Occult Assassin: The Complete Series (Books 1-6)

by William Massa

  “I’m impressed. Someone has been doing their homework.”

  Talon took another swig of his beer, his eyes never leaving Casca. “Your turn. What’s this all about?”

  “In addition to being a writing system, runes served a purpose in magic. We find evidence of this in Icelandic magical staves and Germanic runic spells—“

  “Get to the point, Dr. Strange,” Talon said with a grin. He wouldn’t quite call Casca a friend — in a weird way, they had become too dependent on each other for that label. They were partners, business associates, comrades in arms, but not buddies. At least not how Talon understood the term. They didn’t catch movies, hit bars or play sports together. Casca was part general and part intelligence officer, and their dynamic was all business. The billionaire respected Talon’s marksmanship and steely self-command in combat situations. Talon admired Casca’s vast knowledge and the laser-like focus he brought to their asymmetrical shadow war against the forces of darkness.

  Over the course of the last few months, however, Talon had come to the conclusion that he liked his benefactor and even enjoyed teasing him from time to time.

  “A number of rune stones were stolen from various Scandinavian museums in the last six months,“ Casca elaborated. “The most recent robbery occurred at the Icelandic Museum of Sorcery and Witchcraft.” He punched up the photographs of the rune stones and continued. “The original rune set, the futhark, consists of 24 runes, which can be divided into three sets of eight known as Aetts.”

  His eyes lit up with intellectual enthusiasm for the subject matter. The billionaire had developed a genuine fascination for the occult that sometimes worried Talon. Personally, he had a little less patience for the esoteric details. Just tell me what I’m up against and who I need to take out, Talon thought.

  “All the stolen runes are part of a set that belonged to Sar Akka, the winter warlock. He was a feared Finnish practitioner of the dark arts who worshipped the Nordic Ice God, Ull. If the legends are to be believed, the rune stones gave Sar Akka Ull’s power to control snow and ice. He was captured by witchhunters in 1754 and executed for his alleged black magic crimes.”

  “Sounds like a lovely Christmas story, perfect for the whole family.”

  Casca cocked an eyebrow at Talon, yet chose not respond to the flippant comment. He might not always find Talon’s humor amusing, but he had come to tolerate it. “The rune set was broken up and disbursed across the various Scandinavian nations, to prevent them from being reunited.”

  “Until now,“ Talon said.

  Casca nodded.

  “So who do you suspect is behind these robberies?” Talon asked. Casca would have a theory. He always did.

  “Are you familiar with black metal music?” Casca inquired.

  Talon shook his head. He had been a bit of a metalhead back in the day, but nowadays his taste ran toward hard rock and alternative. That’s what turning 30 could do to you.

  “Black metal evolved from Swedish death metal in the ‘80s and became weaponized by extreme ideology in the ‘90s. Initially dabbling with Satanism, the movement soon came to embrace Paganism and ancient Norse ritual.” Casca tapped a button on his laptop. An image of Rezok and the other members of Ice God flashed onscreen.

  Talon immediately took note of Rezok’s genetic affliction.

  “One of the biggest bands in the scene is Ice God, led by its outspoken lead singer Rezok. Suspected of murder and a string of church burnings but there hasn’t been enough evidence to make any of it stick.”

  “Charming.”

  A new image of Rezok appeared onscreen and showed the ghostly musician skiing down a series of steep mountains. With his alabaster skin, he blended in with the frozen background.

  “Rezok is a dedicated, Olympic-level nightskier and obsessed with Scandinavian occult magic. He’s known for combining Norse magical imagery in the look and songs of his band. The winter warlock is one of Rezok’s spiritual heroes and the inspiration for his music. Over the years, he’s acquired three of Sar Akka’s rune stones at various auctions across Europe.”

  “And you believe he decided to complete his collection.”

  “Let’s just say Ice God’s touring schedule corresponds with the dates on which the theft of the other stones occurred. They were in the right country at the right time.”

  “What does Rezok plan to do with these stones?”

