Shadow Plague

by William Massa

  The creature turned human in front of my eyes.

  The spider legs retracted into the body, while the insectile eyes and elongated torso shrank. Less than a minute later, Mrs. Davis’s corpse looked emptily back at me, her features frozen in a rictus of a scream. I kneeled before the dead woman, feeling like shit as I closed her eyelids.

  I was no fool. I’d killed before. People and monsters. Sometimes killing was the only choice. But it didn’t mean I had to like it.

  With a heavy heart, I turned toward the screaming pizza delivery boy and began the long process of freeing him from the dead woman’s web.

  6

  Back in the Sanctuary, I handed a small vial of Mrs. Davis’s blood to Octurna. The sorceress had requested the sample so she could analyze its composition. I guess she was trying to find a link to the albino snail she had performed a magical autopsy on earlier.

  The sorceress accepted the vial and emptied its dark red contents on the altar. Fat drops of the dark liquid hit the stone. They hissed on contact, then pooled together and morphed into a hand-sized spider made of blood. The hologram-like vision sprung to unnatural life and scrabbled over the altar’s surface.

  Without hesitation, the sorceress’ hand snapped out and snatched the nasty bugger. The spider froze inside the open palm of Octurna’s hand. Immediately her eyes fluttered and rolled up into white crescents. Every instinct told me to spring into action and dash the spider from her hand, but I held back. I might not understand what was happening, but I was sure that Octurna wouldn’t appreciate my interference.

  I waited impatiently for Octurna to finish whatever she was doing. After being forced to destroy both Mr. Davis and Mrs. Davis, I felt more invested in this case than ever. Something had turned those poor people into monsters and forced me to orphan their daughter. I didn’t want this terrible affliction to spread, for more families to be torn apart and more innocents harmed.

  Octurna’s body shook almost as if she was experiencing a mild epileptic fit. I was starting to get worried when her eyes snapped open and she flashed me a triumphant smile.

  “This blood sample shares the same magical marker found in the remains of the other two victims,” she announced.

  “So they’re connected? Are they being triggered by the same black magic?”

  Octurna nodded. “Very good, Slayer! You are learning.

  I frowned. Something bothered me about the explanation. “I’m not questioning your conclusion, but something doesn’t fit. If all these monster transformations are connected somehow, why didn’t the slug in Montana revert to his human form the way Mr. and Mrs. Davis did?”

  Octurna smiled at me almost as if she was proud of the question. “I believe there is an incubation period for the magical virus. The more often they change, the harder it gets to turn back until the transformation becomes permanent.”

  “So the snowboarder in Montana caught the monster bug before the others?”

  “That would be my guess.”

  I chewed this over. “Any guess how the magical virus is transmitted?”

  “Most times such transmissions occur during bites. Weres and vamps are perfect examples of this, but this plague operates differently. The magic appears to be encoded in the bodily fluids that are exchanged during the sexual act."

  I shot the sorceress a long, disbelieving look. “Are you saying this is a black magic STD?”

  “Both John Davis and Joe Reno had an active sex life. Three women linked to Reno have gone missing in Montana, and strange sightings and strings of unsolved murders have followed in the wake of their disappearances. I fear the worst. It would also explain how Mrs. Davis contracted this… monster bug.”

  Monster Bug. The description sounded almost comical. It did not capture the real horror we were up against. Here was a magical disease that turned regular folks into murdering, super-powered beasts. And it was spreading fast.

  I remembered Mr. Davis’s earlier words. “Davis said he had nightmares about monsters after visiting New York City while on a business trip. You think he contracted the disease in the Big Apple?”

  “Joe Reno also visited New York a few weeks before the killings started in Montana.”

  “You think they hooked up with the same infected individual while in the city?"

  Octurna nodded. “Or they were exposed to a spell. Makes you wonder what these bad boys were up to in New York, does it not?”

  “There’s only one way to find out,” I said.

