The Southern Watch Series, Books 1-3: Called, Depths and Corrupted

by Robert J. Crane

  Hendricks was beyond winded now, beyond tired. He wanted to go back to his hotel room and pass out and wake up without any of the pains he knew he was going to. Beyond any rationality, he wanted Erin to massage his hurts away, wanted to get down and nasty with her. That second bit would probably happen anyway, based on how often they’d been fucking the last couple days.

  He filed that thought away for later as he rounded the pine and swooped down the slope after Lerner. He didn’t look back to make sure Duncan was all right. He was sure the demon was, though he’d probably messed up his lime-colored suit.

  Lerner was a good twenty yards ahead of Hendricks by now, and about ten behind the demon. The fucker was doing everything in his power to not run a straight line, and he could have been going anywhere based on his movements. Hendricks half expected him to double back and head up the slope.

  “Nowhere to run,” Hendricks breathed.

  “He’s proving you wrong on that one,” Lerner tossed over his shoulder. Hendricks frowned. He hadn’t expected the demon to even hear him. What were they called again? Oh, right. Office of Occultic Concordance.

  OOCs.

  Lerner was closing the gap with the speedy, dodgy bastard. The slope got sandy and the ground went a little soft, forcing Hendricks to look for better footing. Lerner didn’t, though, and missed a step.

  Whoosh.

  The OOC went sideways down the hill, smacking into a tree with a noise that told Hendricks he did feel pain.

  “And then there was one,” Hendricks muttered.

  The trees thinned ahead and the demon was slowing. Whether it was because he thought he’d gotten away clean after dodging two OOCs or because he had smelled Hendricks coming and didn’t think he was much of a threat—well, it didn’t matter.

  Hendricks passed the last few trees as the last boughs vanished and uninterrupted sky appeared above them. The demon wasn’t exactly pulling a Run Forrest Run anymore. He’d slowed and was jogging backward lightly, like he was just leading Hendricks on at this point, standing at the edge of a meadow that stretched all the way up to a fence beyond. There was activity there, but it was far enough off that Hendricks didn’t pay it a bit of attention.

  “Moves like that, you oughta be playing for the Titans,” Hendricks said, slowing to a walk as he entered the meadow. The grass was ankle deep, green and uneven, whispering as he stepped on it.

  The guy was all thin and rangy, had meth teeth and black-as-night demon eyes. “OOCs don’t let us play sports, can you believe it?” He grinned. “Damn near killed me when I found out as a teen. I was pretty good at football.”

  “Yeah, well, you don’t really have the build to be taken seriously as anything but a kicker,” Hendricks said, keeping his distance. The sun was damned hot above now that the trees were behind them. The demon was just treading in place, looking more like a boxer practicing footwork than a runner about to sprint off. “So … we gonna throw down now?”

  “Looks like a fair fight to me,” the demon said, still grinning with those spotted teeth. “Now that you’ve lost your friends.”

  “Oh, they weren’t my friends,” Hendricks said. Draw the sword or draw him in? Guy could run, no doubt, and pulling the sword tended to make demons antsy. Wait too long, though, and this bastard was fast enough to put him in a world of hurt.

  “You’re a human demon hunter hanging out with OOCs,” the demon said, shaking his head. “That’s not even strange bedfellows man, that’s like … a cat sleeping with a giraffe.”

  “God, I hope I’m the giraffe in that scenario,” Hendricks muttered.

  “You’re about to be the cat,” the guy said, and he lunged for Hendricks.

  Hendricks knew in the second the guy came at him that he should have pulled the sword. The demon already knew he was a hunter, already had a feel for what he was capable of, and knew he was hanging out with OOCs. The rumors—they’d damned sure gotten around, and fast, considering he’d just met Lerner and Duncan a couple days ago.

  Hendricks knew even as he got his hand on the hilt that the demon would be on him before it was out, would have his teeth buried in Hendricks throat before he could even—

  BOOM.

