† ~ ‡ ~ †

  Jackson had taken her place 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 caught her notice—a letter from the landlord, no doubt reminding her that her rent was increasing.

  After she let herself into the apartment, clicking on the light revealed 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 still held memories of her dead father, though even those were fading with each passing day. Like when she’d dropped one of his favorite 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 onto the kitchen table. After making herself a cup of hot chocolate and finding there was only one carton of yogurt 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.

  EVICTION NOTICE

  There had to be a mistake. She’d paid the rent on time. Further reading proved the notice had nothing to do with the rent payment but complaints that Riley was disturbing her neighbors because of her profession. That she was keeping demons in her apartment and her neighbors 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 fiend that lived in her place wasn’t the I’m going to eat you kind, but the stealthy variety that stole other people’s shiny stuff. Sure, her father had stored Grade One Hellspawn in the apartment, but that had been with the management’s approval.

  Who had complained? It certainly wouldn’t be Mrs. Litinsky, her next-door neighbor. 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 demonic roomie had a thing for bling. The fact her name had been in the media nonstop certainly hadn’t helped the situation.

  She groped for her cell phone, 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.”

  Seven days from now 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 the bedroom to begin 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.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  As usual, Riley found Master Stewart 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 chose 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 neighbors 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 her 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?” That would be cool. “I’d like that.”

  “I’ll pull 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 verra 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. “Good night, sir.”

  “Good night, 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 toward 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.”

  Riley was embarrassed to admit she didn’t really know that much about the man who’d taken her in. It was time to fix that. “He has some kids, right?” She knew that much from the pictures in his office.

  “Three sons and a daughter. Anthony, the eldest, is a trapper. The others have picked less dangerous professions.”

  They entered a large and airy room, the wood floor creaking under their feet. It was a feminine space with eye-catching floral wallpaper and a high ceiling with ornate cornices. The double doors in the far wall beckoned to her. When Mrs. Ayers swung them open, they revealed a broad, circular room. The turret. It was at least twenty feet in diameter and studded with windows.

  “This is amazing,” Riley said, walking along the wall, checking out the view of the city in the distance. “It’s so big.”

  “You can have your bedroom in here or in the other room, whichever feels best to you.”

  Riley scrutinized the layout. “No, I want this to be like a living room. It’s so bright.” She could put her “desk” in front of one of the windows and watch the world go by as she did her homework.

  “Then that’s the way it’ll be,” the housekeeper replied. “There’s a bath down the hall and you’ll not be sharing it with anyone.”

  Riley was still in wow mode. “This is really going to work, isn’t it?” she said in wonder. “I was so mad about being evicted and now . . . ”

  “Sometimes we just need a shove to send us into a new direction,” the woman advised. “I’ll come up this afternoon and give it a good cleaning. You can move in any time after that.”

  “Thanks. I can’t wait.” Oh yeah, this is perfect.

  Maybe Master Stewart was right and things were really going to get better.

  † ~ ‡ ~ †

  Beck’s day had flown by, though in truth he knew he was stalling big time. He’d taken a trip to the bank, spent some quality time with his friend, Ike, at the homeless shelter, and then dropped by to check in with Stewart. He knew he had to see Riley eventually, and the longer he put it off, the angrier she’d be. She wasn’t the kind who’d cut him much slack.

  It was after six in the evening when he paused at the bottom of the stairs to her apartment, gathering his courage. Stewart had warned him that Riley’s temper was shorter than usual, and that it wasn’t just because she had to move.

  “Tread carefully, lad,” Stewart had cautioned him. “Ya should have called her the moment ya got home. Now ya have ta pay for that mistake. Tell her where yer heart lies. That’s yer only chance.”

  With a long sigh, he headed up those stairs, the ones that would always remind him of the night Paul had died. At least, once Riley moved he’d never have to take this journey again. Then he paused in front of her door as her words still echoed in his mind:

  “‘I love you, Denver Beck. I’ve loved you for a long time.’”

  He’d been shocked, though he shouldn’t have been. Riley had been showing her love in so many ways, only he’d been denying it.

  “All or nothin’,” he murmured. Beck rapped on the door, his throat suddenly dry and his heart pounding. “Please, God, don’t let me screw this up.”

  The door opened only as far as the security chain. Riley studied him soberly, her eyes puffy from crying.

  “Hi there. Thought ya . . . you might need some help.”

  When she didn’t let him in, his worry escalated.

  “Sorry I didn’t call. I just got a new phone today—Donovan’s still got my old one for evidence—and, well . . . I’m here now,” he said not willing to go much further into the groveling department.

  “You didn’t need a phone to talk to me last night. You were at the shoot.”

  Damn. She’d seen him. “Didn’t look like a good time. Besides, you handled the trappin’ really well. You dropped that demon like a pro.”

  “That’s no excuse.”

  He couldn’t back down now. “I came to help you. And I’ve apologized. So where do we go from here?”

  Riley mumbled something under her breath and when she pushed the door closed, he’d thought he’d lost everything. Then she unfastened the chain and let him into household chaos. Boxes sat everywhere, some full, most empty. There was an open space in the middle of the living room with belongings piled all around it where she’d been sorting her possessions.

  “Sorry yer havin’ to move,” he said, growing more uncomfortable.

