The Shadow Deception: The Shadow Enforcer Series Book Two

by N M Thorn

  “The necromancer I’m looking for is skilled and powerful enough to wield this dark branch of magic to its full potency,” said Damian. “Do you know anyone who fits that description?”

  “Damian, you sound like a good man, and you do a great job as the slayer, keeping the vamps at their best behavior.” Az frowned, pursing his thin lips. “But you’re asking for trouble, my friend. Nothing good can come out from dealing with someone like this. Take an old wizard’s word for it—the Destiny Council prison is not the kind of place where you want to spend the rest of your life.”

  “I know,” replied Damian quietly. “But if I don’t find this person, the consequences would be a lot worse.” He thought for a moment and decided to err on the side of caution. “Sorry, sir, I can’t give you all the details. Do you know any powerful necromancers in the area?”

  Az fell silent and leaned back, chewing on his lip, a vibe of unease spreading around him. “Not in Arizona,” he said after a while. “But I used to know someone with this level of skill in California.” He ran his fingers through his soft hair, making it fluff up even more. “It’s been years since I’ve heard from him, and I can’t guarantee the Destiny Council hasn’t put him where he belongs.” Az visibly shuddered. “A terrifying individual he is, if you ask me. Extremely powerful and truly scary.”

  “What’s his name? How do I find him?”

  “I have no idea,” replied Az with a shrug. “Years ago, he was going by JB, but he used to change his legal name every few years. I don’t even know if he’s still in California, or in the human realm for that matter.”

  Damian frowned, rubbing the edge of his bracelet absentmindedly. It was never easy to find a person who didn’t want to be found, especially if this person was a powerful Master of the Dark Arts. Dark wizards weren’t famous for upholding the rules of the World of Magic, and that made them almost limitless in what they could do.

  “You’re a wizard with psychic abilities, Az,” he said at length. “Can’t you scry for him?”

  Az chuckled, his agitation visibly growing with every next question Damian asked. “I can scry, but it’s not as easy as it sounds.” He glanced around the room as if searching for something, but then waved his hand, giving up. “To scry I need to have something that belongs to the person I’m looking for.” He shrugged apologetically. “Sorry, but I don’t have anything of his.”

  Dammit. Another dead-end. Damian got up, offering his hand to the old wizard. “Sorry, I woke you up and wasted your time.”

  Az got up, his eyes lingering on Damian’s hand as he rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Hold on, Damian. There is something we can try, but I’m not sure you’d be willing to do it.” He gestured at the chair again, motioning for Damian to sit down. “There is one object that used to belong to JB. The object itself has no magical properties, but if you could get your hands on it, it would be enough for me to scry.”

  Damian sat down. “What is this object, and how can I find it?”

  “How do you feel about grand theft?”

  “Excuse me?” Damian raised his eyebrows, staring at Az in shock.

  “It’s quite a story, you know.” A sly smirk crossed Az’s face as he leaned forward, resting his elbows atop the table. “The object in question is a dagger—”

  “Wait... what?” Damian tensed, his mind immediately on high alert. “What kind of dagger? A ritual athame?” He huffed, shaking his head, a wave of mistrust rising within him. “Let me get this straight. You want me to steal some kind of mystical weapon that used to belong to some terrifying Master of the Dark Arts and give it to you—a wizard with unknown affiliations?” He laughed and got up, crossing his arms. “Not gonna happen.”

  “Jesus! Relax, slayer.” Az rolled his eyes and readjusted his thick eyeglasses with the tip of his index finger. “First of all, I already told you—the dagger has no magical properties whatsoever. It’s expensive because it’s an antique weapon dated back to the seventeenth century, but as far as magic goes—it’s a piece of metal.”

  He pursed his lips, tapping his fingers on the tabletop. “Second,” he continued, “even if it was a powerful athame, I don’t have the kind of magic and skills to use it for anything other than what we discussed.” He thought for a moment and added with a dismissive jerk of his hand. “You can keep the dagger at all times. You can take it home after we’re done for all I care. I will need it only for a few minutes while I cast the spell, and you can stay and watch me as I’m doing it.” He threw his hands up, pursing his lips. “Jeez, man... not everyone’s out to get you, you know? Lighten up.”

