Shadow Detective Supernatural Action Thriller Series: Books 1-3 (Shadow Detective Boxset)

by William Massa

  Materializing from thin air, Engelman reached out for me with lightning speed. Bony fingers penetrated my chest like a scalpel and…

  The world changed around me in a flash.

  I was back inside the oppressive walls of Blackwell Penitentiary, now flanked by a priest and a phalanx of prison guards who whisked me down winding, austere corridors. Unlike the last time I’d seen the prison, there were no signs of the fire. Understanding hit me. I was inside Engelman, walking the green mile and reliving the moments leading up to his execution.

  The guards dragged me into the execution chamber. All too soon, flames would consume the room—and the witnesses who’d gathered behind the observation window. I wanted to warn them, but history couldn’t be rewritten. This was a vision of the past, and all I could do was bear witness. I felt myself being brusquely shoved into the chair. Leather straps fastened around my limbs with a taut sense of finality, and an icy metal plate was pressed down on my cleanly shaven scalp. Even though part of me knew this was just an illusion, a memory triggered by the spirit’s assault, my heart still raced.

  “Do you have any last words?”

  I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the observation window. Except it wasn’t my face, of course. It was Engelman. And he was addressing the crowd who had come to see him die.

  “I was set up. I never killed anyone. I didn’t do it! I’m innocent…”

  It was the favorite refrain of so many murderers who were about to meet their maker.

  But there was something almost convincing about Engelman’s words.

  Could this monster be telling the truth?

  I didn’t get much longer to ponder the question. The time had come to die.

  When the fifty thousand volts of electricity hit, the pain was beyond anything I had ever endured. It felt like an invisible hand had cracked open my ribcage and was squeezing my burning heart. Through a haze of agony, I saw the various glyphs light up on the electric chair, turning a fiery red.

  The electricity is powering and activating the magical symbols, I thought.

  A scream exploded from my lips, and reality returned to normal. I was back in the present day, back in my own body. My face, gaunt and haggard but still undeniably me—was reflected in the Equus’ passenger window, surreally superimposed over Archer’s terror-stricken features as she stared at me.

  “Get the hell out of me!” I roared, swinging my fists wildly at the apparition. Engelman reared away from me, a howl of frustration rending the air as his ghostly form vanished once more. The protective power of the Seal of Solomon, which I wore on my right hand, must’ve kicked in and driven his spirit out of my body.

  There was no time to celebrate. No time to catch my breath. Driven by pure will, I opened the driver’s side door of the Equus and slipped behind the wheel, a shivering, broken mess. Not a moment too soon, either. Engelman’s terrifying death mask flickered in my rear-view mirror, features shifting and transmogrifying into the other prisoners. The one-man horde launched itself at the car but bounced off the windshield with a sizzle of mystical energy, the wards working their magic. I had no idea if they’d hold up to a continued assault, and I didn’t intend on sticking around long enough to find out.

  I fired up the Equus, punched the gas, and allowed the stone arteries of the cursed city to whisk us away.

  9

  Zipping through rainy traffic, all I could think of was putting some distance between us and Engelman.

  The traffic light ahead turned red, and I was forced to slow down. I kept seeing the killer ghosts among the pedestrians crossing the busy intersection. The renewed downpour had transformed their bobbing umbrellas and black raincoats into shadowy, ghostlike shapes, and I gripped the steering wheel a little harder.

  I became acutely aware of Archer’s presence next to me. I inhaled her perfume, vanilla and soft woods, mild yet adventurous. Just the way I remembered. I stole a glance at her. Rain had pasted her long hair to her scalp, making her look like a pissed off cat that had just been introduced to a bucket of water.

  She was still beautiful.

  “Are you okay?” I asked.

  “Hanging in there,” she said, voice shaky. “It’s not every day that you find out that a ghost is trying to kill you.”

  Archer wasn’t a novice when it came to the paranormal; after all, we had worked together on a series of strange cases in the past. Nevertheless, investigating a supernatural mystery was a hell of a lot different than directly becoming the target for the forces of darkness.

