“Tell me more,” I said even though part of me wished we could just kill the screen and be done with this nightmare.
“According to the various legends, the Skull Master hunted the heads of devoted priests and nuns, holy saints, and noble knights. In return for the seven souls of the most virtuous citizens, the demon Orthoga, Lord of Corruption, stripped the executioner of his face and turned him into a half-demon.”
Skulick punched up another shot of the fearsome, skull-faced executioner. This time he lurked on a mountain of skeletons while seven green glowing skulls orbited him like moons in some hellish galaxy.
Poor Officer Semele. He’d seen something like this after the half-demon killed his partner. I guess he would be having a few sleepless nights—hell, I’d only seen a picture and felt unnerved.
“So this executioner kept the skulls of his victims?”
“If the stories are to be believed,” Skulick conceded. “He wasn’t merely collecting skulls but was gaining control over his victim’s souls with each successive kill, turning the spirits of the virtuous into instruments of death and destruction.”
Once again, I was reminded of Engelman, the soul catcher. But somehow this was even more horrific. These had been good people, and now their tortured souls were twisted into something evil.
“With the seven skulls at his command, his power grew and he spread a reign of death and destruction across the land.”
“Sounds like the next Blumhouse movie.”
Skulick shot me a long look, not exactly amused.
“So somehow this Skull Master has returned,” I said, returning to business. “The fact that Europe isn’t currently the domain of the Skull Master suggests that this wannabe demon was defeated.”
“According to the records, the Templar Order managed to stop the fiend.”
“That was nice of them. Any chance they left a record of how they pulled that off?”
“They used the only weapon that could defeat the Skull Master—his own executioner’s axe. One blow with the cursed axe cut the creature’s unholy skull from his body.”
There was a certain poetic justice to this tale, an executioner succumbing to his own axe, which made me question its accuracy. It was almost too good to be true.
“What happened to the skull and axe after the Executioner was defeated?”
“The Order melted down the axe and cast the accursed steel to the bottom of the Mediterranean Sea.”
Okay, there goes possibly the only way to stop the Skull Master, I thought gloomily.
Skulick continued, “The devil’s executioner’s skull was kept under lock and key at the Vatican vaults…until recently.”
This made me perk up. I suddenly understood why Rome had sent an art investigator to the Cursed City. “Someone stole the executioner’s skull,” I said.
Skulick nodded gravely. “It appears so.”
“And it somehow ended up in our city.”
It was funny that I referred to the Cursed City as our city nowadays. The Crimson Circle had brought us to this bustling metropolis nearly two years ago, and we’d put down roots her. It was strange to live in one place after hunting nightmares across the globe. Sadly enough, this city of horrors had become more of a home than either one of us had known in years. And right now, some undead asshole was attacking innocents in my town.
My mind spun furiously as I tried to put the various pieces of this puzzle into some coherent form. Someone had stolen the executioner’s skull, and it had wound up in the United States, right here in the Cursed City. Black magic relics had a tendency to turn on the people who used them. The cursed skull must’ve taken possession of its new owner and was once more harvesting the souls of the virtuous. Only difference was this time no band of holy knights would be able to put an end to the Skull Master. It would be up to me and my partner to stop this monster before he completed his grisly collection.
“What happens if the Skull Master completes his new set of seven?”
“Let’s hope we don’t have to find out. According to the historical records, his power grew exponentially with every skull under his command. Some records suggest his terrible evil nearly decimated medieval Europe.”
The sick feeling in the pit of my stomach was quickly getting stronger. “Could you be more specific?”
“I wish I could. I’m still going through the texts, trying to figure it all out.”
My thoughts turned to Aria Giovanni, the enigmatic special investigator from Rome. She must be here on the trail of the thief. Not a moment too soon, considering the speed at which the Skull Master was selecting his victims. Four dead over the course of forty-eight hours. Even Jack the Ripper would be jealous.
“Does the Italian investigator believe in the supernatural, or is she merely chasing a thief?” I said.
“I could check with my sources in Rome.”
Skulick was referring to the White Crescent, the specialized branch of exorcists trained by the Vatican. Our paths had crossed on various occasions in the past, and Skulick maintained a good relationship with the organization. I wondered what their exorcists would make of a monster hunter who’d been compromised by a demon. I doubted they would have much understanding despite Cyon’s newfound resolve to battle the forces of darkness. For a split second, I had a vision of myself being pursued by the members of the Order and the White Crescent. I’d seen how ruthless and determined they could be. I prayed my flight of imagination would never come true.
Skulick leaned closer, his eyes alighting on me. “You could just ask her yourself. I received word from Detective Benson that Special Investigator Aria Giovanni would like a word with you.”
This was news to me. “Really?”
“Apparently, your reputation precedes you.”
For better or for worse, I mentally added.
The time had come to have a little chat with Aria Giovanni. I already had the perfect place in mind for our meeting.
