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

by William Massa

It was true. Nothing hinted at the horrible massacre which had occurred within these walls. Bloodstains had been scrubbed clean, and new windows had replaced the shattered panes. Even the wards were back in place. With Cyon’s magical help, I had warded every square inch of the loft, transforming it into an impregnable fortress.

  During the clean-up process, I had refused to spend a single night here, overseeing repairs during the day and retreating to the anonymity of a fleabag motel once the sun went down. Skulick haunted this place—not literally, thank heaven. But everywhere I looked, I was reminded of him. Would the loft ever feel like a home again without him in it? I doubted it, but only time would tell. The bodies of the dead exorcists were gone, but the memory of what had happened here lingered, haunting me when I closed my eyes at night. I would rather brave bedbugs and shady neighbors than face the past on my own during the wee hours of the morning. But now Archer’s calming presence filled me with a sense of peace.

  “Some nice moves back there at the theater,” I said.

  Archer grinned from ear to ear. “I think we make a good team.”

  My first instinct was to say I work alone but wisely kept my mouth shut. Who was I kidding? I never worked alone, not really. There was Skulick, then Cyon. So why not partner with Archer?

  Because I can’t stand to lose her, too, I thought.

  Her smiling features turned serious. “Listen, I know you’ve been keeping your distance. I get it. We all grieve in different ways.” She took a step closer. “But you don’t have to go through this on your own. You’re not the only one who lost a good friend.”

  Only inches separated us now. I inhaled Archer’s scent, the faint strawberry smell of shampoo mixing with the leather of her jacket. I wanted to reach out, wrap my arms around her and bury my face in hair. But something held me back. Was it fear? Or something else? Jealousy, perhaps. A demon dwelled within me, and I didn’t want to share Archer with Cyon.

  Almost as if sensing the reason for my reluctance, Archer made the first move, her fingers brushing against my gloved hand. “Show me.”

  I hesitated, scared to expose the reptilian claw my pact with Cyon had earned me. Once again, Archer acted for me and pulled the glove off. In the moonlight trickling through the loft’s oblong windows, the thick-skinned hand looked even more monstrous. To my surprise, Archer pressed it against her cheek. Her skin felt warm against the mottled leather hide.

  “I’m not afraid of your scars.”

  “It’s more than a scar. I’m tainted.”

  “You are one of the good guys. How often do you have to prove it?”

  She moved in even closer, and my body stirred. Needs which I had neglected for way too long now flared up.

  “Stop thinking about what happened in this place. Take your mind off the future. Focus on the here and now.”

  What do you say, Cyon? I mentally asked my demonic partner. Can I get a little privacy?

  In response, a shiver passed through me, and Cyon left my body. For a split second, I saw the demon behind Archer, back in his semi-human form. This wasn’t the well-built Templar Knight the Ice Witch had seduced centuries ago. I was looking at the tall, bald, and gaunt figure I’d first encountered in Marek’s junkyard when he’d been trapped inside a binding circle, drained by the vampire-demon to the brink of death. I nodded at Cyon, wondering how long he could exist outside of my body but smart enough not to push my luck and find out.

  As the demon walked away from us, I scooped up Archer in my arms and carried her to my bedroom, heart pounding with a mixture of fear and excitement. She was like a fragile doll in my arms, and a sense of peace fell over me as she leaned her head against my chest.

  I gently lowered her on my bed and lost myself in her embrace. For one brief, blissful moment, I put all my problems aside, reality reduced to the warmth of our hungry lips and the ecstasy of our touch.

  But even as my mouth found hers, I knew deep down this wouldn’t last.

  I would turn out to be right sooner than I thought.

  6

  My eyes snapped open, and I jerked wide awake. A quick glance at my watch made me groan. No one had ever called me a morning person, and it required a healthy dose of caffeine for me to come to life in the wee hours. I hunted monsters at night, which meant it was rare for me to drag my ass out of bed before noon. Waking up at three am, feeling energized and ready to take on the world, was out of character.

