Devil's Shadow (Luther Cross Book 3)

by Percival Constantine

  And right in the middle of my badass speech. Typical.

  I gave a nervous chuckle and looked at the demons. “This is a little embarrassing. Never really happened to me before.”

  “What’s the matter, Cross?” asked one of the demons, stepping forward with a grin spreading on his face. “Can’t get it up?”

  They all started laughing. True, maybe I couldn’t summon hellfire, but that didn’t mean I was exactly helpless. I still had other tricks up my sleeve. I held out my hand towards the demon who had made the joke. He noticed that, but wasn’t bothered by it.

  “Go on, let’s see you fizzle out.”

  “Ignis.”

  The demon’s clothes burst into flames, quickly consuming him. He screamed as he and his friends tried to put out the fire, which of course only made it spread to more. I grabbed the closest demon by the throat and drew the knife from the sheath on my belt, then drove it into his gut. No sound came from his mouth and his eyes flashed bright as they burned out of his skull, leaving smoldering sockets.

  I dropped him and grabbed another demon from behind, yanking him by his hair. I pulled his head down and drew my blade across his throat. Blood spilled out while his eyes burned, and I let his body fall to the ground.

  A demon lunged at me. I held up my hand and summoned telekinetic powers of my own. Turned out telekinesis wasn’t as compatible with my human side, so I couldn’t use it that frequently. But I could hold him back for a little bit as I reached into my pocket and took out the flask. I splashed holy water on his face and he recoiled, screaming as smoke rose from his head. I lunged forward, raising the knife and then burying it in his skull.

  The gun was within sight. I held out my hand, my telekinesis causing it to begin moving across the floor. A powerful blow struck me from behind and I fell forward onto the ground. I turned over and saw one of the demons tossing the remains of a wooden chair to the side.

  “What is this, the WWE?” I asked.

  He grabbed me by the shirt and pulled me up, raising me off the floor. “The boss is gonna want a word with you, Cross.”

  “I’d like a word with him, too. But it’s a personal matter, so think I’d rather speak to him without an audience.” I headbutted the demon and he released me, then staggered back. I threw another punch to knock him back.

  When another demon tried to attack me from behind, I spun and blocked his punch, then delivered a kick to his knee. I put such force behind it that the leg broke and he lost his balance. I grabbed his head and twisted, the sound of his neck cracking giving me a feeling of satisfaction. Broken bones—even a neck—wouldn’t stop demons, but it would slow them down.

  I held my hand out for the gun and it flew from the ground and into my hand. The demon who hit me with the chair was back on his feet. I took aim at him first, shooting him in the center of his forehead. As I walked by the one whose bones I had broken, I shot him, too.

  “Could’ve made this a whole lot easier…” I muttered as I looked at the remaining demons. “Didn’t have to go down like this.”

  “Why?” asked one of them. “Since when do you give a shit about what we do? First Englewood, now this?”

  “I’ve got my reasons,” I said before firing.

  Three left. The guy I had set on fire, the guard who threw me around, and one of the guys who was sitting at the bar. The barfly raised his hand and tried to use his powers on me, pulling a Darth Vader as he mimed squeezing my neck. I could feel the force around my throat, but he wasn’t very strong. What he was, though, was persistent. The force continued, and I started to cough.

  “That’s…enough…” I said, and then shot him in the leg. He fell to one knee and I fired again into his chest.

  The guard came next, trying to use his telekinesis again. I fought it with my own, our powers battling against each other. I could feel the strain on my head. Not only had I been knocked around a bunch today, but now I was trying to use my mind in ways I often didn’t. The exploding head scene in Scanners kept flashing in my mind but I tried to ignore it. I summoned up more power and was able to stagger him. He looked surprised by what I’d done, and I took that opportunity to put one right between his eyes.

  Just one left—the burn victim. He was on the ground, still recovering from being set on fire. I checked the gun and saw there was one round left in the chamber. I stood over him and took aim. He looked up at me in terror, and then his yellow eyes flickered before returning to a normal green color.

