The Devil Walks In Blood: Nick Holleran Private Investigator Book Two (Nick Holleran Series 2)

by David Green

  I snarl, throwing my head forward with as much force as I can muster. My forehead crunches into his nose. I feel bone and cartilage flatten. Marvin staggers backward and the momentum carries me with him. I crash to the floor again, face-first this time. I can only twist my head so my cheek bears the brunt. Pain explodes in my jaw, but the ragged gasps I hear from Marvin make it all worth it.

  I tense, expecting a kick or punch as he climbs to his feet. Instead, the room lurches as Marvin picks up the chair and sets me straight for the second time. I cringe, shrink back and screw my eyes shut, expecting a beating.

  Maybe I shouldn’t have done anything, but I need to get out of this chair and away from him. He says he won’t harm me, but after he’s killed Nick, why wouldn’t he kill me too? I’m a loose end.

  And he’ll need someone to take his anger out on when Lucifer doesn’t appear.

  The seconds stretch, but all I hear is the wet, ragged breaths of my captor.

  I crack an eye open. Marvin’s standing at the table again, book in hand. Purple blotches swell below his eyes and dark crimson streams from his ruined nose, but if he’s in pain, his eyes don’t show it. They don’t show any emotion, for that matter.

  Blood pours onto his white shirt now, cascading from his beaten face. Without even trying to staunch the flow, he sets the book down and unbuttons his sodden shirt. He throws it aside but my gaze is stolen by the sight of his bare torso.

  Marvin’s heavyset, but a thick layer of muscle sits below the flab, giving his torso and arms a thick, sturdy look. But that’s not what’s making panic begin to bubble up inside me, set the tears streaming down my face. His skin’s covered with tattoos—copies of the pentagrams and etchings from around the cabin in a multitude of colors—and they’re writhing across his skin like a horrific, living piece of art.

  Above his heart are angry tally marks, like he cut himself with a knife. So many of them.

  “What are they?” I ask, unable to help myself. “Those marks?”

  Marvin glances down at them, face impassive. “A reminder of the souls I have taken to further my studies.” He lays a thick finger beside the first one. “This is my mother, I took her first, the day I was reborn. I was ten.”

  “You k-killed her?” I stammer, the taste of salt thick on my lips as the tears stream down my face. “You killed all of them? You’re a monster!”

  “It is almost time,” he says, turning away from me and approaching the door. “My friends are hungry.”

  Through the cabin’s windows, I see darkness falling. Martin stands in the doorway, mumbling to himself, arms stretched wide. The muscles in his back tremble under the fat.

  “What are you doing?” I cry, straining against my restraints.

  I have to get out of here, warn Nick somehow. This evil... I can taste it on my tongue, smell it in the air, like the cabin’s steeped in it. The words spilling out of Marvin’s mouth are the source of it all. It’s all coming from him.

  He pauses and turns. The grin that splits his face is almost as horrifying as the red glow in his eyes.

  “I’m calling my friends, Ms. Riberio, and the mist that carries them. I learned this trick a long time ago. You see, I may not be worthy to control the Father, but the lesser denizens of Hell are mine to dominate.”

  He peers out into the fog and I can still hear the smile in his voice.

  “We are going to welcome Mr. Holleran to his destiny, you and I.”

  DON’T LET ME DOWN

  The GPS location Marv supplied leads me to a place in the middle of nowhere. I follow the route as far as I can in the Mustang until the road turns impassable. Then I sit behind the wheel for five minutes, trying to muster the courage to make the rest of the trip on foot. GPS says I’ve still got a mile to go, through dense forest with no trail. And the mist is back. Imagine my enthusiasm.

  My gut tells me this mist is somehow Marvin Clancy’s doing. The silent drive gave me the chance to turn a few things over in the old skull and I realized, each time the mist appeared, I’ve run into Marv. At first, I couldn’t see that. Charon, the Amarok and that watching presence confused the matter. But I’ve run into the Ferryman without the mist, and now I know Suraz’s the one keeping an eye on me, only Lucifer knows why.

