Cooperate? What little she knew of the Vatican’s boys that wasn’t a word those guys were familiar with. She’d seen their high-tech equipment and their paramilitary work ethic. No matter her deal with Heaven, they would only be interested in her chat with the Prince of Darkness and her knocking boots with a Fallen.

  “If I had something to bargain with…” she murmured.

  Her father coughed, then took another long swig of the glowing potion. “Holy … Water.”

  The way he was fading, she didn’t have time to get into a lengthy discussion about the fake Holy Water that was being sold in the city. “Who do you think is doing this?”

  “No idea.” A few rapid blinks, then he closed his eyes, as if someone had flipped a switch to the OFF position.

  Riley looked over at Mort. “It’s like he’s in screen-saver mode. Is this going to happen a lot?”

  “Plan on it. Your father has the ability to do high-level cognitive reasoning, which takes a heavy physical toll.”

  “How did you find him?”

  “I didn’t. He arrived at my door late last night. For a while, I thought it was because of that invitation spell I’d invoked, offering him refuge if he broke free of his summoner.” Mort’s calm brown eyes met hers. “But now I know that’s not the case.”

  He’s not sure if Dad told me about Lucifer. Which he hadn’t since that news items had come from the Prince himself.

  “I know who summoned my farther,” Riley replied. “What I don’t understand is why Lucifer set him free.”

  Mort visibly relaxed. “I’m just as confused. He owns your father’s soul. Why does he need his body?”

  Riley shrugged. Another question for which there was no answer.

  Tereyza, Mort’s housekeeper, appeared at that moment, bearing a tray. Riley was presented with a full cup of something with a heady, fruity aroma.

  “Tea always helps clear the mind,” Mort said.

  The only thing that cleared Riley’s mind was hot chocolate, but that didn’t seem to be on the menu, at least not here.

  “I detect inner conflict,” the summoner said. “Want to talk it out?”

  Riley shook her head. No matter how much she’d like to push this disaster onto someone else, it was her mistake that had landed her in this situation. She needed a way to get to her house, collect the stash of money she had hidden there, then decide where she was going next. But to do that, Riley had to get into the apartment complex unnoticed.

  I wonder …

  Riley retrieved her trapper’s license from the messenger bag. The photo had been taken when she’d sported a bizarre mishmash of teal, black, and brown hair. After he’d seen the photo, her dad had insisted it return to its natural and boring brown.

  “That’s a devious smile,” Mort said over the top of his teacup.

  “The hunters are looking for this Riley,” she said, pointing toward her face. “What if I looked completely different?” She held up the license for contrast. “If I get some hair dye, maybe I can pull it off.”

  “No need. I can do that with magic.”

  Riley blinked. “You can?” Why hadn’t she thought of that? Probably because tea-sipping Mort didn’t seem overly magical.

  “Sure,” he replied. “It’s an easy spell. I can make your features look any way you want.”

  That sounded like a plan, which meant there had to be a downside. “What happens if the Vatican finds out I used magic to hide from them?”

  “Nothing good,” their host admitted.

  “Thought so.” But it’s worth the risk. “Can I borrow your cell phone?” she asked. After he handed it over, she dialed her best friend, Peter.

  “Riley? Where have you been? I tried calling—” her friend began.

  She cut him off, told him what she needed.

  “What is this all about?” he asked.

  “The Demon Hunters are after me. If you help me, you could get in deep trouble with those guys.”

  There was a very long pause.

  “If you’re not good with this, just say so, Peter. I won’t be upset.”

  “No, I’m good,” he said at last. “My dad won’t be home for two hours, and I’ll need his car.”

  “That’s fine. I need to make a run to my place, and it’s best we do it closer to dark.”

  “Then what?”

  “I’m leaving town.”

  More silence. Finally, he spoke. “When and where should I pick you up?”

  Riley put the question to Mort and he came back with a location about a quarter mile away, near the heart of Little Five Points. She relayed the info to Peter, along with a time.

