Shadow of the Ghoul (Halfblood Legacy Book 2)

by Devin Hanson

  “Where in the refinery? And I think you had better save the insults. You wouldn’t want to see me angry.”

  The thrall cackled, then broke down into wet coughing. “Kill me, mulahad. I go to my promised land. Can you say the same?”

  “I hardly think you’ll be going to heaven,” Ryan sneered.

  “He’s going to hell,” I said. “Where he will be recognized for his deeds in this mortal life, hopefully to be reborn as a vampire. Different promised land.”

  “See, your little whore knows. So, kill me and be damned!”

  “We’re wasting time,” Ores called from the shed roof.

  The thrall pushed himself forward, pressing his forehead against the muzzle of Ryan’s gun. “Kill me. Please.”

  “Sure. Just a second.” Ryan paused, then started reciting, “Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy Name.”

  “What?” The thrall recoiled, staring up at Ryan in horror.

  “Thy Kingdom come. Thy will be done on earth, as it is in heaven.”

  “No! You cannot!”

  The thrall threw himself over and started trying to belly-crawl away. Ryan stamped him flat back into the mud and held him there while he finished the Lord’s Prayer.

  “For thine is the kingdom, and the power, and the glory forever. Amen.”

  I turned away as the thrall started screaming. Ryan fired once and the scream cut out.

  “You think that worked?” Ores asked. He dropped from the roof with a crunch of gravel and stooped to pick up his spent brass.

  “No,” I answered. I swallowed back the sour taste of bile in my mouth. “You have to ask for forgiveness.”

  “Put the fear of God into him, though,” Ryan chuckled.

  “Next time just shoot him,” I spat. I had no stomach for torture, physical or mental. God knows, if anyone deserved it, it would be a thrall. Hell, the bible is full of that shit, eye for an eye and all that. It was just one more way I disagreed with God. “Come on, Ores. We have a ghoul to track.”

  Ores picked up the trail of the bodies easily. It had been harder on the road, where the hinn had been following day-old drips out of the back of the container. The bodies were being controlled by the ghoul now, walking on foot through the refinery. They left behind a trail of clotted gore that I could have followed myself if it wasn’t pouring rain. For Ores, they might as well have posted signs.

  Despite the obviousness of the trail, none of us were rushing to follow it. We had sprung a clean ambush on the thralls at the medical container, but there was an unspoken acknowledgement that we had been lucky more than anything else. We wouldn’t be so fortunate a second time.

  We saw the lights shining through the steel skeleton of the refinery superstructure long before we got close enough to see the figures, backlit by construction floodlights. Ores pulled me to the shelter of an overhanging gantry and leaned in close. He had to shout over the sound of the pelting rain hammering against the steel all around us.

  “This is it, kid. Last chance to turn back.”

  “What?” I shouted back. “What makes you think I’m going to leave?”

  Ores shook his shaggy head. At some point he had shifted fully back into human form and the elongated features of his face were gone. “These people are dangerous. Nobody would fault you for getting cold feet. You don’t have to put your life in danger.”

  I stared at him. “If I don’t, who else will?”

  He bowed his head and I saw his shoulders heave in a sigh. “Damn it, Alex.”

  “It’s okay, Ores.” I put my hand on his arm and squeezed the corded muscle there. “This is where I want to be.” That was a lie. I’d much rather be home with my feet up on the sofa, a mug of hot coffee in my hands and Netflix on the TV. But it lifted Ores’ head and he gave me a lopsided smile. I chucked him on the arm. “Now hang back and… I don’t know. Wait for my signal?”

  “I’ll be there, Alex,” he promised. “You can count on me.”

  I nodded and jerked my head at Ryan. Together we crept through the hammering rain, sticking to the hard shadows of the gantries. Ores was behind us somewhere, but I had already lost him in the rain. It was comforting knowing he would be back there somewhere with that ridiculous rifle of his, looking over me.

  The glare of the construction floods was getting closer and I started hearing voices over the rain, raised in argument. I closed the last couple meters and crouched behind a junction box with Ryan at my side, my tonfa gripped white-knuckled in both hands.

