War Demons: An Urban Fantasy Thriller (The Prodigal Son Book 1)

by Russell Newquist

  He managed to walk out of the bathroom fully under his own power. His strength returned with each step. He even managed to put a little bit of his trademark swagger into his stride.

  The confidence shattered along with his dropped glass when he saw his companion.

  “Abby?!” It came out as half a scream, half a whisper. Her smile quickly faded. A hurt look replaced it.

  Memory came back to him, at least some of it. Katie had left for New York with Grace, shopping for the wedding. He was supposed to meet her... today? Was it Tuesday? How much time had he lost? His shoulders slumped further when he checked the clock. 8:03 am. His flight had left two hours ago.

  What the hell was he doing here? He vaguely remembered dinner with a few friends last night. Abby had tagged along at the last minute. He couldn’t remember anything after that. Not a thing.

  “What the hell happened last night?” he shouted at her, as shock spread across her face.

  “You... you...” she stammered out as the tears started flowing. “I mean, we...”

  “Oh God,” he whispered. He sat down on the bed and dropped his face into his hands.

  “But it was so good, Michael. It was so right. You said so yourself, over and over!”

  His next words came out forceful and harsh.

  “We can’t tell Katie about this. Ever.”

  She lost it then. The trickle turned into a torrent. It only made him angrier. He found his pants on the floor and fished out his phone.

  “Shut up,” he snapped at Abby, as he dialed. The noise stopped, but not the tears.

  “Good morning, Michael!” Katie’s voice was cheerful, but slightly chiding. “Aren’t you supposed to be on a plane?”

  “I overslept.” When lying, Michael had always found it best to stick to as much of the truth as possible. She laughed.

  “Of course you did. When does your new flight arrive?”

  “I haven’t booked it yet. Just woke up.” Still true. He heard a voice on the other end. Katie responded to it, but he couldn’t quite make it out.

  “Grace and I are at the World Trade Center anyway. We’ll just stay here a bit longer.” She yammered on about some unrelated topics. Every so often he’d let out a noncommittal grunt to give her cover so that she could keep talking, but he didn’t really hear any of it. He’d like to think he was lost in misery and regret over what he’d done. In reality his brain hadn’t regained full functionality yet.

  “You’re not even listening, are you, Michael?” she laughed at him.

  “No, I’ve got foggy brain this morning.”

  “You never were a morning person.”

  “Never plan to be,” he told her. She laughed again. He loved her laugh.

  “I’ll let you go.”

  “OK,” he told her. “I’ll call you back as soon as I’ve got a new flight.”

  “Love you,” she told him.

  “See you soon.”

  As soon as he hung up, Abby lost it again.

  “Last night you told me we had something special!” she screamed. He stared at her, confused.

  “I don’t know what the hell you think happened last night.” His voice went quiet. “But it was an accident. I’m marrying your sister in a little over two weeks. You know that.”

  She flinched as if he’d hit her. He didn’t care. Oh man, what had he gotten himself into?

  He fished around the desk until he found a phone book. A few moments later, the airline had him on hold. He grumbled into the dead phone. But soon enough, the cheerful receptionist helped him reschedule onto the next flight.

  “10:30?” he repeated back at her. “Let me check.” He cupped a hand over the phone. “Where are we?” he asked the useless wreck on the bed.

  “Downtown Atlanta,” she managed to stammer out. “The Westin.” He checked the clock again. 8:32. He could make that, if he hurried. After he booked the flight he called for a cab and then jumped in the shower.

  He had a few minutes to kill while he waited on the cab. He decided to take his time and let the heat soak in. He turned it up as hot as he could stand it. He tried to think, but he couldn’t wrap his brain around the night’s events.

  Then he heard the shriek. He threw open the shower curtain and wrenched the water off, searching for a towel.

  “Michael!” The hysterical cry came again. “You need to see this!”

  He didn’t have time to wrap the towel around himself right, so he held it in place as he rushed out into the room. The TV played one of the news channels. A surreal scene greeted him. The World Trade Center burned.

