Witch Wars (Shadow Detective Book 7)

by William Massa

  “Who the hell are you?” I asked, my finger still hovering over the trigger.

  “My name is Damona. And my sister is holding the soul of your partner for ransom.”

  4

  “Don’t listen to her! It’s a trick!”

  The venom in Cyon’s voice reminded me that this particular demon had little love for witches. Before I could stop him, Cyon seized control of my body and made me squeeze the trigger.

  Damona darted aside, the blessed bullet slamming into the brick wall in a spray of dust. Before Cyon could fire another round, I saw movement to my right and pivoted. Five heavy books lifted from a nearby shelf and blasted toward me. There was no time to dodge. They slammed into me, throwing me off balance.

  I cried out in pain and brought up my arms to shield myself from the literary onslaught. Hellseeker clattered to the ground. Man, my body would be covered by some colorful bruises the next morning—if there was a next morning.

  I whirled back toward the witch, but Damona had vanished. A rustling sound behind me made me freeze. I spun around again, coming face to face with the witch, mere inches separating us. She thrust her outstretched hand out at me, unleashing a magical blast that catapulted me into the air. I was sent flying and crashed into the same bookshelf that had turned against me seconds earlier. More heavy volumes of occult wisdom rained down on me.

  I groaned and scrambled to my feet as Damona leisurely zeroed in on me. Her gait confident and purposeful. I detected no fear in those magnetic hazel eyes.

  “Is that all you got, Raven? I guess Skulick is the one who did all the heavy lifting in the partnership.”

  Part of me had wanted to hear Damona out, but she was starting to piss me off. I gnashed my teeth and swept out my right foot. It connected with the witch’s perfectly toned legs, tripping her. This gave me a chance to stumble erect and launch a punch at her.

  Fists traditionally do little damage against spell slingers, but my magical ring, the Seal of Solomon, which Cormac had returned to me as I left the ghoul’s cemetery, evened the playing field. I drove it with all my might into her billowing robe. I’m an old-fashioned guy. I don’t like hitting girls, but chivalry only goes so far. I draw the line at witches prone to home invasion, even those who are easy on the eyes.

  Besides, I knew the truth that lurked below the alluring mask. Damona’s beauty was a carefully crafted facade, designed to lull men under her spell until it was too late. As the Seal of Solomon connected with her form, my suspicion was born out. There was a sizzle of metaphysical energy, and the tanned beauty gave way to the wrinkled albino hag hiding under the glamor spell.

  Damona cried out sharply and tumbled backward.

  I immediately drew Demon Slayer from the scabbard strapped to my back. The glyphs on the blade lit up and ignited with mystical energy, eager to taste the blood of the devil worshipper before me. My hand felt fused to the sword’s bone handle, as if the weapon was a part of me.

  “No,” she croaked, “I’m here to help you. I was merely defending myself. You drew first!”

  The urgency of her words gave me pause, and I hesitated.

  “Don’t listen to her! Her kind can’t be trusted,” Cyon urged me. “Finish her now!”

  “You hate my kind, monster hunter, but not as much as the beast inside you hates us.”

  Did everyone in this town know about my demonic passenger at this point?

  “You hear that buddy, she’s talking about you,” I muttered.

  “Kill her, Raven. Strike now before it’s too late.”

  “Please—” Damona began.

  “ENOUGH!” I cried out. The demon and witch grew silent. With Cyon panicking in my head and Damona talking non-stop, I couldn’t form a coherent thought.

  I inhaled sharply, bloodlust surging through every fiber of my being. I wanted to bring the sword down and end the witch right here and now…but was that my impulse or Cyon’s?

  “I can help save your partner,” Damona said. “Please, I have no love for my sister. I would not see her plan succeed.”

  Her mask was back in place, and I faced a gorgeous, defenseless woman. Perhaps, once upon a time, this had been her true appearance. The years of practicing black magic had eroded her beauty, but the illusion was so tantalizingly real. I bit my lip, trying to get a grip on myself. I needed to think.

