Paranormal After Dark: 20 Paranormal Tales of Demons, Shifters, Werewolves, Vampires, Fae, Witches, Magics, Ghosts and More

by Rebecca Hamilton

  A fight ensues and Jordan is overcome by the demon. She wakes up to find herself handcuffed on top of a building where the demon has both Michael’s body and the Spear of Longinus. Gabriel and Michael arrive seconds too late as Belial stabs Jordan in the chest. A vicious fight ensues and the angels manage to defeat him, but Jordan insists that they let her die because if they heal her, the channel to Michael’s body will close and he can’t enter it. The angels reluctantly agree and Michael returns to his body. Jordan dies.

  Jordan awakes to find that she didn’t go to Hell and that Michael is still alive. He explains that her sacrifice to allow him to return to life inspired God to wipe her debt clean so she isn’t going to Hell and he would train her to better defend herself against demons.

  Two months later, they go to New Jersey. As they walk around town, they are startled to find eleven ghosts appear asking for help—an extremely unusual circumstance.

  Jordan and Michael meet up with a demon named Luka because he has information about a holy item that may be causing the large gathering of ghosts that Jordan and Michael encountered in the park. He reveals that he’s heard that part of the True Cross—the cross on which Jesus Christ was crucified—may have been recovered by a demon and is attracting dead souls to it.

  Gabriel suddenly shows up with grave news that something cataclysmic is happening. They follow Gabriel outside and find that there are dozens of ghosts heading towards the park. The demons Belial and Mulciber appear with a sliver of the True Cross. The angels try to get Jordan out of Belial’s clutches, but he manages to get her blood and mixes it with his own and the sliver, which creates an enormous false angel that the demons plan to use to kill the angels and rule over humanity. Michael gathers his army of angels and Belial gathers his army of demons and they start a war. The angels and Jordan overpower the demons and send them back to Hell.

  Jordan and the angels return to Albany. She and Michael eventually admit their feelings for one another and he proposes to her. After taking some time to consider the offer, she agrees.

  BOOK FOUR: AERIA GLORIAM

  "He who fights monsters should see to it that he himself does not become a monster. And if you gaze for long into an abyss, the abyss gazes also into you."

  -Friedrich Nietzsche, Beyond Good and Evil

  Prologue

  THERE WAS A stranger in my house.

  I knew it wasn’t Trent and Marie. They had taken a father-daughter trip to the beach. My duties as a kindergarten teacher didn’t allow me the luxury of a three-day vacation, nor did the ridiculous cold I’d caught, and so I had stayed home by myself.

  Normally, I would just shake it off as house-settling noise, but there was one slat in the kitchen’s hardwood floor near the stove that made an unmistakable creak if you stepped on it. No way in hell I could shake that off, not when I was home alone.

  I slipped from beneath the comforter and knelt beside the bed, my fingers finding the cool metal of my trusty baseball bat. My daughter was only seven years old and I wouldn’t let Trent bring a gun into our home, so we had agreed to this as our form of protection. Ears straining, I opened the bedroom door, praying the hinges remained silent, and tiptoed to the stairs. Silence. A normal person would go back to their room and sleep, but there was a cold feeling in my chest that whispered something was wrong.

  The carpet was soft under my bare feet as I crept down the steps one by one. The staircase spilled into the foyer and from where I could see, the front door was still locked. No broken glass or muddy footprints. I turned to the left and peeked around the corner to see into the living room. Every shadow looked like an intruder. I knew it was just my paranoid brain going into overdrive so I ignored it and carefully maneuvered past the den to the dining room. Nothing here either. That left the kitchen.

  I pressed my back against the wall, closing my eyes and saying a quick prayer that I was just a hyper-vigilant crazy lady before darting around the corner.

  The kitchen was empty.

  I licked my dry lips and snuck over to the double doors that spilled out onto the patio and the backyard. I pushed the curtain aside. Darkness greeted me. Nothing more. False alarm. I was indeed a hyper-vigilant crazy lady.

