The Shadow Enforcer: The Shadow Enforcer Series Book One

by N M Thorn

Damian just shrugged without either objecting or confirming the statement. “Fascinating... What can you tell me about Paradise Manor, Mister—” He paused, giving the young man an arched stare.

  The man offered his hand. “Jamie,” he introduced himself. “James Coldwell.”

  “Damian.” As soon as Damian touched his hand, a soft ping of magical energy rushed through him. It was so weak that he barely registered it, and he had to wonder if the young man knew he had magic.

  “Why don’t you sit down right there.” Jamie pointed at a table with a computer monitor atop at the far end of the room. “I’ll bring you some reading materials, and if there are no other visitors, we’ll chat.”

  Damian headed toward the empty table and sat down, quickly observing the library. Besides him, there was no one in the room. It was softly illuminated by the fluorescent lights, and the slightly musty scent associated with most libraries hung in the air.

  Jamie returned a few minutes later, sporting a few books. He sat down in front of the computer next to Damian, put the books on the table and logged into the library system. After a few seconds of searching, he turned the monitor toward Damian.

  “Here is everything we have about Paradise Manor and the history of this town’s founding families.” He placed his hands on the books and then pointed at the computer. “These are the scanned newspaper articles from that time. You may find a lot of interesting information there, too.”

  “Founding families?” repeated Damian, frowning.

  Jamie nodded. “Oh yeah. The three original families who started it all.” He waved his hand around. “Evans, Anderson, and Brown. Three families—three tragic stories.”

  “You seem to know a lot about this place. A history buff?” asked Damian. “If you have time and don’t mind spending it with me, I would love to hear the story from you.”

  “Well...” Jamie stared down at the books, heat creeping up his cheeks. “I’m not a history buff. My father was, though. He was the one who did all the research and assembled a huge collection of materials about the founding families and the history of Paradise Manor. I know only what he told me when I was still in high school.” Sadness shadowed his features, and he stifled a sigh. “I wish...” His voice trailed away, but he raised his eyes, forcing a smile. “Anyway, I’ll be happy to share with you everything I know, which is not much.”

  “Thank you.” Damian leaned back in his chair, ready to listen.

  “It all started in 1847 when the three original families arrived... well... here,” started Jamie, shifting slightly in his chair to get into a comfortable position. “At the time, there was nothing here except cacti, rattlesnakes and scorpions. The quality of the land wasn’t the best either, but they were positive there was gold. So, they started by building underground mines and hiring workers to do all the manual labor.”

  Jamie fell silent for a moment, his fingers fidgeting with the cover of the book.

  “I don’t know all the details,” he continued at length, sounding slightly apologetic. “Myself, I always found it strange that even though they never found even the tiniest hint of gold in this land, they never stopped digging all the way until 1918 when the Spanish flu killed most of their workers, forcing them to close the mines.” He shrugged, pointing at the computer screen. “You can read all the reports—old and modern. There is no gold here. So why did these three powerful and obscenely rich families spend their entire lives—for a few generations, too—trying to find something that wasn’t there?”

  He took a pause, giving Damian a quizzical look.

  “The mines were opened for seventy-one years,” murmured Damian. “What did they do after the mines were shut down?”

  “They built the city of Blue Creek and stuck around here,” said Jamie, spreading his arms. “I can’t explain that either. All of them had money and could live anywhere in the world, but they chose to stay here until the last of their kin was gone.”

  “Nick Evans was the last?” guessed Damian.

  “Yes, Nicolas Lee Evans. He was the last surviving descendent of the founding families,” confirmed Jamie. He glanced at Damian with curiosity but didn’t ask anything. “His ancestors built Paradise Manor at a time when the mining had just started, and for a while, all three families lived there.” He thought for a moment, a shadow of doubt crossing his face. “I think they all lived there until the pandemic was over. Don’t quote me on that. I don’t remember the exact date.”