  “Right. See you in a while.” Her best friend hung up.

  Maybe this will work out after all.

  After she handed her phone back to Mort, he offered her a plate loaded with baked goods. “Strudel?” he said.

  Riley took two thick slices and placed them on the small plate in front of her. If she was about to play cat and mouse with the Vatican’s dudes, she needed serious fuel.

  * * *

  After about an hour’s work, Mort’s magical expertise resulted in a brown band, about two inches wide, with twin snaps and a few arcane symbols carved on the thick leather.

  “Do those mean anything?” Riley asked.

  He shook his head. “All for show.” He handed it over. “Prepare to be amazed.”

  Riley felt a tingling sensation as she snapped the band on her left wrist, then dutifully followed him to the closest bathroom mirror. And gasped. The new Riley had raggedy hair that looked like someone had chopped at it with a pair of kid’s scissors. It was a breathtaking mix of blue, black, and stark white streaks. Two long microthin braids went to her waist—those were platinum white as well. There was a clear plastic barbell wedged in her left eyebrow, a blue gem in her nose, multiple piercings in her ears, and a tongue stud—all the stuff she’d never been brave enough to try for real. Turning, she studied the crimson tattoo that began on the back of her neck and wrapped around her throat. It was a vampire bat with enormous fangs.

  “Okay, that’s different,” she said, shivering. Kinda cool, actually. And since a lot of kids in Atlanta had tats or piercings and bold hair colors, she’d fit right in.

  Mort nodded approvingly. “The hunters might zero in on you because of your age, but with one glance, they’ll know you’re not Riley Blackthorne.”

  Not even close. Which was the whole point of using magic. “How long does this last?”

  “When you’re wearing the bracelet, you’re the Bride of Frankenstein. Take it off, and you’re the real Riley.”

  “You could make a fortune on Halloween.”

  The summoner chuckled. “The downside is the magic uses some of your energy to power itself. You’ll be more tired than normal, so only wear the bracelet when you need it.”

  “Can anyone use this?” It’d be fun to try it out on Peter.

  “No. It’s keyed to you. It’s best the hunters not find you wearing this. They’re pretty savvy about magic, even if they don’t like it.”

  “Understood.”

  When they returned to Mort’s office, a quick look proved her father was still in siesta mode.

  “Tell Dad that I’ll be okay, and I’ll let you know where I end up. Don’t let him worry about me.”

  “He would worry about you even if you were sitting next to him,” Mort replied softly.

  The summoner was right. That was one of the reasons it was the best time to go. It’d be hard when her father woke and found out she’d left him behind, but he’d understand. At least she hoped he would.

  “I bought this while you were sleeping,” Mort said, handing her a cell phone. It was one of the cheap, prepaid kind. “It’s not tied to you in any way, and I’ll keep refilling the minutes as you need. I programmed in my number if you have any trouble.”

  This guy was amazing, and she said so. A shy grin crept onto the summoner’s face at her compliment, but he didn’t deny it.

  After Riley was sure she had everything she needed, she placed a kiss on her sleeping dad’s forehead and took what might her last look at him.

  “Love you. Don’t worry, I’ll be good from now on.” No more lying angels. “Who knows? Maybe I’ll find a way to get you into Heaven with Mom.”

  That was mostly bluff, though she owed Lucifer a favor, and, in return, he’d said he would grant her one wish. Could that be her father’s “get out of Hell free” card?

  It was a small sliver of hope, and she clung to it.

  After one last kiss marred by tears, Riley followed the necromancer to a rear door that opened onto a graveled alley.

  “If you need to come back, the bracelet is also your key inside,” the necro said. “Place it up against the door and it’ll let you in.”

  “Wow.” Who knew magic could actually be helpful?

  Mort sobered. “Please be very careful.”

  “I will. Thanks, I owe you.” On impulse, she gave him a hug, through her hands wouldn’t reach all the way around him. That got her an instant blush. When the summoner closed the door behind her, the wood shimmered, then went solid again.