  Engelman’s final words haunted me. I didn’t do it…

  There was a reason why his spirit had allowed me to relive the last moments of his execution. He wanted me to know that he’d been set up for the murders. Or at least that he thought he’d been set up. Could a ghost lie? Was he trying to throw me off? Or was he truly professing his innocence?

  It didn’t add up. The two dead parapsychologists back at Blackwell Penitentiary were clearly his handiwork. Even if he’d been innocent once, Engelman had proved himself capable of murder now. My brand of justice had nothing to do with the earthly variety. It was my job to send his vengeful spirit back to hell.

  “How can Engelman be back from the dead?” Archer’s question pulled me out of my thoughts.

  “Skulick and I are still working on the answer to that one. There was something strange about the prison fire. Somehow Engelman and the spirits of the other inmates remained in this world.”

  “So why now? Why come after me a year later? And shouldn’t he be, you know, bound to the place he died?”

  Archer had clearly internalized some of the basic laws governing specters. But someone had thrown out the rule book this time around.

  “That’s how it works normally, but Engelman found a way around the rules,” I said. I quickly told her about Joe Cormac and how the killer ghost must’ve hitched a ride in the talented psychic.

  Archer paused, processing my words, trying to wrap her head around the idea of a “soul catcher.”

  “So if I understand you correctly, Engelman and the other spirits feed off this psychic.”

  I nodded grimly. “In a matter of speaking. That’s probably why Engelman isn’t chasing after us right now. Joe has become Engelman’s anchor in this world—he haunts the man the way other spirits haunt places. The ghost can leave the host body for short periods of time, as we just witnessed, but I figure Engelman needs to remain close to Joe Cormac to operate in the outside world.”

  Archer’s mind churned behind her intense gaze. That’s one of the things I admired most about her. Sure, she was gorgeous—but she was also sharp as a knife’s edge and a brilliant, fearless cop. Beyond wanting to protect her, I was glad to have Archer on my side right now. Although I was trying to sound like I knew what I was talking about, Engelman was unlike anything I’d ever faced.

  “Why didn’t your magical bullets finish him?”

  Good question. I’d been asking myself the same ever since I pumped an entire magazine into Engelman and the undead bastard had kept on coming at us.

  “I’m not sure. Somehow Engelman’s spirit has fused with the other Blackwell inmates, strengthening him.” I was reminded of the strange occult symbols etched in the electric chair. Had Engelman turned his own execution into a hellish ritual of some kind, one that had triggered the fire and trapped the souls of all the inmates? I hoped Skulick’s big brain was closer to coming up with an explanation for this craziness.

  Archer chewed on her bottom lip and then said, “So basically I’m up against the ghosts of some of the worst criminals this city has ever seen. Just another day on the job, huh?”

  I knew Archer was using humor to mask her fear but at least she was trying to maintain a positive attitude. I kept my voice calm as possible as I spoke. “You’re not alone in this, Archer. None of these entities will get a chance to get close to you again. Skulick and I will make sure of that. We’ll stop Engelman and send the ghosts straight to Hell where they belo
ng.”

  I tried to sound more confident than I felt, and must’ve succeeded to a degree because some of the tension eased from Archer’s shoulders. She didn’t quite smile at me, but her mouth relaxed into something that was almost like her usual sassy smirk.

  The traffic lights changed, and we were moving again. Fortunately early afternoon traffic was light, and we were making good progress.

  “Where are we headed now?” Archer wanted to know.

  “I’m taking you back to our headquarters.”

  Archer shot me a look and cocked an eyebrow.

  “Headquarters? I’m finally being allowed inside the secret clubhouse?” Despite having worked on a few cases, our base of operation had always been off limits. I’d made the mistake of letting someone in once—just once—and it had nearly killed Skulick and resulted in the deaths of a dozen people.

  I shook the memory of Celeste Horne away.

