Shadow Detective Supernatural Dark Urban Fantasy Series: Books 1-3 (Shadow Detective Boxset)

by William Massa

  I had given my partner my protective magical ring, the Seal of Solomon, which should keep him safe. I told myself that Skulick knew how to handle himself; he’d gotten out of more than one tough scrape over the years. The man had nine lives—I just hoped he hadn’t used them all up.

  Less than two minutes later, the tunnel tilted upward and the Equus Bass shot into an abandoned mechanic shop located about a half mile from our headquarters. We’d purchased this second property at the same time as the warehouse.

  Lowering my windows, I could hear thumping rotor wash echoing through the derelict neighborhood. We had successfully cleared the ring of law enforcement officials surrounding the warehouse. As I barreled out of the empty shop and pulled in the road, Archer shook her head.

  “Do I even know you?” she said.

  “Never hurts to have a few tricks up your sleeve.” I allowed myself a hint of a grin. I rarely saw Archer look impressed.

  I pulled onto the nearest freeway exit and shot away from the cursed city like a bat out of hell. We had earned ourselves a brief reprieve, but there was no doubt in my mind that Engelman was going to keep coming after us.

  I was done playing defense. It was time to strike back.

  Joe Cormac blinked, a man waking from a nightmare. Both his hands were cuffed to the steering wheel of the Hummer they’d stolen after ditching Dr. Gould’s van, and his mouth was gagged. The car was currently parked across the street from the monster hunter’s base of operation.

  The terrible irony of his predicament wasn’t lost on Joe. He’d gotten into this mess because of his desire to track down the man whose name he now knew to be Mike Raven. Well, he’d found him—but at what price?

  He watched in helpless frustration as Engelman and his ghastly followers encircled the warehouse. Watched as the cops arrived. Watched as the main doors opened and the men swarmed the building, guns and batons raised. None of them looked his way. Even if they had, the vehicle’s tinted windows made him invisible to even the most prying gaze. Engelman had chosen his ride carefully.

  The thoughts of Engelman and his ghostly band of undead psychos had become his thoughts, their nightmares his own. And he was beginning to understand what Frank Engelman was truly after. God, how he wished he could somehow contact Raven and share with him what he now knew. The threat was far greater than he could imagine. He had to warn the monster hunter before it was too late, but how?

  His eyes ticked back and forth inside the vehicle, but restrained the way he was, escape was impossible. Engelman left nothing up to chance. Desperation mounting, he watched as the cops emerged with a man in a wheelchair. This had to be Skulick, Mike Raven’s partner—another detail gleaned when Engelman momentarily touched Raven’s soul.

  The dead man didn’t seem to realize that possession was a two-way street. Joe had gotten better at sifting through the dark entity’s thoughts, and what he had learned was more terrifying than anything he could have imagined, more evil than anything he’d witnessed in Iraq.

  His eyes widened with frustration as Engelman appeared behind the cluster of cops. None of them seemed to be aware of the invisible predator in their midst. None except Raven’s partner. Skulick turned and looked right at the ghost. Like his young protégée, the seasoned monster hunter could see the dead. Joe wanted to shout out a warning, but it was too late. To his surprise, there was no fear in the wheelchair-bound man’s face as the specter dove toward him, bent on possessing Skulick’s mind and body.

  For a few seconds, Engelman’s phantom form was inside Skulick, ghost and man fused. Skulick began to writhe and contort, and an instant later, the ghost bounced away from him. What had stopped Engelman? Raven’s partner had to be using a protective talisman of some sort. Joe wished to God he’d had something like that.

  As soon as the explanation occurred to him, Engelman materialized in the passenger seat, his inhuman features horrific to behold. The cuffs snapped open and the gag was removed by invisible fingers. To Joe’s surprise, a sense of triumph lit up Engelman’s inhuman eyes. The former professor didn’t seem to be disappointed about failing to take possession of Skulick.

  As Engelman invaded his body once again, their souls momentarily touched, and Joe understood why Engelman was far from being defeated.