9
I picked Aroma Mocha for my meet-and-greet with the Italian art cop. Unlike the warehouse loft out of which Skulick and I operated, the popular coffee shop was in the trendy heart of the city and had become our go-to place for meeting up with new clients. I hadn’t been back in weeks. During my last visit, I’d been forced to ward of an attack by a possessed homeless man. Now I was the one struggling with demonic possession.
Funny how things change.
My homeless attacker had managed to toss a trash can through the coffee shop’s window, which had made a few folks spit out their lattes that day. It had also tricked me into thinking of my client, the lovely but deceitful Celeste Solos, as an innocent in need of protecting. The glass had long been replaced, and no signs of the destruction remained. Nevertheless, my presence earned me nervous glances from the staff. I was a magnet for weird trouble, and the baristas at Aroma Mocha were beginning to catch on to that fact. I wished I could somehow ease their concerns, but all I could do was to stuff an extra ten bucks in the tip jar. I hoped it helped a little.
Recalling my fight with the poor homeless fellow made me think of my own dark passenger. I shouldn’t be working cases in my current condition. My first priority should have been to rid myself of this demonic invader. But somehow Cyon had almost convinced me that we both could benefit from this unholy union.
“Why do you always have to be so dramatic, Raven?”
A shadow fell across my face as Cyon took a seat at the table. He eyed my steaming Americano longingly.
Since when do demons have a thing for caffeine? Or blonde bartenders, for that matter? I thought at him, careful not to accidentally say the words out loud.
“There’s much you don’t know about our kind. I wasn’t always like this.”
Even if he’d been unable to read my thoughts, the surprise must have been plain to see on my face as I stared at him with big eyes. What was Cyon getting at? Was he implying that he hadn’t always been a demon?
Before I could dwell on his cryptic words, a
nother figure joined me. I peered up at Aria Giovanni, and within seconds spotted the two FBI agents sitting three tables down from us. The same guys from the precinct, I thought, but it was hard to tell Feds apart. They still wore their shades as they observed me intently while sipping on their oversized caffeine bombs. My gut told me they took their brew as black as their suits and sunglasses. My attention turned back to the lovely special investigator from Rome. She was dressed in a blue blouse and a pair of black slacks, elegant yet professional. She offered me her hand, and I took it as I rose to my feet.
“This place smells fantastic,” she said in her lightly accented English. She sat down, took a quick sip from her cappuccino, and met my curious gaze. He eyes flickered with a probing, suspicious intelligence, hinting at her law enforcement background. She might have received some fancy training in the arts and archeology but underneath all that culture she was a hard-as-nails cop.
“They tell me you’re an exorcist of some kind,” she said coolly.
“I consider myself more of a supernatural problem solver.”
“I see.”
Judging by the skepticism in Aria’s voice, she was already regretting this meeting. It was up to me to win her over. I needed to find out what she knew about the Skull Master and the stolen item that had unleashed him on the Cursed City. The sooner we tracked down the relic, the sooner the murders would stop.
“I know we just met, but you can trust me,” I began.
“Detective Benson seems to hold you in high regard,” Aria said.
“We both work hard to keep this city safe.”
“From monsters?”
Was she mocking me? I guess by now I should be used to it, but it still hurt.
“Wouldn’t you consider a killer who removes his victims’ skulls a monster?”
The question hung in the air for a beat.
“I can’t argue with that.” Her expression softened. It seems she could accept human monsters. If I steered our conversation away from the supernatural, we should be fine.
“Do you have any idea why I’m here?” Aria asked.
“You’re here to track down the skull of the Devil’s Executioner that was stolen from the Vatican less than a month ago.”
Her eyes widened ever so slightly, and I couldn’t help but smile inwardly. Had I just impressed the art sleuth?
“I see you’ve done your homework, Mr. Raven.”
Well, at least Skulick had. “I like to know a little about the person I’m meeting up with,” I said.
“I can relate to that.”
A smile played across her lips, but her eyes remained guarded and alert. She still didn’t quite know what to make of me. I didn’t blame her. Some days I don’t know, either.
“I didn’t realize art theft was such a major problem,” I said.
“Funny, I felt the same about hauntings and possessions.”
She flashed me a playful smile. Touché. I could almost hear Cyon giggling inside of me.
Aria’s face grew serious. “The reason I wanted to meet you wasn’t to hear about your monster hunting exploits, Mr. Raven.”
“So what are we doing here?”
“I’m interested in your connections to the city’s occult underground network.”
I perked up. “I’m listening.”
“I may not believe in the supernatural, but as someone versed in archeology and ancient art, I know that plenty of people do. Some devout Christians will give up their life savings to acquire a bone fragment from some long-deceased saint or a splinter rumored to have come from the cross that Jesus died on. The same obsessive dedication holds true for those who worship the darkness in their hearts.”
She leaned closer, her voice lowered to a whisper as she continued. “We believe that a well-funded organization financed the theft of the skull in the hopes of selling the relic to a wealthy collector.”
I considered this for a beat and said, “You identified the thief.”
“His name was Pierre Rouet. Well-known by Interpol to work as a thief for hire. His consummate skill and a PhD in art put him at the top his field.”
“Why are you using the past tense when talking about him?”
