“You set this demon free?”
“It was an accident,” I pointed out defensively. “I think Marek had drained the demon to the brink of death and was pretty much done with him.”
“And where is this demon now?”
I shrugged. It hurt. “I was going to buy him a beer and catch up on the latest Hell gossip, but I’m afraid he had other plans.”
Skulick didn’t smile.
“Do you have any idea what Marek meant when he said a storm was approaching?” I asked. “Think he’s going to launch an all-out attack against the city?”
Skulick frowned. “A host of vampires can cause a lot damage, but it’s not enough to bring down a city of millions. I fear he might be up to something far worse. The fact that he’s fed on demon blood changes everything. Your father and I barely defeated Marek thirty years ago, when he was just a vampire, but now…”
Skulick didn’t have to finish. We both knew the score–the big bad from my partner’s past was back in town and planning on turning our world upside down. We were in for the fight of our lives.
I was just wondering how things could get worse when Skulick asked, “Did you run into Archer?”
I hesitated for a telling beat. I sensed that saving Archer meant almost as much to Skulick as it did to me. Marek had turned his fiancée into a vampire, and my dad had been forced to destroy her. Skulick had never really gotten over it, and I guessed he didn’t want me suffer the same fate.
Another thought occurred to me. “The blood in the chalice…it belonged to Marek, didn’t it? That’s why you held on to it all these years.”
Skulick nodded, pensively chewing his lips.
“I never wanted to forget where I came from and why I was fighting this war,“ Skulick explained. “If I was to ever doubt the worthiness of our mission, Marek’s blood would remind me what it was all about.”
It was starting to make sense to me. With Marek’s lifeforce inside of her, Archer had sought out others of her kind. The call of the black blood must have led her to the master vampire himself. Vampires shared a hive mind; Marek could tap into the thoughts of his vampires and draw on their knowledge and memories. I guess that’s how he discovered the whereabouts of our base of operation. Archer had led me to Marek, but she had also steered the vampire toward Skulick. In short, Marek now knew everything Archer knew. Our weapons, our defenses—everything.
I was also beginning to understand why Archer hadn’t gone on some mad killing spree after escaping from the loft. Marek had protected her from herself, keeping her safely hidden in the shadows, teaching her not just how to hunt but whom to target. There were plenty of lost souls out there to feed on. Forgotten people that wouldn’t be missed. Marek and his tribe existed on the fringes of society where they would be less likely to draw attention to themselves. At least for now. But that would soon change if Marek was to be believed.
A storm is coming…
“Marek sounds pretty sure of himself,” I said. “He‘s letting us know that he is up to no good and doesn’t seem too worried that we’ll be able to stop him.”
“His overconfidence is his weakness.”
“I’m not the inexperienced homicide detective who faced him thirty years ago.”
Skulick’s voice simmered with rage. He was a formidable opponent, as knowledgeable about the occult as any man alive. But he was also stuck in a wheelchair. It would be up to me to do the heavy lifting, and that meant I had to get my ass in gear for the upcoming battle.
No more feeling sorry for myself. No more picking fights in alleys. No more drinking.
Okay, less drinking.
“We need to figure out what Marek is up to,” Skulick said. “I think the demon you set loose might be the key. If anyone does, he would know what Marek has in store for this city.”
“So I need to track down this demon, if he hasn’t returned to Hell yet…”
“Considering the state he was in, he might be stuck on this plane. You breached Marek’s binding circle, but that wouldn’t be enough to send the demon back to whatever pit he was conjured from.”
I had no idea how Skulick intended to track a single demon in a massive city that sat atop a dimensional rift, but if anyone could crack the problem, it was my partner. His big brain was already going to work as he scanned his computer feeds for any evidence of the creature’s whereabouts.
It was around one o’clock, so we still had a few hours of daylight to play catch-up with our new enemy. Marek might have fed on demon blood, but like his undead minions, he was still bound by the rules of his species. These vampires would have to bide their time for at least another five hours until the sun set.
I wondered if Marek and his vampires were still in the junkyard but doubted it. There were hundreds of abandoned buildings in the area where Marek could seek refuge. Skulick was right; tracking down the demon was a better option for now.
Easier said than done.
As Skulick did his thing, I made my way to the vault. The chamber didn’t just contain some of the most sinister, insidious occult items in the world. Miracles could be found within–white magic items that had proved essential in our battle with the forces of darkness.
Ignoring the whispering calls all around me, I located a small clay pot containing a creamy gray salve. I liberally applied the salve to my vampire bite wound. Almost immediately, the feverish feelings subsided, a degree of clarity returning to my somewhat erratic thoughts.
Feeling a lot better, I headed for the kitchen. I popped open the fridge, led by my growling stomach. I was desperate for a snack.
Inspecting the meagre contents, I couldn’t even recall the last time I went shopping. I settled on leftover burritos from a few days ago. I nuked the burritos and devoured them as if they were a five-star meal. The food helped center me.
I wisely avoided washing them down with a beer. I craved a drink but knew it was a bad idea. I’d never be able to stick with only one once I got started.
It took all my self-discipline to not let my mind wander back to the night at the junkyard. Every time I closed my eyes, Archer’s face dominated my thoughts.
