Shadow Detective Supernatural Dark Urban Fantasy Series: Books 7-9 (Shadow Detective Boxset Book 3)

by William Massa

  While crime raged in this uptown neighborhood and gunshots were a nightly occurrence, the sisters of St. Paul kept to themselves in their sprawling convent, devoted to a life of spiritual service. They prayed for the people in this city, prayed for peace, prayed for humanity.

  “What a colossal waste of time. Prayers are a poor substitute for action. Wouldn’t you agree, Raven?”

  I hadn’t asked for the demon’s opinion, but I didn’t completely disagree with him either. The rundown conditions of this neighborhood told their own sordid story. Prayers hadn’t saved the lost souls of the city. Nevertheless, many of the street people drew comfort from the knowledge that the nuns were putting in a good word for them with the man upstairs.

  “Prayers can’t save this world from the monsters. Prayers won’t stop Malcasta or defeat Mor—”

  “That’s enough, Cyon.”

  The demon grew silent. Perhaps Cyon was right. Perhaps no one was listening, but I was glad that at least some folks cared enough to keep praying for us.

  I parked the Hummer and made my way across a stretch of snow-covered grass. The blizzard had turned the cloister into a winter palace, transforming the ugly urban sprawl into something beautiful. The upturned collar of my trench coat and my beard protected me somewhat from the icy downfall, but it failed to stop my teeth from chattering.

  A statue of St. Paul greeted me near the building’s front entrance. The saint looked forlorn and abandoned as snow lashed his stony face. A lone sentinel in the wintry night. I experienced a strange kinship with that image.

  I’d visited the convent twice before with Skulick. Each time we had sought advice from Sister Elizabeth Dubois, the Mother Superior of St. Paul. Fourteen nuns called the cloister home, and their lives followed an ancient rhythm. They rose early in meditation and came together five times a day for prayer. The rest of their hours consisted of work, meals, study, and adoration of the Blessed Sacrament.

  “Sounds to me like the scared little penguins are all hiding from the real world in their castle. Locking themselves behind their four walls, burying their heads in ancient texts that hold little meaning anymore. They’ve never gotten laid, never gotten high. How can they ever relate to the common folks?”

  I took a deep breath and bit my lip. I wanted to throw an insult Cyon’s way, but what good would come of it? Getting into a verbal fight with him minutes before entering a convent wasn’t going to do either one of us any good. Cyon had little love for nuns. And what else could one, in all honesty, expect from a demon?

  I successfully resisted engaging in any more inner dialogue with Cyon and focused on the convent’s main entrance instead. The structure appeared abandoned this early in the morning, the snowfall combined with the early hour keeping everyone inside. On the way here, I’d felt certain about this move. Now I wasn’t so sure. Had I lost an hour fighting my way through traffic on a mere hunch? Was this whole trip about to reveal itself as one big waste of time?

  I would know more in a minute.

  I passed through the arched entrance and stepped into the well-heated reception area. Statues of saints and angels decorated the lobby. A nun sat behind a reception desk and shot me a suspicious look. Apparently, they didn’t get too many visitors at five in the morning. My ragged appearance didn’t help matters. The irony that a possessed man was setting foot in a convent in the hopes of seeking help from a nun wasn’t completely lost on me. I live a surreal life.

  “Can I help you, sir?” the nun behind the desk inquired evenly.

  “My name is Mike Raven. I’m here to see Sister Dubois. I’m a friend of Joe Skulick’s.”

  Her eyes brightened at the mention of my partner’s name. Skulick’s reputation had a way of preceding him.

  “Is she expecting you?”

  “No, but I need her help. Time is of the essence.”

  “She’s in the chapel with the other nuns. They’re holding morning prayers. You’ll have to wait here until…sir, where are you going?”

  As much as I was enjoying our little chat, I wasn’t going to hang around until Sister Dubois was ready to receive me. For all I knew, Malcasta had already broken Skulick’s will and was on her way over here. I had to see if my instincts were right about this. Was the Ice Witch’s heart being kept in this convent or not? The sooner I answered that question, the sooner I would be able to plan my next move.

