The actual office wasn’t fancy, just as you’d expect for a trapper, though the walls did appear to have received a coat of pale beige paint recently. There were a pair of bulletin boards which held the National Guild notices every trapping office was required to display, as well as the state and federal notices. Katia always thought that bunching them together made them easier to ignore.

  The floor was dark-brown linoleum, shiny in places. There were only two desks, both of which had seen some use, and in the corner were filing cabinets and a cheap metal table with a computer, monitor and printer, just like any other office. On the back wall was a door that led to a kitchen, and in the opposite corner, one that led to a restroom.

  Master Harper sat behind the larger desk, and he was not what she’d expected. Probably in his mid or late fifties with short hair and a thick white scar on the left side of his face that immediately drew attention.

  “Getting a good look at it?” he asked, his eyes riveted on hers.

  Before Katia could stop herself, she’d undone the button on her left cuff and pushed up the sleeve. The telltale ribbon of scars scored up her arm like some intricate tribal tattoo.

  “Ouch,” Riley said, grimacing.

  “Matching set on the other side?” Harper asked. Katia nodded. “Then you know how damned bad this job can be.” He set down his pen. “Blackthorne says you’ve been turfed here from Kansas. Tell me why.”

  As she opened her mouth, he waved her off. “Not the official bullshit. Tell me what really happened.”

  She sent Riley a panicked look.

  “Lay it all out,” the master replied. “Now’s the time.”

  Closing her eyes, Katia took a deep breath and when she reopened them, she found Harper watching her intently.

  “Can I sit down?” she asked, her knees beginning to shake. What if he thought she wasn’t worth the hassle? What if he kicked her out of the Guild? Where would she go?

  “You can stand on your head for all I care, just talk.”

  “Here,” Riley said, dragging a chair over for her. Katia sank into it. To her surprise, the master brought another over and sat nearby, as if to lend her support.

  So many words not to say.

  “My brother was attacked by a demon. He and his buddies thought it’d be great to call one up; to see what happened. It actually worked.”

  The two masters traded looks.

  “Go on,” Harper said.

  “He’s sixteen now. He’s in a coma. The doctors aren’t sure if he’ll ever wake up.” She swallowed, weighing her words. “I was an apprentice when it happened. My parents demanded I quit, but I wanted to . . . make those bastards pay. I trained with the Lawrence Demon Trappers Guild and my master was a good man.”

  “Was?”

  “Master Griffin died in a car accident a week before I took my journeyman’s exam. I barely passed.”

  “They should have postponed it, given you time to deal with his death,” Riley said. She’d leaned back in her chair, arms folded over her chest, frowning now.

  “Yeah, well, the master I ended up didn’t want me. Master Kelly wasn’t happy that I knew things other people didn’t.”

  “Like what sorta things?” Harper demanded.

  Riley jumped in. “When Katia arrived, I was talking to Ori at the coffee shop. She knew he was an angel just by looking at him.”

  “Oh great, another one,” he muttered, shaking his head.

  “What?” Katia said, not understanding.

  “Anything else? Your soul still your own?” he asked.

  “Yes, it’s still mine.”

  “We’ll test you anyway.” Harper leaned back and abruptly shifted directions. “You have enough money to hold you until next payday?”

  She had to be honest. “Ah, no. I have about five bucks. I haven’t been paid in the last few weeks.”

  Riley muttered under her breath as she headed toward a computer in the corner of the room. “Your ID number?”

  Katia rattled it off and watched the master access the National Guild’s database and her account. There was silence as Riley skimmed the recent history of her trapping runs, payments due and paid. A low whisper of Hellspeak swear words colored the air. In any other situation that would have been impressive.

  “How bad?” Harper asked, without turning around.

  “Bad. She was paid regularly until she passed her journeyman’s exam, probably because her first master was on the level. After that she’s getting only a third of what’s owed her.”

  “What?” Katia blurted. “No, Master Kelly said it took time for the payments to go through once I was a journeyman.”

  “That’s bullshit,” Harper said, thumping his fist in the middle of his desk, startling her. “The demon traffickers would have paid for each fiend when they were surrendered, and a portion of that money should have gone to you, weekly.”

  “Damn it,” Katia muttered. She’d been starving, and couch surfing for nothing, because her parents refused to let her come home as long as she was a trapper. Worse, none of the other trappers had told her she was being screwed over, probably because they feared Kelly.

  A printer kicked off somewhere in the room, and when it was done Riley retrieved the printout and placed it in front of the master. “You want me to call them?”

  “No, I’ll deal with this,” Harper said, his eyes like flint.

  “How . . . much?” Katia stammered.

  “At least two thousand dollars, probably more,” Riley replied. “Since it’ll take time to get this straightened out, you’ll need a place to stay. I’d offer you crash space, but we just don’t have it now that Beck has to have an office at home.”

  “Stewart’s?” Harper suggested.

  “That was my thought. I’ll check with him,” she replied, and headed for the kitchen.

  Katia tried to button her cuff, but her fingers were shaking too much. She gave up. Two thousand bucks was a fortune when you had nothing. She’d been there when the traffickers paid for the fiends, but just accepted Kelly’s word that it took time for her to get paid. Looking back, she’d been an idiot.

