Devil's Return
Luther Cross: Book 5
Percival Constantine
Contents
Before You Start…
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Epilogue
Thank You!
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Afterword
About the Author
Also by Percival Constantine
WHO IS LUTHER CROSS?
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Learn where Luther comes from in this special novella, available only by clicking here. As a thank you, you’ll also get four additional short stories featuring Luther for free!
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1
My name’s Luther Cross, and I’ve just been stabbed to death. Not often a story begins with the hero dying, but that is how this one starts.
I’m what’s known as a cambion, a human/demon hybrid. My mother was a normal woman named Grace Cross. But my father was one of the Fallen, the angels who joined Lucifer’s rebellion and were cast into Hell to become the first demons. His name was Abraxas.
Just under a year ago, I helped a girl named Dakota Reed, who’d been impregnated by an angel. Those hybrids are called the nephilim and they’re far more powerful than me. Their creation was also strictly forbidden by the terms of an armistice between Heaven and Hell. But this angel seemed intent on breaking that armistice in order to kick-start armageddon.
A lot’s happened since then. I helped Dakota to safety, traveled to Purgatory, got overtaken by my dark side, betrayed pretty much everyone I ever cared about, became a Hell Lord, and then conquered my inner demon. In that time, Dakota also gave birth, and that’s what brought me here.
A demon named Asmodeus was after her. Long story short, he used to be a somewhat ally of mine before he got trapped in Purgatory. To escape, he struck a deal with Thanatos, the big bad who ran it—the nephilim for his freedom. I wasn’t about to let that happen, but to stop him, I had to strike a deal of my own with none other than Lucifer himself. He gave me the means to trap Asmodeus in Hell’s prison in exchange for…well, that’s something I still don’t know.
I managed to finish the job. Asmodeus was now rotting in a place called Cocytus, where he’s held under freezing water by chains of ice as ravenous, predatory fish eat away at his flesh. Didn’t come without a price, though. Bastard still managed to stab me before I got him.
Now I was standing on the beach, looking down at my body. Standing over me was a young Filipino woman named Shelly Reyes. She was a nun with a military background, tough as nails, and assigned by an angel named Raziel to protect Dakota and her baby. Before I died, I gave her a spell provided by Lucifer that would provide protection for Dakota and her kid, Malcolm.
The entire world looked different now that I was dead. It wasn’t dark out, but it seemed almost like someone turned down the sunlight. I reached a hand out for Shelly, but it just passed right through her head. And when it did, she reacted, her body straightening. I could see the goosebumps forming on her bare arms.
I couldn’t feel a thing. Not the heat of the sun’s rays or the humidity in the air. The sea breeze had vanished completely as far as my senses were concerned, as did the scent of the ocean and the sound of the waves. I knelt down and reached for the sand, but my hand went through the grains, not feeling a single one. The only sense I had left was sight. It was definitely a surreal feeling.
And that’s when I saw the fog roll in across the ocean. I stood and approached the water, staring out into the distance. The fog had come from nowhere and stretched high into the air. A boat slowly emerged from the cloud—narrow and long, and forged from human bones and skulls.
A solitary figure stood in the back of the boat, an oar clasped between his hands. He wore a heavy cloak with a hood, but his white eyes glowed brightly in the shadows that hid his face. The boat came to a stop and he raised the oar from the water. A sand dune rose from the surface, providing a bridge between myself and him. He extended his arm towards me and beckoned with a single finger.
I knew who he was. Charon, the ferryman of the dead. I’d seen him before. He was the one who took Asmodeus, Tessa, Cain, and myself into Purgatory. And now he was here for me.
I turned my back on him, looking at the beach house. I watched as Dakota emerged, running to Shelly’s side. She fell to her knees and threw her arms on my body. I could see her tears and it seemed like she was alternating between shouting and crying. But I couldn’t hear her.
“You’re not part of this world anymore, Luther,” said Charon. “Your time has come to leave and move on to the next.”
His voice was the only thing I could hear. I took a breath—or I guess I simulated taking a breath since I was now a ghost—and turned towards him.
“And which ‘next world’ would that be?” I asked. “What happens when a Hell Lord dies? Where does his soul go?”
Charon stepped off the boat and onto the dune. He slowly walked towards me and stopped when he came close. “To be honest, I don’t know.”
“How do you not know where you’re taking me?”
“My task is simply to ferry you to the next place. As we travel on the rivers between worlds, it will become clear how you’ve been judged and where your soul belongs.”
“So who does the judging?”
“That’s not my department.”
I scoffed. “For Christ’s sake, do you know anything?”