  Damian frowned, thousands of thoughts and possible worst-case scenarios surfacing in his mind. If the dagger indeed had some magical properties, he would sense it as soon as he touched it. As much as he needed to find the necromancer, placing a dangerous weapon in the hands of a shady wizard wasn’t something he was willing to do. However, if the dagger wasn’t magical, then there was no harm in giving it to Az.

  Except for the breaking and entering part... He rubbed his forehead, feeling cold sweat under his fingers. Damn... what could possibly go wrong with that idea...

  Az threw his hands up. “I’m trying to help you, young man, and I’m not even asking anything in return, which is quite unusual for me. It’s a business, you know, and I like to get paid for my services. If I knew where JB keeps his toothbrush, I would send you to get that. But unfortunately, this dagger is the only object I know of that used to belong to him.”

  “How do you know about this dagger in the first place?” asked Damian.

  “Like I said,” Az continued, readjusting his position slightly. His robe opened up, exposing his skinny, caved-in chest, and he quickly covered it, wrapping the robe tighter around himself. “It’s a funny story.”

  Damian lowered onto his chair and stretched his legs, crossing them at the ankle. “I’m ready to be entertained,” he murmured, staring calmly at the wizard.

  “There is a rich private collector in... um... Carefree, I think. I’ll have to look up the address,” started Az, his eyes lighting up with the excitement of a person who loved telling long stories. “If you meet him, you will think there is nothing special about him. As untouched of a human as it gets—doesn’t believe in anything he can’t see with his own eyes or touch with his grubby hands.”

  Az chuckled, flicking his eyebrow at Damian as if asking him to join in on the joke, but Damian just nodded, gesturing for him to proceed.

  “However,” continued Az, “there are two things about him that are interesting. First”—he raised his fist and extended his index finger—“he has the most amazing collection of antique weapons. Knives, swords, daggers, stars, mazes—you name it, he has it. Of course, he has no idea that some of his blades are actually magical.”

  “And what is the second thing?” asked Damian.

  “The second...” Az snickered. “He-he-he-he... He’s a Mexican drug lord, or at least I think he is. Police raided his place a few times, but except for his extensive collection, they found nothing of interest.” He thought for a moment and then added, “Well, maybe he’s not a drug lord, but he’s definitely a Mexican mobster of a sort.”

  “Uh-huh,” murmured Damian. “So, you want me to break into the house of some rich Mexican mobster. If he is so obscenely rich and has criminal affiliations, don’t you think his place will be guarded by state-of-the-art tech as well as people? Being shot at from various automatic weapons doesn’t sound like my type of fun.”

  “But of course, his house is protected, and every piece in his collection is secured as well. I never said it wasn’t. It’s up to you, slayer.” Az shrugged. “Do you want to find your necromancer or not? You steal the dagger, bring it here, and I’ll scry for your Dark wizard.”

  “How do you know the dagger is in the collection, and how can you be sure it used to belong to the necromancer?” asked Damian.

  “Back in the day, when I just met JB, I saw this dagger in his house.” He fell s
ilent, thinking. “Many times, as a matter of fact. It’s the kind of piece that is hard to mistake for anything else.”

  Az got up and walked out of the living area. He returned with a small laptop, placed it on the table, and opened it. He typed something in and turned the computer around so Damian could see the screen. Then he got up and walked around the table.

  “This is the accounting software I use for my business,” he explained.

  “Business? What business?” Damian looked up at him, shocked.

  “Well, you know. All this...” Az waved his hand toward the neon signs on his front window.

  “Fortune-telling is a legit business nowadays?”