  So that leaves Marv. He must have been in Meadow Park that first night, before rocking up at the Styx. He tailed me at Tony’s, and now, with the fog thick at the location he gave me, it can only mean one thing—he’s controlling it. The creatures inside it too, logic says. Coincidence can kiss my skinny ass.

  If I didn’t already know it, I’d say Marvin Clancy is one dangerous sonofabitch.

  I carry out one last check. My Ruger’s loaded and I’ve doused the bullets with holy water. The spare magazine’s in my waistband, the Battenspurger’s intact and I’ve got Ruby’s crucifix in my pocket.

  “Only one thing for it, Nick,” I say to myself, staring into the rearview. Frightened eyes look back. Can’t blame myself, really. I screw the top off the bottle of holy water and pour the remaining liquid over myself. I’ll take any extra edge I can. “You ready? You better be.”

  The Mustang’s door cuts through the mist as I open it, the thick fog oozing back into place as I swing it shut. I’ve left the engine running in case I come through this and need a quick getaway. The headlamps seem dull in the gloom. Grey surrounds me; can’t even see the night sky. Pulling out the Ruger, I hold my cell in front of me like a compass and follow the route to its end. My boots squelch in the sodden earth.

  Ahead of me, a black spot forms. A shadow looms out of the fog; a deep darkness that the mist won’t touch. I ain’t surprised.

  “Death lays at the end of your path, Fateless,” Charon says, his voice like two tombstones rubbing against each other.

  “Thought you couldn’t see my end, Ferryman,” I hiss, stooping with the Ruger held out in front of me. Did I just hear snuffling?

  “True, and I hope my business here includes you, but another’s end calls me here this night.”

  “Well, shit.”

  As far as I know, there’s only two other people in this part of the forest—Rosa and Marv. Can’t kill the latter, since I’ve got no way to deal with his spirit. Battenspurger might buy me time, but I’d need to get Rosa out first. If either of us get caught in the blast radius, we’d get blown to pieces.

  If it comes to it, I’ll kill Marv to save Rosa, and deal with the consequences later. I guess you can call that my M.O.

  A scream pierces the night, filled with rage, pain and unspeakable loss. It makes my bones shake, and when another howls in reply, I almost turn on my heel and flee. The mist distorts distance, but in front of me, red lights pierce through the fog, edges bleeding into the vapor.

  Flesh… Fresh blood… Sweet, sweet meat… It calls to us… So hungry… It gnaws… Stop the pain… Feed us… Free us… Your body, so strong, so whole… Give it to us…

  The mist billows out like a curtain in front of me as the horror emerges. It looks like a yak, hideous and twisted. Red eyes glow. Saliva drips from its maw and sizzles on the unseen ground beneath its hooves. Its fur’s matted, bare in places, and bone juts out through skin. And its face… Surrounding those crimson eyes is a skull with slithers of flesh and shavings of fur stuck to it.

  It howls at me. My ears ring and I fight against covering them, keeping my Ruger trained on it.

  Another creature appears behind it. A bear, I reckon. Or it used to be.

  “Fateless, have you ever faced Wendigo? Dangerous foes. I believe I will witness your end tonight after all.”

  Well, Jim, mystery fucking solved. If I make it through this, I’m collecting a fee from the skin-walker and his goddamned clan. Reckon I’ll deserve it.

  “Fuck you, Charon,” I mutter, as the second Wendigo draws up beside the first. “You knew from the first night? A little heads up wou
ldn’t have killed you.”

  I glance at the Ferryman and he grins, features fading into the darkness until the mist curls around him like a cloak. Gone.

  My hair, already wet from the holy water, drips liquid down my forehead. My clothes stick to me from the moisture in the air. The mist seems alive, swirling and gathering thicker around me. Gentle as I can, I reach into my jacket and pull out the Battenspurger, shedding napkins into the wet leaves.

  The yak Wendigo cocks its head.

  “We smell your fear, human… Give in…”

  The way its jaws move when that piercing, high-pitched voice comes out will give me nightmares for years. Assuming I have years.

