The Shadow Enforcer: The Shadow Enforcer Series Book One

by N M Thorn

  The man pulled the vehicle back on the empty road and cast him a sideway glance, a smile crossing his lips.

  “Big fellow, aren’t yah,” he muttered, his open-hearted smile growing wider, and since Damian didn’t reply, he added, “How tall are you, kid?”

  Damian shrugged, feeling tiredness settling in his muscles. “Six-four.”

  The man nodded appreciatively and offered his hand. “I’m Sam. Well, Simeon Vetrov. But everyone calls me Sam.”

  Slightly turning in Sam’s direction, Damian shook his hand. “Damian Blake. Thanks for the ride, sir.”

  “It’s nothing.” Sam waved his hand dismissively. “For some reason, Sophie took a fancy to you. She told me you were walking”—he stressed the word ‘walking’ and shook his head, twinkles of amusement dancing in his steel-gray eyes—“to Phoenix, and since I was traveling in the same direction, she asked me to give you a ride.”

  “Sophie?” Damian asked but put two and two together before Sam could answer and added, “She’s very kind.”

  “Yeah, that she is. I’ve been traveling this road for a few years now, and every time, I make a point to stop at her diner. The best apple pie in the entire state.” Sam leaned forward, reaching for a cigarette pack in the small tray between the seats, but then changed his mind and grunted, placing his hand back on the steering wheel. “I’m going to Blue Creek, Arizona to visit my daughter. It’s not far from Phoenix. You can take a bus from there to wherever it is you’re going. I think if we drive through the night, by tomorrow evening, we should be in Blue Creek.”

  “Perfect. Thank you,” Damian mumbled, folding his arms on his lap as a wave of weakness spread through him.

  He closed his eyes, his eyelids getting too heavy to keep them open. It had been a few days since he left Florida, and the trip had been nothing but trouble from day one, starting with the raw weather and finishing with a few unwanted encounters.

  “Get some sleep, son. I’ll wake you up when I stop to get gas and grab something to eat.”

  Damian heard Sam’s voice and nodded faintly. He was asleep before he could reply, and when Sam shook him awake a few hours later, he found the truck parked at one of the gas pumps at a gas station that looked like it had been built during the time of the Great Depression.

  Following his traveling companion, Damian opened the door and walked outside. As soon as his feet touched the steady ground, a powerful wave of energy surged through him, and he stretched his shoulders and arms, enjoying his quickly returning strength. He took a deep breath, relishing the freshness of the evening air and the absence of rain.

  “Feeling better?” muttered Sam without taking his eyes off the questionably looking credit card machine embedded into the prehistoric gas pump, doubt written all over his face. “Use your credit card at your own peril.” He scratched the back of his head and turned to Damian, a lopsided smirk curving his lips. “I guess I better pay inside.” He waved toward a building at the other end of the plaza.

  The building was designed in the old western style with a few large wagon wheels decorating the entrance. A sign stating “The Eternity House and Grill” hung above the saloon-style double door, squeaking slightly with each gust of wind. The windows were lit with a dim, yellow light that resembled flickering candlelight, and a few vehicles and bikes were parked on the parking lot in front of it.

  Damian gave the building a quick once-over and stilled as shivers ran down his spine, setting his mind on high alert. He caught up with Sam and held him back, grabbing his arm.

  “Have you ever been to this place before?” he asked, realizing how strained his voice sounded.

  Sam halted, giving him a puzzled stare. “No, have you?” he replied with a half-shrug. “Why? It looks like any of those tiny mom-and-pop joints by the main highway.”

  “No, I haven’t been here before,” replied Damian, frowning. “Why don’t you let me take care of the gas. That is the least I can do to repay your kindness.”

  Sam tilted his head and then slapped him on the shoulder slightly. “Listen, son. If you are traveling from God knows where to Arizona by hitchhiking your ride, obviously, you’re short on cash. So, it’s okay. You don’t owe me anything, and you don’t have to pay for anything. It’s all good.” He winked at him, his kindhearted smile bringing forth the net of wrinkles around his eyes.

