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

by William Massa

  So instead of unleashing the magical firestorm he had hoped for, Cyon had merely managed to mine enough power from the book to cast one of the simplest spells he could conceive. A spell designed to loosen the restraints around Archer’s spread-eagled arms.

  And it had worked. The vampire huntress was indeed free. He spotted her a few feet away from the pentagram as she crept toward the Witch Whip sitting on the altar. Did she really think she could stand against Morgal armed with a little whip? He had freed her to give Archer a chance to escape. It was to be his final gift to Raven. But now the foolish girl seemed determined to stay and fight.

  Run, he thought even though he knew Archer could not hear him. Flee before it’s too late.

  The archdemon stepped up to the edge of the binding circle to gloat in his moment of triumph. “Welcome to eternity, traitor!”

  Archer watched the fight between Benson and Skulick in stunned silence. It took her longer than she would have liked to admit to figure out that Skulick was possessed by Morgal. She knew that name. Though Raven had been reluctant to speak about what happened to his parents, Skulick had filled her in on the details. And Morgal addressed her boss as “Cyon,” which meant Raven’s resident demon had ditched him in favor of Benson.

  The two men she admired most in the world were being controlled by demons, forced to fight each other in what seemed to be a battle to the death, while the man she loved was missing. It was too much, but Archer wouldn’t let herself look away. When Morgal began raining punches into the African-American detective, landing one bone-crunching blow after another, she cried out and began struggling against her bonds. Seeing her new mentor reducing her former boss’s face to a bloodied pulp was sickening. Detective Benson was turning into one more casualty in the war against the darkness.

  She had to do something. Stop this massacre somehow. Gritting her teeth, she strained against the ropes binding her to the pentagram with all her might, but it was no use.

  So when the restraints miraculously loosened around her wrists a few moments later, she at first couldn’t believe what was happening. Benson—no, Cyon—caught her eye and gave her the tiniest wink. Cyon was helping her. But how?

  There was only one answer. Magic.

  Raven had mentioned the demon’s burgeoning powers. And apparently, even though Cyon had switched hosts, he could still cast spells. Regardless of how he had done it, Cyon had given her a fighting chance, and she intended to take advantage of it. She was going to act.

  Her eyes combed the church and landed on the Witch Whip resting on the altar next to the pulsing book of magic. Determined, she slipped her arms from her restraints and darted away from the pentagram, making a go for the whip.

  Archer was about to snatch her weapon when Morgal spun toward her, his inhuman gaze full of power and hatred. Without hesitation, she cracked the whip at him, but the leather strap refused to strike its target. Instead, the whip shot past Morgal and whipped toward the wooden beams criss-crossing the ceiling. One end snapped around a beam like a grappling hook. Her whip had never failed to find its target before. Somehow, it was being directed by Morgal’s magic. Before Archer knew what was happening, the other end of the whip wrapped around her throat like a noose.

  With aloud whoosh, the whip dragged Archer up toward the rafters. Her fingers tried to slip under the whip as it dug deeper into her neck, her legs kicking thin air below. Stars clouded her field of vision, and she gasped like a fish on land.

  Watching her suffering from below, Morgal flashed her a monstrous grin.

  Dammit. The bastard was enjoying this.

  Rage detonated in Archer’s chest, and she redoubled her struggle. Her fingers slipped under the leather strap biting into her neck and took some pressure off her throat. But she was merely delaying the inevitable.

  Morgal’s terrible laughter filled the church as Archer’s vision started to go dark.

  20

  One look at the derelict church told me everything I needed to know. This was the right place. I could feel the malevolent energy radiating from the structure. And judging by the expensive cars parked outside, the auction was in full swing.

  Hey, that’s me—always fashionably late to the party.

  Hopefully not too late.

  I had no idea what I would face inside the church. Would there be anything left to do but merely pick up the pieces? Or worse, was I walking to my execution? I had no weapons to speak of except for my magical protective ring, the Seal of Solomon. Skulick seemed to believe it was enough. My partner wouldn’t lead me to my certain death, would he? I couldn’t imagine he’d want to be afterlife buddies for all of eternity.

