Devil's Shadow

by Percival Constantine

  I sighed and dropped the cigarette back in the ashtray. Leaning forward, I grabbed the folder from the coffee table, shooting Wayne an annoyed glance as I did. I opened it up and started to look through the contents. Crime scene photos, police reports, the whole nine. Seemed there were a bunch of mysterious deaths in some new housing development.

  I closed the file and shrugged. “I don’t think it’s my kinda thing.”

  “Are you kidding?” asked Wayne. “Did you even read the reports or look at the photos?”

  “I saw enough. What makes you think this is anything more than just bad luck?”

  “Deaths from faulty wiring, elevator malfunctions, gas leaks? I checked into it. Inspectors said everything was up to code and there’s no way any of that should’ve happened. One guy died from multiple gunshot wounds. His photo’s in there—go take a look.” Wayne pointed at the file.

  I rolled my eyes but looked for the photo. Just like he said, the poor bastard was riddled with bullet holes. “And?” I asked.

  “He looks like he was hit in a drive-by.”

  “And?”

  “And he lived on the top floor. Windows were completely intact—no one could have shot him from outside.”

  “Then he pissed off the wrong guy.”

  “Or the wrong ghost.”

  I scoffed and took another drink. “You think ghosts are haunting this place?”

  “Check the address where all the deaths went down,” said Wayne.

  I humored him. If I did, maybe I could get him to leave quicker. I checked the address and…well, I’ll be damned. That certainly lent some credence to Wayne’s theory. And it made dismissing him a whole lot harder.

  “Cabrini-Green,” I said.

  “Or what’s left of it. Xavier Apartments is one of the new properties there.”

  Cabrini-Green was one of the most infamous housing projects in America. In the nineties, it had pretty much been synonymous with urban decay and crime. They had even turned it into a horror movie when they’d decided to make it the setting of Candyman. Since then, the projects had been demolished to make way for new developments that the old residents couldn’t afford in their wildest dreams.

  Just throw up some new buildings, price the “problematic” folks out of the market, and you can easily ignore the problems without ever addressing the root causes. Gentrification—it was the American way.

  “So, what, you think the ghosts of dead Cabrini-Green residents are killing folks in this new development?” I asked.

  “You and I both know ghosts have killed for less. We even worked a few together, remember?”

  “Coop, you have any idea how many people died at Cabrini-Green over the years? There’s a reason the place became so infamous in the first place.”

  “So, what, you’re just going to let people continue dying because you don’t want to be inconvenienced? This is what you do, Luther.”

  I closed the file and tossed it on the coffee table. Leaning forward, I stared at Wayne. “Do I look like I’m running a charity? This isn’t some hobby for me, Coop. This is my livelihood. You want to pay me a consultant fee, I’m more than happy to pitch in. But I’m not gonna to take on a case unless someone’s coughing up a check.”

  “You’ve worked similar cases without any possibility of payment.”

  “Yeah, for people who couldn’t afford to turn anywhere else. Not for a bunch of rich assholes who pissed off angry spirits.” I stood from the chair and walked over to the front door. While holding it open, I looked back at Wayne. “I think we’re done here for tonight.”

  Wayne sighed and picked up his glass, finishing the martini in a single gulp. He set it back down and got to his feet, taking the briefcase with him. But I noticed he left the file sitting on the coffee table.

  “I know we haven’t worked together in a while, but I expected more of you, Cross,” he said. “Thought you were someone I could rely on when I needed a hand. What happened to you over the past several months?”

  “I got tired of being jerked around,” I said.

  “When did I ever do anything but treat you with respect?”

  “Didn’t say you did, but I’ve got to be choosier about which cases I take on,” I said. “It’s nothing personal, Coop. But you wouldn’t believe how expensive it is to live on the Gold Coast these days.”

  “You’ve always been something of a mercenary, but there was a good man underneath it all. But now…” Wayne looked me over from head to toe, then shook his head. “Now I don’t know who you are. All I know is you’re not the same man who saved me from an angry spirit several years back.”