  As Sam opened the door, a small brass bell rang, its melodious sound seeming too loud for Damian’s stretched nerves. He walked inside first and halted by the entrance, quickly observing the area, taking in even the smallest details. The lobby of the restaurant wasn’t large, and since it was stuffed to the brim with shelves full of merchandise, it appeared even smaller than it was. Despite it being a restaurant, the air was cold, and the only smell present was the barely noticeable odor of dust.

  A low counter was located by the wall on the left next to the entrance into the seating area, and a young woman dressed in a black T-shirt with the restaurant’s logo on it sat behind it, flipping the pages of a magazine lazily. Even though she looked absolutely normal, unmistakable vampiric energy permeated the air around her. Damian exhaled with a quiet groan of aggravation and stopped shielding his magical energy.

  Slowly, she lifted her head, threw the magazine on the counter and got up, a welcoming smile stretching her lips. But as soon as her eyes moved from Sam to Damian, her smile disappeared. Her lips parted a little, forming the letter ‘O’, and a faint red glow lit up her eyes for a heartbeat, disappearing almost immediately.

  Dammit, that’s what I thought. Damian seized Sam’s elbow, and Sam glanced at him, his eyebrows rising in shock.

  “Sam, I need you to go back to the truck,” Damian said, speaking urgently, his eyes never leaving the woman standing behind the counter. “Don’t argue with me. Go back to your truck and lock the doors. Keep it running. I’ll be back soon.”

  “Damian, what in the world—”

  “Go,” hissed Damian as he opened the entrance door and pushed him out.

  The bell rang again. Damian winced, wishing to rip the bell off the wall. Instead, he headed toward the woman. Leaning forward a little, she braced her fists against the countertop, and a carnivorous sneer stretched her lips, exposing her long, sharp fangs.

  “Would yah look at that?” she purred, the well-manicured nails of her small hands elongating, turning into sharp claws. “A meal on wheels. Supersized, too.”

  “I’ve heard supersizing meals is bad for your health.” Damian chuckled frostily. “Trust me, you’re trying to bite off a lot more than you can chew, vamp.”

  The vampire hissed and hopped atop the counter, crouching there like a predator ready to pounce. Damian stilled, gathering his magic in his hands as he watched the vampire leap off the counter toward him, aiming to sink her fangs into his jugular.

  Before she reached him, he took a tiny step back, and two long daggers shining with the silvery light of his magic materialized in his hands. With speed rivaling that of a vamp, he moved his arms in a cross-motion, cutting the vampire’s head clear off her shoulders. For a moment, he stood, staring down as her body disintegrated into a pile of ash. Then he turned on his heels and headed toward the entrance into the seating area.

  “One down...” he muttered under his breath, crossing the threshold with the bloodied daggers in his hands.

  The seating area was a large, single room with a tall ceiling and windows covered with thick wooden shutters. Tables were spread evenly throughout the floor, and a group of men sat around a large table, discussing something in hushed tones. They weren’t eating, but each of them had a glass filled with dark red liquid in their hands. The heavy, metallic odor of blood hung in the air, leaving no questions about the contents of their drinks.

  As soon as Damian walked inside, they turned around and got up slowly. Their eyes lit up with a sinister red glow, and their lips pulled back in feral snarls.

  Only six of them. No big deal. Damian turned his hands with the daggers slightly forw
ard to expose the shiny blades and said with a frosty smirk, “Yeah, I know. Meal on wheels. Supersized.”

  “Aw, look what the cat dragged in,” one of them grumbled, sarcasm dripping out of his every pore. “A wizard who decided to play a hunter. How refreshing.” His scarlet eyes slid down to the daggers in Damian’s hands, and he jerked his thumb at them. “Where did you buy those? Local flee market?”

  “Wanna check them out closer?” Damian raised his left hand, taking a step forward.

  The vampire hissed and was suddenly gone. He didn’t disappear or teleport, but he was moving with such speed that he became nothing more than a blur. Expecting it, Damian stepped aside and swung his arm, meeting the approaching monster with a deadly strike of his dagger. The blade cut through the vampire’s neck like it was nothing but a piece of paper but didn’t take his head off completely.

