At least on the surface.
The creature stood naked in the dark, a thing not of this earth but capable of blending in with anyone who called this world their home.
Its eyes sparkled in the moonlight, lips twisted into a mocking scowl. A lean, good-looking man with dark brown hair and olive skin now stood before us. There was something vaguely Italian about his face. Had this demon somehow recreated Macobros' physical essence from the cult leader’s ashes?
And then Nazmaroth addressed us in a foreign language that I didn’t understand.
The words bounced off my ears, chilling me to the core even though I didn’t grasp the meaning of the ancient tongue.
The demon frowned and then spoke again, and this time his words were in English.
“Why won’t you make your father proud, Simon Kane?” the demon asked like it was the most normal thing in the whole world. Like we were having a nice chat over dinner.
The question pierced my soul like a scalpel. How did this thing know my name or anything else about me? Had it gleaned the information when it got a taste of my blood? Or was there something else afoot?
“Who the fuck are you?” I asked.
“The future. Nocte Infinitum.”
And with those final words, the reborn demon walked away from us as if it had grown bored by our mundane exchange. Its steps quickly became fainter until there was only the silence of the house again.
I don’t know how long we stood and waited in the dark. What if it was a trap? What if the demon was waiting for us to cross the circle? Even though I was playing it safe for Winters' sake, I knew the devil was gone. At least for now .
The burning sensation in my shoulder had stopped, which meant Nazmaroth had decided to explore the world beyond rather than hang around this godforsaken barn.
In that, we had something in common.
“Kane, is it gone?” Winters asked after a few more minutes.
“Yeah,” I said. “It’s gone.”
“It talked like it knew you.”
I didn’t have an explanation for that. What was the meaning of the demon’s question?
Was it a final taunt, or did it carry a more profound significance? Could this thing somehow know my father?
The image of Mason Kane trapped in some hellish plane—or, more likely given his ambitions, attaining power and status in a place beyond the imagination of mortal men—turned my blood to ice.
My mind kept going over the demon’s question as I waited for the beast to put some distance between itself and the farm. About fifteen minutes later, I’d grown tired of the waiting game. Winters shifted uncomfortably beside me.
Jaw set, I took that first step and crossed the threshold of the circle.
One step became two, and then three. I traded a look with Winters.
“Stay where you are. Don’t move.”
I combed the barn, probed the shadows and stepped into the night. Silence greeted me. My tattoo didn’t flare up, indicating that the demon was truly gone.
We had survived tonight.
Reassured that the coast was clear, I returned to the barn only to find that Winters had already left the protective circle.
“Sorry, but there’s no fucking way I was staying in this place on my own for a second longer.”
Winters’ face was the color of marble. She’d witnessed something tonight that only a handful of mortals ever had — the birth of a demon.
I prayed she’d move past this experience even though I knew deep down in my heart she’d have nightmares about it until the end of her days.
Welcome to my world, Detective Winters. Sorry about all this.
Chapter Twenty
To my surprise, I slept like a baby on my flight back to Los Angeles.
Thinking of the paperwork and media circus Detective Winters would have to contend with today made me glad to be the guy who shows up, does his job, and disappears back into the shadows. I hoped the closure Winters had gotten from confronting Erik Krippner would outweigh the horrors of the last night.
I’d felt tempted to hang around a little longer in North Bay Harbor, maybe get to know the detective better, but the media was already descending on the village like a swarm of locusts.
In case it wasn’t clear—the press and I don’t mix.
I’d left Winters my card, though. If she ever needed someone to talk to when the nightmares got to be too much, I was just a phone call away .
On the way to the airport, I made a stop at the Croftmore theater. There was one last thing I needed to do before I went home. There was a trapped soul who needed my help.
Once in the theater, I told Maitland about the whole case. How Haskell was free now. How she could be too.
But I received no response. And then it hit me. Maitland had already moved on. When I’d destroyed Maitland’s body back at the farmhouse, I’d broken the spell which had kept her imprisoned in the Croftmore.
I let out a sigh of relief and left the theater. At one point, I paused and could have sworn something was watching from those empty seats. Not a ghost but something else. Something far worse.
My tattoo remained dormant though so I wrote it off as a case of having too much imagination for my own good.
It was early afternoon when I landed at LAX and traffic was light. I hadn’t told Vesper to send a car for me. I figured a ride share would get me where I needed to go at a much better price.
The sun was bright and warm as we shot down the PCH toward my mega-mansion. It felt good to be home again. I already saw myself hitting the pool as soon as I stepped through the door of my house. Afterward, I planned on combing my occult library to learn more about my strange new enemy. Maybe I’d trade some theories with Vesper over a plate of nachos and a couple beers, if my assistant was up for company .
As the Lyft drew nearer to my home, I saw a scene from my worst memories. Three black-and-white police cruisers stood parked in the driveway, their red-blue lights flashing. Cops were swarming the property. Add a spinning helicopter, and it would be 2004 all over again. I felt the wild urge to tell my driver to turn around, to take me back to the airport so I could avoid whatever had brought the law back to the Kane villa.
