“Run,” I whispered. But the beauty merely took another step in my direction. She stood in the middle of the tracks, waiting, her arms outstretched.
No one else seemed to notice her plight. None of the late-night urbanites gave a shit about the hapless woman rooted on the tracks or the lovestruck fool inching his way to the end of the platform.
One last step separated me from dropping down into the tracks below. My gaze momentarily turned toward the incoming train. I saw the conductor, his bored face framed by the dirty window. Why didn’t he try to stop the train? Couldn’t he see that he was about to run over the most beautiful woman in the world?
That settled it. It was up to me to come to Lorena’s rescue.
I took a final step and jumped in front of the onrushing train.
3
As I landed on the tracks below, the train’s headlights engulfed me. For a moment I was blinded, and Lorena slipped from view. And that’s when I heard the voice.
“What would Jane Archer say if you tossed your life away for some headcase you just met on the subway?”
I pivoted toward the speaker. Lurking by my side in the tracks was my old buddy Cyon. The demon’s raw-boned, pale features peeled from the tunnel’s shadows, his unnaturally tall, almost emaciated frame decked out in a black suit which clashed with the dusty, grimy surroundings. I know this human appearance was merely a mask, a play of smoke and mirrors to allow me to more easily interact with him. Who knew what the demon really looked like. Truth be told, I didn’t want to know. He was creepy enough as is.
I had only recently discovered that the demon had found a home inside of me. I was possessed, at least to a degree. Only the Seal of Solomon, my protective talisman, prevented the demon from fully taking control. Ever since my adventure in Switzerland, Cyon had been popping up when I least expected it.
Fortunately, tonight his words snapped me out of my trance, breaking Lorena’s hypnotic siren call. All my feelings of love for her were gone. I could not save her because the woman on the tacks was already dead.
“We’ll be dead too, if you don’t get your ass in gear,” Cyon said.
I hurled myself off the rails.
My reaction came not a second too soon as the subway blasted by me, a violent surge of air buffeting my trench coat. An extra second of hesitation would have done me in. If it hadn’t been for Cyon’s last minute appearance…well, let’s just say the city would have spent the next few hours scraping what was left of yours truly from the tracks. I inhaled sharply, and my hands trembled. I had underestimated the power of this spirit and it had nearly cost me my life.
“You really have a way with women, don’t you now?”
Judging from the sparkle in Cyon’s eyes and the grin curling his thin lips, the demonic bastard was enjoying himself. I couldn’t be too mad with him, though. His interference had most likely saved my life. Not that he had done it out of the goodness of his heart—if I perished, so would his human ride.
“Give it a break,” I snarled. I watched the train, waiting to see if anyone had noticed my most recent brush with death. The commuters were all too wrapped up with their petty, everyday concerns to pay attention to the crazy man in the filthy trench coat. The ding of the closing train doors echoed through the tunnel and the iron monster rumbled back to life. A moment later, the train pulled out of the station.
I was alone on the tracks again. There was no sign of Lorena, but I knew she was down there. Waiting for her next victim. These suicides wouldn’t end. More men would succumb to the spirit’s hypnotic spell. If a trained monster hunter could fall prey to her ethereal charms, what chance did a regular fellow have?
It was up to me to put an end to this. Tonight.
Cyon fell in step beside me as I made my way down the dark tunnel. No one could see him but me, his chosen host. Cyon had promised to leave as soon as he found another suitable body, but I’d been stuck with him for weeks now. No matter what I do, no matter where I go, he’s always there. Watching. Sometimes passing a snide comment that only I can hear. It’s even less fun than it sounds. You don’t get used to having a demon in your head, even one who might save your life on occasion.
Pushing thoughts of my demonic shadow aside, my eyes combed the deserted rails. The demon Morgal (yes, another demon; I lead a complicated life, okay?) had murdered my parents and tried to maul me when I was but a boy. The attack had left a deep, ugly scar on my chest. It now ignited with fierce pain, a clear indicator that a supernatural entity was lurking nearby. The scar acted as my personal spidey-sense, alerting me of most paranormal dangers.