  The vamp fell to the floor, clutching his throat with his hands, dark blood gushing between his hooked fingers. The scarlet glow slowly vanished from his eyes as he stared at Damian in shock.

  There were only a few known ways to kill a vampire—decapitation, a wooden stake through the heart, and fire. Silver through their hearts was also effective, and in general, any contact with silver made them weaker. However, garlic, crosses and sunlight—all these were just urban legends the vampires spread around to deceive humans who didn’t know any better.

  Damian didn’t wait for the vampire to recover and thrust his dagger through the monster’s chest.

  “Illucious,” he whispered, and the blade ignited with a brilliant white light, turning the large vampire into a pile of ashes in a heartbeat.

  The rest of the vampires stared at the blazing daggers in his hands with shock.

  “The Light of Creation,” offered Damian calmly. “Anyone else care to try?”

  The vampires howled, anger making their glowing eyes brighter, their hands turning into claws. They charged him all at once, knocking the tables over as they approached at full speed. He spun around, the daggers in his hands cutting through the air with a soft whistle. A moment later, all five vampires lay on the floor in heaps of ashes.

  “I hate vamps...” Damian straightened and took a deep breath, lowering his arms. But he had no time to relax as, all of a sudden, the presence of vampiric energy in the room tripled. He sharpened his vision, staring into the dark hallway leading toward the kitchen. He didn’t see them moving. He sensed their ominous presence with his every cell. Soundless and deadly like any nocturnal predators, they weren’t in a rush. Hiding in the shadows, they were observing him, making an effort to conceal their presence and intentions for as long as possible.

  Even though Damian couldn’t say how many vampires were quietly creeping up at him, he knew there were enough of them to make it dangerous. He threw a quick glance over his shoulder and noticed that the door into the lobby was closed and most likely locked.

  He hissed a quick spell and touched his belt. The daggers disappeared and were replaced by a long whip that looked almost like a stockwhip. It was made out of a flexible metal-like material, and three sharp, silver blades with long silver chains were attached to the end of it. Hoping that the whip would help him keep the mass of monsters at a distance for a while, he assumed a fighting stance, ready to spring into action. The vampires growled and charged him, coming from the shady hallway like an ominous avalanche. There were so many of them, he had no time to count.

  Damian took a step back, giving himself a bit more space, and his whip split the air with a soft hiss. The silver blades cut into the vampires’ bodies, slicing and dicing them. Infused with the energy of his magic, the whip left behind piles of steaming ash. The screams of anger and curses in different languages filled the air. Despite his efforts, the circle of enemies grew tighter around him, pushing him toward the wall and away from the exit.

  So far, the whip was doing its job, but he knew it was a matter of time before at least one of them would manage to slice him with their claws or sink their teeth into his body, weakening him. Besides, the constant use of his magic was taking a toll on him, too, draining his energy and physical strength.

  As his back finally hit the wall, Damian swung his whip one more time, destroying a few more of his attackers. But the vampires kept coming, replacing the fallen, and in such close combat, his whip became obsolete. He cursed quietly, dropped the whip, and his daggers materialized in his hands again.

  He growled and took a defensive position, ready to fight. But as his blades went up with the blinding white light, the entrance door exploded inward with a loud bang, showering all of them with splinters of wood.

  The vampires gasped, and for a moment, they shifted their attention away from Damian. He didn’t care to find out what it was and used the opportunity to regroup. Fighting his way through, he attacked the vampires with all he had. Another loud bang of a gunshot bounced through the room. And then one more.

  As Damian cut through the monsters, he saw Sam standing on the threshold, a shotgun in his hands. To his shock, every shot of his weapon reached a target, leaving a pile of ash at the old man’s feet as he slowly progressed forward. A few minutes later, the vampires were gone—most of them dead, but a few of them retreated before either Damian or Sam could get to them.

  Damian glanced at Sam in shock, his chest rising and falling with heavy breaths. The old man looked angry but not shocked, so Damian had no doubt he wasn’t new to the World of Magic.

  “How can you kill a vampire with a shotgun?” he asked, lowering his arms as the daggers vanished from his hands.

