She kept searching the forlorn streets for any signs of movement.
Nothing.
She glanced up at one of the tall structures, and that’s when she spotted a cluster of black shapes flitting past its windows. Could one even describe them as windows? More like holes in the nightmarish architecture.
The shadowy forms vanished as soon as she laid eyes on them. Had she imagined the moving silhouettes?
Streetlights buzzed and flickered. Archer narrowed her gaze, searching.
And suddenly, she sensed movement right behind her.
The world slowed to a crawl as she turned on her heels and came face to face with a figure from a nightmare.
A hooded, ghostly presence lurked about thirty feet away. Clothed in a tattered, black flowing robe, the thing measured about seven feet and was rail-thin, its features hidden by a monk-like hood.
As the creature tilted its head in her direction, there was only a black vacuum where the face should be. Twin luminous orbs flashed in the blackness.
Archer shuddered and took a step back.
The robe stirred, and the hooded specter rose. It seemed to fill out, becoming more substantial as it moved toward her. Mist spilled from under the swirling robe. The ground seemed to rot and turn black in the creature’s wake.
What was she up against here? Archer had never heard of anything like this wraith, let alone faced one of its kind. Would her weapons even work against it?
Another wail shattered the deathly quiet. More cloaked figures joined the first apparition and swiftly floated toward her in dark formation.
Terrified, Archer squeezed the trigger of her Glock.
Silver bullets slammed into the first wraith. The bullets slowed it down but didn’t seemed to be causing any permanent harm. Bloodslayer might fare better in a fight, but she would have to let the specters get too close for comfort. Besides, even if the stake could hurt them, they would still overwhelm her by sheer numbers alone.
Retreat was her best and only option.
As the dark horde closed in, Archer ran for her life.
More of them appeared from the alleys between the bone structures. Panic seized Archer as she grasped their plan. They were forming a ring around her, intent on trapping her and barring her escape.
Shit, shit, shit, she thought, her eyes desperately casting around for a way out of this horror.
And that’s when she spotted movement in the next building up ahead. This time around, the silhouette outlined in the structure’s doorway didn’t wear a monk’s hood. This new figure was human, female as far as she could tell from this distance, and was beckoning her. Could this woman, whoever she was, protect her from the wraiths?
Archer doubted it, but she still made a go for the building. She might be running straight into a trap, but it beat waiting for the unwavering reapers to catch up with her on the open street.
She stormed into the skyscraper, gun up, and blasted the nearest wraith as it attempted to follow. The hooded reaper reared back with a bloodcurdling howl, its robe dispersing momentarily before reconstituting itself.
A black hand extended from the billowing robe of another wraith, and she picked up her pace. What would happen if one these creatures touched her? She decided she’d rather not find out.
Tapping into all her remaining strength, she exploded into the lobby of the building. Like the exterior, the inside of the structure was lined with bones. The architects of this city had laid out the skeletons of countless people to form a myriad of ghoulish designs. Images of the Catacombs of Paris flashed through Archer’s stunned mind. She had visited the underground ossuaries years earlier when she was still in college. The labyrinth under the City of Light held the remains of over six million people. The visit had made her contemplate her mortality for the first time in her young life. As impressive as the catacombs had been, this place was on another scale.
Her eyes ticked back and forth, scanning the phantasmagorical lobby for exits and potential cover. How long did she have until the wraiths followed her into this bone crypt?
A panicked thought cut through her mind. Had she imagined the woman beckoning to her? Had it been just wishful thinking on her part? No, she knew what she’d seen. There was someone here who wanted to help her. Perhaps another survivor like Parker. All she had to do was find her—before it was too late.
“Over here!” a voice shouted.
She spun toward the woman who had appeared in a shadowy alcove. A keening cry rattled the lobby. The specters had almost caught up with her.
Archer still could not make out any details about her would-be rescuer. It didn’t matter. Whoever this woman was, she represented Archer’s best option at the moment.
Mind made up, Archer rushed after the shadowy figure.
6
Your friend is trapped in Hell.
Those had been Parker Wang’s last words.
I didn’t want to think about the many horrors the young woman must have endured. Horrors Archer now faced. I felt sick to my stomach with anxiety.
As I fought my way through traffic, I tried to make sense of what I knew so far. The number 9 train was at the heart of this mystery. As a general rule, subway trains didn’t pass between worlds or make pitstops in Hell.
I would have to consult with Cyon. As a former servant of the dimension of fear, he might know more about this mysterious Bone City. To my surprise, I found the loft empty when I got back. Where was the demon? Over the course of the last few weeks, it had been impossible to get him to do anything, least of all leave our base of operation. And now that I needed his help, he’d pulled a disappearing act. Great! I sighed and checked my watch. It was a little past noon. Where could Cyon be? I seriously doubted he’d gone to pick up lunch for us.
I looked at the desk. The three copies of the Daemonium were gone.
And then it hit me.
Cyon must’ve headed to the warehouse where Kovan Crull and his band of fanatics had given Jim Jones a run for his money. A shiver crept up my spine. What was the demon up to and why hadn’t he brought me along? Was he planning on heading to Hell by himself?
