If we didn’t find a way to reverse the black magic mist, by morning it might be too late to save the Cursed City.
Archer had to be thinking the same thing as she scanned her cell for news updates, hoping to get a sense of how fast the death cloud was spreading.
“This is all your fault,” Cabrera exclaimed as he zeroed in on me, his cross up and ready to strike. Witnessing so many of his fellow exorcists succumb to the mist and then having to put them out of their undead misery had taken an enormous toll on him. He needed someone to blame, and I was an easy target. Despite his lethal intensity, I felt sorry for the man.
I took a quick step back, and his cross blade sliced thin air. Mystical energy crackled around the silver weapon, reacting to my half-demon aura.
“Cabrera, I was trying to stop this madness,” I said tightly. “I sure as hell didn’t cause it.”
“Lies. I know your kind, demon,” Cabrera growled and came in for another attack, which I dodged at the last second. I know the exorcist had to release his grief and anger somehow, but the cross was getting too close for comfort. As he struck out at me for a third time, I clipped his ribs with the flat side of Demon Slayer and kicked him in the gut. The irony of using a demon-fighting sword against the ultimate demon hunter wasn’t lost on me, but I didn’t think Cabrera would appreciate it. The impact knocked him on his ass, but he stubbornly refused to let go of the cross.
“Give it a rest,” I said. “I’m more help to you alive than dead.”
The head exorcist glared back at me, clearly in disagreement. Stubborn bastard.
Cormac stepped protectively in front of Cabrera and eyed me with an expression of naked betrayal. Ever since my brutal encounter with the ghoul, the psychic had known something was different about me. Cabrera’s words had confirmed his worst suspicions.
“What is he talking about, Raven? What’s going on here?” Cormac demanded to know.
I spun toward Archer, the only one in the group who regarded me in unreadable silence. So far she had refrained from calling me any names, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t ready to stake me at a moment’s notice. The tension was mounting in our little group, and I had to find a way to defuse it. We would never win this war if we were fighting each other.
“You’re right,” I said, deciding that the truth was the best way through this situation. “A demon dwells within me.” To add weight to my words, I dramatically slipped the glove off my hand, revealing the reptilian demon claw. It pained me to see both Archer and Cormac recoil in horror. Only Cabrera remained unfazed, the terrible mark of my pact confirming what he already knew.
“But if I’m such a monster, why am I still out here busting my ass to fight bad guys? Did you ask yourselves that? This demon and I have become allies against a far greater evil. Can you bring yourselves to do the same thing now? If you don’t want this whole city to turn into one big graveyard, we need to work together.”
Cabrera’s fanatical gaze bored into me. “Never!”
“How many of your men do you have to lose before you listen to reason, Father? If I was as evil as you think, why would I try to save you?”
“You may think you’re doing good, Raven, but that demon is playing you. I’ve been fighting demons longer than you’ve been alive. I know their tricks.”
It was a valid point, and a question I’d been asking myself ever since Cyon revealed his presence. But this wasn’t the time for doubt or soul searching. The stakes were too high.
“Maybe you’re right,” I reluctantly admitted. “Who knows what the demon’s final endgame may be? But for right now, he has offered to help me fight the forces of darkness.”
“Why would a demon fight his own kind?” Archer asked.
“He was betrayed by his master,” I explained. “He wants revenge.”
Archer studied me carefully. “So by helping you, he’s trying to…”
“He’s trying to draw out his master. The same archdemon who murdered my parents.”
There it was – the reason why my unholy alliance with Cyon might make sense in this crazy war with the darkness. Archer mulled this over. She clearly still had many questions, and who could blame her? I myself was plagued by these very same doubts. But right now, we had more immediate problems. The constant banging against the warehouse’s door served as a sharp reminder that time was running out. Forget casting our differences aside before this city descended into chaos—we had to come together before the horde broke into this place.
Archer scanned her cell. “I lost all service. Whatever is happening out there, it’s getting worse.”
