Forsaken (2 page)

Riley barreled through everyone in her way, her eyes riveted on the small figure scurrying across the floor. As she vaulted over the reference desk something slammed into her back, knocking her off balance. She went down in a sea of pencils, paper, and wire trays. There was a ripping sound: Her jeans had taken one for the team.

Scrambling on all fours, she lunged forward, stretching as far as her arms could possibly reach. The fingers of her right hand caught the fiend by the waist, and she dragged it toward her. It screamed and twisted and peed, but she didn’t loosen her grip. Riley pulled the cup from her pocket and jammed the demon inside. Ramming her palm over the top of the cup, she lay on her back staring up at the ceiling. Around her lights flashed and the alarm brayed. Her breath came in gasps and her head ached. Both knees burned where she’d skinned them.

The alarm cut out abruptly and she sighed with relief. There was another chilling laugh. She hunted for the source but couldn’t find it. A low groaning came from the massive bookshelves to her right. On instinct, Riley rolled in the opposite direction, and kept rolling until she rammed into a table leg. With a strained cry of metal the entire bookshelf fell in a perfect arc and hit the carpeted floor where she’d been seconds before, sending books, pages, and broken spines outward in a wave. Suddenly all the debris in the room began to settle, like someone had shut off a giant wind machine.

A sharp pain in her palm caused her to shoot bolt upright, connecting her head with the side of the table.

“Dammit!” she swore, grimacing. The demon had bitten her. She shook the cup, disorienting the thing, then gingerly got to her feet. The world spun as she leaned against the table, trying to get her bearings. Faces began to appear around her from under desks and behind stacks of books. A few of the girls were crying, and one of the hunky boys held his head and moaned. Every eye was on her.

Then she realized why they were staring: her hands were spotted with green pee, and her favorite T-shirt was splashed as well. There was blood on her blue jeans and she’d lost one of her tennis shoes. Her hair hung in a knotted mass over one shoulder.

Heat bloomed in Riley’s cheeks.
Trapper fails.

When the demon tried to bite her again, she angrily shook the cup, taking her frustration out on the fiend.

It just laughed at her.

The librarian cleared her throat. “You dropped this,” she said, offering the lid. The woman’s hair looked like it had been styled by a wind tunnel, and she had a yellow sticky note plastered to her cheek that said “Dentist, 10:00
AM
Monday.”

Riley took the lid in a shaking hand and sealed the demon inside the cup.

It shouted obscenities and used both hands to flip her off.

Same to you, jerk.

The librarian surveyed the chaos and sighed. “And to think we used to worry about silverfish.”

*   *   *

Riley grimly watched
the paramedics haul two students out on stretchers: One had a neck brace and the other babbled incoherently about the end of the world. Cell phones periodically erupted in a confused chorus of ringtones as parents got wind of the disaster. Some kids were jazzed, telling Mom or Dad just how cool it had been and that they were posting videos on the Internet. Others were frightened out of their minds.

Like me.

It wasn’t fair. She’d done everything right. Well, not everything, but Biblios weren’t supposed to be psychokinetic. No Grade One demon would have the power to cause a windstorm, but somehow it had. There could have been another demon in the library, but they never work as a team.

So who laughed at me?
Her eyes slowly tracked over the remaining students. No clue. One of the cute guys was stuffing books in his backpack. When she caught his eye, he just shook his head in disapproval as if she were a naughty five-year-old.

Rich creep.
He had to be if he was still in college.

Digging in her messenger bag, she pulled out a warm soda and took several long gulps. It didn’t cut the taste of old paper in the back of her throat. As she jammed the bottle into her bag the demon bite flared in pain. It was starting to swell and made her arm throb all the way to the elbow. She knew she should treat it with Holy Water, but the cops had told her not to move and she didn’t think the library would appreciate her getting their carpet wet.

At least the cops weren’t asking her questions anymore. One of them had tried to bully her into making a statement, but that had only made her mad. To shut him up she’d called her father. She’d told him that something had gone wrong and handed the phone to the cop.

“Mr. Blackthorne? We got a situation here,” he huffed.

