The Demon Trappers: Foretold (14 page)

Riley pushed open the front door and then paused to get her bearings. The moment she crossed the threshold into the sheriff’s office the aroma of fresh coffee teased her nose. It reminded
her of the old Starbucks where she attended school.

‘Hello?’ No reply. Since there wasn’t anyone in sight, she moved to the closest desk, put her pack down and plopped into a chair. Clearly the city wasn’t a hotbed of
criminal activity. About a minute later a deputy wandered out from the back of the building, coffee cup in hand. He was young and had a suntanned face. His name tag proclaimed he was Steve Newman
and he’d been a cop for the last three years.

‘Morning,’ he said. ‘Can I help you?’

‘Hi, is Sheriff Donovan here?’

‘No. He’ll be back later today. What can I do for you?’

At least this guy is nice.
‘I’m looking for Denver Beck. He’s missing.’

‘Are you the young lady who called the dispatcher?’

‘Yes. Would you have any idea where he might be?’

‘No, I don’t,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘Deputy Martin said you were worried about him not coming back to the motel. Tell me what’s going on.’

That sounded good so Riley laid it all out, point by point. At least this time the cop took notes.

‘What makes you so sure he’s in trouble?’ the young man asked.

‘Beck left his wallet behind and he never goes anywhere without his trapping bag. That’s one of the first things we’re taught – carry Holy Water at all times or
you’re demon food. He left it in his motel room, along with the steel pipe he uses for protection.’

The deputy blinked. ‘You’re a trapper too?’

Riley nodded.

Newman took another sip from his mug – it had a picture of a collie on it. ‘I heard his mother died yesterday. Maybe he wasn’t thinking clearly.’

She picked at a fingernail in nervous frustration. ‘Beck was upset, but we talked it out. Look, I know him. He wouldn’t leave me on my own. He’s like a . . . big brother.
He’s always worrying about me and he was really spooked that something might happen while I was down here with him.’

The deputy nodded in understanding. ‘Truth is, I can’t file a missing person’s report on an adult until twenty-four hours have passed.’ At her protest, he added,
‘But I’ll put the word out. Give me a description of his truck. Someone must have seen him.’

She gave him the information, along with her cellphone number.

The cop finished his notes. Looking up, he issued a reassuring smile. ‘The sheriff is due back in town in a couple of hours and I’ll make sure he knows about this. Maybe by then Beck
will have shown up.’

If he does, he better have one amazing excuse or he’s a dead man.

‘Do you need a ride back to the motel?’

‘No, I’m headed for the diner.’ She rose from the chair. ‘Thanks. I really appreciate it.’

‘We’ll see if we can find him.’

That’s all I want.

Dawn brought a raging thirst and the realization that this wasn’t a bad dream. By now Riley would be freaking since she knew him well enough to realize something was
wrong. He knew she’d be smart: she’d call Donovan and Stewart for help and between them they’d figure out what had happened to him. Riley would be OK. If anything, he needed to
worry about himself.

It’d been a rough night, especially since he was the main course for the voracious red bugs that lived in the Spanish moss. Northerners called the things
chiggers
and they’d
found he was a great feast. The old swampers would use smoke to kill them, but Beck was a few matches short for that. Soon those bites would start to itch, but it was that or hypothermia.

When Beck rolled over, his bladder kicked in so the first order of business was to manoeuvre the chain round the back side of the tree and take care of that problem. Then he returned to his
original position to survey his surroundings.

In most people’s minds, a swamp was one big watery mud hole, but that wasn’t the case with Okefenokee, which offered a variety of terrains. Donovan had shown him every one: the
prairies, hammocks, cypress bays, lakes and bogs. As swamps went, this was a big one, over four hundred thousand acres, opened to the world by a series of man-made canals. It was teaming with
wildlife and included remote sections that rarely saw a human.

This time of year was a mixed blessing: There were fewer tourists floating up and down on the tour boats so Beck’s chance of being discovered was reduced. On the other side of the coin,
the colder weather worked in his favour when it came to the gators: They weren’t as active. Or as hungry.

Plenty of other things that can kill me.

There’d been no sign of whoever had stolen him away from McGovern, and though it really was tempting to panic, he fell back on his survival training. He began by excavating a hole to about
a foot or so deep using a stout branch. Since the swamp was pretty much just floating ground, the hole would fill with water and he’d need something to drink soon enough.

