Devil’s Due
Luther Cross: Book 1
Percival Constantine
Contents
Before You Start…
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Epilogue
Thank you!
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Afterword
About the Author
Also by Percival Constantine
WHO IS LUTHER CROSS?
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Learn where Luther comes from in this special novella, available only by clicking here. As a thank you, you’ll also get four additional short stories featuring Luther for free!
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1
The Windy City. Even in the spring, it’s colder than a witch’s tit.
’Course, that’s something of a misnomer. I’ve had occasion to spend…quality time with a few witches in my day. And all of them were pretty warm and inviting.
Cold doesn’t bother me too much, though. As I leaned against the side of my black ’69 Camaro and scanned the dilapidated tenement, I puffed on an American Spirit cigarette, enjoying the weather.
My name’s Luther Cross, and I’m a paranormal investigator. Got a poltergeist tearing up your house or a demon you need exorcised or a monster stalking you, I’m the guy you call. Not often I take jobs that bring me out to the South Side of Chicago—normally, not a lot of financial reward for my tastes. But this was a favor to an old friend.
I’d driven around for about an hour, trying to get a sense of where it was all going down. Once I felt that familiar pull of demonic energy, I pulled over to the curb and dug in deep.
This old tenement was where the pull was the strongest. It was like the energy was an industrial-strength magnet and I was just a tiny paperclip, helpless to fight against the attraction. I was sure my crimson eyes were burning up with the demonic energy coursing through my veins. Anyone who happened to walk down the street and see me like this was liable to dart off to the nearest liquor store and crawl inside a bottle for the next few days.
He was in there, that was for certain. I reached inside the pocket of my black trench coat and pulled out a Superman action figure. I’d told Reggie’s grandmother I’d need one of his personal possessions to track him down, and this is what she gave me—told me he’d play with this damn thing for hours when he was a kid, pin a towel around his neck and run through the apartment building pretending he was flying.
I scoffed and put the figure back in my pocket. The tracking spell led me right to Reggie’s location, and I could sense the presence of darkness surrounding the building. Time to go to work.
I flicked the cigarette down the sidewalk, the butt dusting off embers as it tumbled along the cracked concrete. Sliding both hands into the pockets of my suit pants, I strolled up the path to the tenement.
The front door was boarded up. If I were a normal guy, this might prove to be a bit inconvenient. Fortunately, normal and me parted ways before I was born. I raised my foot and kicked right through the boards, breaking them into splinters. After pulling the remaining planks away, I stepped inside the lobby.
The only source of light in this old, abandoned building was from the street lamps and moonlight filtering through cracks in the boarded-up windows. My unique heritage made it easy for me to see in the dark, though there was nothing worth seeing in this place.
The stench was something awful. Mixture of shit, vomit, body odor, and probably decomposition—the latter of which I was unfortunately very familiar with. Reggie was still alive in here, though—had to be. Tracking spell wouldn’t have led me here if he wasn’t. Plus, I promised his grandma. I may fight demons, ghosts, and monsters on a regular basis, but even I wouldn’t risk the wrath of an old-school black grandmother.
The energy was strong, pulling me up. I began to climb the staircase, the rotted, old wood threatening to give way with each step I took. As I reached the landing, the stench grew worse. But the pull grew stronger. Definitely headed in the right direction.
On the second floor, I tried to keep my steps as quiet as possible. I doubted it would do much good, though. The warding sigils tattooed into my dark skin may keep the things that go bump in the night from tracking me, but they lose their effectiveness in close proximity.
The third door—that’s where the pull was the strongest. I wrapped my hand around the knob and turned. Unlocked, of course. After all, who’d be dumb enough to come down here?
I pushed the door open and took a step inside. The stench hit me, like running right into a brick wall at full-speed, so bad my eyes started to water. I cringed for a moment, then pressed on.
“Luther Cross…”
My name was hissed. I peered into the darkness. This was once the living room of an old apartment. Now there wasn’t much left. Just some old, dirty mattresses with junkies spread out on them. Track marks running down their arms, used syringes littering the floor; sitting up on one of the mattresses was an old, severely emaciated man. Though by the looks of his glowing yellow eyes, he wasn’t strictly a man anymore. He snarled at me. There was a teenage boy lying by his side, unconscious or in a state of heroin-induced euphoria. Hard to tell which from this angle. His head was in the frail man’s lap and the old bastard’s long, bony fingers stroked the boy’s forehead.
“You have no business here, cambion.”
Demons were a rotten bunch. Some were fallen angels, others were humans sentenced to Hell who gave in to the darkness. This one was the latter, what we call a feeder. They crawl their way out of Hell, take on a host body, and subsist on the negative energy of humanity. Drug addicts are a particular favorite. For a feeder, the energy an addict gives off is like…well, like crack. And for humans, it chipped away at their soul, brought them closer to Hell.
