Graves Pact (Landon Graves Book 1)

by Matthew Stinson

  “Behold, thrall,” Alastor whispered without any apparent anger in his tone. “This is what you’d call ‘subterfuge’.”

  The temperature in my little prison rose by a dozen degrees in an instant. Considering it was a mental interpretation of me being trapped in my own head, I wasn’t sure what that signified. I only knew that Alastor had stoked his infernal power to the limits of my mortal form.

  Suddenly, Alastor dropped the petulant act and faced Bryce. He pressed our hand against the barrier while the young wizard watched with his practiced nonchalance. Could the teen really have been that arrogant?

  “Nothing can be made that cannot be unmade,” Alastor said under his breath, his words just for me. “I’ve fought against nightmares you can’t imagine. Even if I can only invest a tiny portion of my power into you, it will be enough when paired with my knowledge.”

  Alastor spoke a word my mind couldn’t comprehend. Bass without a source thrummed in the magical prison in which we stood, a quickening pulse that rattled the ground. The sound rapidly changed pitch until the magical barrier shook in sympathetic vibration. Then Alastor exerted himself. The barrier shattered with a burst of kinetic energy that rocked the nearby dumpster and sent Bryce staggering back a few steps.

  My patron spoke another word and waved my hand around. Silence washed over the area like a cold wave. The distant traffic din cut off. Though I saw the breeze through the alley stirring the misplaced garbage, I heard nothing.

  Only a few paces away, Bryce recovered from his shock as Alastor pulled the gun out of my underarm holster. My patron didn’t hesitate, firing soundless shot after shot. I screamed in protest, but the devil paid me no mind. Luckily, Bryce wasn’t out of the fight.

  The wizard threw up his hands before Alastor got the gun out, touching a bracelet on one of his wrists. The bullets hit some kind of invisible, gel-like shield. Over the span of two feet, the slugs came to a stop with trails of bubbles behind them as if the air between Bryce and I had been turned to water.

  Alastor growled, but no words pierced the magical silence encompassing the area. He stowed my gun and sprinted at the teen faster than humanly possible. I could feel the devil’s thrill at the thought of tearing out Bryce’s throat.

  With only an instant to react, Bryce fumbled some kind of glass orb out of his pocket, but he dropped it. Alastor reached for his neck with hands that, I noted with dismay, had grown claws. Before the devil could sink those black nails into the young man’s flesh, the orb released its spell as it broke on the ground at Bryce’s feet. Realizing that the teen had intended to drop the spelled piece of glass brought me some measure of relief.

  Then the blast of the spell hit us.

  A torrent of wind and force spiraled up from the ground, catching Alastor before he closed our clawed hands on Bryce’s throat. We sailed up into the air, careening off a brick wall. Within the confines of my prison, I grew dizzy from the whirling perspective from which I had to watch.

  As we collided with the ground, I noticed that ambient noise had returned. Alastor’s spell had ended or the blast from Bryce’s magic had broken the devil’s concentration. Either way, I was suddenly subject to my patron’s running dialogue.

  “Resourceful,” Alastor commented in both annoyance and admiration. “Learn from this boy’s death, Landon. See how he fights!”

  Rising to a knee, Alastor waved my hands and a ball of fire popped into existence between my palms. He stretched it out, the flames darkening to crimson as he transformed it into a lance of hellfire in scant seconds. With no flourish or wasted movement, Alastor threw the spear of fire.

  Propelled by strength and thought, the hellfire shot like lightning down the alley. Bryce didn’t bother using some fancy magic trick to deflect it. He had no time. Instead, he threw himself to one side, stumbling into the dumpster.

  Before he could recover, Alastor started forward with a steady gait, waving our hands around and reciting arcane words I couldn’t follow. As Bryce got back to his knees, Alastor unleashed a blast of fire, a horizontal cyclone of bright orange. It engulfed the teenager and I let out a cry of dismay.

  Stop it, Alastor! He’s no challenge to you. Just let him go!

