Shadow Hunter: A Joseph Hunter Novel: Book 2 (Joseph Hunter Series)

by Alex Gates

  “Joseph Hunter,” he said in a voice so monotone, I thought he might knock me out with drowsiness, “the Nephilim Council has placed a bounty on your life. Hephaestus has sent me to collect and return you to him, so that you may serve him forever.”

  It all hit me like the shit storm it was.

  Robot dude was an Automaton—or a cyborg—a human cursed by Hephaestus to work eternally in his service. Hephaestus used Automatons to assist with his creations. Similar to how Hecate used her Empousa, he used his Automatons to conduct his dirty work. Like finding and dragging me back to his dingy workshop—it’s actually a pretty badass workshop, complete with a forge. Since a Nephil can’t directly harm a human, they have Cursed servants and Acolyte followers to do the job.

  Hephaestus mostly used his Automatons to assist with his work orders and different creations. They were more Santa’s elves than Dracula’s vampires, but without the whole singing songs and baking cookies vibe. Unlike vampire and werewolf Cursed, Automatons rarely interfered with human lives—other than to help Hephaestus create the latest and greatest technology, which he would then sell to the highest bidder.

  And BOOM! We have nukes and mustard gas and Zeus’s lightning bolt and whatever else you can think of.

  My old Nephil had sent this one to capture me. A couple days ago, before my fight with Medea, my old patron had found me, kidnapped me, and kindly allowed me a few hours of grace to find Mel. Once the timer expired, then—well, go ahead and drag a finger across your throat in a violent manner. He planned to kill me, or curse me into an Automaton—which would, in the end, equate to death. Unfortunately for me, my allotted time had expired over a day ago. The Automaton had come to collect and keep Hephaestus honest to his threat.

  “What in God’s name,” Reynolds muttered, staring at the Automaton’s owl-head position.

  “Get the fuck on the ground!” the large and in-charge officer said. I wished I had caught his name, because I liked him infinitely better than snot-nosed Reynolds. He had replaced his baton with his gun, too. I didn’t blame him for drawing his weapon, either. You couldn’t just provide a few kinky love taps with your nightstick to an Automaton—not that Dimwit One and Dimwit Two knew he was supernatural, per se. But the Terminator was standing there with his head facing one way and his body facing the other.

  “Hi,” I said to the Cursed in my most innocent voice. “Can Hephaestus hear me through you? I’m just curious, because I have a very, very important message for him.” I fuddled around in my robe pocket in search of something. In hindsight, it probably wasn’t the wisest move to make in front of two on-edge police officers who already had their guns fixed in my direction.

  Reynolds shouted, “Get down, now!”

  The big guy yelled, “Hands in the air! We will shoot!”

  “Hold on!” I yelled, looking back at them and waving my free hand in front of the scrawny officer. I shook my head. “Just give me a second. It’s in here somewhere. Ah. Got it.” I delivered a short, stubby middle finger for Hephaestus to gnaw on. “Fuck you.”

  The Automaton’s hands glowed orange with fire. Hephaestus prided himself on his fire talent and imbued all of his servants with some form of fire magic. With the Automaton’s palms aglow, its arm blurred like lightning and the thing gave me an uppercut to the stomach with the force of thunder. I folded in half, collapsing back onto the sidewalk, all my breath pressed from my lungs and my abdomen wound ripped wide open. The bandages had come loose, and warm blood spilled down my groin and legs. Flames spread over my robes. Thank God for second-grade education, though. I rolled like it would save my life, extinguishing the threat.

  Four gun shots reported throughout the crisp November day, though they sounded about a thousand miles away.

  I coughed, trying to restore oxygen to my body, but I had barely wheezed once before the Automaton’s foot kicked me in the face, crunching my nose and flipping me onto my back. Incredible pain washed over me. It was incredible because there was so much of it that my body stopped comprehending the agony and went numb. The Automaton’s hand gripped my left wrist, where I’d cut myself open—reminding me that pain was very real and very present in that moment. I screamed as an acrid, gray smoke billowed around us.