  I leaned out around the side of the junction box just far enough to see around it. There were two clear groups of figures glaring at each other through the driving rain. On the right, eight or nine tattooed thralls, with two dozen bloody, burned, ragged figures behind them: the Satanists and possessed from the docks. I felt a thrill go through me. The ghoul was here, controlling the bodies.

  Then I turned my head the other way and had to squint against the glare of the floodlights to make out who the other group was. There was a moment of nagging familiarity, then I recognized the tall figure standing out in front of his companions.

  It was Steven Martin—my mother. Behind him stood Jessica Toole, the lawyer I had rescued from Martin’s sex dungeon. Paul Becker was there, still wearing the same matching sweatpants and sweater. There were a dozen other people I didn’t know, but I could feel the slow funk of lust coming off of them.

  They were humans caught up in Mahlat’s insidious web of lust. Ruined people, hanging onto life with the bare, finger-nail grip of hope. Desperation for one more orgasm, one more return to the heights of sexual ecstasy Mahlat had tempted them with.

  I had just walked into something that was beyond what I had expected. Again.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  “This was not the agreed upon transaction!”

  The snarling shout came from the side of the thralls. Sasha was in front, spearheading the group of his people. I got a better look at him this time, now that I didn’t have headlights practically blinding me. His tattoos were more complex and covered more of his skin than any of the other thralls.

  “You got your breeding stock,” Martin said, flicking his fingers dismissively. It was a distinctly feminine gesture, and looked wrong on him. “It’s hardly my concern that you weren’t able to manage them. I’m offering a disposal service as a gesture of good faith. I suggest you take it as such.”

  “Bullshit!” Sasha took half a step forward, his fists clenched at his sides. “Your cursed spawn brought the Red House down on us! Betrayal!”

  One of the figures standing behind Martin stepped forward. He was a young man, around my age, with a square jaw and blonde hair. He was flawlessly handsome, tall, with toned muscles rippling beneath the wet shirt that clung to his broad shoulders. He looked eagerly at the thralls, hunger on his face. “Let me put these dogs in their place, grandmother. Nobody has the right to speak to you that way.”

  Grandmother? My eyes widened. He was a succubus like I was. Though I guess the proper term was an incubus, since he was male. Now that I was paying attention, I could feel the sexual energy rolling off him. It made my crotch tingle and my mouth salivate. I could picture the wild, orgiastic sex I could have with him. I felt an almost overpowering need to step out from behind cover and go to them. Together, we could bend this world to our whim.

  I squeezed my eyes shut and took a deep, shaky breath. No. That was wrong. It was the demon blood in me, clamoring to drown me in desperately needed gratification. I was more than that. I was Alex Ascher. I bit my lower lip and tightened my grip on the tonfa until the pain in my fingers dragged me away from the brink.

  “—be necessary, Gerard. Mr. Markovich is provincial. He has no concept of proper manners, and thinks himself to be a threat.” Martin’s voice was musical with amusement.

  Gerard grinned, but didn’t take his eyes off the thrall. “Even the most pathetic dog can still draw blood, Grandmother, given the opportunity.”

  Sasha growled. “I
should have known you would betray your own kind.”

  “My own kind?” Martin threw back his head and belly laughed. “You ignorant cretin. I am no demon. I am eldest of my sisters, daughter of Lilith the First-Fallen. I am of the light! Your little schemes of clay are only interesting to me so long as they are useful to me and mine.”

  “You gave your word! Your aid in bringing my masters into this virgin land!”

  “The letter of my bond was met. You’re making me repeat myself now, and I grow tired of it. You have your disposal method. I’m done arguing. It is time for you to uphold your part of the bargain.”

  “No! We’re done when I say we’re done! Mikael, Donovan, teach these turncoats a lesson.”

  Two of the thralls stepped forward from behind Sasha and sprinted across the gap between the two groups. I felt Ryan stiffen at my side and heard his intake of breath. The thralls were faster than any human I had ever seen. But as fast as they moved, Gerard moved faster.

  Gerard lunged in front of Martin and caught the leading thrall with a shoulder check. The two of them went tumbling to the ground. Something metal glinted in Gerard’s fist and the thrall grunted with pain. The second thrall leapt his struggling companion and lashed out toward Martin.

