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

by Russell Newquist

  “But you’ve suspected for far longer, haven’t you?” Michael pressed on angrily.

  “Since spring,” the professor confirmed. “She asked too many questions of the wrong sort. I had to put her at arm’s length.”

  “So the sabbatical was just a ruse?” Peter asked.

  “Not entirely,” the doctor answered. “I did plenty of actual research. I never could figure out whom she worked for. But I did finally figure out what she’s after.”

  “And what’s that?” Michael snapped at him.

  The old man withdrew a folded piece of parchment from a pocket inside his jacket. He opened it and carefully spread it over his desk. They could barely make out the faded writing.

  “This,” he stated simply.

  “What is it?” Peter asked.

  “Doesn’t matter,” Michael noted. He snatched the antique right out of Stoegemoeller’s hands, not caring if it tore. “Abby’s not getting it.” He produced a Zippo lighter out of his vest and flicked it open. Before anyone could react, he touched the parchment to the flame.

  Stoegemoeller laughed at him.

  They all watched the parchment as absolutely nothing happened. Michael pulled it away from the fire. It carried no marks. He ran his finger over the area the flame had touched and frowned.

  “I tried that already, kid,” the professor told him. “More than once.”

  “It’s not even warm.”

  “It won’t burn,” Stoegemoeller confirmed. “Not even in a much hotter fire than that. It won’t cut, it won’t tear. I tried shooting it with a forty-four magnum. Nothing. I even had a friend take it out to the tank range at Fort Bliss and shoot a 105mm depleted uranium shell at it from an M1 Abrams tank.” He shook his head.

  “Nothing?” Gabriel asked.

  “Not a damn thing.” Stoegemoeller gently took the parchment back from Michael. “I’ve tried every destructive force I can think of. I can’t even dent it, much less destroy it. Nothing works.”

  Michael slammed his fist on the desk, turning away from his friends in anger.

  “So what is it?” Peter asked again.

  “It’s a summoning spell.”

  “For summoning what?”

  “Demons,” Stefan answered. Everyone turned to look at the friar. “That’s what all summoning spells are for. Some of them claim to be other beings, but that’s just because Lucifer’s soldiers are liars. In the end, they always summon demons.”

  “So no accio firebolt?” Peter asked.

  Michael thumped him on the shoulder, but Stoegemoeller just laughed.

  “Different kind of summoning,” the professor answered. “Your German friend is right. They go by many names, but in the end they’re always demons.”

  “Who does this one summon?” Conor asked, deadly serious.

  “I don’t know. I couldn’t read it.”

  “I’m guessing you tried Latin, Greek, Anglo-Saxon –”

  Stoegemoeller cut the friar off.

  “I couldn’t read it,” he stated firmly. “I’ve had this parchment for eighteen years and shown it to two dozen friends. Between us we read sixty-seven languages fluently and another hundred well enough to translate with a dictionary at hand. Nobody even recognizes it.”

  “Shit,” Conor swore. Stefan crossed himself.

  “What does that mean?” Peter asked.

  The Irishman and the professor said nothing.

  “It means it’s old,” Gabriel answered in their place. “And that means one of the greater demons.”

  Stoegemoeller nodded again.

  “First dragons, now demons. Momma is gonna roast me, for sure.” Denzel sat down on the floor, huddled against the wall. He dropped his head into his hands.

  “She’s on her way here to get it, right now.”

  “Here?” Stoegemoeller asked. “Why would she look here? She’s already been through here, all semester. Unless...” He yanked his cell phone out of his pocket and rapidly punched a number in. He held the headset to his ear as it rang.

  And rang.

  “Oh no,” he muttered. “Mary...”

  “She’s at the hospital,” Peter informed him. “State police found your home ransacked. She’s fine, though.”

  Stoegemoeller let out a sigh of relief.

  “What the hell have you gotten yourself into, Abby?” Michael whispered.

  “You might say, Michael,” Abigail’s voice answered, “that hell is exactly what I’ve gotten myself into.”