  “Good question. Since Ice God’s return to Norway, seven women have gone missing.”

  Talon’s eyes narrowed at this latest revelation. The last few months had taught him that human sacrifice fueled ritual magic. Had these missing women become part of some ancient Nordic rite?

  “Tell me about the missing women.”

  “All of them were in their twenties, white, blonde, of Norwegian descent.”

  “How is the police investigation proceeding?”

  “The authorities refuse to acknowledge a link and are treating the abductions as unrelated crimes, to stave off a panic. But people are talking and rumors are spreading.”

  “Any patterns to the kidnappings?”

  “The vics were all locals from the Oslo and Bergen region.”

  Talon studied the image of Ice God again.

  “Even more disconcerting is the fact that Norway is experiencing its harshest winter in recorded history. I’ve analyzed the temperature pattern and it keeps dropping a few degrees with each successive kidnapping.”

  “You think Rezok has been sacrificing these women?”

  The question triggered a flash of his fiancée’s face in his mind, and Talon balled his fist until the white of his bones stood out beneath his taut skin.

  “A life for each stone,” Casca said grimly.

  “So only one sacrifice remains to complete the set.”

  Casca nodded gravely. “Time is running out.”

  “What happens after the eighth sacrifice?”

  “According to the legends, the winter warlock’s ritual resulted in a series of catastrophic avalanches in Finland that killed hundreds of people.”

  “You think Rezok is trying to bury his hometown under a mountain of snow?”

  “That’s for you to find out. I took the liberty of booking you a flight to Oslo. Your plane leaves at 1800 hours.” Casca leaned closer. “You understand what must be done.”

  Talon nodded. He understood.

  If Ice God turned out to be guilty of these crimes their musical career would be coming to an untimely end.

  Chapter Four

  AFTER THE SHOW, Talon arrived at a quaint bed-and-breakfast nestled in the center of the city. A soothing warmth greeted him inside the front lobby. When he checked in hours earlier, there had been a sour middle-aged man behind the reception desk but an attractive blonde in her twenties now stood in his place. She looked up from a thick chemistry book and regarded Talon with friendly eyes.

  “Enjoying sunny Norway?” she said.

  “Should’ve booked that trip to Hawaii.”

  To Talon’s surprise, he returned her smile. Something about the desk clerk’s open, genuine expression broke down his defenses. He’d been guarded around women since the death of his fiancée. His whole world had crumbled when he lost Michelle. Grief threatened to render him useless and he had replaced the emotion with anger that quickly metastasized into armor.

  He knew he couldn’t go on indefinitely like this. His self-imposed solitude was taking its psychological toll. No woman could ever take Michelle’s place, but she’d want him to move on or at least find momentary comfort from the horrors he hunted.

  Part of him was tempted to keep the conversation going, but he decided against it. This was neither the time nor the place. Talon quickly wished the Scandinavian beauty a good night and turned towards the staircase.

  A minute later he stepped into his room. It mirrored the warmth of the establishment. The wood-paneled walls and plush carpets created the illusion of being in a cozy cabin, but the titanium case resting on the freshly made
bed reminded him that he wasn’t here on vacation.

  Talon switched on the TV to a local news station. He couldn’t understand the language but drew some comfort from the sound of other human voices. The scent of the pub clung to him and his hands felt like blocks of ice. A hot shower would hopefully wash away the grime and get his blood pumping.

  Unfortunately, it took forever for the water to warm up. The heaters hissed and strained, waging a losing battle against the frigid cold outside.

  Talon made this shower a quick one.

  As he toweled himself off, he caught a glimpse of his reflection. His physique was perfectly muscled, without an ounce of fat, and lined with various scars accrued over the last decade of warfare. A history of violence had been etched over his body.

  The largest scar happened to be the most recent one. An inverted, five-pointed star had been carved into his massive chest. Talon earned the pentagram during his first battle with Zagan, back in San Francisco, and no laser technology in the world could remove the thick-webbed scar tissue.

