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

by William Massa

  It was the ghoul.

  20

  I was alone.

  My heart sank and fear gnawed at my resolve. What if Archer was in real trouble?

  I took a steadying breath. Losing it at this juncture would help no one, least of all Archer. I had to keep it together, stay the course, complete the mission. If I defeated this fortress of darkness, odds were good I would save Archer too.

  Rescue Jennifer, break the spell, find Archer.

  I kept repeating the words to myself, letting them become a mantra. Rescue Jennifer, break the—

  “Get the book, Raven. That’s what matters,” Cyon interrupted.

  I gritted my teeth, and my nails cut deep into my palms. I shook with anger as I said, “That’s all you give a shit about, isn’t it?”

  Cyon wisely stayed quiet

  I exhaled slowly, allowing my anger to subside somewhat, and took a closer look at my surroundings. The entire chamber—walls, floor and ceiling—was studded with coffins. Some of them were made from lacquered wood, others from stainless steel. Some were dented and cracked, others shiny and immaculate. Solid hardwood coffins, cherry caskets, coffins with onyx ebony finishes, probably a coffin with a TV in it. The floor was paved with caskets as if they were flagstones, while even more lined the walls and stuck out like stalagmites and stalactites from the arched floor and vaulted ceiling. The fortress had repurposed the coffins buried in the graveyard, using them to create this surreal, crypt-like chamber.

  Death surrounded me. How to locate Jennifer’s sarcophagus among the myriad of coffins in this place? It would be like searching for a needle in a haystack, a particular grain of sand on the beach.

  In other words, impossible.

  Suddenly, I regretted not bringing Cormac along for this mission. His psychic powers might have come in handy here but he was better off staying behind in the club where it was safe.

  Determined to find Archer, I started to explore the coffin-paved chamber. Even though I was a professional monster hunter, I couldn’t help but be affected by this place. The macabre atmosphere was stifling. It weighed heavily on my thoughts, slowed my movements. I might have faced more horrors than the average person over the years, but I was still mortal. Still human.

  Mostly.

  Who were the people that had been laid to rest in the coffins now decorating the vast chamber? What sort of lives had they lived? Did anyone living still remember their names? I felt small and insignificant, my quest meaningless. What did it matter if I succeeded in saving the city from the death fog? I was merely delaying the inevitable. Eventually the Grim Reaper would catch up with everyone, right? There was no escape. Death won out in the end, and everybody and everything was reduced to dust or ashes. Time wiped away all our accomplishments, small or grand. Oblivion was inevitable. Life was the aberration, not death, the blip in the endless dark void.

  I caught myself, realizing that these weren’t my thoughts. Neither Cyon nor I had ever sounded so grim and fatalistic. No, this place was affecting my mental state, feeding me these ideas. I needed to guard myself against this terrible mental assault.

  I willed myself to think of more hopeful times, dredging up memories of the people I loved and who had loved me in return. Father. Mother. Skulick. Archer. Even Cormac and Cabrera. Allies and comrades. These were the people I cared about. Who made life worth living. And then there was the cause I had dedicated my life to. The war against the forces of darkness. It wasn’t merely a matter of revenge. Sure, losing my parents had set me on this treacherous path. Hatred for the dark side was in my mental DNA. But as time had gone on, my mission started to change, becoming deeper and more meaningful. I was fighting monsters to keep others from facing my dark fate. No little boy or girl should ever find themselves orphaned by demons. My actions avenged the dead, but more importantly, they made the world a better place for the living.

  I was fighting the forces of death itself…in a celebration of life.

  The unexpected sound of creaking wood shattered my intense musings. I spun around, and my next breath caught in my throat as one of the coffins popped open. A figure emerged from the darkness of the casket.

  My father, his bloodless features sunken and ashen, his empty eyes alive with hatred, glared at me as he shambled from the coffin.

  I backed away, my heart battering against my rip cage.

  “It’s a trick,” Cyon hissed. “It’s not real. None of this is real.”

