I’d won the first battle, but I was a long way from winning the war.
The flames died down around me as I faced Malcasta. I twitched my fingers, and Demon Slayer erupted from the snow and shot into my waiting demon hand.
“Why are you helping this mortal, demon? And how do you know magic?” Malcasta demanded to know. She was looking at me, but I knew she was seeing Cyon.
“This mortal is my partner. And I hate witches.”
And with these words, I lashed out with the sword. The blade cleaved the air, and Malcasta dodged a series of my rapid-fire attacks, flitting around the steel blade like a dervish.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the exorcists digging themselves out of their snowy graves. Archer’s head and hand poked from the ice and with a vicious crack, her whip shot out, the end wrapping around a nearby tree. Using the Witch Whip, she pulled herself out of the frozen hole.
That’s my girl, I thought.
“Focus, Raven,” Cyon chided me.
As I circled Malcasta, sword out and ready, Archer and the exorcists decimated the witches that my fireball hadn’t finished. The tide of the battle was turning. But the most dangerous enemy remained on her feet. Malcasta was a long way from giving up, judging by her hateful expression. As long as she was wielding the Ice Witch’s heart, she remained in control of the situation. It was high time I evened the odds. I needed a distraction.
Almost as if Archer had read my mind, the Witch Whip lashed out and touched Malcasta’s robe. The impact tore a large chunk of fabric from the billowing mantle, revealing the stripped flesh underneath.
The witch cried out, more in irritation than in pain. I seized on her momentary distraction and lunged, Demon Slayer having become an extension of my arm. The blade sank into the swirling robe and found the body underneath the living fabric.
Malcasta gasped as her skinned hands gripped the steel, stopping me from driving the sword deeper into her. Her strength was formidable. So was mine—and I had a partner in this fight. It was two against one now. My eyes narrowed into determined slits, and I tapped into Cyon’s centuries-old hatred of witches. With a ferocious roar, more beast than man, my demon hand tore into Malcasta’s chest and closed around the pulsating Witch’s Heart. I tore the crystal free and hurled it aside. The relic landed in the snow about sixty feet away.
Furious, Malcasta head-butted me full force. As I slumped, winded, she raised her hand to snatch up the witch’s heart with her magic.
“I’m so sorry, Malcasta,” Cyon’s words of apology caught both the witch and myself off guard. “I’m sorry that I wasn’t there for you when you needed me.”
Her gaze went black. “What game are you playing now, demon?”
I was asking myself the same question.
“I once loved your mother.”
The witch froze. “No,” she breathed.
“She never talked about your father, did she? Did she ever mention the Templar Knight she seduced and turned into an agent of darkness, only to turn her back on him?”
At times like this, I really wished Cyon would clue me in on his plans before he sprang them. Was he playing a mind game with Malcasta, or was he telling the truth? Had the Ice Witch been the one who betrayed Cyon all those centuries ago? And were Damona and Malcasta the unfortunate fruit of their unholy union?
“You’re lying, demon.”
“I’m telling you the truth. My name is Cyon, and I am your father.”
The truth sank in even for me. Bavmara was the Ice Witch!
Before Malcasta could answer him, Archer’s whip whistled through the air again.
Malcasta pivoted in the direction of the sound. The blazing dark eyes in her skinned face widened. This time Archer wasn’t aiming for Malcasta but the Ice Witch’s heart. The tail of her magical whip connected with the relic, and the blue crystal shattered.
While she was still stunned, my hand shot out and closed around the shimmering orb hanging off Malcasta’s necklace. With a savage snarl, I yanked the jewel containing Skulick’s soul from her neck. The orb felt hot to the touch, my partner’s life force still strong despite his magical imprisonment.
As the Ice Witch’s Heart shattered, Malcasta’s cry of defeat reverberated through the frozen park. My attention was fixed on the Cursed City’s skyline. Within seconds, the steel towers lit up like Christmas trees as the technology stripped from our reality returned.
Without the heart, the effects of Malcasta’s spell had reversed themselves. I felt the reassuring weight of my cell back in my pocket. Sometimes I hated how addicted folks had become to their devices, but I could have kissed the screen of my phone in that moment.