  I started to lower the bat and turn around, but then I felt something cold and wet on the bottom of my foot, between my bare toes. Confused, I knelt to touch it with my fingertips. As soon as I was close, the smell hit me even through my stuffy nose.

  Gasoline.

  Then the floorboard creaked again.

  I whirled around. A man stood there swathed in shadows and black clothing, but that wasn’t what caught my attention.

  He was holding a gigantic scythe.

  I screamed as he swung it at me and threw myself into a forward roll. The enormous blade crashed through the window in the back door, sending glittering shards all over the floor. I scrambled backwards on my hands and knees until my back hit the legs of the table and then got up.

  I brandished the bat at the intruder. “Who are you? What are you doing in my house?”

  His voice was so soft I almost didn’t hear it. “I am sorry, but your death is necessary for the safety of mankind. Please forgive me.”

  “I’ll forgive you when you get the hell out of my house!” I yelled, swinging at his head. He blocked the blow with the staff—a smooth, effortless move—and I stumbled backwards, my eyes darting around to look for the closest route of escape. He had already knocked the back door partially open but he stood a few inches to the left of it, barring any chances of me reaching outside. I could make a break for the front door, but it would leave my back vulnerable. Shit!

  I kept swinging, hoping to corral him away from the door, but he merely blocked the blows and stood his ground, never turning into the light so I could see his face. All I could see was a fedora, a black leather jacket, and gloves. Desperation began to set in and with it came the blind hope that I could talk him out of his homicidal intentions.

  “Why do you want to kill me? What did I ever do to you?”

  “Nothing,” the man said, adjusting his hold on the weapon. “It is what you may do to the world someday. Human beings have such a poor perception of time and fate. Your death is for the greater good—to prevent the Apocalypse itself.”

  I shook my head, hating the hot tears pouring down my cheeks. “You’re crazy.”

  “No. I am prepared.”

  “Get away from me!” I kicked the table over and shoved it towards him, making him jump back. I raced for the front door, my feet pounding against the hardwood floor as I ran, and grabbed the doorknob. I yanked on it as hard as I could, but it wouldn’t budge. He had somehow jammed it from the other side, trapping me in like a mouse in a snake pit. No more options. I would have to face him and look my death straight in the eye.

  Only he didn’t give me the chance.

  The blade tore through my spinal column as if it had been made of paper. The tip burst out of my rib cage. My world dissolved into pain for a few seconds, but then a blessed numbness cascaded over me. My brain faintly realized the shock blocked out what should have been an excruciating death.

  He stepped backward and I slid off his blade, collapsing on my back. Blood bubbled out of me in crimson rivulets, tainting my husband’s t-shirt. How unfair. He’d have to see my corpse wearing it when he came home.

  The stranger reached into his pocket and withdrew a lighter, flicking his thumb to awaken a single orange flame. I watched him light the gasoline that had been poured at the base of every wall in my beautiful home, watched the paintings and furniture become engulfed in fire, watched the fire slowly creep closer to my dying body. The stranger pressed one cold, gloved finger to my forehead and made a cross, his voice constantly murmuring the same words over and over again. The cadence of his voice made the chanting stay with me until the last spark of life snuffed out and everything dissolved into darkness.

  Chapter 1

  Jordan

  “I HAVE TO go to work.”


  “Mm-hmm.”

  “The bus leaves in fifteen minutes.”

  “Mm-hmm.”

  “…I can’t leave if you don’t stop kissing me,” I said in a mildly amused voice from around the lips of my husband who had managed to trap me against the kitchen counter. He towered over my humble five-foot-six body with his six-foot-one frame, his long sinewy arms content to rest on either side of the counter by my waist so that I couldn’t wriggle away. It was a nuisance yet somehow pleasant. A conundrum, if you will.

  I thought my words had finally got through to him when he pulled away for a moment, but his head dipped down and his lips found the edge of my jaw, my neck, making my poor knees wobble. I could feel the roughness of the stubble that had grown on his chin since he hadn’t shaved yet. His absurdly dark brown hair tickled over my collarbone, sending involuntary shudders down my spine. Normally, when he cooked breakfast he pulled his hair back into a short ponytail, but I suspected he’d taken it down with the intent of seducing me. Crafty bastard.