  “Is that archive footage?” he asked, remembering the bombing a decade earlier. Then sudden understanding dawned on him. Abby stammered out something incomprehensible. He tuned her out and listened to the talking head on the TV instead. They seemed confused, too, as they relayed the story of an airline accident.

  He found his phone again and dialed frantically. A message informed him that all circuits were busy. He cursed and dialed again. He finally got through on the eighth try.

  “Michael?” Katie’s scared voice came through. “Something’s happened here, everything’s gone crazy!”

  “I know, Katie.” Somehow he kept his voice calm. “It’s on the news.”

  “The building’s on fire, Michael! The other one – we could see it from the observation deck! They’ve told us to evacuate, but they elevators are stopped. We’re going to have to take the stairs!”

  “You’ll be OK, Katie. Just take it one step at a time!”

  “It’s such a long way, Michael!” she cried. “What happened? Nobody here knows anything!”

  “A plane crashed,” he told her. “Right into the side of the building.”

  “Oh God!” she called out.

  “I know,” he answered. “Don’t worry, I’ll be right here. I’ll stay with you.”

  Abby whimpered on the bed as he spoke, but Katie settled down. He kept speaking, forcing his voice to stay calm. It took everything he had, but it worked. Then he glanced at the TV.

  “Oh, shit.” He watched live as the second plane hit the south tower. The tower with the observation deck. Katie’s tower.

  Chapter Nineteen

  They rode toward the house in nervous anticipation. They’d come armed. The M&P pistol that Covington had left him felt good on Michael’s hip. Michael liked the brand new design from Smith and Wesson. Leave it to Covington to collect all the latest toys. The old man had remembered his partiality to the .45 caliber, which meant he had plenty of ammo.

  He’d also found a Ruger .357 magnum from the bag and tucked it into his backup ankle holster. It wasn’t much bigger than his old .38, but it packed a good bit more punch. Jim had helpfully provided a couple of boxes of Federal hollow point ammunition.

  Peter’s presence comforted him. Though his friend didn’t have any military experience, the boy’s martial arts training counted for a lot – and he knew how to keep his head about him. Best of all, he’d taken a Glock 30 from the bag as well and loaded it up like he knew what he was about.

  Not that he expected a fight. James Covington’s house may have looked like an old plantation house, but Michael knew that it hid top notch security. He’d been caught by that more than once while trying to sneak Katie in and out of the house at odd hours. But after recent events, he felt it best to be well prepared.

  To put it bluntly, he was scared as hell.

  The seventy-four-acre estate lay along a set of gently rolling hills. A well-maintained forest, green as the manicured lawn, surrounded it. They cruised peacefully up the winding private drive through the trees. Once the land had been cotton fields, and the Covingtons had owned several times their current holdings.

  That was before the War. In this part of Georgia, that still meant the Civil War. The same war had claimed the original plantation house. Sherman burned it on his infamous march to the sea. Katie had taken Michael out to see the ruins once, years ago. The main drive didn’t go anywhere near
it. Jim Covington had too much sense of history to tear them down – and too much family pride to openly display them.

  The family had gotten out of agriculture nearly a century ago, investing their vast fortune in other industries. Over the decades it had only grown. Jim’s grandfather proved to be a shrewd investor, as had his son. No slouch himself, Jim had doubled the wealth he inherited. Forbes had ranked the man at one hundred twenty-seven on its most recent list of the richest people in America.

  They rolled up to the gatehouse and sat behind a short line of vehicles, most of them far more expensive than the two young men could ever hope to afford. Peter commented on the Maserati in front of them, the first he’d ever seen in person. Security moved the line quickly. At the gate, Peter strained his neck for a look. Michael refrained. He knew they couldn’t see the house from here. The guard greeted him cheerfully.

  “Michael! It’s been a long time!” Craig Beckman had worked security at the Covington Estate for as long as Michael could remember. He’d had to work hard to evade the man in his teenage years. Sneaking Katie in and out of the estate hadn’t been easy. Tonight he greeted Michael with an easy smile.