  I recognized the surrounding smog. Hephaestus was about to teleport me back to his shop.

  From the ground, I stared up through the smoke at the blue sky. The Automaton held me tight, absorbing more bullets from the deputies. A million black dots like stars blurred and danced around my vision.

  Even though Hephaestus had stripped me of my fire magic, I’d somehow accessed a stranger power when fighting Medea.

  Could I use that again?

  I doubted it, believing it had either been a residual energy from having my power taken away, or a dormant power briefly awakened after experiencing the powerful emotions of losing Mel and finding myself pretty cozied up to death. Well, I was currently in a pretty desperate situation, so maybe I could tap into it again.

  I closed my eyes and allowed my mind to fall within myself, searching for that unexplainable power. No other option presented itself other than joining Hephaestus in his shop for all eternity—and I’d be damned to work for the rest of my life. Searching deep within my soul for any traces of magic, I found nothing but darkness and pain. Or maybe that was just my newest round of injuries overriding everything else. Why hadn’t I just stayed in Xander’s apartment like a good, home-arrested boy?

  I placed my palm on the ground for support, so I could sit up and struggle with the Automaton’s grip. I planted my hand into a puddle, and my fingers punched deep into the cold…

  Cold what?

  It wasn’t water, because it hadn’t rained in a couple of days, and it didn’t feel wet. It felt like air—like I’d put my hand into a hole. As I pondered that thought, my entire body followed my arm, and I fell into a cold void.

  3

  For a second nearing on instantaneous, I was suspended in nothingness. Then, faster than a chicken says bawk, I sat on solid ground again.

  The squeezing pressure where the Automaton had gripped my wrist had faded, leaving a throbbing pain and wet blood. The gunshots had silenced, and the officers’ voices shouting into their radios had ceased. My eyes remained pinched closed. I’ll be honest with you, I was afraid to open them. The last thing I wanted to see was Hephaestus’s workshop spread out before me and that deformed Nephil standing smug and victorious. Except I didn’t hear the machinery. I didn’t smell the smoke. I didn’t feel the powerful presence of a Nephil.

  Braving my fears, I opened one eye, cringing at what I might see. The back of a cream-colored sofa rose over my head. Behind me, I saw a familiar-looking kitchen with hardwood flooring, black-granite countertops, and white cabinets.

  Xander stood in the center of the kitchen, holding a glass of water in one hand and his cell phone in the other. He wore a gray suit that fit a little snug around his muscular physique. His bald head glowed beneath the light fixtures.

  Somehow, I had returned to his apartment—with him in it. Probably the second worst outcome.

  “Joey,” he said, lowering his phone from his ear, tapping the screen, and setting it on the counter.

  Xander—quick recap time—worked as an investigator at Mather Investigative Services, a private agency that often contracted with local, state, and federal departments to investigate the more unexplainable crimes and mysteries in the world. The agency also served private citizens who were too embarrassed to take their ghost story to the police, or who were laughed out of the building by their local law enforcement.

  Pretty hilarious that even though MIS made a shit-load of money and took on even more cases than local law enforcement, their clients usually don’t even believe in the supernatural world. Humankind has to be about the dumbest type of species in existence.

  I’ve known Xander since we attended Militus University together. After I accepted my pact with Hephaestus, Xander and I—along with Callie—serv
ed under a top-secret supernatural branch for the United States military as part of our contract with Militus. We fought overseas against all different types of Cursed, Acolytes, and Sorcerers who had allied with America’s enemies. After three tours of hunting these supernatural beings, our obligations were met. Callie and I decided to start a life together, and Xander accepted a job with MIS. Instead of killing monsters, though, Xander now tried to rehabilitate them—whatever that meant. I’d dealt with Cursed for quite a while, and I firmly believed there was no such thing as rehabilitation.

  “Hey,” I said, grinning. My entire head caught fire with pain, the effects of getting kicked in the face by an Automaton. “Didn’t expect—” I grimaced. It really hurt to speak. The alternative was to stay quiet, and that would have been even more painful. “Didn’t expect for you to be home this early.”