  I squeeze the trigger. A bullet punches into the yak’s forehead. Steam sizzles from the entry wound and a squeal bursts from its mouth. I fire again, this time at the bear, two quick shots that thud into the ruin of its body. Their screams are too human for comfort—tortured, filled with a bone-deep fear, a desperate need for release. The spirits possessing these animals were people a long time ago, but now they’re puppets too. Another crime Marv’s gonna pay for.

  I still need to put them down. Rabid animals with rabid minds.

  The bullets only bought me time; they won’t put down something as wicked as a Wendigo. To be honest, I’m not sure what will, but God loves a lost cause, right? I throw the Battenspurger overarm. Before it impacts, I turn, determined to put some space between me and the detonation.

  I slip in the mud.

  Crashing to the ground, I spin as the Battenspurger explodes. The light sears my vision. I make myself small, curling into a ball as the Wendigo howl in frustration and pain. The grenade obliterates ghosts, even if they form again later. Their bodies straight-up burst all over the forest. Chunks of flesh pelt me, the stench of rotted yak and bear fur thick in my nose, the splatter of their ichor on my skin. The night falls silent. Pushing onto my elbow, I glance around.

  The mist’s still thick, but no Wendigo. Lights dance in my vision, though blinking doesn’t force them away. In fact, the colors are shimmering, moving together and swirling when I look at them. It’s then I realize my mistake.

  Battenspurgers destroy matter, force ghosts apart, but don’t kill them.

  Wendigo aren’t the creatures; they’re the malevolent spirits inside, and I just ripped them from their bodies. One rushes at me, and all I can do is lay there in the mud.

  “Well, fuck me.”

  The Wendigo rushes into me, and my body turns hot, and I mean fucking hot. It’s like I’ve burst into flame, sizzling like pork rind. Then the specter attempting to possess me howls in pain and scatters away. Another hurtles at me and I feel a slight chill before the fire returns. A moment later that Wendigo retreats too.

  I pat myself down, trying to figure it out, and then realize I’m soaked, but not with sweat.

  “The holy water,” I mutter. “Guess it was a good idea to go for the full baptismal after all.”

  The Wendigo spirits flee into the mist. I scramble to my feet, trying to brush the mud from my clothes, but all I do is move it around a little. Before I can congratulate myself on surviving a battle with Wendigo, I hear more screams, snuffling, baying. Red lights appear in the mist.

  Those first two were just the vanguard, and all I have left is bullets. The holy water might prevent them from possessing my body until it dries, but nothing will stop them tearing me limb from limb.

  Should have waited to use the shittin’ Battenspurger.

  The amount of eyes glaring at me, swimming and swirling, blazing crimson, refusing to stick to one position, disorient me. I swing my gun arm around, looking for something—anything—to unload my clip at. Then something collides with me from behind and I fire, reflex. Claws pierce my skin and teeth bite at my hamstrings. I fall forwards, twisting as I do, and fire a couple of rounds into the snarling, fever-ridden terrier trying to feast on my thigh.

  A missing dog.

  The bullets slam it off its feet with a snarl. It rolls and gathers itself to leap at my face. It’s so close I can see the collar around its neck and the name etched into the metal tag. Rufus. Never thought a Rufus would tear my throat out.

  I fire again, and the Ruger clicks. Out of bullets. Of all the things in Hell, a possessed ankle-biter of a dog’s gonna kill me.

  I wonder how long it’ll take me to spring Awareness and Strengthen when my heart stops pumping blood and my brain flickers out. Even dead, I’m never gonna stop coming for Marvin fucking Clancy.

  A golden blade cuts through the mist, straight through the canine’s neck. Its body thrashes around, the Wendigo spirit caught inside it. I follow the sword upwards and thank Lucifer that his Nephilim followed me here. I hoped he would and my guardian angel, my ace in the hole, didn’t let me down.

  Even if he left it late. Nearly too late.

  “Run, Nick Holleran,” Suraz says, that familiar weight settling on me as he meets my eyes. Right now, it’s a comfort. “I will hold them at bay.”

