Hammer of Darkness (Veil Knights Book 8)

by Rowan Casey

  Just as I realized this, the man himself entered the room like Caesar walking into the Coliseum. I hated him. He was the Tom Brady of city corruption, tall good-looking, poised, of dubious ethics.

  “What are you doing here, Fallows?” Erica demanded, she looked shaken, which I found odd. Some part of my brain, way down deep, was trying to put pieces together. It wasn’t working. Fallows looked at her,

  “I guess I could ask you the same,” he said. “Since I don't recall sending you,” he looked at me, “this time anyway.” His gaze was calculating and aseptic as he took in the blood and my nudity. I stared back. “Put on some clothes,” he said.

  He seemed a little bit disgusted. It hurt my feelings. As a rule, I don't usually do as I'm told, so I looked at him, making no move to reach for my clothes.

  “I like to air dry,” I said.

  “What are you doing, Fallows?” Erica repeated, using his last name again. “I have this under control.” He looked at her. The men with guns, dogs on a leash to a man, looked at me.

  “Things have changed, Erica,” he said. “I already told Mr. Hautdesert here, but he didn’t listen.”

  “You still want to get the Basket?” she asked. Seeing she had his attention, she went on. “He needed help. Helping him is only helping you.”

  “Then why hide it?”

  She looked away.

  I felt myself frown. She had been a better liar than that when we were together. I caught Kay’s eye, she looked confused as well.

  “There was no time.” Erica’s voice was quiet, the lie a weak one.

  I felt compelled to help her. The way I always do. “You know Euryale,” I said.

  He made a face. “She and I have had ...dealings,” he said. He chose his words carefully.

  “She was my only lead,” I said. “There is a coven involved. They made matters difficult.”

  Fallows looked almost bemused for a moment, like I’d said something funny. He looked at Erica. She said nothing and he made a motion and the men lowered their lethal little kill boxes. Kay stood up, glaring at the cop who’d kept her down. The guy didn’t bat an eye, but then he didn’t know what she was capable of on a good day.

  “Give us a moment,” Fallows told them. They didn't argue, though if I were a bodyguard, I'd have a problem leaving my primary subject alone with me. Made me wonder exactly just how much Fallows was loved by his guys. When it was just us four in the room, Fallows looked at me. “You think you can put your clothes on now?”

  I stood, looked around a little helplessly. Kay came forward and picked a pile of my clothes from off the chair where she must have left them earlier.

  “What has changed,” Erica asked Fallows. She stepped closer to him.

  “I’ve found a different ally.” He looked at me. “I want to make sure you understand that. We are no longer interested in working with Grimm’s boy.”

  I smiled. “Sure, no problem,” I lied. “Consider it forgotten. If you want to be Euryale’s plaything, be my guest. You can see where that got me.”

  He smiled, his eyes shown very black in the light. “If only it were that easy,” he told me.

  “I want to know what's going on,” Erica said.

  She was clearly off balance by the sudden shift, and off balance was not something Erica does well. For myself, I was actually curious what game Fallows was playing. Obviously, I wasn't done with anything until Grimm called, and maybe not even then, I was the person involved with this who was most in the dark and, when I recalled the price of admission I'd just paid, I felt a real stubborn streak setting in.

  “Well,” I said. “If our dear Erica was working on your behalf, should I be upset that the lead you gave me ended up almost getting me killed? Child hooker, demonic empowered witch-girl, just an oops, right?”

  Fallows looked at me. About how you'd look at a contractor who'd just explained why accidentally knocking down that load bearing wall during the kitchen remodel was actually a good thing.

  “I had zero leads to go on. It's why I had Erica contact you. If I'd had something I would have used real detectives to follow up. I figured that warlock bastard you work for could cast a shadow spell or wave a chicken bone or something and pull a clue out of thin air.”

  “If Grimm heard you refer to him as anything mundane as a warlock he'd shove a chicken foot up your ass.” I paused, “with magic.”

  “Droll,” he said.

  Who the hell even says ‘droll’ outside of British mystery shows on PBS? I wondered. “So now you have leads of your own and you don't need me?” I asked.