  He opened one of the books, quickly shuffling through the pages, but after a few seconds put it away with a guilty smile.

  “It should be somewhere in this book,” he continued. “You can look it up later. From what I recall, after the pandemic, the Browns and the Andersons also built houses for themselves next to the Evans’ mansion. Their homes weren’t as magnificent as Paradise Manor but large and beautiful, nonetheless. You can find pictures in the books and the archives.

  “Unfortunately, their houses weren’t preserved—rebuilt a few times, first by their descendants and then by those who bought the property. They were sold many times over, and the last owners leveled the houses to the ground, building modern homes from scratch. Since the size of the lot was large, they moved their homes as far away from Paradise Manor as was possible.”

  “How did they die? Age? Sickness?” asked Damian, thousands of thoughts crowding his mind.

  “Not at all,” replied Jamie, a twinkle of excitement igniting in his eyes. “This is where it gets interesting.” He moved his chair closer to Damian and leaned forward just a little, lowering his voice to a whisper. “Every single person in all three families—direct descendants and related by marriage—died an unnatural death under mysterious circumstances. Freak accidents, strange disappearances, murders, suicides. You name it—it happened to the members of these families.”

  He glanced around as if worried that someone could overhear them.

  “Some say these families were cursed, but when and by whom—no one knows. And this is where the story about the ghost of Paradise Manor comes from, I guess.” Jamie shrugged and chuckled. “I know you don’t believe in curses and ghosts, so I’m not gonna go there.”

  “Maybe I do. Maybe I don’t,” said Damian, propping his elbow on the table as he leaned to the side slightly. “Humor me.”

  “Rumor has it that every time someone was going to die in the Evans family, the Lady of the Mirror appeared to them,” he said with a shrug. “It could be just an urban legend. I don’t know. But a few days before his death, Nick came to the library and spent an entire day going through anything he could find in our archives about the founding families and Paradise Manor. Just like what you’re doing now.” He tapped his finger on the books.

  The door into the library opened, and a woman with a little boy walked inside. Jamie got up, telling them that he’d be right with them.

  “He was also searching for information about the curse and the infamous Lady of the Mirror. Found nothing,” said Jamie, throwing a pointed stare at Damian as he walked away.

  “Ghosts, monsters, curses,” muttered Damian, opening the first book. “What the hell did I get myself into?”

  He spent the next few hours going through the books and articles in the digital archive. He found quite a bit of information on the founding families and even architectural plans of Paradise Manor, but there was nothing there that could point him in the right direction. If anything, now he had even more unanswered questions than before.

  It was almost five o’clock when he shut down the computer and got up, gathering the books to return them. As he approached the counter, Jamie put away the novel he was reading and lifted his face.

  “Thank you, Jamie,” Damian said, placing the books on the counter. “Most likely I will come back tomorrow to continue my research. But I must admit, you gave me more information than all these books put together.”

  “Really?” The face of the young man lit up with his bright smile. “In that case, I have one more interestin
g fact you’re not going to find in any book in this library.”

  “Oh?” Damian straightened, staring down at Jamie with interest.

  “All the members of the founding families had arranged marriages. Some say that all their marriages were within their families, like cousins and such, but I doubt that. They were way too smart for inbreeding. Anyway, within families or not, all marriages were arranged. All except for one,” said Jamie, holding one finger up.

  “Nick Evans,” whispered Damian, his heart thudding heavily in his chest. “He married River Vetrov against his parents’ wishes.”

  “Exactly.” Jamie cocked his eyebrow. “How did you know? You said you were new here.”

  “I work for Sam Vetrov,” explained Damian, trying to sound as nonchalant as he could muster. “He mentioned a few things about his daughter and her late husband.”

  “Oh yeah, that explains it.” Jamie shrugged apologetically. “Sorry, my previous job wasn’t as peaceful as this one, and I got used to being suspicious of everything and everyone.”

  “If I may ask—,” started Damian, but then changed his mind and fell silent.