  My patron showed no mercy, stalking forward to keep the torrent of fire on the wizard. Raging at my inability to do anything, I sagged in my dreamscape chair. It was my fault. Bryce died because of me. How could I live with—

  The splayed flames moved upward. I could see Bryce’s sneakers beneath the bottom edge of them. He’d thrown up some kind of shield that deflected the blast of fire away from him. I whooped loudly and suddenly found that my hands were free to move.

  The gout of fire cut off abruptly, revealing a singed but otherwise unwounded Bryce. And he was no longer alone. Behind him floated a being of coalesced smoke and light. By the way it hurt my eyes to look upon, I figured it was one of the Watchers. Going out on a limb, I guessed that it was Mendoza’s Guardian Angel. No matter who it was looking after, it was pissed.

  Bryce seemed unaware of the divine being a short distance from him, but he knew that something else had garnered part of Alastor’s attention. My patron seemed to hesitate, but I knew he’d calculated what the new information meant. Feeling my legs as they were freed, I figured that Alastor’s lack of concentration on me was my best chance to take control back… before it was too late.

  Looking at the angel, Alastor snarled in a language I couldn’t understand. The celestial being made no move and gave no response, merely hovering in place. The only change I detected was the intensifying of its aura. I felt the walls of my mindscape prison shudder. Alastor continued his infernal tirade to no effect.

  Bryce took advantage, reaching into a satchel I hadn’t noticed before. He drew out a tangled mess of yellow nylon twine. He spoke a few arcane words and held one hand in a rigid gesture. With the other hand, he flung the bunched up twine at us.

  Alastor reacted sluggishly to the attack, reaching out to swat the knotted yellow rope away. As our hand touched it, the ball unfurled and entangled my body with blinding speed. In a moment, the rope wrapped my body tight enough to render me immobile.

  That’s a neat trick.

  I could feel Alastor’s fury at the interference of the Watcher. I figured that only the angel kept Alastor’s power in check. Otherwise, he would’ve ripped the twine apart and gone after Bryce again.

  Watching Alastor struggle for a moment, the wizard relaxed infinitesimally. I saw him panting, hidden fear and anxiety peeking through his cool façade. Though he’d made it look easy, I knew how close he’d been to death.

  With a calculating look, Bryce turned and said in a loud voice, “Alright, Father. It’s safe. You can come out.”

  When I saw Father Miller, I felt both hope and alarm. While I’d told the priest everything, I still thought he operated on faith alone. He had never encountered the supernatural directly as far as I knew. Regardless, I had some unfounded idea that he could help me.

  Father Miller rapidly approached while avoiding eye contact. He carried a large suitcase that he set on the ground beside Bryce. Popping it open, he revealed what looked like a prop out of the Exorcist. An exorcism kit. Then I realized that was exactly what it was. And so did Alastor.

  “You think your pathetic trinkets can drive me out?” he said with a curt bark of a laugh in my voice. “I own this vessel. You are nothing compared to me. Your power is nothing.”

  Unfazed, the priest sighed. “Of course, you’re right. But it’s not my power that we’re counting on, is it? Let’s see how you fair against the might of God.”

  I could almost taste Alastor’s chagrin.

  Father Miller began a prayer, chanting in a steady but fear-tinged tone. He held a bible in one hand and a vial of what I assumed was holy water in the other. Droplets of it spatter on my face as he shook the bottle at me.

  The angel behind Bryce pulsed and my patron cursed vilely. The priest continued chanting. Alastor made threats against him, h
is family, and the people of his congregation. Miller didn’t flinch. I wasn’t exactly surprised that the priest could stand up against the infernal threat Alastor posed, but Miller’s sheer steadfastness did leave me a bit in awe.

  “Fools. You think your meager power can stop me?” Alastor asked.

  Miller and Bryce stood their ground and Alastor quickly realized that threats wouldn’t work on them.

  “I won’t be stopped,” Alastor roared, straining against the spelled nylon that wrapped around my body. I heard strands snap and I watched as Bryce’s eyes widened. “They are nothing compared to what I’ve faced.”

  I banged my fist against the mental barrier and felt it shake. Encouraged, I threw myself against the invisible wall. Your time is up! Give. It. Back. The wall cracked.

