by R. J. Wolf
“We’ve got to keep an eye on everything. As you know this, this time doesn’t come around that often. We don’t want anything to get swept under the rug with all of the excitement.”
“Understandable.”
“Do you have an update for me?”
“An update, councilman?”
“Yes, on your situation.”
“Oh, not yet. I’m following some leads. I’ll have more for you when you arrive.”
“Very well,” Langston replied then took a deep breath. “There is another matter I’d like to discuss.”
Eric clenched his jaw and shook off the jolt of anxiety that ran up his spine. “What was that, councilman?”
“Is Gary around? He really should be present during this discussion.”
Eric’s voice got stuck in his throat and he coughed. “Um, actually he’s not here right now. I can get with him later.”
“That’s not necessary. We can meet in person,” Langston said then hung up the phone.
“Hello? Hello?” Eric handed the phone back to Safron.
“Everything okay, Mr. Strange?” Safron asked as he placed the phone behind the counter.
“Not really. Is there somewhere we can talk in private?”
“Of course.” Safron led the way to a closet-sized room behind the reception area. Eric followed him inside and the door closed behind him. “How can I be of assistance?” Safron asked.
“What do you know about possession, Safron? I mean, you probably have seen your fair share, right?”
Safron frowned and lowered his head. “Do you know his name?”
“What?”
“The demon that possessed you, do you know his name?”
“Yes, it’s Rab—”
“Don’t say it here!” Safron snapped.
“Sorry.”
“I could sense another in you, an evil that lusts for power. It’s been growing stronger, hasn’t it?”
“Yes. I don’t think I can control it anymore.”
“I must admit, Mr. Strange, my knowledge of possessions is somewhat limited. We vampires are fairly immune to such things. Very difficult to inhabit the dead. But, there is a shaman that might be able to help.”
“A shaman?”
“Yes, he’s said to share a soul with a demon. Perhaps he can reason with yours. Find out what it wants, or cure you. I warn you however, possessions are very complicated matters. Maybe he fixes you, maybe he makes it worse.”
“This can’t get any worse.”
Safron frowned and slightly shook his head. “It can always get worse.”
Eric shrugged. “What do I have to do?”
“I need to make a phone call.”
They left the room and went back to the concierge. Safron reached across the desk and grabbed the phone. He punched in a few numbers then waited in silence. When the line picked up, he began to speak in a language Eric had never heard before. It didn’t even resemble any language he’d ever heard before, it was all gibberish.
The conversation was brief but intense. Just from the tone alone, it sounded like Safron was forcing someone to do something, or blackmailing them. He sounded angry and he spoke with a contempt in his voice that bordered on hate. After a short back and forth, he hung up the phone and turned back to Eric.
“Are you sure this is what you want?”
“I think so. Yes.”
“Follow me then.”
Safron left the small room and headed to the elevators. They road up to the thirteenth floor and got off. Before heading down the hallway, Safron turned to Eric and asked him again. “You are sure you want to do this?”
“I have to do something, Safron. I almost killed a friend today. I’m not strong enough to stop whatever this is again.”
Safron nodded then walked a few steps down and tapped his knuckles against the door to room 1313. The door quickly swung open and an older, olive-skinned man with long silvery hair that was braided and slung over his shoulder stepped outside. He gave Eric a quick once over then moved to the side and nudged him into the room.
“Thank you, Dakota. I am in your debt.” Safron said and turned to leave but Dakota reached out and grabbed him by the arm. Safron paused and glared at him.
“This isn’t a one-man job,” Dakota said in an ominous tone.
Safron frowned. He looked like he was still planning on leaving but he nodded and made his way back to Eric. Dakota closed the door and followed Safron into the living room. Drawing a deep breath, he gazed at Eric for a few moments then clapped his hands together.
“Take off your shoes,” Dakota demanded.
“Excuse me?” Eric replied.
Dakota let out a chuckle and cast a quick glance at Safron. “I said take off your shoes. Demon take your hearing too?”
