Midnight Hunter (The Execution Underground Book 3)

by Kait Ballenger

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  VERA SMACKED DOWN her pride like the annoying little bitch it was, sucked up her woes and followed Shane into Tribal Sensations Yoga Studio. Her pride had hit the floor. Why? Well, because she wasn’t used to sitting on the sidelines doing nothing, like she’d been doing for the past two days as Shane slaved away over the details of the case. Was she being ridiculous for feeling that way? Probably. Hunting wasn’t, and never would be, her specialty, but navigating the seedy black-magic underground was. It was only a matter of time until the importance of her knowledge and expertise came into this case. Until then, she would have to be content with feeling like a useless appendage and try not to impede Shane’s investigation.

  As she pondered this, Shane attempted to jimmy the lock of the yoga studio to no avail, until finally she nudged him aside and took over. The sun was just beginning to set, casting shadows up and down the block, the impending nightfall thankfully giving them some cover. She scanned the street to make certain no one was watching them before she used her magic. She held her hand over the lock and muttered the incantation. A small flash of purple light radiated from her hand and the door clicked open. Shane smiled appreciatively. Okay, so maybe she wasn’t completely useless, but she certainly felt that way after listening to him flawlessly put the pieces of the case together in a way that she never could.

  Shane pulled his gun as he pushed through the door of the studio. “Turn on the lights.”

  Vera stepped in behind him, careful to allow him to shield her. She ran a hand over the jagged brick wall in search of the light switch. When her fingers made contact, she pushed it on. The light blinded her for a few seconds, but Shane remained unflinching. A curved reception desk acted as the focal point of the room, and a hall led into what must have been the actual studio where classes were held. Shane scanned the reception area. With his free hand, he motioned for her to remain where she was as he crept around the far side of the reception desk. He aimed his gun toward the ground, careful to make sure there wasn’t something—or someone—hiding underneath.

  It must have been clear, because the hard lines of his jaw softened slightly. Follow me, he mouthed silently.

  She hurried across the reception area and positioned herself behind him again as they crept down the hall. She felt like a big chicken using him as a human shield, but after all, he was the professional in this situation. As much as she could hold her own using her magic if she truly needed to, she’d never been trained to fight. With or without her magic, that left her at a major tactical disadvantage, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to take a chance like that against a big bad necromancy zombie. Honestly, she probably should have stayed with Shane’s grandmother and allowed him to take care of this, but she couldn’t stand the thought of him coming here without backup. That carving knife she’d given him last time had worked wonders in getting him out of a tight situation, and she wasn’t about to let him die just because she was a sissy.

  As they reached the open end of the hallway, she braced herself for a fight. When Shane threw himself into the yoga studio, gun at the ready, she prepared herself for the echoing sound of gunfire by covering her ears. But it never came.

  “All clear,” he called.

  She stepped into the studio and flicked on the light as she went. Hardwood flooring gleamed throughout the room, and mirrors adorned the far wall. Save for a bin of perfectly rolled brightly colored mats in the corner and a door that led into a unisex bathroom, the room was bare. No bloodthirsty zombies, just her and Shane.

  “Well, this was a bust,” she said.

  Shane’s face fell, his combat-ready demeanor deflating into a look of defeat. Immediately, she regretted her words. She hadn’t meant to prod at an already-open wound.

  “We should still look through the paperwork behind the front desk,” he said. “Even though the reanimated corpse isn’t here, there could still be some indication of the relationship between Lauren and Nina, and it could also point us toward other places to search for Lauren. In the meantime, we should hear from Ash soon about whether or not she really is missing from her grave.” He said those last few words as if he were starting to have doubts.

  “Your theory could still be right. Maybe she’s just not here. Maybe she’s still at her old apartment or at her parents’ house or some old hangout or something.” She offered him the most encouraging smile she could muster.

