Grave Matters by Jana Oliver Page B

monsignor’s moustache twitched in response. “It could be argued that no one should be attempting such things, amateur or expert,” he weighed in, his eyes on Riley now.
    “I totally agree,” she said.
    Fayne turned back toward her, eyes cagey. “Why do you think the summoning went wrong?”
    “I’m not the one you should ask. I’m a Demon Trapper. I don’t do magic.”
    “That’s not what I heard.” Fayne retorted.
    She glared at the necromancer. “Then whoever is telling you this stuff is full of it.”
    “Riley,” Grand Master Kepler cut in. “Is it true that you are compiling the history of Atlanta’s trappers for Grand Master Stewart?”
    She sighed in relief. Thank you, dude. I owe you one.
    “Yes, sir. It’s been really interesting. There was more demonic activity during the Civil War than I thought.”
    “Hellspawn working for Sherman? I just can’t believe it,” Beck said, his tone mocking. “I mean, it’s not like the general turned a couple of Pyro-Fiends loose to burn Atlanta down or anythin’.” He paused, timing it perfectly. “Oh wait...”
    That earned him some laughs, and, more importantly, shut down the summoner’s mini inquisition.
    Beck caught her eye and it was his turn to wink. They were a team again and that felt so good.
     
    What the hell am I doin’ here? Beck didn’t know a thing about this kind of get together. For him, barbecue and beer was fancy.
    MacTavish picked up the farthest fork from the left and then gestured with it toward the plate that had just been placed in front of Beck.
    “Looks to be a fine bit of lamb,” he said.
    In his own way, the grand master was helping him navigate these uncharted waters. Helping him grow into his new skin. Beck carefully selected the proper fork from his numerous choices and began working on the food.
    Though the point of the dinner seemed to be social, MacTavish and Kepler were strategists, just like Stewart. It came with being a Grand Master.
    So why do they have that necro here? Why is she pushing Riley so hard? Did she have somethin’ to do with what happened in the graveyard?
    At this point Riley laughed at a remark from the druid, and Beck smiled to himself. He never quite understood how her voice could be a balm to him, but it was. Looking at her now, you’d never know she’d been to Hell and back.
    Maybe, if things kept getting better between them, he’d find the courage to ask his question again.
    Maybe the next time she’d say “yes.”

Chapter Nine
     
    Once the guests were gone, Riley and Beck joined the two masters in a cozy sitting room. She snuggled next to her guy on a leather sofa, utilizing Beck’s furnace feature to warm herself. As much as she loved Scotland, she really missed Atlanta’s warmer climate.
    MacTavish lit a pipe, filling the air with a rich caramel aroma. That reminded her of Master Stewart, how every evening they’d share how their day went. She missed him, wished he was here. He’d know how to make things right again.
    After light talk about the dinner and the guests, the topic of conversation turned to business.
    “According to Summoner Fayne’s superiors,” Kepler began, “they have not been able to find out what where that demonic spell originated. In short, the necromancers have closed ranks.”
    “Figured that might happen. But wouldn’t there be some sort of magical trace left behind?” Beck said.
    “They claim there wasn’t one.”
    “That’s a lie,” Riley said. “Our friend Mortimer — he’s a summoner — said that each necro has their own ‘magical signature.”
    “Your friend is correct,” Kepler said, nodding.
    MacTavish cleared his throat. “Riley, would ya give us a chance ta talk this out ... in private?”
    She was being dismissed? “I have as much at stake in this as you guys do.”
    “Aye, but right now ya need trust us,” he replied.
    Riley shot her feet. “Okay, I’ll just go to my room and buff my nails while you guys can talk state