Graves Pact (Landon Graves Book 1)

by Matthew Stinson

  They lifted me onto a gurney that was only slightly more comfortable than the ground. A few minutes after they strapped an oxygen mask on my face, I managed to open my eyes on my own. I was parked right behind an ambulance—and right next to Oliver Pontas.

  “What the hell happened in there?” one of my paramedics asked one of Oliver’s.

  The hawkish woman shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t know. Looks like a bomb went off. Maybe a gas leak?”

  A bomb... that’s good. I’ll put that in the report, I thought numbly. Explaining away a demon attack would take all of my skill as an agent and a warlock.

  “How’s your guy?”

  “He’s all shot up, but... his pulse and breathing are steady. BP is low, but stable. I think he’s going to make it.”

  I snorted, guessing that while Berith possessed him, it had healed Oliver as much as it could before deciding to abandon him. I wasn’t sure if that was good or bad news for me, but I couldn’t hang onto the thought. The very nice paramedic had put something wonderful into an IV for me.

  “What about the woman?”

  “She seemed fine, but they’re taking her to St. Pauline just to be sure.”

  Regina had made it out. That was all I needed to hear. The cover-up, the aftermath, the reckoning—everything else—could wait. I let the drugs do their work and drifted off to sweet, pain-free unconsciousness.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Following the sage advice of my doctor, I decided to take a week off, delaying the paperwork for a few more days. Phil drove me home and I spent that time recovering faster than a human had any right to. I wrote up a report and slept, doing little else but recover.

  I crawled out of bed late on Sunday and it all finally caught up with me. I didn’t have medication to befuddle my brain or reports to fabricate. I was alone with the memories of demons, fire, and destruction.

  A bottle of Johnny Walker stared at me from the top of my fridge, but I needed a hangover about as much as a lead lobotomy. Hiding from my shitty situation—from my pain—hadn’t done me any good in the past. It wouldn’t help now.

  I thought about the case, the loose ends I hadn’t wrapped up. Picking up the phone, I left a message for Mendoza at her precinct and she gave me a call back an hour later.

  “Hello detective,” I said. “Sorry about that vague message. I guess you’re probably wondering why I called.”

  “Oh, I know exactly why you called,” she replied coolly. “You wanted to tell me why you cut and ran when you figured out we had a bum lead.”

  “I didn’t know Adrian’s kidnapping was a diversion. It was only a hunch,” I said, attempting not to sound too defensive. “And if I was wrong…”

  “Yeah,” she relented with a sigh. “I get it. You covered all your bases.” Her voice began to heat up. “Still, you should get a radio in your car. A heads up might’ve helped. Once I knew there wasn’t a demonic presence with the kid, I could have backed you up.”

  “How was he?” I asked to change the subject. I was well aware that I needed to get a radio or phone in my car. Phil gave me an earful about it on the ride home. I also knew I did the right thing in leaving given the circumstances.

  “Adrian was with a nanny working off the books. Oliver contacted her earlier in the week. She had no idea the boy had been abducted and abandoned. I got him back to Gwen.”

  “I bet she was pretty relieved,” I murmured. Mendoza got to return Gwen’s son. I had to shoot her ex-husband. I got the raw end of that deal. “Next time, you fight the demon and I’ll rescue the hostage.”

  “What next time?” she scoffed. “Whatever truce you think we had is off. I’ll tolerate you until I’m explicitly told otherwise, but if you cross the line… you’ll get an express ticket to Hell.”

  The dial tone droned before I could utter any kind of response. At least I knew where I stood with Mendoza. I couldn’t ask for a better insurance policy against Alastor.

  The only mystery that remained was Bryce. That son-of-a-bitch wizard had managed to disappear, but I had his home address. I had plenty of questions for him and the anger evoked felt a lot better than misery and guilt.

  A talent like Bryce’s was sobering. I got all my power by signing away my soul. His arcane might came with that ultra-rare combination of innate genius and diligent practice. Despite telling myself that he had his reasons, I was still pissed at him. He’d used and manipulated me, putting my life at risk by making me demon bait. If I didn’t get some answers, I’d stew on it until I burst.

