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

by William Massa

  This time I didn’t get a chance to draw Hellseeker. The demon’s bony hand snapped around my wrist and yanked me out of the elevator with inhuman strength. I lost my balance and crumpled to the carpeted hallway floor. By the time, I regained my bearings and my gun was finally out, the demon had once again vanished.

  Catching my breath, Hellseeker leveled, I peered down the endless, shadow-cloaked hallway. Apartments lined both sides of the corridor. Fear rose in my gut, and I clenched my jaw until I could hear my teeth grinding together.

  “Show yourself, damn it! Who and what the hell are you? What game are you playing?”

  My voice echoed down the empty corridor. Why had Morgal’s mark failed to sense the demon’s presence? Were the building’s eldritch vibrations drowning out the demon’s presence?

  Then I recalled that back in the wrecking yard, I hadn’t picked up any supernatural energy from him either. That left only one other explanation. This monster had to be somehow connected to my demonic arch enemy Morgal. Even though my mark responded to supernatural evil, it failed to detect Morgal or those most closely associated with him. And that meant I was in mortal danger.

  A stench of rotting eggs and sulfur impregnated the air, making me gag with animal revulsion. The demon was near. Sweat soaked my face. Had someone cranked up the thermostat?

  “You have nothing to fear from me,” a disembodied voice said from the impenetrable shadows. It required all my self-control to not unload my blessed weapon into the dank hallway.

  Patience, I urged myself, keep it together, wait until he shows himself again. Wasting ammo when confronting an agent of darkness was never a wise move.

  The demon’s voice rang down the hallway again, this time emanating from the other direction. “Do not waste your energy fighting me, Raven. Save your strength for Marek.”

  “If you got something to say, show yourself!”

  “As you wish,” the demon hissed right behind my ear. His hand shot out, knocking Hellseeker out of my grip. My magical weapon went flying.

  I whirled.

  The demon and I were face-to-face now, less than two feet between us. I still had the Seal of Solomon, even thought I doubted it would be able to stop this creature. Weakened as the demon might be, he clearly still had a few tricks up his sleeve.

  To my surprise, he scooped up Hellseeker and returned the blessed firearm. Smoke curled from his outstretched hand, the flesh sizzling as the magical weapon reacted to his demonic nature. There was a mere flicker of pain on his bony face, quickly suppressed.

  “I mean you no harm, monster hunter.”

  Hesitating, I followed the tendrils of smoke curling from the demon’s boiling palm.

  “I would appreciate it if you took your gun. I was always more into inflicting pain than experiencing it.”

  Still expecting it to be a trap, I accepted the gun. The moment the demon let go of Hellseeker’s grip, the sizzling stopped and his skin immediately started to regenerate. I had to forcefully resist the urge to bring up my weapon and blow the monster’s head off.

  Something about the creature’s gaze gave me pause. There was a haunted quality to the way he regarded me, a thousand-yard stare I’d caught in my own reflection more than once. This demon had suffered. How long had Marek held him captive, feeding on him until every square inch of his body was covered in bite marks? Was it years? Decades?

  “What the hell do you want from me?”

  “It appears we have a common enemy. I was hoping we could pool our resources.”

  The words hung in the air. He had to be joking. Was this creature seriously proposing a partnership between demon and demon hunter?

  12

  Images of the Cursed City’s majestic skyline flickered across the vast bank of monitors that made up Skulick’s desk. Various feeds showcased the previous high-rise crime scenes. There was the eighty-story Lennox Building, which dominated the city by sheer size alone. The sleek Art Deco of the Shonji Tower. The gothic majesty of the McCormick Building. These structures had left an indelible impression on the city’s skyline even before they became horrific crime scenes.

