Blood Rain (Shadow Detective Book 3)

by William Massa

  It didn't take me long to locate the blood spatter on the floor where the first vampire had launched into the hapless officer. I bit back my rising anger at the grisly sight and focused on the other details of the scene. The rotting machinery and graffiti-streaked walls were a far cry from the traditional gothic setting most people might associate with creatures of the night. Why had the vampires sought refuge in this godforsaken industrial wasteland? The most obvious explanation was that they were trying to keep a low profile and stay off the radar. But that brought me back to my original question: Why post a video of their exploits for the whole world to see?

  I must've spent a good two hours combing the factory floor, desperate to find anything that might lead me to Archer. My efforts turned out to be in vain. I inhaled a lot of dust, spotted a fair share of rats and came across a nice collection of empty beer bottles and fast food wrappers. The city's homeless population had turned the factory into their own version of motel 6 until the vamps moved in.

  Doing my best to fight off my growing feeling of defeat, I left the old factory and headed back to my car. My next stop was the coroner's office, where I planned to examine the bodies of the two dead officers.

  As the factory receded in my rear-view mirror, my eyes kept traveling to the rows upon rows of abandoned tenements alongside the battered road. When the city had lost much of its manufacturing industry ten years earlier, this area had spiraled into economic decline. Nowadays the lost souls of the city called this place their home now—gangs, homeless, prostitutes—and now vampires had moved into the neighborhood.

  The inhuman blood keeping Archer alive had steered her toward others of her kind. There was no such thing as a "good" vampire, but some were more brutal and vicious than others. Who knew what kind of diabolical crowd she'd fallen in with? Suddenly every building in the desolate neighborhood represented a potential hiding place for a nest of bloodsuckers.

  It took me about a half an hour to reach the coroner's office. I'd briefly touched base with Benson earlier and told him I wanted to look at the bodies of the dead officers. To my surprise, he didn't refuse my request. In fact, he'd offered me anything to bring Archer in. Witnessing one of his best detectives feeding on another officer had gutted him. Like me, he wanted us to wrap up this case as speedily as possible.

  My footsteps echoed creepily as I entered the morgue. Frank Casey, the corner, barely acknowledged me, too preoccupied with the latest murder victim on his stainless-steel table. Casey's full head of hair was turning gray, but he was tan and looked like he stuck to a regular exercise regimen. I guess facing death every day provided plenty of motivation to embrace a healthy lifestyle.

  Like so many other people in law enforcement that I ran into, he didn't quite know what to make of the rumpled demon hunter who'd been assisting the force ever since the Crimson Circle incident. I bit my tongue and played along, allowing him to finish what he was doing in silence.

  Once done, he led me to the bodies. As expected, the dead officers didn't make for a pretty sight, their bodies lacerated with grisly bite marks. Forget the twin puncture wounds found in the latest Hollywood vampire flicks—these men had been ravaged and mauled before their blood was drained. They looked more like shark attack victims than extras from The Vampire Diaries.

  I inched closer to the two corpses and sighed inwardly when my demonic scar didn't flare up with pain. The reason behind my visit was twofold. I was interested in hearing what forensics might've found during their examination of the bodies, but I was also worried that the two dead officers might be infected by the vampiric curse. If they'd been turned, they would rise as undead beasts as soon as the sun went down. Morgal's mark wasn't setting off any alarm bells, so I figured we were in the clear on that one.

  As the coroner went into specifics, my mind tuned out his clinical description of their many wounds. My medical knowledge is limited to reruns of ER. The sight of the two savaged officers dominated my thoughts to a point where all else faded into the background. What was the matter with me? I'd seen hundreds of victims over the years, many far worse than the mauled cops. So why was this affecting me in such a profound manner?

  The answer was simple. Archer had killed one of them, which meant my own foolish actions had set this horror show in motion.

  "You might find it interesting that I discovered petroleum hydrocarbons and a series of heavy metals on the uniforms of both officers."