“I’m just here for Reggie Ferguson. You hand him over to me, no fuss, and you can go about your business.” I looked around the room at the other addicts. Some were feeders, like this one. The others were just poor souls providing them their snacks.
“You’d leave your precious humans to us, Cross?” the demon hissed. Then he started to chuckle. “Expect me to believe that?”
“These people stopped giving a damn about their souls long ago. They don’t mean shit to me.”
Pretty harsh, Luther. But then again, part of me believed it. People are gonna do what they wanna do. My job is to help the ones who get sucked into this against their will—or those who can pay my fee. Otherwise, if you knowingly jump into the inferno, it’s not in my job description to pull your ass out. You want a fireman, go ring up the CFD.
“I’m not so sure I believe you, Cross.” The demon continued stroking the boy’s short hair, his yellow eyes fixed on him almost lovingly. “And besides, Reggie here has proven to be quite a treat. You want me to just give him up to some
half-breed son of a whore like you?”
Figured it wouldn’t be that easy. Why can’t it ever be that easy? I slid both my hands into my pockets and stepped deeper into the room. Immediately, the other demons rose around me, surrounding me. Blocking all exits, boxing me in. I looked out the corner of my right eye, then my left. Two demons on either side. I sensed others behind me—three, by my guess.
“You’ve got me at a disadvantage. You know my name, but I don’t know yours,” I said.
The demon scoffed and clicked his tongue. “You know better than that, Luther.”
In magic, there’s power in naming. If you’ve got a demon’s name, it’s much easier to put the hurt on him. Why do you think so many possessed people say the Devil’s inside them? Because those demons don’t have any interest in giving up their real name.
I shrugged. “Hey, you know my name, you know what I am. Seemed only fair.”
“My friends call me Slim.”
Not a real name, obviously, but it definitely fit. I narrowed my eyes at him. “It’s a pretty safe bet you know my reputation and what happens to bottom-feeders who try my patience.”
The briefest flicker of movement to my right was the only warning I had of the attack. I pivoted to the right and raised my arm to block the demon’s strike. She was small, but fierce. My fingers wrapped around her arm and I spun to the side, throwing her into one of her friends.
The three who were blocking the door moved in. I held out my hand and shouted, “Ignis!”
My eyes burned with a crimson glow and flames appeared between me and the demons. Wouldn’t stop them, but provided something of a distraction. Just what I needed to reach into my jacket and draw my weapon.
She was a custom-made revolver, with Enochian script carved into the barrel. The rounds were special, too. Iron-forged, silver-coated hollow-points filled with holy water, salt, and some other herbs hazardous to the supernatural.
I pulled the trigger and the Enochian symbols burned bright. The first two rounds went into the two to my side. I turned to the door and fired again. The third round went right through the flames, tagging the middle demon dead-center in his forehead. He fell back, hitting the door.
The other two jumped through the flames. I grabbed one by the throat as he landed and threw him onto the ground, then twisted my hand until I felt his neck snap. The last leapt on my back. She was so light, I barely felt the additional weight. But she was strong, her hand wrapping around my gun arm and pulling it away so I wouldn’t shoot her buddy.
I threw my head back, striking her in the nose. They may be resistant to damage, but demons could still feel pain. Her grip weakened and I pulled myself free, turning around and pulling the trigger. She hissed a second before the bullet struck her in the heart.
The one on the ground hadn’t gotten up, but he still writhed. I stepped over him, firing a round into his head. He stopped moving after that. With a gesture, I snuffed out the flames I had created before. No sense letting them get out of control.
Now it was just me and Slim left. I raised the gun, the Enochian script still burning bright on the barrel.
The demon looked up at me and chuckled nervously. “Maybe we got off on the wrong foot,” he said. “I think we might be able to come to some sort of arrangement here.”
I scoffed. “Man, you feeders are all alike, aren’t you? Come into my world with all this swagger, thinking you’re hot shit. Then, I kick your asses six ways from Sunday and you suddenly can’t wait to beg for your worthless lives.”
“Now, don’t be hasty, Luther.” Slim held his hands up in surrender and slowly rose to his feet. I kept the gun aimed at his head, raising it with him. “I know things. Things that you may not know about.”
“Oh, please. You’re nowhere close to being a player. There’s nothing you could possibly know.”
“Are you willing to take that chance? C’mon, Luther…I can be a friend to you…” His yellow eyes widened.
I took a breath. Yeah, demons are evil, no doubt about that. But they’re all about self-preservation. And might have considered giving him a pass in exchange for some useful intel. But on the other hand, I’d made a promise. And I may be a bastard, but I’m still a man of my word.