Aria’s features darkened. “Three weeks ago, Pierre wrapped a chain around his neck and tied the other end to a fire hydrant. Then he got into his SUV and put the vehicle in drive.”
Dear God. I grimaced at the mental picture.
“Suicide by self-decapitation. According to his journals, the skull made him do it.”
“I see. What happened to the stolen skull?”
“It was already gone. Judging by the million-dollar deposit in Pierre’s Swiss bank account, he had already delivered the skull.”
“Who’s the buyer?” I asked.
“We tracked the money here, but that’s when the trail went cold. I was about to give up when the murders started the other night. Murders clearly patterned after the medieval atrocities of the Devil’s Executioner.”
It was my turn to lean closer now. “I know you don’t put much stock in the supernatural, but how do you explain someone removing a human skull without severing bone or damaging the skin?”
Anxiety edged into Aria’s eyes, quickly suppressed. “I don’t have an explanation,” she admitted. “All I know is that I need to find this relic and return it to the Vatican. And everyone tells me you’re my best hope, Mr. Raven.”
I leaned back, knitting my fingers around my rapidly cooling coffee mug. “Go on.”
“Who in this city might be interested in getting their hands on the skull? Considering the circles you travel in, you must run into your fair share of occult collectors and practitioners of the dark arts.”
That was an understatement, but I kept my mouth shut.
“Maybe you can put a list together for me of potential buyers,” Aria continued. “People with the resources to purchase such a relic on the occult black market.”
“The occult black market?” I asked, unable to hide the surprise in my voice.
“Besides the thief’s suicide note, his diary also mentioned a series of underground auctions that were scheduled to be held downtown. Apparently, Pierre Rouet had been hired by a cult-like organization that was illegally acquiring occult relics so they could sell them to the highest bidders.”
I swallowed hard. This was news for me. Deeply disturbing news. I had been so busy dealing with the aftermath of my little trip to Switzerland—and the unpleasant case of my possession—that it had somehow slipped under my radar.
“Do you have any idea who might be organizing these auctions?”
“We don’t have many details. Only a name.”
She inched closer, her dark eyes darting from side to side as if frightened we might be overhead. “Have you ever heard of a group called the Crimson Circle?”
10
I gripped the table, the veins in my hands standing out. Blood roared in my ears.
How could I ever forget the horrific organization that had brought us to this city in the first place? Their actions had transformed this place into the Cursed City. Skulick and I had thwarted the cult’s plans to open a gateway to hell but failed to prevent them from tearing a breach between the two worlds. Though weak, it allowed creatures of darkness and other hellish forces to slip through and invade our reality. There was a reason why supernatural activity was so much higher in the Cursed City than anywhere else in the world.
Skulick and I had broken up their organization over a year ago when we interrupted their infernal ritual. With most of their leadership dead in the wake of our confrontation, the cult had disbanded. Or so we had foolishly believed. Clearly that wasn’t the case if Aria was right about these occult auctions. Somehow the Crimson Circle had managed to survive and was spreading the seeds of their evil. The thought of hundreds of wealthy freaks getting their hands on dangerous occult objects made my stomach knot with anxiety.
“You’re familiar with this cult, aren’t you?” Aria said.
>
“Let’s just say our paths have crossed.” I rose to my feet, unable to disguise the urgency in my voice.
Aria regarded me with curiosity. “You haven’t finished your coffee, Mr. Raven.”
“I need to get to work. I’m going to check out one of these auctions, see if I can find out more about them. Most likely our killer purchased the skull at one of these events.”
“And let me guess, you believe the skull of the Devil’s Executioner took possession of this buyer, giving him superhuman abilities?”
“I think the killings speak for themselves, wouldn’t you agree?”
I was about to turn away when Aria grabbed my arm. For a beat, I was acutely aware of her physical presence, and I inhaled the faint scent of her perfume over the smell of coffee beans. She smelled great, like citrus and flowers.
“I would like to work with you on this case,” Aria said.
I shook my head. “I’m sorry, but no. I’ll be in touch.”
Before Aria could protest, I was already on my way out the door. The FBI agents immediately jumped to attention, ready to block me, but Aria wisely waved them off. I wasn’t in the mood to butt heads with the Feds today.
As I mounted the Ducati, Cyon popped up in my rear-view mirror.
“Aria isn’t stupid. Why do humans refuse to acknowledge the dark forces even when the evidence is staring them in the face?”
“It’s the twenty-first century, the age of science and reason and cat videos.”
“It seems to me that in your attempt to root out your superstitious past, you decided to face the future with a pair of blinders.”
“That’s the human race for you, buddy. One hot mess.”
“Yet you desperately cling to your beliefs and illusions.”
“It helps us get through the night.”
“Not you, though. I’ve seen your nightmares, Raven.”
All part of the job, I thought grimly.
“Perhaps. It does make me wonder how you ever manage to get any sleep. You know the terrible truth, you’ve glimpsed the darkness hiding behind the curtain of reality. Yet you keep on fighting…”
Skull Master (Shadow Detective Book 5) Page 6
