Shadow Detective Supernatural Dark Urban Fantasy Series: Books 4-6 (Shadow Detective Boxset Book 2)

by William Massa

  Crisp fall air slapped my face as I strode into the park, my human hand tugging at the butt of my magical pistol. I hadn’t quite gotten used to being suddenly left-handed—another effect of my new union with the demon. It took me about ten minutes to find the spot where the jogger had made his horrific discovery. A dirt path cut through a copse of trees. Darkness enveloped me, the park lamps too distant to chase away the shadows of this secluded spot. The perfect place for an outdoor black magic ceremony.

  I approached the trees and took a closer look at the strange markings. Darkness soaked the area, yet I didn’t make use of the flashlight I had brought along for this occasion. My recent pact hadn’t merely given me the hand of the monster. The changes ran far deeper. I felt stronger and my senses were heightened. A month earlier I would have been practically blind in the park, but now I could easily make out the symbols.

  More likely than not, the markings would be an amateur effort, just teens dabbling with black magic they found on the internet, but after my encounter with the Blackmore Witch, I had to make sure. Witches had steered clear of the Cursed City in the last year, but that could quickly change. Especially if the dark side grew wise that my partnership with Skulick was over.

  This was the other reason why I continued to hunt the forces of darkness, despite the many new challenges of doing the job solo. If Hell truly believed their greatest enemies were no longer a united front, that Skulick and I had turned against each other…well, the Cursed City would be in for a rough ride.

  I took a series of pictures of the occult symbols with my cell phone and planned to hit the public library to investigate their meaning. Man, I missed having access to our extensive occult library. Who was I kidding? I was missing Skulick and his encyclopedic knowledge of the dark side. Both my gut and the throbbing demon scar told me this was the real deal.

  The level of detail in the carvings suggested that whoever had made them knew exactly what they were doing. Each symbol appeared to be part of a larger spell, drawing energy both from the ground and trees as well as the animals which had been offered up to the flames. I prayed the poor critters had been dead when the fire reached them, but past experiences suggested otherwise. Energy released during violent death was far more powerful, a raw force that magic users could bend to their will.

  The signs of the ritual triggered a strange sense of unease, a pervasive feeling of dread which was echoed by the demon inside of me. It’s hard to describe but I suddenly knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that the markings on the trees scared Cyon.

  He’s afraid of witchcraft, I realized. Nothing seemed to ever shock or instill fear in the demon, well, not until now. Why was this occult crime scene affecting Cyon?

  Both disturbed and intrigued by this new insight, I stole a glance at the small stone circle nearby, the blackened ground the only evidence of what had happened here. All other signs of the atrocity had long been removed from the scene of the crime, but a dark aura lingered. In that moment, I wished I was someone else, that I didn’t have to face evil every day of my life. What I would have given to have a normal life, far removed from all this horror.

  A branch snapped. I froze, acutely aware that I might not be alone out here.

  “I think we’ve got company, partner!” Cyon said.

  Yeah, I figured that out for myself, I griped to the demon.

  Had the spell-slingers returned to the scene of the crime? My jaw tightened and I gripped Hellseeker a little tighter. I had left Demon Slayer in the trunk of my car, fearing that a chance run-in with a local cop might play out differently if they saw me schlepping around a medieval sword.

  My eyes bored into the night, searching the shadows for any signs of movement. I took a cautious step in the direction of the noise. I heard a muffled pop, and then the vegetation behind me erupted with gunfire. A volley of lead slammed into the trees. Instincts taking over, I hurled myself to the ground, Hellseeker out and ready.

  A shadowy silhouette emerged from behind one of the shrubs and was soon joined by two more figures. I was surrounded by enemies. And judging by the firepower they were packing, they were neither cops nor magic users. If the witches or warlocks had returned, my scar would have alerted me to their presence. This new threat was mortal.

