Demon Dawn
A Shadow Detective Novel
WILLIAM MASSA
Critical Mass Publishing
Copyright © 2017 by WILLIAM MASSA
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
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Contents
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
About the Author
Also by WILLIAM MASSA
1
The tires of my Equus Bass screeched to a halt as I pulled up to the imposing stone steps of the Museum of World History. Gothic arches and other majestic architectural flourishes were designed to awe visitors. Even someone as cynical as me couldn’t avoid feeling a little impressed.
I parked my car and got out. As I approached the structure on foot, I barely registered the banners announcing an upcoming Egyptian Exhibit. There were glimpses of eerie mummies, pyramids and ornately decorated sarcophagi. I used to be a sucker for that stuff until I faced my first crazed mummy back in Cairo. My job sure can suck the joy out of childhood fantasies.
The area in front of the museum resembled a warzone. Everywhere I looked I saw police cruisers, flashing sirens, armed SWAT teams and tight-lipped officers with their firearms drawn. This crowd hadn’t gathered here today to take advantage of some group discount; something bad was going down. The fact that Detective Benson had contacted me less than thirty minutes ago with an order to get my ass down here was my first clue that the threat was of a supernatural nature. The second clue was the mark of Morgal, the scar the arch-demon had branded me with when I was but a child, which flared up the moment I stepped out of the car.
Dark forces were at work, that much was certain. And judging by the armed SWAT presence, this wasn’t a mere occult murder scene. A force not of this world was still active within the museum.
My eyes searched the crowd, and I zeroed in on the tall African-American detective who was my liaison with the force. About a year earlier, an apocalyptic cult had tried to tear a hole between our world and the dimension of darkness in this very city. My mentor Skulick and I had interrupted the Crimson’s Circle infernal ritual, saving the city from a demonic invasion. But our victory had been bittersweet at best—the cult’s black magic ceremony had weakened the barrier between the two worlds. Ever since that fateful day, this place had become a hotbed for supernatural activity. In other words, poor Detective Benson had seen some crazy shit since Skulick and I showed up in his town.
For that reason—and many others—the law shared a love-and-hate relationship with yours truly. The authorities both appreciated my help and resented that I was needed in the first place. Hey, I couldn’t blame them. Paranormal trouble seemed to follow me like a shadow, infecting not just me but the people I cared about as well. Nevertheless, Benson seemed to have warmed up to me lately. He’d never admit this to my face, but I think he was beginning to realize that I was here to help. I wasn’t part of the problem but part of the solution. Just like the armed men around me, I spent my days and nights keeping this city safe from the nightmares that threatened its citizens.
I sidled up to Benson, who was barking orders at his men. A group of cops fell in step with the SWAT team, the armed men preparing for a direct assault of the museum.
“Just another night on the job, huh?”
Benson’s steely gaze landed on me, devoid of any humor. Maybe I’d overestimated how much the man had warmed up to me.
“You’re late,” he growled. “My boys are just about to go in.”
“Care to fill me in on what we’re up against here?”
Benson turned away from his men and led me to a mobile command center. A group of officers were hunched over flickering monitors and other computer equipment. Benson nodded at one of the techies, and the man pulled up a video on his screen. The main exhibit floor of the museum appeared, filled with Egyptian cultural artifacts. Ornate burial urns, stone masks, and statues of mythological figures abounded.
My gaze ticked from the jackal-headed god Anubis to the large, highly adorned golden sarcophagus at the center of the exhibit floor. A crowd of museum visitors was milling around the ancient coffin. The angles of the scene kept changing, the footage apparently courtesy of the museum’s many security cams.
Suddenly, a group of armed men filled the display area. The audio kicked in, and I heard the phalanx of men barking orders at the crowd in accented English. The language sounded a lot like Arabic. Over the years, I’d traveled the globe hunting monsters with Skulick, and I’d picked up snippets of almost every language. Hunting demons and ghosts across the planet sure as hell beat your average college degree.
“About an hour ago, a group of terrorists attacked the museum,” Benson explained. “And that’s when things started to get really weird.”
On-screen, the terrorists opened fire at the ceiling. Visitors screamed and ran for their lives. One of the armed intruders, a bald, goatee-wearing individual whose eyes shone with a fanatical glee, broke open a nearby display case and removed a ceremonial dagger. He stepped up to the ancient coffin and began to chant in a language that definitely wasn’t Arabic.
A chill shot up my spine. Occult rituals can have that effect on me nowadays. Chanting is always a precursor to the real horror.
The terrorist leader cut a deep gash into the palm of his outstretched hand with the ceremonial dagger. Blood drizzled onto the coffin and the lid began to vibrate. I clenched my teeth, unable to look away. What horror were these fanatics unleashing upon the world? I was afraid I already knew—and I was not in the mood to deal with another mummy.
