Occult Assassin 4: Soul Jacker

by Massa, William

  Talon’s bleary eyes turned toward Samia. She had scooped up his demon slayer blade and now bravely faced the fast approaching monster. Even armed with the magical weapon, she didn’t stand a chance. The Jinn’s weight and momentum would flatten her.

  Death was closing in from both sides of the corridor. The Jinn on one end, Rakan on the other. Struck by sudden inspiration, Talon’s gaze locked on Samia.

  “Throw me the knife!”

  The detective looked at him with disbelief yet did as she was told. She slid the blade across the floor and Talon caught the magical weapon before it slid to a stop. Blade in hand, he swung around at Rakan. To hurt the beast, he would have to harm the man. Talon drew the knife across Rakan’s face, drawing a deep gash across the man’s eyes.

  Blinded, Rakan staggered back with a scream.

  On the other end, the Jinn bellowed, and slowed its advance, blood gushing from its cyclopean eye.

  The maneuver had bought Talon and Samia precious seconds.

  Talon toyed with the idea of going after Rakan, but even without his sight, the drug dealer made a formidable opponent. Besides, the Jinn would be upon him before Talon could subdue Rakan.

  There was only one way to defeat both enemies—turn them on each other. He would have to pit master against servant and trust that he and the detective could escape in the melee. Talon surged toward Samia and pointed at the open elevator door. Understanding filled her features and she nodded. Just before Talon flung himself through the door, he shouted, “Hey, come and get me, you slimy bastard!”

  Before either Rakan or the Jinn could reach them, Talon and Samia jumped into the dark elevator shaft. Their hands clasped the emergency ladder while the enraged Jinn barreled down the corridor, its bulk shooting past the open elevator doors. In its blinded state, the monster was unaware that its real prey had fled. Driven by rage, it kept spiraling down the corridor, headed straight for the nearest human.

  Rakan.

  A heartbeat later, the massive beast opened its mouth wide and engulfed the man in its path. As the servant disappeared inside the translucent form of his master, the spiritual link between them shattered. The giant worm reared and bucked but kept moving, completely out of control. Unable to slow its forward momentum, the Jinn burst through the window at the end of the corridor and disappeared in a rain of shattering glass, plunging to the wet streets below.

  ***

  Yasmine was about to whip out the AK-47 from under her long coat when the world around her shifted. For the first time in days, her thoughts were clear and her mind once again her own. One moment the notion of mowing down the demonic Parisians in the small café before her seemed like a sacred calling. Now she felt sickened by what she’d almost done. It felt like she was waking from a terrible nightmare. She spotted five other banlieue residents in the surging crowds, terrified eyes in ashen brown faces, mirroring her own shock and fear.

  Yasmine was all too aware of the machine gun under her coat and the phalanx of security personnel milling around the mall. Somehow, she had to flee the shopping center and get rid of the weapon without being caught. If she was arrested or killed, then who would take care of Granny.

  Her heart skipped a beat. She vaguely recalled returning to her apartment only to find Granny missing. That’s when the punks had grabbed her. They’d forced her to take the drug, and afterwards, there had been only darkness. She’d been convinced that she lived in a world where demons ruled Paris and were to blame for every misfortune that had befallen her people.

  Moving as swiftly as she could without drawing attention to herself, she fled the underground shopping center. She was driven by one single thought: she had to get home. As soon as she reached the parking structure, she pulled the machine gun from under her coat and let it drop behind a trash bin. It clattered against the concrete floor and she picked up her pace, using her hijab to keep her features obscured from the security cameras placed intermittently around the parking structure.

  A few minutes later, she stepped into the Paris night. A fine drizzle stung her skin. She welcomed the sensation, which further grounded her in reality. She could sense that this nightmare was truly behind her. She didn’t understand what had broken the unholy spell the drug had exerted on her—and truth be told, she didn’t want to know. Yasmine was free; it didn’t matter why or how. All that mattered was finding her grandmother.

  She walked briskly down the brightly lit streets of Paris, appreciating, perhaps for the first time, the beauty of her adopted city.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  BY THE TIME Samia stepped out of the tenement and into the night, the rain had stopped and the mist had thinned out. Swirling tendrils of fog still wove their way through the streets, but the condensation had lost its supernatural menace. She still couldn’t quite believe that they had defeated Rakan and the unholy creature under his command.

  As they’d descended the tenement stairs, they’d encountered many of Rakan’s erstwhile followers. They all looked like they were waking from a horrible nightmare—which, from what Samia understood, wasn’t that far from the truth. The death of the Jinn had broken the dark spell of its lifeforce.

  She expected to find the beast’s shattered form on the pavement, but they only discovered Rakan’s broken body splayed a few feet from the building. The twenty-story fall and the creature’s digestive fluids had reduced her former lover’s features into a bloody, pulpy mass. There was no sign of the monster. If both monster and man had been linked somehow, maybe the creature had dissolved in the same way Rakan’s features had been obliterated. Or could the beast have stolen away into the rainy night? The thought sent a cold panic down her spine, and her eyes probed the surrounding darkness. The halogen streetlights did little to illuminate the gray soup around them.