I put a lid on my growing anger and frustration and rushed into the garage. A minute later I was back on the road and headed for the warehouse. Rain pelted the windshield. The wipers worked furiously. The recent bout of sunshine in the Cursed City had unceremoniously come to a wet and windy end.
Not for the first time, I wondered why the hell anyone would want to live in this town.
I turned on the radio, hoping some tunes might brighten my gloomy mood. After uselessly scanning the airwaves for a few minutes, I failed to find a station I liked and killed the radio. I guess I would silently stew in my funk.
A half an hour later, I whipped up to the warehouse. A thick fog shrouded everything in gray wisps. The property sat there, forlorn and abandoned, an eyesore in a neighborhood full of them. A weathered for-sale sign hung on the door, but I doubted there would ever be any takers. Homicidal cultists committing mass suicide didn’t translate into real estate dollars. From the looks of it, the owners had cut their losses and given up on unloading the property. Maybe as time passed, people would forget about the tragic cult massacre. Personally, I doubted it. Stories like that have a way of sticking in the public consciousness.
I parked the Equus Bass, turned up the collar of my trench coat and got out. A fine drizzle showered my face. To be honest, I welcomed the rain. I’d been struggling to stay awake ever since leaving the precinct.
As I stepped up to the structure, memories flooded my mind. For a moment, the past came back to life. I saw myself standing next to Skulick, Hellseeker in hand, ready to break down the warehouse’s door. Life had taken a sharp turn for Skulick and me on that fateful day. It felt like a million years ago and part of another reality.
So much had happened since then. So much had changed.
I banished all thoughts of the past and barged into the warehouse. As soon as I set foot in the place, I saw my instincts had
been on the money. Wards and various occult symbols covered the walls and floor of the vast space. Cyon crouched at the center of this desolate, dusty warehouse, the three books of the Daemonium splayed out around him in a triangular pattern. He was busy leafing through one of the leather-bound tomes, his lips forming words I couldn’t make out and wouldn’t have been able to understand even if I had.
He looked like he was having a blast. Demons, I thought bitterly.
“Love what you’ve done to the place,” I said. “If the whole occult detective thing doesn’t work out for you, you should give interior design a shot.”
Judging by the withering look my statement had earned me, Cyon was in no mood for jokes.
To be honest, I regretted my flippant comment as soon as I uttered it. The history of this place commanded respect. I eyed the dusty floor and could almost see the bodies of the cult members. One didn’t have to be psychic or have a demonic scar like mine to sense the ghosts which lingered here.
Cyon’s eyebrows drew together as he glared at me. “Don’t step on any of the symbols. Do you have any idea how dangerous it is to interrupt an occult ritual?”
“Next time, why don’t you put up a do-not-disturb sign?”
Cyon sighed. “What do you want, Raven?”
All kidding aside, I’m not a fool and don’t take black magic lightly. Morgal’s mark would have warned me if occult forces were already active in the warehouse. Cyon was still nailing down the formula that would open a gateway to another world. Judging by his quick-tempered response, he was making little or no progress.
All trace of humor left me as I said, “Archer is trapped on the other side.”
Cyon cocked an eyebrow. I had his full attention now. Good.
“The other side of what?” he asked warily.
“Ever hear of the Bone City?”
Cyon’s eyes widened, and he jumped to his feet, his back ramrod straight. It felt weird to be standing face to face with the demon like this after sharing one mind for so long. His possession of Skulick’s rejuvenated body added another surreal layer to the encounter.
“What has happened?” Cyon asked.
I quickly brought the demon up to speed.
“Why would a train be able to cross into another world?” Cyon mused once I’d finished my update.
“Excellent question. I’ve been wondering about that myself.”
Cyon rapidly stalked back and forth, and I could almost see the thoughts churning behind his eyes. His furious pacing was making me dizzy.
“So, the Bone City,” I said. “You’ve obviously heard of it.”
“There are infinite levels to the dimension of fear. The Bone City is one of the many realms of darkness controlled by Morgal.”
Cyon’s words filled me with dread. In a weird, irrational way I had prayed Cyon would dismiss Parker Wang’s story as a paranoid delusion. But there was a small light at the end of the tunnel. If we could figure out how and why this subway had bridged two realities, we might apply these insights to our own quest to travel between worlds. So far, Cyon had failed to knock open the doors of Hell. It sounded crazy, but maybe the subway train would succeed where the three volumes of the Daemonium had failed.
“We should investigate this mystery station,” Cyon suggested.
I nodded and buttoned up my trench coat, preparing to brave the rain once more. We had a train to catch.
7
The keening shrieks of the pursuing wraiths reverberated through the building. It made Archer think of wolves howling against the night. The chilling lamentations would have paralyzed the average person with terror, yet Archer kept moving. Survival dominated her thoughts and held the feelings of dread at bay.
For now, anyway. She wasn’t sure how much more of this she could take.
Tapping into her last reservoir of strength, she fixed her gaze on the back of the strange woman who’d beckoned her to seek refuge inside the bone tower. They shot up a series of winding stairs, the railings made from shin bones that Archer refused to touch.
