Witch Wars (Shadow Detective Book 7)

by William Massa

  Not freaks, I thought. Witches. But I knew better than to correct the detective.

  I took a deep breath. My gut told me Benson wouldn’t be thrilled about what I was about to share with him. How do you tell someone that the homeless bag ladies in the drunk tank are evil incarnate? That we were, in fact, dealing with spell-slingers hellbent on changing space and time to suit their dark whims?

  I vividly recalled the advice Skulick had given me regarding magic users: Don’t ever get in the middle of a spell. Nothing good can come from it. Interrupt the wrong ritual and the blowback could be catastrophic—a dire lesson the hapless warden had unfortunately learned the hard way.

  “There is nothing I can do to help him. I’m sorry, Benson.”

  The detective clenched his jaw and balled his fists in frustration. Benson had a reputation for being a demanding hard-ass, but he cared deeply for his fellow officers. “Can’t you just…you know, poof?” He waved his hand like he was trying to unleash a Jedi mind trick.

  I shook my head. “I don’t dabble in that shit, Detective.”

  “Then at least explain to me what happened. Not that I can put any of this in my report.”

  “Those folks in your holding cell are in the process of cooking up some bad, bad mojo. And your warden, unfortunately, got caught in the crossfire.”

  “What kind of voodoo shit are they doing?”

  Voodoo was a little different from what these witches were into, but I didn’t correct Benson. I ground my teeth in frustration, wishing there was something I could do for the hexed warden. Maybe the three witches could undo the aging spell, but I doubted they’d be eager to cooperate. Hell, I’m not even sure they could at this point. The magic they were releasing with each guttural utterance was complex and unwieldy. It was taking all their energy and concentration to will the spell’s power into existence, depleting them on every level.

  I’m not an expert when it comes to magic, but I know it feeds on energy—mental, physical, spiritual. The spell was aging them while frying their brains. It had depleted all their resources until they resembled drugged-out senior citizens. The magic had drained these witches to a point where they hadn’t even resisted their arrests. I didn’t know if they would regain their mental faculties once they completed the ritual, but for now the best strategy was to leave them in their cell and not get in between them. The trio would stay like this until the spell ran its course.

  “I advise you to keep your men away from them. At least for the time being.”

  Benson frowned. This wasn’t what he wanted to hear. “If they’re doing some sort of spell, shouldn’t we stop them? If we could get them just to shut up…”

  “You saw what happened with your officer. Stopping a spell of this magnitude is like defusing a bomb. One wrong move, and you’re liable to set in motion a terrible chain reaction.” I nodded at the trio of hags. “Besides, these three witches are only the tip of the iceberg.”

  Benson raised an eyebrow. “You think there are more of them out there?”

  “I’m afraid so.” For a moment, I couldn’t shake the unnerving thought that every homeless person roaming the Cursed City was a potential spell-slinger, lost in the darkness of their creepy chant.

  “If we can’t arrest them or interrupt their spell, how do you stop it?”

  “I need to find the witch who runs their coven.”

  Benson mulled this over. “I get it. You take out the leader, you interrupt the spell.”

  I nodded. It was slightly more complicated than that, but Benson was beginning to grasp the basics. Working with him wasn’t the kind of partnership I had once enjoyed with Skulick or Archer, but the man was at least trying to understand and keep an open mind.

  “That’s right,” I said. “And if there is a way to save your man, I’ll find it.”

  Benson’s face relaxed a tad. I couldn’t give him the answers he wanted to hear, but I could offer him some hope.

  I prayed it wouldn’t turn out to be a false hope.

  We stepped out of the drunk tank and returned to the precinct’s bustling office area. After the events of the last few weeks, being back here both felt surreal and comfortably familiar. Here I was, possessed by a demon and on some mad quest to destroy the Duke of Hell who murdered my parents while my friends were either gunning for me or fighting for their lives. Working with Benson, even for a few minutes, allowed me to forget the mess my life had become.