  I was hit by an overwhelming stench of sulfur and I felt a presence combined with an inhuman wail that sounded like it was in the distance. The man the demon had been possessing collapsed, falling unconscious. I knelt down by his side and placed my hand on his chest, concentrating.

  Nothing. The demon had left his body. Which meant he had probably returned to Hell to make a report. That could complicate things. But right now, I had a job to finish. I stood and walked to the VIP area, kicking in the door.

  I checked door after door, finding every room empty. With the exception of one—the champagne room. I kicked in that door, too, and saw Kimaris on a bed with two girls intertwined with him.

  “What the fuck?” he demanded as he sat up. The girls pulled the sheets up to cover themselves.

  “Didn’t hear the commotion outside, eh? Suppose that’s no surprise. Seems you were a little…preoccupied.” I looked at the girls. “I think the private show’s over, ladies. Grab your things and get going. It’s time for Kimaris to have his happy ending.”

  The strippers did as they were told and got out of bed, quickly gathering up their clothes and rushing out the broken door. I glanced up at the ceiling and saw it was mirrored. And I could see myself. The pink shirt I’d “borrowed” from the locker room was now soaked in blood and had become a dark red. Gore was splattered on my skin from the fight with Kimaris’ crew.

  “Luther Cross,” said Kimaris, his eyes burning yellow.

  The second he shifted, I pointed my gun at him. “Uh-uh,” I said. “No sudden moves. Trigger finger’s a bit itchy today.”

  “Guessing by the looks of you, my men are dead.”

  “Got that right,” I said. “Way I hear it, a lot of demons are after Asmodeus’ territory. See, I can’t have that.”

  “The fuck do you care?”

  “Demon turf war is bad for my interests, draws too much attention to my activities,” I said. “So, I’m gonna have to shut it down.”

  “How’d you know where to find me?” asked Kimaris. Then, he scoffed. “Of course. Iblis, right? That rat-fucking traitor. How much is he paying you?”

  “Nothing.”

  Kimaris’ eyes bulged. “You’re joking, right? You’re playing supernatural hitman for a demon and you’re not getting paid shit?”

  “We’ve got common interests,” I said. “He gives me the intel on the competition, I take ’em out. Balance is restored, and things go back to normal around here. Just with Iblis in charge instead of Asmodeus.”

  “And why do you think Iblis is a good substitute?” asked Kimaris.

  I shrugged. “Don’t think he is. But I get the feeling he’s someone I can count on to be predictable. And that’s good for me. Helps me keep things quiet around here.”

  “So, what is it you’re trying to hide, I wonder?”

  “I had a pretty nasty run-in with an angel a few months back. Would rather not get on their radar again. If you demons turn Chicago into a supernatural war zone, that’s sure to bring divine retribution down on this city.”

  “Listen to me, Cross. Iblis isn’t going to come out of this on top,” said Kimaris.

  I chuckled. “Just stop, man. You’re not gonna get out of this alive, so you might as well not even try.”

  “That’s not what I’m talking about,” said Kimaris. “I’m talking about the big fish who’s come to town.”

  “Big fish?” I asked, raising an eyebrow. “Just what do you mean?”

  “There’s a new player, just clawed up from
Hell. And this is someone you really do not wanna mess with,” said Kimaris. “In fact, once I finished here, I was gonna pledge loyalty, offer to lay down arms in order to save my own ass.”

  “Who is it?” I asked.

  Kimaris grinned. “Oh, you’ll see soon enough. And when you do, you’ll wish you’d never agreed to be Iblis’ bitch.”

  “Really do got a death wish, huh?” I asked, pointing the gun at his head.

  “I was hopin’ to make it out of this alive. But if I tell you anything, there’s no way to describe what I’ll have to endure. So sack up and pull the trigger alr—”

  Wish granted. Kimaris’ lifeless body slumped back into the pillows.

  So, another player out there. Someone scary enough that Kimaris was willing to stand down. I’d have to find out more. I sent a quick text to Killian, telling him to be on the lookout for this rising star in the turf war. But no need to tell Iblis about it just yet.