I pulled the trigger. Slim screamed just as the bullet struck him in the head, and he collapsed on the mattress. His eyes were gone, as if they’d been burnt out of his head. That effect happens when you kill a demon when he’s inhabiting a host body.
I holstered the gun. There was just one thing left to do. I knelt beside the boy on the mattress and examined his eyes. Normal, not yellow—couldn’t sense any demon inside him. Ah, Reggie Ferguson, you are one dumb brat. Getting mixed up with junk and finding yourself the snack of preference for a bottom-feeder.
I picked him up in my arms and walked towards the exit, with Reggie mumbling something incoherent. Still couldn’t tell if he was asleep or just high. Just before I left through the open door, I turned and took one last look at the addicts still left behind. Poor bastards. Wouldn’t be long before another feeder came along to set up shop in here.
But that wasn’t my problem. Like I said before, they got themselves into it. If they wanted my help, they’d have to save up their junk money to pay my retainer.
2
Dakota Reed wasn’t sure how long she’d been running. All she knew was that she had to get as far away from the farm and the Minister as possible. She ran through the tall grass—everything around here was so flat—the moonlight reflecting off her blond hair.
She stopped to catch her breath. Dakota looked over her shoulder and didn’t see anyone following her. Squinting as she peered into the darkness, she had no idea how far she’d managed to run. But it seemed like a good distance. Probably amazing she hadn’t already collapsed from exhaustion.
Noises drew her attention ahead once more. The sound of a large semi-truck driving down the old country road. Dakota chuckled in relief and broke into a run. The plain, white dress she wore hampered her movement somewhat, but she wouldn’t let it stop her as she charged for the road.
Dakota waved her arms above her head and shouted, hoping to catch the driver’s attention. But the truck just continued on its path, rumbling across the two-lane asphalt. Dakota stood there in the middle of the road and dropped to her knees.
“Dammit…”
She remained in that position long after the truck’s rear lights were swallowed by the darkness and she was alone again.
How would she get out of here? Where would she go for help? Where was she, anyway?
Light illuminated her from behind. Then the sound of a loud, prolonged horn. Dakota turned just as the lights pulled rapidly to the side, swinging around her. Her gaze followed the path and she saw an SUV sitting in the middle of the road, followed by the sound of a door opening.
“Are you okay?”
Dakota looked up. There was a man in front of her, with short, brown hair. He was dressed in navy pants and a button-down shirt that was open at the collar, a tie hanging loosely around his neck. She flinched as he reached a hand for her.
“Hey, it’s okay, I’m not gonna hurt you.” He held up his hands in a gesture of peace. “How about we get you out of the road, okay? Probably not a good idea for you to be stuck out here.”
Dakota hesitated for a moment, then nodded and accepted his hand when he offered it. She stood with his help, and he led her over to the side of the road.
“What are you doing out here?” he asked.
“I…I have to get away,” said Dakota.
“Away? Away from what?”
“Please, can you just take me somewhere?”
The man sighed. “I’m heading to Waukegan. I can take you as far as there, okay?”
She nodded.
“Okay, come on, let’s get you in the car.”
He put his hands on her shoulders and gently led her to the passenger side. He opened the door for her and Dakota climbed into the large, blue car with his ai
d, then closed the door. She watched him as he walked around the car, passing in front of the headlights and opening the driver’s-side door.
He settled into his seat and looked at her. Looked like he was in his forties or so. He smiled at her and held out his hand. “My name’s Robert, by the way.”
“Dakota.” She accepted the handshake.
Robert turned to the road and shifted the car into drive. He pulled back into the appropriate lane and continued down the road. “So, Dakota, what were you doing in the middle of the road in the middle of nowhere in the middle of the night?”
Dakota smirked. “Sounds kinda funny when you say it like that.”
Robert scoffed. “Yeah, I guess it does. But seriously, why?”
“I could ask you the same thing—what were you doing out here?”
“Well, I was driving home,” said Robert. “Had some business up in Milwaukee and I don’t like taking the expressway.”
“Why not?”
“I kind of like taking these old backroads no one knows about. Makes me feel like I’m in on a secret or something, know what I mean?”
“Not really.” Dakota’s eyes drifted to the window and she stared out. Not much to see. Street lights were few and far between out here and even if it were a bright, sunny day, there probably wasn’t anything other than more plains.
“Your turn,” said Robert. “What’s your story?”
“I was a student…at Northwestern…” Dakota hesitated as she said those words. Those days of attending classes, meeting with friends, days of bad dorm food and late-night cram sessions—it all felt like it was someone else’s life. As if Dakota had seen it happen in a movie.
“So, how’d you get from Northwestern to here?” asked Robert. “We’re a long way from Evanston.”
“I…” A memory flashed. Dakota closed her eyes, as if it would prevent her from seeing it. She saw the Minister’s face. Saw the faces of the other girls. All of them, like her.
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