  “No, of course not.” Az chuckled, all but rolling his eyes. “But psychic consultant or spiritual advisor are legal terms. So, I am a psychic consultant entrepreneur. I have a registered LLC, and I pay my taxes every year.” He pointed at the screen. “Anyway, here is the list of all my invoices to one Ricardo Torres. As you can see, I was invited to quite a few of his parties to perform Tarot card readings and palmistry services to entertain his guests.” He clicked around the screen, opening one invoice after another.

  “I’m in the wrong line of business,” muttered Damian under his breath, staring at the numbers on Az’s invoices.

  “I’ve seen Ricardo’s collection quite a few times. He’s so proud of it, he shows it to all his guests. The first time I laid my eyes on that dagger, I recognized it right away,” Az continued, his eyes turning slightly off focus as if he were lost in his memories. “Its pommel is shaped like an eagle’s head, and the eyes of the bird are made of black cat's eye scapolite. Easy to identify. I have no idea how it ended up in Ricardo’s collection, but it is displayed without a glass case, positioned on a pedestal.” His fingers brushed over his cheeks, rubbing his silvery stubble. “JB was quite attached to it... sentimental value or something like that.”

  Az sighed and grabbed a small, pink notepad and a pen. Quickly, he scribbled the name and the address and tore the page out, handing it to Damian.

  “Here you go, Shadow Slayer,” he said, the corners of his wide mouth lifting in a tiny smile. “You want to find your Dark wizard? This is the only way I can help you.” He shrugged, scratching the back of his head. “Unless you want to seek help elsewhere, of course.”

  Damian got up and placed the piece of paper in his pocket. “Thank you, Az. Let me think about it.”

  “Take your time.” The old wizard chuckled in his nervous manner, directing him toward the exit. “Like I said when you knocked on my door—your destiny is not going to change if I read it in a few hours or even days.”

  Chapter 13

  ~ Damian Blake ~

  After leaving Az’s house, Damian didn’t return home right away, but instead walked all the way to the Blue Creek police department building and dialed River’s phone number, pacing in front of the entrance. The call went to her voicemail, and he hung up, thinking that he shouldn’t have come here during working hours.

  A light touch to his shoulder made him flinch and turn around. Jason, the young police officer he had met at the crime scene yesterday stood in front of him. His attentive eyes moved up and down Damian’s body, and a friendly smile lit up his round face.

  “You’re Damian Blake, Detective Evans’ consultant?” he asked, offering his hand for a handshake.

  “Yes, sir,” replied Damian, shaking his hand.

  “Are you here for Detective Evans?”

  “Yes, but I think I missed her.” Damian glanced at the small, one-story building, wondering if River was inside or somewhere out, working a case. “Do you know if she’s here?”

  He nodded and motioned at the building. “Let’s go. I’ll find her for you.”

  Jason left Damian in the small lobby and disappeared behind a door, leaving him to his thoughts. The lobby was empty with the exception of a young woman in a police uniform sitting behind the counter with a book in her hand, separated from the rest of the world by thick glass.

  Damian lowered himself onto a chair, his mind circling back to his conversation with Az. He didn’t believe even for a moment that Az was a trustworthy good supernatural Samaritan who was willing to help him out of the goodness of his heart. People like him didn’t do anything without some kind of a hidden agenda. However, no matter how much he twisted and turned, he couldn’t see anything that would explain his behavior.

  “Damian... Is everything okay?” River’s voice sounded next to him, breaking his train of thought, and he snapped his head up.

  “Yes, everything is fine,” he replied, rising. “I was wondering if you could help me with something.” He chuckled and scratched his head, cringing inwardly at his own awkwardness. “But then I realized that the police station is probably not the best place to discuss this. I should wait until you come home.”

  She frowned, her eyes halting on his face, and then glanced at her wristwatch. Seizing his elbow, she pulled him outside and headed across the parking lot. She stopped in front of an unmarked Dodge Charger and reached into her pocket for the remote.

  “Get in,” she ordered in a no-nonsense voice, her full lips curving in a lopsided grin as she stared at him across the top of the vehicle. “Yeah, I know. You don’t like cars, especially sedans. Tough shit. I’m not walking. Get in, soldier.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Damian gave her a military salute, stifling laughter, and lowered himself to the passenger seat.

