Valiant light, p.1
Valiant Light, page 1
Valiant Light
A Demon Trappers Novel
by Jana Oliver
Nevermore Books
“The measure of human character is our reaction to dark times. No one can sidestep darkness. It is the throne upon which light sits. If a soul has not known sadness and struggle, there is no chance of overcoming, no cherishing the dawn.”
~ Rabbi David Wolpe
*~*~*
“When the going gets weird, the weird turn pro.”
~ Hunter S. Thompson
Chapter One
March 2019
Atlanta, Georgia
Riley Blackthorne wasn’t alone in this dark and desolate Georgia pasture. No, she had a companion out here in the middle of nowhere, a friend. In this case, a necromancer—one who wore an extremely worried expression.
That’s not good.
Senior Summoner Mortimer Alexander was a little shorter than Riley’s five-seven, rather wide, and currently covered in a black hooded robe. Not only was the garment a decent barrier against the chilly night air, but its color announced that this man was a serious magical threat.
“You ready to do this?” Mort asked.
“Sure, why not? How hard can it be?” Riley replied.
Her companion winced.
On the magical power scale, Riley rated a light blue robe, as she was just a beginner—albeit one with a bit of talent. Which is why this “let’s test your magical wards” exercise had made her uncommonly nervous. It would be like a robin trying to defend itself against an eagle. The raptor almost always won.
It hadn’t helped when Mort had suggested she leave off her robe and wear dark clothes. Something “washable,” he’d said. Having seen his magical wards decimated by a much stronger necromancer, Riley knew why he’d made that suggestion. She was in for pain, and probably an epic nosebleed.
She took a deep breath, trying to relax. And failed.
Mort fiddled with his robe, nervous as well, then lowered his hands by his sides. They were already beginning to glow a brilliant blue. At any other time, Riley would have thought that was cool, even pretty, but soon that magic would be racing toward her.
“Do your best,” he said. Then he cast his spell.
A second later Riley was on her back staring up at the stars, trying hard to catch her breath. It’d been like being body-slammed by a semi.
Mort had insisted that learning how to ward against an attacker’s spell was much like training for a marathon. The first time you ran five miles, you whimpered in pain and prayed to die. However, each subsequent run was a little less horrific as your body grew accustomed to the strenuous exercise. In this case, if Riley “exercised” her magical wards regularly, her ability to protect herself would grow stronger.
Riiight.
As her breath evened out, she stared up at the glorious night sky. The last time she’d seen stars this bright was in Scotland, the evening she’d battled a necromancer. It’d been the day after she’d turned eighteen. She’d lain on her back on the cold ground and stared up at the heavens. The stars had sat embedded in the velvety black sky, and there’d even been a meteor painting a lacy trail of white in its wake.
That night, and the attack by a necromancer, had taught Riley a bitter lesson: If she wanted a future with Denver Beck, the man she loved, she’d have to embrace magic. That certainly wasn’t the path she’d ever envisioned. She was the daughter of a master demon trapper, and her family had trapped Hellspawn for centuries. But her interactions with Hell, and especially with Lucifer, had made her the ultimate bait for those who just couldn’t resist summoning evil.
Which was why, instead of finalizing plans for her upcoming wedding, she currently lay on her back, every muscle aching.
A face came into her line of sight, then a hand. Riley rose to her feet with Mort’s help, sure her chest was on fire. Looking down, she saw that her navy sweatshirt was lightly singed. Luckily, she’d worn one of her old ones.
“We’ll do it again,” he said, trudging back to his spot some fifteen feet away.
Two more times, she ended on her back, despite casting a warding spell. Her spine signaled that it thought this whole thing sucked, and her hips were in agreement.
This time, Riley rose on her own, straightened her shoulders, ignoring the ache in her head and chest, and focused on the fact that she didn’t want to land on the ground again. She put that intention into her spell, mentally building a wall between her and Mort. Maybe that would work, because nothing else was.
The third strike flew toward her like a flaming blue bomb. Then, to her surprise, it shattered against her ward, spreading those blue flames into the night.
Mort smiled, nodding his approval. “Well done. What was different this time?”
“Ah, more visualization,” she replied, still surprised.
“Good. Then do it again.” The blue on his hands became brighter now, which meant he’d upped the power of his spell.
Oh crap.
Riley made herself visualize a protective bubble and had the spell up before his reached her. This time, Mort’s began digging into her ward as if it had claws, and her bubble abruptly collapsed, knocking her flat on the ground again.
She stared up at the heavens. “Are we dooonne yet?”
“No. Sorry.”
Aggravated, Riley struggled to her feet as her temper flared. Before realizing what she was doing, she fired off a spell at him. Mort’s near instantaneous ward easily repelled hers.
“No dark-side stuff, grasshopper,” he said, waving an index finger in admonishment.
Her anger fell away and she couldn’t help but laugh. “You’re mixing movie quotes, you know.”
Mort grinned. “But you got the message.”
Yes, she had. Anger wasn’t going to get her anywhere tonight, but calm, rational planning would. Magic, it appeared, wasn’t much different from the rest of her life.
