Ender of Worlds: A Morgan Rook Supernatural Thriller (The Order of Shadows Book 4)

by Kit Hallows

  Kitty had changed from seductress to a shriveled, crooked thing, her only concession to humanity the wig resting on her oily scaled scalp. “Give. Them. Back!” she screamed as she tore toward Astrid, her claws raking the air.

  Astrid flicked the jewels from the end of the blade to me. I caught them and jolted at the blisteringly hot energy contained within the stones.

  “We warned you,” Astrid said, as she swiped her dagger, taking off the tips of the succubus’s fingers. Blood arced through the air. Kitty shrieked and clutched her injured fingers as her wings flicked like an angry cat’s tail. But her eyes didn’t move. She seemed to be fixated on the polished blade of Astrid’s dagger, as she if she was mesmerized.

  I grabbed a small mirror from my bag and cast it toward the succubus as she tensed herself to attack.

  She slowed and her pupils dilated as her eyes locked upon their own reflection. I glanced at Samuel as he joined me. He looked both revolted and embarrassed. “Grab her sunglasses,” I nodded. He plucked them from the floor near her clawed feet as she continued to stare at herself, her body slowly rocking.

  “You dropped these,” Samuel said as he slipped the sunglasses over her eyes, dousing the power they were exuding. I tossed the mirror away and replaced it with the gun and pressed it hard against her leathery forehead. Gradually, her attention returned and a scowl crept across her face.

  “Take a seat,” I said, forcing her toward an armchair in the corner. She slumped into it, held up her hand and sucked at the stumps of her bleeding fingers.

  “What do you want?” Kitty demanded as drops of blood freckled her chin and dripped upon the cream colored carpet. “Fucking human.”

  “I want to know about Charrot.”

  Her face wrinkled with disgust. “Awful, disgusting pig of a man. Reeked of B-O and cigar smoke. He was one of my first marks in this realm, but not by choice. I was in my prime and I could have netted far better than him. Believe me.”

  “So why didn’t you?”

  “I was forced to work my wiles on him, and turn him our way.”

  “Our way?”

  “My master’s way.” Kitty’s scowl deepened and a glow of light drifted out from under her sunglasses.

  “Who’s your master?”

  Kitty paused, withholding the answer. And then she glanced at her bleeding fingers and clearly thought better of it. “Franklin Lampton. The jerk that summoned me into this shitpit of a world. The man who trapped me here, tore my heart out and pissed over its remains.”

  Lampton. Like the Lampton who served on the Council? The man who'd been undermining me from the moment I’d encountered Stroud? No, he had to have been a kid back when the asylum was up and running, but she could have been talking about his father or grandfather. “Why did he want you to seduce Charrot?” I already knew the answer, I was just priming the pump to see what she'd say.

  “Charrot had all the loonies at his disposal, Lampton wanted to put them to work. Focus what was left of their shattered psyches on creating the portal.”

  “To Penrythe?”

  “If you say so,” Kitty said. “I was just the messenger, a liaison. I passed the instructions on to Charrot and fulfilled whatever vile fancies he cooked up while he completed my master’s work. He wasn’t hard to turn. When I met him his heart was full of God and peace and goodwill. But it didn’t take much to corrupt him. It never ceases to amaze me how fickle blinkereds are. It’s like there’s an ocean of darkness bubbling below the surface, and all it takes to bring it flooding out is one little scratch.”

  “Where’s Lampton now?” I asked.

  “Probably at home, hiding. I’d know if the piece of shit was dead. He’s a shut-in, a recluse. Hardly surprising given how many enemies he's made over the years, myself included.” Kitty gave me a snaggle-toothed smile. “He has hounds roaming the estate as well as binds to keep us all out. Such a scaredy cat.”

  “Where does he live?”

  “About ten miles east of Galloway, near Albany. The old lodge as he calls it. Not a place you'd want to visit, trust me,” Kitty said. “But then again, it might be fun if you did.”

  “How well has he fortified it?” I asked, but before she could answer my phone began to buzz. I pulled it from my pocket.