  I looked up at the mirrored ceiling one last time. Covered in blood, coming down from a battle. And when I thought about what I’d done here today and what I was still going to do before this was all over, it made me smile.

  I hadn’t had this much fun in years.

  8

  Wayne Cooper climbed out of his car and stared at the building across the street. A phone call had woken him up about an hour ago and he’d been told to come down to the UIC area. There were a few squad cars on the street, with officers manning a perimeter to keep out rubbernecking students. The building itself had a sign above the entrance that read, “Pink: A Gentleman’s Club.”

  He slid his hands into the pockets of his jeans and crossed the street. An officer standing at the front door tipped his hat to Wayne, and he gave a nod in response before entering the club.

  “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph…” he muttered, his eyes widening as he took in the scene inside the club.

  There were several bodies scattered around the main floor. Blood splatters everywhere. Wayne saw one of the officers interviewing a pretty young woman with long, dark hair, holding a blanket over her body. CSI were examining the bodies, taking blood samples and photographing the corpses from different angles.

  “Wayne!”

  He turned at the sound of his voice and saw a middle-aged man in a suit approaching him. Detective Brent Phillips, a man Wayne had known for years. They’d used to go out for beers after their shifts back when they were just uniformed officers, though they hadn’t seen much of each other since Phillips had been transferred out to the South Loop.

  “Brent, long time,” said Wayne, and the two men shook hands. Wayne looked back at the carnage before him. “Looks like you’ve got one helluva shit show on your hands.”

  “You got no idea,” said Brent.

  “So, why’d you call me? Afraid you’re not up to the job?” asked Wayne, cracking a smile.

  “Buddy, I’d crack a case faster than you any day of the week and twice on Sunday.”

  “Yeah, if you could ever pry your ass off the couch.” Wayne gave a chuckle and Brent laughed in response. After the moment of levity, Wayne became all business. “Seriously, though, why ask me to swing by? This is the South Loop—my precinct’s up further north.”

  “Captain’s call,” said Brent. “When I told him what we’re looking at, he said there’s a detective who has a pretty good track record with weird cases.”

  Wayne was intrigued. He knew he had a reputation for solving strange, seemingly-unsolvable cases. But he never knew that reputation had spread to other precincts.

  “So, what are we looking at that makes this case so weird?” asked Wayne.

  “Eleven bodies, all male, all shot or stabbed. Nine out here, then there’s one in the staff locker room and another in one of the VIP rooms,” said Brent. “But here’s the really weird part.”

  Brent walked over to a CSI kit and pulled a pair of latex gloves from the box, handing them to Wayne. As Wayne pulled them on, Brent procured another pair for himself, and then he led Wayne to one of the bodies. Brent knelt down and turned the face with his gloved hand and pointed to the eyes.

  “All the vics are like this,” said Brent. “Eyes burned right outta their skulls.”

  Wayne knelt down and examined the socket, tracing the scorch marks around the edge.

  “I mean, I could understand it if it were a single victim. Some serial killer taking his time,” said Brent. “But look at this place. This was a massacre. What kind of idiot would take the time to burn out all the eyes before leaving?”

  “It’s more than that,” said a forensic technician standing nearby. “The marks around the eyes suggest they were blown out.”

  Wayne looked up at the tech. “You mean from the inside?”

  The tech nodded. “I don’t know how it’s possible, but that’s what the evidence suggests. Weirdest damn thing I’ve ever seen.”

  “How about you, Wayne?” asked Brent. “You ever see something like this before?”

  “Yeah…something…”

  Wayne had seen this before. Eyes blown out of the head—that was something that happened when a demon was killed. It wasn’t a pretty sight. But who would take on this many demons at once? It was suicide.

  “You got any witnesses?” asked Wayne.

  Brent nodded and rose to his feet, with Wayne following. Brent motioned to the girl Wayne had seen earlier. “She works here. She didn’t see the whole thing, but she saw some of it. There’s also another guy, a bartender.” Brent flipped open a notebook and read what he wrote earlier. “Gavin Turrill. He was unconscious during the whole thing, woke up in the locker room and saw the body, then came out here. We arrived on the scene not long after.”