  Somehow, I had a role to play here. Skulick believed in me.

  In a weird way, it felt like we were a team again. At least more of a team then we had been in ages. I trusted him. He knew what he was doing. Always had. I wished I could say the same about myself.

  Walking into the church unarmed was close enough to suicide to make me question my sanity. Damnit, I felt naked without my blessed pistol. Or my sword. Demon Slayer would be really nice to have strapped to my back right about now. I could feel my resolve weakening. And that’s when my magical ring lit up for a split second. It happened so fast it almost felt like I had imagined the whole thing.

  It had to be a sign from my partner. Skulick’s spirit was giving me strength, urging me to keep going. Skulick’s ghost refused to let me drop the towel this close to the finish line. Even dead, he was still a pain in the ass, pushing me past my limits. Despite everything, I smiled.

  I got out of the stolen—I mean, borrowed—vehicle. As I stealthily closed in on the church’s main entrance, I spotted the downed guards. From the many, many times my former demon partner had tried to get me to shoot people, this looked like Cyon’s handiwork. The demon had opted for the direct approach and waltzed through the front door, gun blazing.

  I couldn’t afford to do that. Skulick seemed to agree with me as his ghost materialized near the back of the church, waving at me to follow him. There had to be a rear entrance. But what was I supposed to do then? The element of surprise would buy me a few seconds at best.

  Stop doubting the plan, I admonished myself. Just go with it.

  I had debated giving Father Cabrera a call, or even Joe Cormac. But the exorcist commando and his men had long left the Cursed City. And roping Cormac into this nightmare would have only put one more life at risk. The psychic was a great ally when it came to fighting ghosts. Battling a super demon was a little out of his comfort zone. I was on my own. Well, except for Skulick, who was now impatiently tapping his ghostly watch.

  I rushed to the back of the church, my heart hammering against my ribcage. I slipped onto the overgrown property and fought my way through thick underbrush. An eerie quiet permeated the place, deepening my dread.

  Or maybe it was the church itself that was making me feel sick to my stomach. The building radiated darkness and decay, promising horror instead of salvation.

  I manned up, pushed all my doubts aside, and reached the rear entrance. Five steps led up to a wooden door. I steeled myself for the worst and stepped into the darkness beyond.

  My protective ring lit up, showing me the way in the encroaching blackness. I quickly emerged in a small foyer. A few rooms opened up to my right and left. One looked like a long-abandoned office; another was a storage room of some kind. My gaze locked on the light emanating to my far right. I followed the glow to a doorway that led to the chancel, the space around the altar.

  Silence greeted my approach, and the glowing ring dimmed. The Seal of Solomon was my ace in the hole, and I couldn’t announce it to the Crimson Circle. At least not yet.

  I emerged in the chancel and saw a number of guests filing down the nave of the church toward the exit. Even from this distance, I caught glimpses of flickering red eyes. Lamia had carried out her plan, as promised. Demons now lived within these well heeled flesh-and-blood shells. The moment they vanished through those d
oors, it would become impossible to stop them.

  Damn! There was nothing I could do!

  My eyes continued to roam the church, and I spotted two familiar faces in the nave. One was barely recognizable. Benson’s gore-streaked features stared blankly up at the ceiling. It looked like someone had tried to beat him to death. He was breathing shallowly, clinging to life. The detective was in dire need of medical attention.

  A few feet away, Cyon lurked in a binding circle, the sigils that trapped him glowing eerily. Our eyes met, and I recognized his dismay. Clearly his plan to drive Demon Slayer through his former master had failed. And talking about the killer sword, where was the weapon? And more importantly, where were Morgal and Lamia?

  Almost as if Cyon could still read my mind, he started mouthing words. My demon partner appeared to be yelling at the top of his lungs, but no sounds emanated from his lips. The binding circle’s magic at work, I figured. He scowled and pointed toward the ceiling.