  Xander narrowed his eyes and parted his lips to say something. He closed them again, frowning. He stuck his hands on his hips like a disappointed mother figuring out where to begin with her chronically disobedient child. “You left the front door open.”

  I snorted a laugh that sent sharp jabs into my brain and nose. “Did I?”

  “Water on the hardwood in the entryway.” Did he mean the foot prints? “Popcorn and empty beer cans all over the floor. Are you drunk already? It’s barely noon. And,” he held up a finger, “why do you look like you joined a fight club?”

  “That’s a lot at one time, so I’ll address what I remember. First, awesome movie reference. I never would’ve guessed you’ve seen that one.”

  “What movie?” he asked, face somber.

  Not knowing if he was joking or not, I moved on. “Second, it’s being married to you that makes me drink this way. You make my life a living hell.”

  “Do I?” He shrugged. “Then move out. It’s not like I’m begging you to stay. Find a job and an apartment. While you’re at it, maybe buy your own wardrobe.”

  “Wow. That’s a real shot to the old baby-maker,” I said.

  “What happened? I thought we had an understanding that you’d stay inside the condo until we figured something out. With Nephil trying to kill you and law enforcement trying to arrest you, what could have possibly inspired you to go outside in a bathrobe?” He shook his head and waved his hands. “Never mind—I don’t think I want to know. More importantly, how did you appear out of thin air? And why is Serendipity on my television?”

  I massaged my throbbing temples. “Why wouldn’t Serendipity be on your television you misogynistic pig?”

  I wouldn’t testify to this in court, but I’m pretty sure Xander’s lips quivered, as if they wanted to smile but didn’t quite know how to. He shook his head and sauntered into the living room, sitting on this couch.

  He’d brought up a solid question. I’ll give him that much. How had I appeared in his apartment during my struggle with the Automaton? Had Hephaestus teleported me here? That was a ridiculous notion. I had somehow escaped a Nephil’s mist—which should have bordered on the impossible.

  “I don’t know how I came to be here,” I mumbled, moving around the couch to plop down beside him.

  He leaped to his feet and grabbed my shoulders. I grimaced as my wounds stretched. “I don’t think so,” he said, damn near carrying me down the hallway toward the bathroom. He left me at the sink and turned on the shower.

  I studied my bloodied mug in the mirror. Nothing looked broken, which surprised me since my entire face felt shattered. “Sorry about the robe,” I said. I slid the red-stained fabric off my shoulders and unsound the wet, red bandages, exposing my inked arms and torso—a series of inscriptions and runes in the Nephilim language that had once, when I still had my power from Hephaestus, enhanced my speed, endurance, and strength.

  Xander’s gaze rose above my head as he averted his eyes from my frank and beans, fixing his attention to the wall above his pinned mirror. He was such a prude sometimes. I didn’t understand how he wouldn’t bat an eye when enforcing violence on another living creature, but he couldn’t look at the same anatomy that dangled—or so I’d always assumed—between his own legs.

  Don’t get me started on America’s unhealthy infatuation with the human body. Why was a naked woman or a dick or the natural, evolutionary (or God-given, for you religious people) act of sex such a crime, but showing graphic violence was A-OK? Priorities were a real thing, and there were too many people who didn’t have them in order. Rant over… for now.

  “Can you heal?” I asked, grunting as I stepped over the rim and into the tub. I reached for the shower handle and rotated it so the water went cold, practicing my slow-breathing technique. The cool water streamed over my body like a revitalizing agent.

  “What?” Xander asked, closing the curtain.

  “I don’t know.” I closed my eyes and weathered a current of pain rushing through my head. “Jesus healed people, right? Doesn’t your magic reflect some of His?”

  “I don’t have magic. Like Jesus, I have radiant abilities gifted from an Archangel that are meant to drive away the darkness in this world. It’s not for the benefit of me or my friends, but to defend the world from darkness.”

  “Wow. I’m sorry I even asked.”

