Forsaken (41 page)

“How do I know you’re not one of
them
?” Riley asked.

Martha spread her hands. “We’re on hallowed ground.”

“Didn’t help last night,” Riley retorted. “We were behind a holy ward and inside a building that used to be a church.”

That got her a pensive frown. “The bottle of Holy Water in your bag—pull it out.” The angel cupped her hands. “Pour some for me.”

How did you know I had that?

Riley’s own hands were shaking as she did the honors. She waited for the screech, the sprouting of horns, the flick of a barbed tail. Instead, the liquid pooled in Martha’s hands and started to glow greenish gold. Then it vaporized into a mist and spread throughout the room.

“Wow,” Riley said, watching it float on invisible air currents.

“I love doing that,” Martha admitted. “Now take a deep breath and tell me what it reminds you of.”

Riley inhaled. “Summer, at the beach. I can smell the saltwater and fresh watermelon.”

Martha sighed. “I can’t smell a thing. You mortals are so lucky.”

Riley screwed the cap on the Holy Water and dropped it back in her bag. This was God’s representative. If she couldn’t complain in person, the angel would do just fine.

She drew in a tight breath. “Who took my dad?”

A shake of the head. “Next question.”

“How did the demons get inside the ward?”

“Evil neutralizes Holy Water. Too much evil and…” The angel spread her hands.

That only made Riley more upset. “Why did your boss let all those people die? We’re on your side, or don’t you guys get that?”

“Everything has a reason. You have to trust His divine will.”

“Trust?” Riley shouted, her voice echoing in the small room. At this point she didn’t care if she was turned into a pillar of salt or whatever. “That might work for you, but it’s been an epic fail for me. I prayed for my mom. She died. I prayed that my dad wouldn’t get hurt. He did anyway. Now Simon’s … Now he’s…” She sank into the pew, palm clamped over her mouth, tears bursting from her eyes. The shaking started again, making her muscles lock up.

“You really care for him, don’t you?” Martha asked softly.

Riley nodded. She found a piece of tissue in her pocket and blew her nose. “He’s … I think I…”
I think I’m falling love in with him.

“So you are,” Martha replied. “We’ll ensure your young man recovers from his injuries, provided you agree to help us.”

Riley blinked in confusion. “I’m already helping. Trapper, remember?” she said, pointing at her chest.

“We’ll need more than that. When the time comes you must do something for us, no questions asked.”

That didn’t sound good.

“Why do I need to make a deal with you? Why don’t you just help him? He’s your kind of guy. He follows all the rules.”

The angel didn’t reply, which only gave Riley time to feel totally selfish. Why would it matter what they wanted as long as Simon was alive? But what if this was a trick and they didn’t make him better?

Martha looked upward toward the ceiling and then gave a quick nod like she’d received further instructions from an unseen superior. She dropped something on the pew next to Riley.

It was a tract, one of those “THE END IS NEAR!” ones that you find under your windshield wiper at the shopping mall. After last night’s horror the crude illustrations of collapsing buildings, earthquakes, and billowing flames hit too close to home for Riley’s comfort.

With a snort of derision, she pushed it aside. “This is total crap. They’ve been saying that for years.”

“Ever since the beginning,” Martha replied gravely.

“So what does this have to do with me?” Riley demanded.

The angel stood, fussing with her cuffs. “Because if you accept our offer, you’re the one who’s going to stop it.”

“Me?” Riley sputtered. “Are you kidding?”

“No.”

“Hello? I’m seventeen. I haven’t even gotten out of high school yet, and you think I’m going to stop the end of the world? What
are
you people smoking?”

The angel raised one silver eyebrow. “Joan of Arc was your age when she led the French into battle.”

“Wait, don’t tell me. I know how this story ends. Roasted martyr. Yeah, that’s my dream job.”

“It’s your choice,” Martha said. The angel vanished leaving Riley in a room that smelled like watermelons and with the fate of the world hanging over her head.

Let Simon die or owe Heaven big-time?

“That’s no choice!” Riley called out.

There was no reply but the sound of the furnace kicking in. No chorus of angels or hisses of demons. Only hot air blowing in her face.

Riley started to laugh. It had a hysterical edge to it. “You’re just messing with my head.”