Eric grimaced and stepped out of his sneakers. He kicked them to the side then held his hands up.
“Have a seat,” Dakota said and motioned toward a brown leather couch pushed against the far wall. Eric made his way toward it but Dakota stopped him. “Not there. The floor.”
Eric twisted his face to protest but Safron glared at him. Begrudgingly, Eric dropped to the floor and pulled his knees to his chest. “What now?”
Dakota sat down across from Eric and crossed his legs. “So, you have a demon?”
“I did.”
“You did?”
Eric took a shallow breath and dove into what he knew of his story. It felt odd recanting a tale that he really didn’t remember. While some of his memories had come back, parts of his mind were a black hole and he filled in the pieces with what others had told him or the few images he’d stolen from Zoey.
Dakota listened intently. He was just as fascinated by the case as he was afraid. It would take a very powerful demon to possess an underworlder and even more so a psychic. But to still have influence after the demon was cast out, that was nearly unheard of.
“You’re an interesting fella,” Dakota said casually when Eric finished. He rubbed his chin and goggled at him. “Very interesting. Well, I’ll take a look around and see what I see. I make no promises and I can’t say you won’t end up worse off but it sounds like you’re down to last resort anyway.”
“Pretty much. So, do you need to light some candles…sacrifice a goat? How does all of this work?”
Dakota half-grinned then closed his eyes and leaned his head back. “Be still,” he mumbled.
Eric gave him an odd look but did his best to relax and stay motionless. Safron curiously strode across the living room, and took a seat on the couch. He cast a wary eye at both of them, trying to hide the concern on his face.
Dakota began to sway back and forth. With a deep, booming tone, he mumbled under his breath in a singsong voice. He repeated the same phrase over and over, increasing the cadence each time. Eric had no idea what it meant but he figured it had something to do with talking to demons.
The lights in the room dimmed. The windows and the doors began to rattle and the cupboards swung open. Sweat rolled down Dakota’s forehead and his voice grew darker and raspier.
A rush of air swept past Eric’s face and he shuddered. A cold whisper echoed in his ear, words he’d heard before but still didn’t understand. He resisted the urge to run, whether away or toward the voice, he wasn’t sure.
“Who are you?” Dakota asked, still rocking back and forth. The lights flickered off and on and a low hum echoed through the room. Dakota’s voice sent chilling vibrations through the air. “Who are you!”
The whispers in Eric’s ear grew louder. He needed Dakota to stop. Clenching his fists, he closed his eyes and fought to control the urge of bloodlust. It was all the darkness inside of him knew and whatever Dakota was doing awakened a thirst that Eric had never felt.
With every ounce of his resolve, Eric swallowed down the evil. He took a deep breath and relaxed his shoulders as the wave passed over him and he felt something like himself. The lights in the room came back on and the noises subsided. Eric look
ed back to Safron, who tried to project a look of confidence. It didn’t work.
“Shadow walker!” Dakota cried out.
“What?” Eric replied.
Suddenly, Dakota lurched forward and grabbed Eric’s shoulder. He opened his eyes and cleared his throat with a loud, ragged cough. “This, this possession was strong. He knows you well,” Dakota started then turned toward Safron. “Can I trouble you for a glass of water?”
“Certainly.”
While Safron headed into the kitchen, Dakota scooted back to the wall and leaned against it. He swept a few loose hairs from his face as his head swirled and he fought off the feeling of passing out. “Your demon is back in hell but he’s still connected to you somehow.”
“Rabe---” Eric started.
“Don’t say his name!”
“Sorry. You called me shadow walker, why?”
“Did I? I don’t…I don’t remember saying that.”
Safron handed Dakota a glass of water and he paused. In two gulps he emptied the cup then pushed himself to a stand.
“Are you okay?” Safron asked.
Dakota shivered. “We need to break the connection. It will only grow stronger.”
