Soul Thief-Demon Trappers 2 (29 page)

“Who are you?” Riley demanded. “Why did you take my dad?”

It wrapped its powerful forelegs around her father’s form. “To protect him from those who would use his knowledge for their own gain.”

“I love you, Pumpkin,” her dad called out. “I’ll see you soon.”

The summoning vanished with a loud clap of thunder that reverberated throughout the neighborhood, rattling windows and setting off car alarms.

“That was a bit over the top,” Ayden grumbled, releasing her grip on Riley’s arm.

“Oh … dammit!” Riley shouted. “We didn’t learn a thing!” She had failed. Again. It was like her life was cursed.

She felt the panic attack coming but couldn’t stop it. Her lungs collapsed, and she began to shake, her vision constricting to the section of the courtyard where her father had disappeared.

Her friends began whispering to each other, but she didn’t understand what they were saying. Darkness crept in from the corners of her vision like twilight in a forest. The next breath hitched and she struggled to pull air inside her chest. The next breath was worse and she slumped to her knees.

“Riley?” It was Peter. He was close to her now, touching her hand. His fingers were trembling. “You remember the first day we met at school? How you didn’t have a pencil so I loaned you one? Do you remember which one it was?”

Why is he asking me this? My dad is dead and that thing has him and I have to stop Armageddon and—

“Come on, Riley, you should remember this. It’s easy. You gave me crap about it for ages,” Peter urged. Then she knew what he was doing: he was recalling a good memory, trying to exorcise the fear that rode her like a fully armored warrior.

“Gollum,” she panted, pulling her eyes to meet his.

Peter smiled through his worry. “Yup. You told me that any guy who had a
Lord of the Rings
pencil just had to be your friend for life.”

Between the shallow breaths, she tried to match his smile. “I’m afraid, Peter. God, I’m so afraid.”

“So am I,” he whispered, then his arms went around her and he embraced her.

She hadn’t lost everything. She still had her friends. Sometimes they were the only thing that kept you going. Her breathing eased and Peter noticed. He loosened his grip.

“You promised me weird,” he said.

And I delivered.
He only let go of her when she took a deep, full breath. “Thanks.”

He nodded but didn’t say anything that would make it harder for her. Ayden gave a relieved sigh then turned toward where the dragon had been. She stared at the spot for some time, unmoving.

“Ah, Ayden?” Peter asked.

“Give me a moment,” she said. She took a deep breath like she was scenting the air, then blew it out a few seconds later. “And the verdict is: not a necromancer.”

“What? It has to be,” Riley blurted as she scrambled to her feet.

The witch turned toward them, perplexed. “That’s what you’d expect, but it’s not the case. I’m sensing older, more … primeval magic. Necromantic sorcery has a certain feel to it. This magic I’ve never felt before.”

“Which means?” Riley asked.

“Which means there’s a new player in the game. Remember what the dragon said: Your father was raised from his grave for his protection.”

“But from who?”

“Whom,” Peter corrected automatically. When Riley gave him a glower, he shrugged his shoulders in apology.

“Ozymandias is my favorite candidate,” the witch replied, “but who wields the kind of power needed to cross the Eldest of the Summoners?”

Riley had no clue.

“I don’t want to be a buzzkill here,” Peter began, “but are you sure it was your dad?”

“It had to be,” Riley said. “He called me Pumpkin. I always hated that nickname, but he thought it was cute.”

Ayden was still pensive, her brows furrowed. “So what is the takeaway message here?”

“Dragons are damned scary, even if they are made of magic?” Peter quipped.

Ayden’s frown diminished. “I’m beginning to like you, Peter King.” He grinned in response.

“Do not fail us,” Riley said. “Whatever I’m supposed to do, I’d better not blow it.”

Riley and the witch traded looks. Then Riley shook her head: No way was she going to tell Peter about her bargain with Heaven. His life was complicated enough without him worrying about the end of the world.

Silence fell between them as Ayden released the magic and broke the circle. They helped her pack up the witchy supplies and tote them back into the store. When Ayden had stowed away all the gear, she unlocked the front door. They all stood there, awkwardly, like no one knew what to say.

