Witch Wars (Shadow Detective Book 7)

by William Massa

  That sounded like the Skulick I knew. But how long could he hold out now that Malcasta had snatched his spirit? With my partner’s eternal soul under the witch’s control, she would be able to manipulate his mind on every level, probe his thoughts, haunt his dreams, raze his memories. The witch would ultimately break him if she hadn’t done so already.

  Damona’s eyes glittered with urgency as she spoke. “We must find the witch’s heart before Malcasta does if you hope to save this city—and your partner.”

  I nodded. Good plan. But easier said than done.

  My gaze shifted to the walls lined with ancient tomes and manuscripts. I knew my partner kept detailed notes on his cases, but he was also a master at keeping secrets.

  “I hope you’re not seriously considering working with this witch.” Cyon hissed, venom in his voice.

  “What choice do we have?” I muttered.

  “She will double-cross us. You cannot trust a spell slinger, Raven.”

  Or a demon for that matter, but I kept my mouth shut.

  “I didn’t say I trusted her. What’s your issue with witches, anyway?”

  Cyon remained mum on the matter.

  “Your demon disapproves of our partnership,” Damona said, picking up on my internal conflict.

  I shook my head. “Get one thing straight, lady. This is no partnership. For now, we need each other. All bets are off once this is over.”

  “You tell yourself whatever you need to, handsome. I’m not here to make friends. All I care about is stopping my sister before it’s too late.”

  I hesitated for a moment. “Deal,” I said. Inside me, Cyon raged.

  “Now comes the hard part,” Damona said. “Where do we start looking for the witch’s heart? Your partner never happened to mention where he liked to hide his dangerous magical items, did he?”

  “They go in the vault upstairs, but I think we can safely rule out that possibility in this case.”

  Damona nodded thoughtfully. “Malcasta would have leveled this place to the ground if the heart was here.”

  My thoughts exactly. Before I could answer, my cell chirped. A quick glance at the incoming number identified the caller as none other than Detective Benson. I tried to keep my surprise in check. All contact with the detective had ceased in the wake of my possession. I’d figured Skulick had blacklisted me. So why break the radio silence now? Benson had to be up against something pretty nasty to ignore Skulick’s advice.

  I answered the phone in a measured voice. “Good evening, Detective. It’s nice to hear from you. I almost thought you lost my number.”

  “Skulick told me you were recovering from an injury,” Benson said. “But he’s not answering his phone, and I need someone with your…unique expertise.”

  At least my partner had been nice enough not to tell Benson about my new demonic buddy. Benson had an open mind, for a cop, but I doubted he would have been able to handle Cyon.

  “What’s going on?” I asked.

  “Come down to the precinct and take a look for yourself.”

  “Normally I would be more than happy to help, but I have a situation here.”

  “That makes two of us,” Benson replied. “Just tell me if this symbol means anything to you.”

  He broke off, and a second later, my cell chimed with an incoming text message containing a photograph. As I scanned the image, my mouth went dry. The photo showed three ancient ladies I’d never seen before, their wrinkled foreheads etched with the mark of the witch’s foot.

  There was no doubt about it. Even though these ladies still had their faces, the crones in Detective’s Benson’s picture had to be followers of Malcasta.

  5

  I stared at the disturbing photograph, trying to make sense of it. I had been ready to blow off Benson—not anymore. Before the detective could say anything else, I reassured him that I was already on my way.

  I killed the call and turned toward Damona. She shot me a knowing look.

  “My sister struck again.”

  “It sure looks that way.”

  “We should concentrate on finding the Ice Witch’s heart,” Damona said. “Your detective can wait.”

  I bristled at Damona’s demanding tone. Who was she to just barge into my life and start calling the shots? Perhaps she genuinely wanted to stop her sister, but she was driven by her own dark motives.

  “You’re not in charge here, Damona,” I barked.

  “Who am I talking to now? Raven or the demon?”

  Both of us, I thought, but was that true? The line between Cyon and myself was growing blurrier with each passing day. It was easy to forget who was in control.