  Combing the darkness, her gaze landed on an open sewer grate. Had some part of the monster escaped into the bowels of the city? Wounded, maybe dying, but still able to infiltrate the heart of the metropolis somehow, an evil poison polluting the water that flowed through the city’s stone arteries.

  Tensions between the French and her people were at an all time high, and that wasn’t going to change any time soon. Things would get worse before they got better. The last thing her city needed was a monster churning up hatred and fear. The situation was bad enough without a supernatural influence.

  Sirens grew audible in the near distance, and Samia let out a sigh of relief. Reinforcements would be arriving any second now.

  “I must go,” the American said. She turned toward him and searched his battle-worn features.

  I’ve seen things most men couldn’t imagine in their worst nightmares. There are horrors out there, dark forces men can tap into.

  She doubted he would share his story with her. He didn’t have to. He’d saved her life, saved this neighborhood. He didn’t owe her any explanations.

  “Are you at least going to tell me your full name?”

  The American smiled, squeezed her shoulder and said, “Mark Talon.”

  With these words, he vanished into the mist.

  Moments later, the first squad car pulled up to the tenement.

  ***

  Talon studied Casca as he inspected the strange vial. Five days had passed since the battle in the banlieues, and he now found himself in Casca’s office at his sprawling Silicon Valley mansion. The drug was the only tangible evidence of the horror he’d faced.

  “Your experience in Paris changes everything. I will have to revisit the myths of the Jinn and interpret them in a completely new way.”

  “Sounds like fun.” Talon rolled his eyes, knowing all too well the billionaire would have a blast unraveling this new occult mystery.

  Casca placed the vial in a drawer of his mahogany desk. Talon glanced at the large globe that stood in the office’s corner. For most of his life, he’d been traveling the world, constantly on the go and he had a feeling his lifestyle wouldn’t change any time soon. He wondered where the billionaire would s
end him next.

  Almost as if Casca had scanned his mind, he said, “Did you get a chance to read my interview in Forbes? I think I did an excellent job of playing the rich boy with too much time on his hands and an unhealthy interest in the occult.”

  “Can’t say I have. Did the Order of the Flayed Prince take the bait?”

  “Someone was paying attention because I received a personal invitation to attend a workshop hosted by the Shadow Seeker Society in New York City.”

  “You think they’re connected to the order?”

  “There’s only one way to know for sure.”

  Talon mulled it over. Normally the billionaire commanded their campaigns from the safety of his mansion while Talon put himself in harm’s way. Now his general planned to venture out onto the battlefield. He’d proven to be a helpful ally when they’d faced the Reaper’s murderous spirit back in the Ohio mall but Talon couldn’t shake a growing sense of unease. Casca was developing an appetite for action, his confidence bolstered by his growing mastery of the magical arts.

  On the other hand, the Order wasn’t like the any enemy they faced before. He’d scored another victory in Paris, but even the most skilled soldier knew that survival was mostly a matter of luck—and a lucky streak could only last for so long. This new enemy possessed the funding and membership numbers to pose a real problem. Who knew how deep their influence went and what horrific goals they might be working toward.

  “You accepted the invitation?” Talon asked after a long pause.

  Casca nodded. “The seminar is scheduled a week from now. I was hoping you might join me for the event.”

  Talon cocked an eyebrow, and Casca added, “I have a feeling I might be in need of a personal bodyguard.”

  Talon nodded. “I’m on the payroll, boss.”

  Casca grinned and Talon joined him. Inwardly, though he wasn’t smiling, gripped by a dark premonition. He sensed the battle ahead would test them both in ways they couldn’t even imagine. Casca believed the Order had taken his bait, but Talon wasn’t so sure. What if their new enemy knew exactly what they were up to? He’d set a cunning and deadly trap in that remote Italian chapel, and he feared that the Order was now planning a trap of their own.

  Picking up on his unease, Casca poured him a shot of bourbon. Talon drained the glass and gave his employer a more genuine smile.

  Whatever horrors might be waiting for them in New York, this time they’d face them together.

  THE END

  Mark Talon and Simon Casca return in Doomsday Circle.

  The battle between the occult assassin and the mysterious Order of the Flayed Prince is about to heat up.

  NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR

  Dear Readers:

  The recent horrific terrorist attack in Paris shocked me deeply, especially since I was in the middle of writing Soul Jacker at the time which echoes some of the ethnic tensions impacting Europe and the world at the moment. This story wasn’t designed to ride on the coattails of a recent tragedy or to be sensationalistic. It was conceived way before the recent horrific attack and was originally planned to be the second book in the series. The Charlie Hebdo attack early this year made me push the story and Apocalypse Soldier became book 2. But the tale continued to haunt me, and I finally came back to it this summer, after I felt enough time had passed. Little did I realize even more horrific attacks would soon rattle the City of Lights. Extremist ideology has been replaced with the occult in the Talon stories but like the Dark Knight movies, Occult Assassin is designed to take the real world of terrorism and give it a fantastical push. Sometimes art imitates life and other times it intercepts it, becoming eerily prophetic. My heart goes out to all the victims and I sincerely hope the story doesn’t offend anyone. It was meant to be cautionary tale, grounded somewhat in reality but clearly a fantasy-horror story.