Once that was done and he’d wiped his muddy hands on his jeans, he began to examine the links of metal that held him prisoner. The chain was old and rusty and looped through a large ring.
The ring itself was corroded and had a half-inch break in it, though not big enough for him to force a link through to gain his freedom. The gap gave him hope. If he could work on that weakness,
maybe he could break free. He’d still have the chain attached to his leg, but at least he could travel.

‘I’d kill for my steel pipe,’ he muttered.

The hairs on the back of his neck rose. Something was watching him. He swept his eyes over the landscape, looking for the threat and found two red eyes peering at him from around a tree.

Demon.

‘Trapperrr . . .’ the fiend hissed as it stepped out into the open. It was short, about three and a half feet tall, totally hairless with glitteringly sharp teeth and wicked talons.
The locals called them swamp devils and they weren’t like the fiends in the city: Hellspawn were good at adapting to their surroundings.

It’s not a Grade Three.
Those were hairy and didn’t have much of a brain except when it came to food. A Pyro-Fiend was considerably smaller and this one didn’t seem to
have an obsession with flames.

‘What kind of demon are you?’ he murmured to himself.

The creature hunched down in a crouch, observing him. ‘The kind that always wins,’ it said.

He knew in an instant. ‘Yer a Four, one of the Mezmers.’ The fact that it spoke decent English told him it was an older Hypno-Fiend, but not as powerful as some he’d met.
Still, it had been strong enough to put him to sleep and haul him away like a bag of Halloween candy.

Instead of sifting through his brain and making him do its will, this one would have to worry on him like a dog on a bone. If he became desperate enough, hungry enough to make a deal, it’d
claim his soul. In the meanwhile Beck was just food tied to a tree for any predator.

‘You do not want to tangle with me right now,’ he declared.

The fiend’s strange barking laugh echoed around them, telling Beck how much it considered him a threat.

‘You put McGovern up to this?’ he demanded. He could think of no other reason for the undertaker’s bizarre behaviour.

‘No. I do not know of that mortal.’ The demon rested its elbows on its knees and it appeared as if it had nothing else to occupy it for the remainder of the day. Or the next month,
for that matter. It gestured towards the chain. ‘Your freedom for your soul.’

‘No deal.’

It scratched behind an ear in thought. ‘Blackthorne’s daughter will not come for you.’

‘Of course she will,’ Beck retorted. That was a given.

‘No. The Fallen lives and has claimed her as his own. She will do whatever he says. She has no need of you, trapper.’

‘Yer lyin’.’
God, I hope you are.

‘You will die here,’ the demon replied.

‘Might happen. Might not. No way I’m going to Hell.’

The fiend tried on a friendly smile, the effect ruined by its pointed teeth.

‘Time will tell, Denver Beck,’ it said, then slunk off into the bushes.

Riley’s stomach was rumbling by the time she approached diner. It seemed traitorous to be hungry, what with Beck missing, but she knew she had to eat. As she paused to
open the door to the restaurant, someone caught her arm. It was an older woman with bright white hair and twinkling eyes and she wore some strange symbol round her neck.

‘He wants you to find him,’ the woman said. She boldly took hold of Riley’s hand and pressed something into the palm. Something cold. ‘This will help you,’ she
said, smiling.

Spooked by the lack of personal space, Riley backed off, then stared first at the woman, then the object in her palm.

‘It’s a . . . rock.’ A green, flat and polished one, but a rock nonetheless.

‘It’s a seeker stone. It’ll help you find him. Just don’t give up. If you do, he’s lost.’

‘Are you one of the wise women?’

There was a quick nod and before Riley could ask just how a small rock was going to be of any use the woman hurried away.

Shrugging, Riley tucked it away in her backpack, figuring it couldn’t hurt.

The diner was bustling so she had to wait for a couple to leave one of the booths before she had a place to sit. The waitress wasn’t the same from the day before, closer to Beck’s
age and frowning even before Riley took her seat.

Probably one of his hookups.

‘What do you want?’ the girl asked, clearly in a hurry to be somewhere else.

‘Tea, please.’ Riley opened the menu and gave it a quick glance. ‘And the eggs-and-bacon special with wheat toast.’