  “Something is happening at the precinct, and all evidence points toward your sister. Finding this witch’s heart may be priority one, but I have no idea where to start. In case you haven’t noticed, Skulick failed to share the details of that little adventure with me.” She opened her mouth to retort, but I kept going. “Now, I can just stand around here twiddling my thumbs, or I can help a friend and maybe learn something new that might help us.”

  Damona shrugged, apparently resigned to the idea that she wouldn’t be able to change my mind. “Do what you must, monster hunter. But know that time is running out. Malcasta’s spell is already changing reality. My sister will do everything in her considerable power to find the heart. No matter how tough you think your partner is, he won’t be able to resist her for long. She will find a way to...”

  Damona trailed off as her head ticked toward the elevator. The control panel had lit up. Someone had boarded the elevator in the garage and was on their way up here.

  Damona shot me a questioning glance. “Are we expecting visitors?”

  I shrugged, and my grip tightened on Hellseeker. This day just kept getting better.

  The lift doors split open, revealing Archer. I turned to Damona, intending to tell her to stand down. Her billowing robe had enveloped her, and a second later she became one with the loft’s shadows, vanishing from view. I still sensed her presence, felt her lingering, probing gaze, but to most people, she would now be invisible.

  My attention shifted back to Archer. What was she doing here? I eyed Skulick, who remained a vacant statue in his wheelchair.

  There’s your answer, bud, I told myself. Archer was Skulick’s loyal new soldier, and she was here to check up on her general. She’d probably tried to reach him over the phone, and when that failed to produce results, she’d decided to pay him a visit. I should have expected she would show up, but I’d been ever so slightly preoccupied.

  “Raven?”

  Just hearing her voice calmed me down. She appeared surprised…yet happy to see me? A man could dream. God, she looked beautiful. The memory of our kiss back in the cemetery flared in my mind. Despite the many horrors we’d faced, the adventure had also brought us closer together. Maybe there was still hope for us.

  Or perhaps not.

  Archer’s smile vanished, and her expression went cold as she drew nearer, eyes fixed on Skulick. She immediately sensed something was wrong. My old partner might just look like a middle-aged guy who’d nodded off, but Archer knew better. Skulick didn’t nap while on the job.

  Her expression darkened as she took in Skulick’s comatose state and the signs of destruction in the loft. A magical hurricane had swept through this place, and the evidence of the devastation was everywhere.

  “What’s wrong with him? What happened here?”

  “It’s complicated.”

  Her tone changed, suspicion creeping into her voice. “Did you have something to do with this, Raven?”

  I shook my head. “This is how I found him.”

  “You better explain what’s going on, and you better do it fast.”

  She broke off as the Witch Whip hanging from her belt lit up with a fiery red light, sensing the presence of the enemy. Made from a noose that had been used to execute its fair share of witches, it was a weapon feared by spell-slingers and other supernatural beasts.


  “Is there someone else here?” she asked, her guard going up. “Goddamnit, Raven, I want answers now.”

  “A feisty one, isn’t she?” Damona’s voice spoke up. A beat later, the darkness swirled and parted, and the witch rose from a pool of shadow as if summoned from the ether. I knew it was just smoke and mirrors, but I had to admit the effect was damned impressive.

  Archer let out an audible gasp, but instincts honed by the last few months of vampire hunting immediately kicked in. Before I could even attempt an explanation, the Witch Whip jumped into her hand and lashed out at Damona. Lightning fast, the witch clicked her nails and exploded into a flock of crows. With a deafening crack, the whip sliced through thin air as the black birds shot out of the loft’s broken windows.

  Archer spun toward me, eyes blazing with rage and betrayal. “First a demon and now a witch. What’s next? You planning a tea party with the devil himself?”

  I wanted to explain the situation, but the sound of screeching tires drifted through the shattered windows. A quick glance at the street below revealed the arrival of two black Hummers. The doors popped open, and the exorcists of the White Crescent emerged from the vehicles, weapons up and ready.

