Midnight Hunter (The Execution Underground Book 3)

by Kait Ballenger

  He leaned over and whispered into her ear, “I don’t love you. You are nothing more to me than an easy fuck.”

  She cried, whimpering at his words, but he took no notice. He reached his arms around her and undid her jeans. If she wanted to be nothing more than a worthless in-love whore, he would treat her as such.

  * * *

  “WHAT DO YOU think you’re doing?”

  The following night Shane stepped out of his room and was immediately confronted by Vera. The hurt she’d displayed at his rejection the night before had disappeared. He hadn’t seen her that morning before he left to teach, and she’d been chilly but polite when he’d come home, but clearly something had changed massively since then.

  “What?” he asked.

  “You think you can wear that to infiltrate a black-magic coven?” she asked. Several minutes earlier she had insisted he change into something more casual. He had thought this would be acceptable. Apparently not.

  “What’s wrong with this?”

  She shook her head as she looked him up and down. “Everything. You look like a professor. Professors do not practice black magic.”

  “What do you suggest I wear, then?”

  Vera shrugged. “I don’t know, something less stuffy.”

  He gestured to his pants. “I’m wearing jeans. What’s stuffy about jeans?”

  She gently tugged at the sleeve of his shirt. “You’re wearing a button-down. Everything’s stuffy about a button-down.”

  Shane glanced down at his shirt again. Really? A button-down was stuffy?

  Vera let out a long sigh. “Please tell me you have some kind of casual T-shirt? We’re never going to pull this off otherwise.”

  He wasn’t a T-shirt kind of guy. Jeans and a button-down with the sleeves rolled up, exactly what he was wearing, was his kind of casual. “I have maybe one black T-shirt I wear when...”

  “Good, put it on,” Vera demanded.

  He ducked back into his room. A moment later he returned with the black T-shirt tucked into his jeans.

  Vera frowned and pulled the shirt free, then scanned him up and down. “Still not quite trendy enough, but it will do.”

  “Since when was practicing black magic trendy?”

  She rolled her eyes at him. “It’s not, but nobody there is older than their early thirties. It’s a young crowd.”

  “I’m young.”

  She waved a hand at him in dismissal. “Yeah, but you have to look the part, too. Most people aren’t tenured professors before they’re thirty, and most people who practice black magic aren’t young urban professionals.”

  Young urban professional? He was no yuppie. Silently, he reassured himself that his job with the Execution Underground negated any yuppiness he happened to incur from being a tenured professor, right?

  Thirty minutes later Shane and Vera stood in the middle of a back alley in downtown Rochester. The scents of car exhaust, overflowing Dumpsters and the city’s unseemly side filled Shane’s nose as they approached a door at the end of the alley. He was so ready for this, ready to identify the necromancer and end the practice of black magic in Rochester once and for all. With two separate covens, there was a distinct possibility the necromancer wouldn’t be here, but the roiling feeling in Shane’s gut said otherwise.

  “Try to look casual,” Vera whispered.

  As Shane tried to decide what exactly wasn’t casual about how he already looked, she knocked on the door three times. A moment later the door swung open. A young African-American woman with a head full of tight curls peeked out at them. She struck him immediately as beautiful but ferocious. The kind of woman you didn’t want to cross.

  She eyed Vera with a look of indifference. “Oh, you’re back.”

  Shane’s stomach sank. Back? Thank goodness he had a rock-solid poker face. He stifled the urge to ask when the last time Vera had been here was, though he didn’t need to. The look of guilt in her eyes told him all he needed to know.

  The woman turned her gaze toward Shane. “Who’s he?”

  “A friend,” Vera replied.

  Friend...

  Things had gotten a little more than friendly last night, and if he thought he’d regretted not allowing things to go further before, he really regretted how far things had gone now. His first instinct about Vera had proved correct. She had been deceiving him. He’d given her the benefit of the doubt, only to have his trust cruelly proven to be misplaced.