My hand reached out for Hellseeker, the blessed pistol which had been cast from the steel of a magical sword over a century ago. It radiated a greenish light only visible to my enhanced sixth sense—another side-effect of being nearly killed by an archdemon at the tender age of eight. Hellseeker was a blessed, magical gun that could kill most monsters, or at least give them a hell of a headache. Vampires, shifters, demons—they all feared the weapon. It was equally effective against spirits that refused to leave this plane of existence.
Lorena was trapped in the tunnels where she had exhaled her last breath. It was high time for her to move on to the next world.
The sooner the better, in fact.
Hellseeker up and ready, I sprinted down the tunnel. I stole a sideways glance, but Cyon had vanished. Correction, he was still there; the genie was simply back in the bottle. He was deeply buried somewhere deep within my psyche or soul or wherever demonic entities nestled, biding his time. I tried not to think too much about my demonic hitchhiker and focus on the problem at hand, but it wasn’t easy.
Nothing ever is in the Cursed City.
“Lorena, this has to end,” I said. “I know how you feel. The pain and sorrow you’ve experienced. But that doesn’t give you an excuse to lure innocent men to their deaths. These people you’re killing…they’re not him. Your fiancée has moved on. You should too.”
The air stirred to my right, and I spun around. A human form peeled from the darkness. Lorena stood there, a ghastly presence. Now that I knew the truth about what she was, her unearthly beauty was stripped away, piece by piece. Deep gashes formed across those lovely features, and her limbs hung limply from her distended body. Her right arm clung to her mauled shoulder by a thin strand of sinew.
As she shuffled through the dark tunnel, she resembled a bloody bag of broken bones, the injuries experienced during her suicide intensifying before my eyes. She was re-experiencing her catastrophic injuries, reverting to her final appearance in this life—the mauled corpse the authorities had retrieved from the bloody tracks. With each advancing step, her wounds multiplied. Flesh bruised and then pulped. Horrible lacerations shredded her skin and unseen impacts cracked her bones.
Lorena had become a woman of blood, terrible to look at.
It made what I had to do a lot easier. I pulled the trigger and drilled Lorena’s spirit with a barrage of magically-charged bullets. A wailing shriek erupted from the apparition as the magic of my weapon went to work on her grisly visage.
Her scream echoing through the tunnels, Lorena came apart into wisps of ghostly energy. Tendrils of ectoplasma swirled around me. Yet the throbbing pain of my scar barely subsided.
I was gripped with a somber realization. Hellseeker’s bullets had weakened Lorena sufficiently to disperse her spirit form but she was a long way from being defeated. Obviously, the dark emotions keeping her trapped in these tunnels were far more powerful than Hellseeker’s fiery wrath.
I took a deep breath, my mind racing. Many times, a body which hadn’t been properly put to rest could bind a spirit to our world. I knew for a fact that the authorities had removed Lorena’s physical remains from these tunnels after the train ended her young life. Her emotions could prevent her from moving on but they needed some physical anchor to stay in our reality. If not her bodily remains, what else could be keeping her here?
Lorena’s corpse, along with her pe
rsonal effects, had been cleared from the tunnels. There shouldn’t be anything down here with a strong enough pull to keep the dead woman anchored here. Except for the one item that hadn’t been found, not in her apartment or in the tunnels.
According to the police reports and statements from Lorena’s fiancée, her engagement ring was missing. The authorities believed Lorena had tossed it before she came down here, but I wasn’t so sure. Lorena would have wanted her body to be found wearing the engagement ring, a final expression of her wounded heart.
If the ring had been torn off her finger, if it was still somewhere within these tunnels, I needed to find it. The ring had to be the object keeping her from moving into the next world.
I removed the small metal detector that I had brought along and surged down the tunnel. Lorena’s remains had been found near this station even though her spirit roamed the whole line in the search of more victims. A little voice—okay, perhaps it was my aching scar—told me the ring had to be nearby.