  The sound was louder than thunder, like artillery called in from the hill, like an airstrike dropping in from above. The demon that was coming at Hendricks dropped—more like flipped backward, upper body rocked like he’d been hit with God’s own hammer right in the chest. Not that Hendricks believed in God, but the way that fucker flipped, it might as well have been an act of His.

  The sound of the shot faded as Hendricks closed on the demon. The guy was hurting, plain as anything. Hendricks thought about making light of it, but why? He drew his sword as he stood over the bastard, and smelled the strong scent of smoked meth hanging in the air.

  “Not your friends, huh?” the demon asked, with black eyes.

  “You know a lot of OOCs that carry a .50 cal Barrett rifle?” Hendricks asked. He smiled, shrugged, and slammed the sword through the demon’s chest.

  Black fire crept out from the hole, from his eyes, from his mouth, and swallowed him whole like he’d been pulled back into the black depths of hell. The grass beneath him waved lightly with the passing of the storm of ebony flame, then settled undisturbed, the blades just a little shorter in the shape of the demon’s figure than the ones around them.

  Hendricks watched him go, watched the hellfire recede, his outline still visible like an afterimage. He sighed, long and heavy, before he turned back to the hillside, where one, two … now three figures threaded their way down, not in much of a hurry since the job was done.

  “Alison,” Hendricks muttered under his breath, low enough so that only the two OOCs could hear him.

  ***

  Alison Longholt Stan wasn’t much for this wilderness stuff. Her daddy had taught her to hunt when she was young, but she’d never really taken to it. She’d mostly sit in the tree stand with him during the season because he liked it, but she passed up most of her shots to let him do it. It was the gutting and the blood and all that mess—just not for her.

  The shooting, though? That she didn’t mind.

  The Barrett rifle she’d borrowed from her daddy’s gun cabinet kicked like—well, like something kicked her. An elephant, probably. Something big. She braced it against her shoulder and carried a pad to place between her and the butt of the big rifle, but it still wasn’t no peach. Left a bruise on her shoulder that Arch had noticed when they’d had their confrontation after the dam.

  She didn’t care. She wasn’t no little peach herself. No shrinking violet; she’d taken a shovel to a wild dog’s head one time when it had rabies and it got after her dog. It was all she had handy, so she did it.

  Everything she’d seen since the night those animals had busted down her door reminded her of that moment when she grabbed the shovel. See a wild beast foaming at the mouth, you lay your hands on something heavy and hard.

  The Barrett was a fair sight better than a shovel, but the things she was swinging at were a click or two meaner than a rabid dog, too.

  She’d watched the cowboy, Hendricks—she was still getting used to him—poke the demon in the belly with his sword. For some reason she didn’t understand, that sword or the knife Arch was carrying or the batons those two demon fellows had were the only things that could pop a demon open. She hadn’t run across much that a .50 bullet couldn’t solve, seeing as it was bigger than her damned finger, but it only put these down—it didn’t put ’em out.

  She’d come down the slope in the car the OOCs had driven up to the house. She’d waited for them in the back seat until the demon came busting out the back window, then she’d jumped to the front and started the car because it was GO time. She’d stopped about three quarters of the way down the slope and set up, prone, waiting to see if she’d get a clear shot.

  Sure enough, they’d let the runner get onto the clear field, and he’d turned to get a load of Hendricks. It hadn’t even been tr
icky at this distance, less than a hundred yards. She’d just plugged him right in the ten ring, square in the middle of the chest. On a human, it’d have been a kill shot.

  The fellow certainly felt it, but it didn’t kill him.

  Alison slid off her belly and adjusted the pad to keep it from falling off her shoulder once the demon was dead. She didn’t have much interest in getting up close with one of them again, but greeting them from a distance to put a hurting on them? That was just up her alley, played right to her strengths.

  She cased the big Barrett and carried it. Damned thing was heavy, and she struggled a little under the burden. Still, it was her burden.

  “Nice shooting, Tex,” the slick one—Lerner—said as he caught up with her while she was making her way down toward the field.

  “I’m from Tennessee,” she said, trying not to take it as an insult. How much could a demon know about geography, anyway?

  “Nice shooting, Ten,” Lerner said.