  “What I need or don't need isn't your concern. Your San Francisco privileges are revoked.” He looked at Erica. “Running into my special gal here is just a happy coincidence.”

  “I called her,” I said. Maybe too quickly. “You can see I'm in bad situation here, I needed help. Help that already knows the score on our little groups of urban fantasy creatures. Help I can trust to keep quiet.”

  “Help you can call when you’re vulnerable and naked?” he asked, voice mild.

  He obviously hadn't risen to power by being an idiot, I thought.

  “Fallows,” Erica said. Her voice wasn't mild, it sounded strained as hell. “Please.” She toyed with that strange crow feather fetish.

  “Fallows,” I said, forcing patience into my voice. I was naked and vulnerable, after all. “Who else did you want me to bring in? I thought the circle of trust was pretty small on this one, sport.”

  Fallows arched one eyebrow. Cute trick, like using ‘droll’ in actual speech.

  “You think you're in the circle of trust?” he asked.

  “You paid Euryale to kidnap and hold, Kay,” I said. “I don’t give a crap what circle of yours I’m in.”

  “Berk,” Kay said. “It wasn’t him— “

  My tattoos blazed to life all at once, like electric cables writhing just beneath my skin. I reached for my bag and the Beretta machine pistol inside.

  “Trouble,” I said.

  Outside in the hallway Fallows’ men opened up with their MP7s, cursing loud enough to hear over the rapid multitude of bangs of gunfire in the narrow sound tunnel of the hallway. I caught an impression of Fallows, who'd started life as a street cop, pulling a flat black automatic from inside his coat. I got my hands on the Beretta just as things went black.

  Chapter 14

  Not when the lights went out, but when things went black. Utterly black, lightless as the voids of space. I dropped back a step and went to a knee bringing the Beretta in close in a tight two-handed grip.

  This was a glamour, not the power going out: I couldn't tell yet if I was in a mystical bubble of dark, or if some bastard had struck me blind. The door to the room exploded open and I swiveled toward the sound, blunt muzzle of the machine pistol tracking as I did.

  The tattoo over my heart on the left pec blazed to life in a burst of eldritch heat. I blinked and my vision returned. I staggered forward and suddenly Clarice was in the room. The little bitch was naked, her flesh painted with the blood of the Flying Squad boys.

  Fallows turned toward her with his pistol, shouting in fury and shock. She lunged toward him, all panther sinew, a murder engine powered by vile darkness and burning sin. But Fallows wasn't as good a shooter as his boys, and his boys had gone down like wheat beneath a scythe.

  His gun went off bang-bang-bang. He was obviously still enraptured by the glam, and shooting blind. The sound was stunning in the room. I found something inside myself, deep down where my soul lived, and sprang into action through the pain and exhaustion. I got to Erica and tried pushing her out of the way, to put myself between her and the witch to give her time to escape.

  Clarice hit Fallows and tore his face from his skull in a series of rapid slashes until and good district supervisor went down screaming.

  "Run!" I shouted at Erica.

  She caught me mid step and pivoted. I spun ass over ankles like a pinwheel and slammed into the ground. The air bludgeoned out
from my lungs as I hit, and my head snapped on the end of my neck as the back of my head slammed into the ground hard, stunning me.

  Fallows’ screams cut short. Snarling, Kay tore into Clarice, but in a single instant Kay was up above the witch’s head and flying across the room. She struck the far wall and went to the ground.

  I rolled my torso off the floor in a sort of sloppy sit up, still confused. I thought maybe Erica had reacted out of surprise but the throw had been hard, damn hard. Maybe too hard for it to be just good judo, or aikido, or hapkido, or whatever bullshit it was. I looked up.

  Erica stepped forward and kicked me across the jaw with the toe of those fancy Middleburg riding boots. My head jerked to one side under the force and I realized all over again how weak I truly was after Euryale's feeding. My lower lip ripped open and my inner cheek tore open against my teeth, filling my mouth with blood.

  I struggled to rise and she kicked me again. This time I went back down flat, head swimming. I looked up, everything was fuzzy, the light soft, like illumination from a candle.

