She leaned closer, eyes shiny with madness.
“My new master plans to feed off all the hatred and despair of this world until he is powerful enough to turn on Satan and seize control over the dimension of darkness.”
Politics aren’t my strong suit, especially not those of the demon realm. Too much drama for my taste. But apparently a war was brewing in Hell, and Lamia had sided with a demon who was closing in on Satan’s turf. The question was, which Duke of Hell was brazen enough to spearhead such an act of treason?
I tried to make her see the truth. “It doesn’t matter who you serve. This demon is using you…”
“We are using each other.” With these words, Lamia rose to her feet. “I must thank you, Raven. We now have the grimoire, the key to our plan.”
I swallowed hard and asked, “What are you talking about?”
“Tonight, some of the most influential people in the world will attend our auction. As you know, we built quite a reputation for ourselves over the last few months. They’ve traveled far and wide to get their hands on your copy of the Daemonium. Some seek power; some hope to conjure devils and unlock ancient secrets. What they don’t realize is that the grimoire isn’t for sale.”
A chill crept up my spine, disturbed by the confidence in Lamia’s voice.
“What are you planning on doing?” I asked.
“The time has come for my master to expand his influence over this world. Turn man against man. If a kingdom is divided against itself, it cannot stand. Mark 3:24.”
Blood drained from my face as I finally grasped her plan. “A demonic invasion? Are you insane?”
She licked her lips, eyes glittering. It should have been alluring, but instead my skin crawled. “Tonight, the world’s elite will gather at my auction, and my master’s most loyal demonic soldiers will take over the minds and souls of some of the richest influencers on the planet. His minions will return to the countries of their new hosts and spread my master’s gospel of hatred and despair, armed with enough wealth and connections to sow conflict and violence among their people.
I swallowed hard. This was a nightmare. Lamia was putting together a global cabal of demons hellbent on tearing this world apart. I didn’t want to imagine what horrors these agents of darkness would unleash once they were free. I’ve seen many evil entities take over human bodies; usually it was an act of opportunity by lower level demons eager to get a taste of our world. Lamia’s plan promised something different—an organized power grab of the world’s elite. The first phase in a grander plan to usurp control of Hell and defeat its current leader, the Prince of Lies. And that raised a question: Which demon did Lamia serve? Who would dare to plot against Satan himself?
Almost as if she could read my mind, Lamia said, “I believe you have crossed paths with my master before.”
Lamia leaned closer and whispered in my ear, her breath hot against my skin.
“I serve none other than Morgal, Duke of Hell and future Lord of Darkness.”
12
Cyon unleashed a bestial roar inside my head, and I wanted to join in the demon’s rage. While we had been busy plotting and strategizing and hunting other monsters, the archdemon hadn’t remained idle. He must have contacted Crull’s daughter and helped her rebuild the Crimson Circle, with the goal of turning the cult’s followers into Morgal’s soldiers here on Earth. I could almost hear the archdemon’s mocking laughter echoing through my soul.
What fools we’d been!
And now we were going pay the price for our shortsightedness. All too soon, Morgal’s most loyal demons would enter this world and begin to remake Earth in the archdemon’s image. With his power growing, the monster who had slaughtered my parents would turn his attention to the throne of Hell. Would Morgal be able to defeat Satan? I didn’t know, but many innocent lives would perish for his ambition. What nightmares would his agents unleash across the globe? Plagues, monsters, wars—horrors I couldn’t even fathom.
Worst of all, Morgal’s minions had the grimoire, the source of Cyon’s black magic powers. Without it, the demon couldn’t cast spells and didn’t stand a chance against his former master. What should have been our greatest weapon against Morgal had become an instrumental element in his plans of conquest instead. And what a plan it was. Diabolical and ingenious. If I wasn’t so terrified, I might have been impressed.