Above us, the lightning storm abated, and it stopped snowing.
“It’s over, my child. You’ve lost,” Cyon said.
Malcasta glared at me. I was eager to bring down my sword on the spell-slinger, but it was the demon’s turn to hesitate.
“She is my daughter,” Cyon said.
Are you kidding me, bud?
My muscles locked up, unable to drive the sword into the crazy witch. Fortunately, nothing was holding Archer back. She snuck up on Malcasta, the whip coiled in her hand. Any second now, she would strike…
Sensing the danger, Malcasta raised the arm of her robe and transformed into a flock of crows. The black birds blasted into the night air and vanished into the darkness.
I had let her escape. Well, technically Cyon had let her escape.
Grim certainty gripped me—we hadn’t seen the last of the witch. I also sensed I’d be having a serious heart-to-heart with my demon buddy in the near future. No more secrets. No more lies.
I walked up to Archer, and to my surprise, she wrapped herself around me in a fierce embrace. For a moment, the park turned battlefield faded, our world reduced to the heat of our bodies and the passion between us as my lips met hers.
We pulled away from the kiss with reluctance. I saw my own conflicted emotions mirrored in Archer’s eyes. Passion. Fear. Uncertainty. And…love? There was another conversation I’d need to have soon.
My eyes found an exorcist still struggling to climb out of the snowy hole that had opened beneath him. It was none other than Father Cabrera, a little disheveled but no worse for wear. He spotted me in the same moment and raised his cross.
My features grew taut with determination. I couldn’t do this anymore. Couldn’t keep running, keep looking over my shoulder. I refused to be to hunted like a monster for the rest of my days. Mind made up, I strode toward Cabrera, slipped off my glove and held out my demon hand at the exorcist.
“Truce?” I asked.
There was a moment of hesitation before Cabrera’s hand clasped my demon claw, and he allowed me to pull him out of the frozen hole. The temperatures had already jumped up. Soon the snow would melt and the park would look the way it should this early in the fall.
I faced Cabrera and the other stunned exorcists. Archer stood between us, her eyes flickering with hope.
I took a deep breath. “It’s true that I’m possessed, but not in the usual way. Cyon has joined us in our battle against the darkness. We have saved you all twice now. I might be a little different, but I’m still the same man. And I will keep fighting the nightmares that plague this city. All I ask of you is to let me do my job.”
I turned away from the crowd of stunned Vatican commandos. I didn’t think they were going to shoot me in the back with their newly returned guns.
“Where are you going?” Cabrera called out after me.
I held up the glowing orb without turning around. “My partner needs me.”
And with these words, I walked out of the park, the orb containing Skulick’s soul secure in my gloved demon hand. Archer fell in step beside me, her crossbow slung over one shoulder and the coiled Witch Whip in her hand.
We had defeated Malcasta, but it was just a matter of time before a new monster would descend on this city. The influence of the Crimson Circle was growing, and my inevitable confron
tation with Morgal was drawing closer.
Dark days loomed ahead, but I wouldn’t be facing them alone.
THE END
Mike Raven will return.
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Crimson Circle
1
The Hummer I’d stolen—I mean borrowed—from the White Crescent cut through the snow-covered city, the streets wet and slick with melting ice. At each turn, plumes of grey slush splashed the sidewalks, and the wind howled down the urban canyons.
A witch’s spell had transformed the Cursed City into a winter wonderland during the night, but with her magic gone, the snow was quickly evaporating. The first rays of sunlight had already lanced the awakening city, and the temperatures were returning to normal for this time of year. By noon, most of the slush would have vanished down the city’s storm drains.
Malcasta, the witch in question, had escaped, but at least we had thwarted her plan of turning back the clock on mankind’s technological progress. I shuddered as the skinned features of the monstrous witch slashed through my mind. Her bloody visage joined the rogue’s gallery of evil beings I’d faced over the years. The memories of those battles haunted me every time I closed my eyes.
Hey, I never said this monster hunting gig was easy.
Beside me, Archer pointed to the early morning commuters bustling to work. Judging by the city dwellers’ sleepy expressions, they remained blissfully unaware of last night’s horrors.
“None of them have any idea what happened?” she asked.