  Riley slipped the strap of her messenger bag over her shoulder. Soon she’d be on her own, moving from town to town, trying to stay ahead of the Demon Hunters. And the demons.

  All she could think of was what her dad would say when he found out she was gone.

  FOUR

  The prisoner had expected room service, but Beck got a redhead instead. He rose off the bed as Justine Armando was escorted into his hotel room by one of the hunters.

  “Hello, Beck,” she said, tossing her expensive black leather coat onto a nearby chair, followed by a folded newspaper onto the nightstand. “I heard you were here in the hotel, so I thought I’d pay you a visit.”

  The guards were locked in full-stare mode—apparently they’d never seen the reporter in action. Sporting a set of brilliant emerald green eyes, Justine was a stunningly petite woman with shocking red hair that tumbled over her shoulders in wide curls. Her accent was hard to pin down, but it flowed like verbal honey no matter the subject.

  Beck’s attention moved to the hunters. “Any way ya can give us some space?”

  A conversation started between the men in Italian, and for a time it didn’t look like the answer was going to be positive. Justine weighed in, also in Italian, and abruptly they changed their minds. She had that effect on men.

  When the door closed behind his guard dogs, she settled into the chair, positioned so that Beck had a fine view of her long legs. He sank onto the bed, regretting that he looked so scruffy.

  “How’d ya know I was here?”

  Justine pouted. “I am a reporter. When I heard that Denver Beck is in the hunters’ custody and that there is a search in progress for Master Blackthorne’s daughter, I had to determine if it was all true.” She leaned closer. “You wouldn’t know where she is, would you?”

  So this visit wasn’t just to check up on his welfare. Beck should have expected that, but his guy ego developed a new bruise.

  “No, I don’t know where she is, or my ass wouldn’t sittin’ in this room,” he growled. “Riley could be anywhere. She knows a lot of places to hide.”

  “Why do they want her? Is it because of the Fallen or something else?”

  He stiffened. “How do ya know about the Fallen?”

  “One of the hunters told me.” She straightened her skirt. “Why did Riley call you this morning?”

  A nervous twitch crawled across Beck’s back. Too many questions.

  “That’s private,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest, signaling the end of the conversation.

  Justine got the message. “As you wish.” She rose, collecting her coat. “I had hoped I could persuade Elias to release you, but he will need more information to justify that decision.”

  Elias. Justine had a “history” with the captain of the Demon Hunters, and she wasn’t above using that to get what she wanted. In this case, she was angling for inside information on Riley.

  “I can’t help him,” Beck insisted.

  With a sad smile Justine dropped a kiss on his cheek. Then she stepped back, adjusting her coat over an arm. “For you,” she said, pointing at the newspaper on the nightstand.

  He made no effort to pick it up, not about to reveal that he could barely read.

  “The next article will be longer,” she added.

  “What?” he said, confused.

  “You’re an intriguing subject. One article will not do you justice.”

  “I’m not good with—”

  “Beck,” she said, softer now, immediately commanding his attention. “The hunters will not give up until they have the girl. If you don’t help them, they will hold you responsible.”

  “I can’t help them if I don’t where she is.”

  There was another kiss, longer this time and on the mouth. After the door closed behind her, a hint of her floral perfume lingered, reminding Beck of the time they’d spent together, of how good it’d been between them.

  He opened the paper and began to hunt for the two words he knew best: his name. When he found the article, he worked through it at a tediously slow pace. Some words made sense, some did not. Nothing he read seemed too bad.

  I’m too damn paranoid. It’s her job to ask questions.

  So why was he having second thoughts about Justine Armando?

  To keep from losing his cool at being caged up, he turned on the big-screen television. Tempting as it was to find a raunchy adult movie and charge it to the hunters’ bill to piss them off, he opted for a show about the pyramids. He’d always wanted to travel around the world, but other than the Army and the Middle East, it’d been Georgia, Georgia, and more Georgia. Just as the narrator was showing him the inside one of the pharaoh’s tombs, a demon hunter entered the room and handed him his phone.