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Michael heard the crackle of electricity as the energy blast filled the room. It bounced around the contained space, gaining strength as it jumped from person to person.

  He’d dealt with many kinds of pain in his life, but the kind that shot up his back was wholly new to him. It felt kind of like the time he’d let an Army buddy Taser him on a dare, except that, at the same time, it didn’t really feel like that at all. He turned just in time to see the second bolt of purple energy hit him. He grit his teeth as a second wave of pain washed over him.

  The crackling finally stopped. He lay there panting, trying to regain some semblance of rational thought. It didn’t come easily. The pain lingered. His vision blurred. He heard Abigail’s voice. At first, he found the muttering incoherent. Then it coalesced into intelligible words.

  “Where is it?” he heard, over and over.

  He heard drawers opening and closing, papers shuffling, items banging.

  His vision returned focus ever so slowly. He pushed himself up onto all fours in an effort to rejoin the fight. A heartbeat later, he threw up and dropped to the ground again. A few deep breaths brought him back to the here and now. He lay low to avoid attention as he took stock of the situation. Peter and Denzel lay nearby, each curled into a tight fetal position. He noted with relief that his friends still breathed.

  Something sharp fell off the desk and hit him. It stung, but didn’t penetrate his combat webbing. He turned to see what had hit him. Recognition came instantly. Of course, Dr. Stoegemoeller would have one in his office. Michael palmed the object carefully, sliding it up his sleeve.

  Abby let out a frustrated noise again and slammed her fists onto the desk. Michael recognized an opportunity when it came upon him. He took it, pushing up his hands and knees again.

  “Give it up, Abigail,” he called. “It wasn’t in his car. It wasn’t at his house. It’s not here, either. He was too smart for you.” He emphasized the word carefully. It achieved the desired effect. She turned to look at him, anger rising up her face.

  “Where is it?” she yelled at him.

  He exaggerated his laugh to antagonize her. He rose to his feet, standing straight and proud.

  Peter stirred. He turned his head over and caught Michael’s eye. Michael ignored it, staying focused on Abigail. His friend took the hint and stayed low, biding his time.

  “Somewhere you’ll never find it.” He forced his voice to convey a confidence he didn’t feel.

  She let out another roar of rage, lashing out at the items on the desk. Office supplies flew across the room. Michael ignored them. He had her now. He continued to prey on her insecurities as he inched closer.

  “You’ll never find it, Abby, because it’s not here.” He took another step. “Did you really think Dr. Stoegemoeller was that stupid?”

  The sudden change over her face gave him emotional whiplash. In one instant, she raged against the world. The next she looked a heartbeat away from breaking down in tears. Michael sensed an opportunity and changed up his tactics.

  “Come back with us, Abigail.” He softened his voice and lowered it. “It’s not too late. We can help you.”

  Denzel rolled over with a groan. Peter motioned for him to be quiet. The giant man took the hint. Both of them tried to subtly roll into a better position without giving themselves away.

  “Of course it’s too late; he’ll never let me live if I turn away from him now. And Daddy’s dead!” Tears welled up in her eyes.

/>   “Who, Abby?” he asked gently. “Who is he?” He had her. He reached out with his left hand. She stretched out her own, ready to take it. He took a step forward. She dropped her eyes.

  Another change came over her face. Michael followed her gaze down to the floor. The old, yellowed parchment stood out against the bleached white modern papers surrounding it. She calmly collected the parchment and studied it. A crazy smile crossed over her face again.

  He took advantage of the momentary distraction and sprang into action. Following his lead, his friends launched to their feet, ready to charge. He slipped the metal item out of his sleeve and took a strong step forward, aiming carefully as he threw. The magical nature of the phurba carried it right through Abigail’s shield. It lodged itself in her upper arm.

  The rest of his plan fell apart the moment it left his hand.

  The shield-bubble that surrounded her collapsed. She also lost control of the force building in her hands. Electric energy dispersed throughout the entire office. The computer on Stoegemoeller’s desk sizzled and fried. Shock waves passed through his friends again, but lighter and less focused.