  “Don’t worry. My base of operation is magically protected by wards. Not even ghosts can get past our mystical defenses. You’ll be safe with Skulick.”

  There was a flicker of something soft—gratitude, maybe, or vulnerability—in Archer’s lovely features. It was quickly replaced by an expression of steely resolve. “What are you saying? You’re expecting me to sit this one out? In case you forgot, I’m the one who put Engelman behind bars the first time around. I can handle myself.”

  I was expecting Archer to protest, but I had to try. She wasn’t the type to sit out a fight and follow the action from the sidelines.

  “I know you can kick butt with the best of them. But we’re talking about ghosts here. Ghosts that even my weapons aren’t able to stop.”

  “Right, which is why you need backup in the field. What are you going to do?”

  Good question. I’d been wondering about that one myself.

  “The psychic is the key. Without him, Engelman can’t survive beyond the walls of Blackwell Penitentiary. We find Joe, we find Engelman.”

  Archer mulled this over. “And what are you going to do when you find him?”

  “I’ll cross that bridge when I get to it.”

  I wasn’t being completely forthright with Archer. I did have the first seeds of a plan. Maybe there was a way to sever the link between the psychic host and the supernatural parasite that had attached itself to him. But if I was wrong, if Engelman couldn’t be safely contained without harming Joe…well, I would do what needed to be done to protect this city.

  To protect Archer.

  I made a sharp left, intent on merging onto the freeway and heading back to the loft warehouse Skulick and I called home.

  “Tell me more about Engelman and how you caught him,” I said. “Benson gave me a basic rundown, but you would know the case better than him. Engelman was a pretty nasty character even when he was alive, right?”

  “That is putting it mildly. They didn’t call him ‘Lucifer’s Disciple’ for nothing.”

  Archer’s face seemed to grow a shade paler as she mentally dredged up the ghoulish details of the case. I felt like an ass for making her relive it, but there was no way around it.

  “Why the nickname?”

  Archer sighed. “Engelman was a history professor specializing in comparative religion, mythology and the occult. During his off hours he was moonlighting as a full blown Satanist.’

  Okay, not exactly the most well-adjusted hobby.

  Archer continued with her profile of the fiend. “The bastard would carve sigils into his victims, a way of promising their souls to the demons he worshipped. These weren’t just murders but sacrifices designed to earn him favor of the Prince of Darkness himself. The sick bastard said that he was trying to earn a reward for his handiwork.”

  I perked up. “What kind of reward?”

  “Based on the information in the diaries we found at Engelman’s house when we arrested him, he was hoping Hell would turn him into a demon of some sort. Or at least give him supernatural abilities. The guy was insane.” She paused, glancing at me, her eyes wide and questioning. “Wasn’t he?”

  A chill traveled up my spine. Engelman’s mad motivation echoed Desmond Horne’s infernal goal. My years of battling dark forces had shown me that power-crazed warlocks and occultists could be even more dangerous than supernatural creatures. After all, mortals had a hell of a lot more to prove.

  For a moment, a dark sense of melancholy washed over me. Would this madness ever end? For every monster Skulick and I put an end to, three more seemed to take its place. My eyes met Archer’s. I wanted to tell her that everything was going to be okay, despite what we had seen tonight. But I couldn’t lie to her.

  “How did you catch Engelman?” I asked, dodging her question.

  Archer’s stare grew distant as she continued.

  “At first his victims seemed random but my partner and I eventually managed to find a common thread which connected three of his victims. They’d all attended various classes and seminars given by Engelman.”

  As I let Archer’s words sink in, one detail jumped out.

  “You mentioned a partner. Who were you working with when you caught Engelman?”

  Alarm edged into Archer’s expression as she realized where this line of questioning was headed. “Ballard. Detective Lucas Ballard. I think you met him a few times.”

  “Where’s Detective Ballard now?”

  “He’s stationed uptown nowadays. Do you think..?”

  Her face filled with a dark realization. “Engelman is going to go after him.”

  If he hasn’t done so already, I thought grimly.