  The coroner's latest words broke my trance and I peered up at him.

  "Do I finally have your attention now?" The coroner appraised me coolly. Judging by the superior tone in his voice, he probably thought I was high on something. Or maybe just stupid.

  "Hydrocarbons and heavy metals?" I said.

  The coroner nodded. "Petroleum hydrocarbons, to be exact. They're contained in gasoline, diesel fuels, and motor oil. I also found trace amounts of lead, cadmium, mercury, zinc, nickel, and copper. My guess is the attackers had contact with these contaminants."

  I frowned at the man, still trying to wrap my head around his words. "Are you telling me the killers worked at a garage?"

  "Close. Perhaps a facility or factory which handles motor vehicles but has fallen into serious disrepair. Most places still in operation wouldn't allow for such high levels of contaminants..."

  The coroner's voice grew distant once again, my mind wheeling. On my way to the factory, I'd passed an abandoned car wrecking yard. The place had given me the creeps. I suddenly had a strong hunch where Archer and her new vampire friends might be hiding.

  7

  “You may kiss the bride,” the priest declared.

  About time, Skulick thought as his beautiful Michelle raised her white veil and leaned forward. She was resplendent, an angelic vision in her white wedding dress.

  How did a bum like him deserve to get so lucky? Michelle was one in a million. Beautiful yet down-to-earth, whip smart with a playful sense of humor. And she understood that being a homicide detective was more than a job, it was a calling.

  It had taken him only a few dates to know that she was the one, and now he’d get to spend the rest of his life with the stunning brunette.

  Babe, I love you with all my heart, he thought as their lips locked in a passionate kiss. After what seemed like an eternity, he pulled away from his beloved and… froze. Dread welled up in him, and he recoiled with instinctive revulsion.

  Michelle’s wedding gown was streaked with blood. More blood was smeared across her face. Worse than that was the terrible hunger in Michelle’s inhuman gaze. The twin fangs poking from her lips dripped scarlet.

  Skulick touched his neck and gasped with shock when his fingers came away red. The blood coating Michelle’s bridal gown was his own.

  As this terrible realization sank in, he turned to the priest for help. But the father of the cloth had transformed into something else, a creature of the night with alabaster features framed by long black hair and eyes blazing with an unholy fire.

  Michelle tore into him, apparently determined to drain him fully. As the transformed priest’s terrible laughter reverberated in the suddenly deserted church, Skulick screamed…

  Skulick’s eyes flickered open, and the waking world cast aside the nightmare in an explosion of flashing computer monitors. His reflection played across one of the screens, his face coated in sweat, looking worn and haggard.

  He took a deep breath, reality snapping back into focus. He must’ve dozed off at his desk. He had been pushing himself past his limits to find a cure for Archer. Unfortunately, his body couldn’t quite keep up with his tireless mind. These involuntary naps had become more common with each passing day.

  And so had the nightmares. They were always the same. A wedding that had never happened, a love he failed to save. Painful glimpses of a life never lived. And lurking in the background, the terrifying presence of the vampire who had taken his Michelle from him.

  Marek.

  The past thirty years had failed to erase the memory of the dia
bolical master vampire, but at least the dreams had become less frequent. That all changed a month ago when Archer succumbed to the same affliction as Michelle. Seeing Raven lose the woman he loved broke Skulick’s heart and reopened all the old wounds. There had to be a way to save Archer. To spare Raven the pain of having to destroy his love.

  Skulick worried about Raven. Had he made the right choice when he pulled Richard’s son into this crazy war against the darkness? There was no other way, he told himself. Raven’s grief and pain over the loss of his parents needed to be channeled into something positive. Better to train the young boy and prepare him for the battles ahead. Hell would not rest until the son of the greatest monster hunter who ever lived was dead.

  Of course, Raven had made plenty of infernal enemies of his own over the years. The boy was a chip off the old block.