A year ago, she’d been more hotheaded, inclined to anger much faster. The past fifteen months or so had taken their toll, what with the death of her father, her working through the ranks of the Demon Trappers Guild, becoming a master trapper. Beck’s steady presence, and that of Mort and her other friends, had helped as well.
The Riley who’d first been handed her trapping license when she turned seventeen had been shaped into the one who stood in this clearing in rural Georgia, casting spells in the dark night.
With a sigh, she raised her magical shields to maximum. This time it was nearly thirty seconds before Mort finally ended his spell, and he never broke through her ward.
Bending over to catch her breath, Riley managed to croak, “Is that what you were hoping for?”
“Yes,” he said. Though she couldn’t see his face, she could hear the pride in his tone. “Better, much better.”
Not from her point of view. Riley’s arms twitched and her chest felt like someone had parked Beck’s pickup truck on it. But if it kept her and her fiancé alive, let her continue to be a master trapper, then it was worth it. At least it would be once she’d soaked in a tub and taken some aspirin.
“Not bad,” a new voice said a moment before she felt his presence.
Oh no.
Riley straightened up to find Lord Ozymandias standing near Mort now. The most powerful summoner on the East Coast—if not the whole country—watched her with faint amusement. Ozy, as she called him, wore his trademark black robe with an oak staff in hand, which always made him look like he’d just stepped out of a Tolkien novel. The first time they’d met, Riley had asked him if he’d bought the staff at a Necromancers“R”Us shop. That was before she knew exactly how powerful this man was. Of course, he’d called her a heartless bitch during that same meeting, so they were probably even.
Tonight his robe’s hood was back, revealing his silver hair and the strange glowing sigil on his forehead that seemed to pulsate of its own accord. His eyes were still green with hints of brown, but darker somehow.
“Lord Ozymandias,” Riley said, trying to catch her breath. “What brings you to the middle of nowhere?” Please don’t say it’s me.
“You, of course. I wanted to see how Mortimer is progressing with the training.”
“And your verdict is?” she asked.
The high lord gave her a nod of approval. “Not bad. I’ve seen apprentices give up after two blasts. Your stubbornness does you credit.”
“My stubbornness will probably get me dead someday,” she said, dusting off her pants. “So what am I doing wrong?”
“Nothing that I can see. You’re learning how to judge the strength of the magic ranged against you, how to respond. It’s all a matter of practice.”
She caught Mort’s expression and he seemed apologetic. Then she realized exactly why His Lordship was here.
Riley was barely able to get her ward in place before the senior necro’s spell struck her. The force of his magic shoved her back six feet, her shoes skidding in the grass. This spell wasn’t like Mort’s—each necromancer was different—and it constantly changed, adapting as hers desperately tried to find a way to compensate.
Sweat broke out on her forehead and ran down her face. Her head roared and her arms shook as she tried to hold her spell intact. Ozymandias changed his spell’s characteristics again and her ward nearly imploded. As the pressure grew, she felt her nose sting, and her breathing grew shallower
As if on instinct, Riley stopped pushing back, knowing it was futile. Instead, she tried to think of herself as a rock, allowing the powerful spell to roll off her. For a few seconds it actually worked, his gray magic surging over her lighter purple magic, but not penetrating it. There was a sharpness to his spell, like thousands of pinching scorpion claws, each capable of drawing blood and ripping flesh if he so desired. Still, she held on and had just begun to think she had found the way to sustain this resistance for a few seconds more when Ozy called out a single unintelligible word and her ward shattered like a piece of fine crystal.
Riley dropped to her knees, then bent forward, gagging, her nose bleeding and her heart beating so hard she thought she’d suffocate. Her own fractured spell blew through her like a sirocco, finding no release.
“Ground the magic,” Mort ordered, his voice tense.
It took a few seconds to realize what he’d said. Then she stretched out her shaking hands and placed them against the ground. Peeling open her aching eyes, she watched as purple magic flowed into the red Georgia clay, highlighting individual blades of grass as it did so.
Gradually Riley’s heart rate began to slow as her breathing eased. Finally, when the spell was fully grounded, she dug in her jeans pocket for the tissues she’d stashed there. Pressing them to her bleeding nose, she looked up to find the two necromancers watching her closely. Ozy actually seemed pleased, the creep. When he delicately touched her head, the pounding in her skull diminished.
“You could have given a girl some warning,” she said, talking around the tissues. Before he could respond, she added, “I know. No one is going to announce a spell ahead of time. But . . . geez, did you have to nail me like that? I’m just a newbie here.”
“You are anything but a newbie, Summoner Blackthorne,” Ozymandias said. The senior necromancer looked over at Mort for his verdict. “Your thoughts?”
“She held out longer than I anticipated. The way she began to channel your spell there at the end was intriguing. I’ve not seen anyone do that before.”
“A few are capable of it.” Ozy looked at her now. “What were you visualizing?”
“That I was a rock and you were a river. I figured I could just let you slid by and it’d hurt less.”
“Huh. Slippery magic. I like that,” he said. “I knew you’d come at this differently than the rest of us. You’re unique, Summoner Blackthorne.”