  Man, I missed Skulick. Missed Archer. Missed the way things used to be. When was the last time I grabbed a beer with friends or caught a movie with someone? Or went on a date? I couldn’t remember. I’d never been a social butterfly. Ordinary relationships were impossible, given my vocation, but at least I had enjoyed some downtime occasionally. Now my old life was receding further and further into the distance, almost like a dream that faded upon waking up.

  You can still fix this, I tried to tell myself, but with each passing day and new complication, a happy end to my story seemed less likely.

  Do yourself a favor and stop the pity party, I admonished myself.

  For a change, Cyon wasn’t the one playing mental drill sergeant. Feeling sorry for myself wouldn’t stop Malcasta or bring Skulick back. Stay focused, be cool, do your job. Easier said than done when your life is falling apart, but I was going to give it my best.

  “What’s our next move?” Benson asked.

  “Tell your men to stay clear of any female homeless people who appear under the influence of narcotics. Otherwise, let me handle this one.”

  “You’re telling me to do nothing?”

  “I’m not trying to knock your officers, Benson, but they’re not equipped to deal with this sort of—”

  I broke off. My gaze had landed on a cop who was escorting a scantily clad lady toward his desk. Judging by her outfit, I assumed she was a pro who’d been picked up on a solicitation charge, but that’s not what had caught my eye. I recognized this woman. It was none other than Damona.

  “What’s the matter?” Benson wanted to know.

  I turned away without offering an explanation and went after Damona. I reached the witch, grabbed her shoulder and spun her toward me. The worn features of the strung-out hooker in front of me bore no resemblance to Damona’s glowing complexion and perfect bone structure.

  I took a stunned step back. Had I imagined the whole thing? It was possible but not probable. A more likely scenario was that Damona had momentarily hitched a ride in the prostitute. Was the witch keeping tabs on me? What game was Damona playing now?

  Benson stepped up behind me, concern creasing his features. “Everything okay?”

  I slowly nodded even though things were far from being okay. “I gotta leave. I’ll text you if I find out anything more.”

  Benson’s forehead furrowed into a confused frown.

  “Text me?” he said. “What are you talking about?”

  Now it was my turn to be perplexed. “I’ll send you a message on my phone if I come across anything new.”

  “I’m sorry, Raven, but I’m still not following you. Is that some kind of slang term?”

  I shot him a long look. “If you’re messing with me, you picked a hell of a time to find your sense of humor. Just keep an eye on your cell, okay?”

  Benson blinked at me. “You want me to watch the holding cells?”

  My confusion deepened as I instinctively reached for my phone…only to realize it was gone. Had I left it in the car? Not very likely. I didn’t go anywhere without my cell. I even slept with the damn thing by my side.

  And that’s when I became aware of an unfamiliar yet ubiquitous rat-tat-tat sound filling the office. The harsh noise didn’t come from fingers clicking on computer keyboards. No, this was old school, the sound of metal keys snapping against paper. Everywhere I looked, manual typewriters had replaced computers. Cops answered landlines, and there wasn’t a cell phone in sight. Someone had turned back the clock and reversed the last three decades of technological progress
.

  “Looks like Malcasta’s spell is working,” Cyon observed.

  How could a magical spell erase technology that had been everywhere only minutes earlier? Even more disturbing, I was the only one aware of the change. Everyone else remained blissfully oblivious to the switch from digital to analog.

  I clutched my protective ring a little tighter, knowing it had saved me yet again. If it weren’t for the talismanic power of the Seal of Solomon, I probably wouldn’t have noticed the loss of modern technology. Would the history of mankind’s achievements be phased out of our reality? Malcasta regarded science as the enemy of magic, and she was working to restore a world where superstition trumped reason.

  I doubted that modern tech had vanished everywhere across the globe. Not even Malcasta was that powerful. There was only one explanation: the witch was already successfully separating the Cursed City from the rest of the world. The city was transitioning into a new reality, a world shaped by the witch’s dark vision for mankind.