  “Girl called it in?”

  Brent nodded. “She’s still a bit shaken up about it, has barely said a word.”

  “And no one else around heard or saw anything?”

  “Not as far as I know. We’ve tried to get in touch with the owner of this place, but he hasn’t returned our calls.”

  Wayne looked down at his watch. “Well, it’s four in the morning, no real surprise there. Let me talk to the bartender.”

  Brent nodded and led Wayne to a door marked for employees only. Just past the door, there was a locker room on the right where a tall, broad-chested man in a pink T-shirt sat speaking with officers. Wayne looked to his left and saw a room with security monitors. He pointed at it and called out Brent’s name.

  “Were these cameras running during the attack?”

  “Running, yes. But recording? Doesn’t look like it,” said Brent. “We got nothin’.”

  Wayne followed Brent into the locker room. Brent excused the officers and Wayne sat on a bench across from him, flashing his badge and ID. “Mr. Turrill? My name’s Detective Wayne Cooper. I’ve got some questions I’d like to ask you.”

  Gavin looked up and gave a nod. “Like I told the other cops, I didn’t see much.”

  “Just tell me what happened.”

  “I was workin’ the bar, there were two guys sittin’ there. Chatting to themselves. Then I get a call on the walkie asking me to come to the back room. I don’t recognize the voice, but he says he’s a new guy. So, I come on back and I see this guy.”

  “You saw him? Saw his face?” asked Wayne.

  Gavin shook his head. “He was tall, that’s all I remember. Then there was this…weird glow…”

  Wayne leaned forward. “What kind of glow?”

  “I dunno, some sort of red glow. And then that’s the last thing I remember.”

  “How’s that the last thing you remember?” asked Brent. “What happened next?”

  “I…woke up,” said Gavin.

  “Woke up…? You mean you slept through that whole massacre?” asked Brent.

  “I can’t explain it. All I know is that one minute, I walk back here. Then there’s that red glow. And next thing I know, I wake up on the floor, step outside, and see the bodies.”

  “Was anyone else working with you last night?”
asked Wayne.

  “Besides than the girls, there was one other guy was standing at the front door. Liam Barnes.”

  Wayne looked up at Brent. “You find this Liam Barnes guy?”

  Brent shook his head. “Nah, but we found employee records in the owner’s office. We’ll get in touch with him.”

  Wayne turned to Gavin again. “Two guys seems like pretty lax security for a strip club, especially when one is stuck behind the bar and the other is standing outside the front door.”

  “It was a private party,” said Gavin. “Boss said they wanted…privacy.”

  Wayne scoffed. He had a pretty good idea what that meant. But now he had to figure out why all these demons were dead. Wasn’t that he would lose any sleep over them, but someone who took the kind of risk to kill nearly a dozen demons out in public…that was someone who could prove to be very dangerous. And Wayne wasn’t ready to take any chances with that.

  “Thank you, Mr. Turrill,” he said. “You’re free to go.”

  Gavin nodded and rose from the bench. He left the two of them alone, and Brent stared at his old friend with what Wayne could tell was incredulousness. He’d known Brent long enough to understand when the man was completely confused. And when Brent Phillips got confused, he often got angry, too.

  “The hell was that, Wayne?” he asked, his voice rising. “Can’t you tell he’s hiding something?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  Brent threw up his hands in the air. “Guy walks back here right before the killing starts and decides he’s gonna take a nap? And he sleeps through all of that? What possible reason do you have for believing his story?”

  “Call it a hunch,” said Wayne. “Can you send the girl in here? And try and get ahold of Liam Barnes.”

  “Why should I?” asked Brent.

  “Because I’m the one who got you tickets to see the Cubs win the Series,” said Wayne. “And you owe me.”

  “All right, point taken,” said Brent. “I’ll send her in.”

  Wayne waited, and a few moments later, he heard a soft voice behind him. He turned around and saw the girl, still wrapped in the blanket and looking shell-shocked. Wayne allowed her to sit on the bench and he sat across. After he made his introductions and showed her his badge, he asked her who she was.