  When it rains, it pours. It was time to make myself sparse.

  Archer, unfortunately, had other plans. Her whip lashed out at me again, and I was forced to dart aside. I would never draw Hellseeker on the woman I loved, but I had no intention of finding out how the whip would respond to the demon inside of me.

  With three quick steps, I was upon Archer, my demon hand snapping around the wrist wielding the whip. She let out a pained gasp, and I almost let go of her. I hated to hurt her, but she had left me no choice.

  “Listen carefully,” I hissed. “I didn’t hurt Skulick. I’m trying to save him.”

  “Liar! What the hell were you doing here with that spooky bitch?”

  “There is a witch war brewing,” I explained. “The lady you saw is no friend of mine, but she wants to stop her sister from tearing this city apart.”

  Footsteps emanated from below, followed by shouts. Damn it, they knew I was here. I’d parked the Equus Bass in the underground garage. I loved the vintage muscle car too much to ditch it, but the thing was practically a neon sign pointing toward my whereabouts. I needed to leave before the White Crescent stormed the loft. If I couldn’t convince Archer that I was innocent, I wouldn’t fare any better with the exorcists.

  Archer stared up into my face with wide, dark eyes. “Mike, If you are truly innocent, then turn yourself in.”

  “You know I can’t do that.”

  I let go of her wrist, and she backed away from me. Thankfully she didn’t draw another weapon.

  “Archer, I have to go. The witches took Skulick’s soul. I only have forty-eight hours to fix this or all bets are off. Do you understand? The clock is ticking. I can’t let Cabrera lock me up in some Vatican dungeon while Skulick is in danger!”

  “Who took his soul? What does that even mean?”

  I shook my head. “There’s no time to explain.”

  The elevator dinged again.

  “We better get out of here unless you want to spill blood,” Cyon said.

  I eyed the elevator doors. Any second now, the White Crescent would spill out with guns drawn and crosses held high.

  “I will not allow myself to be captured, Raven. These zealots will fight to the death, and while I would love to slice and dice my way through a group of exorcists, I don’t think you would approve.”

  Aww, shucks, I thought. I didn’t know you cared.

  “I care about survival. There’s nothing more dangerous than a bunch of fanatics with itchy trigger fingers. It’s your call how this will play out.”

  I fought back the sudden urge to draw Demon Slayer. I felt a sense of hungry anticipation as my fingers twitched toward the hilt. The message was clear: Unless I wanted Cyon to take over and cut a bloody swath through the elite soldiers of the White Crescent, I’d better follow his advice and get my ass in gear.

  I took a step back from Archer. I hated to see the hurt on her face, the distrust. I hoped that, in time, it would all make sense to her. I hoped she would be able to forgive me.

  “I’m sorry, Jane. Take care of Skulick. I will do everything in my power to save him.”

  As the elevator doors split open, I shot toward the broken windows and, following Damona’s example, launched myself into the night. I almost expected Archer to unload a magazine into my back on the way out, but no gunfire broke stillness. I guess I’d been more convincing than I thought. Either that, or she was still too much of a good cop to shoot a man in the back.

  The sidewalk came rushing up at me as I plunged two stories, and I braced myself for the impact. Only a short while ago, a stunt like this would have earned me two broken legs, but Cyon’s possession had increased my strength and endurance and made me a hell of a lot more resilient.

  The two exorcists guarding the Hummers whirled toward me as I landed in their midst. My gdemon hand snapped out before they could do something foolish like draw a silver dagger or unload a blessed firearm.

  The demon hunters went down. They’d have headaches when they woke up, but they were otherwise okay. I made my way to the nearest Hummer and slipped behind the wheel. As much as I loved my ride, I wasn’t going to fight a Vatican hit squad to get my wheels back. I had lost my girl, my partner, my home, and my humanity. What was the loss of a car compared to those things? With each passing day, it had become less and less likely that I would be able to fix the mess my life had turned into. But right now, there were more pressing matters than my future. Only a few hours had passed since I battled Varthek the ghoul, and already the Cursed City was facing its next existential threat.

