Witch Wars (Shadow Detective Book 7)

by William Massa

  I couldn’t shake a chilling sense of déjà vu. I had a pretty good idea what was going to happen next. Malcasta planned to burn us alive, meting out the ultimate punishment for a witch. I had already experienced Cyon’s memory of being roasted at the stake, and I had no desire to try it out for myself.

  Desperate, my gaze cast about the clearing, seeking the witch. Malcasta stood in a nearby copse of trees, just one of the many shadows in the park. The Ice Witch’s heart hovered in the dark cavity of her chest where she had placed the relic earlier. The crystal bled blue-red light.

  Malcasta had closed her eyes, the spell evidently requiring her full attention. The Cursed City had gone dark, but I doubted we had shifted into a pocket universe yet. Or maybe I was just unwilling to accept defeat and lose all hope.

  Other members of the coven—some with skinned faces, some whole but grotesquely aged—flanked Malcasta on both sides, forming a semi-circle around Damona and me. They had gathered here to see us burn. To see a birth of a new world. I almost expected them to break out the s’mores and hot dogs for our little bonfire.

  I pulled against my ropes again, tapping into every bit of inhuman strength I possessed, but I could not break free.

  “Hey, Cyon, think you could maybe cast a spell and get us the hell out of here?”

  “Not without the grimoire. My skills are no match for Malcasta.”

  I cursed under my breath. Shit, this was bad. And it was about to get a lot worse.

  Malcasta’s eyes flickered open and fixed on me. One moment, thirty feet separated us; the next, she was hovering right in front of me. It took me all my self-control not to spit in her skinned Halloween mask of a face. My gaze kept being drawn into the yawning cavity in her chest and the crystal lodged inside.

  “You have been an amusing distraction,” Malcasta said, her voice dripping with venom. “But the time for games is over. This ends now, Raven. For all three of you.”

  Malcasta held up the orb-shaped pendant that contained Skulick’s soul. It sparkled weakly, a fading star compared to the bright sun burning in her chest. The heart’s eerie radiance bathed her grotesque appearance, making her seem even more alien. This witch was beyond vanity, beyond feeling. All that mattered was power and the cruel joy of wielding it against those who couldn’t fight back.

  “Your partner is such a strong spirit, unwilling to go quietly into that good night. But his light is dimming fast. No one can resist the darkness. Both you and your demon know this all too well, don’t you now?”

  I glared at the witch. How much did Malcasta know about Cyon? I figured she would have mocked his betrayal by one of her fellow witches if she knew the full story.

  “Did you think you could deny me my prize, monster hunter?”

  I met the witch’s unflinching gaze but wisely kept my mouth shut. My mind raced, searching for a way out of my predicament but coming up empty. Lightning drenched the clearing with waves of pulsing light.

  “A new age awaits. An age of magic and power.”

  Malcasta basked in her moment of triumph. I would have given anything to wipe that smug grin off her skinless mug.

  “You really think you can get away with this?” I said. “Here’s a tip for you—Hell’s legions don’t like it when someone else plays in their sandbox.”

  Malcasta grinned. “Watch me.”

  This exchange wasn’t playing out the way I’d hoped, but I pressed on. What else could I do? Maybe she’d get so annoyed with me she’d make a mistake. If nothing else, I would at least spoil Malcasta’s moment of victory.

  “Once the Lords of Hell get wind of what you’ve been up to, you’ll be on the run for the rest of your days. You really think you’re smarter and more powerful than them?” I let the question hang there for a beat, and then added, “Enjoy your new age of magic, Malcasta. For as long as it lasts. There will be consequences, believe me.”

  The smile on the witch’s face disappeared. I had finally struck the right nerve. I didn’t know if the Devil and his minions could influence her new world or not, but I figured it never hurt to plant a seed of doubt.

  “Ignorant fool! You know nothing about the dimensions of darkness.”

  “But my demon does” It was now my turn to flash a grin at the witch. Her eyes narrowed dangerously, and I worried I might’ve gone too far.