A heartbeat later, the lid slid open and a bandaged arm exploded from the golden coffin. A figure dragged itself from the sarcophagus, a mummified horror from another age. Screams filled the museum as the image onscreen started to break up, lines of static multiplying across the screen.
The terrorist leader kept chanting despite the mounting horror in his voice. Fanatical fool. Then a bestial roar drowned out all other sounds. Something ancient and monstrous had been awoken from its long slumber. Bursts of staccato gunfire followed, and then the screaming began in earnest.
The screen went dark.
Benson gave me a long look, his mouth etched into a grim line. “Less than an hour ago, all security cams inside the museum went offline. No one has left the building since. We don’t know how many people are still alive in there. Ten minutes ago, we sent in our first SWAT team. We lost contact with them almost immediately. Whatever horror these fanatics unleashed, it’s still in there. And it managed to take out a whole team of highly trained men.”
I considered Benson’s words as I studied the group of men ready to follow their lost brothers into battle—they were little more than sacrificial lambs headed for the slaughter. I doubted they would fare much better against Egyptian black magic than the first team.
“Any idea whose sarcophagus was on display in there?” I asked. Information was power in any conflict. The sooner I understood who—or rather what—we were up against, the sooner I could figure out a way to stop it.
Benson looked down at a notepad. “The pharaoh Khafer Namer from the Early Dynastic period. Rumored to have dabbled in sorcery and black magic rituals, according to the museum press kit. They were playing up the black magic angle to bring visitors to the exhibit.”
I shook my head. That sure had backfired. The museum’s attempt to sell tickets had caught the attention of the wrong group of fanatics.
“The name mean anything to you?” Benson asked.
I shook my head. Truth be told, not really. Since my Cairo adventure, I had stayed clear of Egyptian magic. I didn’t quite know what I was up against here but past experiences had proven that both my blessed pistol Hellseeker, which had been forged from a holy sword, and my protective magical ring, the Seal of Solomon, could be quite effective against nightmares from a variety of pantheons. I had also brought my silver dagger along. Armed with these three weapons, I felt ready to face the horrors waiting for me within the museum.
“I’m going in alone,” I said.
“SWAT has been chomping at the bit to do their thing. They don’t leave their men behind.”
Their men are dead, I thought fatalistically but kept my mouth shut.
I couldn’t blame the armed men impatiently eying the museum. Their brothers in arms were inside, but they were stuck out here. No matter how brave they were, their armor and weapons would barely slow down the creature the Egyptian terrorists had unleashed. Luckily, what I lacked in overall firepower, I made up for with occult knowledge and magical weaponry.
“How much time can you give me?” I asked.
Benson exchanged a quick glance with the SWAT commander before shifting his attention back to me. “You have ten minutes.”
Ten minutes to face down an ancient Egyptian monster that had most likely destroyed a whole SWAT team. Piece of cake.
I turned away from the armed team. They watched in what I liked to think was impressed silence as I made my way to the museum’s main entrance. I felt their stares, sensed their begrudging respect. Perhaps they didn’t quite know what to make of the bearded, trench coat wearing, slightly rumpled occult expert, but it takes a certain amount of courage to walk into the dark places of the world when you know monsters are waiting inside. Me and the boys in blue had that in common.
Soon I was navigating the labyrinthine exhibit halls of the museum. The building, as much as the ancient artifacts it housed, conveyed a sense of history. I could feel the weight of the centuries at my back as I explored the dimly lit space. The past was alive within these walls.
Literally.
I hurried through the first chamber, past the creepy Egyptian artifacts. The beast-headed statues cast grotesquely distorted shadows, the ancient artwork’s dark power palpable. My footsteps rang hollowly as I picked up my pace.
I stumbled upon the first body in the next room. The downed SWAT officer’s lifeless, bulging eyes stared blankly into mine, his MP5 machine pistol cast aside. Bullets pockmarked the walls, and several priceless artifacts had been damaged beyond repair.
As I edged deeper into the darkness, more bodies followed. I kneeled before one of the corpses, my guard up. Deep bluish marks had discolored the skin around the dead man’s neck. Almost as if he he’d been strangled to death. Several other bodies showed similar wounds. There were no other signs of violence, no blood.
My gaze combed the museum floor. Moonlight seeped through a large skylight overhead, painting a lattice of flickering shadows across the exhibit. It was designed to recreate an ancient embalming chamber, with a long gruesome hook, canoptic jars, and other tools for making mummies laid out as if waiting to be used. The mummified remains of the long dead peered out from display cases and open coffins.
I didn’t blame the museum for capitalizing on the macabre. Mummies sold tickets. Unfortunately, there were fresh corpses scattered throughout the exhibit, and one of the mummies was walking around in search of more victims. It wouldn’t hesitate to add me to the grisly collection of the dead in this room.