Charon sighed. “I know even in spite of some recent acts, you were a decent man. You helped many people over the course of your life. That alone may have granted your soul entry into Heaven. But—”
“But I fucked things up when I became a Hell Lord, that’s what you mean to say.”
“It certainly didn’t help matters,” said Charon. “Though I’m not so certain anything would have changed your fate.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked.
“Not only are you a cambion, but you’re the son of Abraxas. One of the greatest monsters to have ever lived. I don’t know if you ever had a chance at salvation.”
If that wasn’t a kick in the nuts, I don’t know what would be.
“So what happens to me? Does my Hell Lord status get me any sort of leeway?”
Charon looked away, off into the fog in the distance. “I honestly cannot say.”
“Can’t say because you’re not permitted to, or can’t say because you don’t know the answer?”
He shook his head. “Both. Your situation is unique, Luther. No mortal has ever been a Hell Lord before. What becomes of your soul now is anyone’s guess.”
“While we’re on the river, if it doesn’t become clear where I’m supposed to go, then what?” I asked.
“In cases where the soul’s destination is not a foregone conclusion, a trial is he
ld to determine where it will finally rest. It’s rare, but has been known to happen in the past.”
“You’re talking about sentencing,” I said.
Charon nodded. “Yes, I suppose that’s one way of looking at it. Both Heaven and Hell could make a case for why your soul belongs in those domains, if they so choose.”
That didn’t fill me with a lot of confidence. With Raziel missing—possibly dead—I couldn’t count on anyone in Heaven having my back. Pyriel despised me and I doubted Gabriel would stick his neck out for me. Plus, just last year I got my ass kicked by Azrael, the Angel of Death.
“And who’s the judge? Who has final say over where my soul ends up?”
“The final judge of all things,” said Charon.
I scoffed. “Death. As in the horseman.”
He gave a nod. “It will take some time for the proper arrangements to be made. I can take you to a place where you’ll be held until the commencement of the trial.”
A place where I’d be held…I knew what that meant. There was only one place where souls who hadn’t been sentenced to Heaven or Hell had to go. And the man in charge of that place had an axe to grind against me.
“Are you out of your damn mind?” I asked. “You can’t send me to Purgatory.”
“Those are the rules.”
“You know Thanatos wants my head on a pike, and you’re just going to turn me over to him?”
“I apologize, but I have no choice.”
“Bullshit!” I stepped up to Charon, stabbing a finger against his chest. “You had a choice when you took us into Purgatory and when you helped us out. You had a choice all those times you helped Cain. And now you’re going to tell me that you’re just a good little errand boy?”
Charon raised his hands to his hood and slowly lifted it off his head. I saw his face for the first time. It was a map of scar tissue and blistered wounds. His face looked like a shattered glass that had been glued together badly. If I still had a stomach, I’d probably be vomiting all over my shoes at the sight.
He raised the hood again, concealing his wounds. “Thanatos has seen to it that I’ve paid for my transgressions. I can’t betray my duties ever again, not without consequence.”
“If he did that to you, what do you think he’s going to do to me?”
Charon lowered his head. Strange that an immortal being was afraid of something. Even more strange that he seemed to feel remorse for his actions. After all the souls Charon had ferried to the afterlife over eons, you’d think he would no longer be capable of emotion, if he ever was.
“You know, I have no power over the dead,” said Charon. “I just take you from one place to the next. But I can’t force you to board my boat.”
“What are you saying?” I asked.
“How do you think ghosts even exist, Luther? They’re the souls that refused to come with me.”
“So I do have a choice,” I said. “I can choose to stay behind, to remain on Earth as a spirit.”
“Yes, but that path has risks as well, and you should know of them before you make your decision. Most souls that remain behind do so because there is something tying them to this place. But remaining in the veil, stuck between two worlds, it’s too much for many. They break under the pressure and become trapped in nightmares of their own making. Or they try to inflict their pain on the living.”
I’d encountered my fair share of angry spirits in my time, so I knew exactly what sort of risks Charon was talking about. There wasn’t really any choice, though. If I tried to do things the right way, Thanatos would definitely get his hands on me. Even as a Hell Lord, I doubted anyone downstairs would try to get me out of Thanatos’ hands. Why would they? Lucifer wouldn’t want to risk showing favoritism and Lilith already had a rebellion on her hands to deal with. And the other Hell Lords either feared or despised me.
“I’ll stay.”
“Think about this carefully, Luther,” said Charon. “Soon, you’ll start to relive the past, and you could easily become trapped in it. Your rage will grow, reliving the moments of your life, and you’ll start to lash out against the living. You may not even realize you’re doing it.”