I had believed the Crimson Circle was bolstering its bank accounts with these occult auctions. I could have not been more wrong about their motives. Now I realized their sale of ancient relics served a far darker purpose—they were bait. As the underground auctions grew more popular among the super-rich, more powerful people became tempted to attend them.
And tonight, the trap would snap shut.
I had to get out here. Easier said than done. No brilliant plan presented itself, so I decided to stall for time.
“You only have one copy of the grimoire,” I said to Lamia as she got to her feet. “Good luck conjuring Morgal’s buddies without the other two copies of the Daemonium.”
As far as I knew, there existed three copies of the Daemonium. The White Crescent kept two at their headquarters in Italy, and Lamia now owned the third volume. If someone should be foolish enough to reunite the three volumes, they would morph into a single infernal tome. Only then would the book’s true power be unlocked.
Lamia grinned at me. “I’m well aware of the limitations of your little book of magic. That’s why I went on a field trip to Italy.”
As she spoke, Lamia donned the Noh mask again, and her features changed into the familiar face of Father Cabrera. My blood turned to ice. Lamia must’ve used the Noh mask to impersonate the man. Had she harmed the real Cabrera?
Lamia continued in Cabrera’s voice. “We have all three copies of the Daemonium, my dear Raven, and tonight we will unleash their power upon this world.”
The exorcist commander smiled and morphed back into Lamia. Her eyes blazed with hate and madness. She was even more insane than her father.
“Did you believe you could go up against a Duke of Hell and win?” she asked.
My answer was to launch into Lamia again. The rational part of my brain knew it was a mistake, but my emotions were in the driver’s seat now, helped along by Cyon’s explosive fury.
I savagely hurled myself at Lamia and slammed into a magical force shield. It felt like running headfirst into a brick wall. I bounced off the invisible barrier and hit the floor. Hard. I tasted copper, and my bones popped as I looked up at the cult leader.
“Poor, poor Raven. I wish you could be there when Morgal’s plan comes to fruition. But as you rot away in jail, you will have a front row seat to the world Morgal’s agents will herald into existence. And once humanity falls, and Morgal takes his rightful place in Hell, he’ll visit you and your pathetic demon partner one night, and you can all reminisce about the good old days.”
Stay down, I urged Cyon as he tried to push my body into another attack. We needed to save our strength. Maintain our sanity. Lamia’s peal of laughter rang out as she turned away from me and left the interrogation room, looking like Benson again thanks to the mask’s magic.
I cracked my neck, spit blood, and stumbled to my feet.
“What are we going to do?” I mumbled.
“We get out of here,” Cyon replied, his voice a dry whisper.
Rage boiled under his controlled voice. Morgal had played us both for fools, but for Cyon, the betrayal was a repeat of their ancient history. His fury was so deep that it felt like I was being burned from the inside out.
“Chill out,” I said. “Just stay calm and we’ll get out of this.”
Cyon didn’t respond. I had never felt this kind of overwhelming emotion from him before.
I eyed the locked door of the interrogation room and then turned my attention to the one-way mirror. Was escape possible? There was a demon inside of me, which gave me a considerable edge. Increased strength and stamina, heightened reflexes, a savage proclivity for
violence and combat. But I wasn’t willing to harm innocent cops to break out of this place. Besides, I was unarmed—and, despite my new abilities, not bulletproof.
My thoughts broke off as the door opened again. Benson entered. He regarded me with a shocked expression. There was no trace of Lamia’s crazy arrogance in the man’s features.
Looks like the real Benson finally made it, I thought.
“What the hell is going on, Raven?” he asked.
Where to begin, buddy?
Could I persuade the detective? I doubted my bleeding face inspired much confidence.
Cyon must’ve come to the same conclusion. He decided to take action without consulting me first. My demon claw shot out at the stunned detective. It snapped around his wrist, the talons drawing blood. Benson gasped. Guttural sounds in an alien tongue burst from my chattering lips.
Damnit Cyon, what the hell are you doing?!
He didn’t answer. The demon was in full control.