  In truth, I already knew what I would do when I found the heart. If could get my hands on it first, I would be able to bargain for Skulick’s soul. Not that I planned to let a dangerous magical weapon fall into the hands of a psychotic witch whose idea of a good time was to cut her face off. But having the relic in my possession would give me the upper hand in any potential negotiation.

  The nun yelled after me as I rushed down the hallway. Was she going to call the cops on me? At this point, I didn’t care.

  Two other nuns brushed past me and eyed me with saucer eyes, clearly not used to seeing characters like me navigating these hallowed halls at such an early hour.

  I don’t know how many crosses and statues of saints I passed as I made my way toward the chapel. Not even my demon buddy was keeping count. In fact, he was suspiciously quiet. Demons didn’t ignite when they entered churches or other holy places. It wasn’t quite that simple. Relics needed to be imbued with magical power to affect the servants of darkness. Nevertheless, I sensed Cyon wished he could be anywhere else but this convent.

  I didn’t blame him.

  The convent creeped me out a little, too. The nuns in their flowing black-and-white robes, the pervasive silence and stuffiness, it all seemed unnatural to me. I had dedicated my life to fighting monsters, but I was a long way from being a saint.

  I worried I might get lost, but I remembered the layout from my past visits well enough to locate the chapel. I paused at the wooden entrance to the small church. My eyes were drawn to a large cross, and the Catholic school boy inside of me hesitated for a beat.

  I pressed my head against the door and opened it an inch. A quick glimpse inside the chapel revealed ten white-robed nuns engaged in hushed prayer. Suddenly, I felt like a sleaze for crashing the party.

  Judging by the huffing and puffing behind me, the nun who guarded the convent’s reception area had finally caught up. Her approach gave me that final push, and I stepped into the chapel, the door falling shut with a soft rasp.

  The nuns were in deep meditation and didn’t acknowledge my presence. I did my best to be silent even though my footsteps sounded like thunderclaps to my ears. Hushed whispers filled the room, prayers flowing from the nun’s lips in a steady rhythm. For a moment, I was reminded of the witches chanting in the drunk tank.

  “Prayer doesn’t undo the fabric of space and time,” Cyon chimed in.

  Don’t be a wiseass.

  “Just saying.”

  I inched closer to the nun who fronted the congregation. The Mother Superior must’ve sensed my approach because she looked up. Her eyes widened as she fully registered my presence. Did she recognize me from my last visit, or was she merely responding to the arrival of an unexpected guest?

  Now that Sister Dubois had seen me, I decided to remain in the shadows until she had a chance to wrap up the prayer session. I hoped she had picked up the urgency in my expression. Judging from her response, she did. The prayers abruptly ceased. The other nuns peered up, their curious glances landing on the stranger in their midst.

  Sure, I looked a bit rough around the edges, but that was only the half of it. I doubted they would have welcomed my arrival with such calm if they realized a demon had joined their congregation.

  They were still inspecting me in grave silence when the chapel’s door flew open, and the nun from the front desk barged in. The wheezing woman pointed at me wordlessly, a look of fury on her face. I expected her to tell me that the police were on their way.

  The nun was about to open her mouth when Sister Dubois waved her off, indicating the situation was under control. The nun hesi
tated for a beat, obviously still not convinced that I was to be trusted. Another look from Dubois made her back off. The head nun approached and kept her tone low as she addressed me.

  “Mr. Raven, to what do I owe this unexpected visit? And how is my good friend Skulick?”

  “He’s in trouble, sister Dubois and desperately needs your help.”

  The Mother Superior’s eyes bore into me, and I became self-conscious. I felt like she could see right through me. Was she able to sense the darkness inside? Could she detect the demon? My tattered coat, frazzled beard, and the sword strapped to my back didn’t exactly add up to a reassuring image. I did my best to hide my gloved reptilian hand in the pocket of my trench coat.