“Stronger than it already is?” Eric asked as he stood up.
Dakota stumbled toward the cabinet and yanked it open. He started rifling through bottles until he found a small vial containing an emerald green liquid. Holding it at eye level, he slowly turned around and smiled. “This is where you come in, Safron.”
“Me?”
“Yes, your blood…it’s like a bulletproof vest. It will help to cloak what we’re doing.”
“And what are we doing?”
“Freeing him. That’s why you are here, isn’t it?”
Safron gave him a suspicious look then bared his fangs and bit down on his wrist. He squeezed his fist and blood began to stream down his forearm. Dakota uncorked the vial and let a few drops collect inside.
“Now what?” Eric asked.
Dakota ignored him and swirled the vial around. The blood mixed in with the green liquid and turned purple. He smiled with satisfaction then turned back to Eric. “Now you can sit on the couch.”
Eric started toward the brown sofa then paused and looked back. “What’s wrong with me?”
“That’s what I’m trying to find out. Now, have a seat.”
Slumping his head, Eric made his way to the couch and fell into the cushions. He leaned forward and grumbled into his hands then sucked in all the air in the room. “Let’s get this over with,” he belted.
“Drink this…all of it,” Dakota said and handed him the vial. “It’ll taste like shit. But whatever you do don’t stop drinking it. Whatever you see, whatever you hear…you have to finish it all.
“What?”
“Get on with it.”
Eric stared at the tiny glass container. Sighing, he glanced at Safron who gave him a reassuring nod. Eric smiled awkwardly and shook the bottle. The liquid inside moved like it was alive. Eric stared into it, losing himself in the churning plasma and he felt a sudden urge to drink it all. He looked up at Dakota and nodded then slowly tipped the vial to his lips.
Suddenly, the door burst open. Splinters and pieces of the wooden frame flew across the room and slammed into the wall. Richard stormed inside with Castillo on his heels. His face was wild with rage, his fangs bare, his black hair tussled an unkempt.
In the blink of an eye, he sped into the living room and slapped the vial from Eric’s hand. As the container hit the floor it exploded into a luminous inferno of black flames. Without looking back, Richard rounded on Dakota with death in his eyes and grabbed him by the neck. “Are you mad!” he roared.
CHAPTER 16
WE WILL RETURN
Richard slammed Dakota into the wall and tightened his grip. Dakota tried hopelessly to pry his hands away but it was no use. He gagged and pleaded and kicked his legs but Richard was too strong.
“Be still, witch doctor,” Richard warned and raised Dakota further into the air. “Castillo, did you know this man would be here?”
Frowning, Castillo glanced around the small room, his eyes resting on Eric. They shared a brief glance before Castillo turned his attention back toward Richard. “No…no, I only knew what I told you.”
“What were you thinking?” Richard looked to Safron and asked.
Before Safron could answer, Eric stood up and walked to the middle of the room. “Castillo, what the hell is going on?”
“Yes,” Richard agreed. “What the hell is going on? A summoning potion? Safron, you bring this disgraced shaman here to conspire with devils. The coven may no longer be your home but have you forgotten what we stood for?”
Safron looked away, a shameful guise danced across his face momentarily before he replaced it with anger. He took a few deliberate breaths then turned back to Richard. “I understand they came to you for help and were turned away. Maybe it’s you who have forgotten what we stood for. Now let Dakota go, he’s done nothing more than I’ve asked.”
Richard bared his fangs then released Dakota and took a few steps back. Shaking his head, he began to pace the room. “Safron, there is much more at stake than you can imagine. This isn’t just a possession.”
Dakota huffed. “What do you know of it?”
“I know that if you plan to keep your tongue you won’t speak to me again.”
“Richard,” Safron said in a stern tone. “Why does this concern you?”
Richard grilled Dakota for a moment longer then turned his back to him. He sighed and swept strands of black hair from his face as he gave Safron a sympathetic look. “We shouldn’t speak about it here.”