  He’d given Raven a fighting chance against Hell’s legions, but could he save Raven from his own demons? Raven had lost so much; adding Archer to the list might break him. Not right away, but in time the guilt would consume him. The drinking and bar skirmishes were just the beginning. He couldn’t let Raven go down this dark path. Skulick knew all too well what lay at the end of it.

  With a heavy heart, Skulick wheeled himself to the coffee maker and poured himself a steaming cup of joe. The black brew burned down his throat and made him feel like a human being again. Outside, rain pelted the skylight, erasing the world from view. Distant, incessant traffic drifted from the streets below, sounding like the city’s weakening heartbeat.

  If the forces of darkness got their way, the Cursed City’s sick heart would stop beating forever one of these days.

  Not on my watch, Skulick thought.

  Eight months earlier, during a routine investigation of a haunted hotel, a vengeful spirit had caught him off guard and dropped him out a window. The three-story fall had robbed him of the use of his legs but not his calling to protect the world from demons. Losing his ability to walk had been traumatic, but like the loss of his fiancée three decades earlier, he’d found a way to bury the pain deep inside. He locked it away and focused on making the best of his situation. Research had become his weapon, the vast occult library his war machine. He steepled his hands, peered through the rain-washed window, and waited. He was expecting a visitor. A very special visitor.

  He didn’t have to wait long.

  A beeping sound signaled the arrival of his guest. He swiveled toward one of the CCTV screens that offered a view of the loft’s main entrance. A tall, athletic looking man stood in the rain, the collar of the black coat turned up and a heavy leather satchel in one hand. He carried an umbrella, but it did a piss poor job of keeping him dry.

  Skulick flicked a switch and the camera zoomed in on the person waiting below. The sun had carved deep grooves into the man’s tanned skin, but there was a strength there. A mane of gray hair spilled down the priestly collar. Father Ignatius looked more like an aging rock star than a man of the cloth. His eyes flickered with impatience as they looked back at him through the security camera.

  “Are you going to let me in or do you want me to catch my death out here?”

  Skulick hesitated for a beat. Experience had taught him it was unwise to welcome guests into his inner sanctum. Father Ignatius was member of the White Crescent, a special branch of Vatican-trained exorcists dedicated to fighting demons and monsters. Even though they’d fought side by side on multiple occasions over the years, old habits were hard to shake. But there were times when exceptions had to be made.

  Skulick tapped his keyboard, and the main entrance buzzed open. Ignatius was a demon hunter, a profession that carried certain risks. One of them was possession. Skulick recalled a tale where a demon hitched a ride in an exorcist and tried to breach the Vatican and murder the Pope. The loft’s protective wards would detect any such inhuman passenger—or so he hoped.

  Since the loss of his legs, the loft had become both his fortress and his prison. Venturing beyond the walls of the converted warehouse was fraught with risk. His handicap would make him a tempting target for his old demonic enemies. But locking himself away from the world had raised his sense of paranoia. If it wasn’t for Raven, he truly would be a crazy hermit trapped in a castle filled with the dark ghosts of his past.

  Skulick nervously drummed his fingers against his desk as Ignatius stepped into the elevator. None of the wards came to life, and Skulick exhaled a deep sigh of relief. He hadn’t told Raven about this meeting. He didn’t want to get the kid’s hopes up. Ignatius had traveled all the way from Rome, bearing a special gift.

  The exorcist wasn’t merely carrying his demon hunting kit in his black leather case, but also a potential cure for vampirism.

  The elevator doors rumbled open and the priest strode into the loft, leaving a trail of water in his wake.

  “It’s been a long time, old friend,” Ignatius said.

  “Too long.” Skulick said, finally lowering his guard. This was his first meeting with Ignatius since the accident, and he saw the priest’s eyes soften with sympathy as they swept over the wheelchair.

  “Looks like the chair hasn’t slowed you down a bit.”

  “My young protégée has been nice enough to pick up some of the slack.”

  “So I hear. He’s getting quite the reputation.”

  Skulick flashed his old friend a warm smile. “How are things in Rome?”