  I picked up my phone once again and called the Campbell residence. Deep breaths did little to alleviate my anger, but I knew I wouldn’t get my answers if I started yelling. Bryce’s father answered the phone.

  “Mr. Campbell, I need to speak with your son,” I said with tight, clipped words.

  He snorted, apparently knowing enough about to me to be mad. “I don’t have to put up with this—”

  “If you care about the safety of your son,” I interrupted harshly, “you’ll let me have my say and get my answers.”

  “Are you threatening my son?”

  I hadn’t meant it as a threat, but with my tone, it sure sounded like one. “You know as well as I do that the forces your son plays with are dangerous. Pissing off devils and demons is not a good idea for someone who wants to lives long.”

  “I’ll repeat my question,” the father said with barely restrained fury.

  “Oh, it won’t be me, Mr. Campbell,” I said. “But it could be someone or some thing I know. Believe it or not, I just want answers. Depending on what I hear, I might be inclined to go to bat for your son. Considering how reckless Bryce acts, you might want an FBI agent—and warlock—on your side.”

  The silence stretched a long time. “I’ll get Bryce, but you listen to me. If you hurt him or bring harm to him… I don’t care who or what you are, I will find you and kill you.”

  The primal diabolic instinct that rose in me demanded I answer his threat with one of my own, but I clamped my jaw shut and let him have the last word. After a few moments, I heard the phone being set down as the man called for his son. I picked up more, the galloping of feet coming down stairs, a warning from Mr. Campbell that they needed to talk, and finally the phone being lifted.

  “What do you want, G-man?” Bryce asked.

  “I want to know what part you had in the Lowry dorm fire.”

  With a voice a little too even and neutral, the teen replied, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Cut the shit,” I said. “I saw your little shield when Alastor had you on the ropes. I know that’s what caused the fire. I’m giving you a chance to explain your side of things.”

  “I’ve got nothing to say to you, warlock,” he spat back at me.

  “Haven’t I earned myself any slack?” I shouted into the receiver. “I faced a fucking demon lord by myself! No magic spells or Guardian Angels to back me up. Doesn’t that mean anything?”

  There was a long pause. “The Fallen would give a ton of mercy if it got them an ounce of trust they could exploit later. Don’t you get it? I can’t trust you. I can’t afford to.”

  I wanted to scream at him, but the little shithead was right. I rubbed my eyes wearily. “Yeah… yeah, I get it. You couldn’t come straight to me. You couldn’t—can’t—know how I really am. But you’re in the same boat, buddy. You’re pissing off some supernatural baddies and I happen to work for one of them. So tell me why you did what you did, so I can prepare to deal with the backlash.”

  Bryce remained silent and I could almost hear the cogs turning in his head as he thought it over. I blew out a long breath and said, “I’ll start. You just fill in some gaps. Oliver tried to open a Gate. You showed up a minute too soon and Oliver tried to fry you. You did the shield trick on instinct and it set half the building on fire.”

  “He had a torch wand. That’s a one-shot thing. Anyway, I was too late to stop the sacrifice, but I stopped the demon—sent it back
. It was powerful. I got the half-assed Gate closed, but Oliver got away.”

  The pieces began to drift together, but I was still putting them in the right order. Bryce was a decent kid, but he didn’t strike me as the noble sort. I realized he felt responsible.

  “It was your scroll. Oliver stole it from you somehow. Probably at the behest of an Exiled whispering poison into his mind. That’s why you went after him.” Like any riddle, it all made sense after you had the answer. “I bet you had Harkin in on it too. Anyone looking for the spell got sent straight to you, so you could get in on the investigation from multiple angles.”

  “You’re pretty smart for someone who sold his soul,” Bryce admitted. “That’s pretty much it.”

  Harkin had probably fed the teen information about me for a price. Maybe that was how the wizard knew what I was when we met. I wanted to be mad at the shopkeeper, but I should have known better. He was a businessman and information broker. I wondered what the information cost the young wizard.