  She drove her car across downtown and parked it in front of a tiny restaurant. Damian had seen this place many times but had never actually stopped by to try their food. He stepped out of the car and followed River toward the building, opening the door for her. She stilled for a moment, giving him a surprised glance, but said nothing and walked inside.

  The place was just as small inside as it looked on the outside. Decorated in the old-west style, just like the majority of establishments in downtown Blue Creek, it had black and white pictures of people in cowboy hats, views of the desert, and a few old guns decorating the walls. The six booths located along both walls were occupied, but one small table at the back of the restaurant by the window was free, and River headed toward it.

  A young woman in a T-shirt with the restaurant’s logo on it smiled and waved at her. “Detective, I kept your favorite table open for you,” she announced. Grabbing two menus and two sets of utensils, she walked around the counter and stopped by the table, staring at Damian with unconcealed curiosity. “Do you need a few minutes?”

  “River, do you know what you want?” asked Damian, bending the corner of the menu booklet without even realizing he was doing it. “I’m not that hungry, to be honest.”

  River scolded him with a heavy gaze but didn’t reply and turned toward the waitress. “My usual and make it two, please. Whether he likes it or not, he’s going to eat.”

  Once the young woman was gone, River switched her attention to Damian.

  “Dima, what happened?” she asked, gently touching his hand, her fingers barely brushing over his knuckles. “I know something is off, so start talking.”

  He looked down at the wrinkled menu, biting his lip. “Nothing yet,” he replied at length. In so many words, he described his meeting with Az, explaining some of the details related to the rules of the World of Magic as he went.

  River listened to him without interrupting, her face void of emotions, and when he finished, she remained silent for a while, shaking her head. The waitress brought their order, placing the plates before each of them and walked away, leaving the receipt on the table.

  “Eat, Damian. You’re a giant man, but lately, you’ve been running on fumes,” she said softly, her eyes down on her food. “You can’t keep doing it. With all your magic and power, your body is still human, and one day you’ll collapse. I understand that the weight of responsibility is on your shoulders, but you need to take care of yourself. You barely eat and sleep, and even if you fall asleep, you wake up in the middle of the night screaming... Yo
ur room is next to mine. I can hear you.”

  He exhaled with a soft groan and took one of the French fries from his plate, twirling it between his thumb and index fingers. “I know. I’m sorry. I’ll find a way to control these... nightmares,” he replied, biting on it.

  “Don’t apologize. Not your fault.”

  For a while, they ate in silence, each deep in their own thoughts.

  “I have to find a way to get this dagger, River,” said Damian, pushing the plate to the side.

  “You realize you’re discussing a robbery with a police detective?” River’s lips twitched in a tiny smile, sadness gathering in her bright eyes, dimming their warm light.

  “I do,” replied Damian, “but you’re also my friend—one of the very few people I actually trust.”

  River nodded, staring somewhere at his chest. “Are you sure this is the right thing to do?” she asked after a short pause. “This Az doesn’t strike me like the kind of fella you can trust.”

  “And I don’t,” replied Damian with a half-shrug. “But unfortunately, he is my only lead. I know it can be a trap or some kind of deception, but I have to do something, and so far, no one else can provide any information. Besides, by attacking the sanctuary, this necromancer broke one of the most sacred laws of the World of Magic. By doing that, he made it my direct responsibility as a Destiny Enforcer to find him and bring him to justice, so I have no choice but to move forward with the investigation.” He glanced out the window, troubling thoughts racing through his mind. “If I didn’t know any better, I would say he wants me to go after him. It’s like he’s challenging me to find him, and that troubles me more than any kind of backhanded agendas Az may have.”

  She opened her mouth to object but snapped it shut as Damian’s phone rang loudly in his pocket. He got up and pulled it out, reading Hawk’s name on the screen. He raised his finger, asking River to give him a moment, and answered the call, sitting back down.