Graves Pact (Landon Graves Book 1)

by Matthew Stinson

  Accelerating into a sprint, we made a break for it, but the flying creatures employed that convenient advantage and soared past us. Several landed in our path, forcing us to stop. I skidded to a halt and turned to see a dozen more filling in a circle. My heart already pounded with exertion, but the trapped feeling quickened my pulse until I could hear it throb in my ears.

  “Screw this,” Mendoza said, feeding more shells into the stock of her shotgun. “You got something up your sleeve?”

  I almost responded in the negative, but I brushed my hand over my coat pocket. Glancing around at the shrill calls of the lesser drakes, I decided I’d have to reveal more about my meager power to the Chosen. I slipped the Zippo out and gathered my wits.

  “Yeah, I’ve got one trick,” I said, spinning the silver case in my fingers.

  “Let’s see it,” she said as she worked the pump of the gun, chambering a shell.

  I sighed under my breath and struck up a flame. Concentrating, I pulled it into my hand as a scarlet ribbon of hellfire. Mendoza seemed underwhelmed. I scowled and began stoking it into something potent enough to cause harm, my warlock power growing hot in my chest.

  The Chosen blasted a particularly brave drake as it bounded toward us. It bones shattered and the ashen flames of its body went out in a puff. The umbral tendrils rising from the ground greedily swallowed the shards of its onyx bones.

  The little beasts fell silent for a few heartbeats. Then the dozens of creatures screeched in unison, going berserk. Mendoza racked the shotgun expertly and turned the more belligerent beasties to dust. I spotted the large one gliding around us.

  Seeing its lesser brethren destroyed enraged the larger shadow drake, its keening roar rattling my brain. It dove down toward Mendoza and she turned her shotgun on it once more. Buckshot ricocheted off it with no effect.

  The drake soared past, forcing Mendoza to roll away. With impossible grace, it landed, spun, and swiped one of its four fingered claws. The Chosen threw the shotgun up to block. She deflected the blow, but the gun went flying out of her hands down the street. The detective jumped back reaching for her Desert Eagle, getting some distance from the creature.

  I couldn’t gather any more hellfire than I had. From only a few feet away, I hefted the baseball-sized glob and flung it at the shadow drake, landing the infernal plasma in the center of its torso. Searing pain raced around my palm from where my lack of focus allowed the hellfire to touch me.

  The writhing gray wisps that made up the creature’s body ignited like gasoline, transforming the creature into a crimson inferno. I shielded my eyes and back pedaled to a safe distance. Mendoza stared in wide-eyed shock for a few moments before returning her attention to the feral mini-drakes nearby.

  The big drake refused to go down easily, but it was only a matter of time. I gave the dying creature a wide berth and sidestepped around to rejoin the Chosen. Many of the baby monsters fled as the big one’s cries of agony intensified. Others burst into clouds of glittering obsidian dust as Mendoza’s Desert Eagle struck true.

  The shadow drake writhed in the hellish flames, jerking around. The tail whipped purposely, cutting my sense of triumph short as the spiked knob at the end lashed toward Mendoza. She was unaware, opened to the attack.

  With no time to warn the woman, I threw myself into her. My shoulder connected with the middle of her back, sending her sprawling to the side. As I rebounded, the drake’s tail hit me in the stomach. The pain didn’t register immediately and I doubled over, the wind gone from my lungs.

  The creature continued flailing about, tearing its tail free of my flesh with careless abandon. Finally, the pain came on so intensely, I couldn’t even scream. Struggling for breath, I fell back and saw that one of the spines remained lodged in my abdominal wall.

  Mendoza recovered her pistol and twisted around, eyes wide as she realized how close the creature had come to her. She saw me hunched over, quickly surmising what happened, gun trained on the dying drake.

  Slowing as the hellfire consumed it, the drake staggered drunkenly, its lesser kin scattering like a startled flock of birds. It gave off no smoke and the hellish flames diminished, leaving just the onyx skeleton of the shadow drake. Even that started to crack and crumble away into nothingness. After a few moments, the pseudo-street was once again barren

  The icy ebon spine in my guts remained intact. It was pierced deeply, through the muscle and into organs. I stifled the urge to pull it out. Something beyond the pain told me that was a bad idea. Removing it would have done even more damage and I could barely tolerate it as things stood.