  I know where Raven is headed next, know what he is up to…

  Engelman’s thought invaded his soul. He might have failed to take over Skulick, but he had learned some important information.

  No one will banish me from this world before I exact my revenge, the guttural voice inside him said.

  Engelman’s words echoed through his mind for a beat before the lamentations of the damned inmates drowned out all other thoughts.

  16

  Blackwell Penitentiary sprouted from the stark landscape like a malignant tumor. Thunder exploded as sheets of wind and rain lashed the windshield of my car, and I knew we’d all be soaked the moment we set foot outside.

  Worst of all, my partner wasn’t answering my calls. Stomach churning with worry, I forced myself to stay focused on the task ahead.

  I had a bad feeling about this one.

  As I maneuvered the Equus Bass toward the prison’s massive, rusting steel entrance, my doubt deepened. I remembered the spirits which lingered and lurked in the shadowy recesses of the penitentiary. Would those weakened spirits turn as soon as they detected our presence?

  Engelman had brought along the most fearsome psychopaths on his quest for vengeance, so I hoped the entities that remained within Blackwell’s walls were lesser criminals and the innocents who’d gotten caught in Engelman’s spell: the warden, prison guards, and other workers who’d perished in the ravenous blaze.

  I parked the car right in front of the prison gate and glanced at my two passengers.

  “Are you ready?”

  Both Archer and Ballard nodded in grim-faced silence. After the spectral encounters of the last few hours, the idea of entering a prison filled with ghosts probably wasn’t exactly at the top of their bucket lists.

  I pulled up the collar of my trench coat and opened the door. Icy rain pricked my beard and sent shivers down my back. I was ready to brave the horrors waiting for us within the bulwark-like walls of the prison. Or at least I tried to convince myself that I was ready.

  Sizzling electricity speared the oily black sky as I popped open the trunk of my car and removed a spare gas can. Soon, the prison would burn again. But this time, the flames would set those poor souls free once and for all. At least I hoped that’s what would happen.

  Armed with the gas can, I turned toward the prison, Ballard and Archer flanking me. Just three mortals about to enter a fortress of the dead.

  As we passed through the rusting gate, the black walls closed in around us, making me feel more like a prisoner than a potential liberator. The buildings up ahead were drenched in menacing shadow, the heavy downpour adding to the otherworldly quality of the place.

  As I blinked the rain away, I caught sporadic glimpses of ghostly figures. I’d given Skulick the Seal of Solomon in the hopes it would prevent Engelman from harming him, but now I missed my protective talisman. Without it, I was all too susceptible to the psychic forces around me.

  I took a deep breath, shook off the vision, and kept advancing. Archer shot me a concerned look but didn’t say anything. The heavy, electrically charged atmosphere discouraged all conversation. Archer and Ballard might not be able to see the dead, but they could feel them on an animal, instinctual level as we entered the main structure.

  Working from memory, I made my way toward the execution chamber. I tried to not dwell on my surroundings and instead focused on the ritual ahead. I had performed exorcisms before under my partner’s far more experienced and ever critical eye. This time I was flying solo. Good thing I was highly motivated to succeed. If I blew this, Archer would become the dead killer’s next victim. I couldn’t let that happen.

  As we made our way toward the chamber where Engelman had died, I kept stea
ling glances at the haunting figures trapped behind the rusting cell bars. Boneless faces peered from the shadows, bloodshot eyes tracking us. Hushed, hissing whispers, guttural and inhuman, cut through the air. Our presence was stirring up these restless spirits, whipping them into a frenzy. I kept picking up one word again and again as I strode past these shadowy entities:

  Innocent… Innocent… Innocent!

  They repeated the word incessantly, a relentless, chilling mantra. Why was I surprised? Most prisoners believed themselves innocent in life, so why should it change in death? I envied Archer and Ballard for not being cursed with the ability to see and hear the denizens of the world beyond. My hand gripped Hellseeker, the bones of my knuckles sharply outlined against my skin.