  “Water is extremely healing, as I’m sure you know. We’ll start with that. I also have some painkillers in the medicine cabinet. I’ll be in the living room when you’re done.” The bathroom door shut, and he left me alone.

  I rested my screaming head against the cool tiled wall and allowed the water to rush over my body. After standing like that for a while, I scrubbed the blood from my skin and climbed out of the shower. I found a towel hanging on the rack and used it to dry off. Xander had set some of his clothes on the sink counter, along with bandages for my wounds.

  When I was dressed, I found Xander sitting on the living room couch, scrolling through his company phone.

  “You turned off my movie,” I said, collapsing onto the cushion beside him.

  “I used my lunch break to come check on you.”

  “That was very sweet of you,” I said, closing my eyes to rest a little.

  Xander was silent for a moment, probably saving his more aggressive thoughts. Cars honked on the street below us. A tenant from down the hall slammed a door. My heart thudded in my head. Finally, he said, “I know it’s only been a day, Joey, and you need your time to grieve. But I can’t harbor you like this—drunk before noon and putting yourself in danger for no apparent reason. If you want to get yourself killed, that’s fine, but don’t do it on my watch.”

  “Message received loud and clear,” I said. “Let me push through this debilitating headache, then I’ll be out of your hair—no, sorry, that was rude… I’ll be out of your skin.”

  “That’s not what I mean, and you know that. I know you pretty well, man, and I know that sitting here alone, wallowing in your own grief, won’t get you to your destination. I think you need to do something. Find a job to keep you busy. Look for new evidence that points us to Hecate. I’m not blaming you when I say this, because there was no other option—but you murdered our only lead to the Nephil when you killed Medea. We’re back to square one, and I don’t know where to go or what to do. But I do know that you can use your grief and anger productively.”

  Keeping my eyes closed, I practiced breathing and resisting the urge to unleash a current of fury at my best friend. I carefully shook my head, so as not to entice anymore pain. “You have those painkillers?”

  “I do.”

  Opening my eyes, I saw the pills resting on the coffee table, along with a glass of water. I almost made a joke about washing my medicine down with alcohol, but I decided against it. There was no need to further Xander’s disappointment or lengthen his lecture.

  “Thanks,” I said, taking my medicine and washing it down with the water. I leaned against the sofa’s backrest and closed my eyes again. “Hephaestus’s Automaton found me.”

  “Found you? Does he know you live here?” Xander asked, jumping to his
feet. The couch shifted as his weight abandoned it.

  “I don’t think so,” I said. “He has, I don’t know, an unlimited amount of those Automatons. I’m sure he just positioned them around Sacramento as a twenty-four-hour surveillance to capture me. Maybe he’s narrowed his search to J Street, but maybe not. I didn’t just run away. I fucking vanished into a shadow—I think.”

  Xander didn’t sit. I didn’t open my eyes, either, but I was sure he was pacing the room. His dress shoes clacked against the hardwood incessantly. We hadn’t really discussed my new shadow power or the conversation Medea and I had regarding my possible demonic nature. Shadow power was equal to radiant power—one was utilized by celestials, the other by demons. We’d never encountered a Sorcerer, Acolyte, or Cursed who had used shadow magic. So, my ability was not only strange, but impossible—unless, of course, I had demon blood running through my veins. To simplify things, we had avoided discussing those possibilities and what it meant for our playful, loving relationship. We still shared a singular goal—finding my daughter’s soul and killing a Nephil. For the time being, that would keep us busy enough.

  “Police also identified me before the Automaton arrived,” I said. “They had me dead to rights.”

  “Joey,” Xander muttered, sighing like an annoyed husband tired of doing needless chores, “why did you even leave? To get more beer?”

  There it was. Good ole Xander and his jumping to conclusions. Normally, that comment would have angered me, and I would have smarted off to him. But my head throbbed and I didn’t really have the energy or strength to think of a retort. Nor did I have the energy or strength to tell him the truth—to explain the nightmare I had and how the wet footprints had carried over to reality. So, for one of those rare moments in my life, I opted not to say a thing.