  There was nothing I could do about it. I buttoned my coat so that Mendoza wouldn’t get a good view of the wound. I was pretty sure we didn’t need any more distractions.

  “What now?” Mendoza asked between ragged breaths. “I doubt those things will stay gone for long. We need to get out of here. What do we do?”

  “We… we need to find a Borderline,” I said haggardly, doing a poor job of disguising my pain. “Water or…” If not for the spike in my gut, I would have laughed. “Light. We need light.”

  “Like my flashlight?” she asked, though it came across as, “Why didn’t you figure this out sooner?”

  The detective pulled out the Mag-Lite and handed it to me. I twisted the bulb enclosure to turn it on. The beam was brilliant and sharp, not as diffused as it would be in the real world. Reaching a hand out tentatively, I tried to focus past the throbbing pain in my stomach.

  The Chosen’s words turned out to be prophetic. The little drakes began returning as soon as the last of the flames died out on the large one. The concussive report of Mendoza’s Desert Eagle didn’t help my concentration, nor did the low-pitched shrieking of the creature’s spawn as they died.

  Hunched over with one hand held tightly to my stomach, I closed my eyes and reached into the beam of light. Briefly, I sensed some warmth on my painfully chilled skin and I almost dismissed it. Then I realized I felt the heat on my palm, not on the back of my hand where the light hit. It dawned on me then. I was feeling the heat rising off the paved road, only possible on Earth where the sun shone true.

  It was home.

  The little I knew of magic told me that some of the arcane arts required connections to be made between similar things, especially in the case of conjuration. If I wanted to slip through, I needed to find two weak points—two Borderlines—to cross. Or I’d have to make them.

  “Alright,” I said, though it came out more as a groan. “I think I know what we need to do. We need to sync up a Borderline here and in our world.”

  “How do we do that?” she asked, grunting as she stomped on one of the smaller drake. The little skull cracked into black porcelain pieces beneath her boot.

  Concentrating grew hard, but I managed to get my theory out. “It hasn’t been very long since we came in here. This realm is almost an exact match for Earth. Imagine we’re in the streets of Denver late in the afternoon. Where would we find a sharp contrast between light and shadow on the other side?”

  “There!” Mendoza pointed to what looked like an alley. “I’m pretty sure those buildings face south.”

  I glanced around to get my bearings, but everything beyond a thousand feet faded into sullen gray. Without my mountains, I wasn’t sure which way was which. “Are you sure?”

  Mendoza didn’t answer. Instead, she jogged over to the gaping maw of the side street. I limped over slowly, clutching my stomach as each step sent jolts of agony throughout my torso. The Chosen looked around, double checking her orientation.

  Allowing myself to hope that my theory proved sound, I set the flashlight down on the ground propped up to cast its light across the mouth of the alley. The beam shot eastward just as I was sure the rays of the sun did on the other side. I clawed my way up the shadowy wall.

  “Okay,” Mendoza said, “is that it? You said Oliver had some kind of magic circle.”

  “He did, but we won’t need one,” I said. “He didn’t
have a matching rift on both sides. We just have to concentrate, focus our mental energies—”

  Glancing around at the remaining shadow creatures, she pulled my arm over her shoulders. “I have no idea what you mean. How do I do that?”

  “Will, wish, desire... Pray. I don’t care which,” I commanded, voice made urgent by pain and the encroaching drakes. “Just do it!”

  “Alright,” she said, closing her eyes.

  I did the same, calling to mind memories of Denver, my house, office, car—basically anything that I hadn’t seen in the last hour. Unsure what would give us the best chance, I imagined what the street ought to look like. Eyes shut tightly, I visualized how the waning sun cast warm light with an orange tint against the cement sidewalk.

  Dear God, let this work.

  Fear and doubt threatened the image. I couldn’t help but dwell on my lack of knowledge or the fact that I was winging it. That negative part of my mind spouted a list of every reason I’d fail: I’m weak, tired, injured, and better off dead. At least, I knew the last wasn’t true. I wasn’t ready for Hell, not by a long shot.