  I eyed Archer’s sleeping form, her face relaxed. She was a goddess, an angel, and a warrior wrapped in one breathtaking package. How had I gotten so lucky? Looking at her filled me both with joy and a crushing sense of anxiety. Having her in my life—in my bed—made my heart beat faster, yet it also stirred an old fear. People who got too close to me ended up getting hurt…or worse. I thought of my parents. Of Skulick. Other friends who had fallen prey to the forces of darkness over the years. If you hung around with me, you were painting a big target on your back. I had kept Archer at arm’s length in the past for that specific reason, but I was only human, despite the demon hitching a ride inside of me.

  I couldn’t fight this battle on my own.

  I planted a kiss on Archer’s cheek and stifled the temptation to snuggle up to her. Waking her would be selfish. Instead, I climbed out of bed and slipped on a pair of sweats and a tank top. Gingerly, I took a few steps and then froze, startled by the figure lurking in the room’s corner.

  Cyon peeled from the shadows. “I hope you had fun.”

  And with those words, he stepped into my body, the two of us becoming one again. My insides tightened. I would never get used to this shit.

  I don’t know how long I stood there in the dark while I adjusted to having Cyon back inside my body and mind again, a lurking but palpable presence. Inhuman. Terrifying. And lately, strangely comforting. What was happening to me? To us?

  “Don’t you think it’s a bit early for self-analysis? I’m hungry—let’s eat.”

  Good point. I left the bedroom as noiselessly as possible and headed for the loft’s kitchen, where I helped myself to an apple. As I munched away, sweet juice dripping down my lips, my gaze turned to Skulick’s sprawling desk. I didn’t pay the bank of monitors any mind; my interest was fixed on the grimoire sitting next to them. Without consciously deciding to do it, I headed for the desk and scooped up the book.

  “Are you doing this?” I asked out loud. Having a silent, two-sided conversation gave me a headache.

  Cyon didn’t answer, apparently unwilling to explain my strange actions. What was the demon up to? Sometimes, it felt like a separate entity lived inside me, a creature I could have internal conversations with. But increasingly, our personalities were merging. The thought of our souls becoming one filled me with dread. Was Cyon trying to take me over?

  “Relax, monster hunter. I just had an idea.”

  Cyon’s voice sounded calm, playful almost, and the tension eased out of me. Being possessed by a demon tends to make a guy paranoid, but so far Cyon hadn’t done anything to harm me.

  “What sort of idea?” I asked, my tone low as to not wake Archer.

  “Better if I show you.”

  Okay, call me intrigued. “By the way, thanks for last night. I appreciate you giving us some privacy.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  And with these words, the demon grew silent again.

  I pushed all other thoughts of Archer aside and let Cyon do the driving. Grimoire in one hand, I walked through the loft. Pale moonlight carved pockets of light from the darkness. To my surprise, the demon steered me to the staircase. Before I knew it, I was climbing the stairs again, on my way to the vault. I reached the massive door, which had failed to stop the Crimson Circle. Once the witches had disabled the loft’s protective wards, breaking into the chamber had turned out to be a piece of cake for the super-cult. We had revamped the security system, incorporating magic and technology to keep the bad guys out.

  I punched in the new security code, and the iron door rumbled
open. Recessed LED lights flooded the vault and made the steel-reinforced walls gleam. Like in a dream, I homed in on the seven film canisters. One by one, I opened them, the air growing denser as the evil magic contained within the movie seeped into the vault.

  I sucked in the dark essence, and my lips mouthed words in a foreign tongue. Was it Latin or Aramaic or an even older language? Ancient words in dead languages which could unlock forgotten secrets. I had no idea what any of them meant; Cyon was in charge here.

  The air crackled with electricity as the incantation opened a channel of communication with the grimoire. The ancient tome hummed with dark power, and the leather cover grew hot to the touch. My lips stopped moving, and all sound drained from the world. The air stirred, and I forgot to exhale, my chest tight with tension.

  A blue fireball formed around my reptilian demon claw. Flames licked my transformed fingers, flickering in hungry anticipation. My hand rose, my claws snapped together in the same way the witches had clicked their long nails, and then Cyon flung the fireball at the open film canisters.