  Michael fought off the spasms. Peter and Denzel, less fully recovered, weren’t quite so lucky. None of them collapsed this time, however. Conor and Stefan held steady through the pain. They closed in on Abigail, moving in quickly to subdue her.

  They didn’t manage it quickly enough. She snapped her bracelet, and a shockwave spread rapidly across the room. What little remained on the desk flew off, smacking everyone. Michael felt his ears pop.

  The force staggered the men for only a heartbeat, but it was too late. By the time they recovered, they could see the crackling blue-purple of Abby’s shield again. She reached up with her left hand and slowly withdrew the Tibetan ceremonial dagger from her arm. Blood flowed freely, making a mess everywhere. Abby growled.

  She closed her eyes in concentration as she placed her palm over the open wound and began a strange sort of chanting. When she took her hand away, the wound had closed. Michael noted that it hadn’t exactly healed. It looked grotesque, almost as if it had burned shut.

  “Get me out of these restraints, Abby.” Khalid spoke up.

  “Why?” she asked him simply.

  A cloud of anger filled his eyes.

  “This isn’t funny. We have work to do.”

  “We have nothing of the sort.” She strode forward toward Dr. Stoegemoeller, arm outstretched. Peter and Michael moved in unison, stepping between the pair.

  “Cute,” she told them.

  “I started this!” Khalid raged behind her. “You wouldn’t be anywhere without me! This was my plan!”

  “Never as much as you thought it was.” She didn’t even look back as she replied.

  The Arabic man let out a howl of anger. Shock set in on his face first, followed quickly by determination. He pushed off his knees, launching himself at her in a kamikaze blitz.

  Michael watched as Khalid stepped right through the shield and tackled Abigail. They dropped to the floor in a heap. He took the opportunity to make a move for Stoegemoeller, grabbing the academic by his right arm. A hard yank pulled him out of the melee zone.

  Abby went low, snaking a hand between her boyfriend’s legs, and grasped a nerve cluster on his inner thigh. Michael almost felt proud. He’d taught her that move himself while trying to play nice with Katie’s kid sister.

  Khalid let go of her arms and reared back. He growled as he chambered his arms high for a wild, two-fisted hammer blow. He never got to throw the punch. A burst of invisible energy channeled through the blonde woman’s hands, hitting him right in the chest. It launched him three feet into the air, tossing him back.

  Abigail used a kick-up to launch herself upright again. Slowly, almost casually, she stretched out a finger toward Stoegemoeller. The phurba lifted off the ground and spun toward the professor, held aloft by an invisible force. Abigail flicked her finger. Quick as lightning, the ritual dagger flew through the air and lodged in the researcher’s neck. He let out a deep groan and collapsed against the wall. The parchment slipped out of his hand, fluttering down to the ground.

  Michael and Abby trained their eyes downward simultaneously, locking on the same spot. The ancient parchment lay crumpled on the ground. Michael dove for the floor. He’d never moved that fast in his life, even in firefights in Afghanistan.

  His head spun as it impacted Abby’s shield with a loud crack. He struggled to keep his eyes open, watching through blurry vision as she scooped up the spell and tucked it into a pouch on her belt.

  She let out another blast of energy, far stronger than any of the others. Magic crackled through the walls and fixtures. Light bulbs shattered, spewing shards of glass around the room. Darkness fell upon them.

  Abigail took advantage of the confusion to blast the window out of its pane. Shards of glass dropped to the ground below. She took a running start toward the gaping hole. Michael let off a few bursts of fire, but the magical shocks in the room threw his aim off. She snatched up the drugged Faith, jumped out of the gaping hole and disappeared.

  Michael and Peter rushed over to check outside. The dragon receded into the distance, shrieking into the night sky. Sparkles of energy confirmed their first suspicion. Abigail made good her escape atop its back.

  “Faith!” Peter shouted into the night. A crack of thunder answered him.