  The demonic symbol of darkness served as a daily reminder of the enemy he faced.

  Talon slipped into a T-shirt and sweats, then returned to the bedroom. He was still on New York time and refused to go to bed just yet. He feared that a restless night lay ahead for him, a night in which he would be haunted by the lifeless faces of the missing women. Better to put his excess energy to good use and once more review all the intel at his disposal.

  With the TV news droning away in the background, he started analyzing a map of Norway and noting where the victims had gone missing. The first woman had vanished in Oslo on the same weekend that Ice God was performing in the capital. Four more women disappeared in surrounding towns.

  Talon quickly established a link with Ice God’s touring schedule. The police weren’t seeing the pattern because they didn’t know what to look for. Casca had approached the case from a completely different angle and established the connection.

  Did the live shows factor into some type of overarching occult ritual, Talon wondered. He remembered all too well how Rezok’s guttural, haunting musical set had mesmerized the crowd. It sent a chill down Talon’s spine.

  He didn’t consider himself a superstitious or overtly spiritual person. A born skeptic, he viewed reality from a practical perspective. The last year had forced him to change that about himself. Letting go of his old worldview had been the hardest part. Stories he would have once found laughable now defined his daily reality.

  Talon switched from the map to a series of articles Casca had put together for him. Ever since Ice God’s earlier troubles with the law, the band had become ghosts. Little was known about the eerie quartet. They didn’t seem to have a phone number, email or mailing address. Rezok’s band communicated with their fanbase solely through their website. Gigs were announced at random times and you had to be a devoted follower who checked their page on a regular basis to know where to find them next. They had no label and released all their music online. All that was known about them was that they resided somewhere in the snowy mountains near the city of Geilo, a resort town located about two-hundred miles from Bergen.

  Weirdly enough, Ice God’s elusive behavior added to their dark appeal; in their fans’ minds, they had become icy specters that haunted the slopes and only sought out civilization when it was time to spread their gloomy message. In an extremely jaded age, they’d managed to build an effective, even captivating mythology.

  Talon’s attention suddenly shifted to the television. Video showed police officers combing a ski trail. He snatched the remote and raised the volume. As soon as the news-anchor’s words filled the hotel room, Talon realized he might have to push up his timetable. Despite the language barrier, he surmised that another woman had gone missing. The authorities were organizing search parties for a London-based marketing executive who had returned to Norway for an extended weekend. The image of an attractive brunette flickered over the screen and stirred dark memories in Talon. For a surreal split-second, he thought he was looking at Michelle.

  What was happening to him?

  He’d better pull himself together. His fiancée was gone, had been for four months. The latest missing woman in this case had nothing to do with his past tragedy.

  On-screen, a news-anchor requested that anyone with information on Kristin’s whereabouts call in. Talon’s gut told him the hotline wouldn’t be ringing tonight. He suspected that the other women were already dead, but maybe this most recent victim still had a chance…. If he moved fast enough.

  Energized by this new development, Talon stepped up to the suitcase on the bed and dialed in the combination Casca had given him before he left New York. He popped the clasps and the case snapped open. He peered down at a pistol, knife and silencer. When he first arrived the equipment had already been waiting for him in this hotel room, the perfect present for a killer. The arsenal served as a persuasive reminder of the power of wealth. No matter how strict the gun laws of the countries he traveled to, Simon’s contacts always managed to procure what he needed.

  Talon snapped on a pair of gloves and retrieved a 9mm Glock from the foam cutout. He inspected the slide, chamber, firing pin and finally the trigger. The gun appeared to be in perfect working order. He removed a magazine, chambered a round and scanned the GPS tracking app on his phone. A map of Bergen filled the screen, dominated by a moving blue dot.

  Ice God was on the move.

  Chapter Five

  TALON HAD EARLIER rented a Nissan Versa and now steered the vehicle down a road slick with black ice. It was only a little past nine a.m., and daylight was chasing away the shadows. Snow enveloped the air and the windshield wipers worked overtime.