I was about to take my last bite when my cell phone rang. It was none other than Benson. The high-rise killer had struck again.
11
Detective Benson had refused to discuss the details of the latest murder on the phone. He had merely provided me with an address.
I still didn’t know if there was a connection between the rooftop murders of the demon worshipper and Marek’s vampire clan, but my gut said yes. But what purpose could these high-profile crimes serve? And talking about unwanted publicity, why would Marek post the police body-cam video online for the whole world to see? Did he want people to know that vampires were real? And if so, why?
My head was starting to hurt from all the questions. Marek’s chilling promise of an impending apocalypse suggested that much bigger things were in store for the Cursed City.
If the murders were part of his plan, then there had to be some pattern I wasn’t seeing yet. It was possible that the killings were less about the victims and more about the placement of the bodies.
I was somewhat familiar with the idea of occult psycho-geography. Humans shape their environment, but the environment also shapes us. If you’ve ever picked up good or bad vibes from a location, you know what I’m getting at. There are places in the world where supernatural energies are highly concentrated. Some structures can tap into the natural landscape’s power by becoming lightning rods for paranormal energy. Geometry, symmetry, design, and occult ritual all play an important role in harnessing such energy.
Had the builders of this apartment tower embedded spells into its foundation? Was Marek hoping to draw on the dormant energy contained within these structures with these killings?
Pushing my gloomy thoughts aside, I parked the Equus Bass and made my way to the skyscraper, which cast a wide shadow over the entire city block. Although it was a sunny day, goosebumps craw
led up my arms. For an irrational moment, it almost felt as if the cold was radiating off the hypermodern glass-and-steel monolith. There was something dark and foreboding about this building, and the demon mark on my chest prickled. It was a subtle sensation, a mere hint of paranormal activity, but it convinced me that there was more to this place than met the eye.
I glanced at the plaque in the lobby. Some of the biggest architectural firms in the city rented office space in the structure. Judging by the number of guards and cameras, the security was even tighter than at the last crime scene. Still, it had failed to stop our killer.
Once in the elevator, I raised the collar of my coat, intent on hiding the grisly souvenir Marek had left on my neck. No reason to freak out Benson. A vampire bite mark in the shape of a crucifix isn’t exactly a reassuring sight.
As I arrived on the building’s blustery rooftop, I was met with an all-too-familiar crime scene. But there were some new nasty surprises waiting for me, too.
Before I could inspect the latest victim, Benson pulled me aside and led me to the edge of the roof. Wind slapped my face, and I instinctively tightened the belt around my flapping coat. I scanned the rooftop for anything that might suggest a mystical connection. Nothing unusual jumped out at me during this cursory inspection. A closer, more careful analysis of the scene would be in order. I suspected occult symbols might be hidden deep within the structure’s steel and stone framework, but it would take time to find them.
Benson wordlessly handed me a pair of binoculars.
“Let me guess, you’re going to show me the victim’s apartment…”
“Not quite,” he replied, his voice deadly serious.
He pointed at another tall skyscraper located on the western edge of the city. The buildings faced each other and were nearly the same height, with about a mile between them. For a change, the Cursed City was experiencing a warm, beautiful day. Sunlight glittered against the steel structure framed by an electric blue sky. The weather formed a jarring contrast to the horror of the surreal crime scene.
“Take a look at the roof of the McCormick Building,” Benson said.
I frowned but did as requested. The other skyscraper jumped into close view, and I could make out the group of officers gathered on the crowded rooftop. The pit of my stomach tightened as it dawned on me that there must’ve been two murders.
“Another one?”
Benson nodded gravely.
“Who are the victims?”
“Robert Ibsen and Michael Carver. Ibsen headed up one of the city’s top investment firms, Carver was—”
“One of the city’s most controversial politicians with his eyes set on a seat in the Senate,” I concluded.
When I’m not hunting supernatural fiends, I do crack open a paper from time to time. Or at least I check news alerts on my cell. I wondered if these highly influential men also had ties to the occult like our first victim did.
“Based on forensics, both men were murdered within an hour of each other,” Benson said. “The killer only had about sixty minutes to kill the first man and place the body on the roof before trekking crosstown to do it all over again. No way anyone could pull that off…” His shaky voice trailed off.
Poor Benson was still trying to find a rational explanation for these crimes.
“Could there be two killers?” I said.
“Possible, but doubtful considering what the killer did to the two bodies.”
I cocked an eyebrow at Benson. “What do you mean?”
“Best if you see for yourself.”
We moved away from the ledge and stepped up to the body. Both victims were decapitated. The killer placed the heads next to the bodies, almost as if attempting to hide the damage.
Or as if he had been playing a joke. Vampire humor tended to be bloody.
My mind flashed back to Marek’s long, razor-sharp talons. The demon blood had changed him, made him even more monstrous. There was no doubt in my mind that he could easily sever the head of a victim in one fell swoop.
“So he removed the heads,” I said, resisting the urge to touch the wound on my neck.
Benson nodded, his face ashen. “It gets crazier. Ibsen’s body has Carver’s head attached to it and vice versa.”