  - Haskins

  “Rook,” I answered.

  “I’m at the City Library,” Haskins said. “We got a situation. A serious situation.”

  “I’m busy,” I said, suppressing a shudder as I felt Kitty’s eyes roving over me.

  “This can’t wait, Rook. It’s going to bring all sorts of heat down onto your side of the fence, believe me. We’re talking about a goddamned zombie for fuck’s sake. And terrorized kids, and who knows how many news crews on the way.”

  “Okay.” I glanced at my watch. “Give me twenty minutes.”

  “What do we do with her?” Samuel asked, nodding to Kitty as I hung up.

  I crouched down close to her ear, doing my best to ignore the reek of her breath. “Are you going to leave the city, or are you going to be a problem?” I asked,“ ‘cause I’m short on time and willing to put a bullet in your head if it’ll solve this problem.”

  “I’m happy to move on to greener pastures.” Kitty sneered as she glanced to the bed and the man she’d reduced to a pile of skin and bones. “My work here is done.”

  I glanced at Samuel and Astrid. “Can you create a little fog, make her forget everything? For as long as possible?”

  “We can. Wouldn’t last much longer than a week or two…” Samuel said. “And the spell could addle what’s left of her mind.”

  “Good,” I said. “Do it.” I nodded to the man in the bed. “Please get him food and water as soon as you’ve got her out of here. I'll call you as soon as I can.”

  “Take care,” Astrid said. I smiled at her as I closed the door and wondered what fresh hell Haskins had dug up for me.

  15

  The city library was right in the middle of the city and not far from the bank where I’d encountered the magician. I realized I hadn’t asked Haskins what his official cover story for the robbery was, there hadn’t been time.

  I crossed the plaza as cold rain struck the back of my neck. Winter was drawing in and it seemed this year was bringing a gloom and darkness worse than most.

  A crowd of women and children gathered under umbrellas as they gazed toward the library, their faces shocked and concerned. I was outnumbered; there were at least thirty gawkers out on the sidewalk; too many memories for me to wipe with a spell. Which meant I should have called the Organization, but that wasn’t going to happen, not until I’d heard from Erland and found out what the hell was going on.

  “I wanna go home,” a young boy whined as he tugged at the sleeve of his mother’s raincoat.

  “We will. I just want to make sure she’s alright,” she said. But his mother didn’t really sound all that concerned; it seemed more like she captivated by the shock and awe. It was only as I looked again that I noticed that she and the others were carrying bags of groceries. Donations for the Winter Festival’s food drive. The library was one of their collection points, I’d spotted posters for it plastered across the city, featuring families of sparkly jolly snow people with frosty smiles gleaming below blue skies that never seemed to come.

  The festival was our seasonal celebration and a call for goodwill and charity, though I couldn’t help but feel most the proceeds ended up in the coffers of the bureaucrats who oversaw it.

  I grabbed a crystal and masked myself as I pushed through the onlookers, ignoring the waspish remarks that followed in my wake.

  An ambulance was parked near the library entrance, its red lights flashing in the windows as a medic treated his partner who was profusely bleeding from her wrist. Both gave me stony glares, as if whatever had happened inside the library was my doing but I ignored them and slipped through the sliding doors as I looked around for Haskins.

  The place was a book lover's dream, well lit and peac
eful - apart from the thuds and muffled shouts coming from the far side of the maze of bookshelves. I made my way toward the ruckus, glad for the industrial heating and its dusty dry warmth.

  “Back off!” Haskins shouted. He sounded flustered, angry and scared.

  The racket grew louder as I made my way past the paperbacks in the romance section flouting oiled six packs and half dressed couples embracing in far off locales.

  “It’s about time!” Haskins barked as he caught sight of me. He was manning a door and his face rumpled into a grimace as he clenched its twisting handle. The door rattled and as the handle began to turn again, he forced it back.

  “What’s going on?”

  “This kook’s what’s going on. She’s lost her fucking mind and started acting like a zombie. Take over the door,” Haskins said. “I still got stitches from that last loon you got me involved with.”