  “People change.” I cast my eyes back at the coffee table, then gave Wayne a questioning look. “Aren’t you forgetting something?”

  “Keep the file,” he said.

  “If you’re hoping I’ll change my mind, you’ll be waiting a long time.”

  “Maybe, maybe not,” he said. “If nothing else, it’ll be a good reminder of what a jackass you’re being.”

  Wayne left my condo and I closed the door behind him. I looked down at the lock and said, “Sero.” With that Latin command, I heard the door lock itself and I returned to my chair.

  I picked up the file and looked through it again. If I were so inclined, maybe I could convince the developer to hire me and clear the building of any angry ghosts. Could give me something to do while I was waiting on Killian to come up with some info. Might even be able to command top dollar for my services, get the rates up higher than usual for a job like this.

  In the end, I didn’t really give a shit about those people or the case. The old Luther would probably be driving over there right now or hitting the computer to do some research. Those days were done for me. I just wanted to focus on finding out this demon’s name while steering clear of Raziel. And doing a spell to exorcise ghosts from a building would probably tip him off that I was working again, remind him that he and I had never had a chat about what he’d learned from Joseph Luxton, the guy I’d pulled out of Purgatory so Raziel could interrogate him.

  No, that was all over now. I wasn’t about to bring up the past, or Luxton. I picked up the file and carried it into my home office, where I dropped it into the metal trash can beside my desk. I held my hand out and whispered, “Aduro.”

  The file burst into flames, and I watched as it was reduced to nothing but ash.

  3

  The morning after Wayne’s surprise visit, I finally got a text from Killian. He said he wanted to meet and give me an update on what he’d learned. Somewhere far from Rush Street. I told him to take the Blue Line “L” train to the Cumberland stop. During rush hour, that train would be packed with commuters from the suburbs going into the city for work. But I told him to meet me there after ten. Not as many people on at that time.

  Me, I’d had enough of the “L” after chasing Killian on it. Tried not to take it unless I had to. I had a nice car—might as well get some use out of it, after all. I drove down I-90 West, then took the Cumberland exit. I turned left from the off-ramp onto Higgins and then took another left onto Cumberland Avenue. The station’s large parking garage stared out at me just ahead on the right. I pulled into the station and brought the car to a stop in the drop-off area.

  I tried not to make a habit of venturing too far outside the city unless I had a wealthy client in the more affluent suburbs. Once Chicago got in your blood, it was in there for life. I lit a cigarette and checked my phone as I waited for Killian to arrive.

  There were several texts from Celeste. Last time I saw her was just after I got out of Purgatory. That was when I’d managed to suppress the human side of me. Sometimes, I could still feel him clawing at the walls inside my mind, banging his fists to try and get out. But with each passing day, he became just a little bit quieter. And I gotta say, I was starting to enjoy it.

  Celeste was a different matter. I’d send her a text every now and then, making up a story about some case I was working and that I was too bu
sy. She wanted to talk about the sorcerer that had nearly killed her and Raziel, to try and track him down. I said I’d keep it in mind, but really had no intention of doing a damn thing about it.

  A knock came from the passenger-side window. Killian stood outside the car, and I unlocked the doors. He climbed in and blew into his hands, then rubbed them together. I rolled my eyes when I saw this.

  “You’re a demon…cold shouldn’t bother you,” I said.

  “Yeah, but I was human before Hell corrupted me,” said Killian. “So, I’m enjoying getting to relive the different sensations. Almost forgot what they felt like. In the time I’ve been down there, all I felt was pain and loss.”

  “Not interested in your life story, Killian—just want the information you have.”

  “I did as you asked, sought out some other demons. Found a few underground bars that cater to all the different freaks in this city. Not just demons—vampires, werewolves, you name it.”

  “And?”

  “Overheard some guys talkin’ while I was sitting at the bar. See, at first, when Asmodeus went missing, demons were in shock. No one, not even his closest advisors, knew what happened to him. But now, those demons have gotten over it.”

  I exhaled a few smoke rings and looked at him. “What do you mean?”

