Who the fuck were the Children of the Void?
I’d asked myself these questions for years, to no avail. Some questions don’t have answers, and maybe it’s best if we don’t discover them. Besides, this wasn’t the place nor the time to revisit this old mystery. No, I was studying these files for another reason. I wanted to know how many of my father’s cult members had children.
Looking at the cultists more carefully, I learned that four people out of this group of twenty had their own families. All told, there were seven possible daughters. Two I ruled out because of their ethnic background, others I disqualified because they were too young or too old. That left me with three remaining suspects.
My attention fixed on the photograph of a twenty-nine-year-old stunner with a wild mane of jet-black hair. Even without Vesper’s earlier description of her attacker, I would have picked this woman as the most likely suspect out of the three. There was something about the arrogant expression on her face and the complete lack of warmth in her eyes, almost as if she couldn’t fully contain the evil power dwelling within her soul.
I turned the computer toward Vesper, and she confirmed it for me.
“That’s her,” she said in a thin voice. “That’s the woman who attacked me.”
Vesper struggled to keep her composure as she spoke. Poor girl. She’d been through hell and back.
“So what do we know about this bitch?”
I regarded Vesper for a beat, encouraged by her willingness to engage with the problem despite the earlier attack. Instead of retreating into her shell, she appeared determined to gain a better understanding of our new enemy.
“Her name is Asmadina Nagal, age twenty-nine, daughter of a famous Persian-American film producer. Both her father and mother violently resisted arrest during the LAPD raid of my father’s temple, and they were shot and killed by the police.”
I guess both Asmadina and I had lost parents on the same day.
My focus returned to the photograph of the woman in question. I had to admit that she was beautiful, probably one of the most attractive, captivating women I’d ever seen.
Except that she might be my sister.
Were we related? Had Mason Kane fathered this woman with a cult member? Looking at Asmadina’s deceased parents, I shook my head. She had her father’s emerald eyes and her mother’s olive complexion and dark hair.
So why had Mary Kinsey called her the Daughter of Darkness? Perhaps the description would befit any child born to a cult member, not just the spawn of my father.
In any case, Asmadina was our girl. I wondered why she was following her parents’ twisted example. Why had she succumbed to the call of black magic?
I continued to read her file, searching for answers. Not much of interest before her teenage years. Model student, no juvenile record. After the death of her parents in the raid, Asmadina became a ward of the state and was adopted by her mother’s brother.
This latest piece of information gave me pause. Our stories shared a lot in common. The big difference between us was that the press had been far more interested in the cult leader’s son than the offspring of its members.
At age sixteen, Asmadina left her uncle’s home, emancipated herself and started a lucrative modeling career. I didn’t find this all that surprising, considering her looks.
When I shared that insight with Vesper, she rolled her eyes.
I continued, summarizing the dossier aloud. “Local gigs soon led to international jobs, and for six years Asmadina traveled the world while making a living as a runway model. She retired from modeling at age twenty-three and, using contacts she’d gained throughout her career, began to sell high-end antiques.”
“I guess she developed a taste for expensive stuff,” Vesper said.
“And get this. She specialized in occult relics, which she buys and sells at a considerable profit.”
I was understanding why Asmadina had gone after my father’s remains. Talk about the ultimate supernatural relic. Was she hoping to sell my father’s bones, or did she plan to use them in a ritual of her own?
Beyond that grisly theft, there was still the question of what she wanted from me. Was she trying to rebuild my father’s cult and recruit me? Or was she merely eager to remove a potential threat?
Maybe she’d known I’d do anything in my power to prevent my father’s remains from falling into the wrong hands. Realizing our paths would eventually cross, had she opted to launch a preemptive strike, hoping to scare me off? Well, if that was the case, she didn’t understand who she was dealing with. Simon Kane didn’t back off, and I didn’t scare easily. I wouldn’t rest until I put an end to her operation.
The files had given me some insight into Asmadina’s life, but I still failed to grasp the dark forces that drove this woman, or how she’d gained such an impressive command of the black arts. All I knew for sure was that, unlike me, she was following in her parents’ footsteps. She was willing to sell her soul to the Devil for power.
“What are you going to do now?” Vesper asked.
My fingers tapped the keys of my keyboard and turned the computer in her direction. A large photograph showed a sprawling warehouse in an industrial section of the city.
“Asmadina stores her antiques here,” I explained. “Buyers can visit the place if they want to look at her collection, and from time to time she holds auctions for interested parties.”
On the surface, the warehouse offered no hint of the dark items stored within its walls. I had a feeling magic far more powerful than my wards protected the structure.
An edge of panic crept into Vesper’s voice. “Don’t tell me you’re heading over there.”
“I’m considering it.”
“You can’t be serious. Asmadina left these clues behind so you’d figure out who she is and where you could find her. It’s a trap.”
“I agree. But it’s also an invitation.”
Vesper shook her head. “Simon, this isn’t a game.”
“To her, it is. And she wants me to play.”
“She wants you dead.”
“Perhaps. But Asmadina could have harmed me many times by now. Nothing could have stopped her from hurting you in the temple, but she didn’t. There is something she wants from me. And I intend to find out what it is.”