  “Argentum NO3,” growled Sam, struggling to equalize his breathing. “Silver Nitrate and a big enough caliber bullet can vanquish any monster.”

  Damian nodded and lowered to one knee, moving his hand through a thick layer of ash as he tried to find his whip. He found it almost right away and raised his head, ready to get up. To his shock, he found Sam’s shotgun trained on his face.

  “Sam, wait—,” started Damian. He dropped his whip and raised his hands in a peaceful gesture.

  “Stay where you are, kid, and don’t move if you know what’s good for you,” muttered Sam, placing the hot barrel against Damian’s forehead.

  “Sam, listen—”

  “You’re not human. What kind of monster are you?” the old man demanded, his eyes sparkling with anger, sweat running down his face.

  Chapter 2

  ~ Damian Blake ~

  Damian shook his head, suppressing the bitter resentment rising within him like a tidal wave. “Lower your weapon, Sam,” he said quietly, attempting to get up, but Sam pressed the barrel of his shotgun tighter to his forehead, forcing his head back.

  “Stay down, kid,” he growled, his unwavering gaze burning with anger. “Trust me. I won’t hesitate to pull this trigger should you make a wrong move. You won’t be the first monster I sent six feet under.”

  “Monster I am not—"

  “Human you are not!” shouted Sam. “Your eyes are glowing friggin’ orange!” A few drops of sweat slid down his forehead, making their way over his gray eyebrows into his eyes, but he didn’t even blink.

  “I’m just...” Damian’s voice faded, and he bit his lip, throwing his hands up. “I’m a Child of Earth. I swear I’m not evil.”

  “Aren’t we all children of Earth?” Sam narrowed his eyes, a dry chuckle escaping his tightly pressed lips.

  “Something tells me you know what that means.” In one fluid move, Damian grabbed the shotgun, ripping it out of Sam’s hands effortlessly, and then rose to his feet, towering at least half a foot over him. The older man staggered back, and for a brief moment, his eyes widened. But he quickly got his emotions under control, glaring at Damian without so much as a shadow of fear.

  Damian sighed and returned his weapon to him. Then he bent down and picked up his whip. As soon as he touched it, it vanished from his hands and wrapped around his waist, turning into his belt. “We should get going, Sam. Some vamps escaped, and they might com
e back with reinforcements at any moment.”

  “Are you an Elemental of Earth?” asked Sam, his tensed shoulders relaxing a little as his fingers wrapped tighter around the shotgun. He gave him a demonstrative once-over and smirked sarcastically. “You sure don’t look like a dwarf to me.”

  “I’m not an Elemental,” grumbled Damian, heading toward the exit door. “There is only one Elemental of each element, and the Elemental of Earth resides outside of this realm as far as I know. I’m just a wizard who can wield the elemental energy of Earth.”

  Damian stopped by the counter and leaned forward, taking a pot with a wilted, half-dead orchid in it. He touched the plant, channeling some of his energy through it. Like in a time-lapse video, the thick green leaves sprung up to life, a long stem sprouted from under the dirt, and within a heartbeat, beautiful white flowers opened up, turning their tender petals toward him.

  Sam touched a fresh green leaf and smirked. “I’m sure you’d make the world’s greatest gardener, son, but something tells me you’re not a landscape architect.” His eyes slid up and down Damian’s massive frame, and his smirk brightened up.

  “No, sir. I’m not.” A tiny smile touched Damian’s lips, the orange glow slowly leaving his eyes as he got his elemental power under control.

  They walked out of the restaurant, heading toward the truck. Sam unlocked the vehicle and put his shotgun inside a duffel bag, throwing it to the floor between the seats. Damian climbed in and settled in the passenger seat, closing his eyes for a brief moment. As the truck pulled out of the gas station and onto the evening street, Sam threw a glance at him.

  “I think now I’m starting to understand why you didn’t take a flight to Arizona,” he murmured, switching his attention to the dark road. “The lack of money has nothing to do with it.”

  “Planes are not an option for me. Being so high above the ground weakens me. And cars...” Damian shuddered. “I don’t own one, and I don’t wish to change that. I travel from town to town, hitchhiking my way when I have to.”