  A plan was already forming in my mind. Joe Reno struck me as a “bros before hos” kind of dude, and I was confident he would have regaled his buddies with tales of his wild New York City conquests. I would have to have a little chat with some of Joe Reno’s closest friends. It was time to engage in some old-fashioned detective work.

  Less than an hour later, I was sitting across from Glenn Evans, one of Joe Reno’s closest friends, who was having what appeared to be a one-man wake at a Montana bar. Evans was a fellow snowboarder and party hound who shared Joe Reno’s active lifestyle in more ways than one. I was playing the role of FBI agent James Forster again, but Evans was so drunk I think he would have told anyone the story.

  Besides hitting some of the coolest bars and clubs in the city, Reno had made a pit stop at some new strip club called Harem and had bragged about hooking up with a dancer. This bit of information gave me pause. I had tracked down the succubus who slaughtered my team at a strip club in the beginning of my monster hunting career. Was a succubus our Patient Zero?

  I got the name of the club and decided to stop off at the Davis home again before setting off for New York. I had planned to go through John Davis's personal belongings during my last visit, but his arachnid wife had put a stop to that plan.

  The house felt even more desolate and haunted during this second visit. Police tape was everywhere, and a human chalk outline next to the pool served as a grim reminder of my battle with Mrs. Davis. I’d had to work quickly to contain the situation, using a handy little amnesia potion from Octurna on the delivery boy and setting him on his merry way. The kid was otherwise unharmed, and it seemed kinder to make him forget about what he’d experienced. With any luck, the police would assume that John Davis had killed his wife before murdering a second woman in Austin.

  My footsteps creaked on the hardwood floor as I searched the place. The hair on my neck prickled at every random sound in the dark house. Outside the wind howled and rattled the panes, providing more fuel for my overactive imagination. I couldn’t wait to get out of here. I guess my guilt weighed on me. I’d been forced to kill them, but that didn’t make it easier. I kept thinking about that little girl who would grow up believing that her daddy had killed her mommy.

  After about an hour of fruitless searching, which seemed a lot longer to my rattled mind, I was about to give up and call it a day. And that’s when I stumbled upon a box filled with business cards in a drawer of Mr. Davis’s desk. He got around in his line of work and the eclectic collection of business cars reflected the frequent flyer miles he’d racked up over the years. I came across cards from hotels, bars, and restaurants from all over the country. I focused only on those he might have picked up in Manhattan.

  After rifling through the collection for about another twenty minutes, I discovered something that made my heart beat faster. A business card for Harem, the same strip club Joe Reno had visited.

  I had found concrete proof that the club was our connection. Now I just had to get there before anyone else ended up like the Davises or Reno.

  7

  The engine of my magical motorcycle roared as I blasted through late-night Manhattan traffic. At the moment, my ride looked like any other badass bike. If the need should arise, however, the cycle could burst into green and orange flames and reach speeds that’d make an Indy 500 driver weep. Right now, blending in was more important than breaking speed records.

  Even though it was already past eleven o’clock, life pulsed and throbbed around me. The city's
energy distracted me from the grim reason that had brought me here. Sometimes my war with the Shadow Cabal made it easy to forget that there was an entire world out there where people went about living their daily lives and chasing their dreams with no awareness of the darkness gathering around them. I drew comfort from these glimpses of normalcy, but it also filled me with a strange terror.

  I envied these people, how they went about their lives in such a carefree manner, but I also was afraid for them. These folks would completely be unprepared when the Cabal’s darkness invaded their world. I felt like I was looking at America before the terrorist attack of 9/11. When the Shadow Cabal unleashed their terrible spell on the unsuspecting world, it would be far more devastating. This dark knowledge made me feel like the loneliest man in the world.

  The fate of over seven billion souls hung in the balance, and only a fledgling combat wizard and an exiled sorceress could save them.

  No pressure.

  A crazy part of me wanted to pull my bike over and grab the nearest New Yorker to shake some sense into them. Wake up, monsters and magic are real, and you better join the battle if you don’t want the world to end! I wisely reigned in my impulses and forced my mind to concentrate on the task at hand. I had a job to do.