  My mother spat a word in a language whose syllables slipped from my memory and the thrall collapsed to the ground like a marionette with its strings cut. The thrall’s momentum sent him in a skidding tumble across the wet asphalt. He came to a stop with his head twisted at an unnatural angle, his wide-eyed stare facing in my direction.

  He was dead. Killed in an instant by my mother’s sheer force of will. I thought I understood a bit more about magic than I had two months ago, but what my mother had just done was still incomprehensible to me. She had wanted the man dead badly enough to overwhelm his own desire for life, and the expectations of all the people watching, his friends, and family, all combined.

  And she had killed him with a casualness that spoke volumes on its own. There were no twisted fingers or self-mutilation accompanying Mahlat’s magic. If I needed any further warning about her, that would be it. She was evil. Evil to a degree that no human could ever hope to approach. She had absolutely zero regard for the lives of the mortals around her.

  The conflict teetering on the brink of explosion froze in place. Behind Martin, the nymphomaniac followers of Mahlat paused in the action of drawing guns and knives, then finished their motions hesitantly, sheepishly, as if they knew it was a helplessly understated threat. The thralls halted, their eyes wide in horror and fear. They recognized what had just happened, and the magnitude of their error was registering in the shocked expressions on their faces.

  Only Gerard and the thrall he had tackled still moved. They struggled, rolling around in the grimy puddles, trading blows. Gerard seemed to have the advantage, and after a few seconds he had pounded the thrall into submission. He stood up, breathing heavily, and wiped the blood from a short, broad punching blade. The thrall stayed on the ground, blood slowly staining the standing water around him red.

  Martin cleared his throat, tugged straight a crooked lapel on his sodden jacket. “If you’re quite finished. I would prefer to complete our business without any further unpleasantness.”

  Sasha exchanged a weighted look with one of his companions, and the thrall hurried forward, an iron lockbox in his hands. The thrall put the lockbox on the ground at Gerard’s feet, and set a key on the lid, before moving back behind Sasha.

  Gerard sneered after the retreating thrall, then bent down to open the lockbox. I couldn’t see what was inside, but his face split in a satisfied smile. He glanced back at Martin and nodded.

  “Enter, grandmother. Your new sanctuary awaits.”

  Martin smiled broadly. “Good.”

  And then he died.

  He fell to his knees and splashed into a puddle face first, his arms flopping awkwardly at his sides. In his place, Mahlat stood, tall and regal, her dark hair done up in an elaborately braided tower. A scandalous white dress barely clung to her voluptuous curves, with a luminous green stone nestled in the swell of her breasts. Her dress was already getting wet in the rain and the dark tips of her nipples were hard and visible through the sheer fabric.

  She was sex personified, the source of a million wet dreams. There was nothing on the planet, living or lost to rumored history, who could compare to her. There was nothing about her that didn’t inspire lust in all who beheld her. Even standing in the rain, surrounded by the stark steel of the refinery, every perfectly disarrayed strand of hair, every fold of her gown, every raised goose bump on her skin, screamed sex.

  “Oh, fuck,” Ryan whispered hoarsely at my side.

  Mahlat stepped daintily over Martin’s corpse and swayed forward to stand next to Gerard. She brought a hand up to rest on Gerard’s chest and dragged her tongue up the curve of his neck. Gerard shuddered and I saw him go hard in his pants. He clutched the lockbox to him as Mahlat nibbled on his ear.

  She dropped her hand down to Gerard’s crotch and gripped his dick through his jeans. “My child, such pleasures you have earned! Bring the box. It is time to celebrate! Two months is far too long to be gone from this world.”

  Then she turned her head and looked directly at me. I was frozen in place, and could only meet her gaze as she winked at me.

  Mahlat gestured at her followers imperiously. “You lot. Help these slaves dispose of their merchandise. But hurry, we have a celebration to indulge in once you finish!” She crooked a finger at Gerard, then swayed off into the darkness. Gerard followed at her heels, the lockbox hugged to his chest.

