by Jon F. Merz
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Darkness bled across the sky by the time Curran finally reached Darius’ house back in Chestnut Hill. He gazed at it through the bug-splattered windshield, wondering what exactly was going on inside.
He would have rushed over this afternoon straightaway, but for reading the journal he’d found in Lauren’s room that urged him to wait.
Apparently, the Soul Eater’s quest cannot begin until after the moon
has risen on the night of its full waxing. It is at this time that the
Soul Eater is at once his most potent and most vulnerable.
Unfortunately, the journal failed to mention what the demon’s weaknesses were. Curran sighed and glanced at the house again. Overhead, the dark sky was bloated with angry rain clouds that threatened imminent downpours.
Or hail.
And maybe much worse.
His dashboard clock read 6pm.
I can’t wait any longer, thought Curran. Besides, who knew what calendar the demon operated on? By his calculations, it might be time to start things up right now.
Curran slid his pistol of if his shoulder holster and checked the chamber. He had two magazines as back-up, as well as a small .380 pistol strapped to his ankle holster. That only held six rounds. And he secretly doubted their effectiveness if three mags of 10mm stopping power couldn’t halt Darius’ advance.
Only one way to find out, he decided.
He got out of the car.
He mumbled a quick hope – was it a prayer – that Kwon’s spirit would be with him tonight. Curran was going to need all the help he could get.
He hoped surprise would be on his side. Maybe Darius thought Curran would drag a SWAT team and a hundred officers over here to his house with a lengthy standoff ensuing.
Not a goddamned chance, thought Curran. Not with what I’ve got to see done tonight.
He crept over by the side bushes. Shadows loomed deep from the branches that hung out into the pathway. Curran brushed by them, keeping his frame held low.
The clouds above began spitting at him. Cold splatters of rain drizzled down and quickly soaked through the shoulders of his jacket. Curran ignored the cold water seeping toward his skin and kept his eyes locked on the house.
No light spilled out of the windows. Darkness filled the interior.
Curran swallowed.
Even though he’d just been here the day before, the feeling now about the home seemed completely different. Yesterday it had felt merely…sinister.
But now, with Darius ready to unleash a horde of unholy evil, the entire frame seemed to radiate pure hatred and total evil.
Curran glanced overhead, but couldn’t see the moon. The obese clouds obscured its reflected light. But he knew it was there.
And tonight was the full moon.
Curran crept closer to the house.
A dog barking in a neighboring yard made his heart jump out of his chest. He stopped, breathed again, and then kept going.
He made the side porch.
Déjà vu, he decided.
He bent to inspect the lock. It looked fresh. Darius had had the locks replaced today. A sturdier deadbolt barred his way now. It might keep out a lot of partially determined burglars.
But unfortunately for Darius, Curran was a lot more dedicated than most. He would get into the house and end everything that Darius intended to do here tonight.Curran brought out his lock picks and set to work.
There were more pins in this lock. Curran kept glancing up from his work, expecting someone at any moment to walk by and spot him, start screaming, and then ruin any chance he had of surprise.
But no one walked by.
No cars drove by.
The entire street seemed deserted. Perhaps subconsciously, all the inhabitants knew something evil was afoot.
Maybe they weren’t home from work yet.
Curran resumed picking the lock. Slowly, the pins fell into place. After the sixth pin, Curran applied tension and heard the sound he was waiting for.
He slowly turned the doorknob.
The door clicked opened.
Curran replaced his lock picks in his jacket. He withdrew his gun.
Staying low, he eased the door open, praying it wouldn’t squeak.
It didn’t.
An inkier darkness bled out of the house flooding the porch. Curran looked inside and could see nothing. He’d have to go by memory alone if he didn’t want to bang into furniture and let the demon know he’d arrived.
He stepped over the threshold and closed the door behind him. No sense locking it, he decided. If he and Lauren needed to get out in a hurry, it would be better to have it unlocked. Plus, he doubted Darius would care much about it. He’d hopefully be too absorbed in bringing his Dark Lord on to this plane.
Curran crept through the hall toward the kitchen. His thigh muscles ached from stooping low.
Curran heard his own breathing and slowed it down, trying to relax into the moment, feeling adrenaline drip steadily into his bloodstream.
His stomach growled.
Loudly.
Should have had something to eat, he thought with a small tight grin. No good chasing demons on an empty stomach.
The kitchen was almost as dark as the rest of the house, although the windows here were open and some of the tiny remaining light from outside bounced in and off the stainless steel faucets and pots hanging over the center island.
Curran felt his feet grip the tile floor and he moved over toward the cellar door.
And stopped.
A voice.
He heard it. But the walls muffled the details of what it said.
Had Darius already started? That didn’t make much sense. Not with the full moon not yet high in the sky. Hadn’t midnight always been the witching hour? Must not apply to demons, he decided.
He leaned close to the door, straining to hear the voice.