  “Are you certain, monster hunter?”

  The voice made me spin again as a new figure appeared inside the large chamber. A tattered black robe shrouded the beast’s tall form, unable to hide the reptilian features and the gargoyle wings flaring out from its back. I had last seen this apparition on the roof of Blackwell Penitentiary, its terrible laughter ringing through the night.

  Morgal wore many faces, and this was but one of its terrible incarnations. I gripped Demon Slayer, wondering if I could successfully battle both my resurrected father and Morgal at the same time.

  “I’ll deal with your father, you take care of Morgal.”

  I immediately recognized the wisdom of Cyon’s advice. We both had our demons. What better way to outsmart this accursed place than to trade our nightmares? My hand would wield the sword against Morgal while Cyon fought the memory of my father.

  In full agreement of our strategy, we let loose on our two enemies. As Morgal and my father attacked, both man and demon sprang into action. My human hand wielded Demon Slayer while Cyon’s demon hand kept firing Hellseeker. The air parted, steel sang and found flesh. The rest became a blur as I slashed at Morgal while Cyon pumped my father’s image full of lead. Cyon and I had become two separate combatants—I was fighting Cyon’s battle and he was fighting mine—yet we still shared one body.

  Time lost all meaning as we duked it out with our worst nightmares. And then it was all over. Our opponents reduced to gore-smeared corpses splayed at our feet. I inhaled and Cyon exhaled. For one brief moment, we’d become the perfect team.

  Unfortunately, our moment of victory would prove short-lived. More coffins popped open, and more images of my father appeared. At the same time, another phalanx of demons emerged from the shadows, an army of Morgals. There was no way we could defeat them all.

  Retreat was the only option. The sole sane response.

  I felt Cyon’s consciousness recede as I sprang into action, taking full control. I fled, weapons up and ready even though I would never be able to stop the incoming tide of enemies. More coffins had loosened themselves from the ceiling and came crashing down at me. I weaved as I ran, moving on pure instinct as the walls and ceiling exploded. Wood splintered, steel cracked.

  To my right, a collection of coffins released from the wall and shot toward me like a swarm of heat-seeking missiles. As one of the flying coffins rushed at me, I reacted on pure instinct. Tapping my demonically improved athletic ability, I flung myself at the incoming casket. The world spun as I cut through the air and landed with a loud whoomp on top of the flying coffin.

  Like some cowboy hanging on to a bucking bull, I clung to the bobbing casket for dear life as it shot down the length of the vast chamber, destination unknown.

  21

  The clubgoers were turning into zombies and there was absolutely nothing Cormac could do about it. Three more of the club kids contorted as the transformation took hold, and a bestial growl erupted from behind the bar. Cormac watched in horror as the bartender joined the ranks of the undead. He clawed the air and unleashed a terrifying growl. The next moment, he lunged—hurled himself over the bar and landed right in front of Cormac. This monster didn’t move with the shuffling gait of some Romero monster but had the reflexes of an Olympic athlete on meth. Lightning fast, the creature darted toward him.

  Instinctively Cormac brought up his fist to block the attack, and the Seal of Solomon brushed against the zombie’s features.

  The beast recoiled with another guttural scream, stunned by the unexpected sensation of
burning pain.

  Panic seized Cormac, but Father Cabrera kept his cool. His commanding voice somehow managed to drown out the monstrous cries of the new zombies and the terrified screams of the remaining humans, his prayers echoing through the club. There was a soothing authority to his mantra-like words. The cross in his outstretched hand flashed and went supernova, activated by the Latin chant. No, not just Latin. Other tongues, too, which Cormac could not identify.

  A wave of metaphysical energy originated from the talisman and expanded through the nightclub, painting the club kids’ faces in its all-encompassing light. Those who had started to turn into monsters recoiled under the brilliant onslaught and the infection subsided, humanity edging back into their features, ravenous hunger giving way to disorientation.

  The cross was reversing the effects of the black magic mist.

  The bartender’s mouth, which had been snapping at Cormac, now opened and closed soundlessly, his humanity momentarily restored.