  “Not a secret.” Jamie shrugged indifferently. “I used to work in Chicago for a large... eh... military institution... sort of... I was a guard, and the job was too dangerous and stressful for my taste. So, about a year ago, I quit and returned to Blue Creek.”

  “Sort of?” A wild thought flashed through Damian’s mind. A military institution in Chicago. Sort of? He could think of only one military-like institution in Chicago that belonged to the World of Magic—the Guardians Order, an ancient secret organization of highly gifted witches and wizards, who acted upon direct orders of the Destiny Council.

  “Sorry, I always have a hard time explaining this part, because of their crazy NDA, you know?”

  “I do know,” murmured Damian, giving him a short nod. After all, this boy knows what he is... Good. We have a Wizard in town.

  He thanked Jamie for his help once more, said his goodbyes, and walked out the door.

  Chapter 6

  ~ Damian Blake ~

  The next five days went by uneventfully. Damian spent most of his time between patrolling Paradise Manor during the nights and searching for anything he could find on the founding families in the local library during the day. The nights passed by quietly—no supernatural activities of any kind—and he allowed himself to hope that whatever was locked in the left wing of the house wasn’t putting River’s life in danger.

  Sam, on the other hand, believed that his daughter was safe, and even though Damian didn’t completely share his optimism, he decided not to argue. Grateful for Damian’s help, Sam gave him a few days off to take a rest after all the sleepless nights, expecting him to start working in the shop early next Monday.

  However, the more Damian learned about the history of the town, the more he believed that something wasn’t right here. He copied the architectural blueprints of Paradise Manor, planning to ask Sam to take one more trip to the left wing of the mansion when River was at work.

  It was past seven in the evening, and the sun was slowly moving toward the horizon when Damian grabbed a small running backpack and placed inside a few new candles he had bought in a local store earlier today. He got dressed quickly, putting on a black tank top and track pants. After quick consideration, he pulled the belt out of his jeans and wrapped it around his forearm. As soon as the belt touched his skin, it turned into a leather bracelet, hugging his wrist tightly.

  During the last few days, his schedule had shifted into a strange semi-nocturnal lifestyle where he was awake all night and most of the day, getting no more than four to five hours of sleep, which wasn’t peaceful either. Now that his night shifts were finally over, he felt like he needed to do something to unwind and relax his mind. For him, spending time alone with nature was the best way to ease up and get a much-needed rest.

  As soon as he walked out of his hotel room, he put the backpack on, locked the straps over his chest and took off running toward a purple rock formation a few miles north of Paradise Manor. As he passed the mansion, he slowed down and channeled his magic. Whispering a spell, he checked the surrounding area for fluctuations in the magical energy field and any kind of supernatural presence. Since he detected nothing abnormal, he kept running, enjoying the touch of the cooler evening air to his skin.

  By the time he reached the purple mountain, the sun was replaced by a large moon hanging low over the horizon. Staring at the bright, orange disk, Damian just now realized that it was the time of the full moon. While the three nights of the full moon were always more prone to supernatural activities, he still loved it. Perhaps it was his connection with the energy of Earth, but the full moon energized him, reinforcing his strength.

  Damian slowed down to a walk and then came to a stop at the foot of the purple mountain. He unlocked his backpack and shrugged it to the ground. Connecting with the energy of Earth, he moved a few rocks lying around into the position he needed, creating a small amphitheater. Then he pulled out the candles and positioned them on top of the rocks.

  “Ignius,” he whispered, and tiny flames ignited on the wicks, dancing in the windless air.

  Once all the candles were lit and securely placed around the amphitheater he had created, he touched his bracelet, and the silvery whip materialized in his hand. He stopped in the middle of the makeshift arena and took a deep breath, exhaling slowly as he allowed the power of Earth to consume him.