  “You don’t look so good, Mr. Raven. What is going on?”

  “This city is facing a witch problem.”

  I searched her face, curious how she would react. She did a good job of maintaining her composure, but she couldn’t hide the flicker of panic in her eyes.

  Bingo! I thought. I’ve come to the right place. Her next words confirmed what I already knew.

  “They’re here for the Ice Witch’s heart,” she said, her voice flat and empty of all emotion.

  “You have to tell me where it is, Sister, before the witches track it to this—”

  I broke off in mid-sentence, noticing how Sister Dubois’s face had drained of all color. Her eyes widened at something that had caught her attention behind me. I followed her gaze to the chapel’s stained-glass windows.

  Shadows flitted behind the glass, too many to count. The shapes kept hitting the window, thump-thump-thump, the dull pounding gaining in volume and intensity.

  Whatever is out there, it’s trying to get in.

  I barely had time to reach for Hellseeker before the chapel’s windows shattered in a cloud of multi-colored glass, and the world went straight to Hell.

  9

  Ear-shattering shrieks drowned out the sound of breaking glass as a flock of crows burst into the chapel. They were considered birds of omen and prophecy throughout history, associated with both the visible and invisible world. Only fitting Malcasta would use them to make a splashy entrance.

  For an eternal beat, the air was thick with circling black birds and the nuns frozen in a tableau. In their white robes and habits, one could almost mistake them for saintly statues come to eerie life.

  I gripped my blessed pistol and protectively stepped in front of Sister Dubois, my heart jackhammering. “Let’s go,” I whispered under my breath, my human hand reaching for Sister Dubois’s wrist. She didn’t budge, transfixed by the black cloud of flapping wings. Hoarse caws and clicks ripped through the chapel as they whirled above us, drawing closer and closer. I had stepped into a twisted remake of Alfred Hitchcock’s The Birds, and to put it mildly, I was not enjoying the experience.

  My gut told me that this was the proverbial calm before the storm. Things were about to get real ugly. A beat later, the crows dive-bombed the now-screaming nuns. God, sometimes I just hate being right.

  The birds viciously tore into the retreating sisters, sharp beaks finding soft flesh under their habits. Blood speckled their white robes, shattering the spectral appearance of the congregation.

  As the flock of attacking birds engulfed us, I fought back the temptation to draw fire. My bullets were more liable to hit the nuns than the crows. Sister Dubois in tow and gloved demon hand up to shield my head, I made my way toward the chapel’s exit.

  A crow shot toward my face, and my demon hand snapped out with inhuman speed. I plucked the bird from the air in mid-flight and brutally crushed its neck. The dead bird dropped to the stone floor.

  Another crow homed in on us and met a similar fate. So far, my enhanced reflexes had kept the Mother Superior and me safe, but the birds vastly outnumbered us. Plus, I knew Malcasta and her coven would soon be arriving on the scene. I had to get the nuns out of this chapel before it was too late. Then I would locate the witch’s heart in the cloister and put as much distance between myself and the coven as humanly possible. The birds were annoying, but they weren’t deadly. This was no doubt only the first phase of Malcasta’s attack.

  Sister Dubois and I were halfway to the door when I turned out to be right again. We passed two bleeding nuns who had successfully torn the ravenous birds off their habits. The sisters gasped in pain, and crimson coated the faces under the habits. My heart went out to them.

  “Sisters, follow me, I’ll lead you out of…”

  The words died on my lips as I got a good look at the two bloodied nuns. The features staring back at me from the habits had been pecked clean of all their skin, their fleshless lips distorted into mad grins. They unleashed a series of bloodcurdling cackles. The nuns were gone, replaced with skinned witches.

  Followers of Malcasta.

  “Sister Grace, Sister Alice?” the Mother Superior asked tentatively, reaching out one hand toward the transformed nuns.

  “Get back,” I snapped.