  For a moment, I wondered if she had already discovered the Ice Witch’s heart. No, I told myself, if she had, all would be over. If we moved fast, these changes could all be reversed. Life in the Cursed City could return to normal. Or as normal as things ever got around here. I clung to this belief with all my heart.

  Glancing at Benson, I said, “Detective, I better get going. I’ll send word if I find out anything useful.”

  He eyed me with a still slightly puzzled expression but shook my hand.

  “Thanks again for coming down, Raven. Best of luck out there.”

  I nodded. I had a feeling I was going to need it.

  As I stormed out of the precinct, ice raked my skin. The weather conditions had worsened, and a blanket of white covered the streets and sidewalks.

  I rushed toward the stolen Hummer. To my surprise, a meter maid was in the process of writing me a big fat parking ticket. As the figure turned toward me, I realized it was Damona. She flashed me a playful grin, but I wasn’t in a smiling mood.

  “Are you done playing games?” I demanded.

  “Old habits die hard.”

  “What’s with the masquerade ball?”

  “Unlike you, Raven, I can’t just saunter into a police precinct and blend in.”

  I thought of the hard stares my presence had drawn from the cops. I didn’t exactly call that blending in, but I wasn’t in the mood to argue semantics.

  “Did you possess that woman in the precinct?”

  “You might be a skilled monster hunter, Raven, but don’t presume to understand how my magic works. I did what I had to do to gain a closer look at the members of Malcasta’s coven.”

  “And what were you able to learn from the nice ladies in the drunk tank?”

  Her eyes narrowed, turning deadly serious. Her meter maid outfit melted away and morphed into the familiar robe. “The spell is progressing much faster than I expected,” she said. “We may have even less time than I feared.”

  I thought of the disappearing cell phones and computers and said, “No shit.”

  “The good news is that my sister still doesn’t have the witch’s heart.”

  “How can you be sure?” I wanted to know.

  “The electricity is on, and cars are still clogging the streets. We’re a long way off from the Middle Ages. For now, Malcasta is chipping away at the reality of the modern world. Once she has the heart, she will work this city over with a wrecking ball.”

  I tried to imagine the Cursed City without lights or any form of modern technology and couldn’t do it. Or perhaps I just didn’t want to contemplate the horrible possibility of a world without cell phones, computers, and indoor plumbing.

  I took a steadying breath. “What else did you find out from the hags?”

  With a contemptuous glare, Damona said, “I may not be able to locate the Ice Witch’s heart, but I’ll be able to do the next best thing.”

  “And what’s that?”

  “Find my sister.”

  I thought about this, and my eyes widened with understanding. “You’re using the three witches upstairs like a supernatural locator?”

  “The members of her coven are all connected while engaged in this spell, all links in the same chain under my sister’s command.”

  “So you can to trace the spell right back to Malcasta.”

  “It won’t be easy, but that is the general idea.”

  As I mulled this over, another thought occurred me. “There’s one thing I’m having a problem wrapping my head around. I thought Malcasta and her coven followed this Flayed Prince character. So why do those witches still have their faces?”

  A touch of suspicion laced my words. What if Damona was trying to play me? It was possible that she was the one controlling the spell, and her faceless sister was trying to stop her. I couldn’t take anything at face value—no pun intended. I’ve been burned too many times, and I was tired of being manipulated and played. How did the saying go? It’s not paranoia if everyone is out to get you.

  “That’s what I’ve been saying,” Cyon grumbled.

  Damona regarded me for a beat almost as if she could read my thoughts. “Those witches are Malcasta’s foot soldiers. They’re still earning the honor to make the final sacrifice.”

  I chewed this statement over. It sounded sick and twisted and therefore plausible. So only the coven’s inner circle got to cut their faces off—talk about VIP membership privileges. Damona seemed to have an explanation for everything, but I still wasn’t wholly convinced. Or was that Cyon’s cynicism seeping into my thoughts?

  “You’re worried I might be trying to trick you,” she said.

  “The thought has crossed my mind.”

  “You’re wise to keep your guard up, but I’m not your enemy, Raven. At least not today.” A playful smile curled her luscious lips. She sensed the demon’s hatred for her kind, and it made her crank up the sex appeal. I guess Damona enjoyed a challenge.