Peter sniffed. “Food. I’ll … catch up with you in a moment.” Without waiting for her response, he headed down the alley toward the café.

“He eats like there’s no tomorrow,” Riley observed.
And he might be right.

“He is a good friend to have,” Ayden said. “Tell him what’s going on. He has a role to play.”

Riley gaped at the woman. “Was that, like, a prophecy or something?”

“I just know things.” The witch looked in the opposite direction, down the alley that led to Mort’s house. “You should talk to the summoner tonight.”

It wasn’t a suggestion. “You think he knew what we were up to?”

“He’d have felt the magic. I’d be interested to hear where he thought it came from.”

Mort’s housekeeper admitted her to the house without comment, like Riley had been expected, and led her to the circular room that smelled of wood smoke. Mort was at his desk, stacks of books mounded around him like a fortress of words. A plate of strudel sat at his elbow.

He rose. “What the hell was that?” he demanded.

The evening had been so outlandish, so scary, that Riley couldn’t help herself: She started to laugh. What else could she do? When she finally regained control, she said, “I have no idea. My witch friend doesn’t, either.”

Mort sank back onto his bench, his fingers tented in a thoughtful pose. “What I felt was old magic, so old the summoners don’t have a name for it. Tell me what happened.”

Riley sat opposite him at the table. “Well, we got a dragon,” she began and then related the rest of the tale. Mort didn’t interrupt. “I’ve run out things to try,” she said.

Mort nodded in sympathy. “Ozymandias has a reward out for your father’s corpse, but no one has come forward to claim it.”

“Everybody wants my dad,” she said bitterly.

“So it seems. A loan company has filed suit against the Society, claiming we’re preventing them from reacquiring their
asset,
one Mr. Paul Blackthorne. Apparently you owe them money,
”
Mort said.

Riley groaned.

“Just so you know, I’ve issued a magical invitation. If for some reason the summoner loses control of your father’s spirit, I’ve invited the spirit to take shelter here.”

Riley stared at him. “You mean my dad might make a break for it?”

“Sometimes that happens, but in this case whomever conducted the summoning seems quite powerful, so I doubt we’ll have any luck.”

And if it wasn’t a necromancer …

Riley stared down at her hands. There was dirt under her fingernails, probably from when she was having her panic attack in the courtyard. “What if I never find him?” she asked.

“Then in a year we’ll just hope he’s back in the ground and at peace.”

That wasn’t the answer she wanted. No, she wanted her dad’s kidnapper to bleed, to hurt as bad as she did. After thanking Mort for all his help, Riley left the way she’d come. Behind her, she could hear the summoner mumbling under his breath, the thump of books falling open. He hadn’t given up, no matter what he’d said.

Neither will I.

*   *   *

Her friends waited
for her in front of the witch shop. Peter handed over a paper bag.

“Food. You need it. You get any skinnier and you can model in New York.”

“Thanks,” she mumbled. Riley opened the bag and found it contained a turkey sandwich and a supersized chocolate chip cookie.
Yum.
“Thanks,” she repeated, this time with more enthusiasm.

Ayden lightly touched her shoulder. “What did the summoner say?”

“He had no clue who it was.”

“As I figured. I think it’s best you remember what your father said: You’re stronger than you believe. That’s important. Spirits don’t usually lie.”

The witch had spaced on the other thing her father had said: “I’ll see you soon.” Since it didn’t look like Riley was going to retrieve him from whomever ripped off his corpse, that meant only one thing.

This might be the last cookie I ever eat.

T
WENTY-SIX

The sensible part of Riley knew she should be at the church, but she was tired of hiding like some scared little kid. Everyone reached their breaking point, and she was way past it. If Ori was right, her being out like this might lure the Five closer, and he could kill the thing.

Then I’ll be free.

She heard someone call her name and found the freelance demon hunter striding across the open field at the edge of the market. No way around it, Ori was made of awesome—yummy on so many levels you just didn’t know where to start. Simon was handsome, but Ori redefined the word.

Just thinking the name of her now ex-boyfriend made her wince like someone had jammed spikes under her fingernails. This should be Simon hanging with her, laughing and being with her.
But it isn’t.