  Riley turned toward him, eyes glinting. “It’s so hard. I thought I could just weed through this stuff really quick, but everything has a memory attached to it.” She picked up a picture frame adorned with orange kittens from off the couch. “Like this. My dad and I bought it at one of those dollar stores. It was so silly we thought it was perfect. Now it’s . . . ”

  “Goin’ with you. Take what you want to keep. Start over. Paul and yer momma would understand.”

  She peered up at him solemnly. “I can take the small stuff, but things like my mom’s favorite pie pan and roaster, what do I do with those?”

  “Pack them and give them to me and I’ll store them in my garage. I’ve got plenty of room now that Harper’s salvaged metal is out of there.”

  When her face brightened, he knew he’d said exactly the right thing.

  “You sure?” Riley asked.

  “Totally sure. Maybe someday you’ll make me some of yer mamma’s roast beef and her awesome peach pie.”

  Their eyes met and her cheeks tinted crimson. “If you’re going to tell me I was being all goofy at the bus station, just say it and then . . . get out.”

  She thought he was going to tear into her again, like he had in the past.

  “I heard a pretty girl tell me exactly what she thought. I didn’t see anyone bein’ goofy, did you?” he replied.

  “Oh, I thought . . . ” She fidgeted with the picture frame.

  Knowing it was best not to push any further, he slipped off his jacket. “Tell me what to do, ma’am. I am yer slave.”

  Her instant grin told him she really liked that idea.

  † ~ ‡ ~ †

  As Riley sorted through her father’s books she could hear Beck packing up the kitchen. She’d pulled out a few things she wanted to keep, then turned him loose and he was moving right along, having emptied the upper cupboard. Now he was digging around under the sink while complaining about just how many half-full boxes of laundry detergent he’d found.

  His grumbling made her smile. If things had played out differently in the swamp she might have never heard that again.

  Exactly where they stood was unknown. He hadn’t shown up at her door, swept her off her feet, and made passionate love to her amongst the packing boxes. Neither had he told her to back off. They resided somewhere between those two extremes.

  A few minutes later the microwave dinged and then he joined her, two cups of hot chocolate in hand.

  “Figured you needed a break.”

  She took the cup and they retired to the couch. “How’s the leg?”

  “Sore,” he replied. “The demon wound is all healed. The top of the foot is the problem. My boot rubs on it.”

  “You could wear tennis shoes until it healed.”

  “Nope. Not my style.”

  “Your pain.” She tapped a stack of papers on the arm of the couch. “These are the newspaper articles about you and the Keneally brothers. I kept them in case you wanted me to read them to you.”

  “Thanks, I would,” he replied. “Donovan called this afternoon—the crime scene people found two partial skeletons. He figures critters made away with the rest. They’ll do DNA tests, but from the size of the bones and the bits of clothing they found, it’s Nate and Brad.”

  “It could have been you out there,” she said, softer now.

  “Yeah, I keep thinkin’ about that. But it turned out okay. McGovern took a plea bargain and Cole’s goin’ down too. He’ll never get to buy you that ice cream he kept promisin’.”

  “I’m crushed,” she said.

  Now comes the hard part. It took a bit of unearthing and then she handed a bank envelope to her guest.

  He peered inside at the stack of bills. “What’s this for?”

  “It’s all the money you loaned me. I’m paying you back. Thanks for helping me out when it counted.”

  “Riley, I—” he began.

  “You didn’t trap for a week and you have your mom’s funeral to pay for. I want to do this, okay? It’s important to me.”

  “You gonna give me loads of grief if I don’t accept this?” he asked.

  “Count on it.”

  With a nod he tucked the envelope away. “Thank you. Glad I could help out.”

  He went for it? She’d expected a major hassle.

  Beck took a wary sip of his beverage. “What’s up with you?” she said, pointing at his drink. “You don’t like chocolate.”

  “No, but I like the company, so I’m willin’ to suffer a little,” he replied, a twinkle in his eyes.

  “Huh?” That hadn’t made much sense.

  “I’m hangin’ with my favorite gal. My granddaddy would have called this . . . courtin’.”

  Courtin’?

  Before she had time to process that, he continued. “You doin’ anythin’ Saturday night?”

  “Ah, no.” She certainly wouldn’t be going to the prom, that was for sure.

  “I thought we could do somethin’ together.”

  “Let me guess—trap demons,” she said.

  “No, that wasn’t what I had in mind. I figured we’d act like normal folks for a change.”

  “And do what?” she asked suspiciously.

  He tugged his jacket off the end of the couch and retrieved a flyer from a pocket. “I can’t read all of this, but I think I got most of it.” He handed it over.

  Probably some country music concert.

  Riley unfolded the paper and read the top line, then her eyes stalled in surprise. There had to be some mistake. She looked up. “You want us to go to the prom together?”

  “Yeah. That’s what normal folks do.”

  If her brain had been a computer, it would have just gone to blue screen. Overwhelmed, she hastily pushed the reset button and it whirred back to life.

  “But this is, I mean . . . we’d have to dress up. No jeans, you know? We’re talking a suit for you and really nice dress for me.”

  “I know,” he said patiently. “We could make an evenin’ of it. Go out to dinner somewhere special and then to the dance.”

  He’s asking me out on a date?

  “Ah, ah.” Ohmifreakingod. He asked me to the prom.

  “I know it’s short notice and all, but I think it’d be fun,” he said, still pitching. “I’d get to see you all dressed up. That’d be real fine.”

  Why is he doing this? Does it matter? Don’t be an idiot.

  “Ah, sure, yes.” Yes! Yes!

  His smile told her he was very pleased. “Good!”