  “Mr. Beckman,” Michael nodded. “You’re not still upset about the sewer incident, are you?” The old security guard laughed.

  “Nah, the smell washed out a long time ago. I’m good.”

  “They stuck you on gate duty?”

  “I put myself here,” the old man answered. “I’m in charge of the whole thing now. Head of security for Mr. Covington.”

  “Good for you!” Michael expressed genuine joy for the man. They’d been adversaries as Michael attempted dishonorable deeds with the daughter of the man’s employer. But Beckman exhibited competence, capability, and intelligence that eluded so many security guards. The man had also been fair to the young Romeo, even when he’d had no reason to be.

  Beckman waved them through. As they rounded the corner, the main complex came into view. Peter gawked at the monstrous demesne laid out before them. Michael remembered his own first visit. The sight still moved him every time.

  The main house enclosed nearly forty thousand square feet of living space. Michael knew that it included seven bedrooms and fourteen bathrooms, a theater, a fully equipped gym, a spa and a detached hobby house. Although they couldn’t see it approaching from the front, he also knew that the guest house in the back dwarfed the size of his own home. Another house, equally large, and nearly as nice, housed the staff. The Covingtons took care of their own.

  They’d lit the estate up like a theme park. The fountain glowed from within as they drove around it. Light poured from every window in the house. Exterior floods bathed the light grey masonry in white, and a handful of well-placed spots gave the marble highlights a luminescent sheen.

  The young men exited the car. Michael fished a spare key out of his pocket for the valet. He left a nice tip and led Peter toward the main entrance. Two platforms, thirty steps, and solid rails accented the grand walkway, all of it carved from solid marble.

  The butler waved them through the wide open main doors with a smile and a wave. The massive portrait on the wall caught Peter’s eye and he stopped to take a look. The gentleman in the photo wore an old style US Army uniform with officer bars and sat astride a beautiful white stallion. A genuine cavalry sabre hung on the wall beneath the frame. Michael knew it had belonged to the painting’s subject.

  “Brigadier General Leonard Covington,” Michael informed him. “The Covington family has deep roots.”

  “No kidding,” Peter agreed. “How’d a plebe like you get involved with a family like this?”

  “I’d like to know that myself!” A hearty chuckle matched the booming voice. Michael turned to face his not quite father-in-law and smiled. “Tell me something,” Covington continued. “Did you even know that Katie came from all of this the first time you asked her out?”

  “I didn’t have a clue,” Michael laughed in response. “And actually, she asked me out. I think she liked the motorcycle.”

  James grinned at him. Peter laughed.

  “She always did have a thing for bad boys, didn’t she?”

  “Maybe that’s it. I honestly never quite knew what she saw in me.”

  This time James laughed.

  “Where’d you go on that first date?”

  “We didn’t,” he responded. “At least not then. I told her no.”

  “Really?” James laughed even harder. “That’s what she saw in you. I think you must be the only boy who ever told her no!”

  Michael grinned slyly.

  “That was the point,” he answered, grinning at his friend. “She wouldn’t accept no for an answer. Kept after me for weeks. It hooked her in quite nicely. She didn’t know that I’d already decided to marry her.” His smile faltered for a moment, and he turned back to the painting. “I never got the chance to tell her that.”

  “I’m sure she knows it now, Michael. I’m sure she knows.”

  Michael hastily introduced his friend as James clapped him on the shoulder and led him toward the party.

  “I see old man Beckman’s in charge of security now. I’m a little surprised he let me in.”

  “You know he credits you for our current top notch security, right?”

  “Me?” Michael gave him an incredulous look.

  “Absolutely. We hired pros to check out our security when the girls were little. You showed us how much they missed. We never hired that group again. Beckman made it a personal crusade to lock the place down. It may not look it, but this place is a fortress now. You’d need a small army to get in.”