He could make out only one.
Then reached up and tried the cellar door. The doorknob turned and the frame swung open.
Curran eased himself down onto the top step. Still crouched, his legs cried out for relief. Sweat had formed around his forehead. The grip of his pistol grew slippery from his moist palms.
I should just charge right down there with gun blazing and be done with it, part of him said. He shook his head. Foolish. You couldn’t go barging in kicking ass without knowing what the place looked like. Lauren could get killed that way.
And Curran didn’t want her killed.
He eased himself down to another step, slowly transferring his weight to the inside edge of the tread closest to the wall, hoping it wouldn’t creak.
He kept moving, trying not to let his growing fear impede his progress.
Somewhere down there, Darius was trying to resurrect the Devil.
The purest form of evil incarnate.
And Lauren was down there as well.
The voice grew louder as Curran descended. He could hear the slight pauses and breaks in the sentence structure, but the language wasn’t one he recognized. Was this the same speech Lauren had heard the other night when she supposedly visited him here?
But from his vantage point on the stairs, he couldn’t see anything happening. Where was Darius? Where was Lauren. He strained his ears and detected something he hadn’t before: a muffled characteristic to the voices.
Almost like they were in another room.
Had Darius built a concealed room within the basement? That had to be it. Some sort of temporary wall perhaps. There’d be a door someplace in the cellar.
Sweat dribbled down Curran’s neck and he almost reflexively brushed it away.
His left foot came down harder on the stair below him.
Creak.
He froze.
Brought the gun up, waiting for Darius to break through the secret wall and see him. But the voice kept going. It didn’t stop.
Curran exha
led.
Jesus.
He moved down another step. One at a time. One at a time. Each step brought another hefty surge of adrenaline.
He was getting closer to the bottom now.
His eyes had adjusted to the darkness and could see only vague shapes. The cardboard boxes he’d seen yesterday probably. Maybe they concealed the secret door through the wall.
But which ones?
Curran felt his foot touch stone.
The bottom.
At last.
He sighed and took a moment to gather himself. His breathing felt labored and his legs ached. But he’d reached the bottom. And he was closer than he’d expected to be able to get without Darius noticing him.
Curran used one of his hands to begin searching the cardboard boxes but then stopped.
He had to look at this from a smart angle or else he’d spend all his energy searching for nothing. He backed up to the cellar stairs and looked up toward the ceiling.
The lines of the room ran around him. From his vantage point, he could see left, all the way to the end. Trying to visualize where it would end if he was outside, Curran knew it would have broken into the sewer system if the room lay that way.
If the room lay ahead of him, it would jut into his neighbor’s house.
That meant the room must be to his right. Closest to the stairs leading up.
And one wall of cardboard boxes was easier to search than four.
Curran crept midway to the boxes and began slowly opening them and trying to move them.
The first few he could move.
The next few remained in place. As if they were glued there.
Was this the doorway?
Curran felt the back of the boxes, pressing in with his weight. If the wall had been a true one, it would have been harder. As it was, it gave somewhat under his weight. And Curran recognized the feel of wallboard rather than stone.
He’d found the wall.
But where was the door?
He got down on his hands and feet, holstering his piece for just a moment while he tried to see under any cracks. There had to be some light spilling out from the other side. Curran doubted Darius could see in the dark.
He caught a flicker of light and zeroed in on it.
Candles?
Made sense. Weren’t they used in magical ceremonies?
Curran thought so.
He traced his way up from where he saw the light on the floor. He ran his fingers over the wall.
And found a lip.
The edge of the door ran right in front of him.
Curran traced the entire outline with his hands until he stopped at a tiny knob.
A doorknob.
At last.
There were no hinges on this side, which meant the door would open inward. That was good. Curran could rush in faster.
He drew his gun.
He took a breath.
Settled his hand on the doorknob and started turning it.
It clicked.
Loudly.
Curran rammed it open and rushed inside, his gun up.
The voice bombarded his ears, loud.
Images exploded in his eyes.
The red pentagram on the floor. The black candles burnings, dripping wax everywhere. The vat in the center of the room.
And a sarcophagus.
Lauren inside the sarcophagus.
What th-?
Where was Darius?
Curran turned –
And felt something slam into the back of his head.
Blackness rushed up for him.
And he heard the voice no more.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
“Wake up!”
The water hit his face, cold and hard, snapping him back to consciousness. Curran opened his eyes, trying to clear them. He tried to move, but he was bound to a wooden chair with his hands behind him. He flexed his wrists but the knots seemed sound. His feet were at least free and he stretched his legs some.
Darius stood before him, draped in long black robes covered with archaic symbols stitched in red thread. “Did you sleep well?”
Curran spat some of the water out. “How long have I been out?”
“A few hours.”
Curran frowned. “What time is it?”
“Eleven-thirty.”