No real surprise. In the Cursed City, things always went from bad to worse.
“The fog’s power is growing,” I said.
The muscles in Father Cabrera’s cheeks were working furiously. The internal war he was waging with himself was plain to see on his face. “What do you propose, demon?” Cabrera finally said, voice clipped. Those must’ve been the hardest words he ever had to utter.
I met the exorcist’s gaze and carefully weighed my response. A plan had started to crystallize in my mind ever since I set foot in the night club. It was crazy and daring, but it might just work.
“I’m going back to the cemetery,” I said.
Father Cabrera’s eyes widened. As someone who had narrowly escaped the necropolis, the thought of returning to the graveyard had to sound insane. Then again, we possessed folk aren’t exactly known for being rational.
“Somebody has to enter the fortress and put an end to the ritual,” I said.
“What are you talking about? “ Cabrera demanded to know.
I quickly brought the group up to speed, telling them about Jennifer’s father and his mad plan to extend his life. I recounted how the ghoul had thrown a monkey wrench into the occultist’s well-laid out plan and how he’d sabotaged and altered the original ritual to serve his own agenda.
“So this creature,” Cabrera finally said, “took the lifeforce of these cult members and…”
“Transformed it into a death force,” I finished.
Archer cocked an eyebrow. “I don’t get it. Why would this ghoul want a world full of zombies?”
Why indeed? The answer was simple. Ghouls fed on corpses. What better world for his kind to rule than one where the dead outnumbered the living, a never-ending food supply of mindless creatures who wouldn’t be able to fight back. No longer would ghouls have to dwell below ground. They would be able to rule the surface, a world where undead cattle roamed in abundance. Mankind’s apocalyptic nightmare was a ghoul’s vision of paradise. As I explained this to Archer, Cormac, and Cabrera, they looked sickened and horror-struck. “What about Jennifer?” Cormac wanted to know.
“The ghoul came after Jennifer because he needed her to activate the ritual. Her father, Robert Lamont, had constructed the original spell around himself. Only his flesh and blood could set the magic in motion.”
Archer considered this. “This woman you’re talking about, she’s the one powering this whole thing?”
I shrugged. “Sort of. The energy is being generated by the dead cult members, by their trapped spirits within their magical coffins. Jennifer is channeling this power. She is the conduit, but not the source.”
“You think she’s still alive?” Cormac asked, clearly dreading the answer.
“I think so. The ritual was originally designed to be focused on a living person. She is the key.”
“So if we find Jennifer, we might put a stop to this.”
I nodded at Cormac. “I know it’s a long shot, but it’s our best bet here. The cult members’ spirits are powering the ritual. Jennifer is the lightning rod for their power. She is channeling the death force, an essential link in the chain that makes up this terrible spell. Remove her from the chain…”
“And the chain might break.” Archer was beginning to understand. Smart girl.
“That’s what I’m hoping for,” I said.
Father Cabrera remained unconvi
nced. “What happens when you locate her? What then?”
“I’ll cross that bridge once I get there. All I know is that Jennifer is the key to this insanity. We need to find her if we hope to put an end to it.”
I sensed the hesitation in the group. Biting back my mounting frustration, I said, “We have all fought monsters before. Demons, spirits, vampires.” I looked at Cabrera, Cormac and Archer in turn. “The enemy we’re up against now is far worse. An enemy that we can’t shoot or stake or stab or banish. That fog will keep spreading unless we cut off its power source.”
“This is madness,” Cabrera exclaimed. “I don’t trust you, demon, and I’m not letting you walk out of here. For all I know, you want to make this ritual work to your advantage. You might even be the one who set all of this in motion.”
I clenched my jaw. There was no talking to the exorcists. No matter what I said or did, I would always be the enemy in Cabrera’s book. The demon.
“He won’t be going alone, Father” Archer said, her eyes fixed on me. She gripped her silver stake and said, “I’m going with you, Raven. But if you try to cross me…” She tilted the stake toward me, the implication all too clear.