“Damn it, I looked into that woman’s eyes. She’s dangerous and quite mad.”
I nodded in agreement. The human spirit could only practice magic on the most rudimentary level and hope to remain sane. Any mortal mind that delved deeper into the mysteries of the other side was bound to succumb to madness and murder. Is that what happened to Asmadina? Had she been drawn to the flame? Had she believed she could play with fire without burning down the whole world?
“If I don’t take her up on this invitation, this craziness will continue to escalate. Next time, she might not stop. I can’t let that happen. I need to find out what she wants so I can end this.”
Vesper finished her drink and shook her head in frustration. My assistant knew how hard it was to change my mind once it was made up.
“You’re making a mistake, Simon.”
With a final look at me, Vesper left the living room. Her footsteps receded as she climbed the stairs to her room. Reassured by the sound of her bedroom lock snapping shut, I stared at the flickering computer for a beat. Asmadina’s hypnotic eyes glowered back at me.
I put the computer in sleep mode and walked toward the sliding glass doors. The sun was setting over the ocean and painting scarlet streaks on the bobbing waves. I took in the cracked glass, which resembled a giant spider web. Asmadina must have pushed back against the magic of the wards, and the glass had become the collateral damage in the struggle between white and black magic.
My fingers traced the fissures in the glass, which I planned to replace as soon as I wrapped up this case. New wards would be needed, a process I didn’t look forward to. Even applying simple magic required an incredible amount of energy and always made me fe
el like I was walking a delicate tightrope over some yawing abyss eager to swallow me whole. The temptation to dive deeper into more complex occult rituals could become overpowering. But in my line of work, wards were a must. I would have to take the chance.
As I watched the sun vanish below the horizon, my thoughts focused on my new enemy. Why had Asmadina embraced my father’s hellish legacy while I’d turned against it? Did she genuinely believe I could ever come to see things her way?
Was she trying to corrupt me?
I shook my head. If that’s what she believed, she had another thing coming. I wouldn’t betray my principles so easily.
Sudden footsteps behind me gave me pause. A beat later, Vesper’s reflection appeared next to mine in the sliding door’s glass pane, our heads separated by the deep grooves.
I turned to my assistant, surprised at her presence.
“What’s wrong? I thought you were getting some rest.”
“I couldn’t fall asleep. I guess I don’t want to be alone. Not now.”
Vesper’s vulnerable gaze lingered on my reflection.
I remembered how we had embraced back in the temple. The relief I felt when I knew for sure that Vesper was still alive.
“Simon, I need you,” she said, her voice raw.
Her warm hand closed around my wrist, and I didn’t pull back. The physical contact stirred feelings long held in check.
Vesper had to be feeling the same emotion as she leaned closer, her lips finding mine.
The barriers between us crumbled, both of us hungry for the warmth we offered to each other.
And then an unexpected noise penetrated the fog of passion. At first distant and easily ignored, it started to grow louder. After another moment, I identified the noise. It was the sound of running water. Someone was taking a shower upstairs.
Instinctively I pulled back from Vesper and saw with horror that the woman looking at me was none other than Asmadina.
She was wearing Vesper’s leather outfit, the proportions of her body those of my assistant, but the face belonged to my new enemy.
I reached out for her, in anger instead of passion, and my hands passed through thin air.
Spitting out a curse, I whipped around in search of the woman. From the corner of my panicked gaze I caught movement near the pool.
Asmadina stood on the deck now, her lips twisted in a cruel smile. She took a step into the water and vanished from view. Fury building inside me, I pulled the glass door open and rushed toward the pool. The glassy surface showed no signs of having been disturbed.
Asmadina was gone.
My heart was pounding, and blood roared in my ears.
“Stop playing games!” I shouted. “Show yourself and tell me what the fuck you want!”
“It will not be that easy, lover boy,” a resonant female voice whispered into my ear even though there was no sign of a human presence.
Then again, I doubted that Asmadina was fully human any longer. Dark magic had corrupted her and turned her into something else. These disturbing thoughts were still tumbling through my mind when I heard the familiar roar of my BMW.
The bitch was stealing my car!
I tore down a staircase that led me straight to a cobbled path that circled to the front of the property, where I’d left the BMW in the driveway. I arrived just in time to witness it tearing toward the open front gate. I didn’t have to see Asmadina’s face behind the privacy-tinted glass to know she was laughing at me.
Chapter Fifteen
I was tired of being played for a goddamn fool. Tired of Asmadina’s games. This latest deception was the last straw.
I crossed the circular driveway that fronted the mansion and headed straight to a smaller building nearby, which functioned both as a guest house and garage. With determined strides, I made my way to the iron-gray, beaten-up Ford Mustang in which Caroline and I had traveled cross-country all those years ago.
I studied the rusting wreck for a beat. The vehicle was a museum piece at this point; in fact, it had been a clunker back in the day. But I’d held on to my first set of wheels for all this time. Perhaps it was nostalgia, an inability to let go of the past. Either way, I made sure a mechanic inspected the car once a year, and I did my best to take it for a spin every few months.