Her breakfast was uneventful as long as she ignored the whispering and the naked stares. This wasn’t fair – she’d figured she’d be anonymous down here, not like in
Atlanta after all the demon business. Now she was Denny’s
whatever
and everyone wanted to check her out.

As she was finishing off her tea, wondering how to question the dinosaurs at the old guys’ table, Cole entered the diner and headed straight for her.

How did he know I was here?
It wasn’t like Beck’s truck was parked out front.

Without asking if he could join her, he slid into the booth across from her.

‘I hear Denny’s gone,’ he said. ‘Is he back in Atlanta?’

‘Not likely.’

Cole flagged down the waitress and ordered a cup of coffee. The girl seemed to like him, so she was all smiles. Riley even scored a refill on her tea with minimal hassle.

‘Lots of rumours flying around,’ Cole said. ‘What I’m hearing is that you two were knocking boots, then Denny decided he couldn’t deal and left you behind. Stuck
you with burying his mother and paying the funeral bills.’

Riley rolled her eyes. ‘Whoever is saying that doesn’t know Beck.’
Or me.

‘I doubt he’s changed much. He always was unreliable.’

Before she could get in his face, Cole’s phone rang and he pulled it from a jacket pocket.

‘Yeah?’ A long pause. ‘Sure, I can do that.’ Cole’s eyes shifted to Riley and a cunning smile appeared. ‘I’ll be there in an hour.’ The smile grew
wider as he hung up.

‘Why are you here, Cole?’

‘Wanted to help you find Denny.’

Liar.
‘Not buying that.’

‘It’s the truth.’ He ramped up his bad-boy smile and it gave Riley the creeps.

‘Shut it down,’ she said. ‘I know what you did to Beck and his girlfriend so you have no traction with me.’

‘I see,’ he said, momentarily off his game. ‘Damn. Here I thought I had a shot at you. Looks like I’ll have to work for this: how about if I find Denny for you, then you
take me to dinner to celebrate?’

‘Oh, God, listen to you,’ a voice said. ‘Don’t you ever give up?’

The newcomer was about Riley’s age, dressed in faded jeans, a long forest-green T-shirt with a heavy navy vest layered over the top. Her blonde hair had wide streaks of white and was blunt
cut at her chin, a little longer on the right than on the left. A single ruby stud adorned her nose.

Her brown eyes bored into Cole with naked disgust.

‘Sammie,’ Cole said, looking up at her. ‘Get kicked out of school again?’

‘You’re such a dickhead, Hadley,’ the girl replied. Her attention went to Riley. ‘The name is Samantha, but you can call me Sam. Uncle Donovan said to let you know
he’s looking for Beck.’

Riley sagged in relief. If the sheriff was on the case, then they had a chance.

‘Have a seat,’ Cole said, offering a small space next to him.

‘No way. Hit the road, jerk,’ Sam replied, angling her thumb towards the exit.

‘No wonder you don’t have a boyfriend,’ Cole said, grinning. He downed the last of his coffee, dropped some cash on the table to pay for his drink, then rose and delivered a
mock bow. As Sam took his place, she flipped him off.

‘Let me know if I can be of any help, Riley,’ he said, and then headed for the front door, humming to himself.

Sam clunked her cellphone on the table. It was one of the expensive smart phones, the kind that wouldn’t survive a week in a trapper’s life.

She pushed Cole’s coffee cup out of her way as if it was toxic. ‘He’s such a loser. He even tried to get my mom horizontal. Can you believe that?’

‘You live here in Sadlersville?’ Riley asked, figuring that might be a safer topic.

A shake of the head. ‘Tampa.’ That explained her deep tan. ‘I’m . . . here on spring break.’

In February?
Riley let it pass. She put money on the table to cover her meal, plus a tip.

‘You have wheels? I really could stand a ride.’ Sam nodded immediately. ‘I want to talk to one of Beck’s exes. Her name is Louisa . . . Deming. You know her?’

‘No, but I know someone who will.’

As Sam made a phone call to check with her source, Riley walked up to the long table of retired folks.

‘Hi, guys.’ There were a few mumbles in her direction. ‘Denver Beck went missing last night. You know anything that can help me find him?’

Looks were traded down the table.

An older man with a bushy grey moustache squinted up at her. ‘Saw his truck last night on Main Street. Probably about nine thirty or so.’