  “Let me demonstrate what is about to happen to you,” she said.

  With these words, Malcasta clutched her glowing heart. Energy crackled as the flashing lightning above drew dangerously close. She whispered a word in the witch tongue, and a beam of electricity separated from the others and shot straight toward us.

  The fork of sizzling energy slammed into the tree next to me, setting it on fire. Within seconds, the whole tree transformed into a burning torch, and Damona’s pitiful death cries cut through the night. Her robe had become a shroud of flame, and she lurched feebly against her restraints.

  Cyon stirred in me, his mounting terror bleeding into mine. The demon was petrified of being burned alive for a second time. To be honest, I wasn’t all that keen on the idea either.

  The smile had returned to Malcasta’s face as she watched her sister’s fiery demise.

  “Before you perish, Raven, I want to share something with you. A little secret Skulick kept hidden.”

  A cold chill laced up my spine despite the fiery heat of the burning tree. “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “Did you ever wonder why your father became a monster hunter?”

  I held Malcasta’s gaze as my emotions churned. She likes pushing your buttons, I reminded myself. Don’t take her bait.

  “My dad came from a long line of demon hunters. Three generations, in fact. My great-grandfather was the first to declare war on the darkness to avenge his family.”

  “That’s the story Skulick told you, my dear Raven. But that’s all it is. A story.”

  I clenched my jaw and fought back the string of expletives burning on my tongue.

  “Do you want to know the real reason your grandfather declared war against the darkness?”

  Malcasta leaned closer, her fetid breath mixing with the stench of Damona’s sizzling flesh. “He did it out of shame. Shame that his father was a warlock who had bedded a human wife. And that means, even three generations removed, some of that dark blood still courses through your veins.”

  “You’re lying,” I snapped. But in my heart, I knew it must be true. All this time I’d thought I excelled at hunting monsters because of my skills and hard work, but if I’d been a little bit monstrous myself all this time, a lot of things started to make sense. Like how easy it had been for Cyon to slip inside my mind.

  “I find it fitting that the great-grandson of a warlock should perish at the stake.”

  Malcasta’s smile remained frozen on her face as she took a few steps back, leaving me alone to grapple with the truth of my family history.

  I was still reeling from the weight of all this information when the witch raised her hand again. A second beam of lightning lanced down into the park, and blinding light exploded in my field of vision. My tree caught fire, and Cyon’s worst nightmare became real.

  He was being burned alive at the stake for the second time. But this time I was tagging along for the hellish ride.

  17

  The nun-turned-ravenous-hell-beast hurtled toward Archer, clearly intending to rip her apart with her long nails. Instincts kicking in, Archer threw herself aside at the last moment, and the monster nun missed her by inches. A demonic howl of frustration pierced the chapel as the transformed sister landed on the floor with catlike grace.

  Archer spun toward the attacker. Her fear evaporated. Death, black magic, the possibility that the man she loved had become a monster—all those things scared her. Monsters didn’t.

  She could fight monsters.

  Gnashing her teeth, Archer lashed out with the Witch Whip. The single tail of the whip sliced the air and snapped against the nun’s hideous feature
s with a deafening crack. The monster nun’s fury transformed into whimpering agony. Her face quivered and liquefied into a steaming puddle of stinking goo.

  Father Cabrera joined the fight and pressed the silver Cross of Light against the nun’s melting face. Blinding light engulfed them, speeding up the devastating power of the Witch Whip. Steam wafted from the boiling mess that was once the monster’s face. Within seconds, all that remained of the transformed nun was her stained robe and habit.

  “Christ,” Archer mumbled under her breath.

  Father Cabrera shot her a look. “I’ll ask that you not take the Lord’s name in vain,” he said. After a beat, he added, “How did you know? She was so convincing.”

  “She was telling you what you wanted to hear.”

  “Perhaps. But my cross should have detected the lie.”

  “Maybe it wasn’t technically a lie,” Archer said. “Maybe Raven killed these nuns after they turned into monsters.”