I opened the car door, got in and cranked up the engine. For a split second, I considered taking the Ducati, but in my mind, the bike had become Vesper’s ride—not that she used it all that much. She mostly just rode it around the circular driveway, whooping with glee.
Thinking about my assistant—what Asmadina had done to her, and how she’d turned the feelings I harbored for Vesper against me—stoked my rage.
I gritted my teeth, put the Mustang in drive and floored the gas.
My plan was simple. I was going to take this fight to Asmadina’s home turf.
Let’s see what you got, I thought.
The weight of both my Glock and the Hexblade reassured me, convincing me I could pull this off. I blurred through nighttime L.A. traffic, headlights carving the burgeoning darkness.
I’d punched the address of Asmadina’s antique store into my GPS. The sprawling, warehouse-like structure was located in the City of Industry, a suburb of Los Angeles in the San Gabriel Valley region. The place was home to three thousand businesses but only counted about two hundred residents.
The area was almost entirely industrial—hence the name—and a wasteland of corrugated metal, smokestacks and chain-link fences topped with concertina wire. In other words, the perfect home for a secret base devoted to the occult arts.
It took me about an hour to reach the warehouse, which seemed to have erupted from a barren stretch of cement in the middle of nowhere. A single car occupied the large parking lot. My BMW stood forlornly in front of the main entrance of the windowless, cinder-block structure.
I parked the Mustang next to the BMW and got out. There was no sign of Asmadina. Up ahead, the monolithic structure of the warehouse towered over me, oddly sinister in its featurelessness. Only a fool would enter this place not knowing what might wait within its fortress-like walls.
But Asmadina had pushed me to the edge. I wanted answers.
My chest burning with determination, I took out both my Glock and the athame and strode toward the warehouse’s shadowy entrance. No light spilled from the main door, and nor did any lamps illuminate the dark stretch of asphalt. In the distance, the headlights of passing cars winked at me as they zipped down the winding freeway. The flow of traffic appeared far away and, for a second, I felt like an astronaut looking down on the lights of the Earth from orbit. A pervasive silence hung over the area, and the air was redolent with the smell of burned rubber and some other foul stench I couldn’t place.
My scar burned as I approached. The structure oozed black magic, and the Ouroboros was picking up on it.
Tell me something I don’t know, I thought.
Musky air filled my lungs as the oaken doors fell shut behind me. Muted lights hid more than they revealed in the overcrowded space. All manner of junk (and perhaps a few treasures) cluttered the massive warehouse. Solid wood furniture, countless books, statues from a variety of time periods, all kinds of knickknacks, tattered clothes, ornaments, vases with strange engravings—you name it. Many of these items had lasted through multiple lifetimes. Narrow passageways zigzagged through the chaotic, disorganized collection. How could any buyer ever find what they were looking for in this place?
Then again, perhaps it was the other way around, and the relics found their future owners, exerting an invisible pull on them. This feeling was enhanced by my irrational impulse to keep heading left, almost as if I was following a trail of breadcrumbs only visible to my subconscious mind.
My guard up, I moved deeper into the maze of antiques. Creepy dolls looked back at me, while the portraits of long-dead people seemed to glare from gilded frames. Not a single sound disturbed the perfect silence, creating the impression that the outside world had ceased
to exist. Take it from me, I’ve visited some scary-ass places over the years, but this warehouse made it into the top five. The site was like a haunted house on steroids.
I had to turn sideways to squeeze between a wooden dresser with a large round mirror and a dusty coffee table with ornately carved legs. I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was navigating an elaborate tomb. A modern-day pyramid. And I was about to be added to the collection for all eternity.
Somewhere in this shadow-soaked space, Asmadina was waiting for me. A black widow at the heart of her web.
I fought back the temptation to shout her name. Keep your cool, buddy, I admonished myself. Don’t let her know this freaky place is getting to you. Remember who you are, what you’ve done, the shit you’ve faced. You got this.
My thoughts trailed off as I recognized that the oblong glass box in front of me was not just another display case. It was a coffin.
I stole a quick look back and realized I had no idea where the entrance to the warehouse was located. A maze of antiques stretched endlessly in every direction.
My grip tightened on my athame, and I shifted my attention back to the glass coffin. This was the item that had been calling out to me, pulling me into its orbit. How could I not take a closer look? As I drew nearer, I wished I hadn’t. The crystal sarcophagus in front of me contained a human skeleton, and I had a pretty good idea whose remains I was looking at.
The burning sensation in my shoulder flared. My eyes narrowed as I inspected the see-through coffin more closely. Glyphs and runes unknown to me decorated the coffin’s glass surface. Had they been there all along, or was this a new addition by Asmadina? More importantly, why had the infernal woman brought his body here at all?
Maybe she simply hoped to sell the earthly remains of Mason Kane to the highest bidder. But I suspected that she was up to something else, something far more sinister.
I was still staring at my father’s skull when I sensed movement in the shadowy alcoves of antiques.
A man peeled off from the mass of junk. He wore a black robe and white collar, like a priest. As he stepped closer and his face came into clear view, my eyes lit up with recognition. I knew this man.
Soul Taker Page 9