  “I’m not stopping you,” Michael drawled against my throat. His baritone voice made the hairs on my arms stand up at attention. There was maybe a centimeter of space between our upper bodies. He’d done it on purpose to tease me. He bit down softly at the point between my neck and shoulder. I jumped, my fingers gripping the counter for strength.

  “You’re blocking my exit,” I said.

  He finally rose to full height, smirking at me with those plush lips, arrogance beaming down from his sea-green eyes. “And you’re stalling.”

  He stared at me. I stared at him. I sighed and grabbed two handfuls of his shirt, jerking him down to my mouth.

  “I’m gonna get fired.”

  Half an hour later, my best friend Lauren Yi was shaking her head when I scampered into the restaurant and clocked in as quickly as possible. Mercifully, Colton was nowhere to be found, but he’d still know I was forty minutes late anyhow since he was the owner. I’d be in for it later and I knew it. The restaurant had been hit with the usual lunch rush so I had to get ready as soon as humanly possible.

  “This is the third time in a week you’ve been late,” she reminded me as I walked towards the lockers in the break room. I popped mine open and checked my reflection in the mirror, piling my mussed black hair into a loose bun.

  “I know, sorry. The bus was late.”

  Lauren rolled her eyes. “Are you really pulling that one on me?”

  I glanced at her, keeping my face blank and innocent. “What?”

  “Your skirt’s on backwards and you’ve got pancake mix on your sleeve.” She arched an eyebrow and then crossed her arms.

  “He caught you in the kitchen again, didn’t he?”

  A flush of heat rushed up my neck and over my cheeks, thankfully hidden by my brown skin. I tied my apron on and cleared my throat, keeping my voice level and guilt-free. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  The Korean girl lifted the apron and turned my skirt the right way, brushing off the remainder of said pancake mix. “It’s a sad day when Jordan Amador has more of a life than I do.”

  “Should I be flattered or insulted by that?”

  “Both. Now get out there and wait tables, you shameless harlot.”

  I batted my eyelashes at her. “Love you too.”

  She stuck her tongue out at me as we walked back onto the floor and started greeting customers and taking orders. It never ceased to amaze me how quickly I could switch into Waitress Mode. Without thinking, I became amiable, even a little charming on my better days—a direct contrast to my actual personality. Lauren had once dubbed me a “cranky, antisocial hermit crab” and it disturbed me how accurate that description had been at the time. Michael had done a remarkable job of reversing the worst aspects of my behavior over the past year.

  After I took care of a couple of teenagers and a large group of people who had just gotten out of church, I greeted a redheaded man in a hunter green suit and black tie sitting by himself at a window booth. “Hi, what can I get you?”

  His brown eyes scanned the menu, his voice a little shy. “What would you suggest?”

  I lowered my pen and pad. “Well, what kind of things do you like?”

  He shrugged. “No preference, really.”

  “I recommend the fish and grits. The fish is fried whiting and the grits are cheesy and thick, just like down South.”

  “South?”

  “Alabama, Mississippi, Georgia, and the like. I’ve never been that far down, but my boss insists it’s much better than up here,” I continued with a playful roll of my eyes.

  The redhead folded up his menu and handed it to me, smiling. “That sounds good. Thank you, Jordan.”

  I scribbled down his order and smiled back. “No problem.”

  I gave the slip to the kitchen and grabbed some cleaning supplies to clear off a table in my section. Lauren came to help, taking the salt, pepper, Tabasco sauce, and napkins off of the table before I wiped it down.

  “Who’s the redhead?” she asked.

  “No idea. Never seen him before.”

  “He’s not part of the usual Sunday crowd. He seems…very out-of-town-ish, especially with that suit. By the looks of things, it costs more than half of my closet.”

  I flashed her a grin. “Well, you do have a bad habit of buying knock-off Gucci.”

  She scowled. “Those who shop at thrift shops shall not throw stones.”

  “It’s economical, dammit!”