  Cabrera considered this possibility for a moment. “Where is he now?”

  Good question. Archer wished she knew.

  And that’s when the chapel exploded with bursts of flashing blue-red light. Archer looked up at the broken stained-glass windows. Something big was happening outside the convent. She swapped a quick look with Cabrera, and they rushed out of the cloister.

  As soon as they emerged from the structure, Archer saw that the storm was gathering right around the city park only a few blocks away. She and the exorcists sprinted toward the searing light show in silence, thick sheets of snow slowing down their approach. The streets were empty as they braved the frozen darkness, leaving tracks on the icy pavement. The neighborhood’s residents had wisely sought refuge inside their apartments from the biting temperatures and strange weather conditions. There was no one else in sight, and she couldn’t help but feel they were the last people on Earth.

  Archer lost track of time as they fought their way through the storm. Snow lashed her like white-hot needles. Her light leather jacket and jeans failed to keep the cold at bay. What she would have given for a cup of hot cocoa or a flask of peach schnapps.

  Every limb felt frozen by the time they entered the park. Lightning speared the night. An instant later, one of the nearby trees erupted into a column of fire, the flames in shimmering hues of red and orange and blue. Between the snow and festive colors, she felt she had stepped into some Christmas nightmare.

  She and the exorcists trudged through the stark winter landscape and crested a small hill. Shadows danced on the ice. About two hundred feet up ahead, a tree was on fire. A circle of black-robed witches encircled the unnatural conflagration. With horror, Archer spotted the writhing human figure at the heart of the inferno.

  Even from this distance she recognized the bearded man tied to the second tree. Another bolt of lightning exploded from the churning sky, and Raven was erased by a curtain of flame.

  “Raven!” Howling wind drowned out her desperate cry, but she could have sworn he turned his head in her direction, their eyes meeting through the blinding snowfall and the wall of fire.

  Even though all help would likely be too late for him, Archer refused to give up. She was still running toward the fire when the witch noticed her approach. Blue light swirled around the crone’s billowing robes as she raised her hands.

  A beat later, the snow came to life. The icy terrain shifted as though a small army of invisible creatures had awoken below the surface.

  One of Cabrera’s exorcists let out a scream out as the ground opened below him. With each step, more of the man’s body vanished below the frozen surface. It was as if the snow had become a living organism with a hunger for human flesh.

  As the exorcist’s head sunk below the white mass, more screams rang through the night. Everywhere Archer looked, the ice was greedily devouring the other members of the White Crescent.

  And then it was her turn.

  The snow reached for her boots and violently pulled her into its frozen embrace.

  18

  The world was burning, with yours truly at the center of the raging inferno. Blue flames erupted at the top of the tree and raced toward me at breakneck speed. Heat seared my upturned face. I was about to die. Just another monster hunter who would leave this world like a servant of darkness. And with Cyon inside of me tainting my immortal soul, I had a pretty good idea where I was headed next. Our reunion with the demon Morgal was going to happen a bit ahead of schedule.

  Terror and rage detonated inside of my chest as a burst of adrenaline flooded my system. It couldn’t end like this. Malcasta was about to succeed where so many other monsters and demons had failed.

  Making matters worse, I had spotted Archer with the White Crescent in tow. For a heart-stopping instant, our eyes had met across the field, and I’d felt a frisson of energy more powerful than any witch’s spell. Despite everything we’d been through, our connection was undeniable.

  My initial hope had given way to dismay as the snowy landscape gobbled up the exorcists in a spray of white. Archer went last, disappearing from view as the bewitched landscape swallowed her whole. They never had a chance. What could one inexperienced vampire hunter and a ragtag crew of exorcists do to defeat a spell-slinger like Malcasta?

  While I burned alive, the woman I love would freeze to death.

  My panicked gaze fastened on the Demon Slayer sword, which stuck out of the snow near Malcasta. The blessed steel was so close yet so far away.

