Shawdow Detective Box Set, Vol. 2 [Books 4-6]

by Massa, William

  The lights dimmed, a reminder that despite the theater’s sorry state, someone was paying the electricity bills. A spotlight came to life and cut through the crowd, painting a circle on the stage. A man in a sleek suit and eerie masquerade mask stood in its center. Grotesquely distorted features cast from silver transformed the flesh-and-blood creature behind the mask into an unearthly, demonic presence. The cult knew how to use theatrics for maximum impact.

  My scar had flared up as soon as I entered the theater. I was about to find out why.

  “Welcome, welcome! Tonight, you all will have a chance to catch a glimpse of forces beyond the imagination of ordinary people. Not only that—you will be able to own part of the magic.” The masked man on stage paused for a theatrical beat, letting his words sink in. Showmanship was clearly part of the game here.

  “All of you have achieved greatness in life, yet you still crave to be part of something bigger. Something greater than yourselves. There are mysteries out there that make even our biggest accomplishments feel small and insignificant. Tonight, I will offer you a glimpse of a much larger world. A world of mystery and miracles. A world of dark power.”

  I took I a deep breath. This was getting off to a fine start.

  “Do you feel the darkness of this place?” the masked host asked the crowd. He dramatically held up his arms and pointed at his surroundings. “Struggling actor Patrick Bower fell in love with his costar and literally lost his mind when she dumped him for a stage hand. On the night of the premiere, he showed up with a loaded gun and slaughtered half the cast. Their ghosts linger here still.”

  I swallowed hard as I scanned the stage, viewing every stain on the carpets and walls in a new light. The tale confirmed something Saxon had told me. The location of these dark auctions kept changing each time, but all the gathering places shared one grisly detail in common—they had been the site of terrible tragedies. Sick but savvy marketing. The cult was building up the mystique of these events. Lives had been lost here, and the Crimson Circle was drawing on their negative energy.

  Suddenly I wondered if there might be more to it. Could the gatherings themselves be part of a greater ritual?

  I inhaled sharply under my magical Noh mask, wishing I could be somewhere, anywhere else. The memory of pain and misery hung over the space like a heavy shroud.

  “Alright, my friends, let’s begin. Our first item is a lovely trinket from Tokyo.”

  The masked man held up a small black dragon statue. “According to the rumors, this little masterpiece belonged to the head of the Yakuza and provides good fortune in every endeavor…”

  “You look disturbed, Raven. Is a fire-breathing reptile not your idea of a lucky charm?”

  There’s only lucky charm I need, I thought as my fingers tightened around Hellseeker.

  As the bidding began and heated up, I did my best to keep as low of a profile as possible. I was here to observe and ultimately find the time for a private chat with the man behind the creepy mask. Once the bidding stopped, I would make my move. Or at least that was my plan.

  “And now to our next item, a beautiful Noh mask that, according to legend, allows the wearer to impersonate anyone they choose. ”

  My blood turned to ice, and my hands instinctively reached for my face. The mask I had been wearing for the last hour was…gone.

  I turned to the men sitting next to me and they recoiled, stunned by my changed appearance. Judge Morrison’s clean-shaven features had given way to my bearded, twenty-something mug.

  “Monster hunter, I think you’ve been made!”

  I could always rely on Cyon to point out that a situation was headed straight to Hell. Perhaps it was as a demon thing.

  12

  The masked auctioneer cut a menacing presence as he held up the magical Noh mask, his voice reverberating through the crowded theater. “This unique piece was donated by our good friend Mike Raven, who decided to grace us with his presence tonight.”

  His words confirmed that I was in deep shit. My eyes ticked back and forth. Guards flanked the aisles of the theater. Their eyes flashed with fanatical glee as they tightly gripped their machine pistols.

  God, I hate cultists even more than vampires.