  He must have passed the appearance test, because the woman held the door open, then let it slam shut once they were inside. She walked down the narrow hallway that led deeper into the building, and Shane followed. His eyes locked with Vera’s as he stepped past her. A heartbreaking mix of remorse and sadness filled her gaze before she quickly glanced away. Instead, she stared down at her feet as if they held the answers to the world’s problems, if only she looked long enough.

  He knew that look. It was the same look his mother had always given him every time she’d tried to get clean but had fallen off the bandwagon. It was a look of apology, an “I tried, but I just couldn’t do it” look. To Shane, it had always seemed as if there was no real apology there, though, because he’d always felt that if she’d truly been sorry for what she was putting him through, she would have kicked her habit.

  He shook his head as he followed the woman down the hall, with Vera close on his tail. The comparison was ludicrous. Vera didn’t owe him anything, not the way his mother had. And really, how could he expect an addict to be honest? He pushed the problem aside. He had to focus on what he needed to do, not the misplaced feelings of hurt and anger coursing through his chest.

  The sound of chanting filled his ears as they neared a room at the end of the hall. He didn’t need to be a witch to feel the magic pulsating through the air. It cut straight through him as he rounded a corner and entered the room. A circle of people sat on the floor, chanting a spell he didn’t recognize. His eyes scanned over the black-magic paraphernalia. The mortars and pestles for herbs, the sacrificial blades to draw blood, the flickering candles dripping wax down their sides, and the bones of animals long since lost to sacrifice. A deep anger filled his chest at the sight. These people were knowingly hurting others. That fact grated against every fiber of his being, and the thought that Vera had been here before, perhaps recently, churned his stomach. How could she participate in something like this?

  When he glanced over his shoulder at her, he knew. Her addiction. It blinded her to the harm she was doing in the same way his mother was still blind to the way she’d neglected him his whole life. The thought made his heart ache. She was better than this, so much better than this.

  He wasn’t at all surprised when the eyes of the man sitting at the head of the circle snapped open and his chanting ceased. He’d already pegged the son of a bitch as the one leading this coven and, based purely on gut instinct, responsible for the recent gruesome attacks. His years with the Execution Underground had taught him enough to know that his instincts were usually a good guide to the truth, and when he locked eyes with the warlock, every hair on the back of his neck stood on end. Trouble.

  “Vera, you’re back,” the warlock said.

  Immediately, Shane recognized the warlock’s voice as the one that had spoken through Lauren Seater. He was grateful that necromancy didn’t allow the possessor to see through the corpse’s eyes.

  Hearing Vera’s name spoken by that bastard scraped against Shane’s nerves. He fought not to clench his teeth. Something told him that Vera’s visit had been recent, very recent. And boy, did Lucy have a lot of ’splainin’ to do when they were finished here.

  Vera just smiled, which only caused Shane’s stomach to churn even more.

  “Who’s your friend?” Mr. Creep asked her.

  Vera stepped forward and placed a hand on Shane’s ar
m. “Nathanial, this is Shane. I thought he’d be an asset to the coven. He knows a lot about black magic.”

  Nathanial raised an eyebrow at Shane. “Do you now?”

  Shane gave a single nod. He suddenly missed the weight of his Walther PPK at his lower back. Clearly, he was turning into Jace, because he couldn’t help envisioning putting a bullet between Nathanial’s eyes for his crimes. He’d never been a violent man, but facing down Nathanial sure made him feel that way. What this man had orchestrated was despicable, and from the look in the asshole’s eyes, what Shane knew of his crimes was the least of his worries.

  “Tell me, Shane, what do you know about necromancy?”

  Straight to the point. This guy was so arrogant he wasn’t even bothering to try to hide his actions from a stranger, which meant he thought he was invincible. Shane hoped that fact would ultimately make him vulnerable. Meanwhile, his training had taught him to stick as close to the truth as possible to make his story believable, so he said, “I know it’s a messy endeavor that usually causes more trouble than it’s worth.”