I took a deep gulp, the full horror of the crime sinking in. Marek—I was pretty convinced it had been him—had switched the heads of these two latest victims. There had to be a ritualistic explanation—unless Marek’s goal was to kindle terror in the city. If details of the crime got out….
“What the hell is going on here?” Benson said.
I shrugged, at a loss for words. One thing was for certain: occult powers were at work here. Morgal’s mark was killing me. The skyscraper was emitting massive bursts paranormal energy. Something terrible had been set in motion by these rooftop murders.
My hope was to find some answers in the victim’s apartment downstairs. Benson led me to Ibsen’s home, another luxury dwelling with a view to die for. As I combed the extravagant unit for clues, I tried to block out the suspicious glances from the cops. From their perspective, this case was probably freaky enough without having some demon hunter poking around.
I understood their misgivings. They were afraid. Join the club, boys. Facing the nightmares of this world takes its toll on the best of us.
I didn’t know exactly what I was looking for. I doubted I would run into another inverted cross or a demonic pattern in the carpet. But if Ibsen was an occultist, there would be signs of his involvement with the darkness.
It took me less than five minutes before I hit pay dirt. My mark began to flare up as I entered the dead man’s lavish bedroom. The sensation was most pronounced near the walk-in closet.
Stepping inside, I took in the expensive suits that dominated the space. I wasn’t a fashion expert but it was clear to me that Ibsen hadn’t been doing his shopping at Walmart. Each piece was tailor made, the material and cut of the highest quality even to my untrained eyes. And considering that I frequently ended up sleeping in my clothes after staggering home drunk or half-dead, my eye was about as untrained as it got.
Despite the wealth on display, the air in the closet had a rank quality, almost as if someone had left a piece of meat to rot. My mark wasn’t the only part of me that responded to the presence of great evil. Morgal’s wound had changed me, made me more sensitive to the other side. I could see the restless dead, hear the voices of the damned. All of my other senses were capable of tuning into the dark frequency. Right now, my sense of smell was setting off alarm bells. Judging by the placid expression on Benson’s face, he wasn’t picking up on the foul stench that had assaulted my nostrils.
“What is it?” he asked after taking note of my expression of revulsion.
“There’s something bad in here.”
Benson took a step back. Holding my breath, I searched the closet until I located a small cardboard box hidden under a stack of clothing. Fighting back my gag reflex, I peered inside. The stench of decay became overpowering – at least to me. To my surprise, I found a series of photo albums in the box instead of a pile of rotten meat.
I removed the first album, leafed through the pages, and then tossed it aside as if I’d stepped on a live wire. The album was filled with imagery of death and destruction too terrible to describe. Graphic photos of torture, disease and murder filled the album, evil bleeding off every page. A scrapbook from Hell. I expected the other albums in the box to feature even more of this foul depravity. Only a truly deranged mind would collect such snuff.
Or someone who had devoted his life to the cause of evil.
I had a feeling another nasty surprise would be waiting for me half a mile across the city in Carver’s apartment. One thing was becoming clear: Marek was targeting human monsters. Followers of the darkness. The question was why.
“Mr. Ibsen had a unique taste in art.”
The unfamiliar voice behind me thrust me out of my thoughts. I spun on my heels, coming face to face with the
demon I’d released from his prison. He stood in the doorway of the walk-in closet, his sickly form outlined in shadow. He was wearing a black suit, white shirt, and black tie. He almost looked like a Fed. The hollowed-faced visage had filled out a bit since I’d last seen him. How long would it take for the demon to fully regenerate? I didn’t plan to wait around and find out.
My hand went for Hellseeker. A beat later, I was pointing my magical gun at…Benson. What the hell had happened? The detective stared at me with saucer eyes, stunned by the deadly intent in my face. Most cops underestimated me. They noted my disheveled state, the long coat and hipster beard, and assumed that I was some kind of nutcase or new-age charlatan. They rarely saw me in action battling demons and monsters. They didn’t look below the surface to see the monster hunter the forces of darkness had come to fear.
Benson took a step back. “What the hell has gotten into you, Raven?”
The stunned tone of the detective’s words brought me back to reality, and I lowered my blessed gun.
“I’m sorry…there are powers at work here…”
I broke off, deciding the less said, the better at this point. Either my mind was playing tricks on me, or the demon was lurking nearby. I suspected the latter to be the case, and that meant the demon’s powers were sufficiently restored to bend reality to his unholy will.
I fled the closet, brushing past Benson without uttering another word. I didn’t need to see any more proof that these men had been dealing with the dark side—and I definitely didn’t want to wait around to see what other tricks the demon had up his sleeve. I surged out of the apartment, homed in on the elevator, and punched the down button. Seconds later, I was on my way to the lobby.
I took a deep breath and wiped the fat drops of sweat from my brow. The building continued to thrum with occult energy. The temperature in the elevator was stifling, a sharp contrast to the unnatural cold which had greeted me outside the building. I was still unbuttoning my coat when the elevator came to a sudden stop and the door split open.
Shadow Detective Supernatural Dark Urban Fantasy Series: Books 1-3 (Shadow Detective Boxset) Page 30