  He shook his head. “Maybe, but I think it’s more likely my theory was bogus. It was exactly that, just a theory.” He shrugged, like it was no big deal, but she could see the clear disappointment on his face. “From what I was able to find, she spent most of her time here, so I don’t think it’s likely that she went anywhere else instead of here, and after two years I doubt her old apartment is still intact. This was her home.”

  She walked to meet him in the middle of the room, and even though it sent every neuron in her body reeling with electrical impulses the likes of which were hard to ignore, she placed a reassuring hand on his arm. “You’re doing your best, and you’re going to catch these guys. I just know it.”

  He glanced down at her and met her gaze with a small sad smile. An ache throbbed inside her chest. She tried to identify the feeling. Pity? No, it wasn’t pity. Shane was too smart for someone like her to pity. Disappointment? Maybe, but that still didn’t feel quite right. Hard as she tried to understand it, she couldn’t identify the emotion. Yet somehow his failure felt like her failure. Honestly, though, that just made no sense. She hadn’t done diddly-squat to help him with this case. Why should she identify with him that way?

  Before she lost herself in the electrical sensations pulsing through her, she pulled her hand away. What was up with her? She’d always been an empathetic person, but this raised empathy to a whole new level. She attempted to brush the problem aside, but when she looked up into his face again, it came crashing back down.

  She needed a moment alone to clear her head. Taking a few steps to the other side of the room, she reached for the door to the unisex bathroom. “Just give me a second. I need to use the restroom before we leave,” she said, making up any excuse to have a moment alone.

  Shane’s eyes widened as she turned the handle. “Vera, no!” he shouted.

  Too late. She pulled the door open, only to find herself face-to-face with one pissed-off necromancy yoga zombie. Fuck.

  The zombie yogi hissed. Vera screamed. Before she realized what she was doing, instinct kicked in and she punched the zombie straight in the kisser as if a scary bitch in a bar brawl was coming at her. Really? Had she just thrown a sucker punch at the thing?

  Lauren Seater’s head snapped back, but not long enough to deter her, only enough to anger her more. Then she lunged.

  Vera’s back hit the ground, and all the air rushed from her lungs from the force of the impact. She tried to gasp for air, but the zombie’s hands clasped her throat.

  “You videoed my class and then stopped paying for courses, you dumb bitch. People like you are the reason I’m going out of business.” The monster’s grasp tightened.

  Vera scratched and clawed at Lauren’s face, drawing long streaks of blood, but to no avail. A thumbnail jabbed straight forward into an eyeball warranted a demented shriek but nothing more. Just as she was certain she would never breathe again, the weight of the zombie lifted from her chest.

  She gasped for air, vaguely aware that Shane was now beating the ever-loving shit out of the monster. Oh, air. Sweet, sweet air. In that moment she wasn’t sure she would ever take a single breath of beautiful oxygen for granted again. Her chest rose and fell violently. She felt as if she would never be able to breathe in enough air again. Then a bloodcurdling screech ripped through the room and her mind was back in the game.

  She rolled onto her side and straight into a sitting position. Her eyes widened, and she was pretty certain she lost all the air in her lung
s again as she watched blood pour down Lauren’s chest. Shane was standing behind her, knife in hand, having clearly just slit her throat.

  The woman convulsed, seizing in some strange pop-and-lock dance that reminded Vera entirely too much of the contestants on So You Think You Can Dance. The thought turned her stomach. Shane released Lauren, who fell to her knees, clutching desperately at her throat.

  But it was the look on Shane’s face that terrified her the most. The look in his eyes screamed pure rage, and she knew in that moment he would do anything it took not only to kill the reanimated monsters but to bring the necromancer responsible to justice. She wasn’t sure whether that was admirable in its heroism or frightening in its intensity.

  Suddenly the woman stopped convulsing. The blood at her neck dried as if there was no more left to spill. Her head twisted around until she stared over her shoulder at Shane. She opened her mouth, but the voice that escaped wasn’t the voice that had screamed at Vera in anger just moments earlier. The deep vibrato shivered down her spine and goose bumps pimpled over her arms. Vera knew that voice.