  I heard a muffled gasp, and my gaze turned upward. My eyes went wide, my blood turning to ice. Archer dangled above me, legs kicking as her body flailed. Someone had hanged her with her own whip, and she was fighting a desperate battle of survival. I had to find a way to sever the whip and get her down.

  “There is no way you can save her,” a familiar voice said from behind me, and I spun toward… Skulick?

  For a beat, I could only stare, incapable of processing what I was seeing. Had Skulick’s spirit jumped back into his body somehow?

  Then I saw his eyes blazing with a dark red fire and I caught a glimpse of an otherworldly, reptilian monster beneath the familiar features.

  I recoiled in horror. “Morgal!”

  “Welcome to the party, dear Raven. Personally, I felt keeping you locked in a cell during this ceremony seemed like poor sportsmanship, but I couldn’t talk Lamia out of it.”

  As Morgal brought up the cult leader’s name, he shot a sheepish smile at the red pile of steaming goo nearby. My stomach lurched, realizing I was staring at what was left of Crull’s daughter.

  I shifted my focus back to Skulick—I mean, Morgal. How diabolical was this latest turn of events? The archdemon had chosen the physical form of a man I could never fight, even if I was armed with every mystical weapon known to man. I was unable…unwilling…to strike down Skulick. As long as his spirit lingered in this world, he could still be reunited with his body. Or so I had to believe.

  A smile played across my enemy’s features. Morgal was getting a kick out of my suffering. Why had the archdemon chosen this form? Was it merely to torment me, or did he want to ensure that I would not attack him? Did he fear me so much?

  “Nothing could be further from the truth, Raven. Don’t get me wrong, seeing that look on your face makes it all worth it. But I have another reason for choosing this aging flesh as my avatar here on Earth.”

  I studied him. He was circling me like a prize fighter getting ready to land that first punch, moving with coiled intensity and athletic grace. My partner had never looked stronger. Morgal had mended Skulcik’s broken spine, had fixed the signs of age. His hair seemed less gray, and the wrinkles had smoothed in his face. He looked virile and dangerous.

  I backed away from him, desperate and lost. Why had Skulick’s spirit led me here? A horrifying thought crossed my mind. Maybe it hadn’t been Skulick after all. It could have been someone else who lured me here, maybe one of Morgal’s minions. Was it all an elaborate trap?

  No, don’t be a fool, I told myself.

  Skulick had sprung me from jail for a good reason. He wanted me to come to this church. Wanted me here. I had to believe he was working some greater plan from beyond the grave.

  Nothing in Morgal’s behavior suggested awareness of Skulick’s spirit form. That was the good news. But if my partner was cooking up some plan, he better share it with me fast. Archer and Benson were still hanging on, but if I didn’t help them soon…

  Morgal regarded me coolly as he spoke again. “My most trusted lieutenants will all be boarding planes today and heading to countries all over the globe, where they will begin our reign on this Earth. The world will suffer and grow darker, and mankind will find it easy to let evil into its heart. We will breed fear, and hatred and our kind will flourish. As their power grows, the champions of light will fight back. The White Crescent and many other monster hunters will do their best to stem the dark tide, and all of them will turn to the world’s greatest monster hunter for help and advice.”

  Morgal’s smile deepened at this as he pointed at himself, and the full horror of his plan sank in. His demons were not merely infiltrating the world’s elite but also corrupting those who could fight them. Anyone who approached Skulick for help would no doubt be captured and possessed. All our allies. All our friends.

  I swallowed hard.

  “All these years you fought bravely, Raven. As bravely as any human could. But mankind’s destiny is to be enslaved by us. The seed of evil is in all of you. I will make sure come harvest time, the darkness will flourish”

  Not if I have a say in the matter, I thought defiantly. My eyes ticked back and forth. What could I do? Above me, out of my reach, Archer was turning blue, her struggle growing weaker, the whip cutting off those last reserves of air.

  Morgal was getting nasty, and damn it, it was working. I could feel the fight seeping from me with each new word from the fiend’s mouth. He was right. This wasn’t a battle I could win.