  “Great food, even greater people. And don’t get me started on the weather. This rain is killing me. How do you stand it?”

  “I’m a homebody nowadays.” There was a slightly embarrassed pause before Skulick said, “I heard about the incident in Liguria. Something about demons taking over a convent?”

  Ignatius’ eyebrows ticked upward and he rubbed his chin. “And how would you know about that? The Vatican has gone to great lengths to keep a lid on the incident.”

  “I have my sources.” Skulick pointed at his bank of flickering terminals.

  Skulick offered Ignatius a cup of his infamously strong coffee. The exorcists took a deep swig from the steaming brew and a smile lit up his face.

  “You haven’t lost your magic touch. It’s almost perfect.”

  Skulick arched an eyebrow. “Almost?”

  Ignatius pulled out a flask from his coat and added a shot to his coffee. He took another sip, and pleasure lit up his face. Skulick found himself smiling, too.

  “It’s great to see you, Ignatius. You’re looking good, old friend.”

  Ignatius smiled. “That’s a lie, but I appreciate it anyway. We’re getting older—and, unlike my Scotch, not necessarily better.”

  “Hey, speak for yourself.”

  “I will keep fighting the darkness to the bitter end,” Ignatius said, determination in his voice. “Until the day I fall and the next fool takes my place. Fortunately, you seem to have found your successor. Richard’s boy has been making quite a name for himself.”

  “He still has a thing or two to learn.”

  “Don’t we all.” Ignatius nodded thoughtfully.

  “Did you bring me what I asked for?” Skulick inquired.

  “I’m here, aren’t I?”

  The exorcist lifted his black leather satchel and placed in on a nearby chair. A brilliant white light emanated from inside the bag as he opened it. With great care, Ignatius extricated a small bottle shaped like a cross. The bottle—or rather the liquid inside—was the source of the light. “I hope you appreciate all the favors I had to call in to get you this.”

  “I do, old friend. But I also plan on holding up my end of the bargain.”

  Skulick reached out for the shimmering bottle. The white light bathed his face with a pleasant, soothing warmth.

  “Not many men have ever laid their eyes on angel blood before. The only known cure for vampirism.”

  Skulick took the cross-bottle into his hand. He sensed the exorcist’s hesitation to give it up, but Ignatius finally relented. They both gazed at it for a long moment. The light seemed to ca
ll out to them both, demanding their attention.

  “Don’t look at it too long. Men have gone blind doing so,” Ignatius warned.

  Skulick had heard many a rumor about the angelic blood that was safely kept under lock and key at the headquarters of the White Crescent in Rome. According to the legends he’d discovered in medieval texts, an angel had fought side by side with the members of the White Crescent and had fallen in a terrible battle with an invading demon horde. Before the angel perished, the order had managed to preserve some of the divine being’s life force.

  Over the next few centuries, the White Crescent had come to discover many of the blood’s miraculous properties. One of them was its ability to cure an afflicted from the vampiric curse. How he wished he would have known about the angel blood decades earlier when Richard had been forced to stake his beloved when she tried to murder him.

  Skulick had no idea how much of the divine essence remained in Rome, but the vial only contained enough of the holy life force to save one afflicted soul.

  Despite their long friendship, Ignatius had to answer to his order which meant they couldn’t offer up such a precious relic for free. There were many miracles inside the vault one floor above them, and it held at least one item that the White Crescent desperately wanted. A book that had been in Skulick’s possession for over a decade. A book with the power to alter the fate of humanity if it should fall into the wrong hands.

  With a sense of wariness, he handed Ignatius the heavy, leather-bound tome that had been sitting on his desk throughout their conversation. The Daemonium contained the names of all the demons in Hell. According to legend, there were only two copies left in the whole world. As the story went, if both copies should be reunited, the gates of Hell would open. Was there any truth to these myths? Skulick generally tried to err on the side of caution. That’s why he had secured the volume—and why he felt so guilty about giving it up.