  I zipped toward Harem, neon bleeding into the street while two bouncers monitored a line of horny patrons eager to part with the cash in their pockets. I intended to join their ranks.

  I pulled into a nearby alley, parked the bike, and activated the Nighthawk’s camouflage magic. One moment, I was looking at a sleek motorcycle that would have proven irresistible to a potential thief; the next, I was facing a piece of junk only someone with suicidal tendencies would consider taking for a spin.

  My threads adjusted and transformed into a sleek Armani suit that screamed cash. Dressed like this, I would be catnip to the ladies working the dance floor of the club. Even though I carried my magical weapons on me, they remained invisible under the skintight suit. I felt their weight, but they stayed hidden from even my senses. If I needed to draw my machine pistol or silver whip, I would need to reach under the jacket and think of the weapon for it to materialize in my hand. Neither scanners nor security guards would detect my small arsenal if they patted me down.

  The knowledge that I wasn’t unarmed gave me a sense of security as I sauntered up to the establishment. I palmed the gold coin Octurna had gifted me. The coin could generate unlimited amounts of cash in whatever currency I might need. The metal felt cold to the touch until it turned into a stack of paper money. I fished a couple of hundred-dollar bills from the thick wad of cash and cut in front of the crowd. The bouncer’s intimidating stone mask cracked into a big smile as two Benjamins landed in his eager palm, and he enthusiastically waved me into the joint. My cavalier attitude earned me pissed off glares from the waiting crowd.

  Sorry, gentlemen, but I have a monster to hunt.

  Octurna’s voice rang through my mind just before I stepped into the club. “We appear to be on the right track. The whole club is warded. I will not be able to track your movements once you are inside.”

  “I’m a big boy. I can take care of myself,” I muttered.

  “We shall see about that,” the sorceress commented drily before our telepathic link broke off.

  Everyone was a comedian nowadays.

  Octurna’s words haunted me as I entered the club. The wards were worrisome to the extreme. A stray supernatural creature using the joint as its hunting grounds wouldn’t bother with such elaborate magical defense systems. Instead, it reinforced the idea that the whole club was a magical honeypot of some kind. And that meant I was about to set foot in the lion’s den.

  Inside the bustling club, a world of throbbing techno and glistening flesh greeted me. I drank in the mesmerizing sights and sounds and tried to not forget the real reason why I was here today. One of the fallen goddesses onstage might be our Patient Zero.

  I took a seat in a comfortable burgundy armchair near the main stage and ordered a drink. The magical fractal tattoos that covered my body flared and itched something fierce—black magic energy infused this den of ill repute, that much was certain.

  My gaze scanned the club. Beautiful women abounded. Everywhere I looked I saw perfect 10s getting comfortable on the laps of eager men. I’d been to my fair share of strip clubs but never had I encountered so many stunners gathered in one spot. Whoever did the hiring around these parts had fantastic taste.

  “Like what you see, handsome?”

  The question hung in the air for a beat. I turned toward the speaker and froze. A stunning woman clad in a red string bikini stood over me. I’d know that body anywhere. I had spent a passionate night with her a few months earlier. None other than Keira faced me. My mouth went dry, and before I could choke up a reply, she had already plopped down in my lap. She looked and felt even better than I remembered, and my body stirred.

  “How? What are you doing here?” I croaked, still in shock.

  The odds that Keira might moonlight as an exotic dancer in a club I happened to be investigating 3000 miles away from her Los Angeles home were less than zero.

  Was Octurna right, and Keira was working for the enemy? Or were the club’s wards conjuring up illusions?

  Keira leaned in close, shoving her lovely breasts in my face as she kept up the pretence of a lap dance. “I’m here for the same reason you are, Jason. I’m undercover. I know Davis visited this club before he changed.”

  Her words gave me pause. Even if Keira had figured out that Davis had turned into a monster, how could she know about the Joe Reno and the possible connection to this New York strip club?

  Man, don’t be so paranoid, I told myself. Keira could have easily drawn similar conclusions while investigating the recent string of monster attacks from a different angle. One didn’t need a set of all-seeing magical windows to play detective.