  Father Miller continued his prayer, flipping the bible pages. Behind him, the divine presence hovered silently. I surmise that the praying wasn’t directly effective. It only channeled the power of the Watcher. The angelic being rested a hand on Father Miller’s shoulder, though he seemed as unaware of it as Bryce. His chanting renewed with vigor and Alastor winced with each word.

  In my mind, I heard Alastor roaring in pain. The Fallen couldn’t stand the chanting. Was it the words, their meaning, or something else? All Mendoza had to do to make me cringe was to speak forcefully. I somehow doubted it was the bible passages themselves that undermined Alastor. It was the will and the intent, backed by the power of the being behind the priest.

  I felt slimy tendrils shuddering throughout my psyche, slipping away slowly but leaving a vile residue like pond scum. I shouted in eager anticipation of regaining control. I pounded a fist against the weird bubble I was trapped in and the wall cracked again.

  Unable to stand the Watcher’s presence any longer, Alastor finally relented and my body sagged, falling to its knees only after Bryce released the spelled twine. The mental wall I beat my fists against shattered. I sputtered and gasped as sensation rushed back to me in a flash. The pain was the worst I’d ever felt, the aftershocks of burns and broken bones that were mostly healed, but not fully.

  It was as if every agony my body had registered under Alastor’s control got queued up for my return. I couldn’t speak. I could barely move, my legs jerking vaguely in the direction I wanted. Before I fully regained my mental faculties, I realized I was crawling away, some kind of primal fear driving me.

  It was so much worse than the feeling of Mendoza’s anger, but I knew it was related. I forced myself to stop and turn over. The angel hadn’t moved. I couldn’t even make out a face, but I knew it was staring right at me. My eyes burned, but I looked right at it.

  Flesh of solid, sparkling smoke clothed in pure white light, the Watcher hovered in silent judgment. While it had the approximate shape of a person, there were no specific details. Knowing these beings could take on multiple forms, I found it odd—somewhere in the back of my mind, beneath the pain and panic—that the angel chose to remain indistinct, androgynous, and blank.

  The eyeless gaze was too much for me. “Alastor’s gone. You got him out of me.”

  Father Miller let out a sigh of relief. “Oh thank God. Can you stand?”

  I ignored him. Instead, I directed a question at the celestial entity floating behind the priest. “What do you want?”

  Miller frowned quizzically and looked about him. He turned to Bryce. “What’s he going on about?” Then to me, he said, “I just want you to return to yourself. Landon, are you alright?”

  After what he’d done for me, the priest deserved an answer. “I’m pretty far from alright, Father. Pretty damn far.”

  “What happened, Landon? How did this happen?” he asked as gently as his strained voice allowed.

  “I was going to die…”

  “You fear your fate so much, you’d unleash that creature into this world?”

  The angel’s voice roared into my mind forcefully, staggering me. I couldn’t bear its telepathic words. It appeared next to me in an instant, towering over me. My mental fortitude failed and I cowered before it.

  “Is it such a sin to want to live?” I whimpered.

  Unable to stand its presence, I collapsed. My vision went to black. The last thing I thought was that I’d ruined two suits in a week. What would they bury me in?

  Chapter Twenty-One

  I woke up some time later as I was jostled about in the back of a car. I gained my bearings after a few moments, realizing that Father Miller was driving my Buick. Bryce rode shotgun and I was in the back.

  I didn’t feel like the angel smote me. A torrent of questions cropped up—like how they got my car—but I was too tired to give a damn. The angel hadn’t killed me.

  I was alive.

  I laid my head back and tried not to think. Fat chance of that. I spent the entire ride home sullenly mulling over the last day. I wallowed in enough guilt to drown.

  I couldn’t walk without help from both Bryce and Miller. The healing ability of Alastor’s possession might have knitted bones and closed gashes, but it wasn’t without a cost. The guys used my keys to open the door to my house. I wondered how many of my nosy neighbors saw. It would give them something to gossip about. Screw them.