  Talon kept checking the screen of his GPS tracker. He’d been driving for three hours now and it looked like Ice God was headed for Geilo. The target had opted to take RV 5O, which cut through the mountains from west to east. A shimmering lake framed the road to his left while a dense copse of trees lined his right. The undeniable, raw beauty of the landscape almost made Talon forget the grim reason for his visit.

  The GPS signal turned off the main road and climbed a winding mountain trail. The trees grew denser and snow seemed to be everywhere.

  Fifteen minutes later, the blip stopped and Talon slowed his vehicle. He pulled to the side of the road and parked next to the dense tree-line. A heavy mist clung to the forest like a shroud. With Geilo still a few miles away, Talon wasn’t sure why Ice God had stopped. He decided his safest bet was to proceed on foot. Decked out in a white snowsuit, he would be practically indistinguishable from the wintry terrain.

  Talon braced himself, opened the car door and let out a sharp curse. The air outside cut like an icy blade — quick and without mercy. Talon wasn’t a stranger to extreme climates. He had fought in the merciless heat of the Arabian desert, completed missions in the harsh humidity of Indonesian jungles, and attended grueling classes at the Northern Warfare Training Center in Alaska, a school for arctic operations. But such unrelenting low temperatures could chip away at even the toughest individual.

  He turned toward the darkened tree-line on the right side of the snow-covered road, withdrew his Glock 9mm from the shoulder holster, and entered the woods. His boots crunched over the hard-packed snow as he passed ice-encrusted thickets and trees. Despite the burgeoning sunlight, the forest remained swathed in shadows.

  As he closed in on the transmitter, Talon couldn’t shake the uneasy sensation that he was utterly alone in the wilderness. He felt like the last man on earth trudging across a frozen, primordial landscape.

  One of the hardest parts of his new war was the solitude. Back in his Delta days, he’d been part of a team. A tight-knit unit. Nowadays he was a lone knight on a dangerous crusade. Casca always remained in contact, but the billionaire could not directly follow Talon into the dark places his missions led him to.

  Talon slowed his approach. According to his pulsing GPS tracker, he had almost reached the van. Gua
rd up, he peered through a cluster of pine trees at a small parking area used by hikers and cross-country skiers. There was no sign of the black van in the snowy lot.

  Talon double-checked his GPS tracker. According to the readings, the signal was emanating from the deserted rest area. Talon’s eyes narrowed as he spotted a white shape at the center of the lot. Someone had built a snowman. The playful, usually innocent image filled him with dread. They had made the transmitter, he realized. The snowman was a message.

  He waited for a beat, senses processing his surroundings. Were Rezok and his crew hiding nearby?

  Instead of entering the parking area and exposing himself to a possible ambush, he moved through the woods, circling the desolate space while using the trees as cover. After clearing the whole area without detecting anything suspicious, Talon relaxed slightly.

  Gun firmly in hand, he entered the parking lot. Strange. He saw no footprints or tire tracks. Had the fresh snowfall erased all traces of Ice God’s presence?

  Talon approached the snowman. As he closed in, details of the barbaric sight before him became apparent. A knife thrust from the snowman’s head and splashes of a red liquid ran down its side. Blood. Worst of all were the eyes. They had once belonged to a living creature. Not human, thank God, but a deer or a cow.

  The transmitter formed the snowman’s mouth. A warning.

  Game on, Talon thought.

  The sound of rustling branches made him whirl. His gaze fastened on the source of the noise — a raven. The bird regarded Talon with beady, lifeless eyes and let out a guttural, malevolent caw before taking flight.

  Talon tracked the bird as it vanished among the trees. A pensive expression crept into his face. Ravens played a major role in the black metal scene. They were the messengers of Odin and the harbingers of doom. Many bands used the carrion birds’ feathers to complete their Nordic noir look. Was the raven’s appearance a coincidence or could there be more to it?

  Talon’s gaze shifted back to the blood-soaked snowman.