  What did I know? Witches had murdered Skulick’s old monster hunting buddies and stolen his soul. They’d gotten what they’d wanted. According to the witch cowering at my feet, her sister was behind these crimes. And Damona claimed to be determined to stop Malcasta from carrying out whatever horrible plan she was hatching.

  I needed to at least hear out.

  I nodded at the witch but did not lower my sword.

  “You have one minute to tell me what you’re doing here and why I shouldn’t end you right here and now.”

  “It might be easier if I showed you,” Damona said.

  And with these words, she sprang back into a fighting stance. She waved her hand, and an invisible force whipped the sword from my hands. Demon Slayer joined Hellseeker on the floor.

  Before I could launch a counter-attack, she was upon me and grabbed my gloved demon hand. Almost instantly, my surroundings changed. I was no longer in the loft but in an underground chamber of some kind. Robed, monk-like figures had gathered around a long wooden table in the windowless stone room. Flickering candles and hissing torches painted their hooded features with bloody light.

  A gnarled hand slammed down on the weathered table, breaking the silence. The act got everyone’s attention, my own included. The witch in question rose to her full height and threw back her hood for dramatic effect.

  I stifled a gasp. The face under the hood had been stripped clean of its skin, now transformed into a hideous visage of glistening muscle. Was this Malcasta?

  The skinned witch spoke. “For too long we’ve lurked in the shadows, biding our time in the dark corners of the world. The moment has come for us to step back into the light. To rule the humans, not hide from them.”

  “This coven doesn’t serve our ambitions, Malcasta,” another witch said. I recognized the voice as belonging to Damona. “We follow the will of our dark masters-”

  “By waging a pathetic shadow war?” Malcasta leaned closer, eyes on fire. “We could easily be enslaving these mortals. No wonder our Dark Lords show us no respect.”

  Damona bristled and said, “Do you remember the days of the Inquisition? Fearful humans, made aware of our existence, were determined to weed out our kind. Many of us perished. Mankind’s ignorance works to our advantage…”

  “To your advantage, perhaps. But the followers of the Flayed Prince see things differently. Each day, mankind’s knowledge of the natural world grows. Science has become the new religion and magic a fairy tale. At this rate, we will become obsolete unless we turn back the clock.”

  “How do we do that?” Damona asked. “How can we succeed where the demons of the underworld have failed? We can influence the world, but it’s beyond our power to rule it.”

  “Then we must create our own world.” Malcasta’s words hung in the chamber.

  “What do you mean, sister?”

  Malcasta waved her arms, and the air warped and shimmered with magical power. The image of a city materialized above the wooden table. I would have recognized the skyline anywhere. It was the Cursed City.

  “The barrier between worlds are weak in this city. The energy of the breach is ripe to be channeled by the right spell.”

  “Enough of this!” another voice interjected. The speaker rose at the head of the table, revealing wizened features framed by snow white hair. This witch had to be the leader of the coven.

  “Your foolish quest for power will be the end of us all, Malcasta. Do you think the champions of light will sit idly by while you plan your conquest?”

  “Let them try to stop us!” the skinned witch hissed, her voice shaking with grim determination.

  “
You speak out of turn,” the head witch said.

  “A new age of dark magic awaits this world,” Malcasta continued, her eyes flashing with fanaticism. “You can either join me or crawl back into shadows in which you are so comfortable.”

  Six members of the coven stood in unison. I couldn’t make out the details of their features under their hoods, but one thing became abundantly clear. Malcasta’s followers had stripped the skin from their faces in the same manner as she had. Who was this prince to whom they had sworn their loyalty?

  I racked my brain, trying to remember who she might be talking about. And then it hit me. The witch was a follower of Edward Black, better known as the Flayed Prince. I had read about the fiend a few months ago while I was using some of my downtime to brush up on occult history. Skulick’s insistence that I hit the books was paying dividends now.