  Bryce and Father Miller unceremoniously deposited me on the stiff couch in the living room. I groaned and mustered enough strength to unbury my face from the cushion, but I collapsed after. My dusty TV reflected the two men sitting in the kitchen well enough for me to see what they were doing.

  Father Miller picked up my phone and called a cab, giving them my address. Bryce raided my fridge and I got a small amount of satisfaction when he found nothing appetizing in the barren appliance. The disgusted sound of disappointment made me grin.

  “What do we do now?” Father Miller asked quietly, his tone so fragile it wiped the smile right off my face.

  Bryce shrugged. “Nothing to do. Graves is back in control. He’s alive. Things are normal. Relatively speaking.”

  The priest shook his head. “No, I don’t think things will ever be ‘normal’ again.”

  Great. Just great. I added it to the list of damage done because of me.

  I must have passed out, because the cab announced its arrival with a blaring horn that startled me. Father Miller went to the door, but Bryce meandered around to the front of the couch and squatted down to face me. He peered at me for a few moments.

  “Get your shit together, man.”

  He left without another word. The door shut and after the taxi left my cul-de-sac, my house went quiet. I was alone with nothing but my thoughts. I couldn’t stand it. I couldn’t even deal with what had happened. I tried to force myself up.

  The exertion was too much for me. Pressure thundered in my head and I passed out. It was the biggest break I’d gotten all week. I woke up hours later and mustered up the strength to get to my kitchen. I needed something to eat. I needed a drink.

  I had a bottle of Johnny Walker for those times I wanted to get away from my problems. I threw back three shots and stopped. I was a lightweight on an empty stomach, so a few minutes later, I was buzzed. It dulled the pain enough that I could scrounge up some food.

  I saw the phone at the end of the counter, staring at me mercilessly. The blinking information on the display cruelly reminded me of my deserved solitude; no missed calls or messages. I snatched it up and the throbbing in my hand prevented me from actually throwing it against the wall.

  I was a thinker. It was a blessing and a curse. Sometimes I just needed to turn it all off. Reboot. I brought Johnny with me to my couch.

  Turning on the TV to the public channels, I watched without really seeing. Jeopardy came on and I heard questions I should have known the answers to. The comfortably numb feeling started to pass, so I resorted to the liquor again.

  The phone rang and I let it go for a few chirps as I poured myself another shot of the cheap scotch. I really hated the stuff, but then what was better than that for self-loathing? I picked up the phone and grumbled in
to the receiver, “Graves.”

  There was a moment of silence before Mendoza’s voice came on. “Hey.”

  I nearly dropped my drink as I sat up on my couch. “Detective. Sorry. I… don’t even know what to say.”

  “I know,” she said quietly. I couldn’t tell if she was sad or angry or something else.

  “I… I’ve still got your pistol. I think. I can bring it to you or…”

  I asked myself what the hell I was doing. She wasn’t calling about her damned gun. She was giving me a chance to apologize for what I’d put her through.

  “Look. I’m sorry for the way all that went down. I know it was selfish of me—even reckless—knowing what Alastor could do in my body. I’m… I’m just not ready for Hell yet. How am I supposed to make up for all the screwed up shit Alastor’s done if I’m dead? How am I supposed to fix what I’ve done?”

  The response came after another a moment of silence. “My Guardian thinks I should come put a bullet in your head.”

  I rubbed my temples and shut my eyes, the image of a flaming angel egging Mendoza on as she leveled her Desert Eagle at me. There wasn’t much I could say to that. I remained silent and she went on.

  “But I think the only reason I’m still alive is because of you. From what I understand, people like me… they don’t last long. I’m… I’m not ready to leave yet either,” she said. I could hear the mixed emotions in her voice. It was a far cry from her normal tone, so I knew she must still be shaken up about everything.

  Of course she is, idiot, I berated myself. She’d gotten pulled into a nether realm, attacked by shadow creatures, and betrayed by her pseudo-partner. I’d nearly killed her. Not me, I tried to tell myself. It wasn’t me that did those things.

  I did my best to put her at ease. “Well, don’t thank me. I did everything I could, but it’s still my fault you got involved in any of this.”