  That thought motivated me beyond anything else. The pain of my injuries transformed from a distraction to a tool illustrating the vital need for success. The fleeting thoughts fell away as I sharpened the picture of the Denver street. I felt the stirring of my pact-granted power, a stove heating up in my chest.

  I hobbled forward mostly carried by Mendoza, focusing my will.

  Feeling the itchy, flushing sensation in my skin, I knew my warlock abilities were up to something. Three paces later, I sensed heat on my face, but it was hard to tell with my anxiety ramped up and my warlock mojo abuzz. Hesitantly, I cracked open one of my eyes.

  I stood on the sidewalk in Denver under a blue sky. We had run several blocks from Oliver’s apartment, but we were close. In unison, we muttered, “Thank God.”

  Mendoza let me off her shoulder and began looking for any sign of danger. I shuffled over and leaned against the warm brick wall. My legs suddenly gave out and I half-slid, half-fell to the dusty sidewalk. My head slumped forward and I got a good look at my injury. In the daylight, the spine jutting out of my stomach started evaporating into shadowy wisps, though its barb was still buried in my guts.

  I should have been glad that I didn’t have to take it out, but as it disintegrated, electric sensations of fresh pain sparked up. Some kind of poison spread through my innards like wildfire. Without the spine blocking the arteries, my blood trickled freely out of the wound and it blossomed across my abdomen.

  It started sinking in. I admitted it to myself. I was dying.

  “Well, I still have my doubts about you, Graves,” the detective said, holstering her hand cannon and facing me, “but you did good—Graves? Oh shit!”

  Breathing got more difficult with each passing moment, but the pain became distant, like a fist pounding against the frozen window of my senses. The cold and numbness meant something bad, though I couldn’t quite figure it out. Forming coherent thoughts became a challenge.

  “Oh God, oh God, oh God,” Detective Mendoza murmured as she pressed her hands against my stomach. “Just… just hold on. I’ll get an ambulance.”

  Good luck with that. My vision swam and I struggled to keep my eyes from rolling back. Going to sleep seemed like a very good idea.

  Don’t be an idiot, Landon. You know what to do.

  The voice in my head didn’t belong there. It was a trespasser, an interloper. I knew who he was and what he wanted. With death looming, my patron could wriggle an arm into the mortal realm to communicate, even against my will. I guessed that was why sacrifices were so prevalent in magical rituals. It scared the bejeezus out of me, since it meant I was basically a dead man.

  I murmured, “Alastor wants to go for a drive.”

  “What?” Mendoza said frantically. “You aren’t making sense.”

  Do it, Landon. Or are you so desperate to move in down here? the devil teased.

  I had some shit options. Die or let Alastor take over for a while. Being possessed by my patron would probably save me, but I’d have to watch the devil do whatever it wanted with my body. I had some idea of the damage it could do. It had been a man possessed by Alastor that got me to sign my pact in the first place.

  “Arrest me,” I said hoarsely. “Gag me.”

  Diabolic laughter echoed in my mind.

  “Just save your strength,” Mendoza said. “I’ll get help.”

  I knew it’d be half an hour before I got to a hospital. I’d be lucky if I lasted ten more minutes. And what could they have done for me? I doubted they stocked up on shadow monster anti-venom. There was no time and I wasn’t ready to die.

  “Listen!” I hissed forcefully. “I can save myself, but you have to do what I say.” Each word was a labor and I was already exhausted. Sweet, oblivious unconsciousness beckoned to me. “Cuff me. Gag me. Put me in isolation.”

  She recoiled from me. “You’re going to invoke your master. You can’t!”

  My vision dimmed and I almost passed out. I heard Mendoza load a new clip into her pistol. I muttered, “Sorry detective. This is happening.”

  Do it, I thought, knowing Alastor would hear me. I opened myself up to him.

  It’s been a long time, the devil replied eagerly.

  Chapter Eighteen

  I felt dizzy and looked up to find myself surrounded by darkness. Alarmed by the unexplainable transition, I tried to stand from the seat I sat on. I immediately discovered that I was bound with my hands behind my back. My ankles were tied to the legs of the chair and no amount of wiggling moved the uncomfortable seat.