  Had I really thought I could pull a fast one on the Crimson Circle? They must have detected the magic of the Noh mask a mile away. I figured protective wards, invisible to the naked eye, had been placed in strategic locations around the theater. I was about to learn the hard way that a half-baked plan could be an express ticket to a world of hurt.

  I considered my options. I could rush down the aisles and blast my way out of the theater, but it would most likely end with me going down in a hail of lead—minus the glory. Unfortunately, I hadn’t brought a bulletproof vest to this party. And there was the question of the spell-slinger who had removed the Noh mask right off my face. My gut told me that the spell had been cast by someone other than the auctioneer. Magic took a ton of concentration and the masked man onstage had been busy making his sales pitch. No, someone else far more dangerous lurked in the theater.

  The Seal of Solomon would protect me from a direct attack, but the mage might try to alter the environment and turn it against me. Better to not dwell on the possibilities. Fear would paralyze me when action was called for. Gambling that the spellcaster might be momentarily spent after the dramatic stunt with the Noh mask, I made my move.

  A single row of seats separated me from the stage and the freak in the silver mask.

  Even if the auctioneer wasn’t the brains behind this operation, he represented an important link in the chain. If I could reach the stage and take him hostage, I might have a fighting chance.

  Mind made up, I sprang to my feet, Hellseeker primed for action. Moving swiftly, I hurtled over the seats.

  The nice folks who had gathered for this mad auction gawked at me. The armed guards wouldn’t dare open fire unless they wanted to kill a few of their potentials bidders in the process. I doubted they had any respect for human life, but fatalities among the city’s elite would not be good for any future occult fundraisers. Publicity of any sort was about the last thing the cult needed as it sank its claws back into this city.

  The cultists drew their guns, and the crowd in the theater reacted accordingly. Wisely, no one pulled the trigger, at least not yet. The panicked shouts were multiplying by the time I reached the stage.

  Adrenaline spiking, I wrapped my hand around the neck of the auctioneer. I couldn’t see the eyes behind the emotionless mask, but I hoped there was fear in them. A beat later, Hellseeker was pointed at the man’s head, and I had myself a bona fide hostage.

  The cultists turned their attention—and weapons—toward the stage. I took that as my cue to back up toward the red curtain with my new best friend in tow. I was gambling that the auctioneer would make for an effective shield as I got the hell out of this place.

  I caught glimpses of more mystical objects as I headed backstage. Daggers, rings, a chalice. The items jumped out at me, each representing a potential supernatural threat in the wrong hands. Seeds of evil that the cult was hoping to sow across our city. Who knew what terrible fruit they would bear? Each item looked more ominous than the last, but I couldn’t worry about them right now. This had become a battle for personal survival.

  “There is no escape, Raven,” the masked auctioneer hissed, unable to completely hide his fear.

  I resisted the temptation to bring down the butt of my magical gun on the man’s head. I had to keep my wits about me if I wanted to make it out of here in one piece.

  Waving my pistol at the guards, I whisked the auctioneer through the thick curtain. Backstage, two more masked cultists appeared, but they smartly kept their distance. A green glowing pistol will even give fanatics pause.

  Blood roaring in my ears, I kept pushing my hostage down a hallway until I reached the building’s back door. I kicked it open while I maintained an iron hold on the man’s neck. The chill night air greeted us, a welcome re
spite from the stuffiness of the decaying theater. My eyes scanned the night but spotted no more cultists.

  Determined, I dragged my new friend toward the Mercedes. I tore off his mask, revealing bland features. Just an average guy with a soul of a devil. I popped open the passenger door and roughly pushed him inside. For good measure, I gave in to my impulse and drove the butt of my pistol down on his head, assuring he wouldn’t get any funny ideas while I made a go for the driver’s side.

  I gunned the car and peeled out of the parking lot. Three cultists popped from the darkness and opened fire. Bullets pockmarked my borrowed ride but fortunately never found me or my passenger. I resisted returning fire or letting out a triumphant whoop as I barreled through the lot’s chained exit. Flooring the gas, I zigzagged through the dark alleys, using my familiarity with the area to lose any possible pursuers.