  “Yeah, the witch who got the drop on you, I haven’t forgotten.” I nodded for him to release the handle and grabbed it in his stead. The sound of muffled, labored breath emanated from behind the wooden panels, followed by a shockingly diverse string of profanity. “What’s the situation? And can you give me a little more detail this time please,” I asked as the door buckled and jerked.

  Haskins shot me a glowering look. “The staff said she's been stark raving mad ever since she showed up for work this morning. Talking all kinds of crazy shit and breathing weird, like she was hyperventilating. They thought maybe it was a panic attack until she started running around like a bat out of hell, sweating and shrieking. Then she passed out, right in the middle of the health and wellness section.” Haskins flinched as the door rattled in its frame. “So they called an ambulance, and when it arrived, Mrs. Thompson in there,” he nodded toward the door and rolled his eyes, “sits bolt upright and sinks her teeth into one of the medics, like a rabid dog. So they call the precinct and the call gets rerouted to me because as you know, I take these kinds of calls, on account of you. So I listen in and think, yeah, this is right up Morgan Rook’s alley. Proper screwball stuff.”

  I braced myself as her fists pounded the other side of the door and the wood began to splinter.

  “So I called you up and grabbed that broom.” He nodded toward the broomstick leaning against the wall by the door jamb. It had been painted black and adorned with fake cobwebs, a Halloween prop yet to be cleared away. “And used it to force her back into this room.”

  “Okay, I get the picture. Stand back.”

  “Suits me.” Haskins inched away, his beady eyes locked on the door, as I let go and stepped away. The bangs and thumps continued to rain down, more frantic than ever. I reached out, twisted the handle, shoved the door open, and jumped back.

  A thin, spindly woman leaped into the frame. She had to be in her late sixties. Her reading glasses were fogged over and dark streaks of mascara had run down her powdered cheeks. The pastel sweater, blue jeans, and a red furry hat that she wore were a million miles from the feral monster I'd imagined when she was pounding on the door and swearing like a sailor, but they made for a picture perfect librarian. “Are you okay?” I asked, as she stared up at me.

  “I…” she took a step, her forehead gleaming with sweat. “I…” She peered around and held a hand over her eyes. “I don’t feel well. My heart… it keeps stopping.” She glanced at Haskins and gagged as if she was going to be sick. “I don’t know what ’s happened to me.”

  I had a pretty good idea of exactly what had happened. Endersley. My anger was rising but I did my best to stay calm. “Let’s find you a seat,” I said. I held my hand toward her and she took another tottering step my way, then her eyes seemed to lose focus and her lips drew back over her teeth.

  “You know, I don’t think she’s-” Haskins fell to silence as the librarian lunged at him, with clawed fingers and gnashing teeth. I yanked her away before she could tear out his throat and she rounded on me with a husky, animalistic cry.

  “Shit!” I shoved her back as Haskins grabbed his gun. “Put that away Haskins, for God's sake!”

  The librarian charged at me, ducking low, her claws swiping at my eyes. I did my best to subdue her but she was too quick and evaded me with a low, throaty growl.

  “Now what?” Haskins backed away as she prowled toward him. He stopped as he bumped into a rack of books and sent them cascading to the floor. The librarian roared and pounced on him, taking them both down, the lurid books tumbling around them like an avalanche.

  I pulled the librarian off Haskins, grabbed her by the arms, and kept her snapping teeth at bay as I dragged her toward a sofa in the reading nook. She snarled and roared, but soon her aggression fell to grunts and a whimper. “What’s happening?” she cried, her voice full of pleading. “What’s happening to me?”

  “Sit down and try to take slow deep breaths.” I reached into my bag and pulled out a small vial of healing waters that Bastion had sourced from a cavern in the heart of the Carpathian Mountains. “Sip this. It will help.”

  She took it from me and emptied it with a single swig. Her hands shook and as she returned the empty vial and I held them, watching closely as her pupils dilated and her breathing began to slow.

  I read her, rifled through her memories. As her hands relaxed in mine, snapshots of her life flew by; the husband she’d lost, the three grown children who doted on her. I leafed through her recollections as if they were photographs, bypassing one after another until I reached this morning’s.