  The world is a dangerous place even without monsters and demons and I’m grateful that the real Mark Talons out there valiantly strive to keep it safe for all of us.

  William Massa

  December 2015

  Los Angeles, CA

  Thank you so much for reading!

  Please consider writing an Amazon review. Reviews help readers choose and discover a book and offer valuable feedback to me as a writer. For your convenience, you can follow this direct REVIEW LINK below:

  Click here to review SILICON MAN!

  Thank you for your support and your time!

  Want to get an email when the next title is released? Please subscribe to my spam-free newsletter for the latest news, promotions and giveaways!

  Click here to get started: http://eepurl.com/Ki8QH

  Please like my Facebook page for updates and messages.

  THE STORY CONTINUES IN SILICON WORLD BOOK 0: SILICON DAWN

  "Silicon Dawn reads like a mashup of Blade Runner and Se7en." Dwayne Smith, Forty Acres.

  THE LINE BETWEEN MAN AND MACHINE HAS BEEN CROSSED...

  AND THERE IS NO TURNING BACK.

  A diabolical serial killer stalks the city of the future…

  Hunting the people who build the machines.

  And it's up to two cops to unravel a terrible conspiracy.

  The world is still reeling form the devastation of the Omega Virus and struggling to rebuild. A growing android workforce has given rise to the Human Defense League and anti-AI sentiment is at an all-time high.

  Adam, the first of the new X-3000 models, arrives into this hostile world. Field-tested on the Luna colonies, now assigned to Earth, Adam is paired with homicide detective Jane Malveaux, who has little love for synthetics.

  Before long both Malveaux and Adam must cast aside their differences and join forces to solve a case that will test both man and machine.

  PLEASE ENJOY A SPECIAL PREVIEW OF

  SILICON DAWN

  A SILICON MAN PREQUEL

  LOS ANGELES, 2084.

  TEN YEARS BEFORE THE EVENTS OF SILICON MAN.

  The San Francisco Spaceport bustled with activity. Two spaceplanes had arrived in quick succession, one from the Luna colonies and another from the IMS space station, and weary passengers thronged the arrival hall. Sunlight streamed through the large, oblong windows, and the space travelers basked in the welcoming heat. Feeling the sun on their faces signaled that they were back on the homeworld. The outer colonies had their charms, but nothing beat good old Mother Earth.

  Among the new arrivals was someone who’d never before visited the birthplace of humanity. He wore a gray suit and a fedora, the brim of the hat cloaking much of his face in shadow. The look had been popular in the first half of the twentieth century and was in vogue again.

  As the man in gray waited his turn in the long line snaking its way toward the security portals, he studied his surroundings. Most of his fellow travelers were barely awake, their slightly atrophied muscles still readjusting to Earth’s gravity, but the man in gray was fully alert. The arrivals area energized him with a sense of wonder. Everything seemed new and different somehow.

  Exciting.

  He couldn’t quite put his finger on why he felt this way. Maybe it was the sunlight shafting through the windows and the glimpses of azure sky. Or perhaps there was a different energy here on Earth, a confidence and carefree attitude that came with the awareness of being home.

  Earth gave life, space claimed it.

  One false move or malfunctioning system could easily become the difference between living and dying. Out in the colonies, mankind struggled to carve out a home for itself in an environment seemingly designed to eradicate life at every turn.

  The man in gray took note of another detail—mechs were everywhere. For every human servicing the spaceport floors, there were two synthetics. They worked mostly as bag checkers and sanitation workers. These animated mannequins went about their routine, mundane duties in what seemed like a trancelike stupor. They might move like humans, but their frozen features were lifeless, plastic. They were second generation X-2000s, and unlike the first generation, boasted
synthetic skin.

  As he moved past them, the androids halted their workflow, blank gazes trailing after him. His presence stirred something in them—was it curiosity? Surprise?

  The travelers continued their patience-testing journey through an endless series of security checkpoints. A female customs agent divided her attention between the incessant stream of data on her 3-D holo-screen and the flow of humanity before her. When the man in gray’s turn arrived, she said in a perfunctory voice, ”Hmm, the Luna colonies. First time on Earth?”

  “Yes,” he answered.

  The woman returned the I.D.

  “I hope you enjoy your...”

  She broke off, eyes filling with disbelief as she caught a better look at him. Before she could say anything else, he’d pocketed his card and was on his way.

  He’d been forewarned that he might encounter such a reaction upon his arrival. People would treat him differently on the homeworld than on Luna, but he was steeled for the worst. At least he hoped he was.

  Once cleared through customs, the man in gray headed for the spaceport’s nearest exit. Unlike the other travelers, he didn’t carry any luggage. Walking briskly, he stepped through the sliding doors and eyed a nearby cab.

  As he approached the vehicle, the cabby kept checking the TV monitor on his dashboard, entranced by some sporting event. The man’s attention barely wavered as the door opened and the man in gray slid into the back.