  Morgal’s mark remained dormant as I squeezed the trigger, aiming for my opponent’s legs. A scream cut through the park as one of the shooters crumpled. My gun swiftly found a second target, Cyon’s demonic senses bathing the darkness in a scarlet glow. Demon vision sure beat a pair of night vision goggles. Another scream followed as one of my bullets hit the second man.

  I crawled along the damp, leaf-covered ground, the moisture seeping through my trench coat. If I hadn’t already looked like a bum when I entered the park, I would be able to blend in with them by the time I left.

  If I should be lucky enough to make it out of this gunfight alive, that is.

  I caught a flash of light in the dark as moonlight found a large cross wielded by one of my attackers. The cross ignited with a sizzling energy that turned night into day. The nearly blinding light revealed my enemies. Men dressed in black, sporting automatic rifles. Most tellingly, they all wore white collars and carried crucifixes. The White Crescent had found me.

  Had the trigger-happy priests ventured into the park on this night to take a closer look at the crime scene the way I had? Or had they figured I might put in an appearance and laid a trap? Although I would have preferred to believe it was coincidence that brought us both here, the latter explanation made the most sense. It also meant that my job had become exceedingly more challenging.

  Damn it. All I wanted to do was keep this city safe. Couldn’t they see that? Anger welling up inside of me, I jumped back to my feet and rushed toward a nearby boulder. More bullets lashed the air. I ignored them. Having a demon inside of me didn’t make me bulletproof, but it did enhance my speed and reflexes. I jumped with inhuman grace onto the large stone outcropping and used it to launch myself higher. I cut through the air like some Olympic long jumper and sailed over the gun-toting exorcists.

  I landed right behind the man with the giant cross—that would be the Cross of Light for those who were keeping track of the White Crescent’s mystical arsenal—and threw a punch at Father Cabrera. I didn’t have anything personal against the man. We had fought side by side, but now we were mortal enemies. Funny how that works. Armed with the knowledge that my enemies were technically the good guys, I couldn’t bring myself to shoot them.

  My fist snapped out and met the chin of the cross-wielding priest. He cried out and fell, but he raised a hand, forestalling the Vatican stormtroopers from shooting me.

  “I repudiate you, demon spawn!” Cabrera cried out.

  I raised my eyebrows at him. “How long did it take you to rehearse that line?”

  “You’re an agent of evil now, Raven. You may not even realize it. You may think you’re still fighting on the side of angels, but the darkness inside you won’t be denied. Turn yourself over before it’s too late.”

  Cabrera spat blood as he glared at me. He had dropped the Cross of Light when I hit him, and I had kicked it away before he could scoop it up. I recalled all too well the burning agony I had experienced the last time my skin had touched the mystical super weapon. Crosses and demons just didn’t mix.

  I loomed over Cabrera, no doubt cutting a menacing figure in the dim moonlight. Judging by the way these holy warriors stared at me, I could have been Satan himself.

  As a familiar voice boomed over the headsets of the exorcist commandos, my heart sank. I recognized the speaker. Skulick was checking in on the team. Which meant my own partner was commanding this operation.

  The White Crescent might not have expected me to keep investigating paranormal cases, but my partner knew what was up. He would have figured out that Cyon was trying to draw his old master out by battling the various servants of darkness.

  I scooped up the headset from one of the fallen priests. I had dreaded this
confrontation and tried to play it off with my trademark humor.

  “Nice to hear from you, partner. How are things back at the ranch?”

  My question was greeted by a hiss of static.

  “Where is Father Carbrera?” Skulick finally said.

  “He and his buddies are just fine. Well, I had to put a few bullets in their legs, but it was purely an act of self-defense, I hope you understand.” I texted him a pic of marked trees. “In other news, it appears we have a witch problem.”

  Skulick quickly shot down my attempt to restore our old dynamic. “That’s not the problem that concerns me. Raven, you’re sick. You need help.”

  “I told you, Cyon isn’t like other demons.”

  “That’s what he wants you to believe.”

  For an instant, I was gripped by self-doubt. Was Skulick right? Had I become a pawn in some hellish game of chess between Cyon and Morgal, to be discarded as soon as the demon got what he was after?

