Ender of Worlds: A Morgan Rook Supernatural Thriller (The Order of Shadows Book 4)

by Kit Hallows

  Caution jabbered at Harold like a shrew, but before it could sway him with good counsel, he’d gulped the liquid down. Never once questioning why a stranger might give a man like Harold such a gift…

  Beautiful empty darkness had swaddled him in soft warmth. And when he’d woken it was to find himself on a cheap, lumpy bed with a syringe buried in his arm, as the ratty-faced man stared down, notebook in hand.

  The pain that followed had been horrendous. It had started with an invisible fire that tore through his gut, and then his heart. And from there it raged all through him.

  Harold had screamed for help but the ratty man ignored him, as had the others who stood watching. The pale ones with the long, long teeth. Harold hadn’t liked them, hadn’t liked any of it, but the straps that fastened his limbs and the gag over his mouth had rendered his protests useless.

  I jerked my hand away as the scene in Harold’s mind faded to black. I checked his scrawny tattooed wrist for a pulse, but there was nothing. “He’s dead,” I said. “And yet-”

  “Please!” Harold screamed as he jolted back to life. “Please! It keeps starting and stopping. Over and over!”

  “What does?” I asked.

  “My heart!” He trembled, as the chains attached to his legs and arms rattled. “Keeps stopping and starting. Help me finish it please! Kill me!”

  “Unchain him,” I said to Samuel. He stooped over the locks holding Harold in place and moments later they clattered to the floor.

  “I just want to die I just want to die I just want to die!” Harold hollered as he flew at me and then to the shadows. Heavy thudding came from the wall and I turned my flashlight to find him battering his head against the bricks. “Stop!” I tossed the light to Astrid and grabbed him, pulling him away. There was no blood in the wound, just red raw flesh. Harold began to shake and his limbs writhed uncontrollably. Then, he fell silent and stared up at the ceiling as if the heavens were pressing down.

  “I’ve seen this before,” Samuel said.

  “Yes.” Astrid crouched beside me and peered into Harold’s eyes. “The ones who turn… the restless, they start this way.”

  “Only it’s more rapid in our world,” Samuel said, “and once they turn they don’t come back. And they certainly don’t speak.”

  “Maybe people in your world are made up differently than blinkereds,” I suggested. “Maybe their blood is different.”

  “That must be the case,” Astrid said, “otherwise the disease would have spread like wildfire by now.”

  “I’m sure Endersley’s working on a solution to that particular problem,” Samuel said, his face grim.

  “No doubt,” Astrid agreed, “which is why we need to- look out!”

  I glanced down as Harold grabbed the gun from my holster, clamped it to the side of his head and fired. There was a loud explosion, and he slumped to the filthy ground. I recovered the gun from his twitching fingers and fired another round into his heart. “I’m sorry,” I said. And I was. My brief journey into his life had shown it had been a deeply unhappy one and his deathly fate even more so. “We need to find Endersley,” I said. “And fast. That makes two witnesses that have died by their own hands before they could finish telling their stories. Three counting the blinkered robber at the bank.”

  “Stroud was pushing Wyght and her coven to open a portal,” Samuel said, “it looks like his aim was to bring the restless into your world but he can't do it alone. Maybe we need to go back to the place where you first encountered Stroud to make sure that portal is fully closed,” Samuel said, “and see what else we can dig up while we’re there.”

  “The asylum?” I shrugged. I didn’t have any better suggestions. “Did either of you understand that word the dead vampire said?” I asked. “Emeric? What did it mean?”

  “It’s a name,” Astrid said, “an uncommon one.” She gave Samuel a quick glance before returning her gaze to mine. “Emeric was the name of Stroud’s son.”

  The room seemed to darken around me. “I don’t understand.”

  “Neither do I,” Astrid said. “Stroud’s son died years ago, along with his wife and the rest of his cult. But Samuel’s right, we should examine the portal you closed, try to find out how it was opened and who’s working with him. If we can get to one of his allies, we might discover more.”