  As despair threatened to engulf me, my ring grew hot and a gust of wind brushed past my face. I turned and saw Skulick’s ghost standing right next to the church’s altar. He pointed at his own ring finger, then gestured at the book. The moment lasted for only a second. My eyes scanned the altar, and suddenly I realized what Skulick wanted me to do.

  I turned back to Morgal before he could suspect anything. Despite the archdemon’s power, he couldn’t see Skulick. Or at least he hadn’t spotted him yet. Only a few feet separated me from the altar—and, more importantly, the restored version of the Daemonium that rested on it. The book of magic radiated a spectral green light in the dim church, transforming the altar into an unholy shrine. Unlike Cyon, I couldn’t tap into the book’s power, and even if I could separate the three magical tomes, it wouldn’t send Morgal or his minions back to Hell. It was far too late for that. More drastic measures needed to be taken.

  Trust Skulick, I told myself. I would do what my partner wanted me to do. I owed him that much.

  “You think the White Crescent won’t catch on that Skulick has been compromised? They figured out pretty fast that I was possessed.”

  “By the time they do, it will be too late. Ironic, isn’t it? I’m about to turn Hell’s greatest enemies into our greatest allies.” Morgal held up his hands. “I will kill you with these bare hands, Raven, and finish the job I started twenty years ago. The last thing you will see on this Earth is your mentor’s face as I squeeze the life out of you.”

  Lovely.

  I inched my way to the altar, only half listening to Morgal as he paced and ranted, detailing all the horrible things he was going to do to me.

  Closer.

  Closer.

  When I was close enough, I flung myself toward the altar. Before Morgal could react, I drove the Seal of Solomon into the glowing copy of the Daemonium.

  My magical ring ignited, and power tore through me as the ring made contact with the grimoire. The book went supernova in an explosion of brilliant light followed by an incredibly powerful shockwave. The three books separated before my eyes, a vortex of loose pages shooting in every direction.

  Morgal recoiled as the light engulfed him. In that brief moment, the archdemon was caught off guard, and he broke his hold on the whip strangling Archer. The leather strap choking the life out of her loosened, and she came tumbling down onto the church floor, gasping for air. The drop wasn’t too bad—only about five or six feet—and I had to trust that she wasn’t hurt. As much as I wanted to run to her, I had to finish things w
ith Morgal first.

  There was only one problem—I had no idea how to bring my nemesis down without a weapon.

  My mouth dropped as I spotted Skulick’s spirit right behind his possessed physical body. Our eyes met, and I recognized both the resolve in those eyes along with a haunting sadness I did not yet understand.

  My lips opened in a silent scream as I spotted the shimmering sword in the ghost’s hands. Demon Slayer. Skulick must’ve scooped up the blade Cyon had dropped earlier. A powerful spirit like Skulick could influence the world in subtle ways, opening doors or flicking light switches. But to wield the sword, he must have been burning through his soul’s essence at a terrible rate. If he didn’t let go, the power drain would snuff out his spirit like a candle.

  And that’s when I finally understood what my partner was about to do.

  His features locked into a steely mask of determination as he rammed Demon Slayer into his own back.

  The archdemon must’ve sensed the attack coming because he moved aside at the last moment. But it was too late to completely dodge the magical blade.

  The sword exploded from Morgal’s chest in a spray of gore, stunned shock rippling over the demon’s face. Morgal’s lightning-fast reaction had prevented the sword from piercing his rotten heart, but the sword had managed to cause some serious damage.

  I could take no joy in the victory.

  For a beat, my partner—my mentor, my father in every way that counted—eyed me with a mixture of pride and sorrow.

  Proud to see that I’d come through.

  Sad because this was goodbye. He had made the ultimate sacrifice to stop the archdemon.

  Skulick’s physical form collapsed before me, Demon Slayer sticking out of his chest. He spit blood, the demon’s rage distorting the familiar features beyond recognition. The blessed steel shimmered with spectral energy as it ate away at his demonic energy.

  “You think you defeated me? This is only a momentary setback. My minions will spread across the globe. No one can stop them now!”