Any moment now Martha would return, admit that it’d been a big joke.

When that didn’t happen, Riley retraced her steps to the elevator and stared at the buttons. Up or Down. Simon lives. Simon dies.

She remembered his calm presence at her dad’s funeral, him kidding her about her ankles, them sharing their dreams. She’d fallen for him, and there was no way to deny that.

My choice.

“Okay, you got a deal,” she said, not sure if anyone heard her. “Do whatever it is you do.”

She waited, but nothing happened. Maybe it took a while. Maybe it was a test and they’d let him die anyway.

The elevator doors opened and she got on. Right before the doors closed, Amy joined her. They shared sad smiles.

“I need to get some sleep,” the girl said. She patted her tummy. “Growing a baby makes me tired.”

A child her brother might never see.

As they walked out of the hospital along the sidewalk toward the parking garage, music filled the air. Amy dug in her voluminous suede purse and retrieved a cell phone.

“This is Amy. What? What do you mean?”

And then she shrieked and took off at a run back toward the hospital.

Good news? Bad news?
It could be either one. Amy’s shriek hadn’t been very specific.

“Hey! What happened?” Riley called out.

She didn’t get a reply.

Simon’s sister made it to the bank of elevators faster than Riley, pregnancy not hampering her speed as much as a demon-clawed leg. The doors closed before Riley reached them.

“Damn!” She bounced back and forth from foot to foot. “Come on,” she grumbled as she kept punching the button. No elevator.

An older woman watched her and delivered a matronly shake of the head.

“You young kids are just so impatient nowadays.”

Riley punched the button three more times to further demonstrate her youthful impatience. By the time the next elevator arrived she was about to brave the stairs, leg cramp or not.

Pushing through the double doors into the ICU, she found the area in front of Simon’s room crowded with family. There was lots of crying and hugging going on.

When she drew closer, they cleared a way for her.

“That’s his girlfriend,” one of them whispered to another.

As she stepped inside the room, the first thing she heard was Amy’s sobs. There was no mechanical whoosh. The ventilator was off.

Riley closed her eyes, feeling the shakes coming again. She’d given Heaven her word. Had they’d failed her? Like always?

“Riley, look!” Amy exclaimed. “He’s awake! He’s breathing on his own.”

Riley whipped open her eyes, desperately wanting to believe it was true.

The breathing tube was gone, and the nurse was carefully positioning an oxygen cannula in his nose.

“Simon?” Riley said, putting all her prayers into the one word.

Her boyfriend’s bloodshot blue eyes slowly opened, and a croak came from his lips. Then he saw her at the end of the bed. “Ri … ley,” he whispered.

Joy burst through her like a lightning bolt. Simon was alive and had a working brain, or he wouldn’t know who she was.

“They did it,” she said. “Omigod, they did it!” She sucked in the pungent, unforgettable scent of watermelons. The Angel Martha had been here and pulled off a miracle.

As Riley shared a celebratory hug with Amy, the truth hit her.

Her boyfriend was going to live.

Heaven had kept their part of the bargain.

Which means I’m on the hook for the rest.

Turn the page for a sneak peek at the next thrilling Demon Trappers novel coming in Fall 2011 from St. Martin’s Griffin!

Copyright © 2011 by Jana Oliver

ONE

2018

Atlanta, Georgia

Inside the Grounds Zero Coffee Shop was the most amazing hot chocolate in Atlanta, maybe even the whole world. It appeared Riley Blackthorne would have to wade through Armageddon to get it.

“The End is near!” a man called out to the passersby. He stood near the entrance holding a homemade cardboard sign that proclaimed the same thing. Instead of having a scraggly beard and wearing a black robe like some Biblical prophet, he was wearing chinos and a red shirt.

“You’ve got to prepare, missy,” he said, and shoved a pamphlet toward Riley with considerable zeal. The tract looked remarkably like the one she had in her pocket. Like the one the angel had given her right before she’d agreed to work for Heaven to save her boyfriend’s life.

“The End is near!” the man shouted again.

“Is there still time for hot chocolate?” Riley asked.

The End Times guy blinked. “Ah, maybe, I don’t know.”

“Oh, good,” she said. “I’d hate to take on Hell without fueling up.”