  While I put some distance between myself and the theater, I dialed Detective Benson and told him to send in his men to break up the auction. If my past dealings with the Crimson Circle were any indicator, the arrival of the law would barely impact their operation. By the time the cops arrived, the cult members would most likely be long gone. Nevertheless, I was hoping they might leave some evidence behind as they rushed to evacuate the site.

  Reassured that I had made a successful getaway, my attention turned back to the moaning figure in the passenger seat. It was time to question my hostage. I turned into a deserted ally, my flashing headlights chasing away a homeless man. I could still hear his curses as I floored the brake and the Mercedes screeched to a halt.

  I got out and roughly pulled my hostage from the vehicle. As I slammed him against a wall, a group of annoyed rats skittered away.

  The man slumped to the trash-strewn ground. He peered up at me, eyes blazing with fanatical defiance and those bland features now set in stone. This wasn’t going to be easy. I never held back when battling monsters, but this cultist was still human. How far could I go to get the information I needed without crossing a line?

  “He’s as bad as any other creature of darkness you’ve faced before, Raven. Worse, even. Willing to sell out his own kind in the service of the Left-Hand Path.”

  When a demon says someone is bad news, you better pay attention. But…what if Cyon just wanted me to go further down the dark road to damnation? I couldn’t trust anything he said.

  I also couldn’t afford to let this guy go without finding out what I needed to know.

  “Alright, bud, I’m going to be asking some questions, and I expect some answers.”

  The cultists shook his head, lips curled into a snarl. “Why would I share anything with you?”

  Why indeed?

  My old self might’ve let the auctioneer’s words stop me, but I didn’t feel like the same man I used to be. Far from it. A demon now dwelled inside of me, and disturbingly enough, I was beginning to see Cyon’s side of things. His lack of scruples and ruthless nature got things done. This man was with the Crimson Circle, the most evil cultists I’d ever faced. His cronies had nearly destroyed the world. He didn’t deserve mercy. Without hesitation, I cocked Hellseeker and dug the barrel of my green-glowing pistol into the man’s forehead.

  “Let’s try this again. First question. The skull of the Devil’s Executioner. Who did you sell it to?”

  The auctioneer held my gaze without flinching, a grin spreading across his face.

  “It’s all worked out splendidly. Our buyer has exceeded our most optimistic expectations.”

  Rage detonated inside of me. This was nothing but some sick game to the asshole lying in front of me. The killer cult had unleashed the evil artifact upon this city, knowing all too well the terrible toll it would exact. And the thought of it was putting a smile on the face of this twisted freak.

  Before I knew what I was doing, my fist snapped out with brutal speed. The punch connected with the auctioneer’s chin, knocking the grin right of his self-satisfied mug. More vicious blows followed in rapid succession. The cultist spat blood.

  “Let’s try this again,” I said through gritted teeth.

  “Screw you, demon hunter! I’m not afraid of—”

  The boom of my pistol cut him off as I shot him in the leg. For a beat, the stunned cultist stared at the bloody hole in his leg. I shared his sense of shock. Horror welled up inside of me. I didn’t even remember raising the gun.

  What the hell are you doing? a voice inside of me screamed.

  Getting results, another voice answered.

  Cyon’s voice rang through my head. The demon was in control now.

  Judging by the terror in the cultist’s wide-eyed gaze, he now saw the dark demonic fire blazing inside of me.

  “There are fourteen bullets in this pistol. You decide how many I will use tonight.”

  I mentally recoiled, disturbed by the ice in my own voice. As the demon laughed, the shivering ball in front of me began to talk.

  As soon as the cultist gave up a name, he started to heave and convulse. His arms and legs flailed, his throat bulging. I made out movement under the man’s skin. Christ, there was something alive inside of him. And it was fighting its way out.