  “You can’t destroy me, hunter. Not this time.” The distorted, disembodied male voice fell from the woman’s lips as she twisted and contorted unnaturally until she stood, facing Shane. The wound he’d inflicted on her throat was now invisible, the blood soaking her front seeming to have originated from thin air. Latin tumbled from the zombie’s lips in a sickeningly rhythmic chant.

  Oh, shit. Vera knew exactly what that meant, and she could tell that Shane did, too. She didn’t want to know how, but the necromancer had now perfected the art of using the dead woman’s body to a whole new level, so much so that he was now literally capable of possessing it.

  Realizing what was happening, Shane slid the length of his blade across his palm. He sprinted at full speed to the mirrors, using his blood to begin painting an elaborate ward onto the glassy surface as the possessed woman continued to chant.

  Vera realized he would never finish in time. Before she could make a conscious decision, she began muttering in Latin herself. A black-magic spell her father had taught her long ago, which she had never quite perfected. It was now or never.

  Relaxing all her muscles in spite of her chanting, she allowed her white magic to fuel the black-magic words coming from her lips until her hands glowed a pulsating purple. She held her hands palms-up in front of her, compiling the energy into one large orb as she continued to chant. Her concentration would not be broken. She would not falter. She could do this.

  She focused her gaze on the bloodied zombie, urging all her feelings, all her anger, all her fear, to flow toward it just as her father had taught her. As the last lines of the spell fell from her lips, Lauren’s corpse seized. The disembodied male voice crumbled to silence. A gurgling sound escaped from the monster’s throat, an awful sound as if the corpse were choking on its own insides. A final gurgle, and then it crumpled to the floor. Blood slowly poured from all of its orifices as it withered out of existence.

  When Vera felt the last hint of its undead life snuffed out beneath her power, she dropped her hands to her sides. She was shaking from head to toe. She’d done it. She’d really done it.

  “Vera?” The sound of Shane’s voice slammed her back to reality.

  She tried to turn and look at him, but she couldn’t stop shaking.

  “Vera?”

  Before she could attempt to turn again, he was standing in front of her, hands on her shoulders. She stared up into his face, but she wasn’t quite sure she knew what was going on. Had she really just done what she thought she had? She struggled to comprehend the words coming out of Shane’s mouth. What was he asking?

  And then the truth hit her like a ton of bricks.

  She had just used black magic to kill a woman—granted the possessed corpse of a woman who’d been raised from the dead by a necromancer—but she’d still killed her, not to mention she’d used that black magic in front of a witch hunter who worked for the Execution Underground. Tears poured down her face. No, she couldn’t go back there. She wouldn’t be detained by them. Not again.

  “Please don’t take me back there. Please.” She grabbed Shane’s shirt as she pleaded with him.

  Shane shook her slightly, as if trying to get her to wake up from a dream. “Take you back where? Vera, what are you talking about?”

  Collapsing into his arms, she sobbed against him, hands still clutching the edge of his shirt as she pleaded. “Back to the detention center. Please don’t take me back. Please.”

  Shane wrapped her in an embrace, stroking the fingers of one hand over the length of her hair. “Shhh. Shhh. It’s okay,” he whispered. “Don’t even think about that now.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  TWO HOURS LATER Shane sat in the control room, once again soaked in blood. His fellow hunters sat around finishing paperwork as he prepared to speak. When Vera had broken down after using black magic at the yoga studio, he had called Jace and David for help. Once again Jace had helped him dispose of the body. David had aided in cleanup. He’d also brought his half-Fae fiancée, Allsún, who had promptly commenced comforting Vera, then taken her back to Shane’s grandmother’s apartment. It was the least Allsún could do. Just over a month ago, Vera had helped David save Allsún, and Shane knew Allsún was eager to show her thanks.