  She frowned at him. “I don’t think they usually call people from Tennessee that.”

  The corner of the demon’s mouth turned up in a smirk. “I bet you’ve been called a ten once or twice in your time, though.”

  Alison blushed at that, but she told herself it was because the weight of the rifle was getting to her. She stopped just shy of the edge of the woods, lingering near a tree. She could see across the field where the carnival was setting up, Ferris wheel already sticking off its spoked center, metal bones hanging half-exposed. She didn’t mean to, but she felt a little smile coming on. Summertime was usually real nice in Midian, and the Summer Lights Festival was the capstone. Felt like the town could use a little happiness, seeing how grim things had been lately.

  Especially considering how grim things had been lately.

  “That was a little too out in the open,” Lerner said, holding up near Alison. His eyes were on the carnival in the distance, too. She wondered if he could see anything going on over there.

  “Thankfully, it’s Tennessee, where rifle shots ring out in the middle of day all the time,” Hendricks said dryly. The cowboy was wearing a deep frown, and he seemed like he was doing all he could not to look at her.

  “You’re welcome, by the way,” she said, feeling a little irritation springing up from inside.

  “I had—” Hendricks started.

  “No, you didn’t,” Lerner and Duncan—that other demon—chorused. Hendricks looked even more irritable.

  “I thought you were a professional demon hunter,” Alison said. Part of her felt a perverse joy in ribbing the cowboy. Things had been going great before he showed up, after all.

  “Yeah, professional demon hunter, not sprinter.” The cowboy chewed on that for a moment, looking like he was seething before he finally said, “Thank you.” She just nodded at him; she’d already said “You’re welcome” after all.

  “This is spinning a little off-axis,” Lerner said, and Alison didn’t quite take his meaning. He glanced at her, probably saw it on her face. “Things are getting out of control.”

  “It’s a hotspot, right?” she asked. “That’s … normal for a hotspot, right?” This time she looked to Hendricks. “Things being out of control?”

  The cowboy kind of shrugged. “This one’s not been like any of the ones I’ve been to before. The demons here are a little wilder and more aggressive than past hotspots I’ve parked in.”

  “For us, too,” Duncan said, his quiet voice and lime green suit making Alison want to giggle a little at him. He seemed so totally strange and harmless that she couldn’t really believe he was a demon. “Can’t recall a time when anyone’s gone and sold runes to keep demons off our radar—and so methodically, too.”

  “Does seem weird,” Hendricks said, suddenly a little tense. Alison wondered if she was imagining it.

  “Weirdness is deniable when it’s on the fringe,” Lerner said, expression dark. “A few deaths here and there can be explained away. But this town is going full-on powder keg, and people dying in droves is not making it any easier to keep the damned match away from the fuse.” He looked straight at Alison. “I’m assuming your hubby’s current problem is something of the sort that’s going to fall into that category.”

  Alison felt a little heat on her face. “I don’t really know; he had to leave pretty abruptly this morning. Something bad happened, but I don’t think the sheriff told him over the phone before he took off.”

  “Erin said something about another body,” Hendricks said, and that made Alison blush even more. So Erin had told the cowboy something Arch hadn’t told her. She couldn’t help the rush of resentment; their argument after the dam was still fresh in her mind, still an open wound. This would probably come up later tonight. Even when she wanted to hold something like this in, it tended to float its way up. Keeping the secret about following Arch with a rifle was the only thing she’d been able to keep from him in their entire marriage. Other than that one credit card she was slowly paying off.

  “Nope, this ain’t getting any prettier,” Lerner said, and the demon was awfully dour. “Come on, let’s get out of here before someone reports a gunshot.” He glanced at Alison, and he didn’t even have to say anything.

  “Already picked up my brass,” she said, and patted the pocket of her jeans where the massive .50 shell casing hung out just slightly. It still felt a little warm in there. There was a buzz in her other pocket and she fished her phone out to find a message waiting. “Arch and Erin are away from the crime scene—they want to meet in ten minutes.”