  “What’s going on, Raven?” Archer asked. She chuckled weakly and added, “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

  “And they see us,” I said. I tried to keep my voice steady as the anguished howls assaulted my sixth sense. No need to scare the detectives even more. Unfortunately, the chants of the dead were getting louder around us, the entities growing more visible and substantial with each passing second.

  They’re drawn to me, I realized, feeding off my psychic energy, growing stronger and more daring. Only a matter of time before they lash out at the three intruders in their midst…

  Almost as if the spirits could read my mind, the world around me changed in a flash of spiritual energy. One moment I was in the burned-down prison; the next I stood inside a burning inferno, the blackened hallways transformed into an ocean of fire, almost as if I’d accidentally taken a wrong turn into Hell itself. A blaring, insistent alarm blasted through the prison, loud enough to be heard over the roaring flames. A couple of guards surged past me, running for their lives. Poor bastards. Nobody was making it out of here alive. Everywhere I turned, inmates desperately clawed at iron bars, screaming at the top of their lungs to be let out of their cages.

  The horror of the situation sickened me to the core. Smoke filled my lungs—or at least my vision convinced me it was happening—and I stumbled, leaning against Archer. Up ahead, another bellowing cry of agony rippled down the corridor. A burning inmate lurched toward me in a mad dash, face a raw mass of bubbling flesh and…

  …reality snapped back to the present.

  Once again, the structure was deserted, the sooth-covered walls the only reminder of the fire that had claimed so many lives.

  My hands were shaking. I had to control my fear. It was feeding the dead, making them stronger. I could almost hear Skulick’s voice in my head: You swore to protect the living from the dead, mortals from monsters, so do your goddamn job!

  I pulled myself together best I could and took that next step.

  And the next.

  The execution chamber loomed at the end of the hallway. With every step, the hellish chorus of the damned grew louder. Even though I was here to help these spirits move to the next world, some of them clearly weren’t ready to face whatever judgment awaited them in the afterlife. I wondered what Morgal had to gain from keeping these spirits bound to this forsaken prison. I answered my own question almost at once, and the idea made me sick to my stomach.

  He is feasting on their suffering the way Engelman now feeds on the souls of the living. These inmates were reliving their fiery deaths, caught in a horrific cycle from which there was no escape.

  Until now.

  I was about to break the cycle.

  Determination growing within me, I stepped into the execution chamber.

  “Wow, it’s freezing in here!” Archer said.

  I had braced myself for the unnatural temperature drop but still struggled not to shiver.

  Ballard walked over to stand beside us. “Geez, it’s like a meat locker.”

  “So this is it, right? We destroy this chair and poof, Engelman and his spirit army disappear,” Archer said.

  “That’s what I’m hoping for.”

  It was time to get to work.

  I circled the chair, mentally preparing myself for what lay ahead. Armed with the knowledge that Morgal’s demonic power protected the execution device, I would break the demon’s hold on this forsaken way station between life and death.

  I removed a small satchel from my coat. Saying ancient prayers in a mix of Latin and Aramaic, I used the powdery substance in the satchel to lay down a protective circle around the electric chair.

  Archer peered over my shoulder. “What’s that?”

  “You don’t want to know.”

  The powder I was sprinkling around the chair without much enthusiasm happened to be human bone dust made from the remains of a medieval saint. It was a grisly detail best left undiscussed.

  Circle complete, I removed a small dagger and drew a line of red across my hand.

  I clenched my teeth as blood dribbled onto the chair. I ignored the discomfort and moved on to the next part of the ritual. Using my own blood, I drew an inverted version of Morgal’s sigil on the seat of the chair.

  I was almost done now. Only a final incantation remained before I would begin sprinkling gasoline over the chair and light the vile thing on fire. If I’d done my job right, the chair would be destroyed and the ghosts would cross over for good this time.

  If I’d screwed up even the tiniest detail, however…well, let’s just say that Blackwell Penitentiary would get three new permanent inmates.