  There was history here, with the oldest structure having risen to the skies at the dawn of the twentieth century. Most people would look at these buildings and see nothing but ordinary skyscrapers. Skulick had done a little research and knew better. History formed a bridge to a world quite different from the present—a world when occultist circles had proliferated and spiritualism had reached new heights. The first World War had wiped out a generation of young men, and people had struggled to come to terms with the loss of so many bright souls. No wonder they had turned to spiritualism, séances and arcane rituals in the hopes of finding the answers they were seeking.

  Skulick needed to do more digging into the history of the buildings. There was something strange there, he was sure of it. Unfortunately, Marek’s return after all these years made it nearly impossible to focus on the high-rise murder case. Skulick had hoped his research would distract him, but his thoughts kept turning back to the vampire who had destroyed his life.

  Marek was back. The nightmare had never truly ended. Perhaps a lack of closure explained why the past continued to have such a hold over him. He’d never been given the satisfaction of destroying his greatest enemy himself, nor had he seen the fiend perish at Richard’s hands.

  Raven’s father had been the one to bring the vamp down, or so he’d claimed. Clearly Marek had found a way to survive, which did raise the question: What had the master vampire been up to for the last three decades? Skulick doubted Marek would have voluntarily kept a low profile for all this time. Somehow the vampire had survived Richard’s final attack, but it had taken three decades for him to regenerate himself sufficiently enough to return to the city. The possibility that Richard might’ve lied to him about Marek’s death was too terrible to entertain. No doubt Richard had kept certain things from him over the years, the way he himself shielded Raven from some of the greater horrors. Even so, Skulick refused to believe that his best friend had deceived him about something so important.

  The key was to keep his wits about him and not let himself succumb to rampant speculation. There were unanswered questions here, but hopefully the pieces of the puzzle would soon begin to fall in place. The most important part now was figuring out what his old enemy was up to and concentrating his efforts on stopping him.

  Marek was cunning and had spared Raven for a good reason. A master of psychological warfare, the vampire master must’ve predicted that the knowledge of his return would throw Skulick off balance. And it was working.

  His attention turned away from the multitude of flickering screens and shifted to the chalice resting on his desk. The origin of the cup was shrouded in mystery. Marek had been working toward something big when Richard had put an end to his bloody reign, and the chalice had been the key to his plan. The cup had held Marek’s blood for decades, preserving its unholy power to create more of his kind. What other terrible deeds might it be capable off?

  Skulick cursed himself for not getting rid of the chalice earlier. Never in his wildest imagination had he believed it would one day be used to create another monster in Marek’s image. In his own way, he was as responsible as Raven for what had happened to Archer. He should have destroyed the chalice and the vampire blood years ago.

  With trembling hands, Skulick inspected the contents of the infernal chalice. Raven hadn’t used up all of Marek’s blood when he’d tried to save Archer. About two ounces of the thick, black liquid remained.

  Marek wasn’t afraid of him. The demon-vampire clearly didn’t fear a broken man trapped in a wheelchair. Skulick knew he was doomed to remain a helpless spectator as Marek’s plan unfolded, unless…

  His fingers closed around the stem of the chalice. Bile rose in his throat at the sight of the blood and his stomach lurched. The idea of swallowing his greatest enemy’s blood, to become a creature he detested with all his heart, filled him with primal revulsio
n. But there was no other way. He would fight fire with fire, magic with magic.

  Blood with blood.

  He hadn’t told Raven about his plan, or about the angel blood. Marek’s return had thrown him for a loop and shifted his priorities. This wasn’t a simple rescue mission any longer. This was about avenging Michelle. About stopping Marek. If saving this city came at the price of his own humanity, at the price of his own life, so be it.

  There was only enough of the divine essence to save one person from the curse. And that person would be Archer, not himself. There would be no way to restore his humanity once he swallowed the blood. This was a suicide mission.

  Before Skulick could have a change of heart, he snatched the item he’d retrieved from the vault earlier, the Medal of the Saints. The protective medallion should shield its wearer from black magic forces. Would donning the medal preserve enough of his humanity for him to resist the corrupting effects of Marek’s blood?

  Skulick prayed it would.