  A harsh light snapped on above me, glaring down. In front of me, a hazy projection slowly came into existence, focusing gradually. The bizarreness of it finally pierced through my panic and I realized things weren’t as they appeared.

  There was no way Mendoza had put me in the bizarre mental prison. Alastor had finished taking over my body. And lucky me, I got to watch the whole debacle on a grainy projector while locked in a dream-interpretation of a cage.

  “That was close,” my possessor said with my voice. “I’m alright now. I’m in control. You can take these cuffs off.”

  Alastor lifted my hands into my field of vision and I took small comfort in the fact that stainless steel handcuffs ringed my wrists, though I wasn’t sure it would even slow my patron down. My body still lay on the sidewalk near where we reentered the mortal realm.

  Mendoza ignored the plea, keeping her gun hand free. “Don’t make another move.”

  I had worried I might have started winning her over, but the disdain in her expression alleviated that concern. She had only tolerated me before. After letting myself get possessed, she wouldn’t hesitate to end Alastor and me along with the Fallen. It was a miracle she hadn’t killed me already.

  “Yeah, sure,” Alastor said, mimicking my tone too well. “I get it. Just be careful, alright? I’m still on death’s door here.”

  “Lay flat on the ground,” the detective commanded. She approached cautiously, holstering her gun. I knew because Alastor watched intently from the corner of my eye. I could almost feel my patron plotting.

  No, no, no! I yelled into the shadowy space around me. Don’t put the gun away yet!

  Preparing to lift me into a standing position, Mendoza stepped over my back. With little regard for my wounded body, Alastor rapidly twisted around into a supine position and lunged up at her. Her shocked expression lasted only an instant, but that was long enough for my hands to grab her by the edges of her Kevlar vest and pull her into a vicious head-butt.

  Mendoza collapsed onto us and Alastor rolled on top of her. Straddling the dazed woman, my patron began to choke the life out of her with supernatural strength. She fought back admirably, drawing on the holy power so recently returned to her.

  For a brief moment, I was glad I wasn’t fully connected with my body. Even distant as I was, the agony that Alastor felt echoed. I saw smoke risin
g from my hands, blisters forming on reddened skin. Alastor didn’t care and didn’t relent. Evidently, restoring my mortal body was no trouble for the minor Fallen lord.

  Alastor! Stop! I screamed into the hollow prison cell that had been made for me. She’s Chosen. And she’s a cop. You can’t kill her! There’s no way you won’t attract attention from both the divine and mortal authorities.

  I was frantic. I knew if I had been in control of my body, my heart would be pounding and pumping adrenaline. In my cerebral isolation, I didn’t know if my sense of time was being distorted. All I knew was that Mendoza stopped fighting. She stopped moving.

  I heard Alastor’s little laugh as he released her neck. “I love wearing your skin, Landon. Mortals can experience such wonderful things.”

  I felt sick to my stomach, which was an odd sensation when you couldn’t feel your stomach. I couldn’t afford to show grief or remorse—not to Alastor—but I could still do something. Well done, asshole. You just turned my life into even more of a nightmare. How stupid could you be? There is no way this doesn’t come back to me. Why go through all the trouble of setting me up in the FBI just to screw me over now?

  I watched my hands search out a key in Mendoza’s pocket. As Alastor freed my hands and placed the cuffs on her wrists, he said, “I am an eternal. Don’t presume to question me. You know nothing. The woman yet lives.”

  I saw her chest rise weakly and I sighed with relief. What now?

  “It’s been ages since I’ve inhabited a body.”

  I wasn’t sure what he meant. It had only been three years since the other time Alastor took my body for a ride and I knew he had more warlocks running around. Time must work differently in Hell.

  “I think I’m due for some entertainment.”

  Alastor grabbed the detective’s giant gun and gripped her by the Velcro shoulder strap of her vest. Lifting the unconscious woman off the ground, he said, “This one will do. I so seldom get to defile one of the Chosen. What do you think, Landon?”

  The devil was trying to agitate me, to unsettle me. Maybe it helped the bastard stay in control longer. My patron was bluffing. I hoped. Kidnapping her is just as bad as killing her. It’s not as if you can hide her from her Guardian Angel.