  “But I already know who opened the portal. Prentice Sykes. He was dying and wanted Stroud to heal him, that’s why he brought him here.”

  “Sykes never had the means to open a portal like that on his own,” Astrid said. “It would have taken great power, someone helped him. More than likely that person has a direct connection to Stroud and if we can find them, we can use them to find Stroud or Endersley.”

  “It’s all we’ve got now,” Samuel said, as he glanced down at Harold.

  “Then I guess it’s time to head over to good old Galloway,” I said, trying my best to ignore the sinking feeling in my stomach. I hated the place, even more so after the last time I'd been there and would have happily burnt it to the ground, but somehow it seemed to keep calling me back. I pulled my phone from my pocket but there was no signal, so I made for the stairs. As I stepped into the main room Feist glanced my way, his mouth, chin and throat slick with blood as he continued to feed. I did my best to ignore him and called Dauple.

  “Morgan,” he said, “long time no hear.”

  “How are you?”

  “Busy. But I always have time for you, you know that.”

  “I need some help. Can you to head over to Fink and Sons Meat Packing.”

  “And what treasures will I find there?” Dauple asked. He sounded just as eccentric as ever, but I detected a slight tone of guardedness in his voice.

  “About a dozen dead vampires and two blinkereds. The one in the basement is going to need special handling. He might be infectious.”

  “We can do that. Both me and my new assistant.” He sounded irritable and the last of his humor wilted away. “And by that I mean there’s a second pair of eyes and I need to do things by the book. Including noting that you called this in.”

  “That’s fine. I couldn’t give a rat’s ass.”

  “Maybe not,” Dauple said, “but the Organization does, and so does the Council. They’ve instructed me to log and report every single interaction I have with you. Usually, I wouldn’t, Morgan. But now I’m being shadowed and he…”

  “Do what you have to,” I said, “to protect yourself. Who’s pressuring you? Erland?”

  “No. Erland’s away. I haven’t seen him for days.”

  “Any idea where he went?”

  Dauple paused. “None. But Mr. Humble’s taken over his office. Look,” he sounded perturbed and I could tell I was putting him on the spot. “I want to help-”

  “I understand, I won’t get you into any shit. Just get over here and get the place scrubbed as best you can, report this however you need to. Except the guy in the basement. Get him out quietly and take him directly to the incinerator. Quick smart. Got it?”

  “Got it,” Dauple said.

  I hung up and made my way back through the warehouse. Feist barely looked up as he continued to gorge himself. “I’ll take care of the mess,” he said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

  “You’ve done more than enough already, Mr. Feist,” I said. “A crew from The Organization’s heading over. Which means you should probably be on your way.”

  He stared at me for a moment, sizing me up, but finally he nodded. “Very well, Mr. Rook.” He climbed to his feet, tucked his bloody cleaver into the waistband of his trousers and strode from the warehouse, leaving me with the grisly remains of the dead.

  9

  I was glad to get out of that slaughterhouse and slip into the night, even if it was still raining hard and fast. We waited under an awning and watched as Mr. Feist sloped off into the shadows and I hoped it would be the last I’d see of him.

  “So, should we head to the asylum now?” Samuel asked.

&
nbsp; “Yeah. But we’ll need a car,” I said. “It would be too risky to take a cab or call for an Organization vehicle. Plus I’m not sure where I stand with them so it’s probably best to maintain radio silence.”

  “Well, this city’s full of cars,” Samuel said, “just pick one that takes your fancy.”

  I nodded. He had a point. Stealing wasn't my style, but time was of the essence and I was itching like hell to uncover the bastard that was backing Stroud. Heads were going to roll.

  We rushed out toward the lot, pelted by the rain but there wasn’t a drivable vehicle in sight. The streets that surrounded Fink and Sons were just as bad but once we reached the more residential neighborhoods I was overwhelmed by choice, and a guilty sensation as I sized up each car. That was until I spotted the BMW double-parked over a disabled space. “Perfect.”