I must’ve looked like some demented homeless man in my ragged trench coat and scraggly beard as I waved the metal detector along the walls of the subway tunnel. I sensed Lorena’s invisible form watching me from the encroaching darkness, as confounded by my strange actions as anyone else would be.
She would soon enough learn what I was up to.
My efforts were rewarded after thirty minutes. During that time, I had to dodge two more incoming trains and fend off a particularly bold rat. But once my eyes landed on the glimmering engagement ring, lodged between two wooden railroad ties, it all seemed worth it.
I bent down and scooped up the golden ring. The diamond managed to sparkle despite the hazy light.
“No…no!”
The haunting voice echoed in the tunnel. A scarlet-drenched shape lurched from the darkness. It didn’t look remotely human. There was no anger or hatred in my heart as I faced Lorena’s shattered, heaving presence. I only felt pity.
“You wore this ring when you killed yourself. Your wanted your fiancée to see it when he identified your remains.”
“Mine. Give it.”
“It’s time to leave this dark and lonely place, Lorena.”
Lorena took a few jerky, shuffling steps, her oozing form stretching grotesquely as her bones cracked. Black hair clung to a mask of red, her features obliterated.
Without warning, the ring grew heavy in my hand. Suddenly, it felt like I was clutching a thirty-pound barbell instead of an engagement ring.
“I’m not leaving. And neither are you!”
Squeaking sounds filled the tunnel behind me.
I pivoted, coming face to face with a fast-approaching carpet of rats. Lorena was tapping into her last reserves of supernatural power to manipulate them.
As the roiling mass of snapping jaws approached, I broke into a run, the unnaturally heavy engagement ring tightly secured in my fist.
Three of the critters jumped at me, but a well-timed kick sent the brazen rats flying. Sharp teeth chomped down on thin air as the tunnel swallowed the critter.
More rats rose up before me, threatening to bar my escape.
I kept moving.
“Mine!”
The eerie voice trailed off, growing weaker as I reached the platform. The late-night crowd gawked at me. A dirt-covered bearded man storming down a subway tunnel while being pursued by a horde of ravenous rats isn’t an everyday occurrence–not even in the Cursed City.
Fortunately, the swarm chasing after me was thinning a bit. The closer I came to the surface, the weaker Lorena’s power grew.
A group of bar hoppers backed away from me as I tore past them, on my way to the nearest staircase. I took two, three steps at time, the heavy feeling of the engagement ring in my hand easing somewhat. Lorena’s preternatural influence was fading. By removing the psychic anchor from the place where she had died, I had set her spirit adrift. In her weakened state, the tides of the afterlife would sweep her into the next world. Or so I hoped. For her sake as much as the city’s male population.
I half-expected Lorena to be waiting for me at the top of the stairs in a last- ditch attempt at stopping me. But even the dead need to play by certain rules. Instead, I was greeted by two homeless men. I tossed them a couple of bills before darting down the street. My scar had stopped burning, and the terrible weight of the ring had lifted. Mission accomplished.
It took me less than five minutes to reach my Ducati. The sleek cycle was parked in a dark, trash-strewn alley. The Equus Bass was still in the shop after a crazy billionaire’s mercenary had perforated it with bullets a few weeks back. Thinking about the sorry state of my beloved ride still pained me. Fortunately, Skulick had hired an old mechanic buddy of his who had a rep for working miracles. While my muscle car was being fixed, the Ducati would have to suffice.
As soon as I started the jet-black motorcycle’s engine, my cell rang. Who would call me at two in the morning? A quick glance at the incoming number told me everything I needed to know.
Lt. Benson needed my help on a case.
Cyon’s sunken features flickered across the Ducati’s rear-view mirror, a knowing smile plastered across his lips.
“No rest for the wicked, huh?”
I couldn’t have put it better myself.
4
I shot down the deserted streets of the Cursed City, the Ducati’s wailing engine failing to drown out the furious workings of my restless mind. I’d been home for a few weeks, but it felt much longer to me. Having an uninvited guest in your head will do that.