I was thrust out of dark musings as something stirred in the far corner of the room. A shadow flared across the wall, moving too quickly for me to see what it was. My eyes darted from side to side, searching. I heard a noise that might have been the sound of bandage-wrapped bones moving in the darkness—or it might have been my imagination.
Get a grip, Raven, I told myself.
And then all hell broke loose.
2
My first impulse was to whip out Hellseeker and start firing, but I didn’t draw my blessed weapon yet. I needed to know what I was dealing with first, and that meant standing my ground and letting the thing reveal itself.
I had no idea what would be going through the mind of an ancient pharaoh-sorcerer brought back to life after millennia asleep. Maybe I’d ask it before the thing clawed my face off. Judging by the number of corpses lining the floor, the recently risen didn’t exactly think happy thoughts.
The creature shuffled toward me, silent as smoke. The mummy moved differently from other monsters I’d faced. I was reminded of a ghost, but there was also a strong sense of physicality to the creature, the grave-like presence of a zombie fused with the ethereal swiftness of a spectral entity. I drew Hellseeker then and mentally braced myself for the impending attack.
About ten feet separated us when the mummy finally pounced. I had been waiting for the creature to rush me head-on, the way the undead usually did in a fight, but the attack was far more unexpected. The moldy bandages, which gave the animated remains form and shape, began to writhe and twist. One of the bandages unfurled, possessed with a life of its own, and shot out at me like a whip. It snapped around my neck like the tentacle of a deep-sea monster and began to squeeze.
I now understood how the mummy had taken out an entire SWAT team. The bandages had wrapped around the men’s necks and cut off their oxygen supply before they could return fire. An immense pressure pushed against my throat. Dark stars danced before my eyes.
I crumpled to my knees, gasping for air. At this rate, I would be done for in a matter of seconds. Fortunately, help came from an unexpected direction. Above me, the skylight shattered, and a team of armed SWAT rappelled toward the museum floor, machine pistols blazing. Staccato gunfire bashed the exhibit, and the mummy was lashed by bullets. They wouldn’t be able to cause any permanent harm, but the shots sent the creature stumbling backward.
The hold around my neck loosened, and I waved weakly at the SWAT team. It seemed as though the ten minutes Benson had promised me were up.
“Thanks for dropping in,” I croaked.
“What the hell is that thing?” one of the SWAT officers asked. Outfitted in body armor and night vision goggles, he looked like a giant insect.
I brought up my silver dagger and severed the bandage around my neck. The cut end snapped back, vanishing into the shadows. I struggled to suck in a sharp lungful of air, reality swimming in and out of focus. Before I could answer the man’s question, more bandages rippled through the air. Two wrapped around the nearest officers and crushed their necks with an audible crunch. Something exploded in me as the two men, who had saved my life only moments before, went down in a lifeless heap.
Furious, I catapulted back to my feet.
Hellseeker swept the museum.
Locked on the mummy.
I squeezed the trigger, and my blessed bullets tore through the creature, sending it reeling into the darkness. A trio of undulating bandages, which had been choking the life out of three other SWAT members, now let go of their vi
ctims and whipped back toward the revenant’s body. The newly released men let out audible gasps as they inhaled precious oxygen.
I made sure the remaining men were unharmed before I followed the retreating mummy. My bullets had hurt the creature. The time had come to put an end to this horror and send the Egyptian sorcerer back to the darkness in which he’d dwelled for millennia.
One man versus a monster beyond human comprehension. I wouldn’t have it any other way.
I entered the adjoining display chamber, the sound of the moaning SWAT officers receding behind me. Up ahead, I spotted an open sarcophagus in the center of the room. This was where it had all started.
My eyes combed the blackness, searching, searching. Unfortunately, all I found were more bodies. Dead museum visitors had fallen alongside the terrorists who had unleashed this madness from another age. What misguided cause had compelled these fools to draw on the powers of some ancient nightmare?
I wiped a film of perspiration from my brow and pressed forward. The darkness felt alive and seemed to be reaching out to me like black talons. Somewhere in the surrounding blackness, I knew death waited for me. It was only a matter of time before the mummy would strike again. But I was ready for the beast. I had hurt the creature, that much was certain. Next time, I would finish it.
I sensed movement in the dark and whirled to face it.
Fluttering sounds filled the air, like the beating of many wings. Something hurtled toward me. It wasn’t one of the mummy’s animated bandages. A winged shape the size of bird slammed into me, followed by the agony of sharp teeth burying themselves into the flesh of my arm. The pain made me lose my grip on Hellseeker and my glowing pistol hit the museum floor.
Demon Dawn (Shadow Detective Book 4) Page 1