  Father Cabrera’s magic was working…for now.

  Already the light emanating from the cross was dimming, its power growing weaker. And if the cross’s light went out completely, what would happen then? The magic had shielded Cabrera from the transformation. Without it, he would be vulnerable.

  Cormac stole a nervous glance at the thick fog pressing in on the club’s skylights and windows. He prayed Raven was making progress in the cemetery fortress. Even Cabrera’s magic wouldn’t be strong enough to stem the undead tide for much longer. Time was running out for them all—fast.

  22

  I clung to the flying casket for dear life as it shot through the cavernous chamber. As far as I could tell, it was headed for the light up ahead. Considering the circumstances, “heading toward the light” might not be such a good idea. But what choice did I have?

  Clinging to the lip of the flying coffin with all my strength, I slipped off my glove and thrust the talons of my reptilian demon hand into the casket. Wood splintered as my nails gouged the wood and anchored me in place. Even with Cyon’s increased regenerative abilities, falling off the coffin in midflight would hurt. A lot.

  As the light grew brighter, almost blinding, I squinted against the radiance. A beat later, the brilliant luminance engulfed me. All I could make out was the vague outline of a gargantuan doorway as I passed through it.

  Gradually, the light subsided, and I opened my eyes again. I found myself in a giant space without discernible walls or ceiling—a black, endless void. This wasn’t Earth, not as I knew it. The fortress seemed to have folded and fused the cemetery, the ghoul’s warren of underground tunnels, and the dimension of death into one vast, incomprehensible castle beyond the normal rules of space and time. This was a place where the laws of physics didn’t apply, where life and death became one. A gateway between worlds.

  At the center of the dark space was the mausoleum where Robert Lamont had been laid to rest. It had been the cemetery’s dark heart and now served the same role within this palace of death. And that made me wonder…would I find Jennifer’s coffin inside the same tomb where her father had been buried? Jennifer’s life force powered the ghoul’s ritual and had given rise to this unholy place, so it would make sense for her to be at the center of the madness.

  As the flying coffin zeroed in on the mausoleum, I began to make out more details. The crypt sat on a jagged rock that floated in the center of the void like some planetoid in a galaxy of death, suspended in the endless blackness by the twisted gravitational forces of this surreal dimension. Three concentric rings of coffins circled the giant crypt like rings of asteroids. It was one of the trippiest things I’d ever encountered, and that was saying a lot from someone in my line of work.

  Spectral light emanated from the twelve glowing coffins that formed the inner-most ring around the floating mausoleum. They had to contain the spirits of the original cult members.

  Occult rituals required a power source. Human sacrifice generally provided the energy for black magic spells, but tearing a hole into another dimension was a bit more complicated and required more energy. More sacrifices, more souls. The imprisoned spirits of the cult members were the batteries energizing this place, with Jennifer serving as a conduit for their energy. The big question was how to stop the flow of supernatural energy. If I could somehow interrupt this energy flow, the whole place should collapse in on itself and the doorway between our world and the dimension of death would seal for good. And without the death dimension to power its infernal magic, the zombie fog engulfing my city would disperse. Or so I hoped.

  I gritted my teeth. There was only one way to reach the mausoleum—I would have to skip from one floating coffin to the next without losing my balance or plunging into the endless darkness below. I would fight my way to the inner ring of the coffins, and from there make a final leap toward the mausoleum.

  Piece of cake, right?

  Mind made up, I released my demon hand from the coffin’s wooden lid. I had done some surfing as a teen, both in California and Hawaii, and I was going to apply the same principles here. I raised my chest, hands outstretched, and shifted my feet until my weight was balanced. I kept my legs bent, which lowered my center of gravity. There were a few shaky moments, but I managed to stand upright on the flying coffin. Who would have guessed that my surfing lessons might help me save the world one day? For one mad moment, I felt like the Silver Surfer.

  But I was no comic book hero. I was an exhausted, half-demon monster hunter, and I had a job to do. Now was not the time to lose focus.