  Nathanial smirked. Not a cat-that-caught-the-canary grin, but a cat that had caught your canary and then proceeded to slice it open with a single claw and disembowel it just for sheer pleasure. This guy was sick in the head, of that Shane was certain.

  “A reluctant participant,” Nathanial said. “I like a challenge. I can make a believer out of you.”

  Shane highly doubted it, though he didn’t allow his face to say as much.

  Nathanial eyed him up and down again. “Why have I never seen you around the circuit before?”

  Shane shrugged. “I’ve been practicing on my own for a long time. I’m a solitary kind of person.”

  Nathanial ran his tongue over his teeth, still sizing him up. “Why the sudden change of heart?”

  Shane nodded to Vera. “A change of heart isn’t difficult when there’s a beautiful woman involved.” He looked her up and down appreciatively for dramatic effect. He didn’t have to fake his attraction to her, and Nathanial would see that authenticity. He hoped it would buy him credibility.

  A bark of a laugh escaped Nathanial’s throat, and the confrontational rigidness of his spine eased.

  Bingo. Shane had been right. Brownie points for him. After a quick survey of the room’s occupants, the vast majority of whom were twenty-something and female, he’d concluded that Nathanial had a penchant for pretty young women. Not only could he co-opt them for his magical purposes, it seemed likely that they easily misread the power he exuded and turned him into a sex symbol, rather than seeing it for the warning sign it should have been.

  He doubted Nathanial actually cared for any of them or anyone else. The kind of coldness it took to lead a cult occurred solely in sociopaths incapable of love, but that didn’t mean he didn’t feel sexual desire, and that was what Shane had banked on.

  “Tell me, Shane, what do you know about using necromancy for personal gain?” Nathanial asked.

  “I know that it usually results in the death of others and easily goes off the rails if not controlled correctly.”

  Nathanial shot a glare to the other side of the circle, where their guide stood. “Would you look at that, Trista? Already Shane here is proving he knows more about black magic than you do.”

  Ouch. Shane’s gaze shot between Nathanial and Trista. A clear tension hung in the air between them, despite Trista’s lowered gaze and the clear feeling of shame etched across her face.

  Nathanial turned away from her and focused his gaze on Shane again. “That’s what I get for having a woman do what clearly needs to be a man’s job.” He waved a hand, and a moment later room appeared in the circle. He gestured for Vera and Shane to sit.

  Vera sat down first, and Shane took the spot beside her. As he took his seat, he dared another look in Trista’s direction and was instantly glad he had. Though Nathanial was no longer looking at her, Trista’s eyes were trained on the necromancer. Anger and hurt radiated from her features clear as day.

  That was it. His “in” to the activities of the coven.

  For all intents and purposes, this visit was nothing more than a glorified fishing expedition. While he knew what Nathanial and his coven had been up to, he still didn’t know the man’s motive or how the deaths benefitted him. It would be difficult to weasel such sensitive information out of Nathanial during the short course of this gathering, but Shane had a plan. Sure, he would still sit back and observe as planned, but now he had something much more active up his sleeve, courtesy of that little exchange between Nathanial and Trista.

  “Join hands,” Nathanial commanded them.

  Shane placed his hand in Vera’s before he looked up and met Nathanial’s gaze. Shane had a feeling the bullet burning a hole in his gun wouldn’t have to wait for much longer.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  THE GATHERING PROCEEDED to go off without a hitch. Shane and Vera both played their roles well, pretending to be active participants in Nathanial’s black-magic rituals. As Shane had expected, Nathanial hadn’t made them privy to any information they didn’t already know, but that was all right, because he had a plan.

  “Is there a restroom I could use?” Shane asked Trista as she escorted them out. “We have a bit of a ride back to her house in Brighton.” He nodded toward Vera.

  In truth, Vera lived nowhere near Brighton. Thankfully, she didn’t point out as much. A flicker of curiosity sparked behind her eyes. She knew he was up to something.

  Trista huffed as if she were already tired of playing hostess and pointed to an adjacent hall. “Second door on the left.”

