Free Retro Demonology by Jana Oliver

 

    Atlanta 2018
    The Proud to Be Retro decal on the house’s front door should have been Riley Blackthorne’s first clue. But then every day was bizarre when you were an apprentice Demon Trapper. She double-checked the address on the trapping order clutched in her left hand. This was the place.
    Just my luck.
    Retro was gaining favor in Atlanta, what with the economy fizzling like a damp firecracker and the city bankrupt. When today sucked, why not “live” in a simpler, more perfect time? Even if that time had actually sucked as bad as this one. Some Retros preferred the 1980’s, some the 40s. Exactly which era this client had chosen remained to be seen.
    “Please, not the 50s again,” Riley murmured. A couple weeks back, she and her demon trapper dad had encountered a Retro lady with her head firmly in 1955. She’d been clad in a pink and white floral dress, a white starched apron, heels and a single strand of pearls. She had a picture of Dwight D. Eisenhower on her wall and her kitchen was all white metal cabinets, chrome chairs and linoleum. She’d been one very mad Retro lady by the time they’d fished a swearing, peeing and biting demon from amidst her prized cookbook collection. Though the mess on her pristine cabinets and floor wasn’t anything major, Ms. 50s acted like it was the end of the world. And told them so…repeatedly.
    As Riley’s father had said after the incident. “Sometimes I like the demons more than the clients.”
    With a silent prayer heavenward, Riley rapped on the weathered door. Fidgeting, she straightened her jeans jacket and flipped her long brown hair behind her shoulders. Up to this point her father had watched over her on each trapping run, preventing her from making seriously dumb moves. Today there was no dad backup and that made her off-the-scale nervous. No, she couldn’t expect special treatment just because her father was Paul Blackthorne, legendary master trapper.
    That was the way it was done–the master took the newbie on trapping runs until he deemed the apprentice was ready to handle the smaller demons on his (or in Riley’s case) her own. Once she’d passed that test, they’d tackle the next grade level of Hellspawn, on and on until she took down a Grade Five Geo-Fiend. But that would be at least six months away. Once she’d completed her training, she took the test and became a journeyman trapper. A lot was riding on this gig, if nothing more than to prove to the other trappers in the Atlanta Guild she wasn’t some silly wannabe.
    The door creaked open and a woman peered out at her. She looked about forty, but was trying to look younger. She had a blonde Afro, hip hugger bell bottoms, a bunch of beads and a black Peace Now tee shirt. More troubling: her eyes didn’t focus right.
    Oh crap. She’s into the 60s. Her dad had warned her about these folks. Another face appeared–this belonged to a stick thin guy with shoulder-length brown hair held back by a black bandana across his forehead. A busy beard, tee shirt advocating free love and ratty jeans left no doubt he was way into the 1960s. Both of them wore sandals with no socks. In January.
    “Peace,” the woman said, then made the appropriate sign with her two fingers. The guy did the same.
    Clearly Riley was going to have to be the adult in this conversation.
    “I’m here to take care of your…” She hesitated at this point. Her dad had taught her to never say the “d” word in public until the client was willing to acknowledge that they had a fiendish issue. Demons in your home rated right up there with declaring your place a plague pit. Some people wouldn’t buy a house if there’d even been a demon inside. “I’m here to take care of your problem .”
    The pair just stared at her.
    “You know. The problem?” Nothing. So much for subtlety. “I’m a Demon Trapper.”
    “Oh, groovy,” the woman said and smiled. Riley decided she was probably called Sunflower or something like that given