When Ori reached her, she murmured her hello, trying to sound upbeat. He examined her for a moment, as if he were trying to see behind her mask.

“You were up to something tonight in Little Five Points. Very noisy. And magical. I almost thought it was the Five for a moment.”

“A witch friend of mine summoned my dad’s spirit. I thought we could find out who stole him.” She hitched her shoulders. “Not so much. He wouldn’t tell us anything.”

“I’m truly sorry about that,” Ori said. “I know how much you miss him.”

“This whole thing has been an epic failure. I promised him I’d keep him safe in his grave. Didn’t do that. Promised him I’d find his body. Blew that one, too.”

“Well, you’re not the only one failing,” he admitted, his tone darker now. “The Five is hiding, biding its time.”

“So someone really is helping it?” Riley asked, puzzled.

“Hell
is
known for its alliances. Archfiends make pacts with lower-level Hellspawn, gathering in souls and power. The Five could owe its allegiance to another, one who wanted your father dead and is now sheltering his killer.”

“Great. The manual never mentioned that whole ‘dealing in souls’ part.”

“I’m thinking there’s more weight on your shoulders tonight than just your father. What else is troubling you?”

Might as well unload it all.
“My boyfriend and I broke up.” On impulse, she told him the gruesome story. Including the part with the Holy Water.

Ori glowered. “Paul would not have harmed his fellow trappers. It was not in his character. Or yours, either.”

Riley felt a surge of joy that someone believed in her dad. Believed in her. She slowed her pace, then stopped altogether. “Thank you. That means a lot to me.”

To her astonishment, Ori cupped her face with his hands and carefully placed a kiss in the very center of her forehead. The merest brush of his lips sent heat racing through her veins.

“I will destroy that Hellspawn, and then you will not have to be afraid ever again,” he said, his midnight-black eyes inches from hers.

“You would do that for me?” she whispered.

“For you … and your father,” he said, then removed his hands. Before she could think of what to say, someone else called out her name. Riley knew that voice anywhere.

“Oh, no! What’s he doing here?”

A familiar figure tromped toward them, the scowl on Beck’s face promising trouble.

Riley hated to suggest it, but … “That’s my dad’s trapping partner and he’ll be furious if he finds out you’re here with me. He won’t understand.”

“That would be his problem,” Ori replied simply. “I’m going nowhere.”

Riley groaned. She took a deep breath and waited for the trapper to reach them.

“Beck.”
Don’t make a scene, please?

That unspoken plea was wasted. “What are ya doin’, girl?” Beck demanded. “The sun’s down. Why aren’t ya at the church?” He ground to a halt a short distance away, his hand knotted around the strap to his duffel bag. She could see his knuckles whiten.

His full attention moved to Ori. “Wait a minute; I know that face. Ya were at the Armageddon the other night.”

Ori hangs out at a pool hall?
He didn’t seem the type.

“I remember you,” her companion replied. “You were playing pool with a summoner. You were letting him win.”

The trapper puffed up. “Who are ya? What are ya doin’ with Riley?”

“Beck!” Riley retorted. That was just rude.

Ori moved closer to her, like he was claiming her in some way. His hand gently touched her elbow and gave it a reassuring squeeze.

“I asked ya a question,” Beck said.

“The name is Ori, and I’m her date for the evening. Why is any of this your concern?”

Date?

Beck blinked a couple times before his eyes narrowed. “I’m the guy ya have to deal with if ya think yer goin’ out with her.”

“You didn’t tell me you had a brother,” Ori said, looking over at Riley. When he winked, she had to struggle to keep the smile off her face.

“Look, dumbass,” Beck growled. “I don’t know what yer game is, but yer not playin’ it with her.”

“Hey!” Riley said, stepping forward and snapping her fingers in front of Beck’s face. “I’m not invisible. If I want to go out with someone, I’ll do it, and you don’t have any say in the matter.”

He scowled. “Like yer a great judge of character. Yer first boyfriend was an abusive bastard, and the last one was a self-righteous dick.”

“So where do you fall on that scale?” Ori inquired.

Riley almost choked.

In response, Beck’s shoulders tightened like he was ready to charge into battle. “So what’s your story?”