that served as a coffee table was still in place in front of the lumpy couch and the concrete block and two-by-four bookshelves were there as well.

Even though it was nothing more than an oversized hotel room with a dinky kitchen, it was home. It held memories of her dead father, though even those were fading with each passing day. Like
when she’d dropped one of his favourite coffee mugs and it’d shattered. She’d wept as she’d swept up the ceramic shards.

Riley engaged the door locks, stashed her backpack on the floor and dropped the mail on to the kitchen table. After making herself a cup of hot chocolate and finding there was only one carton of
yoghurt in the fridge – staying at Stewart’s had definitely cut into her grocery buying – she began opening the envelopes. She put the bills in a pile and then ripped open the one
from the landlord. Two words immediately snagged her attention.

There had to be a mistake. She’d paid the rent on time.

Further study proved the notice had nothing to do with the rent payment but complaints that Riley was disturbing her neighbours because of her profession. That she was keeping demons in her
apartment and her neighbours were afraid that one of those might kill them all some night while they were asleep in their beds.

She put her face in her hands, feeling the urge to scream and cry at the same time. The demon that lived in her place wasn’t the
I’m going to slit your throat and eat you
kind
but the stealthy variety that stole other people’s shiny stuff. Sure, her father had stored Grade One demons in the apartment, but that had been with the management’s approval.
Who
complained?
It certainly wouldn’t be Mrs Litinsky, her next door neighbour. She had no issues with Riley’s profession.

Mrs Ivey.
This had the old bat’s name all over it. She’d bitched up a storm about her missing hearing aid and now Riley was going to be kicked out because her demon roomie had
a thing for bling. The fact that her name had been in the media nonstop certainly hadn’t helped the situation.

Riley groped for her cellphone, then stopped. Her first instinct had been to call Beck, but what could he do? Shout a lot and hope everyone would play nice? She could contact Fireman Jack, the
Guild’s lawyer, but he’d already done so much for her.

Riley reread the notice more carefully now, but there were no loopholes, no mention of ‘you have the opportunity to challenge this eviction by such and such a date.’ The only date on
it was seven days from now and that’s when she and her possessions had to be out of here.

‘This SUCKS!’ she shouted. The universe didn’t disagree.

Then it hit her: she’d be leaving behind the last place she and her father had shared. Yet another big chunk of Paul Blackthorne was breaking away, like an iceberg in an unseasonably warm
Arctic spring. It would float off and the physical memories of him would be lessened.
Again.

Riley rubbed her eyes, not because of tears but because she was tired of all that life kept throwing at her. Whenever she thought it was getting better, it didn’t.

Her mom would have reassured her that this was what growing up was all about, leaving places and things behind. It wasn’t like Riley was going to live in this apartment forever, make a
shrine of it to her dead father.

With a remorseful sigh, she headed for her bedroom to begin the job of sorting through her and her dad’s closet. She’d done this same thing at Sadie’s.

This time every item she touched would be special.

As usual, Riley found Master Stewart was in his den, but, instead of having a newspaper on his lap, there were forms from the National Guild. Her father used to work on those
in his spare time.

The older man smiled at her approach. ‘Good evenin’, lass.’

‘Master Stewart.’ She choose her usual chair and settled into it, but wasn’t keen to tell him just how her day had gone. Not like in the past.

When she didn’t speak, he raised an eyebrow. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘I’m being kicked out of my apartment. Someone complained. My neighbours are sure that I’m going to bring demons and destruction to the place so they want me out.’

‘I was worried somethin’ like that might happen. Ya’ve been in the press too much as of late.’ Stewart set the papers aside. ‘If yer of a mind, yer welcome ta stay
here, make this a permanent arrangement, even after the hunters remove their restrictions. Like a live-in tenant or somethin’.’

That she hadn’t expected. ‘Thanks. It’s just . . .’ Riley adjusted herself in the chair to give herself time to think it through. ‘I can’t keep crashing in
your house without helping out. It’s not right. If I’m not in the other place, I can afford to pay rent. Well, not much, but . . .’

Stewart pondered that for a time. ‘Aye, I think we can come ta some arrangement. Ya’ll need a bigger room. There’s a large bedroom just off the turret on the third floor. Those
two combined will give ya plenty of space. It’ll be like yer own home.’

‘The turret?’
Now that would be cool.
‘I’d like that.’

‘I’ll put tagether some figures and we’ll do some hagglin’,’ he said, winking. ‘I’ll be more than fair with ya. Mrs Ayers and I have found ya ta be very
pleasant company.’ He picked up his pipe and began to pack the bowl. ‘I heard from Beck this mornin’. He’s back in town.’

Riley ground her teeth in frustration. ‘I saw him at the
Demonland
set. He avoided me like I have the plague or something.’

‘Give him time. He’ll get it figured out.’ A match flared to life and the tobacco caught fire. ‘Now get some rest. Ya look knackered.’

She had no idea what that last word meant, but she was probably good for it.

Riley rose. ‘Goodnight, sir.’

‘Goodnight, lass. Tomorrow will be better for ya. I’m sure of it.’

Not likely.

After breakfast the next morning, Mrs Ayers took her up to the third floor. Riley had never gone up there before and, according to the housekeeper, Master Stewart’s bum
leg meant he didn’t make the journey very often.

‘This was his late wife’s office,’ the woman said as she headed down a hallway that led towards the front of the house. ‘I came to work for them when she became ill. Died
of cancer. Lolly was a lovely soul and he took it right hard when she passed over.’