That earned her a confused frown. Rather than explain, she jammed the pamphlet into her jacket pocket and pushed open the door to the coffee shop. The man went back to exhorting passersby to prepare for the worst.

The Grounds Zero didn’t look any different from the last time she’d been here. The smell of roasted beans hung in the air like a heady perfume and the espresso machine growled low and deep. Customers tapped on laptops as they enjoyed expensive coffee and talked about whatever was important in their lives. Just like every day. Except …

Everything is weird now.

Even buying hot chocolate. That used to be easy: Place order, pay for order, receive hot beverage. No hassles. No worries about hordes of demons or the end of civilization.

That didn’t appear to be the case now.

The barista kept staring at her, even as he was making the drink, which wasn’t a good thing as he nearly scalded himself. Maybe it was the multiple burn holes in her denim jacket, or the ragged slice down one shoulder that revealed the T-shirt underneath. Or the fact that her long brown hair had a frizzled, been-too-close-to-a flame look, despite two shampoo sessions and a lot of conditioner. At least she’d changed her jeans, or the guy would be staring at all the dried blood. Blood that wasn’t hers.

“I saw you on TV. You’re one of them, aren’t you?” he asked in a shaky voice, brown eyes so wide they seemed to take up most of his face.

On TV?
Riley had no choice but to own up.

“Yeah, I’m a trapper.”
One of the few lucky enough to survive last night’s slaughter.

The guy dropped the ceramic cup on the counter, sloshing some of the brown goodness over the side and onto the saucer.

“Whipped cream?” she asked, frowning now. Even if the world was ending, hot chocolate had to have that glorious white stuff on top, or what was the point? He reluctantly added some, keeping his eyes on her rather than the cup. Some of it actually went inside. “Chocolate shavings?” she nudged.

“Ah … we’re out,” he said, backing away like Riley had horns coming out of her skull.

Which I don’t.
She would have noticed them in the bathroom mirror after showering away all the smoke and blood.

It’s just one creepo guy. No big.

But it wasn’t just him. Other customers stared at Riley as she made her way to an empty booth. One by one they looked up at the television screen high on the wall, then back to her, comparing images.

Ah, crap.

There, courtesy of CNN, was last night’s disaster in glorious color: flames pouring out of the roof of the Tabernacle as demons ran everywhere. And there she was, illuminated by the raging fire, kneeling on the pavement near her injured boyfriend. She was crying, holding Simon in her arms. It was the moment she knew that he was dying.

Oh, God. I can’t handle this.

The saucer in Riley’s hand began to quake, dislodging more of the hot chocolate. It’d been bad enough to live through that horror, but now it was all over the television in full and unflinching detail.

She paused near a booth as a picture of Simon appeared on the screen. It must have been his high-school graduation photo since his white-blond hair was shorter and his expression stone serious. He was usually that way, except when they were hanging together, then he’d let his guard down, especially when they were kissing.

Riley closed her eyes, recalling the time they’d spent together before the meeting. They’d talked of things close to their hearts and he’d admitted how much he cared for her. Then a demon had tried to kill him.

Riley sank into the booth and inhaled the rich scent of the hot chocolate, using it as a means to push the bad memories away. The effort failed, though it never had in the past. Instead, her mind dutifully conjured up the image of her boyfriend in his hospital bed, tubes everywhere, his face as white as the sheets.

Simon meant so much to her. He’d been a quiet, comforting presence after her father’s death. Losing him so soon after her dad was unthinkable. And Heaven had known that. What else could she do but agree to their terms: Simon’s life in trade for Riley owing Heaven a favor. A really
big
favor. Like stopping Armageddon in its tracks.

“Why me?” Riley muttered. “Why not someone else? Why not Simon?”

He was religious, followed all the rules. He’d be the perfect guy to keep the world from ending.

Instead they chose me.

A chime erupted from her messenger bag. The moment she’d sent a message to one of her classmates saying she was alive, it seemed like most of Atlanta had responded. Even technology called up bad memories. The cell phone was her dad’s and it’d been with him the night he’d been killed by a Grade Five demon, a Geo-Fiend as the Trappers called them. Now the phone was hers. Every time she held it she thought of him.