“There’s no other way. I’ve gotta figure something out.” I turned away from Charon and looked at Dakota and Shelly standing over my body. It was like time had frozen. “What’s going on?”
“Time moves differently for us,” said Charon. “You may think we’ve been speaking for a while, but it’s been barely seconds for them.”
“They’re going to need help,” I said. “I’ve reached out to spirits for guidance in the past. If I stay here, I can probably see to it that Dakota and her baby are protected.”
“You might be able to, but affecting the real world isn’t as easy as you believe. It will take time to master that skill. And there’s one other thing you should be concerned about.”
“What’s that?” I asked.
Charon started to walk across the sand dune, back towards the boat. As he boarded, the sand retreated beneath the water’s surface and he looked back at me.
“Beware the wraiths,” he said.
“Wraiths?” I asked. “What the hell’s a wraith?”
“I pray you never have to find out.”
The fog rolled over him and slowly retreated, vanishing into the distance. As it did, light returned to the world and I could hear Shelly and Dakota’s voices again. I looked over at them and saw Shelly trying to comfort Dakota and telling her that they had to leave now.
She was right about that. And I’d tag along with them, see if there was something I could do to help. After all, not like I had anything else to worry about now that I was dead.
2
On the other side of the world in the Logan Square neighborhood of Chicago, Alistair Carraway had just been led into the basement of a comic book store. The shop owner, Tessa Kang, had clearly been awakened by Alistair’s early-morning visit as she was dressed in a black robe tied over shorts and a T-shirt. As she gestured to the couch for Alistair to sit on, she rubbed her eyes, trying to wake herself.
“I’m going to make some coffee,” she said, moving over to the kitchen area. “You Brits all drink tea though, right?”
“Prefer coffee myself, black,” said Alistair as he sat down on the couch. The sound of dripping coffee was the only thing breaking the silence.
He reached into his trench coat pocket for a pack of cigarettes and shook it. Once one stuck itself out from the rest, Alistair drew it from the pack with his teeth and lit it with a Zippo procured from another pocket.
“Now I see where Luther got that nasty habit from,” said Tessa from the kitchen.
“Well, we’re all destined for the grave eventually. And in my line of work, actually surprised I’ve lived long enough for cancer to be a potential threat.”
“Luther told me a little bit about you,” said Tessa. “You’re one of the Sons of Solomon, aren’t you?”
“They trained me, yeah, but I’m not exactly cut from the same cloth as most of them.”
“I was going to say, you don’t really strike me as one of them.”
“Not so much. I’m more of a freelance operator, especially these days.”
The dripping ceased. A moment later, Tessa walked over to the couch carrying two mugs. She set one down on the table in front of Alistair and sat at the opposite end of the L-shaped couch as she sipped her own coffee.
There was an ashtray on the table—probably from all the times Luther had been here—and Alistair made use of it himself. He picked up the mug and lightly blew over the surface of the coffee.
“I’m still a little groggy from being woken up so early,” she said, “so maybe you could go over your story again in a bit more detail.”
“Luther and I have a connection. Ever since he was a baby.”
“You’re the one who found him, aren’t you?” said Tessa.
He nodded. “I tried to help his mother. She’d been taken in by a cult that worshipped a pow
erful demon. They needed a woman to give the demon a child and Grace Cross fit the profile they were looking for. I was too late to save her, but Luther was another story. I knew what he was, obviously, but couldn’t bring myself to kill him. Thought with the right guidance, he might be able to do some good. So I brought him to the Sons.”
“Strange,” said Tessa. “The way Luther’s talked about you, it’s almost like a son talking about his father. But you didn’t actually raise him, did you?”
“No, my duties kept me away most of the time. But I was there when I could be,” said Alistair. “I tried to come in town and spend time with him at least every year on his birthday. Luther didn’t quite…fit in with the other trainees among the Sons.”
“Because of what he was?” asked Tessa.
“Not only that, but most of those kids were legacies. Children of men and women who were part of the Sons of Solomon. Luther wasn’t one of them and the kids never let him forget it.”
“I know what that’s like…” she muttered under her breath, but it was just loud enough that Alistair could hear it.
“I was awakened in the middle of the night by a vision. Of Luther being stabbed by Asmodeus,” said Alistair.
“And you’re sure this wasn’t just a dream?”
He nodded as he sipped his coffee. “As I said, I know the difference between dreams and visions. But I’m no amateur, I knew I had to be sure. I tried to do a locator spell on Luther and came up with nothing.”
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