  Mind made up, he downed down the black contents of the chalice, his features distorting with disgust. He let out an explosive cough as the infernal blood crept down his gullet and doubled over.

  Pain exploded through every part of his body as the blood spread through his system, infecting his whole being. Skulick was wracked with an agony unlike anything he’d ever experienced in his fifty years on this Earth. The blood roared inside him, burning away all the memories and doubts. Leaving only one all-consuming sensation in their place…

  Hunger.

  13

  I lowered Hellseeker, but I didn’t take my eyes off the demon. It was eerily quiet in the corridor. No one stepped out of their apartments. Whoever lived in this building either wasn’t home or was smart enough not to get caught in the crossfire. I swallowed the bitter lump in my throat and evenly regarded this agent of darkness.

  There was only one explanation as to why Morgal’s mark hadn’t ignited in the presence of true evil. This demon had to be a soldier serving the same demon who’d murdered my parents.

  A slap to the face could hardly have hit me harder. And this monster was now asking me to partner with him so we could take revenge against Marek? My first instinct was to dismiss the proposal right out of hand, but another voice inside of me spoke up.

  Hear him out, it urged. Play along for the time being.

  “Who are you? What do you want from me?” I said, struggling to keep emotion out of my voice.

  “I have many names, but you can call me Cyon,” the demon said, eyes gleaming like black marble. “Marek bound me inside a conjuring circle a year ago so he could drain my blood and steal my powers. But fortunately, you came along.”

  Fortunate for you, unfortunate for the world.

  I gnashed my teeth and said, “You tricked me! I would’ve never set you free, demon!”

  “I have a name, mortal, and I appreciate being addressed by it.”

  You have one hell of an attitude – pun intended, I thought but held in my tongue.

  “We could fight, but I have a feeling in my weakened state you would win, Raven. Marek fed on me and stripped me of most of my powers. I’m but a shadow of who I was. I need your help to defeat him. And you need me if you hope to save your woman.”

  The last part gave me pause, a chill crawling up my back.

  “Go on,“ I said tightly. Every fiber in my body wanted to grab the demon by the lapels and shake the information out of him.

  “It’s not too late for Archer, but you must act now.”

  The muscles in the back of my neck tensed, and I could feel the first stirrings of a headache.

  “I’d do anything to save her,” I blurted out before I could stop myself.

  A cool smile curled the corners of Cyon’s lips. I had dealt with enough demons to know that the bald man facing me was but a mask, a flesh suit allowing the monster to blend in among humans. When he smiled, I could see the cracks in the carefully crafted façade.

  Cyon took a step toward me and every hair on my body bristled.. I wasn’t used to being this close to a demon unless I was firing rounds into it. I didn’t like what I saw in those pitiless eyes, but I refused to flinch or look away from the demonic bastard.

  “Talk,” I said, my voice clipped.

  “By now you’ve figured out that Marek is behind these murders. But I doubt you have any true sense of what’s happening.”

  “And you do?”

  There was that grating smile again, and Cyon said, “Of course. The followers of my master, Morgal, designed these buildings. They are lightning rods for demonic energy, conduits of infernal power.”

  This revelation was lining up with some of my own suspicions, so I said, “Go on.”

  “When Marek fed on me, he gained my strength as well as all my secrets. The bastard is trying to use Hell’s greatest weapon for his own purposes.”

  That didn’t sound reassuring. “Tell me more about this weapon.”

  The demon took a step toward me, his ashen features ghastly in the shadowy corridor. Part of me wanted to take a step back, but I stood my ground. “The three skyscrapers were constructed along a series of ley lines by Norman Mason. They were designed to tap into the landscape’s dormant supernatural power.”

  Mason’s name was familiar to me, having come across the man’s work many times during my occult studies. Norman Manson was better known as the devil’s architect, famous for his ability to weave occult design into his structures. His buildings were known only to a select few, but he had a reputation in certain circles as the Frank Lloyd Wright of occult design.