  Blood oozed from his mouth and nostrils. Clawing at the air, the auctioneer unleashed a string of choking sounds that barely sounded human. And then I caught my first good look at the creature causing the man’s agony. A fat, wet shape erupted from his wide-open mouth. Still writhing uncontrollably in the trash-strewn ally, the insect-like creature wiggled its way from deep inside him.

  I had seen many terrors over the years, but it required all my self-control not to back away in shock and revulsion. As the blood-slick critter scrabbled away on its many legs, my instincts kicked in, and I hurled my silver dagger after it. My blessed knife pinned the thing against a heap of decomposing garbage. It screeched, and then the critter turned to ash. The stench of sulfur choked the air and made me gag.

  I turned back to the auctioneer, struggling to maintain my composure. The cultist’s bloodshot eyes found me, a crooked grin on his face despite his agony. “The darkness is coming. You won’t be able to stop us....”

  The voice trailed off and the eyes rolled back. I didn’t need to take the man’s pulse to know he had taken his last breath.

  As I made my way back to the Mercedes, a foreboding sense of unease spidered up my spine. The Crimson Circle had returned to the Cursed City. More encounters with the super-cult would follow, that much I was certain of. I was surrounded by enemies. Both from within and without. And I was alone…

  “Not alone, Raven. Never alone. We will defeat these monsters together.”

  I drew little comfort from the demon’s promise.

  I was back in the abandoned theater. As expected, the armed cultists and the well-heeled crowd the auction had drawn were all long gone. Now cops combed the decaying structure. I located Detective Benson in the crowd and approached the detective.

  “Any luck?” I asked.

  Benson shrugged. “We’re still searching the place.” There was a resigned air of defeat in Benson’s voice that had become all too familiar to me. The seasoned detective might not be an occult expert, but he understood the same cult that had nearly torn down the barriers between our world and the dark dimension was back in town. And it didn’t take much imagination to know they were here to finish what they’d started. The Crimson Circle planned to turn this city into ground zero for a war between the forces of light and dark.

  Benson pointed at the stage and the miniature skull resting at its center.

  “Looks like they left a souvenir behind.”

  I kneeled before the grisly memento and inspected the skull. My scar remained dormant; there was nothing magical about the item. This was the cult’s way of giving me the finger.

  “In case you haven’t heard the news, there was another murder. Victim number five. Patientia. His name was Nathan Ellis. A year ago, he lost his family to a drunk driver and made the news when he publicly approached the man in court and f
orgave him.”

  Dread surged from the pit of my stomach. The literal translation of patientia was patience. The opposite of the deadly sin of wrath. It also represented mercy and forgiveness. The victim had shown compassion for the man who had recklessly destroyed his life. I doubted I would be able to show similar mercy if faced with the same situation.

  Tragically, Nathan’s noble act had been repaid with murder, the man’s goodness now being used to fuel the Skull Master’s growing power. Two murders remained before he could complete his series of seven. Industria and Humilitas. Diligence and Humility.

  I gnashed my teeth with frustration. In a city of millions, how could I narrow down the two people this monster might target next? It felt like an impossible feat. My only chance was to find the killer before he picked his next victim. Fortunately, I finally had a chance of doing just that. The auctioneer had given me a name. Perhaps he’d lied—but then again, Hellseeker’s firepower had made for a pretty convincing argument in favor of the truth.

  Recalling the cultists’ final moments brought my own disturbing behavior to mind. I had crossed a line. Gone to a dark place from which there might be no coming back. And worst of all, it had worked.

  As I left the theater, one question kept cycling through my tormented mind: Would I have to become a monster to defeat monsters?

  I could almost hear Cyon’s laughter.

  13

  Icy air pricked my skin as I blasted down the empty streets. I felt as cursed as the sleeping city around me. It was the middle of the night, I hadn’t eaten properly or gotten a decent night’s sleep, thanks to Cyon, and I was about to pay a visit to a murderer.

  The auctioneer had given me a name moments before black magic tore apart his insides. Robert Valdis.