  Honestly, other than her worry that he would lock her up for performing black magic in front of him, which was ludicrous, since he would never punish someone for saving his life, Shane wasn’t sure why Vera had been crying. From his point of view, she’d single-handedly managed to attain a level of power he never would have thought her capable of. Then again, he should have known better. After all, she was Johnathan Summers’s daughter, which meant the magical blood running through her veins was more powerful than most. Still, he’d been certain they were done for when the warlock had spoken through his victim, but here he sat, thanks to Vera’s powerful magic.

  When he returned to his grandmother’s, they were definitely going to have a little chat about how she’d come upon that gem. Maybe that would prompt her to come clean to him about her father’s identity.

  “Look. I’m trying to be patient and all, but we don’t have all fucking day, kid.” Jace tapped a single steel-toed boot against the floor and pegged him with a “get on with it” look.

  Right. He was supposed to be speaking, not getting lost in the complicated confines of his own thoughts. But considering the events of the past few days, who could blame him?

  “We’re in a lot deeper shit than I thought.”

  A grim look crossed Damon’s face, but he didn’t speak, only observed expressionlessly as Shane spoke. Damon wasn’t a man of many words, but his lack of reaction sent a small chill down Shane’s spine.

  “But I’ve got some leads on how to prevent any more deaths from happening,” Shane quickly added.

  “Deeper shit than necromancy is the last thing any of us wanna hear.” Ash crossed his arms over his chest as he leaned against the table next to Shane.

  Dirt still covered Ash’s clothes from digging up Lauren Seater’s grave. Shane appreciated the favor, even though it had turned out to be wasted effort, since he and Vera had found Lauren first.

  “Isn’t necromancy about as deep as shit gets in your field?” Ash continued.

  Shane nodded. “It is, but this necromancer is proving more powerful than I thought, and to make matters worse, after I killed the first corpse he reanimated, he’s onto me. He knows there’s a hunter after him, which makes things even more complicated.”

  “Him? How do you know it’s a him? And how do you know he’s onto you?” David asked.

  Shane held up a hand. “The answer will give you nightmares, like straight-out-of-The-Exorcist nightmares.”

  David chuckled with clear appreciation for Shane’s comparison. Even though—or maybe becau
se—David filleted demons for a living, an often bloody and messy job, he appreciated a laugh.

  “I know the necromancer is a man because he possessed Lauren Seater’s corpse and spoke through her. The voice was unmistakably male,” Shane answered. He shot another glance at Damon, who continued to remain silent.

  Jace chimed in next. “I don’t give a shit about any of that. I want to hear what you need us to do to save more people from being murdered by fucking raised-from-the-dead zombies.”

  The group nodded in unison. Clearly everyone was in the mood to keep it short and simple tonight.

  “He’s choosing his victims in a really predictable way. I found a newspaper obituary section from two years ago. Both reanimated corpses were from that list. I don’t think that’s a coincidence. If we can monitor those graves or, better yet, torch those corpses so they can’t be reanimated, we’ll stop the deaths.”

  Ash let out a string of profanities under his breath. “That means I’m going to be diggin’ up a lot more graves, doesn’t it?”

  Before Shane could answer him, Damon sat forward in his chair and cleared his throat, finally joining the conversation. “Depending on how many people are on that list, all of you are going to be out there digging.”

  A collective round of groans followed that announcement. Boy, Shane thought, wasn’t he going to be popular among his friends and colleagues?

  As much as he tried to suppress it, a small smile crossed his lips. This was certainly a change of pace from their usual, wasn’t it? Normally, if someone was doing grunt work for another hunter’s case, it was him. He was always looking up obscure symbols, facts, documents, you name it. Doing what his fellow hunters considered the dull research, while they bagged the bad guys and earned the credit. He didn’t mind. He enjoyed researching, and what his fellow hunters considered dull he found stimulating and interesting.