  Chapter Forty

  Peter called for help. He rushed to Dr. Stoegemoeller’s side as Lewis and Burns struggled to rise. Michael stared out the window, his eyes lost in the distance. He didn’t even hear his friend. Stefan and Conor had no such reservations. They rushed to help Peter’s dress the professor’s wound. Chief Lewis got on his radio, calling for the EMTs.

  “What do you mean, they can’t get through?” he shouted. A muffled reply came back over the speaker. “Of course, I know it’s game day! Do you think I care?”

  They listened to more muttering as the two Europeans worked to staunch the bleeding. Stefan’s medical pack lay splayed across the ground.

  “Leave it in, or he’ll bleed out,” the friar instructed Conor as he wrapped gauze around Stoegemoeller’s neck. “Put pressure on this – but be careful. We don’t want to do more damage.”

  Conor nodded at him, following instructions carefully.

  “Michael,” Stefan called out. The young man didn’t respond. “Michael!” he called again.

  Peter stepped in instead.

  “What do you need?” the young man answered softly.

  “Do you know how to start an IV?” he asked, holding up a needle and a fluid bag. Peter shook his head. “Time to learn, then.”

  He handed the items over as he searched through the medical supplies. Finally finding what he sought, he selected a rather large pre-loaded needle and ripped open the plastic surrounding it. He jammed it into the professor’s chest and injected its contents.

  “That’ll slow his heart rate, which will help slow the bleeding,” he told the others. “But we need to get some more blood in him.” He started talking Peter through the process as he produced another pouch from his kit. “Blood units,” he told them as he prepared it. A moment later he and Peter had the IV going.

  Michael stared out the window, his spirit broken. The noises around him barely registered.

  “There’s an ambulance three blocks over,” the Chief finally announced, “But they can’t get through traffic. We’re going to have to move him.”

  “The nerdy kid and the giant will take him,” Conor instructed. “We’ve got to go after Abigail.”

  “Can you boys handle that?” Lewis asked.

  “We’ve got it,” Denzel answered firmly. He stepped away from Khalid, whom he and his friends had been covering. Burns took over for them. “George, grab that rolly chair from the receptionist’s desk outside. Let’s get him situated on it.”

  “On it!” The skinny teenager disappeared. A moment later, he rolled back in, sitting in the chair and kicking at the floor
to move. He wore a huge grin on his face. Their stares brought him back to reality, and he wiped it off.

  They manipulated the professor into the chair. George held the IV bag high and put pressure on the wound. Denzel pushed.

  “We’ll catch up,” George called out as they disappeared into the dark hallway.

  Peter sidled up behind Michael.

  “Michael,” he said quietly. He got no response. “Michael!” he called out louder. This time his friend turned. The fire in his eyes took Peter aback. The former soldier pushed past his friend and made his way to Khalid. The prisoner flashed a dark grin at him. Michael oozed with anger.

  “How’d Abigail get involved in all this?”

  “You haven’t figured it out by now? She didn’t ‘get involved.’ She’s been behind this all along.”

  “OK, how’d you get involved?”

  Khalid shrugged.

  “I have connections. She asked; I made use of them.”

  “Just like that?”

  “Well, she was naked at the time.” His grin widened. “And she had her legs wrapped around me. She does this thing with her… but then, you already know that, don’t you?”

  It took great effort, but Michael managed to resist the bait. Then the next dig came.

  “I’ve seen her pictures, you know. They’re all over the Covington house. Abigail was right – you didn’t pick the pretty one,” Khalid laughed. “So I guess she must have been something sweet in the sack if you’re that hung up on her.”

  This time Michael lost it. Rage took over. The next thing he knew, his companions were holding him tight by both arms. It took him a moment to understand why his hand hurt. Khalid spat blood out of his mouth. Two teeth came out with it.

  At least he’d gotten what he wanted. Khalid no longer smiled. Michael relaxed. Peter and Gabriel loosened their grips, but they didn’t let go.

  “What’s she up to?” Peter asked.

  Khalid refused to speak.

  “OK,” the Irishman chimed in. “We can just let Michael hit you again.”