  I silenced the voices of doubt and clenched my jaw with determination.

  “You’re wrong. We defeated the Skull Master, and we will keep battling monsters, old friend. You can help us—or you can get out of our way.”

  “You know I can’t do that, Raven. Turn yourself in, let us drive this demon out of—”

  I raked a hand through my tangled hair and pulled out an errant leaf. “Damn it, I made a pact with Cyon to save your life. You know what that means?”

  He didn’t answer me, but of course Skulick knew what it meant. Cyon could not be exorcised by a simple ritual. For those who willingly allowed a demon access to their bodies, there was only one solution: the Devil’s Asylum, the maximum security facility where the White Crescent locked up hopeless cases like me. I didn’t plan on spending the rest of my days in some Vatican prison with a bunch of demons while the Cursed City went to hell in a handbasket.

  “I’m sorry, Skulick, but the city needs me. I have to go.”

  “Why don’t you trust me, Raven?” Skulick asked, his voice laced with frustration. “The demon is already clouding your mind and judgment.”

  I shook my head, my own irritation bubbling over. “What if, for once in our lives, you’re wrong and I’m right? Ever think of that? What if I’m still in control?”

  “Just listen to yourself, Mike. Demon’s don’t negotiate. And they don’t switch sides.”

  “You’re wrong, buddy. And I’ll prove it to you.”

  With these words, I killed the mic. I glared at the three downed exorcists.

  “Don’t come after me again,” I growled before I vanished in the shadows of the surrounding foliage.

  “That went well,” Cyon said inside my mind.

  The encounter in the park confirmed my worst fears. If murderous demons, restless wraiths, and bloodthirsty monsters weren’t enough to keep me on my toes, I could now officially add the White Crescent to my growing enemy list. Adding the cherry on the cake, the world’s foremost expert on the paranormal—who also happened to know me better than anyone else in the world—was spearheading the hunt for yours truly.

  How was I going to keep doing my job under these conditions? Something had to give. Turning my back on Skulick had been a mistake in hindsight. I had to convince my partner that I was still fighting on the side of the angels despite the demon on my back.

  No offense, Cyon.

  “None taken.”

  Who would’ve thought that the demon’s voice would one day feel reassuring?

  Dawn chased away the darkness while garbage trucks belched down the Cursed City’s streets, determined to save the urban sprawl from choking on its own trash. I yawned and struggled to keep my eyes open. Adrenaline and caffeine could keep me going only for so long. I needed to rest. Considering how my whole body ached after my little sparring match in the park, I decided against taking a nap in my ride. I needed a real bed. Unfortunately, there was no one I could turn to for shelter. The few friends I’d had either hated my guts or were trying to lock me up in some Vatican insane asylum. As much as it pained me, I might even need to ditch my wheels for a less conspicuous ride. The confrontation with Skulk had shaken me to the core, especially hearing the icy determination in my partner’s voice. Almost overnight, the man who had been like a father to me had become a stranger.

  An enemy.

  I would need time to sort it all out. Right now, I needed to rest and get my head on straight. I opted for the most rundown motel I could find and parked my Equus Bass in the lot, hoping it would still be there when I woke up. The fellow behind the reception desk didn’t even blink when I booked the room for the day. I guess they got their fair share of cheating husbands around these parts. I locked the door and practically fell on the bed. The sheets smelled like industrial detergent and one of the pillows was weirdly discolored, but at this point I didn’t care. My body desperately needed to rest.

  Some of the most dangerous monster hunters in the world were after me. I would need to stay in tip-top shape if I wanted to remain one step ahead of them. With this thought going through my mind, I passed out.

  4

  Joe Cormac was haunted—literally.

  While serving in Afghanistan a year earlier, an IED had nearly killed him. Correction, it did kill him, at least for a few minutes. His near-death experience changed him. After the doctors brought him back, he was a different man. While still recuperating in the Army hospital, he encountered his first ghost. Another soldier who hadn’t gotten so lucky as to return from the other side. As the man’s mangled body leaned over him, a scream broke from Cormac’s lips and he knew things would never be the same again.