Riley shut her eyes. She tried not to listen to the conversation, but that proved impossible. When the cop started with the attitude, her father responded with his you-don’t-want-to-go-there voice. He’d perfected it as a high school teacher when facing down mouthy teens. Apparently campus cops were also susceptible to
the voice
: The officer murmured an apology and handed her the phone.

“Dad? I’m so sorry.…” Tears began to build. No way she’d cry in front of the cop, so Riley turned her back to him. “I don’t know what happened.”

There was total silence on the other end of the phone.
Why isn’t he saying anything? God, he must be furious. I’m so dead.

“Riley…” Her father took in a long breath. “You sure you’re not hurt?”

“Yeah.” No point in telling him about the bite; he’d see that soon enough.

“As long as you’re okay, that’s all that matters.”

Somehow Riley didn’t think the university would be so forgiving.

“I can’t get free here so I’ll send someone for you. I don’t want you taking the bus, not after this.”

“Okay.”

More silence as the moments ticked by. She felt her heart tighten.

“Riley, no matter what happens, I love you. Remember that.”

Blinking her eyes to keep the tears in check, Riley stowed the phone in her messenger bag. She knew what her father was thinking: Her apprentice license was history.

But I didn’t do anything wrong.

The librarian knelt next to her chair. Her hair was brushed back in place and her clothes tidied. Riley envied her. The world could end and she’d always look neat. Maybe it was a librarian thing, something they taught them in school.

“Sign this, will you?” the woman said.

Riley expected a lengthy list of damages and how she’d be responsible for paying for them. Instead, it was the requisition for payment of demon removal. The one a trapper signed when the job was done.

“But—” Riley began.

“You caught him,” the librarian said, pointing toward the cup resting on the table. “Besides, I looked at the demon chart. This wasn’t just one of the little guys, was it?”

Riley shook her head and signed the form, though her fingers were numb.

“Good.” The librarian pushed back a strand of Riley’s tangled hair and gave her a tentative smile. “Don’t worry; it’ll be okay.” Then she was gone.

Riley’s mom had said that right before she died. So had her dad after their condo burned to the ground. Adults always acted like they could fix everything.

But they can’t. And they know it.

TWO

Forced to wait outside the library, Denver Beck gave a lengthy sigh as he ran a hand through his short blond hair. His mentor’s kid had just topped the list for Biggest Apprentice Screwup. That upset him not only for the ten kinds of grief she’d get from the Trappers Guild but the fact that that had always been
his
honor. Who’d have thought she could outdo his nightmare capture of a Pyro-Fiend in a rush hour MARTA station? A disaster that had required not only the fire department but a hazmat team.

“But somehow ya did it, girl,” Beck mumbled in his smooth Georgia drawl. He shook his head in dismay. “Damn, there’s gonna be hell to pay for this.”

He rolled his shoulders in a futile effort to relax. He’d been wired ever since Paul phoned him to say that Riley was in trouble. Beck was on the way to the library even before the conversation ended. He owed Paul Blackthorne nothing less.

Barred from entering the library by the cops, he’d cooled his heels and talked to some of the students who’d been inside during the trapping. It’d been easy to get information—he was about the same age as most of them. A few reported they’d seen Riley capture a small demon, but none of them had been clear as to what had happened next.

“Somethin’s not right,” Beck muttered to himself. A Biblio-Fiend could make a damned mess, but that usually didn’t involve emergency personnel.

A pair of college girls walked by, eyeing him. Apparently they liked what they saw. He ran a hand over the stubble on his chin and smiled back, though now was not the time to make plans along that line. At least not until he knew Riley was okay.

“Lookin’ fine,” he called out, which earned him smiles. One of them even winked at him.

Oh, yeah, mighty fine.

A campus cop came within range, the one who’d told him he wasn’t to move. They’d traded words, but Beck had decided not to push the issue. He couldn’t collect Paul’s daughter if he was handcuffed in the back of a patrol car.

“Can I go in now?” Beck called out.

“Not yet,” the cop replied gruffly.

“What about the demon trapper? She okay?”