  Realizing how complex Bryce’s game had been, I suddenly understood the kid better. He was gifted, but inexperienced. The attitude and mind games were just ways of keeping everyone off balance, so that no one saw through his false confidence to the scared kid beneath.

  “You screwed up.” It was a statement of fact, not theory. “And you couldn’t clean it up by yourself. The supernatural world is full of masks, illusions, and deception. You didn’t know who to trust. But you acted to minimize the consequences of that mistake.”

  Bryce’s voice came through strained. “Yeah.”

  “Then your heart was in the right place,” I said in resignation, the anger slowly evaporating. He did the same thing I would have if I’d had more power and less sense. “But your head was pretty far up your ass. Next time, just ask the right people for help.”

  “Sure thing. Next time. Right.”

  I hung up the phone and got out of my house. I needed to go somewhere, do something. As I drove, I decided I was sick of using blood for my rituals. Bryce had used something else. Maybe I could as well. I doubted that Bryce would share his trade secrets, so I’d have to figure it out on my own. I knew just where to go to start my own animal-friendly ritual kit.

  It was late when I limped into Harkin’s shop. I expected to find the blonde Goth clerk, but no one was manning the register as I entered. I lingered at the counter, trying to figure out what I was going to say to the mysterious shop owner.

  “Landon?” came a familiar voice.

  As I turned, I was surprised to see Regina Stanton. Suddenly, I forgot why I was in the shop. My mouth went dry and my mind went blank.

  “Regina…” I uttered, barely articulate. “W-what are you doing here?”

  She stood there with her arms full of books and it seemed somehow right. I took it as a good sign that she didn’t cringe at the sight of me. I thought I saw a slight smile on her face.

  Hurriedly, she walked behind the counter and unburdened herself of the aged tomes. “I work here now. I just started today.”

  “Oh,” I said, as eloquent as ever. “I thought you might… I don’t know… try to distance yourself from all the supernatural stuff.”

  She tilted her head and appraised me. “Why would I do that?”

  I gaped at her. Am I the only person who remembers what happened? “The whole near-death thing typically puts people off.”

  Regina adjusted her glasses. “Well, I suppose that would be the instinctual response. A ‘normal’ response maybe.” She leaned forward and propped her elbow on the counter. Eyes narrowing, she studied me intently. “You know what else wasn’t normal?”

  “Uh…” I said with a bad feeling about the direction of the conversation.

  “Well, for one, an FBI agent working alone,” she continued, her tone amused for a moment before becoming serious, “and for another, the nightmarish demon you tried to tackle.”

  “I was—The thing is—” I sputtered, “I wasn’t trying to tackle it.”

  “Oh?” she said with exaggerated interest. “What were you trying to do exactly? Because I remember some rather odds things.”

  “You mean besides the nightmarish demon?”

  She snorted an adorable laugh that betrayed a fragility about her. She was holding up incredibly well considering everything, but I saw that there was more beneath the calm surface. She put on her brave face and said, “Yes, besides that. Specifically the handfuls of napalm you threw at that… thing. You aren’t just an FBI agent, are you?”

  Staring into her inquisitive brown eyes for a long moment, I carefully considered my next few sentences. I wrestled with the guilt over my responsibility in involving her. The self-preservation instinct urged me to lie. Don’t enough people know the truth about me already?

  What’s one more going to hurt?

  It seemed my life was all about choosing the lesser of the evils.

  “No, I’m not just an FBI agent,” I admitted, watching some small amount of tension leave her shoulders. She nodded, eager for me to say more. I licked my lips and glanced around. Spotting no one, I ran out of excuses to keep stalling. “I’m a warlock.”

  “A warlock?” she asked, sounding a little let down. “What does that mean?”

  “It means I’ve sold my soul,” I said tentatively, watching her reaction closely.

  Her expression remained curious. “You sold your soul? To whom?”

  “A devil,” I said, the admission feeling like a weight being lifted.