  The medieval English prince had devoted himself—heart, body, and soul—to the dark arts. He had served many demons and devils in his quest to become a formidable warlock. The Church had caught on to his evil ways, and the Inquisition skinned him. Legend claimed the Flayed Prince survived the torture for a whole year, kept alive by his infernal black magic, before a group of warrior monks defeated him. His legend lived on, and apparently still inspired the monsters among us.

  The leader of the coven slammed a gnarled fist against the table. “You turn your back on us, Malcasta, and you will be on your own.”

  Malcasta glared at the head witch and stormed out of the chamber with her followers in tow. I saw Damona exchange a look with the leader, and that’s when the coven’s meeting room blurred out of existence.

  A split second later, I found myself back in the loft. Damona eyed me gravely. “Do you understand now?”

  “All I understand is that you have one fucked-up family.”

  I took a step toward her, and Damona held her ground despite the sword pointing at her heart. “You serve the Lords of Darkness, while Malcasta serves herself. Are you seriously trying to convince me that you are the lesser of two evils?”

  “You fight the forces I serve, and that makes us enemies. But my sister is threatening this entire city along with your partner. I’m offering you my help in stopping her.”

  “What does it matter to you if she succeeds?”

  “She is defying the wishes of our master. She believes herself equal to the true Lords of Darkness.”

  In other words, Malcasta was challenging the Dukes of Hell. Damona must have been really pissed off at her sister if she was willing to team up with a monster hunter. So much for family ties. Still, she had another thing coming to her if she thought I’d join forces with a witch.

  “What about your coven?” I said. “Do they have any interest in joining your little campaign against Malcasta?”

  Damona’s expression turned blank. “What other members?” she asked without emotion. “She and her faceless followers murdered them all. I’m all that remains of the original coven, all that stands between her and the spell that will affect the lives of millions. You must help me stop her.”

  Damona was trying to control her emotions, but her voice trembled with grief. Malcasta had taken something precious from her. People she cared about. Friends, a mentor. Maybe a lover. And she was now out for vengeance.

  I mulled it over for a moment. Damona might be a devil worshipper, but she appeared to be sincere about her desire to stop Malcasta. But I’d be a fool to trust her without more proof than this.

  “What is Malcasta’s plan?” I asked, dreading the answer.

  “Look outside and see for yourself. It has already begun.”

  Guard up, I cautiously approached the window while making sure to not let Damona out of my sight. I glanced up the city’s shimmering skyline. An unnatural storm raged at the edges of the metropolis, blue and red lightning bolts spearing the firmament. The sky was on fire.

  “What am I looking at?”

  “The beginning of the end.”

  “Don’t tell me your sister is trying to punch another hole between realities. The Crimson Circle tried it before, and it didn’t work out so well for them.”

  Damona shook her head. “No, Malcasta is drawing on the power of the breach to fuel her own brand of black magic. The paranormal energy of this city is fueling her spell.”

  “What kind of spell?” I said.

  “Malcasta isn’t trying to conquer the world. She wants a piece of it, a domain beyond the influence of our true dark masters. A world of her own to rule.”

  I narrowed my eyes at her. “What does that mean?”

  “If Malcasta completes her spell, this whole city will phase into another dimension. It will become a place outside of time and space, cut off and forgotten from the rest of world.”

  I let this sink in. It sounded a lot like Malcasta was trying to turn a metropolis of seven million into her private little playground.

  Damona nodded. “You understand. She seeks to create a place beyond the reach of demons and other supernaturals. Even the Lords of Darkness won’t hold any influence over her new domain.”

  Could it be possible? Was Malcasta powerful enough to tear an entire city from our reality and shift it into a pocket universe of some kind?

  “Won’t somebody notice if this city disappears?”

  “As the spell progresses, the world will forget that this city ever existed.”

  I swallowed hard. I grasped the basics of the witch’s plan but still struggled to wrap my head around the details. Skulick and I had foiled a few mad quests for power in our day, but this was beyond anything we’d ever faced. And now I had to decide what to do alone without his help and guidance.