  Those women weren’t part of her flock anymore. I’d read about something like this before in one of Skulick’s books. The crows weren’t just animals or familiars under the control of the coven. No, these attacking birds contained the essences of Malcasta’s witches, and it was being transmitted to the nuns through the vicious bites and scratches, sort of like possession. My worst fears came true as more witch-nuns flittered through pools of darkness, moving like sharks, their monstrous visages leering back at me from underneath bloodied habits.

  One of the witch-nuns leaped at me, and I was forced to pull the trigger.

  The concussive blast catapulted the incoming creature across the chapel, and she collapsed with a bestial shriek into a row of pews. Spectral energy flashed, and with mounting horror I saw her face and hands begin to liquefy into a putrid puddle.

  Another banshee howl cut through the house of God, and I unleashed Hellseeker’s wrath once more. The blessed bullet perforated the two incoming killer nuns and knocked them backward. As their shrill inhuman shrieks echoed in the stone chamber, Sister Dubois let out a terrified gasp next to me.

  I’m sorry, Sister, I thought, but they left me no choice.

  The nuns were already dead and beyond saving—cursed the moment the razor-sharp beaks of those black magic crows turned them into witches.

  I sensed movement to my right and spun in that direction, gun ready. Up ahead, the birds rose and became one, the winged creatures morphing into a twirling black robe.

  Sister Dubois clutched my hand until it hurt, her body shivering with fright. We stood in the presence of true evil.

  For a beat, the billowing robe hovered in midair like a wraith. And then the fabric filled out, a skinless body growing into the material as the robe took on human dimensions and slid toward the ground.

  Malcasta was here!

  The witch regarded me with eyes that blazed with veiled madness, her skinned features monstrous to behold.

  I reflexively emptied my remaining bullets into the witch.

  Malcasta flinched as the volley slammed into her, less in pain than in irritation. The swirling robes easily absorbed the green glowing bullets and extinguished their lights. Her followers might’ve succumbed to my blessed bullets, but Hellseeker’s magic was no match for the power this infernal spell-slinger wielded.

  “I finally meet the guardian of the Witch’s Heart,” Malcasta said. “I can’t say I’m impressed.”

  Her raspy voice echoed in the chapel, and a devilish smile played across those mauled features. Her robe undulated as if made of something living instead of cloth. I detected the vague shapes of crows in the unfurling robes.

  Malcasta fixed her attention on me. “And you must be Mike Raven, dear Skulick’s little pet.”

  I stayed quiet, my body coiled and ready to spring into action at a moment’s notice. I was eager to draw Demon Slayer. My blessed pistol might be a joke to Malcasta, but I doubted she would feel the same way about the magical sword strapped to my back.

  �
�How does it feel to know that the man who raised you like a father is dying?”

  I tried to keep my cool, but the words set off an emotional chain reaction beyond my control. Lightning fast, I drew the sword and closed in on the witch. There was no fear in those inhuman eyes, merely amusement.

  “You aren’t the first man to face me with a sword. And you will not be the last.”

  I had covered about half the distance between us when the witch brought up her skinless hands and snapped her clawed fingers, sending a spell blast my way. The air grew heavy with mystical energy, and the pews flanking me on both sides came to life. Wood screeched against the stone floor as the furniture closed in on me like a pair of wooden pincers.

  With devastating force, the two pews smashed into me. I gasped in pain.

  The impact would have stopped me cold if I was still fully human. Fortunately, demonic possession came with a few fringe benefits—it had turned me into a badass. Well, more of a badass. I like to think that I was doing okay even before Cyon’s help.

  Malcasta flicked her hands, rocketing another spell my way. A concussive ball of energy slammed into me, and the blast sent me flying.

  I cried out in agony as I crashed into a statue of one of the saints. The statute fell and shattered, pieces of marble spilling over the church floor. The broken-off head of a saint I couldn’t identify—it had been a while since Bible school—stared emptily back at me.

  I heaved myself back to my feet and staggered toward Malcasta. The witch was gliding toward Sister Dubois, feet inches off the ground.

  I moved as quickly as my battered body allowed me. Malcasta observed me, not impressed by my stubbornness.