  “Beck.”

  “It’s Donovan.”

  He sat up straighter. This was the county sheriff from where Beck grew up. He hadn’t spoken to the man in over six months. More often than not, he was on the wrong side of both Donovan and the law.

  “What’s up?” Beck asked neutrally.

  “Things are starting to heat up down here. Questions being asked about what happened in the swamp all those years back. Those boys’ parents are pushing me for answers. I thought you might like to know.”

  Oh, God. “Ya know I had nothin’ to do with that.”

  Silence.

  Donovan wouldn’t have called him just for that bad news. “So what’s really up?” Beck asked.

  The sheriff cleared his throat. “Your momma isn’t well. You coming down to see her?”

  Beck didn’t like his tone, as if he were a misbehaving kid. “When the time comes.”

  “That wasn’t what I wanted to hear.”

  Beck turned his back on the hunters at the door in an attempt to keep the conversation private. “I’ll get there when I have time. Don’t ya dare act like she wants to see me. Sadie’s long past givin’ a damn about me.”

  There was lengthy silence. “Do you know what’s going on with her?”

  “Last I heard, she had pneumonia, but she was gettin’ better.”

  “Ah, damn,” the man said. “She didn’t tell you. Why can’t that woman—”

  “Tell me what?”

  “She’s got lung cancer. It’s spread.”

  Beck jammed his eyes shut as conflicting emotions churned within him. “I didn’t know, I swear,” he replied.

  “Well, now you do. I know things are bad up there, but she might not have that much time.”

  Beck didn’t bother to ask why Sadie hadn’t told him. That was her way. It had nothing to do with being strong in the face of the illness but everything to do with their toxic relationship.

  He worked his jaw back and forth, trying to unclench it. “I’ll try to get down there as soon as I can.”

  “That’s all I ask. Thanks, Denver. Looking forward to seeing you again.”

  Beck disconnected the call and stared at the display for a time. When he was growing up, Donovan had been like a big brother. Then he’d turned all lawman and run Beck out of Sadlersville when he was sixteen, driving him up to his uncle’s house in Atlanta after Beck had gotten in a knife fight. Donovan laid it out in his simple way: Beck stayed out of town unless he wanted his next address to be prison. Beck hadn’t returned to Sadlersville until right before he went into the Army, in case his next trip home was in a body bag.

  Beck tossed the phone back to the anxious hunter. “Thanks.” Both of the Vatican’s boys left the room. Perhaps they’d decided he wasn’t going to try to make a break for it or hang himself in the shower.

  There was no way he could get back into the TV show, so he clicked it off. Of all the things in his world he feared, Hell and all its demons ran a slow second to Sadie Beck.

  Now she’s dyin’.

  * * *

  Sitting east of downtown Atlanta, Little Five Points’ streets had its share of traffic, on foot or otherwise. Today was no different. As Riley headed toward the rendezvous point, a mare pulling a cart rolled past, followed by a carriage, then a rusty Datsun with a do-it-yourself solar panel on its roof. Gas had grown so expensive that folks took mass transit, went horse-drawn, or augmented their rides with the panels to offset the cost. Trappers had little choice in the matter—if they caught bigger demons, hauling them around in a wagon or on a city bus wasn’t an option. They paid the going rate for the fuel and bitched a lot.

  Despite the incredible disguise Mort had cooked up for her, Riley’s nerves jittered around like a ten-cup-a-day coffee addict. At any moment she expected sleek black Demon Hunter vans to screech to a halt and dudes in paramilitary garb to pour out onto the street. Then she’d be in a world of hurt.

  What do they do to people who sleep with angels? She doubted if it was a slap on the wrist and a lecture about morality. I’ll just stay on the run until they go back to Rome. She’d have to find a job that paid cash under the table. In short, her life was toast.

  To short-circuit her worrying, Riley strolled through one of the secondhand shops. If she was leaving Atlanta, she needed some clothes.