  That day his life had taken a sharp turn into the Twilight Zone. For the longest time, he’d believed himself to be cursed. That all changed after he met Mike Raven.

  Their battle with the Soul Catcher made Cormac realize that his new abilities weren’t a curse but a gift. He represented a link between the living and the dead, a bridge between worlds. He could help trapped souls cross over to the other side or banish them from this plane of existence if their intent was malevolent.

  As his reputation continued to grow among law enforcement officials, Cormac was approached by the Nexus Foundation. Dr. Richard Mason, a quantum physicist with an obsessive interest in the paranormal, was putting together a team of gifted people like himself. The plan was to channel his abilities and use them for the greater good, to investigate hauntings and other strange phenomena. It was an offer he couldn’t turn down.

  Once Cormac joined up, he asked Dr. Adira Austen, the head parapsychologist at the Nexus Foundation, if he could put together a weekly support group for people who had experienced psychic phenomena. Not only would it help them find new talent but it would be therapeutic both for himself and people with similar abilities.

  With Dr. Austen’s blessing, he started gathering people around him: psychics, mediums, telepaths, and empaths, those gifted with extrasensory abilities of one kind or another. Some could hear voices, others received impressions from objects or places, and still others could catch glimpses of the future in their dreams. He was the only one who saw ghosts in his new circle of psychically gifted friends. Soon their casual meetings had become more organized, and Cormac had started a weekly support group for people who felt a deeper connection to the other side. He held these gatherings in one of the many conference rooms at the Nexus Foundation.

  Jennifer Lamont had joined the group three weeks earlier, and she had dominated his thoughts ever since. To say that the beautiful brunette with the green eyes had made a lasting impression would have been an understatement. Not surprisingly, he found it difficult to hide his disappointment when she didn’t show up to tonight’s meeting. He barely paid attention to another group member, who was sharing the details of a recent prophetic dream.

  As the group organizer and leader, he shouldn’t allow himself to be distracted like this when someone was spilling his innermost secrets, but Cormac couldn’t help himself. He was still a man and Jenni
fer had struck a nerve. He hadn’t dated much since returning from Afghanistan—ghosts had a way of getting in the way of a relationship, who knew. Meeting Jennifer had made him realize how lonely he had felt since his return to the States. She was someone who might understand what he’d gone through, who could relate to his otherworldly experiences.

  He’d been meaning to ask her out, but he hadn’t quite gotten up the nerve to take their relationship beyond the weekly meetings of the support group. His hesitation might cost him dearly now. What if she ditched the group and he never saw her again? The thought disturbed him more than he wanted to admit.

  For the remainder of their meeting, Cormac continued to go through the motions. He forced himself to concentrate on the ten people who had shown up today. They all needed guidance and wanted to be heard. He let out a silent sigh of relief when the meeting finally wrapped and everyone filed out of the small conference room. Once they were all gone, he remained behind by himself, debating his next move. He could easily wait until next week. Most likely Jennifer would return. But he didn’t want to wait another week. He had her number and email from when she’d joined the group.

  He had taken out his phone and was about to call Jennifer when she burst into the room. He smiled in sheer relief at seeing her…and then he noticed the blood caking her arm and the haunted expression in her eyes.

  He jumped to his feet and rushed toward her. “What happened?”

  For a moment, she only stared at him, beyond words.

  He put his hand on her uninjured arm and gently walked her to the table, which held a basket of baked goods and a pot of coffee. He poured her a cup, and she robotically took a sip of the steaming brew while he retrieved a first aid kit and cleaned the cuts on her arm. Whatever Jennifer had experienced, it had clearly affected her deeply. The physical wounds weren’t that bad, but psychic trauma could be just as deadly if left untreated. Cormac understood the importance of patience in times like this. He would give her all the time she needed.