  She rolled her eyes at me, handing me the spray bottle of Clorox.

  “You’re married to the lead singer of a rock band. You should be able to afford decent clothing by now.”

  I pursed my lips, squirting the liquid on the table. “We have better uses for the money than clothing, thank you very much.”

  “Condoms?”

  I whirled, aiming the spray bottle at her face. “I’ll do it and say it was an accident.”

  She giggled, pushing my arm down. “Relax, Dirty Harry. Or would that be Clean Harry since you’ve got Clorox?”

  “Ha-ha. A comedic genius you are not.” I finished cleaning off the table and replaced the condiments and napkin container. One of our chefs called me since an order was ready and I brought them to the customers. I took the fish and grits to the redheaded gentleman, who was staring out the window as if distracted.

  “Here you go. Enjoy!”

  “Thank you.”

  The lunch rush came and went like the tide—seemingly overwhelming at first, but manageable to the trained eye. I didn’t notice anything out of order until midway through my shift when I returned to the seat that the redhead had been in to find I had a rather substantial tip waiting for me.

  “He left you a hundred dollars?” Lauren screeched from behind me and grabbed my shoulder to look over it. I held the bill between my hands, my mouth hanging open and getting dustier by the minute.

  “I…he…maybe he didn’t have change?” I sputtered. I searched the sidewalk outside the restaurant to see if he was out there, but he had disappeared.

  My best friend threw up her hands. “I don’t get it. You come in late and yet you’re the one standing there with a fresh hundred bucks. Do you have a leprechaun stuck to the bottom of your shoe or something?”

  Sheepishly, I glanced underneath my foot. “…No?”

  “Ugh, I’d hate you if I didn’t love you so much.” Lauren sighed, scooping up the empty plate the mysterious redhead left behind. I tucked the tip in the front of my apron, staring blankly out of the window. I started to hand her a glass only to drop it as something caught my eye across the street.

  A plump woman in her early forties stared back at me. Her hair was black and curly around her round face, and her brown eyes were full of worry. I knew her—not from Albany, but from the pages of a manila folder I had poured over rigorously for the past month. Erica Davalos.

  A murdered Seer.

  “Jordan, what’s wrong?” Lauren asked, flustered at the shocked ex
pression on my face.

  I hid my distress, stepping over the bits of broken glass. “Nothing, sorry. Just a bit clumsy today. I’ll go get the broom.”

  I hurried to the break room and grabbed a broom, but I didn’t head back out there. Instead, I snuck out the rear entrance that led into an alleyway and stuck my head around the corner, signaling for the ghost to come towards me.

  “Hi,” the ghost woman said when she was within earshot, her voice light and apprehensive. “My name is Erica.”

  “Yeah, I know.”

  She frowned, tilting her head. “Excuse me?”

  “My name is Jordan Amador. I’m a Seer.”

  “A Seer?”

  “Yes. It’s someone who can see and hear ghosts, angels, and demons. Long story short, they’re the descendants of the original twelve disciples. I’ve been trying to solve your murder for the past month-and-a-half.”

  Her eyes widened. “Oh my goodness, I had no idea. I’ve just been wandering around for the longest time looking for someone to help me.”

  I offered her a small smile. “Well, you’ve come to the right girl. I get off work in a few hours so I want you to stay in this area and meet me out front at six o’clock, okay? We’ll get everything sorted out, I promise.”

  “Yes. Thank you so much.”

  She headed back towards the street as I went inside to clean up the mess I’d made. Lauren was still looking at me funny, but I convinced her it was a mere case of the butterfingers. After all, Lauren knew nothing of my other life and I had to keep it that way for her own safety. Rules were rules. Even if I didn’t like them one bit.

  After I dumped the glass in a trashcan, I sent a text to my other best friend, Gabriel, explaining that he needed to meet me at my apartment after work if he was in town. The last time I spoke to him, about a week ago, he and Raphael were in Haiti doing volunteer work. I didn’t know if they were still there, but I figured they would have to pull some strings to get to me in a reasonable amount of time from their current location. It helped that Gabriel had his own private jet.