  “Both you and Ballard put him in that chair. He doesn’t strike me like the type who forgives or forgets.” My attempt to sound glib about the whole thing failed miserably.

  “We have to warn him,” Archer said.

  I nodded. It sounded like Skulick and I might be getting two visitors today. “I’ll find Ballard and bring him in. But first I’m taking you to headquarters. You’ll be safe—”

  Archer’s withering glare cut off my words.

  “You’ll do no such thing, Raven. We’re going to get Ballard first before we do anything else!”

  God, she could be stubborn. Didn’t she realize she’d become a target for an army of dead psychopaths. My stomach twisted into a knot at the thought of something happening to Archer. Almost as If she had read my thoughts, she grabbed my arm. I looked down, halfway expecting sparks to pop where her fingers touched my skin.

  “I know why you’ve been avoiding me, Raven. I’ve got your number. You think if we get too close, if you let me in, the ghouls and goblins might start coming after me. Newsflash: I’m a cop. Every day I go to work could me my last. But that’s who I am. That’s who I’m always going to be.” She smiled sardonically. “And apparently I ended up a target anyway.”

  Archer’s logic was hard to argue with. Plus it was becoming increasingly difficult to think with her this close to me.

  Resigned to the fact that arguing with her was a pointless exercise, I sharply spun the wheel. Tires kicked up plumes of rain water as I performed a sharp U-turn seconds before reaching the freeway ramp. My maneuver earned me a wail of angry honks and shouts from the other drivers. As Archer reached for her phone, I floored the gas.

  We were headed uptown. I prayed we would reach Ballard in time.

  For a disoriented beat, Joe had no idea where he was. Or who he was for that matter. Every part of his body ached, and he could barely move in the cramped space where he found himself. A glance upward revealed that his right hand had been handcuffed to a heavy object of some kind, limiting his movements and making escape impossible. He pulled on the cuff, and metal painfully cut into his skin.

  As his eyes slowly adjusted to the gloom, he began to recognize his prison. He was inside the back of Dr. Gould’s van. A thin trickle of light shafted through the windshield and illuminated the ghost hunting equipment.

  Why was he in the van? Where was Dr. Gould?

  Further investigatio
n revealed that the handcuff was attached to the steel frame of one of the car seats. Again he pulled on the cuff, and a jolt of biting pain traveled up his arm and set his rotator cuff on fire. Cursing under his breath, he licked parched lips, suddenly aware of how thirsty he was. And his stomach was growling too. How long had he been out? And what had happened back at Blackwell Penitentiary?

  Without warning, the image of Engelman’s death mask features flashed before his eyes, and he remembered with terrifying clarity how the spirit had turned his mind inside out, transforming him into the host for so many dark souls. They’d taken possession of his body, locked him up inside his own mind while they used him to navigate the world of the living. Their souls had all touched during his possession, turning his world black. Fragments of these spectral monsters survived inside him even now, psychic splinters in his soul. By sharing their broken, twisted minds, he felt as though he’d experienced their crimes, their sick desires and dark deeds.

  And at the heart of the violent storm, Engelman’s cry for vengeance had burned bright. But below the hatred and rage, there had been something else.

  He’d heard a plea for help, a desire to communicate a grave injustice that had been perpetrated against him. But why would Engelman see himself as a victim? How could a monster like him demand justice of any kind?

  It made no sense.

  Before Joe could fall further down that rabbit hole, the air in the van crackled with an ominous sense of power. Reality warped and sizzled. A beat later, Engelman’s albino skull-mask peeled from the van’s metal ceiling.

  The ghost had returned.

  And that could mean only one thing. Once more Joe would serve as the human vessel for these lost spirits.

  “No.”

  Engelman’s spectral features remained locked in icy indifference while his ghost form undulated, expanding around Joe like a dark cloud. Ectoplasmic tendrils of black energy entered Joe’s body through his mouth, nostrils, and ears. Breathing became impossible as the darkness enveloped his entire being, drowning out all other thoughts.