  “Let’s get outta here,” Lerner said, waving toward where she’d parked the car up the slope. Duncan hesitated, looking toward the carnival setting up in the distance. “What?” Lerner asked. “You got a sudden urge for a funnel cake?”

  “No,” Duncan said, shaking his head. “Just thought I felt something for a second.” He caught Alison looking at him and sent her a reassuring smile as they started to pick their way back up the slope toward where she’d left the car. “Probably nothing.”

  ***

  Mick watched ’em go from where he stood close to the half-finished Ferris wheel. He could see ’em a long ways off, those two OOCs and the demon hunters. He’d heard the crack of the rifle and watched the rest. That was a new one for him, he had to admit, seeing someone blast a quantel’a with a big gun so they could get popped by a sword. Not a terrible idea, as far as ideas went.

  “Hey, Mick?” A voice came from behind him. It was Jim, that ornery old fucker. A real slavedriver. Not the literal kind, though. Mick could actually still remember those from back in the 1800s. “Need a little help here, man.”

  “Sure thing,” Mick said, tearing his gaze away from the quartet disappearing into the woods. His hand went to his pocket instinctively, and he felt the cold smoothness of the rune he’d bought from that vendor just outside town. Looked like it had been a smart investment after all. And he’d worried as he’d handed over the money that he was getting taken for a ride.

  Mick chewed his lip as he stretched like he was hurting. He wasn’t; demon flesh had no muscle beneath it to ache, just essence to strain. He just wanted another moment to mark what he was seeing.

  Two OOCs, two demon hunters. His fingers traced the lines of the rune stone. It’d keep him out of their way until he got what he needed. He wasn’t looking for trouble, after all; he was just feeling the ache, the need to let loose, to dump a wad and taste some innocence. He could almost smell that in the air.

  Nope, he didn’t need OOC trouble, nor demon hunter trouble either. He’d keep his nose clean, avoid the hell out of them, get his dick wet, and blow town. Just like he always did when he needed to let it loose.

  And he needed to let it loose. Oh, how he needed to.

  2.

  Arch was parked next to Erin’s borrowed sheriff’s car in the driveway of the MacGruder farm out on Kilner road. The house was up just a little ways, looking empty—as it damned well should, given that its occupants had been killed by de
mons a couple weeks back. Arch hadn’t gotten out of the car like she had; he was just sitting inside filling out his patrol log, waiting for the others to show up. This was about as private and quiet a place as they were going to find without venturing farther out into the county.

  He could see Erin out there, just kicking around in the dried, rutted driveway. She was probably waiting for him to get out, or maybe she just enjoyed the pleasant heat of the summer day. Either way, the only thing waiting for Arch out there was more awkward small talk, and he didn’t have it in him right now. Not today.

  He saw the car coming up the drive as he crossed a “t” on his paperwork. He still didn’t get out, though, taking a last breath of the leather scent of the Explorer’s interior as the town car pulled up in front of him. All four doors opened, and the trunk popped, and he let out that breath he’d been holding when he saw Alison with them.

  Arch could feel the tension running through him as he watched her walk around the black town car to the trunk and haul the big rifle case out. Having her go with them hadn’t been his idea. Hadn’t been their idea either, he knew. Hendricks had looked a little flummoxed when it all came out, not sure what to say.

  Arch wasn’t sure he knew what to say, either.

  After he’d smelled the gunpowder on her hands after the dam, he’d made a beeline out to the trunk of her car. Popped it open, found the case for a big dadgummed rifle inside. When he’d come back inside and confronted her about it, she hadn’t tried to deny it.

  “Why would I deny it?” she asked him. “I’ve been saving your life.”

  Arch couldn’t deny that, but it still felt unseemly somehow that he’d put his young bride in the middle of his dangerous activities of late. Arch considered himself a gentleman of the South, and although he’d never consider anything less than absolutely equal treatment for someone like Erin, who worked with him in a somewhat dangerous profession, he also was the type to still hold the door for her. It was a dichotomy he was still struggling with in his head. And it mainly bothered him because he’d had it driven into his skull from a young age that you were supposed to protect your woman.