  Relief flooded me, and my tense muscles relaxed. It didn’t hurt that I had a beautiful woman straddling my lap.

  Keira smiled at me. I stared at those inviting lips. Desire burned in my chest. I wanted to tear that string bikini right off Keira’s body and take her on the floor of the club, uncaring of the scene it would cause.

  What was wrong with me? What sort of dark spell had Keira cast over me? The rational part of my brain was taking a backseat to my more animalistic impulses.

  I wanted her. Now.

  Almost as if she could read my thoughts, her lips brushed mine, and she whispered in my ears. “Not here, darling. They are watching us.”

  My pulse pounded in my ears—and in my groin, if I was being honest. Everyone inside the club had become a potential enemy. Danger lurked behind every seductive smile or coquettish laugh. Sweat pearled on my forehead, and I was gripped with the unshakable feeling I was experiencing a nervous breakdown. Warring impulses fought inside my brain, as if the wires for fight and flight had gotten crossed with another choice word that began with an F.

  What was wrong with me?

  “Come with me, Jason. We’ll have privacy in the champagne room.”

  Like in a dream, I let Keira pull me out of the plush red armchair and lead me to the curtained backroom. The dark space beyond the heavy purple curtains promised a world of pleasure. I traipsed after the seductive beauty, hypnotized by her gently swaying ass.

  Snap out of it, a voice whispered deep inside me. I ignored it.

  For a split second, that inner voice urged me to draw my machine pistol and fire the weapon into the ceiling. Maybe the resulting panic might snap me out of my hypnotic trance state. Then the thought was gone, and I was inside the champagne room, and my full focus was devoted to the woman smiling at me.

  The music in the club paused, and in that moment, the cobwebs in my brain cleared. This whole situation felt wrong. None of this could be real. I had underestimated the magic of this place, and I was about to become the club’s latest victim if I didn’t get a firm grip on reality. Before I could act, the music resumed, a
new song kicked in, and once more all I could think about was Keira.

  She slipped out of her string bikini, revealing herself in all her naked glory. Her breasts were on the smaller side but perky and proportional to her lithe, athletic physique. Her skin was tanned and flawless, the way I remembered, the thighs and calves shapely from dancing and running. She flashed me an inviting smile, and I became almost painfully hard.

  I grabbed her hair and pulled her toward me. Our tongues found each other as we traded hungry kisses. I felt her hand travel to my rock-hard groin, heard her pull back the zipper. I dipped my head to suck on her nipples, and she let out a moan which made me want her even more.

  The mission was forgotten, pushed to the back of my mind. Keira was all that mattered.

  She shoved me back onto a couch and lowered herself onto my stiff member with catlike grace, and I sighed. Damn, I had missed Keira more than I realized. I hadn’t exactly suffered for female company after becoming the Night Slayer, but there was something about Keira that was so refreshingly… normal. No sorcery. No tricks. Just a beautiful woman who wanted me.

  Her hypnotic gaze transfixed on me as she glided up and down my shaft, each sensual move sending waves of pleasure through my body.

  I knew I wouldn’t be able to hold out much longer.

  “Let yourself go, Jason. Give in to the pleasure.”

  I pulled her closer, buried my face in her breasts and exploded inside of her. My whole body shook as I looked up at her…

  … And my surroundings changed in a terrifying flash. Keira was gone, and the club had transformed around me. The comfortable armchairs replaced with rickety wooden chairs, the plush carpet now a garbage-strewn stone floor. Even the velvet curtain which separated the private room from the rest of the club had become ratty strips of fabric caked with dirt.

  What the fuck? Decadent opulence had given way to rundown, gutted bomb shelter.

  And the worst horror was still to come. Even though Keira had vanished, I still felt a sticky warmth on my crotch. Dread welled up in me as my eyes traveled downward. My next breath hitched in my throat. At first, my stunned brain couldn’t even process what it was seeing. A thick, slimy tentacle had engulfed my manhood, its mottled brown flesh writhing.