I studied Archer, not sure how I should feel about this decision. Truth be told, the notion of having to enter the cemetery palace on my own held little appeal. It would be good to have someone in my corner, even if that someone might be ready to stake me at the drop of a hat. Cormac had saved my life twice, but he wasn’t a trained monster hunter. Archer, on the other hand, had been earning her stripes battling vamps for the last few months. Even though she still had a lot to learn, the ex-detective had the right attitude about this stuff. Not to mention a pretty impressive arsenal of mystical weapons. Skulick clearly felt confident in her abilities—and who was I to question my old mentor?
Cabrera’s expression thawed slightly. With Archer keeping an eye on me, my involvement apparently seemed more acceptable to the master exorcist. Maybe a part of him wanted to believe that my heart was still in the right place, that I could conquer the demon inside of me. Or maybe he had just seen too many good men succumb to the wraithlike fog tonight and lacked the strength to keep fighting me on this. Either way, Cabrera remained silent as Archer sidled up to me. I tilted my head at the bouncers and clubbers who had followed our exchange in dumbfounded confusion. They had no idea who we were but seemed to sense that we represented their best hope of getting out this nightmare alive.
“Is there a backdoor to this place?” I asked. One that preferably isn’t surrounded by zombies, I mentally added.
My question hung in the air for a beat before one of the bouncers finally nodded.
“Good,” I said. “Show us the way.”
17
The nightclub’s steel backdoor creaked open with a metallic rasp, revealing a world that had been devoured by the sickly yellow fog. I peered into the mist, expecting more zombies to lurch out at me. No such thing happened. I heard moaning, but the sound appeared to be coming from farther away, distant echoes generated by the newly risen that circled the building. Luckily for us, the zombies hadn’t yet spotted this rear exit, their attention still focused on the main entrance of the club.
I eyed Archer, my magical pistol leveled at the undulating mass of fog. Her determination didn’t waver as she met my gaze, her crossbow tightly clutched in her hands.
Let’s do this, I thought and I took my first step into the prickling fog. Panic flashed in Archer’s lovely features as the yellows mist clouded her vision, reducing the visibility of the surroundings to almost zero. Fortunately, my demon vision cut through the haze, and I could make out vague silhouettes in the near distance.
I heard the door shut behind us. We were on our own. As we made our way through the shifting clouds, Archer stayed close to me. No words were exchanged between us. The reason was partially tactical. We couldn’t risk having the zombies pick up the sound of our voices. But even if our situation hadn’t been quite so precarious, I doubted we would have had much to say to each other. Time coupled with the reveal of my demonic nature had turned us into strangers. The realization filled me with a deep sense of melancholy. Would we ever be able to patch things up and go back to the way things had once been?
Studying her, I became acutely aware of how much we both had changed in the last few months, both for the good and the bad. My demon hand was the most obvious difference—and though mostly cosmetic, it was still a pretty big deal—but the real changes ran deeper. We both had received a taste of the dark side, and it had irrevocably altered the direction of our lives. Instead of bringing us together, it had driven a greater wedge between us. Archer was now the monster hunter, and I was…
The menacing growl of a nearby zombie pierced my pity party. Snap out of it, Cyon said. “You have bigger problems right now than your pathetic love life!”
No kidding. I guess despite the pact I’d made with Cyon, part of me was still very human.
“We are on a mission, Raven. We need to get our hands on the ghoul’s book. Robert Lamont’s black magic grimoire is the key to our quest against Morgal.”
The unexpected thought sent shivers up my spine. My motivation to volunteer for this mission felt a lot less noble all of a sudden, and Cabrera’s mistrust seemed more than justified. Cyon had been after the spellbook all along. And that changed everything.