  Shane nodded. “Thanks.” He rounded the corner and ducked into the closet-size bathroom, making certain to lock the door behind him. He couldn’t chance anyone walking in on him. Not with what he was about to do.

  Contrary to Vera’s advice, he hadn’t shown up completely unarmed. Doing so would have gone against all of his training as a hunter. A witch hunter completely unarmed in a coven that practiced black magic? Not a chance.

  Shane crouched down and lifted the edge of his pant leg. He didn’t often store a knife in his boot, but tonight it would serve him well. He unlaced the top of his boot and slipped the knife from its sheath before lacing the boot once again. He placed the knife on the small sink and quickly relieved himself, flushed the toilet and washed his hands. He had to make it convincing if he was going to manage this. Was it a little morally questionable? Sure, but right now it was his only option, and Trista, as Nathanial’s lackey, was far from innocent. She undoubtedly had all the answers he needed, and her anger toward Nathanial would make her an easy nut to crack. Her loyalty would break without much difficulty. Shane had seen that in her eyes.

  Holding the knife underneath the sleeve of his leather coat, he slipped from the bathroom and back into the hallway. Vera and Trista were standing at the exit door, waiting for him.

  Trista unlocked the door and held it open for them. “Until next time.”

  Vera stepped out into the alley, clearing his path. Now was his chance.

  Before Trista could even see what was coming, Shane grabbed her around the waist and dragged her into the alley with him. He shoved the blade of his knife flush against her throat before she could even realize what hit her. The door slammed behind them with a loud thud.

  “Let me go!” Trista screeched as Vera simultaneously shouted, “What the hell are you doing?”

  But Shane knew that no one could hear them inside the building. The door was thick and metal, very clearly soundproof.

  Trista struggled against him, trying to free herself to no avail.

  “Quit squirming and do as I say or this blade is sliding straight across your murderous throat. Got it?” he snapped. He pushed the blade just the slightest bit closer to her throat, just enough so she could feel it. Not enough to actually hurt
her.

  Trista nodded. He didn’t need to see the look on her face. He could tell from the rigidity of her body that she was equal parts pissed off and terrified. Good. He could use that to his advantage.

  “What do you think you’re doing, Shane?” Vera stood across the alley from him, her eyes wide with shock.

  “Getting answers.” The words came out as a near-growl, harsher than he intended, though he didn’t really care. He marched Trista down the alley with Vera in tow. They needed to get out of there, and fast, before Nathanial realized that Trista was missing.

  “You can’t just kidnap her. What are you going to do to her?” Vera pleaded.

  “No worse than she and Nathanial have done to any of their victims. Get with the program and grab the handcuffs from my car so I don’t have to hold this knife to her throat any longer, or take your half-assed lying loyalties back to Nathanial. Your choice,” he snapped.

  Vera’s mouth fell open, and she gaped at him as if he’d smacked her. He knew his words were harsh, but damn it, it was no more than she deserved for lying to him from the very beginning. Not only had he trusted her when it came to the case, but if he was truly honest with himself, he’d allowed his heart to open to her, as well. That just made her lies all the more painful, like pouring salt in an already-open wound or a cheap shot to the family jewels.

  Throughout the entire gathering, his anger had simmered, and at the moment all he could think was that it damn well served her right that some of that anger had been released at her.

  They locked eyes for a long moment, enough for him to let her know he was serious, and also enough for him to see the glossy sheen of tears in her eyes. Shit. The last thing he’d wanted to do was make her cry.

  He turned slightly, his eyes pointing down to his jacket pocket. Without a word, Vera removed his keys from inside his jacket and jogged ahead of them as he continued to march Trista forward. He could tell from the way Vera ran that she wanted to keep running and never look back. He tried to tell himself that if that happened, he would be fine with it. After all, she’d lied to him. She was a black-magic junkie, and even worse, she might even have contributed to the bloody scenarios he’d spent the past week trying to clean up.