  The spirits seemed to sense what I was up to. Outside the execution chamber, the lamentations of the dead grew in volume, building into a deafening chorus. I heard wails for mercy, protestations of innocence, vicious insults, and unless I was mistaken, a pathetic cry for mommy. Most of them didn’t even know that they were dead, driven by murky memories, unwilling to accept that they no longer belonged to this world.

  “You guys might want to take a step back,” I said, waving the detectives away from the circle.

  The walls of the execution chamber shook and shivered as the psychic energy trapped here exerted a strange pressure. Archer traded a worried glance with me. The prison wasn’t going to release its unholy tenants without a fight.

  “Hang on,” I said. “I have a feeling this might get ugly.”

  Ready to put an end to this nightmare, I snatched the fuel tank I’d brought along and emptied its contents on the chair. The toxic smell of gas filled my lungs as it soaked deep into the wood. Slowly, carefully, I reached for my lighter.

  Unfortunately, I was so focused on the dead closing in on us from outside that I forgot to pay attention to the living.

  “Raven, watch out!” Archer yelled.

  Her scream was followed by the sound of a pistol being cocked.

  I spun around just in time to see Ballard level his service revolver at me. The man’s expression was mask-like, unreadable in the dull light of his flashlight, but his grip on the gun rock steady. Even if I hadn’t seen Ballard in action back at the range, I would have known this wasn’t a man who missed his target. His icy eyes glittered in the shadowy light as he took a step toward me. Crazy as it might sound, being stuck in a prison full of ghostly inmates suddenly wasn’t my biggest problem.

  17

  Drop the gun, Archer!” Ballard barked, the barrel of his pistol fixed on her. Shock flickered over her face. I didn’t blame her.

  “What is this, Ballard?” Archer said. Though her gun was held steady, her lips quivered.

  Ballard squeezed the trigger and a bullet chipped the wall behind Archer’s head.

  “I said, drop your goddamn weapon. Now! Same goes for you, Raven. Don’t even think of doing anything stupid. Next time I won’t miss.”

  The sound of our pistols hitting the floor echoed in the ice-cold death chamber, eerily amplified. Ballard scooped up Archer’s pistol. Hellseeker remained at my feet, glowing faintly. Just a matter of time before Ballard would help himself to my blessed weapon too.

  “What the hell is wrong with you?” Archer yelled, her voice thick with emotion.

  The question hung in the air
for a beat before Ballard’s lips twisted into a grin. “Hell. We use that word so casually nowadays. Without respect or fear of any consequences.”

  The man talking to us shared little in common with the nervous guy knocking back shots at my loft hours earlier. There was a brazen confidence in the way he carried himself, an air of animal cunning. This wasn’t a man afraid of the dark but someone who embraced it. All this time Ballard had been wearing a carefully crafted mask, playing us for fools.

  “What do you think you’re doing here, Ballard?” I said. “You do realize there are ghosts in this prison that only I can see and hear. And they don’t seem to like you too much-“

  I broke off, distracted by a renewed barrage of ghostly whispers.

  Innocent… Innocent… Innocent…

  Tuning into the ghostly mantra, the veil lifted from my eyes. I suddenly understood. The dead were trying to communicate the same message Engelman had shared with me when our souls momentarily touched earlier.

  “I was set up. I never killed anyone. I didn’t do it! I’m innocent…”

  As Engelman’s words went once again through my mind, all the pieces clicked into place. Engelman had been telling the truth from the beginning. The professor of Comparative Religion and Occult studies had been set up for murders he never committed. Set up by one of the detectives who’d brought him to justice.

  “It was you,” I said, my voice humming with shocked surprise. “You set up Engelman for your murders. You’re Lucifer’s Disciple.”

  Ballard’s chilling grin, an expression of fanatical pride, told me I was right. For the last three years, he’d allowed another man to take credit for his grisly handiwork. Like some demented artist working anonymously behind the scenes, he was elated to finally receive some recognition for his evil deeds.