  “Asmodeus was the undisputed king around here. His advisors are still keeping Lust open and trying to put on appearances, but the lesser demons know something’s up. And there are a few people who’ve now started vying for Asmodeus’ seat of power.”

  “You mean like a turf war, demon-style?”

  “That’s exactly what I mean.”

  I paused to chew on that for a moment, looking out the driver’s side window and letting the smoke trail out past my lips. Demonic turf war wasn’t a good sign. Something like that would no doubt get Raziel’s attention, and the last thing I wanted was to deal with him.

  “I need to know the players,” I said.

  “Excuse me?”

  “The contenders for Asmodeus’ position. Find out their names, bring them to me.”

  Killian looked at me like I’d just asked him to go back up to the train platform and take a nap on the tracks, his yellow eyes filled with a mixture of anger and disbelief. “What makes you think I’m gonna stick my neck out like that?”

  “We had a deal,” I said.

  “Deal was I’d get you some info, and I did. Now it’s up to you to do something with it.”

  If the spineless little worm was gonna make things difficult on me, then maybe I should make things difficult on him. I rolled down the window and flicked my cigarette out, and then I drew the knife from inside my jacket.

  The blade had mystic properties, capable of hurting supernatural creatures. Even got stabbed once with it myself, and let me tell you, it worked well. A little too well, in my case. I reached across and held the knife to Killian’s throat. He pressed himself into his seat, tilting his head back as much as possible to avoid the blade. It didn’t work, and as soon as his skin touched the metal, it began to smoke.

  “Let’s get a few things straight, kid. The only reason you’re breathing is because I allow it. You’re a bottom-feeder, don’t have enough power to become corporeal yourself. That means you need to keep possessing that kid’s body. But you know the problem with possession?”

  “W-what?” asked Killian, his eyes looking at me from the side.

  “Exorcism,” I said. “Regna terrae, cantata Deo, psallite Cernunnos. Regna terrae, cantata Dea psallite Aradia—”

  “Stop!” he pleaded.

  “Caeli Deus, Deus terrae, Humiliter majestati gloriae tuae supplicamus Ut ab omni infernalium spirituum potestate, Laqueo, and deceptione nequitia, Omnis fallaciae, libera nos, dominates.”

  His head started thrashing from side to side, his eyes growing wide in fear and glowing bright yellow. Something flashed beneath his skin and his entire body started to smoke, filling my car with the stink of sulfur. Great, I’d have to get the damn thing detailed now to get the smell out.

  “Exorcizamus you omnis immundus spiritus Omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursio, Infernalis adversarii, omnis legio, Omnis and congregatio secta diabolica—”

  “OKAY! I’LL DO IT, DAMN YOU, JUST STOP! PLEASE!”

  Part of me was tempted to continue. Would serve the arrogant little prick right to be sent back to Hell. He got lucky escaping from there, but if he went back, it would probably be a very long time before he could crawl out again. And I knew Killian wanted nothing more than to just keep on living.

  He was breathing heavily now, but the thrashing had stopped and the smoke subsided. Goddamn sulfur stench was still there, though. I rolled down the window in the hopes it would get rid of some of it, but it didn’t help.

  “You’re my bitch, Killian. You work for me. I don’t like it when demons possess humans. So if I’m going to let you walk around wearing that boy’s skin, you’re going to do it on my terms and mine alone. Do we have an understanding between us?”

  “Y-yeah.”

  “Say it.” I pushed the knife against his neck, and he cringed again as it started to smoke once more.

  “I’m your bitch; I work for you!”

  I smirked and pulled the knife away, sheathing it beneath my coat. “And don’t forget it.”

  “Okay, there’s just one problem…” said Killian. “And please, if I tell you this, promise you won’t pull that knife on me again?”

  “I can’t make that promise, Killian.”

  “I…I don’t know where to start looking.”

  “You found those underground bars, didn’t you? Go back there. Listen in. Mingle if you have to. Buy a few drinks for people, get them to start jawing. Sooner or later, you’ll hear something.”