  I blinked.

  Erica stood over me looking down. Clarice came into view beside her and I tried getting up. The girl put the heel of her foot into my jaw with a whiplash quick snap kick. My head bounced off the floor again. I tried speaking. My tongue felt like someone else's, and my lips too swollen to move properly. I tried to grin, it didn't work right.

  “I wish I’d shot you in the face,” I told Clarice. She hissed at me like a damn cougar. I turned to Erica. "Do what thou will shall be the whole of the law," I quoted. My voice came out soggy wet from all the blood in my mouth. I tried to spit some out but it just spilled across my chin.

  "Fallows was under control until you came." Erica said. "then he felt like he had to start peeing on his turf."

  "Sorry to inconvenience you?" I asked. “You paid Euryale to keep Kay. You knew someone would come looking. You know that someone would most likely be me.”

  My head was slowly clearing. But very slowly. Maybe slow enough that it'd never clear in time to save me.

  “It was an imperfect plan,” she admitted. "I knew killing her would start a war with Grimm. I wasn’t close enough to finding the Basket to risk it. I was hoping to keep her out of action just long enough to get the relic.” She seemed almost eager to tell me about what had happened, almost as if she couldn’t help but want me to understand.

  “You didn’t want to kill Kay but you sent the Sisterhood of Traveling Murder-Pants to take me out?”

  “They were supposed to subdue you. But then that street cop we used to bribe set the girls off.” She didn’t strike me as overly concerned with apologizing. “Things are different now,” she continued. “I didn't count on you bringing Euryale into this. Not in this manner, anyway. You weren’t subdued, and Kay was now free. Then Fallows suddenly deciding everything had to be done right now, I have to move. You wouldn't be distracted," she said. "Your stubbornness brought this on." She actually sounded a little bitter. “I don’t understand how you got the vampire lordess bitch to flip on me.”

  “It wasn’t hard,” I admitted. “All I had to know was how to navigate fey law and offer her something she wanted.” Turning my head to the side I spit blood on the floor. “Good luck getting all this out of the carpet,” I said to no one.

  Clarice kicked me in the side and I curled up in agony, kidneys screaming. She giggled. The sharp pain lanced through the fog wrapping my brain. I seized on the moment of clarity.

  "Erica," I managed to get out. "You don’t have to do this," I said.

  She practically snarled at me. "You don’t know me at all."

  Then she and that little monster skull-stomped me into submission. It took them a little while. To my shame I didn't think about Kay until much, much later.

  Chapter 15

  The phone rang.

  I opened my eyes with a quick intake of breath. Trying to rise, pain lanced my temples. Eyes squeezing shut, I sank back down. Bile burned the back of my throat.

  The phone rang.

  Reopening my eyes, I blinked them into focus.

  I saw gray ceiling, ugly with watermarks and age. A single naked bulb hung from a cord. The light was stark, aggravating my burning eyeballs. I recognized the ceiling, I was in my bed. It was a start.

  Ring. Ring.

  Slower this time, I raised my head and tried taking in my surroundings. I was still naked on a bare and bloodstained mattress. Growing more alert, I glanced around the room, searching for the phone.

  Ring.

  Looking over, I saw a battered end table to the left of the bed. On it sat my cell phone. I had set the ringtone to traditional out of a sense of ironic nostalgia. I regretted it now.

  Ring. Ring.

  I snatched up the receiver.

  “Hello.” My voice was harsh.

  Horrified I saw the hand clutching the receiver was caked in dry blood. That was new. I brought up my other hand. It was stained as rusty as the other.

  The buzzing of an open line hummed in my ear then cut out.

  I slammed the phone down on the table, and stood, holding my hands out before me in confusion. Phone silent, mind turning, I gradually became aware of other sounds around me.

  Behind me I heard the knocking of gas pipes as the heater kicked on. Looking over, I saw ancient radiator sitting under the grimy window. Outside it was (still? another?) night and a sign across the street blinked VACANCY in a dysfunctional pattern. Rain fell in a steady drizzle.