A beat later, Benson’s eyes rolled back, showing the whites.
“I’m sorry, Raven, but this is where we part. It has been…interesting. Thank you for your hospitality.”
What was the demon babbling about? A second later, I received my answer.
I started to shake all over. It felt like someone was sucking the air out of my lungs and draining my blood at the same time. Benson’s skin was hot to the touch against my reptilian demon hand, but Cyon refused to let go.
And then Benson’s eyes rolled back again, returning to normal—except for a momentary flicker of demonic red. A weight lifted from me, and I slumped forward. My mouth worked spasmodically, desperate for precious oxygen. I blearily stared at Benson as the door of the interrogation room flung open and armed cops poured in. A yawning emptiness gripped me as the officers tore me away from the detective. This time, no magic trick had disguised my actions. To the cops watching us on the other side of the one-way mirror, I had just attacked the detective like a rabid dog.
As the officers slammed me to the cold cement floor, my gaze met Benson’s. I recognized Cyon’s wry expression in his features.
As Benson, now under Cyon’s possession, turned away from me, I eyed my right hand. The demon skin was gone, the limb having returned to normal. And so had my physical abilities. The increased strength, speed, constitution—all gone. I was human again, regular old Mike Raven. The demon had ditched me for a better ride, having decided the detective would be his fastest way out of this place. His vengeance took precedence over everything, even our partnership.
This development should have made me whoop with joy…so why did I feel like someone had cut off one of my limbs, torn away an essential part from my soul?
13
7 Hours Earlier
Archer kept stealing glances at Raven’s sleeping features as she got dressed. In the early morning sunlight trickling into the bedroom, the man looked at peace. She couldn’t bring herself to wake him up. Raven deserved his rest. He’d been through hell and back and needed a break from all the horrors. She could give him that, at least.
More battles lay ahead, and they both better be ready. The incident at the movie theater served as a sharp reminder of the formidable enemy they faced. Last night, they’d scored a victory, but the war had just begun.
Guilt nagged at her as she slipped out of the loft. She remembered all too well their first night together and how low she’d felt when she woke up alone the next day. Her early departure wasn’t payback; she had forgiven him. Even understood why he had been scared of pulling her into his world of monsters and demons. Things were different now. She was different. She’d become a monster herself. She’d taken human life and sought redemption as a vampire hunter. Tracking vampires had seemed like the right path, but under Skulick’s guidance, she soon realized this mission went beyond battling one breed of evil. The forces of darkness took on many forms. The cult they were up against was a perfect example of how humans could be as monstrous as vampires. These fanatics had sold their souls to the devil. Someone had to stop them.
That’s why she left the loft without saying goodbye to the man snoring away peacefully in the next room. There was work to be done. Raven might not realize it yet, but she would help him take down this super cult.
This was her city, too.
Outside, the November sun warmed her features as she headed for her motorcycle. The heat was a nice change of pace from the freezing temperatures she had braved a few weeks earlier when they duked it out with the witches. She wished she could somehow skip winter this year, take off to some tropical paradise and sit out the cold months. It was an appealing fantasy, but Archer would never abandon the city during its time of need.
She swung on the bike, zipped up her black leather jacket, and slipped on the helmet. While she carved down city streets, wind tugging her exposed skin, she tried to focus on the plan, but her thoughts kept turning to last night. She hadn’t planned to go to bed with Raven, hadn’t even seen him since they defeated Malcasta. She didn’t regret it…but that didn’t mean they should give into their passion again.
Even though I want to, she thought, admitting to herself that no matter how much she tried to rationalize it, this was more than just a one-night stand. This was the beginning of something much more.
Loving Mike Raven was crazy. For crying out loud, Raven was possessed by a demon. A demon! Any sane individual would know this couldn’t end well, but she hadn’t been able to resist him. Their connection ran far deeper than physical attraction. She recognized herself in Raven’s haunted gaze. Understood his pain. Experienced his loneliness.