“Why not!” Dakota snapped.
Richard rounded on him but Safron stepped between them. He held his hand out, restraining Richard while Castillo grabbed him by the arm and pulled him away. “Come on, it’s not worth it.”
“You control that con artist, Safron. Or I will,” Richard growled.
Castillo sighed and rubbed his hand across Richard’s face. “This is why I left you in the first place. Your temper is ridiculous.”
Richard lowered his head then glanced at Castillo underneath a brow of shame. He nodded slightly and twisted his lips into a half smile. “You’re right…you’re right. I’ll try to be less impulsive.” Leaning forward he kissed Castillo then stroked his cheek with his fingers.
Eric scratched his head. “So, you guys are a thing?”
Castillo grumbled. “It’s not the nineties, Eric. Are you really still uncomfortable with gay men?”
“Gay men?” Eric repeated like the thought had never crossed his mind. “You’re barely seventeen, Richard looks forty.”
Richard laughed. “I’m much older than forty. And we are vampires, Eric. We stop aging the moment we are turned. We’re both more than a thousand years old.”
“Mr. Strange is not as familiar with things as we’d hope,” Safron said in a protective tone.
“I can certainly see that.”
While they continued to talk, Dakota inched closer to Eric until he was standing right beside him. Before anyone noticed, he wrapped his arm around Eric’s neck and leapt onto his back. “Let him in, let him back in!” Dakota roared in a strange voice.
“Safron, he’s possessed!” Richard screamed.
Dakota’s eyes turned black and his face twisted into a feral mask. His fingers turned to claws and he drove them into Eric’s back. Eric howled in pain and fell forward.
“Let him in!” Dakota cried out. “Stop fighting, just give into it.”
Richard grabbed Dakota by his hair and yanked. The silver strands ripped from his scalp and Richard dropped them to the floor like a bloody wig. He grabbed Dakota’s shoulder and pried him off Eric then with a flick of his hand sent him flying to the other side of the room and pinned him to the wall with a simple spell.
“I know who you are,” Richard shouted as he stared down at the knotted mess of flesh and hair at his feet
. “Your time here is done.”
Dakota squirmed but Richard’s spell was too strong. Magic crackled in the air as he vainly fought against the invisible force holding him to the wall. Blood trickled down his forehead and he spewed obscenities like a drunken sailor. “Let me go! Release me or I’ll feast upon your rotten flesh.”
Richard took a hesitant step toward him. “Dakota, Dakota, if you’re in there, this is the time you start fighting back.”
Dakota laughed. Straining, he lifted his head from the wall then slammed it back several times until the dry wall cracked. “Your shaman was weak!” he said in a demented voice. “Too weak to start the games he played. This fragile shell can hardly contain my thoughts. How could he ever fight back against me?”
“What did you do to him?” Safron asked and joined Richard in the living room.
“No more than was necessary, you pathetic leech.”
“Rabelial!” Richard said in a stern voice. “I know who you are…I know what you are. Go back to hell.”
“If that’s true, corpse, then you know there is nothing that will stop me. We will return!” Dakota growled then curled his mouth awkwardly and began to mumble under his breath. His words sounded like garbled nonsense but Richard knew exactly what they were. In a whirl of vibrant silk and ambrosial cologne, Richard flashed across the living room and tore Dakota’s head from his shoulders.
“No!” Safron screamed in a horrified tone. His face shuddered with pain as he turned to Richard in a rage. “He was my friend!”
“He was possessed and in over his head,” Richard spat as he flung blood from his hand and it splattered on the floor.
“You had no right! This is not your domain…you are not the master here!”
“Safron, don’t you understand what this is? Rabelial is no demon, he’s the last inferni.”
Safron’s face fell to a blank page. He swallowed then stumbled backward and dropped onto the sofa. “That’s impossible. That’s impossible they are all dead.”
Eric turned to Safron in confusion. “What’s he talking about? What’s an inferni?”