The woman suddenly stopped dead in her tracks, alarmed by more shrieks from two flights up. The wraiths were approaching from below and above, determined to box them in.
The woman quickly led the way into an adjoining passageway. A blur of skulls and bones wherever Archer looked, a glaring reminder of death’s inevitability. Doorways fashioned from fleshless shoulder blades, pelvic bones and rib cages lined the corridors, opening into dark chambers.
The mystery woman darted into one of the rooms, and Archer automatically followed suit. She froze, looking around in confusion. This new room measured about fifteen feet across and appeared to be empty. No other exits led out of the room.
Where had the woman gone?
Archer almost cried out when she felt a hand close around her mouth and pull her into the shadowy corner next to the doorway.
The strange woman hissed into her ear. “Do as I tell you if you want to live.”
Archer hesitated for a beat. Putting her trust into a complete stranger was out of character, but she found herself in an alien world being chased by ghosts. She needed an ally if she wanted to make it out of here alive. And this stranger was the only one who had volunteered for the job.
“Try to clear your mind. The Soulless feed on fear and despair. But there is a way you can make yourself invisible. Think of the best moments of your life. Happy memories, the best of times. The ones that remind you that life is worth living. The ones that sustained you during the bad days.”
Archer’s heart jack-hammered as the wails grew louder. How was she supposed to be positive at a time like this?
Every fiber in her body wanted to pull away. Wanted to keep running and put distance between her and nightmare stalkers hot on her trail.
The woman’s grip tightened around her shoulder. Strangely enough, Archer couldn’t feel the heat of her rescuer’s body. The woman was cold as a block of ice. Was she a specter too? She felt solid. Real. For a terrifying beat, Archer wondered if she might have died without realizing it. Was her real body bleeding out on a dirty subway floor somewhere while dark forces targeted her soul in the next world?
No, I’m alive! I’m alive, and I will let no one tell me otherwise!
Blood roared in Archer’s ears. She couldn’t see these robed creatures from this angle, but she sensed their inexorable approach on a physical level. She smelled them in the air, a mixture of ozone and crackling electricity, felt them in the goosebumps on her flesh.
The woman dug her hand into Archer’s shoulder. Archer stopped struggling and slumped forward. She would play along—for now.
The stranger hadn’t led her to this chamber to offer her up to the spooks as a sacrifice. She wanted to save Archer. But why? She doubted this woman was helping her out of the goodness of her heart. There was a catch here. An angle she was playing.
Focus on one problem at a time, Archer told herself.
The wailing grew louder. The spooks were almost upon them now.
Archer held her breath, sensing the wraiths had arrived. Only a few feet separated them now. She tried to fill her mind with positive thoughts and failed miserably. She found it too hard to disconnect from this world of horrors.
It’s impossible, but I have to try!
Archer closed her eyes and shut out the world to the best of her abilities. Time to use an old trick that had come in handy when she needed to clear her head in the past. Archer imagined herself in a movie theater looking up at a giant screen, waiting for the show to start. And as she looked up at the blank canvas, everything else faded away. The pursuing shadows, the city of nightmares, the creepy woman who was helping her—Archer cast them all out.
Suddenly, one image from her past broke through, flickering across the screen she had created inside her mind. She saw her father holding her hand as he led her through the police precinct where he worked as a homicide detective. She’d been eight at the time and already a big fan of police TV shows. How she’
d begged her dad to give her a tour! She vividly recalled trying on an oversized police cap and holding a real baton. All the officers had made her feel so special. That was the day she had decided to become a detective.
The strange woman’s grip eased, bringing her back to a far less pleasant reality.
“They’re gone. It worked.”
The woman guided her slowly to the chamber’s window. Fiery red light seeped through the opening, washing the stranger in its glow. Archer finally got a better look at her rescuer. She was filthy, her clothes ragged and her hair lank. Some might have called her attractive once upon a time, but a harsh existence had eroded most of her looks. Heavily lined skin stretched tightly over a gaunt frame, the bones outlined. Her haunted, deathly white features almost blended in with the bone landscape of this terrible city. The woman regarded her with serious, sad eyes.
She nodded at the window, and Archer crept closer. The woman pointed at the streets four stories below.
They weren’t empty anymore. A middle-aged man was running down the lonely road. Despite the distance between them, Archer recognized the terror in the man’s eyes. A moment later she saw why as shadowy shapes converged on him. The hooded ghosts spilled into the road, black robes shimmering in the otherworldly crimson sunlight. Like a school of hungry sharks, they circled the hapless man.
His eyes darted back and forth, desperately looking for a way out and finding none. A heartbeat later, the robed figures descended on the man in a flurry of flapping robes and swirling mist.
Archer couldn’t see exactly what happened next, but the sound of rending flesh and the man’s screams told their own story.
Archer couldn’t help but think of vampires. Like the bloodsuckers she’d hunted, the robed creatures were feeding on this poor victim. Archer averted her gaze as she fought back revulsion. She’d seen enough.
“Come,” the woman said, jerking her chin at the door.
The journey through this mad realm continued, and Archer had no choice but to follow.
Hell Breaker (Shadow Detective Book 9) Page 4