  “Even with the breach fueling Malcasta’s magic, how could she be powerful enough to pull this off?”

  “She can’t. That’s why she went after the others . She harvested the souls of her enemies, but she needs one more thing to complete her plan. The Ice Witch’s heart.”

  I cocked an eyebrow. The Ice Witch? Strangely enough, the name sounded familiar. I’d heard it before, but where? And then I remembered. Years earlier, Skulick had mentioned in passing an old case he and my dad worked. They’d teamed with a group of monster hunters and tracked down the Ice Witch of Germany. She had planned to unleash eternal winter on the world. As far as I knew, they successfully defeated her. Skulick used to joke the case had inspired the movie Frozen. Man, I missed the guy.

  Damona took a determined step toward me, and I tensed. A smile played over her delicate features. “You’ve heard of the Ice Witch before.”

  “Skulick mentioned her way back, but he skipped the details.”

  “She was one of the most talented of our kind. Like Malcasta, she became too ambitious, and it became her undoing. Your father and Skulick foiled her plan. They burned her at the stake, but the flames couldn’t destroy her power. Here, let me show you…”

  Once again, Damona brushed against me and the world changed. I found myself in a snow-covered forest clearing. The thick stench of charred wood and roasting flesh tinged the frozen air.

  A blonde woman was tied to a stake amidst a roaring bonfire while Skulick, my father, and three other women watched the execution with sober expressions. I recognized them from the framed photograph on the wall. These were the female paranormal investigators who had been burned at the stake and murdered like witches.

  The Ice Witch didn’t scream as the flames licked her flesh. I watched in grim silence, unable to interfere in any way or change the outcome. I knew the Ice Witch’s crime had been terrible, but I’m not big on drawn-out executions.

  Mercifully it was all over within minutes. The fire eventually died down. Skulick advanced toward the pile of ashes, making sure the fire had completely devoured the witch.

  Reassured that the flames had done their job, he started to turn away but something gave him pause. His eyes widened, and he reached down for an object that rested on top of the bone-studded remains of the pyre. His fingers closed around a shimmering ob
ject, and he held it up high.

  It was a human heart, throbbing as if still alive while radiating a dim blue light. Fire had consumed the Ice Witch’s body but failed to destroy her evil essence. The heart pulsed in a steady rhythm, kept alive by infernal forces.

  As Skulick turned toward my father and the other monster hunters, the shimmering light of the beating heart in his outstretched hand intensified. A second later, it transformed into a heart-shaped crystal. Brilliant luminescence enveloped me as the clearing vanished in a flash of blinding light.

  The next moment, I was back again in the loft with Damona watching me expectantly.

  “The blaze…it couldn’t destroy the Ice Witch’s heart,” I said, still disoriented from the vision.

  “Correct. The fire claimed her weak flesh, but the magic survived. The Ice Witch’s heart turned into a crystal of immense power.”

  “And Malcasta is after this power.”

  “Yes. Though the paranormal energies of this city allowed Malcasta to cast her spell, the Ice Witch’s heart will amplify its magic a thousand-fold.”

  I considered this latest revelation. Slowly, the pieces were starting to click into place. “That’s why Malcasta tracked down Skulick’s old buddies,” I said. “She wants to know what they did with the witch’s heart.”

  “Precisely. When Malcasta realized the hunters couldn’t help her, she made them suffer the same fate as our mother.”

  The Ice Witch was their mother? I guess the poison apple didn’t fall too far from the tree.

  “Anyone normal in your family? Maybe an accountant or a dentist?”

  Damona’s eyes radiated impatience. Definitely not a good time to be flippant. My voice grew serious as I asked the million-dollar question. “Why did she spare Skulick?”

  “She wants something only he can give her.”

  The Ice Witch’s heart.

  “That’s why she took his soul,” I said. “He must’ve refused to reveal the location of the heart.”