  The witch raised the ghoul’s grimoire and flipped through its cursed pages, her monstrous visage delighted by its mysteries. Who knew what horrors she would discover in the infernal book of magic?

  No, I couldn’t let that happen. I had to find a way out of this death trap.

  I opened my mouth to scream in frustration and fire rushed into my lungs, searing flesh. My eyes felt as though they were boiling out of my sockets. I was being cooked alive. Delirious from pain, I strained against the ropes. The lack of oxygen had robbed me of my voice, making it impossible to express my suffering, but I could still call out for help to the one person I knew would be listening.

  Cyon, do something!

  Peals of dark laughter suddenly rang out across the frozen park. Surprisingly enough, Cyon was the one laughing through my scorched lips. The smoke sizzling down my throat didn’t faze him.

  “Did you really believe you can burn a demon?” Cyon asked through me.

  Malcasta’s eyes lit up with a trace of fear.

  What’s the plan? I thought to Cyon. Our collective goose is getting cooked here.

  “You’re fine. Look down.”

  I hesitated for a beat and then tilted my head to look at my body, expecting to see nothing but barbecued meat. To my surprise, although the flames roared all around me, the couldn’t touch me. The air was still blisteringly hot, but otherwise the inferno had no effect on me.

  I strained against the scorched rope, Cyon directing my movements. The flames had almost burned through the restraints, and they now gave way under a renewed burst of my inhuman strength.

  A heartbeat later, I savagely leaped at the witch, a man on fire. Our bodies collided, and we both went down in a tumble of flame and swirling robes. Rage surged inside of me as I rained down fiery punches.

  To my disappointment, Malcasta managed to slither away from me like a wraith, her black robe moving like a living creature as she made her escape.

  The witch still had a few tricks up her sleeve.

  But so did I.

  During our fight, I had snatched the ghoul’s grimoire from Malcasta. Cyon uttered guttural sounds in the witch tongue, and the blue flames now concentrated around my reptilian demon fist, where they transformed into a raging ball of fire.

  My arm snapped out, and a fireball rocketed toward Malcasta and her coven, splitting into multiple separate projectiles in mid-flight. The smaller fireballs slammed into the witches, incinerating them in an explosive flash. Keening death cries echoed across the clearing as the stench of m
elting flesh filled the air. The living torches staggered a few steps before succumbing to the fearsome magical blast.

  I’d won the first battle, but I was a long way from winning the war.

  The flames died down around me as I faced Malcasta. I twitched my fingers, and Demon Slayer erupted from the snow and shot into my waiting demon hand.

  “Why are you helping this mortal, demon? And how do you know magic?” Malcasta demanded to know. She was looking at me, but I knew she was seeing Cyon.

  “This mortal is my partner. And I hate witches.”

  And with these words, I lashed out with the sword. The blade cleaved the air, and Malcasta dodged a series of my rapid-fire attacks, flitting around the steel blade like a living dervish.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the exorcists digging themselves out of their snowy graves. Archer’s head and hand poked from the ice and with a vicious crack, her whip shot out, the end wrapping around a nearby tree. Using the Witch Whip, she pulled herself out of the frozen hole.

  That’s my girl, I thought.

  “Focus, Raven,” Cyon chided me.

  As I circled Malcasta, sword out and ready, Archer and the exorcists decimated the witches that my fireball hadn’t finished. The tide of the battle was turning. But the most dangerous enemy remained on her feet. Malcasta was a long way from giving up, judging by her hateful expression. As long as she was wielding the Ice Witch’s heart, she remained in control of the situation. It was high time I evened the odds. I needed a distraction.

  Almost as if Archer had read my mind, the Witch Whip lashed out and touched Malcasta’s robe. The impact tore a large chunk of fabric from the billowing mantle, revealing the stripped flesh underneath.

  The witch cried out, more in irritation than in pain. I seized on her momentary distraction and lunged, Demon Slayer having become an extension of my arm. The blade sank into the swirling robe and found the body underneath the living fabric.