  Damn, she didn’t need a spell book to get under my skin. Her physical presence worked its own kind of magic. I caught tantalizing glimpses of bronzed skin under her shifting robe. A touch of cleavage, a perfectly formed leg. Her sex appeal made it difficult to stay focused on the case. Hey, I’m only human. At least I used to be.

  “What about you, Raven? Still no theories where Skulick might’ve hidden the heart?”

  I shook my head and said, “I’m working on it.”

  Her face flooded with disappointment, but she accepted my response. “You do that, and I will try to divine my sister’s whereabouts. We’ll be in touch.”

  With these words, she waved her hands and vanished into the snowy night. Witches sure loved to make a dramatic exit. I hugged myself tightly as I stepped up to the Hummer, wishing I lived in a place where the winters were milder. Maybe it was time to move to a cursed tropical paradise.

  I slipped into the car, cranked up the engine and turned on the heater. I didn’t plan on sitting around idly while Damona followed some trail of magical breadcrumbs back to her sister. I was ready to make my move.

  See, I hadn’t been completely forthcoming with Damona. I had a pretty good idea where I might find the Ice Witch’s heart. And I intended to get my hands on the magical relic first.

  7

  Skulick’s eyes snapped open.

  At first, he experienced an overwhelming sense of disorientation. Where was he? What day was it? A quick glance at his computer showed that it was around three a.m. Had he nodded off while waiting to hear back from Archer?

  When he looked up at the flickering news channels above his desk, it all came back. A mysterious fog was spreading through the streets of the city and transforming people into ravenous murder machines.

  Life was never boring in the Cursed City.

  Skulick immediately dialed Archer’s number, and to his relief, she picked up on the first ring.

  “How are things out there? Did you find Raven?”

  “Yes, Father Cabrera has him in custody. He th
inks there might be a good chance to save him.”

  Skulick’s heart beat a little faster at this news. Raven was more than a partner; he was like a son. The boy’s future depended on what they did next.

  “What about the fog?” he asked. “What happened at the cemetery?”

  “I think it’s best if I explain everything in person. I’m on my way to the loft, so I’ll be able to answer all your questions in a few minutes.”

  “Alright,” Skulick said, trying to hide his disappointment. He craved up-to-date information almost as much as he craved caffeine. Better put a fresh pot of coffee on, he thought.

  Archer clicked off, and the loft fell silent again. With the bank of TV sets on mute, the place felt empty and lonely. Skulick was used to spending many hours on his own, the steady drone of the media his only companion as he scanned the news for any hints of supernatural activity. On most days the solitude didn’t bother him too much, so why did he suddenly hunger for companionship? Maybe he hoped a familiar voice would chase away his growing anxiety. The nap had done him more harm than good, and he didn’t quite feel awake. Didn’t quite feel like himself.

  Nothing a good cup of joe won’t be able to fix.

  With this thought in mind, he wheeled himself to the kitchen and started up his stainless-steel coffee machine. Nothing beat his French press, but the machine would do at this hour. He drew some comfort from the steady drip, drip of the brewing coffee maker. The sound kept his unease at bay.

  As he waited for his coffee to brew, he rolled his chair toward the nearest window and peered out at the nighttime cityscape. As he listened to the faint yet steady traffic sounds, a sense of calm returned. Still, he couldn’t completely shake the nagging conviction that he was forgetting something of grave importance. Skulick was a man who relied on his intellect. Brain fog was a new, disconcerting experience for the monster hunter.

  But why should he be surprised? He’d been to hell and back over the last few months. Besides the tragic accident that had put him in the chair, he’d turned into a vampire, faced the undead monster that had murdered his fiancée, and lost another partner to the forces of darkness. First Raven’s father, and now the boy himself. No wonder it was all catching up with him. He wasn’t eating right, nor was he getting enough sleep. He was burning the candle at both ends, and the effects were taking a toll on both his physical and mental health.