They’d lost so much in the last few months. Friends. Jobs. Mentors.
And almost their souls.
They both faced the darkness every day, both within and without, yet they kept on fighting. Despite his possession, Raven had turned the demon into a formidable weapon for good. She’d seen Raven fight the witches and wield his new magical sword like he’d been born with it. And now he was delving into magic.
Black Magic, she reminded herself.
She shivered when she thought about the dangers Raven faced. The temptation. Maybe a battle for Raven’s soul still lay ahead, but his chances were far better if she was in his corner. She would help him bring down this cult. And she would stand by his side when he confronted the archdemon Morgal.
Speaking of demons, Archer knew little about the entity that now dwelled within Raven. The details remained shrouded in mystery. Mostly because Raven didn’t like to talk about it. Maybe, as time went on, she would learn more. She could sense the creature though, could recognize the beast in the way Raven moved and looked at his enemies. He had always been a fighter, but he’d become a warrior. Gone was the boy struggling to step out of his mentor’s shadow. The last few months had turned the occult detective into a man. He was more mature now—and she wasn’t talking about some new gray hairs in his beard. The monster hunter seemed more world-weary and cynical but also wiser.
And as the demon had given Raven an edge, perhaps he had softened the infernal nature of the beast. After all, the demon had granted them a night of privacy—not exactly the behavior she expected from a servant of darkness. But where did they go from here? Archer doubted the demon would leave Raven’s body every time they got together. Was their relationship doomed, or would she be giving herself to both a man and a demon?
Reality broke her out of her anxious thoughts. Up ahead, a rundown Irish pub jumped into view. Archer parked her bike right in front of the bar where she could keep an eye on it. The neighborhood was as shabby as the establishment she was about to walk into, and her motorcycle could attract the wrong attention.
She expected to find the place deserted, but to her surprise two old-timers sat at the bar, nursing beers like they were coffees while leafing through the morning newspapers. They eyed her curiously. Not too many females frequented Brennan’s at this time of day, or at least not ones that looked like Archer.
She paid the
m no mind and searched the bar for Ronny, her former CI. She found him behind a stack of dirty pint glasses, busy switching out a keg. He flashed her a grin and rose to his feet. Ronny Marquez was twenty-eight, tall, and muscular, his black shirt hiding a body covered in gang tattoos. She had busted him five years earlier for selling drugs but had sensed he could prove valuable. Instead of jail, Ronny had become a criminal informant. They weren’t friends but respected each other. Archer had given Ronny an opportunity to turn his life around when no one else cared a damn about his future. And Ronny never forgot the chance the rookie cop had taken on him.
They hadn’t seen each other in over a year when she approached him a few months ago. She had begun her campaign against the bloodsuckers and needed more street intel. Ronny had put his criminal past behind him, but he still kept his ear close to the ground. The dive bar drew its share of shady clientele, and Ronny knew everyone by name. If a hooker went missing, a druggie ended up dead in a dumpster, or a group of suspicious individuals squatted in some derelict building, Ronny heard about it. He was on speaking terms with lowlifes and lost souls, and his information had helped her locate the daytime hiding places of Marek’s vampires.
This time she wasn’t here to chat about vampires. The Crimson Circle held their auctions in abandoned buildings—theaters, sports stadiums, museums, places befitting of an occult auction. These off-the-grid locations projected an air of mystique and attracted little attention from the authorities. Last time they’d spoken, she’d asked Ronny to contact her if he heard anything about an upcoming event. He had texted her late last night, and she’d promised to meet him first thing in the morning. She’d meant to tell Raven about it, but she wanted to make sure she had a real lead first.
Ronny nodded at one the beer taps. “You look like you need a drink.”
Archer shook her head. “I’m all about caffeine in the morning.”
“I brew a mean pot of coffee.”
Shadow Detective Supernatural Dark Urban Fantasy Series: Books 7-9 (Shadow Detective Boxset Book 3) Page 19