  Enjoying the surge of energy through his body, he laughed quietly and spun around, the whip cutting through the air with a high-pitched whistle. The weapon in his hand lit up with a brilliant light, and with every move he made, one of the candles was extinguished. Stepping softly on the rocky ground, he continued his dance, light on his feet and fluid like a night predator.

  A few seconds later, it was over, and he stopped, breathing evenly as if he hadn’t just run a few miles or danced with a whip. The ground trembled under his feet, responding to the dangerous power he was wielding. A blissful smile played on his face as he spread his arms, inhaling the scent of the night desert. Here, he was at home. He was calm and happy, and nothing bad could ever happen.

  Damian touched his whip, and it wrapped around his wrist, turning into a bracelet. Halting in the center of the arena, he assumed a ready stance. Taking a deep breath, he brought his hands to his chest, palms up and then exhaled, lowering his hands. Turning ninety degrees, he began a martial art pattern, exchanging powerful punches with sharp kicks and palm strikes.

  After completing a few patterns, he went around the arena, collected the candles and checked them. “I need to work on precision,” he muttered under his breath, noticing that his whip had cut one of the candles in half instead of breaking the wick.

  As he threw the last candle in his backpack and put it on, he noticed a shadow moving across the night desert, visible in the bright light of the full moon. He stilled, carefully surveying the area. A light fluctuation of magical energy touched his senses, and he channeled his power toward his eyes, staring intently into the darkness. Something dark, small and round rolled away quickly, and he chuckled, silently cursing his overly stretched nerves.

  “Friggin’ jackalope,” he mumbled, shaking his head. But as he turned around, he held his breath. Standing in a half-circle, a small pack of desert coyotes blocked his path. Low growls rumbled in their chests, their hackles raised. He listened to the animals, realizing he couldn’t hear their voices.

  Not coyotes, are you? He took a step back and connected with the power of Earth again, his eyes lighting up with a bright orange light. Two daggers materialized in his hands, and he bent his knees slightly, ready to spring into action.

  The coyotes exchanged a look in a very un-coyote like manner, and the air around them shimmered, a dark mist surrounding them like a thick veil.

  Shifters... A thought flashed through Damian’s mind, setting his nerves on edge. In a pack?

  Unlike werewolv
es, shifters didn’t like gathering in large groups. They liked being subservient to an alpha even less. In most cases, they led a solitary and quiet existence, trying to stay under the radar of both human and supernatural authorities. However, every now and then, there were a few shifters who didn’t mind working for someone else, doing their bidding for a handsome compensation. Strong, fast, and ferocious, they were perfect guns or swords for hire. Besides, their unique magic allowed them to keep all their clothes and weapons on them while shifting, and that made them even more dangerous.

  As the mist disappeared, he saw six men standing before him, armed with automatic firearms as well as knives and swords. Dressed in army fatigues, all six of them were tall and muscular, and Damian had no doubt they knew how to use their weapons well. One of them—the oldest by the looks of him—stepped forward, raising his hand in what appeared to be a peaceful gesture.

  “Hey, man,” he said, an uneven smirk playing on his thin lips. “We don’t want to fight with you.”

  “Smart choice,” replied Damian icily, his attention on the group of shifters behind their leader.

  The man’s smirk grew wider as he shook his head. “You look like a nice fellow, so we’ll give you two options. Option A—come with us willingly and live. Option B—fight us and die a slow and miserable death.”

  Without any rush, Damian lifted his right hand, and still holding the dagger, extended the middle finger, a dark smirk playing on his lips.

  “I was hoping you’d say that,” growled the leader, a predatory light igniting in his yellow eyes. Stepping aside, he waved at his team, uttering a single word, “Fire.”

  “Procedia Amnia,” hissed Damian at the same time, wrapping a protective shield around himself just in time, too, as the silence of the night was shattered by the barking sound of automatic weapons. The bullets hit his shield and fell to the ground, doing him no harm. A few seconds later, they emptied their magazines and lowered their weapons to reload.