Demons had slaughtered my parents over twenty years ago, and I’d been returning the favor ever since. Skulick had shaped me into a hunter feared by Hell, but now I’d become the unwilling host to one its dark servants. A demon hunter possessed by a demon himself.
“Don’t be so melodramatic, Raven,” Cyon’s voice spoke up in my mind.
This was another one of the demon’s nasty habits—he loved to remind me that even my most private thoughts were his to dissect.
“I’m merely tagging along until a better option presents itself. My advice is to just lean back and enjoy the ride.”
“Shut up,” I hissed under my breath.
“Is that any way to talk to someone who just saved your life?”
“I doubt it was out of the goodness of your heart,” I growled.
“We don’t have to be at each others throats. I can help you. In fact, I think I might be the best thing that ever happened to a bum like you. Pay attention, and you might learn a thing or two.”
The demon was in rare form tonight. I cursed under my breath. God, I hated this. Ever since Switzerland, where I’d realized that the demon was camped out inside my soul, I’d been wondering what the creature’s endgame was.
“Haven’t we been over this before? I thought we both wanted the same thing.”
Cyon was referring to Morgal, the arch-demon who had killed my parents. Cyon might know most, if not all, my secrets, but sharing a body with a monster had offered me a few insights into his character too. Despite being an agent of darkness, Cyon hated Morgal as much as I did. Morgal had abandoned Cyon after Marek, the vampire-demon, trapped him in a summoning circle and fed on him. By allowing himself to be captured, Cyon had lost all status in his master’s eyes.
I guess Hell hath no fury like a demonic servant scorned by his master.
I sensed Cyon was cooking up a plan for his revenge. The sooner we defeated Morgal, the sooner I might get my old life back. In the meantime, Cyon would be my partner and shadow as I continued to keep the Cursed City safe from paranormal threats.
The one bright spot of my recent European adventure was the addition of a new powerful weapon to my arsenal—and I don’t mean Cyon. At first, I’d doubted we would ever get the Demon Slayer sword off the mountain, much less past customs. Fueled by Cyon’s power, I’d overcome the harsh weather conditions and slogged my way back to Traske’s private airfield on foot. Once there, the old bastard had allowed us to board his
Lear Jet with the sword in hand. The billionaire hadn’t cared about any trinkets I might’ve picked up along the way. All that had mattered was the scroll he believed would allow him to break his contract with Hell and save his immortal soul.
Don’t ask if it was me or Cyon who had decided to lie to the old man about the scroll; I honestly don’t know. Taske needed to believe I had successfully retrieved the contract or else he would have left me to die on that picturesque Swiss mountaintop. The billionaire didn’t realize the truth. At least not until we made it back to the Cursed City.
By the time, we landed in the States, all the news channels were abuzz with the story of Taske’s death. But it wasn’t the cancer that had finally done him in. A fire had broken out in the ward of the private hospital where he was being treated, transforming his room into a blazing inferno. A little voice told me that the Lords of Darkness hadn’t taken his attempt at breaking into their bank too kindly and had sped up his demise.
Taske’s death simplified things. We were never forced to deal with the man’s private army. With their boss out of the picture, his goons let me go and stopped their surveillance of Archer.
And I was free to return to my old life. Only problem—with Cyon along for the ride, there was no going home. At least not in the way I wanted to.
Part of me almost wished I hadn’t discovered this dark truth about myself back in Switzerland. Sometimes ignorance is bliss, especially if you can’t change your circumstances. All my attempts at banishing the demon had failed, and Cyon prevented me from sharing my condition with Skulick or anyone else. Even though my protective talisman, the Seal of Solomon, kept the beast somewhat in check, every time I’d tried to bring up the subject to my partner, the words lodged in my throat, my lips unable to form coherent sounds. Skulick knew about Taske’s contract and the devil’s bank but my possession remained a well-guarded secret. I was a man cursed to live with the terrible knowledge that an inhuman presence now lurked within me. I was still fighting for the right team, but I’d been compromised.
Skull Master Page 2