  What happened? There was blood on the floor but the bodies of Fallows and his men, as well as Kay, were gone. I snapped out of my reverie. From behind the bathroom door I heard the unmistakable sound of a shower running.

  Rising, I walked towards the door.

  A light shone from under it and I heard water spraying and the gurgle as it ran down the drain. Hand shaking, I reached for the doorknob. Clouds of steam enveloped me as I pulled the door open. Dry, bloodshot eyes narrowed against the humidity. Blinded, I stopped and held up my arm against the sting.

  The phone rang.

  I swiveled my head like a gun turret. Turning toward the phone, my chest heaved as breath rushed out. Only then did I even realize I was holding it.

  Ring.

  I looked into the bathroom.

  The familiar, ugly green shower curtain hung tucked into the old porcelain tub, steam billowing out over the top. The floor was gray with mildew and slick with condensation. Stepping inside I heard the telephone clanging behind me.

  Ring. Ring.

  Everything felt wrong and adrenaline seeped in icy splashes in my stomach. Why wasn’t I dead? Where were the bodies?

  Hand trembling from fatigue, I stepped forward and grasped the plastic curtain. I hesitated, swallowing, then yanked it open. The metal curtain rings scraped along the shower rod like nails on a chalkboard.

  Kay’s naked corpse sprawled limply at the bottom of the tub.

  “No,” I said. Maybe it was a shout.

  The image flash burned into my brain and I sagged against the doorjamb, stomach lurching in revulsion. If my floor was bad, the cruddy little bathroom was an abattoir. I looked, disbelieving, at Kay.

  I’d run my fingers through that flaxen hair, cut short and styled in a Broadway flapper’s bob that framed a heart shaped face with tiny nose over pouting lips. Once sensuous, her mouth now hung slack in death.

  On her doll-like face the mutilations began.

  Her eyes were bloody fissures where they were gouged out. Water from the shower filled the sockets, spilling down the pretty face in pink rivers.

  Ring.

  I stepped back, hand at my mouth, my stomach lurching again. Bile burned my throat. Her neck was slashed and the lower fragment of skin hung loose like the flap of a purse. The blade responsible for that cut was incredibly sharp. The white cartilage of her trachea was exposed in a perfect, segmented ring.

  I realized blood must have sprayed like water from a hydrant.

  However, the
running water had done its work. Her skin now shown in bloodless alabaster, as chalky white as the tub she lay splayed across. I trailed my gaze down the body. Below teacup breasts a symbol was carved into the hard muscles of her abdominal wall.

  In the other room the phone went silent.

  I sank to my knees.

  Swallowing hard against the lump in my throat, I felt recognition of the occult symbol scratch at the edges of my memory. I knew I had seen the cuneiform-like rune before, but I could not recall its meaning. I realized I couldn’t recall a lot of things. Everything before this moment was fog shrouded.

  Inside the cramped bathroom, I clutched my head in sudden agony and slumped forward, then rolled to my back. My emotional response created a splitting pain in my temples that was blinding. Vertigo made my already queasy stomach cramp. Staggering up, I clutched the edges of the bathroom sink. Vomit erupted.

  Purged, I swayed, grasping the sink lip for support, I wiped my hand hard across my mouth then caught sight of my reflection in the cracked mirror. Like columns of Chinese writing, rows of eldritch runes were carefully painted on my face. I slammed my palm into the mirror in fear and fury. I was hexed.

  Trying to collect my thoughts I reached over, turning the shower off. I couldn’t help looking at the corpse again when I did. I averted my gaze from her body. They had stolen her dignity.

  In the other room the phone began to ring. Staggering up against the doorjamb I felt dizzy, eyes wild, I stared at the phone.

  Ring. Ring.

  Knuckles white, I griped the edge of the door, then pushed myself toward the phone on weak, shaking legs. Joseph Conrad seemed to whisper his famous words right in my ear, “the horror, the horror.”

  Ring. Ring.

  I sagged against the bed and picked up the cell a second time. Time seemed to stretch surrealistically as I brought the phone up. There was a tinny hiss and I thought for a moment the caller had hung up again.

  “Who is this,” I said.

  “Hello, Berk,” she said.