  Perspiration beaded my forehead and I tasted salt on my lips. Believe it or not, this was the easy part. The casket I was standing on had merged with the outer ring of coffins. I would have to hop to one of the coffins inside the second ring, crossing a gap of about six feet, and make sure I didn’t lose my balance as I landed. And if that didn’t kill me, I would get to repeat the madness two more times until I reached the mausoleum. All in a day’s work.

  My eyes tracked the coffins ahead of me, gauging the distance and speed of movement, calculating the best moment for me to jump. I felt like Frogger in the old video game, hopping from one moving log to the next. Unfortunately, I didn’t have any extra lives, and one wrong move would send me spiraling into the black void. There was no bottom to this place. I would fall through the darkness for days until thirst or starvation did me in, leaving behind a putrefying corpse tumbling through an eternal void for all time…

  Stop it! You can do this, Raven. We can do this!

  I studied the circling coffins, counted down seconds in my mind, praying I would get the timing just right. The coffin in the next ring drew parallel to mine, and I launched myself into the darkness.

  I didn’t land with perfect grace. It was more like I crashed onto the coffin, slamming into it face first. I immediately slid off, my demon claw raking wood. I clung to the violently bobbing coffin, burying my talons into its lid. Thank God for the strength of my demon hand. I managed to pull myself up and get to my feet once more.

  Two more jumps to go.

  Weirdly enough, the second time around proved a lot easier. I nailed the timing and hit the next coffin in the inner ring without so much as a stumble. Paranormal energy radiated off the shimmering casket. I was tempted to pry it open and release the spirit of the dead cult member inside, but I doubted it would be enough to interrupt the ritual. No, the quickest way to put an end to this was to find Jennifer’s sarcophagus inside the mausoleum.

  “What about the book?” Cyon demanded. “If you want to get rid of me, then go after the book so we can destroy Morgal once and for all.”

  Take a look around, bud! You see any signs pointing in the direction of a magical book? We’ll be lucky if we can find Jennifer.

  And with these words, I flung myself up toward the mausoleum. I almost cleared the gap. Almost. I fell short by a half foot, my arms snapping out at the jagged edge of the floating rock. A jolt shot through my limbs and down my body as my demon claw raked the gr
ound and slid to the very edge. Gravel showered my face. Through sheer grit, I managed to cling to the edge as my body dangled above the black abyss. Inch by strenuous inch, I pulled myself back up to the surface. My breath came in sharp, wheezing gasps. I wiped off a film of sweat with my human hand and gritted my teeth.

  I had made it. Barely.

  I stumbled toward the crypt, my excitement overcoming my exhaustion. I paused for a beat in front of the entrance to the green glowing mausoleum and drew Demon Slayer. Undead guardians might be lurking inside the gargantuan crypt. I was about to find out.

  I kicked the mausoleum’s door open. It gave way with an eerie creak. The darkness of the tomb awaited. Sword up, I entered the chamber of the dead.

  As I advanced, a strong sense of déjà vu gripped me. This is where I had first found the secret entrance to the ghoul’s lair. The place was musty and damp, and there was another smell I was becoming all too familiar with—the biting, acrid stench of the grave. My eyes bored into the darkness. Last time I’d been here, moonlight had provided some meager illumination. This time, the glowing coffin at the center of the room served as the crypt’s light source. Waves of ghostly light radiated from the glyphs that covered its surface.

  I eased closer, still on edge. This felt too easy.

  I leaned over the casket. Tried to pry the lid open. It wouldn’t budge. I had dealt with enough coffins over the years to be familiar with how most of them worked. An end crank or casket key was placed into the side of the coffin to help mechanically pressurize the lid down to the bottom. Hopefully a well-placed blow from Demon Slayer would shatter the locking mechanism. As I was about to strike the decisive blow, a terrible yet familiar stench assaulted my nostrils.

  I would recognize that foul smell anywhere. A miasma of decaying flesh and rotting fish.