Then I saw Vesper standing in the middle of a ring of uniformed officers. She was standing with her arms folded defensively across her chest, looking small and vulnerable despite her badass outfit and stubborn expression. Had Vesper gotten herself in trouble somehow? How do you get yourself in trouble without ever leaving the house?
If this wasn’t about my assistant—and I didn’t see how it could be—that left only one other option. The boys in blue had shown up at my doorstep to talk to me. Either they needed my help with a new case, or I was in some trouble of my own. Had I forgotten to pay a speeding ticket or ignored a jury summons? No, I had not. And they didn’t send three squad cars for a traffic violation. Something else was going on here. The Lyft driver, some kid in his twenties trying to break into acting, traded a concerned glance with me, almost as if he was silently asking me if we should turn around.
I shook my head. I didn’t run away from my problems, not anymore.
I got out of the car and advanced toward the cops. I could hear Vesper's irritated voice drifting from the driveway.
“How often do I have to tell you guys? Mr. Kane isn’t here right now.”
“Am I interrupting something?” I asked as I strode up the motor court.
The officer in charge, a tall Latino man whose name tag identified him as Cadanzaro, turned and gave me a curious—but not unfriendly—look.
“Mr. Kane?”
“That’s me. How can I help you, officer?”
“We have a situation that needs your attention,” he explained in a calm and professional voice while his smile never wavered.
“What sort of situation?” I asked.
“It might be best if I just showed you.”
I considered this for a moment. I’d just spent six hours on a plane. All I r
eally wanted was to relax, but there’s no rest for the wicked, is there?
Sensing a new case in the making, I graciously accepted the police officer’s offer for a ride and got in the back of the cruiser. A minute later, we were shooting down the PCH again. The cops up front traded a few pleasantries with me. I'd helped the department with several mysterious cases, and that went a long way in their book. Apparently, I’d worked with Cadanzaro’s aunt on a case a while back, and she’d told him all about the Paranormalist who stopped a gang of ghouls from terrorizing Boyle Heights .
We must’ve spent about twenty minutes on the road before we reached our destination. A sudden sharp stab of anxiety knifed my insides as I realized our goal was the Old World Cemetery. Six years earlier, I’d visited this cemetery for the first and last time in my life so I could spit on my father’s grave.
Cadanzaro and his partner, Michaels, escorted me through the wrought-iron cemetery gates, and we headed straight for my father’s tombstone.
Only a handful of people knew that Mason Kane was laid to rest in this cemetery. It’s a pretty well-guarded secret, but a few freaks have figured it out in the past. Either they show up to honor my father or to vandalize his final resting place. I don’t know which is worse.
I couldn’t imagine that the cops would drag me out here to look at a little graffiti. Something else—something much worse—must have happened.
The men in blue walked me up to the gravesite. As soon as my father’s actual grave came into view, the officers flanking me grew quiet. I struggled to breathe, and the world tilted. My eyes landed on the open hole in the ground. A casket lay within—an empty casket.
“Last night, a still as yet unidentified person dug up your father’s grave and removed his remains from his coffin,” Cadanzaro said.
My mind did not want to process his words, didn’t want to think about their implications.
The ground under my feet threatened to slip away, and the world spun overhead.
Someone had taken my father’s bones.
A reborn demon stalked the Earth.
The forces of darkness were growing bolder.
And I was the only man who stood a chance of stopping them.
THE END
Simon Kane and Dakota Vesper return in
The Paranormalist 2: Soul Taker
Book 3 and 4 are now on preorder too!
The Paranormalist 3: Curse of the Abyss
The Paranormalist 4: Lost Souls of Venice
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The Paranormalist: Servants of the Endless Night
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William Massa’s Night Hunters
Also by WILLIAM MASSA
THE NIGHT SLAYER SERIES
Midnight War
Monster Quest
Shadow Plague
Dark Masters (coming soon)
THE SHADOW DETECTIVE SERIES
Cursed City
Soul Catcher
Blood Rain
Demon Dawn
Skull Master
Ghoul Night
Witch Wars
Crimson Circle
Hell Breaker
Dragon Curse
THE OCCULT ASSASSIN SERIES
Damnation Cod e
Apocalypse Soldier
Ice Shadows
Spirit Breaker
Soul Jacker
THE PARANORMALIST
Servants of the Endless Night
Curse of the Black Moon
THE GARGOYLE KNIGHT SERIES
Gargoyle Knight
Gargoyle Quest
STAND ALONES
Fear the Light
About the Author
William Massa is a produced screenwriter and bestselling Amazon author. His film credits include Return to House on Haunted Hill and he has sold pitches and scripts to Warner, USA TV, Silver Pictures, Dark Castle, Maverick and Sony.
William has lived in New York, Florida, Europe and now resides in Venice Beach surrounded by skaters and surfers. He writes science fiction and dark fantasy/urban fantasy horror with an action-adventure flavor.
Writing can be a solitary pursuit but rewriting can be a group effort. I strive to make each book better than the last and feedback is incredibly helpful. If you have notes, thoughts or comments about this book or want to contact me, feel free to contact me at:
[email protected]
Hope to hear from you soon !
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