  The reels erupted in blue flames. A deafening scream of pain and anger echoed through the vault. Luco’s death cry reverberated as his celluloid realm went up in flames. Where ordinary fire had failed, black magic succeeded.

  I watched in rapt fascination as the blue fire consumed the movie. Luco’s screams finally faded, and a cool breeze brushed my face. Were the spirits of the trapped actors thanking me before they moved on to the next world? I liked to think so. I prayed they were about to find the peace Luco had denied them for so long.

  Silence fell over the vault. The fire died down.

  I eyed the now empty film canisters. Nothing remained of the reels. The fireball had consumed everything, not even leaving any ashes behind. I allowed myself a smile. The grimoire’s magic had erased the cursed film from this world. Cyon’s ability to cast spells was still freaking me out, but the demon had come through.

  “I hate to admit it, but you did good.

  “Thank you. I knew you would approve.”

  I shook my head. Cyon wasn’t known for being modest.

  I left the vault, satisfied. The hopelessness and anxiety I had experienced earlier dissipated. I had needed a small victory like this, something to convince me that I could still make a difference. Correction, that we, Cyon and myself, could tilt the balance in favor of the forces of good.

  I yawned as sleepiness gripped me. Such an immense output of magic was exhausting.

  I had almost reached my room when a sudden sound gave me pause.

  Clutching the grimoire, I squinted into the pool of shadows, praying my sleep-deprived imagination had conjured the sound. The hairs on my neck stood up as I took a cautious step into the darkness.

  A hand clasped my shoulder, and I almost jumped out of my skin.

  I spun around and came face to face with…Skulick.

  My heart sank. My mentor cut a pitiful figure. His face looked ashen and gaunt, his bloodless features white as a shroud. His lips kept mouthing words, but they produced no sound.

  What was he trying to tell me? Was his ghost trapped in the loft? It made sense—he’d hardly ever left the place after the accident that had crippled him—but why hadn’t my enhanced senses detected him until now? Ever since being marked by the demon Morgal when I was only ten years old, I could catch fleeting glimpses of the restless dead. My abilities paled in compared to a psychic like Joe Cormac, but I should have sensed Skulick’s lingering presence.

  “Skulick, can you hear me? What do you want me to do?” I asked.

  My partner’s grave expression deepened. I could tell he was attempting to bridge the gap between the realm of the dead and the world of the living.

  He was trying to communicate with me. And failing.

  His eyes bulged, his lips moving faster yet failing to produce any sounds. A moment later, he vanished, and I found myself in an empty loft again.

  Why had his soul returned? Had he meant to warn me? What if he was in pain or trapped between the realm of the living and—

  The thought broke off as my gaze fell on the door leading to Skulick’s bedroom. I made out a series of letters carved across the door’s wooden surface.

  Skulick had left me a message, three words that shattered my world: I AM ALIVE!

  7

  After my ghostly encounter, I had doubted I’d be able to fall asleep, but as soon as my head hit the pillow, I was out cold. Casting the spell inside the vault had exhausted me on a physical level, and my bone-tired body effortlessly silenced my restless mind. By the time I woke around noon, Archer had already left the loft, a note on my other pillow telling me she would be in touch.

  I was disappointed to find her gone. The morning after was always tricky. The last time we had spent a night together, I’d been the one to steal out of her place before she woke up. History appeared to be repeating itself. So this must be how it felt when the shoe was on the other foot. I didn’t like it. Not one bit.

  I showered and decided to give Joe Cormac a ring. Unlike most psychics, Cormac hadn’t been born with the ability to communicate with the dead. An IED had nearly killed him in Afghanistan, triggering his latent psychic potential. The explosion stopped his heart; he’d been clinically dead for over five minutes. By the time the medics revived him, Cormac’s world had changed.