  Samuel pulled a ring of skeleton keys from under his coat and rifled through them. He selected one and rubbed the tip between his fingers. Tiny bright green sparks glowed and wafted up like embers. He looked over his shoulder and slid the key into the lock, opened the door and gestured to me to climb in.

  I leaned over to check the glove compartment for a spare key. Samuel and Astrid climbed into the back and helped me search, and then Samuel lifted his head and sniffed the air. “Here!” He leaned down and pulled something from under the passenger seat. A ring of keys stuck to a strip of duct tape.

  The car purred into life and we headed across the city as the rain pounded the windscreen. The streets were quiet as we turned toward the on ramp, swooped up onto the highway and sped through the night. I glanced back to find Samuel and Astrid staring out the windows in silence, lost in their own thoughts.

  The sky was free of moonlight, making it difficult to distinguish cloud from hill, but as we neared our destination a familiar twinge of apprehension told me we were in the right place. I suppressed a sigh as I took the exit that led to the back roads and glanced into the mirror to meet Astrid’s watchful gaze. She gave me a soft smile that eased a little of my rising anxiety as we approached that damned, labyrinthine place.

  The wheels crunched through the wet stones as we pulled up and parked outside the building. The place was deserted, its edifice bathed in a wall of almost impenetrable darkness.

  I climbed out and checked my gun as Samuel and Astrid got the lay of the land.

  The last time I’d been inside I’d absorbed a great deal of the pain and suffering that coursed within those walls. It had surged through me, that flood of malevolence, and woken my dark other from his slumber. I still carried more than enough memories of how I’d harnessed its relentless might and slaughtered the unsuspecting Nightkind trapped inside. Erland had mentioned numbers, but I’d blocked those facts from my mind. Of course they’d deserved to die, there was no question. But the morbid pleasure I’d experienced committing the massacre had made me sick to my very soul. Or at least the part of it that wasn’t infected with malice.

  I glanced at Astrid as she stared up at the asylum, then to Samuel as he took his bow out of the car and slung it over his shoulder. I was glad they were with me.

  We walked up to the entrance and the double doors leading inside had ribbons of yellow crime scene tape strung across them. It hadn’t been placed there by cops, there was no way they’d ever made it to the scene. No, the Organization had used it as a quick, simple, yet effective barrier for any would-be explorers. But should it fail, they’d also embedded magical binds over the threshold that would make anyone who came too near, feel as if they were losing their minds. Which was apt.

  I removed the binds, tore away the police tape and threw open the doors.

  Inside, the scant light from the windows was faint to almost nonexistent. I took a moment to listen for any telltale sounds. Except for the persistent distant dripping from the rain soaked rooftop, the place was silent.

  I pulled my flashlight from my bag and swept it over the lobby. The remains of the candles that had lined the corridors the last time I’d visited, remained. They’d burnt themselves out long ago and melted to the floor like waxy stumps.

  Astrid placed a hand against the wall and shivered. The furrows on her brow deepened, and it took a moment for her to speak. “Such a dark place. So much suffering. Some old,” she kept her eyes closed but turned her head my way, “some new.”

  Yes, that had been my handiwork.

  “I can see the people who were originally here,” Astrid continued, “they screamed and howled, so they were fed potions to keep them quiet. But some of them still weren’t quiet enough.” A shudder passed through her as she added, “he only chose the most disturbed.”

  “He?” I asked.

  “The man with silver glasses. The weasel in the suit.”

  A dull thud echoed along in the passage before us. Astrid pulled her fingers from the wall and in a flash she had a blade in her hand. We stood, poised in silence, staring ahead as we waited. No more sounds followed.

  “Which way?” Samuel whispered.