  “I’m not a fan of weird shit, Breman,” the master said, his eyes meeting hers.

  “If you don’t want me here, just tell me. I’ll figure out how to get back to—”

  “I’m not fond of martyrs, either. Blackthorne,” he tilted his head in the direction Riley had gone, “showed me that sometimes weird gets the job done.” He leaned forward on the desk again. “This ain’t Kansas, Breman. You had demons there, but Hell plays big league ball here. The Prince believes this town is his, and we’re not going to let that happen.” He leaned back again. “Listen to Blackthorne, learn from her, and you might still be here in a couple weeks.”

  Master Harper ignored her from that point on, reading through the documents on his desk, accompanied by the occasional ‘F’ word.

  “What the hell are they doing?” he grumbled. He shuffled more papers. “Did you get a travel allowance?”

  “Yes.”

  “How much?”

  “Twenty bucks and a paid bus ticket.”

  He stared at her. “That’s it?”

  “My master said that’s all I was entitled to.” Now she felt like an idiot. Why hadn’t she done more research?

  Because it wouldn’t have mattered.

  “Blackthorne!” Harper shouted.

  Riley ducked her head out the kitchen door. “You bellowed, Fearless Leader?”

  Katia swore she saw the hint of a smile in the old master’s eyes. It quickly vanished.

  “Those Kansas assholes screwed this kid over big time. I need you to audit her runs and see how much they pocketed. Once you get that done, type it up into some neat little report, the kind the pencil necks at National love.” Harper’s expression looked downright gleeful now. “Then I’m calling Kansas. I haven’t reamed anyone in a day or two. Way past time.”

  At Katia’s stunned expression, Riley winked. “Told you. Come on in here and let’s get the Holy Water check out of the way.”

  To her relief, the liquid felt cool against her palm, but did nothing else.

  “Just as you said, your soul doesn’t have Hell’s brand on it. Always good news,” the master replied. “I have some money for you, and a place for you to stay for the time being.”

  “At the Stewart guy’s place?”

  “Yup. And no, he’s not creepy, either,” Riley said. “I stayed with him after my dad died. You’ll be fine there.”

  After the master gave her an envelope of cash, a half dozen power bars and offered her a drink from the refrigerator—Katia chose a soda—they were back in the car, pulling out of the parking lot.

  “How much money did you give me?” Katia asked, thinking it would be rude to count it in front of her.

  “Two hundred dollars. Figured that will get you started. Once we have a full audit, you’ll get the rest.”

  Two hundred dollars? It was like winning the lottery.

  “Master Harper will really call the Lawrence Guild?”

  “He’ll do more than call. When he gets done your former asshat of a master will be going to the closest burn center for the scorch marks. Harper hates people like that. Then he’ll call National and my nice, neat report will back up everything he’s going to tell them. Screwing a trapper out of their earnings and stiffing you for travel expenses is a big no-no. It’ll go nuclear from that point on.”

  Katia stared at nothing for a time, then finally whispered, “Wow.”

  “Yeah, wow. In case you haven’t noticed, we do things differently here. So . . . welcome to Atlanta, Journeyman Breman. It sure isn’t going to be boring.”

  If the last hour or so was any indication, it was going to be unreal.

  FOUR

  Master Blackthorne’s plan to introduce her to the exorcist had hit a snag: As they were trying to find a parking place, Riley had been called to a trapping gone wrong. The injured trapper kind of wrong. After pointing her toward the church, the master had driven off at top speed. Despite her worry for the unnamed trapper, once again Katia was on her own in a city she didn’t know. At least this time she had Riley’s phone number and some money.

  After waiting for a break in the traffic, she rolled her suitcase across the street. Built of red brick, the church in front of her was curiously asymmetrical with a taller tower to the left than the one on the right. Master Blackthorne had said it had been built after the Civil War, in the late 1860s, and that the homeless frequently hung out on the church steps to avoid the Hellspawn downtown. Katia couldn’t imagine a city so big it had one area known as Demon Central. Her hometown certainly didn’t rate that kind of attention from Lucifer and his servants.

  She made her way up one flight of steps to a landing and settled on the worn concrete, then tucked her suitcase next to her, uneasy. Master Blackthorne had said she’d contact this Simon guy so there wasn’t much else she could do but wait and try not to fall asleep. That was going to be the hardest part.

  Across the street from her, a massive glass and stone building dominated the entire block, the windows reflecting the church’s spires like a mirror. Three police cars were parked in front of it, so Katia guessed it might be the courthouse, or maybe a jail. She’d was just about to dig out her phone to check the time when she heard a series of barks, followed by a wet nose to her hand.

  “Hi, you!” she said, beaming at the collie who sat in front of her now. Black and white fur mixed with a bit of cinnamon brown, the dog’s equally brown eyes were eager and happy, its tail moving so fast she could barely see it.

  Katia knew this dog, and its “owner.”

  “You get around, don’t you?” she asked the figure who stood a few steps from her. A nod returned.