I was still trying save this city from a zombie apocalypse, but that appeared to be incidental to the overall plan. Cyon was driven by a very different agenda. Why did the demon need Robert Lamont’s book? The demon’s thought had been fleeting, but I couldn’t let it go, igniting my old doubts about this partnership. To what degree was I still in charge? And how far would Cyon be willing to go to fulfill his goal?
As the demon’s silence stretched, I felt my anxiety growing.
Why is that book so important, Cyon? I asked.
There was a long, fraught pause. “I believe the book might be the long missing third copy of the Daemonium.”
That last revelation went off like a bomb inside of my mind. I was quite familiar with the tome in question. We had kept a copy of the Daemonium in the vault…until Skulick had traded it for the Angel Blood. The book held the names of many demons and could be used to conjure them. The White Crescent now held the two extant copies of the book. Everyone believed the rumored third copy to be lost or merely a myth. Our copy had been acquired two years earlier when we fought the Crimson Circle and defeated the super-cult who had been tapping into the book’s black magic. Now Cyon thought we had found the third copy. I couldn’t believe I had earlier held the tome in my hands.
Are you serious? I asked silently.
“Each of the three copies of the Daemonium form the parts of a greater whole,” Cyon explained as if I was a little child asking questions about the inner workings of a nuclear reactor. “By themselves they are powerful, but together they can remake the world as we know it. You saw how much damage the Crimson Circle caused with just one of the books.
Cyon was right. The weakening of the barrier between worlds was all thanks to the power of the Daemonium. If one could nearly level the Cursed City, then all three….
“They will reveal the true names of the archdemons, the true lords of darkness. They will show us how to bring Morgal into this world against his will. And then we’ll finally get what we both so desperately want. Revenge.”
What had happened to the original plan? Defeat the minions of darkness and draw Morgal out. That was a strategy I could believe in. It killed two birds with one stone—ridding the Cursed City of supernatural threats and royally pissing off the demon that had killed my parents. I wasn’t so sure about messing around with the Daemonium. And I wasn’t particularly happy that Cyon had kept me in the dark.
What if…
My thoughts trailed off as I realized the futility of probing Cyon further. He had grown silent again. The original plan had been to play the long game, but now things had changed. Cyon had discovered a sho
rtcut. Could I really blame him for wanting to use it? If Cyon managed to get his hands—or our hands, to be accurate—on the book, he would possess the means to super-charge his quest for vengeance. Of course, we’d still need to get the other two volumes from the White Crescent. I’d be willing to bet Cyon already had a plan for that, too.
I studied the magical sword in my hand. The blade shimmered faintly in the yellowish fog. The sword could destroy Morgal, and now we might have a way to bring the archdemon to us. What had always felt like an abstract strategy was slowly morphing into a concrete tactic.
And if we succeeded and defeated Morgal, what would happen then?
Another undead howl jerked me back to reality. We had rounded the warehouse. A zombie who’d been a sexy Halloween witch until recently was throwing herself against the main entrance, again and again, her shrieks of frustration turning my blood to ice. Archer’s face was white, as were the fingers wrapped around her crossbow. Three other transformed club kids shuffled around the structure, tendrils of fog clinging to them like spectral capes. They had all wanted to dress up as monsters for a night of ghoulish fun. Now they would be doomed to roam the Earth until someone put them out of their undead misery.
Good thing I was here.
The sword in my hand hummed with hungry anticipation. Before Archer could say something, I brought up Hellseeker and started to fire. The three zombies collapsed, and their moans died with them. I grimly reloaded my blessed pistol as we turned toward the cemetery fortress.
“There was no other way,” Archer said. It wasn’t clear if she was trying to reassure me or herself.
The club receded behind us, swallowed by the billowing clouds. The nightmarish cemetery fortress grew larger and more oppressing. It was Dracula’s castle on steroids, as if Hell itself had thrust from the ground in a futile attempt to reach the heavens. I sensed that even Cyon felt a certain degree of awe for this bulwark of evil. Or was it appreciation?
Ghoul Night (Shadow Detective Book 6) Page 9