  Our paths had first crossed during the Soul Catcher case, and Cormac was slowly coming into his own. He was accepting his newfound powers, seeing them as a gift instead of a curse. His new attitude had helped him land a job at the Nexus Foundation, where Dr. Richard Mason, a quantum physicist with an obsessive interest in the paranormal, was putting together a team of gifted people.

  Between his gig at Nexus and his new lady friend, things were looking up in Cormac’s world. I was happy for him. He had come a long way from the haunted war vet I’d first met months earlier. If Skulick’s ghost was trapped inside the loft, Cormac would help him.

  My mind made up, I rang the psychic. Cormac assured me he would be over in an hour. As I waited for him to arrive, I kept studying the message Skulick had etched into his bedroom door.

  I AM ALIVE!

  I furrowed my eyebrows. Could it be true? I had believed that his death had triggered the destruction of the orb containing his soul. Now I wasn’t so sure. The cult might be keeping him alive somehow. I shivered. What had these fanatics done to my partner?

  Despite my fear, I also experienced a twinge of hope. According to Cyon, it became impossible to reunite a soul with its body after forty-eight hours. Weeks had passed since the witch had torn my partner’s soul from his physical form, yet maybe there was still a chance. Skulick had shown himself to me for a reason. As long as Skulick’s heart still beat in his chest, I could save him. I would save him.

  Tracking down my partner’s body had become priority one.

  I let out a sigh of relief when the bell rang, and Cormac’s handsome yet grave features popped up on the loft’s security feed. Not only had I warded the place, but I had also replaced the security cam system. I try not to advertise it, but my parents had left me a considerable inheritance when they passed. As my legal custodian, Skulick had invested my money wisely and turned that inheritance into a small fortune. Battling Hell’s Legions didn’t come cheap, and I was more than grateful not have to hold down a day job while hunting hell beasts at night.

  Ding! The elevator popped open, and Cormac entered the loft. He looked like a different man than the one I’d first met: healthy, vibrant, energetic. It was nice to see the psychic looking happy for a change, and perhaps I envied him a little. Having a good woman in his life was doing wonders for him.

  Cormac shot me a long, suspicious look as he approached. Even though I had proven myself during our recent battle with a ghoul, I sensed his hesitation. He knew about the demon inside of me, thanks to Father Cabrera. Despite his misgivings, he trusted me. He had not only answered my phone call, but he was here now, ready to help.


  He searched my face for a beat, and I did my best to break the ice with a little polite chitchat.

  “How is Jennifer?” I asked.

  “How is your demon partner?” he countered.

  “I’m making sure he behaves.” At least for now.

  Cormac smiled at my wry comment, and his sober expression relaxed. “Jennifer is doing much better.”

  It was my turn to smile. “That’s great news. She went through hell that night.”

  Varthek, the ghoul had kidnapped poor Jennifer, hoping to use her life force to fuel her deceased father’s terrible ritual. I had worried about the young woman and feared she might become another statistic in the war against the darkness. It was a miracle she had survived that terrible night. Like Cormac, she was one tough cookie.

  “What’s going on, Raven? What do you need?”

  The time for small talk and exchanging pleasantries had ended. I quickly recounted my ghostly experience of the other night.

  Joe Cormac studied me for a beat after I finished my story. “Let me see if I can pick up anything.”

  I nodded, took a step back and let the psychic work. A half-hour later, Cormac shook his head and slumped his shoulders. “He’s not here.”

  A mixture of disappointment and relief washed over me. I wanted to talk to my partner but hated the possibility of him being trapped inside the loft for all eternity.

  “Thanks for trying, Joe. I really appreciate you coming out here on such short notice.”

  “Anytime. I owe you. You saved the woman I love.”

  His words brought a smile to my face. My line of work didn’t result in many happy endings.

  “Any idea why Skulick would reach out to me?” I asked.

  Cormac considered the question. “He might be trapped in a kind of limbo, unable to return to his body and unable to move on to the next world.”

  The thought had occurred to me too. What if Skulick was stuck in a purgatory from which he couldn’t escape on his own? An in-between place bordering the world of the living and the realm of the dead—I didn’t like to think about what torture that would be for him.