  “You can’t find someone more suited to this than me? I wasn’t exactly a social butterfly down in the pit. Even when I was alive, I could barely speak to someone without getting a serious case of dry-mouth. How do you expect me to do this?”

  Oh, great. I get the one demon in all of Hell who isn’t a damn chatterbox. Most of ’em love the sound of their own voices. “I don’t give a shit, Killian. Buy a copy of How to Win Friends and Influence Monsters or something. But just get it done. Because if you don’t—”

  “Right, back to Hell, I got it.” Killian sighed. “So, I do this for you, you don’t exorcise me, you don’t kill me, and I get to keep this body?”

  “We’ll talk about that last part later, but otherwise, yeah. You do right by me, I’ll do right by you. You got my word on that.”

  “And how good is the word of Luther Cross?”

  I shrugged. “Guess you’ll just have to wait and see. And one more thing—anyone finds out about our little arrangement, your ass is getting exorcised. Probably tortured, too, as a primer for what you’re goin’ back to.”

  Killian chuckled and shook his head.

  “I say something funny?”

  “If any demons found out I was working for Luther fucking Cross, what you’d do to me pales in comparison to what they’d do.”

  “I wouldn’t go that far. I can be pretty creative.”

  “Trust me, it’s very much in my interests to keep this quiet.”

  “Good. Now get out of here and drop me a line once you’ve learned something. Might also want to check out Lust. If Asmodeus’ lieutenants are keeping it running, maybe you’ll find out something by checking them out.”

  Killian nodded and got out of the car. I lit a fresh cigarette and rolled down all the windows. I hoped the combination of airing out the car and the cigarette smoke would get rid of the sulfur smell. Wishful thinking, I know. Why couldn’t demons smell like fresh bacon or something?

  I started the car and pulled out from the station. A demonic turf war in my city. This wasn’t how I wanted to spend my time. Guess it wasn’t such a good thing that Asmodeus was stuck in Purgatory now. He was an asshole, but an asshole who served a purpose. Asmodeus more or less kept the demons around here
in check. If you wanted to see a real shit show, go see how the demons in Washington, DC run things these days.

  Asmodeus was different, though. He wanted the demons working for him to stay under the radar, not draw attention to themselves. Asmodeus had been sent here to corrupt human souls for Hell’s benefit, not to cause chaos for the sake of chaos. And he took his job seriously.

  I’d have to keep tabs on this turf war. Find out which players had the same mindset as Asmodeus, and which ones just wanted to watch the world burn. If all went according to plan, I wouldn’t have to intervene too much.

  The light turned green and I drove through the intersection, getting on the ramp for I-90 East, back to the city, and leaving suburbia in my rear-view mirror.

  My phone started ringing. I looked down at the screen and saw Celeste’s picture. If I couldn’t deal with her before, I definitely wasn’t in the mood to do so now. I tapped the ignore button and stepped harder on the accelerator. The needle on the speedometer shot past a hundred. I opened up the music app on my phone and hit shuffle. AC/DC’s “Highway to Hell” started blasting through the speakers, and the irony of that song coming on now wasn’t lost on me.

  I was going to have a demon fight on my hands soon. And I knew I couldn’t just rely on Killian to do things for me. I’d need another source of information, someone who had his ears close to the ground. I wasn’t heading for the Gold Coast. Before I went home, I had to drop by Chicago’s friendly neighborhood spirit.

  4

  The Music Box on Southport had been built at the end of the 1920s, smaller than the other movie palaces of its time. In the late 70s and early 80s, its roster included pretty much nothing more than pornos and films in Spanish or Arabic. Then it came under new management. Today, it was the place in Chicago for revival, indie, foreign, and cult film showings. And like all old theaters, it had its fair share of haunting legends.

  Of course, with the Music Box, it just so happened to be true.

  The marquee advertised tonight’s special showing as the Japanese horror film, Jigoku. I bought a ticket and went inside, going into the theater and taking a seat at the back. The film had already started, but I didn’t care. I wasn’t here to watch movies, I was here to talk with a dead man.