“Yeah, tell me about it,” she mumbled, dabbing at her nose again. Luckily the bleeding had stopped, probably because of Ozy’s intervention. “How often are we going to do this torture?”
“As often as it takes until you can handle someone of Mort’s level.”
She eyed His Lordship. “Not your level?”
“No. The last thing I want is someone who thinks they have as much power as I do. I can only imagine where that would lead.”
Of course, they all knew what might happen. In his infinite arrogance, Ozymandias had summoned a high-level demon last year. Instead, he’d gotten a psychotic Archangel who had nearly brought on Armageddon. No, they didn’t need anyone else coming close to Ozy’s level of magic, at least not anyone who hadn’t learned such a sobering lesson.
Mort offered his hand and Riley rose on unsteady feet. “I have orange juice in the car to help combat the dizziness.”
She frowned. “I hear the dark side has cookies. You guys need to up your game here.”
Mort laughed. “I’ll remember that for the next time.”
“Keep practicing,” Ozymandias said. “And now I bid you two good evening.” He promptly vanished.
“That was a sending? He wasn’t even here?” Riley blurted. Mort nodded ruefully. “How much power does that guy have?”
“More than you want to know—trust me.”
Thank God he’s on our side.
Chapter Two
In contrast to Riley’s nocturnal sojourns into rural Georgia, the school’s front lobby was bright and cheery. As she saw it, anything would be an improvement as long as there wasn’t a necro throwing spells at her.
The last time she’d delivered a presentation at a high school had been right after the first of the year. Beck had just returned to Scotland for his grand master training and she’d found it hard to be upbeat for that school visit. Now there were only a few days left before she was headed to Scotland for her fiancé’s investiture, so Riley found herself smiling for the first time in a week.
Though her primary job was to trap Hellspawn and train new trappers, community outreach had become increasingly important, especially in a city where the populace was all too aware of the kind of damage that fiends could wreak. Her superior, Master Harper, would never have done a school talk, because for all his trapping skills, the man just wasn’t into being civil. Harper talking to a roomful of teens about demons? That was just asking for trouble.
Which is why when Riley made master demon trapper at the end of last year, Harper had given her one of his incredibly rare smiles and told her this part of the job was now hers. That because of her “notoriety”—in particular all her run-ins with Hell and its minions—and her age, she was the ideal candidate to take the message to the civilians. Since there were no less than seventy-eight YouTube videos of her trapping Hellspawn out on the internet, she really couldn’t argue that point.
Riley understood the public’s fascination with the fiends, and by extension, the trappers. Sort of. To those outside the Demon Trappers Guild, it probably seemed like a really cool job to take on Lucifer’s murderous horde. Heaven vs. Hell. The Grand Game. But it was never that simple. She’d learned that lesson even before she made journeyman trapper.
With the economy finally turning around, a few more schools had reopened. This location had been one of the first, and it looked to be in pretty good shape after years of being shuttered. Sunlight flooded through the windows, and the floors gleamed. The staff looked happy too—no doubt pleased to be teaching in a building designed for education instead of in an abandoned shopping mall or a defunct grocery store.
“Here’re your badges,” the smiling lady behind the reception desk said, pushing them over the counter. She wore cat-eye glasses with black and red stripes, which should have looked weird but didn’t.
“Thanks.” As Riley parceled out those badges to her apprentices, three solemn faces studied her. No doubt, they’d already noticed that her makeup was heavier than usual and that she was moving slower than normal, yet so far not one of them had asked why. Bruises were the norm for a trapper, but for once, these weren’t caused by any of Lucifer’s fiends.
Riley’s current group of trainees was a mixed lot: Richard Bonafont was the eldest, in his thirties, and sported a pair of wire-rim glasses, while Kurt Pelligrino was in his twenties and had the muscled bulk of a devoted gym rat. Jaye Lynn, the third apprentice, was slim, red-haired, and about Kurt’s age. She was just back from family leave and still had some catching up to do with the other two, who were close to the end of their yearlong training period. The guys would soon be taking their journeyman’s exams. Once they passed those, Riley would start training a new group of apprentices.
While they were waiting for the teacher who’d invited them, Riley felt it was time to dispense a few warnings. She waved them away from the reception desk and then asked, “What can go wrong with this talk today?”
“Worst case?” Kurt said. “Some parent goes completely ballistic because we mentioned Hell in front of their darling overly sheltered offspring. Said parent then goes to the school board and throws a major hissy fit.”
“Always a possibility.”
“Unless said parent has been under a rock for the last couple years,” Jaye added, “they’d know there really are demons running around this city.”
“Sometimes people live in their own little happy bubble of ignorance,” Richard interjected.
“Right up until a Gastro-Fiend tries to eat them.”
“That too,” Riley said. Jaye’s reply had reminded her of the other issue. “Best to keep the black humor to a minimum,” she cautioned.
Doctors, nurses, cops, paramedics, soldiers, or firefighters, they all had to blow off steam. Demon trapping was no exception, but outsiders didn’t understand their macabre sense of humor and thought it disrespectful.