  “Why is Marek targeting demon worshippers?”

  “Not demon worshippers, Raven. Demons. To channel the power in these structures, three demons would have to perish.”

  My mind reeled as I tried to make sense of this latest revelation. “Are you telling me these three murder victims were possessed by demons?”

  Cyon nodded. “They were harbored by willing human hosts who allowed them into their hearts and minds.”

  I considered Cyon’s words. The agents of darkness tended to go after the innocent, hoping to corrupt them. It was why children and teenagers made such tempting targets to them. It generally never ended well for the victims, the demons shattering the physical forms of their unwilling hosts. But the three murder victims had been different. The sick bastards had willingly given their physical bodies over to these beasts from Hell.

  “Thesse three demons were willing to sacrifice themselves to activate the building’s power?”

  Cyon snorted. “Sacrificial fools.”

  Clearly Cyon didn’t approve of the plan.

  “How did Hell intend on channeling this the building’s power?”

  “It was supposed to fuel a final ritual.”

  I hated to ask, but it needed to be said. “What sort of ritual?”

  “One that would corrupt tens of thousands.”

  My mind was spinning. “What are you talking about?”

  “Mass possession,” Cyon explained. “Imagine every sinner in this city falling under the spell of Morgal. A city of millions would devour itself, falling into chaos and despair, signaling that a new age of evil was upon the world.”

  Damn. That was…not good. I raked a hand through my hair, trying to wrap my head around the full extent of this infernal plot.

  Only one question remained. How did Marek fit into this? If the master vampire was sacrificing these demons, did it mean he was taking over Hell’s ritual somehow, twisting it to his own dark objectives?

  I was reminded of Marek’s cryptic words: A storm is coming. A vampire blood rite was troublesome enough on its own, but with the three buildings’ dark power amplifying the range and scope of the ritual…

  “Marek isn’t looking to trigger mass possession,” Cyon said, interrupting my fatalistic train of thought. “He seeks to unleash a vampiric plague such as the world hasn’t experienced since the Dark Ages.”

  Before my mind’s eye, I sa
w thousands of city dwellers turning into ravenous bloodsuckers. I shuddered at the grisly image.

  “Together we can stop Marek and save this city. Isn’t that what you do, demon hunter? Save people from the nightmares?” Cyon’s expression veered between mockery and amusement.

  I glared at him. “How do I know you won’t set the original ritual in motion once we stop Marek?”

  “You don’t.” The demon flashed me a sarcastic grin. It almost felt like the emaciated bastard was enjoying himself.

  ”Sorry, but you’re not selling me on this partnership, buddy. Last time I ran into you, you didn’t seem to have any qualms about leaving me behind for Marek to finish off.”

  Cyon’s smile shrank, the expression on his skull-like features darkening. “I was disoriented, drained to the brink of death, and consumed with a hunger for freedom. Getting out of there after being Marek’s prisoner for so long was all that mattered to me.”

  “You serve the archdemon who murdered my parents,” I said.

  “Nowadays I serve no master but myself.” The playful, mocking tone was gone from Cyon’s voice, replaced with a chilly undercurrent of danger. “Morgal turned his back on me once Marek trapped me in his binding circle. I begged my master to save me, but my pleas went unheard. Morgal could have easily interfered on my behalf, yet he didn’t. You want to know why, mortal? By allowing myself to be captured by a vampire, my master deemed me unworthy.”

  I nodded. The lords of darkness didn’t look kindly upon failure.

  “That day I vowed I’d do everything in my power to stop my former master if I was to somehow escape.”

  The demon’s voice dripped with rage. I had a feeling Cyon wasn’t telling me the full story, but his hatred for both Marek and Morgal was genuine.

  I was tempted to believe Cyon. After all, the demon had the inside track when it came to Marek. But I’d been battling the forces of darkness long enough to know that demons, even those wronged by their master, weren’t to be trusted.