“Yeah. She’ll be out pretty soon. I can’t imagine why you guys would send a girl after those things.”

The cop wasn’t the only one thinking along those lines.

“It’s not legal if she’s bein’ questioned without a senior trapper there,” Beck warned.

“Yeah, yeah. Your rules, not ours,” the man replied. “Nothing we care about.”

“Not until ya get a demon up yer ass, then yer all over us.”

The cop snorted, hands on his hips. “I just don’t understand why you don’t cap their asses, like those demon hunters do. You guys just look like a bunch of sissies with all your little spheres and plastic cups.”

Beck bridled at the insult. How many times had he tried to explain the difference between a trapper and a hunter? Trapping a demon took skill. The Vatican’s boys didn’t bother; they went for firepower. To the hunters, the only good demon was a dead demon. No talent needed. There were other differences, but pretty much that was the dividing line. The average Joe just didn’t get it.

Beck summed it up. “We got skills. They got weapons. We need talent. They don’t.”

“I don’t know. They look pretty damned good on that television show.”

Beck knew which one the cop was talking about. It was called
Demonland
and was supposedly all about the hunters.

“The show’s got it all wrong. Hunters don’t have any girls on their team. They live like monks and have about as much sense of humor as a junkyard dog.”

“Jealous?” the cop chided.

Was he?
“No way. When I get done with my day’s work, I can go have a beer and pick up a babe. Those guys can’t.”

“You kidding me?”

Beck shook his head. “Nothin’ like that TV show.”

“Damn,” the cop muttered. “Here I thought it was all chicks and flashy cars.”

“Nope. Now ya know why I’m a trapper.”

Beck’s jacket pocket erupted into song: “Georgia on My Mind” floated across the parking lot. That earned him a few stares.

“Paul,” Beck said, not bothering to look at the display. It had to be the girl’s dad.

“What happened?” the man asked, his voice on edge.

Beck gave him a rundown of the situation.

“Let me know the moment’s she out,” Paul insisted.

“Will do. Did ya trap the Pyro?”

“Yeah. I wish I could get away, but I have to finish up here.”

“No sweat. I’ll keep an eye on things for ya.”

“Thanks, Den.”

Beck flipped the phone shut and jammed it in his jacket pocket. He’d heard the worry in his friend’s voice. Paul was fanatic about keeping his apprentices safe, and even more so when it came to his daughter. It’s why he’d slowed her training to a snail’s pace, hoping she’d change her mind and pick a safer profession. Like walking the high wire for a living.

Not gonna work
. He’d told Paul that countless times, but he wouldn’t listen. Riley would be a trapper whether her father approved or not. She had that same stubborn streak as her mother.

Beck’s attention moved to the news crew positioned near the building’s entrance. He knew the lead reporter, George something or other. He’d covered Beck’s catastrophe. The media loved anything to do with demon trapping as long as it went wrong. A quiet catch in an alley would never land on tape. A Hellfiend going berserk in a train station or a law library and they were all over it.

A lone figure appeared out of the milling crowd. It took Beck a moment to recognize her. Riley clutched her messenger bag to her side with whitened knuckles like it held the Crown Jewels. Her chestnut brown hair was a mass of tangles, and she walked with a slight limp. Even covered by her jean jacket he could see she’d filled out in places that would make boys dream of her at night. She seemed taller now, maybe five inches or so shorter than his six feet. Not so much a kid anymore. More like a young woman.

Damn girl, yer gonna break hearts.

When the newshound headed for her Beck went on alert, wondering if he would need to run interference. Riley shook her head at the reporter, pushed the microphone out of her face, and kept walking.

Smart girl.

He could tell the moment she spied him: Her expression went stony. No surprise there. When she was fifteen she’d gotten a huge crush on him even though he was five years older than her. He’d just begun his apprenticeship with her dad, so he’d done the smart thing: He’d avoided the kid, hoping she’d latch on to someone else. She had, but that story didn’t have a happy ending. Riley got over her puppy love but not the hurt feelings. It didn’t help that he spent more time with her father than she did.

He flipped open his phone and called Paul. “She’s okay.”