  The coffee shop. A table for two, the chair across from her empty. Until the man had set his coffee down, took the seat and smiled. Endersley. She’d returned his smile and considered what nice cheekbones he had, even if he did seem a little on the ratty side.

  She’d returned to reading her newspaper, an article about the sherpa from Tibet who'd relocated to New York City. When she’d turned the page of her newspaper, the man had gone and his steaming coffee remained untouched on the table.

  It was only after she’d got up and walked out that she’d felt hot. Boiling almost, despite the cold chill in the morning air. And then the jitters had followed, like she’d taken a triple shot in her latte, but she hadn’t. She’d drunk decaf because… then the world had spun around her, grey, black and white, slowly growing dimmer.

  Her recollections jumped. One moment she’d been standing on the corner of the block, the next she was staggering toward the sliding doors of the library. The little she recalled from the in-between consisted of jumbled angry shouts, car horns and squealing tires. Had she been there? Had any of it happened?

  She’d wandered into the building, swaying like she’d had a snifter full of brandy, only half recognizing the concerned faces as they’d turned her way. Then the rows of books had spun like a tilt-a-whirl as the world came crashing down.

  The last thing she remembered was the feeling of the ridged carpet against the side of her face as she’d slowly closed her eyes.

  When she’d opened them, people had been standing over her, staring like she was an animal in a zoological exhibit. People she knew, people she didn’t. One had been the man from the coffee shop. He’d watched her closely but as she’d caught his eye and lifted her hand toward him, he’d melted away.

  Time passed again and her memories of it had been lost. Something bad had happened. There was blood in her mouth and it wasn’t hers, but it had tasted good. Very good. She wanted more of it.

  She remembered the man who'd trapped her in the office. A frightful man with a badge in his hand and a gun at his hip. He’d annoyed her on sight, even before he’d locked her in…

  I let go of the librarian’s hand, severing the connection. When she looked my way her eyes were filled with tears. “Are you alright?” I asked. She said nothing. “I’m, Morgan, and you are?”

  She stared at me for a moment before shaking her head. “I don’t know.” The tears fell down her cheeks.

  I glanced up as a woman appeared between two stands of books, recording video with the phone in her h
and. The girl at her side was not much older than seven. “She okay?” the woman asked. I could tell by her tone that she didn’t really care one way or the other; she merely wanted to capture a moment of someone else’s hell on her ever-ready camera.

  “Get her out of here, Haskins,” I said.

  “You okay, Mary?” the woman asked, ignoring me.

  “She doesn’t look well, mom,” the little girl whispered.

  Haskins began to stand. He looked rattled as several people walked through the library doors. “Hey, get out of here!” he shouted, brandishing his badge. “This is police business.”

  “This is a public place,” a man replied, his umbrella dripping water onto the carpet. “I got DVDs to pick up,” the jackass added as Haskins rushed toward him.

  The librarian looked terrified as she glanced around. “Wait here,” I told her as I stood and helped Haskins clear the people out. "Where's the kid?” I asked as I steered the woman with the phone out the door. She glanced down from her phone to the empty space beside her. “Shelley?” she called.

  A cold pang passed through me.

  I hurried back, Haskins by my side.

  Shelley was with the librarian, her little face filled with horror as the once familiar woman bared her teeth and growled like a dog. Shelley broke away and began to run as the librarian crawled after her on her hands and knees, agile as a hound, her face starved and contorted with hunger.

  16

  Bang!

  The sound of the bullet was brutally loud as it tore through the librarian’s chest, spattering blood over the books, shelves and her quarry.

  I turned to find Haskins preparing to take another shot. “Stop!” I scooped up the screaming child and handed her to her mother, who’d rushed up behind me. “Get enough footage?” I asked as I grabbed her phone, deleted the files and shoved it back at her. I pushed them to the doors. “Take your kid to that ambulance, get her seen to and stay the hell out of my way.” The crowd outside the doors watched the whole exchange, but looked elsewhere as I met their gaze and then they began to disperse.