  She gave me a flat look. “You’re going to have to be more specific than that.”

  “You know, evil, fire, horns, pacts,” I said. “What’s not specific about that?”

  A smile quirked her lips. “Your description applies to half a dozen mythological creatures. I swear, everything around here is so steeped in Christian mythology. You know of the Efreeti? Evil Jinn that grant wishes. How do you know you aren’t beholden to one of them?”

  “I… guess, I don’t really know.” I shook my head. “You really do belong in a place like this. Uh, how did you find this place by the way?” I asked in a transparent attempt to change the subject.

  There was a hint of a smile on her lips. “It doesn’t take a detective—or an FBI agent—to find it. I decided to check it out after you mentioned it. Harkin’s shop wasn’t listed in the business section of the phonebook, but I asked around in my circles. There were a few book dealers who knew of it.”

  I gave myself a mental kick for that slip up, but I got over it quickly. “It’s... good to see you. I mean, I’m glad you weren’t hurt.”

  “I’m fine,” she assured me. “Just a few scrapes and bruises. More than anything, I was… overwhelmed.”

  “Yeah, you and me both,” I muttered.

  “I… didn’t get to thank you,” she said. “For, uh… saving me.”

  “Don’t,” I responded immediately. “It was my fault you were in danger in the first place. And you’re the one who saved me.”

  She looked at me with her rich brown eyes, searching mine for something. “Landon… Would you like to get coffee sometime?”

  I was floored. Wondering if I’d misheard her, I stared blankly. After my brain turned over a few times and restarted, I said, “Uh, I’m not sure that’s such a good idea.”

  “Why not?”

  Though we clearly had the shop floor to ourselves, I replied quietly, “You know… I’m a warlock. A sell-soul. Hell-bound. All that jazz.”

  She arched an eyebrow. “I don’t understand. Is coffee poisonous to warlocks?”

  Did she just make a joke? “Well, no…”

  “So you have something personal against coffee? Or conversation with me?”

  “No. Coffee with you would be great,” I admitted, deciding that Regina’s invitation probably had something in common with her new job. “Though I can’t claim to be much of a conversationalist.”

  “I’m sure we’ll think of something to talk about.”

  I guessed she was th
e scholarly type trying to figure it all out. That cleared it up for me. Information was one of the only advantages mankind had in the face of the mind-bendingly bizarre things we lived with unknowingly.

  But that knowledge was dangerous. With the supernatural, ignorance shielded the masses against the otherworldly. Once I’d stepped into the parallel existence, I found myself wholly unprepared for the attention I’d garnered. I’d chosen to hide.

  If I’d learned anything from this last case, it was that I couldn’t hide anymore. Regina had the right idea, though it wouldn’t be easy. I found myself admiring her even more. She’d returned to the factory, faced Berith, and given me a weapon when I needed it the most. She had saved me.

  Realizing that I was staring, I awkwardly asked, “So, when should we…”

  “I have your card,” she said. “I’ll call. Did you need anything else?”

  I realized she was asking in her capacity as the newest employee of Harkin’s Antiques, Apothecary and Books. Knowing that I was forgetting something, I swept my gaze around. It escaped me.

  “Uh, no. Thank you,” I sputtered. “Have a good night.”

  “Good night, Landon.”

  Still somewhat stunned, I hobbled out of Harkin’s. The whole experience left me unsettled, but in an unexpectedly good way. I couldn’t remember the last time that had happened.

  I wondered if she was fascinated with me or if I actually just got an honest-to-god date.

  Epilogue

  It was Monday morning once again. I finished with the paperwork for the week from hell and presented it to one of my supervisors for approval. He sat down with Phil and me, going through it all; a typical debriefing for an atypical case.

  His diligence stressed me out, but the carefully crafted web of lies held. A psychotic serial killer with an occult fetish and a taste for bomb-making came off much more believably than a possessed amateur demon-summoner. My boss’s boss commended both of us on a job well done. Phil was anything but pleased with the way things played out on that last day.