  The nymphos put their weapons away, uncertain and uncomfortable now that their mistress was gone. Martin and the two dead thralls shuffled upright and stood, swaying slightly, their faces blank.

  “What a shitshow,” Sasha growled.

  “Now what?” one of the thralls asked.

  “Now we get rid of these bodies. The cops are crawling all over the docks and this fucking city has too many eyes. We do what the Succubus said and get rid of the bodies. The distillation tanks aren’t far. Once we throw them in, the bodies will never be found.”

  “You ready?” I nudged Ryan.

  Ryan looked at me, fear on his face. “One of the Seven was just reborn! That was Mahlat!”

  “Yeah. I saw. She’s gone now, though. Are we going to do this or not?”

  “Are you crazy? Do you have any idea what Mahlat would do to us if we attacked her followers?”

  “Probably nothing,” I shrugged. “They’re disposable. And if she comes after us, I’ll claim responsibility for it.”

  Ryan pulled back to look at me more clearly. “She’ll kill you.”

  “I kind of doubt that.” I shrugged. “The last time my mother and I had a disagreement, all she did was yell at me.”

  “Your mother? Sandra was possessed by Mahlat!?”

  I jerked a hand up and pressed it against Ryan’s mouth. For a moment I listened intently, but the only sound I could hear was the scrape of gravel beneath the dead people’s feet and the hammer of rain against the steel all around.

  “Keep your voice down,” I hissed at him. “We’re running out of time. Can you watch my back or not?”

  Ryan twisted his head away from my hand. “I said I would. But I think it’s a terrible idea.”

  “We’re not going to get a better chance to hit the ghoul,” I argued. “It’s now or never.”

  “God damn it. The ghoul.” Ryan squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, then nodded with abrupt decision. “Okay. I got your back.”

  “Thanks. Remember. Aim for the head or the ghoul will just bring them right back into the fight.”

  Ryan flicked the safety off on his rifle and snugged it up to his shoulder. “Headshots only. I can do that.”

  I twisted my head around to scan the steel towers, searching for Ores. If he was there, I couldn’t see him. “Okay. Here we go.”

  The motion of standing up sent a rivulet o
f icy water running down my back. Without giving myself an opportunity to think about what I was doing, I stepped out into the open and strode through the driving rain.

  “Hoy!” I shouted. My teeth barred in a rictus grin as the thralls and the nymphos swiveled around to face me. Blood hammered in my ears as my pulse cranked up even higher.

  Sasha was the first one to recognize me. “You!”

  “Alexandra!” Paul Becker cried. There was something unhinged in his voice, equal parts fury and lust.

  Jessica Toole’s arm swept up, a sleek, feminine pistol in her hand. Before I could flinch, her head snapped backward in a puff of red mist and she collapsed to the ground. The rest of the nymphos scattered. I could only imagine how much the confrontation between Mahlat and the thralls had freaked them out, and now there was no protection for them remaining. They didn’t have the guts to fight. Only Becker remained, his feet planted, his face pale and running with rain water. The convulsing emotion on his face twisted his features into a mask. I wasn’t entirely sure he was aware of anyone besides me.

  “What do you want, Nephilim?” Sasha demanded. He spared a disdainful glance after the fleeing followers of Mahlat.

  I pointed over his shoulder at the massed bodies. Lightning flashed and I got a split-second look at the ruin of their flesh. My gorge rose, and I swallowed as thunder rolled. “I can’t let you destroy them!”

  Sasha’s mouth split into a twisted grin. “Yeah? You and what army? I don’t see the Red House this time. The marid don’t have your back now, huh?” He waved an arm. “Let’s see how do you without your pals.”

  The dead people started shambling toward me. There were none of the raised arms and low moans of a zombie movie. They moved at a disorderly run, only hindered by broken leg bones or shredded muscle, and they came on in complete silence.

  “Alex, run!” Ryan shouted. He was laying down a steady pop-pop-pop of gunfire. Here and there among the dead, I saw the ruinous damage of headshots and the falling of a body, but there were far too many of them. Maybe if Ryan had a hundred yards of space and enough light to see by, he could drop them all in time. But the dead had only been twenty yards away, and it was the worst possible shooting conditions.