  I nodded to the staircase then led the way up and through the door at the top, my flashlight cutting through the darkness. We passed the cells where I’d slaughtered Nightkind and liberated their blinkered victims. I shivered as I felt an echo of the fury that had overwhelmed me that day, and my other stirred. I waited to see if he had anything to add but he remained silent. Perhaps listening, observing and holding his tongue lest he give himself away. Why?

  A rapping noise filled the corridors. Like one stone being tapped upon another.

  “What is that?” Samuel whispered.

  “It… it sounds like a signal,” I replied, “there’s a rhythm to it, like a code.”

  “For what?” Astrid asked.

  “I don’t know.” I released the strap on my holster as Samuel pulled an arrow and slipped his bow off his shoulder.

  We turned the corner at the end of the corridor and the beam of my flashlight skimmed over the cracked green paint and scuff marks as I trained it onto the double doors ahead. An odd sulfurous smell hung in the air and I pushed them open onto the long room that still reeked of burned paint.

  A square patch of dappled light shone down amid black patches from the spell Stroud had cast to blot out the skylight. I gazed down at the melee of footprints. Mine, from the fight with the hexling and the shadow-like incarnations of Tom and Hellwyn.

  And Willow.

  My flashlight strayed toward the scorched painting at the end of the room, then to the door to the left of the canvas, the one the hexling had sprung from so many weeks ago.

  Samuel produced a tiny ball of soft blue flames in his hand and held it up toward the canvas. Tracing a finger through the stiff ridges of paint, he leaned in close and took a deep sniff, before turning to Astrid. “You can smell it,” he said. “Penrythe. It's faint, but it’s there.” He stood back and gazed up.

  Astrid brushed her fingers across it. “Someone’s tried to repair it, but they didn’t get very far. The fire you conjured certainly did its job.” She glanced at me. “Or should I say, the fire he conjured.” She winced as she continued to run her fingers over it. “I can see the poor souls that created it. They were confronted with horrendous suffering and then forced to paint their anguish out under the guise of therapy. It was a ruse. Many died. But at least their torment is over now.”

  “So where does this leave us?” Samuel asked.

  “We need to figure out where the asylum’s records are stored,” I said. “See if there’s any documents that might tell us who owned the place. I couldn't find anything online apart from an obscure entry on an urban explorer site. It’s almost as if the asylum never existed.” I took one last look at the canvas and was about to head outside when I caught the glint of eyes watching from the corner of the room. Someone had opened the door.

  “Who’s there?” I demanded. My heart raced as I bolted toward the threshold, drawing my sword as I went.

  10

  Samuel had my back as I approached the door. I paused to
listen for whoever, or whatever had been lurking in the room but there was only silence.

  Then I heard a faint scrape of feet and a distant thud.

  The sword of intention bristled with fiery light, illuminating the footprints in the dust. There were dozens of them, but one set was recent and the toes were clawed. I slipped through the door in time to see something drop from the window at the far side of the narrow, empty room.

  “What was it?” Astrid asked as I ran to the window.

  It was barred, but a couple of the rusting rods had been hacksawed off and the others were bent out of shape, leaving plenty of room to squeeze through. I looked down the sheer drop. I saw no movements in the grounds or the woods beyond, and whoever had jumped seemed to have completely vanished.

  I glanced back to Astrid as she joined me. “I don’t know, they’re gone.” I sheathed the sword. “Come on, let’s check the offices. See if we can find out who built this damned place and get the hell out of here.”

  We roamed the corridors until we found a sign marked Admin, followed it through a pair of doors that had been kicked in and emerged in a pitch black corridor. I trained my flashlight along the walls until we found the office door. It was half hanging off its hinges and the place was a mess.

  A desk with an ancient bulky monitor stood against one wall. The computer below it had been gutted and its yellowing case was scorched and black. I followed its frayed cord to the plug that rested amid a scattered pile of floppy discs. “That’s not going to be much help,” I said.

  Boxes of papers lay upended across the threadbare carpet. I picked up a handful and trained the flashlight over them. Invoices for laundry and food deliveries, nothing of interest.