  To anyone else, this was a homeless guy in ragged clothes with a weathered face that spoke of years of deprivation and disappointment. Katia saw all that, but there was more—the white glow that hovered around him. He’d been at the bus station when she’d arrived early this morning and had given her directions on how to catch a city bus downtown. At first, that white aura hadn’t been visible, not until Katia had wished him well and placed a very precious dollar bill in his hand. Even if she was broke, and didn’t know when her next meal would be, she had more than him.

  The instant she’d wished the man well, the Light had poured from him, nearly blinding her. She’d been so shocked, she’d just stared in wonder. Finally, Katia’d given him a big smile in return.

  How many people walk right by him without knowing he’s an angel?

  “A very large number,” was the reply. His hair was brown, long, curly, and looked like it hadn’t been washed recently. It was his brilliant blue eyes that held her attention.

  He looked up at the church, then back at her. “You’re here for the exorcist.”

  “Yeah. He’s okay, right?” she asked. Master Blackthorne had said he was, but trust wasn’t something she gave easily.

  “He’s very okay, but he needs your help,” was the solemn reply. “He’s facing an unholy challenge.”

  “I hope I can help.”

  “That is why you are here.”

  That made her uncomfortable, so when a weird question popped into her brain, she asked, “What do you do with the money you collect?”

  “I give it to those who are in need,” the angel replied.

  Katia reached into her trapping bag, found the small wallet inside and removed two ten-dollar bills, part of the cash she’d received from Master Blackthorne.

  “I have more money now. Please give this to anyone who needs it.”

  The angel nodded, took the bills and tucked them into a pocket. “You see more than most, Katia Allyson Breman. Be of the Light. Trust it, and trust yourself, for you, too, will be mightily challenged this day.”

  After that pronouncement, the Divine headed up the stairs, the collie in tow. He sat near the entrance, the dog curling up at his feet, just another homeless soul in this huge metropolis.

  Did he follow me here on purpose?

  Katia certainly wasn’t going to ask that question, so while she waited, she unwrapped one of the power bars and ate her second breakfast of the day.

  † ~ ‡ ~ †

  Crossing himself, Simon remained seated as the other parishioners filed out. The interior of the old building was cooler than he’d expected, and the light seemed to strike exactly on the ornate white altar. He looked up, seeking the paintings on the ceiling, then looked back down at his hands. His rosary hung from the right one, a gift from Father Rosetti when he’d graduated from the exorcism course. He rubbed his fingers over the wooden beads, remembering how proud he’d been that day. How he’d felt he’d been called to this job. He still did.

  This wasn’t his parent’s church, and he appreciated the anonymity. No family members watching his every move. Simon regularly attended Mass, seeking solace, but there was none to be found today. He’d made a deal with a demon, skillfully maneuvered into that “bargain”. It was ironic: He’d been personally invited to become an exorcist by Father Rosetti. He’d even had a private audience with the pope, and yet he’d fallen for Hell’s trickery, once again.

  I’m a fool. If he’d expected a heavenly voice to dispute that, he’d have been disappointed. At least the time in this sacred space had allowed him to accept that he was willing to spend eternity in Hell as long as those boys were free.

  That was what the demon was hoping for, the boys were just bait, with Simon the ultimate prize. Someone in the Pit, maybe even the Prince, had put a price tag on his head. In some ways that pleased him, because it meant that what he was doing here in Atlanta had meaning. That would all end if the fiend won.

  As he reached the front doors, he turned on his phone and it instantly buzzed with a voicemail from Riley.

  Hi, Simon. There’s a trapper waiting for you outside the church. Katia Breman is a journeyman from Kansas. She just arrived here this morning. Ori insists she’s been sent to Atlanta for a reason. We can’t help you with the demon, but he thinks she can. Sorry I couldn’t be there to introduce you. Journeyman Kilburn got jumped by a Three and I’m headed to the hospital to see how bad he’s hurt.

  Riley added some personal details about the trapper, then repeated that he should trust Ori’s instincts. With a sigh, Simon clipped the phone back into the holder at his waist. Exiting the church, he paused on the front steps. Horns blared on the street as people headed to and from work. A few of the older parishioners greeted him, having seen him off and on, then went their own way.

  A man sat near one of the doors, his expression neutral as if life had nothing more to offer him than living rough. Simon hadn’t seen him here before. The dog at his side looked up and bounced its tail on the concrete step.

  Simon placed money in the battered paper cup in front of them. “May God Bless you.”

  “Thank you.” The man’s bright blue eyes seemed out of place with the grubby clothes.

  “You’re welcome. What’s your dog’s name?”

  “Elijah,” he replied.

  “Named after the prophet?” A nod returned as the collie banged its tail faster now.

  “He is a good companion,” the man replied. “We should all have trustworthy companions on our journey through life.”

  That was the truth.

  “Are you new in town?” Simon asked. Another nod returned. “Then if someone hasn’t already told you, if you’re not staying in a shelter, it’s best to be on church property or in a cemetery at night. Someplace that is holy ground. We have a lot of demons here and they can’t hurt you that way.”