Curran glanced around. He could still see the sarcophagus. Was Lauren still inside it?
“So, you’re ready at last, is that it?”
Darius nodded. “It’s been a long time coming. I’m looking forward to seeing all my work come to fruition.” He moved closer to Curran. “Aren’t you?”
“Not particularly.”
“Just the sort of sentiment I’d expect from someone who has no idea what I’ve been working to accomplish.”
“I know what you want to accomplish,” said Curran. “You want to bring the Devil back to life.”
“No. Not back to life. He’s never been dead, don’t you see? He just can’t physically exist on this plane. I will change that.”
“So, what, you’ll have the Devil walking around in public? What kind of plan is that?” Keep him talking, thought Curran. Maybe he could figure something out.
“He will return to take control of this pitiful human existence.”
“Oh great, just we need: another leader who doesn’t know how to lead.”
“Humor is not one of your strengths, Curran.”
“Really? Shucks. I was hoping for a spot on the Late Show.”
Darius leaned closer, his foul breath making Curran wince. “Do you know how long I’ve followed your progress?”
“No. But I assume you’re going to tell me.”
“Don’t you remember our conversation from the other night? His smile widened.
He’s enjoying this, thought Curran. But at the same time, he couldn’t stop the déjà vu washing over him again. Something did seem familiar.
Darius didn’t wait for him. “Ever since Dallas. About a year in to the investigation. Remember that? You were so obsessed with me. You tried so hard. Worked so long. All for nothing, wasn’t it?”
“Not for nothing, no. I did my job.”
“If you’d truly done your job, you would have caught me.” Darius chuckled. “I remember watching you right after you got bumped out of the Bureau. I watched you loaf around for those six months following your termination. You hung out in bars, in strip clubs, depressed. Lonely. And yet you never succumbed all the way to the basest form of human existence.”
“No.”
“And then you came north. Back home. To Boston. I was surprised they hired you on at the Boston Police Department, but then I suppose a resume that includes work for the FBI looks pretty impressive to a lot of people, huh?”
“Something like that.”
“When I learned from my master that Boston would be our final city, I could scarcely contain my delight. Seeing you again outside the nightclub a week ago was like a homecoming for me. We’re like family, you and I.”
“Darius, you’d be the side of the family I’d try to deny existed.”
“I’m sure I would be.” He smiled. “It might make for some interesting holiday dinners, though, wouldn’t you think?”
“Oh yeah. Especially before you ate everyone.” Curran struggled against his knots.
Darius pointed at the chair. “You are exactly where you’re supposed to be. Do you know that?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Darius shook his head. “Still so unaware.” He sighed. “I’ve been baiting you ever since I came to Boston. You didn’t see any of it, though apparently. The button? Our conversation in my store? None of that led you to believe I knew exactly how to play you?”
Curran hated to admit it. “No.”
“Amazing.” Darius rubbed his hands together. “I thought for sure you would have seen through something.”
“So, I’m
stupid.” Curran flexed against the knots again. “You know I can’t let you get away with this.”
Darius chuckled. “Is that a line they teach all law enforcement types to say? I mean, really, everyone says it, even when his or her situation is so obviously poor. There’s no way you can stop me, right now. I have the advantage.”
“That’s your opinion.”
Darius came even closer and Curran watched his face change for just a moment into something his worst dreams couldn’t imagine. Then his face resumed its human appearance. He grinned. “Have you fought many demons?”
“No.”
“Exactly.”
“What have you done with Lauren?”
“Ah yes…the lady friend.”
“Where is she?”
“Do you love her, Curran?”
Curran frowned.
Darius smiled. “No? Funny, I rather thought you did. Especially seeing how much time you two spent together. Rather interesting considering the lady is about to become a nun and all. And here you go corrupting her. Tsk tsk. Not sure how well that will go over with your mighty mighty God.”
“I think he’d understand.”
“You think your God would overlook your transgression merely because the woman happens to be attractive?”
Curran frowned. “How about taking these ropes off of me?”
Darius laughed. “Not a chance.”
“Come on, Darius, let’s settle this like real men. No guns, no badges, no divine wrath. We’ll get down and dirty. Right to the end. Best man wins. What do you say?”
Darius shook his head. “I’m not a real man, Detective. And I’m afraid the advantage in such a situation would be mine all the more. Just ask your friend Kwon.”
Curran bit back the surge of anger. “Tough to do considering you killed him, asshole.”
“For a human, he managed to surprise me a bit.”
“You mean the tooth.”
Darius nodded. “A martial artist, isn’t that what you call those types?”
“I called him my friend. But I suppose that concept is foreign to you.”
“Purely a mortal concept, yes.” He walked over to the sarcophagus, running his hand along the wooden edges of it. “Isn’t this a nice piece of work?”
Curran chewed his lip. “Where’d you get that? The Museum of Fine Arts’ Egyptian Collection?”