  A memory flashes in my mind. Suraz at the Styx after he hauled my ass in there; his face, armor and sword covered in gore. He fought the Wendigo and the Amarok in Meadow Park.

  He really does care!

  “Can’t.” Pain lances through my back and shredded hamstring as I struggle to my feet. The blood trickling down my skin feels hot in the icy fog. “Gotta save Rosa from that sonofabitch Devil Worshipper. Long story, but all this is coming from him.”

  Suraz snarls. Another Wendigo hurtles through the mist and the Nephilim moves faster than my eyes can comprehend, spinning and twisting his golden sword in an arc. Another carcass drops to the ground, legs beating and thrashing beside the dog. The Wendigo spirit pushes its way through the canine carcass and Suraz slams his foot down on it. The spirit howls, more rage than anything.

  “You were wise to trust in the Almighty’s blessing, Nick Holleran. The holy water has kept you safe for now, but enough spirits will overwhelm us both. Go then. I will follow, if I am able. One of us must stop him. If the Devil Worshipper is the source, I fear the Wendigo’s attack shan’t end until we do.”

  Poetic, even in the face of peril. That’s a Nephilim for ya. I nod and fumble for my cell. The GPS route guiding me.

  “Five hundred yards until your destination,” the pleasant, computerized voice intones. If only she fucking knew what in holy Hell I’m dealing with.

  I stumble forward as I hear screams behind me. Suraz shouts, beating his sword against his armor to draw the Wendigo to him. He gets his wish, because they start to circle with him at the center, and I realize why it’s so cold all of a sudden. Our old friend, the Amarok, is there, leader of the pack, only its fur is patchy and its flesh is rotten and its ice crystals are grey and half-melted. Even so, it stands head and shoulders above the other possessed creatures and its eyes blaze with insane hunger.

  If the animals are vehicles, that Wendigo is driving a tank.

  It roars as it powers into Suraz and all Hell breaks loose behind me. I break into a sprint as best as my battered body can manage.

  “Two hundred yards until your destination.”

  Almost there. I holster the Ruger to keep one hand free as I slip and slide in the mud, thumping into trees and roots as I do. Then, without warning, a cabin looms.

  “You have reached your destination.”

  It looks to be in decent shape. Marv must stay here often. Smoke emits from the chimney, and wooden steps lead to the porch and front door. I press on, ignoring the carnage behind me. If Suraz can hold them off long enough for me to deal with Marv, I can end this. The stairs creak under my feet as I inch towards the door. I draw the Ruger and stow the cell, holding the gun to my chest as I nudge the entrance open.

  The door smashes back in my face.

  “Ugh!”

  It’s the only word I can manage as I stagger backwards and sprawl ac
ross the porch. The Ruger spins away out of sight.

  Marv looms above, his tattooed torso stripped naked. He’s covered in dark shapes, and they move. Maybe it’s the blood loss or maybe it’s my newfound concussion.

  “Welcome, Mr. Holleran,” Marv says, standing over me. “I see that the Father did not come to save you from the Wendigo. Perhaps he does not feel they are enough of a danger to you. No matter. I am sure we can find something that will get his attention.”

  He lifts his boot and stamps on my face, kicking me into darkness.

  COME TOGETHER

  I dream of Scottish terriers chasing me around a forest, yipping and yapping, while Clint Eastwood drinks Budweiser straight from a keg, laughing at my expense while a man I identify as God wrestles Lucifer in the mud.

  I’ve had weirder dreams, but not many.

  Then Marvin goddamn Clancy clubs me across the face with the back of his thick hand and I wake up, whiplash in my neck and a gong reverberating in my skull. My face throbs, then my back and leg join in with their own complaints. They’re all dying to remind me of the trouble I’ve caused them tonight. Everyone’s a critic.

  “Rise and shine, Mr. Holleran.”

  Those predator’s eyes glint with malice. Sweat and blood covers Marv’s pale, cratered face. His nose is mangled, and it’s fresh. Rosa’s doing, I guess. He should have known better. The mist that’s dogged my every move these past few days emits from his pores. It’s thinner here, but glancing behind him, I can see it trail off under the cabin’s closed door.