  Peter let out a sudden gasp and stopped behind them. Michael followed his gaze to a large portrait of Catherine Covington hanging on the far wall of the ballroom.

  “What’s wrong?” Michael asked his friend.

  “I just thought… Nevermind.” He shook his head. “How’d you get this thing put together so fast?” Peter asked, changing the subject. Michael gave him a strange look but played along. He’d get the explanation out of his friend later.

  “Oh, I didn’t,” Covington’s eyes twinkled. “We do this every year.”

  “The children’s hospital was Katie’s pet cause,” Michael told his friend. “Jim set up an endowment when she died. He raises money for it every year.”

  “I was going to twist your arm to get you out here anyway,” Jim told Michael. “Come on, I’ve got some people you should meet.”

  “Dammit.” Michael’s comment under his breath drew a hearty bout of laughter from Peter. Michael just shot him a glare. Gun battles with enemy combatants in the mountains he could handle. He’d even proven that he could manage the evil supernatural reincarnation of his dead squad mate. Kind of.

  But tonight he’d have to deal with something far worse: politicians, lawyers, and bureaucrats.

  Chapter Twenty

  Michael would have called the Senator the biggest windbag that he’d ever met in his life. Then he met the lawyer who currently blackened them with his bloviating presence. God had created Saxby Alston as his great gift to humanity. It must be true, Michael reasoned, because the man said so himself – loudly and repeatedly. He also ran the firm that had helped get him out of Clarke County Jail.

  Covington gave the young men an apologetic look. The self-absorbed lawyer missed it entirely. They joined a small group also caught in the man’s orbit. He told some story about a female conquest. Saxby found the tale hilarious. The crowd disagreed.

  “And that’s when I told her, ‘You look exactly like my future ex-wife!’” His audience didn’t even award him a polite laugh, but he never noticed through his own guffaws. Covington seized the break to cut in on the story. The listeners took advantage of Covington’s interruption to quietly slip away. The host made a quick introduction of his guests.

  “Great of us to get you out of that situation so quickly, wasn’t it?” the man boasted. In Michael’s recollection, the lawyers hadn’t actually done muc
h. Still, he mumbled some affirmative noises. He had enough sense not to say something stupid. Making nice with one of the most powerful law firms in the state seemed like the smart play. Peter almost managed to hide a smirk. Michael caught it anyway and glared back at him. Thankfully, Alston seemed too caught up in himself to notice.

  “Still, it wasn’t as good as that date with the Atlanta Falcons cheerleader.” Alston pushed right along, speaking to Michael and Peter, as if they’d heard the entire preceding story. He paused for a moment. “You remember the one, Jim? What was her name again?”

  “I’m sure they’d love to hear it, Saxby, but I need to borrow these boys for a minute.” Jim winked at Michael. “We’ll catch up another time.” He clapped the lawyer on the shoulder and led the boys across the room. Michael let out a loud sigh of relief, triggering a laugh from Peter. Alston moved on to his next victims without missing a beat.

  “If brains were dynamite, that man wouldn’t have enough to blow his nose,” Jim muttered under his breath. He scanned the room but didn’t seem to find what he was looking for.

  “Looks like she’s moved on. We’ll try to catch her later.” He began to lead them in a different direction, but stopped up short. “Your Eminence!” he called out.

  Cardinal Timothy Newman approached and smiled at him. Five foot two and rail thin, the Archbishop of Atlanta carried himself with a presence well beyond his size. He stood straight and strong, yet relaxed, as if born to the regal posture. His eyes burned fiercely and seemed to bore through everything he looked at, yet his gentle smile put everyone around him at ease.

  “Jim!” he exclaimed, reaching out to clasp his host’s hands in both of his own. “It’s always good to see you, my friend.”

  “And you, Your Eminence,” Covington responded with a smile of his own.

  “I see that you’ve narrowly escaped the siren song of our friend Alston.” His smile overtook his entire face as he nodded at the blowhard lawyer across the room. “How’d you manage that, Jim? Did you threaten to impersonate your grandfather’s rebel yell again?”