  It’s no wonder you can still afford a house here.

  As I cranked the Hummer’s engine, my eyes darted up to the loft. Archer stood outlined in one of the broken windows. I couldn’t make out her features in the dark. Didn’t need to. The look in her eyes when I threw myself out of the window had told me everything I needed to know. Archer would never trust me again after that stunt.

  I choked down my emotions and floored the gas. As I hurtled down the city streets, my thoughts turned to my current problem. I had to locate the witch’s heart before Skulick revealed its location to Malcasta. Easier said than done. I didn’t recall my partner ever bringing up the old case with me before, and he’d told me plenty of stories about the good old days.

  The swirling snowflakes lashing out at the windshield pulled me out of my musings. How could it be snowing on Halloween? Snow at this time of year didn’t hold a candle to some of the weird shit I’d witnessed over the years—in fact, it didn’t even come close—but it did give me pause. I remembered the strange lightning storm Damona had pointed out to me earlier. Was the snow part of the weird weather system closing in on the Cursed City? If my throbbing scar was any indication, the answer was a resounding yes. The atmosphere crackled with black magic energy. The power of Malcasta’s spell was building. Time was running out.

  As I made my way through the night, I kept expecting Damona to appear on some abandoned street corner or even pop up in the back seat of the stolen Hummer. Supernaturals had a flair for dramatic shit like that, but the witch was keeping a surprisingly low profile.

  “We’re wasting precious time with this wild goose chase,” Cyon said.

  “Is that a fact?”

  “I’m sorry about your partner, but we have an arch demon to kill.”

  “You want this partnership to continue, bud, then I strongly advise you to consider your next words with care.”

  “We have the sword and the book, Raven. It’s time we made our move against Morgal.”

  “What move? If this city falls or if I fail Skulick, there won’t be a move. At the moment, the witches are the most pressing problem.”

  “Damona will betray you. You can’t trust a word she tells you.”

  “Says the de
mon. What is it with you and witches, anyway?”

  Cyon went silent, and I cranked up the radio, hoping some classic rock would drown out any further conversation and calm my overactive mind.

  Ten minutes later, I pulled up to the precinct. I got lucky and found a spot on the street facing the main entrance. I briskly walked toward the entrance, the growing cold and sense of urgency putting a bounce in my step.

  Despite the late hour, the place buzzed with activity. The fun never stopped for cops—a notion I could relate to all too well. Two officers were dragging a junkie into the building. He greeted me with a string of expletives that would make your average sailor blush. My natural charisma earned me a few additional hostile glares and suspicious looks from the cops on duty. I had developed a bit of a rep among the boys in blue. As the occult expert who worked the weird crimes, some officers had come to appreciate what I brought to the table, but others considered me a joke and a stain on the department. Not everyone can handle the supernatural, and it was easier to accuse me of being a fraud than to admit there were creatures of the night roaming the Cursed City.

  “Thank God you made it,” Benson said as he approached. Had the detective been staking out the lobby, waiting for me to arrive? The poor bastard looked both desperate and scared. Considering he was a heavily built, well-armed police veteran, anything that could rattle Benson this badly wasn’t going to be pleasant.

  Sometimes I really hate this job.

  6

  After listening to the hags’ guttural chanting for a few minutes, my head started to pound. The air in the cell crackled with malevolent energy, and a wave of pain lit up my mark.

  These witches were tapping into a power the human mind was ill-equipped to process. For those folks with psychically enhanced senses like myself, it was especially bad. Their patois was known as witch tongue, a mix of ancient tongues blending into a new dialect of darkness. The language of black magic and insane Gods. It was also incredibly annoying.

  “So, what do you make of them? And don’t feed me some bullshit line about drugs. There is a terrified officer in the next room who is thirty going on eighty. The poor bastard aged about four decades in less than five seconds after he touched one of those freaks.”