“It’s better that way. Life has to go on.”
I shifted my attention to the glowing crystal orb nestled in Archer’s hands. Despite our victory, our greatest challenge still lay ahead—returning Skulick’s soul to his comatose body. The witch had imprisoned my partner’s soul in the crystal. I’d successfully reclaimed it from her during our final battle in the park. Waves of faint blue light bled from the orb, lending Archer’s features a wax-like quality. It made her look like a stranger, and I fought back another shiver.
“Relax, kid,” the demon inside of me chimed in. “We still have time to save Skulick.”
According to my demonic partner, we had forty-eight hours to reunite Skulick’s soul with his body. I had managed to defeat the infernal coven in half that time, so we were still in the clear.
At least in theory.
I couldn’t be certain, but I thought the light from the orb was growing dimmer. And I still had no idea how we were going to return Skulick’s soul to his physical form. I was secretly counting on Cyon’s magic. The grimoire tucked in the pocket of my trench coat gave off a burst of heat, almost as if it knew what I was thinking about.
I was still struggling with how much my world had changed over the last twenty-four hours. I mentally ticked down the list of recent revelations which had rocked my reality: Cyon had once been a human. Not just any old human, but a medieval Templar Knight and fellow monster hunter like myself who had ultimately fallen under the spell of a witch and turned to the darkness. Bavmara, the ice witch, had taught Cyon the ways of black magic. The demon had revealed his ability to cast spells with the help of a book of magic we’d recovered on an earlier case. Between the blessed sword we’d acquired in the devil’s bank back in Switzerland, Cyon’s demon powers, my extensive knowledge of the occult, and the ghoul’s grimoire, we might have a fighting chance against the archdemon Morgal.
“Vengeance will be ours soon!”
Those were Cyon’s words, but they could as well have been my own.
Morgal had slaughtered my parents two decades ago. He had abandoned Cyon after the vampire Marek had trapped him in a binding circle to feed on him. We both had a good reason to want the duke of Hell dead.
Although I thought we were ready to do battle with Morgal, I wasn’t sure how Cyon planned to conjure his former master. Would the magical power of the ghoul’s grimoire be up to the task? Or would we need the other two copies of the Daemonium, which were currently under lock and key at the Vatican?
The sharp honk of a fast approaching car pulled me out of my musings. I had blasted through a red light and narrowly avoided an accident.
“I know you’re worried about Skulick, but you better get your head on straight. It would be pretty pathetic to defeat one of the most powerful witches in the world only to end up as road killffff. We have time…”
Cyon kept saying that, but my doubts remained. A dark sense of foreboding was settling into my bones, and no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t shake it.
Archer reached out to me, her fingers closing around my gloved demon hand on the steering wheel. Her touch, the sense of connection, calmed me more than the demon’s words ever could. I breathed in her presence and fought back the overwhelming need to bury my head in her shoulder.
“It will be okay,” she said, and in that moment, I believed her.
Just goes to show you how wrong a person can be.
2
It was a little past eight in the morning when we finally pulled up to the loft. In the brilliant sunlight, the structure looked gutted. Malcasta and her coven had shattered every window during their attack. Fixing it would cost a pretty penny, but that was the least of my worries at the moment. Seeing the loft in this state drove it all home. Life would never go back to the way it used to be. Even if we could save Skulick, I doubted he would welcome me with open arms. As long as the demon remained inside of me, I would be…compromised. Tainted. Skulick might stop hunting me, the way Father Cabrera had, but would he trust me ever again?
Archer offered me a reassuring smile as she handed me the orb. I nodded at her, hoping my expression looked more confident than I felt. We climbed out of the Hummer and headed toward the loft’s rear entrance. I usually entered through the underground garage, and it felt weird using the back door instead. As I inserted the key into the lock, I focused my thoughts on the demon.
So tell me, Cyon, how do we do this? Do we crack this orb over his head and recite some prayer?
“It’s a little more complicated than that, Raven. Just leave that part up to me.”
I was hoping Cyon would know what to do next, but leaving things in his hands—metaphorically speaking—also heightened my anxiety. I guess I’m not big on delegating.
It’s not that I was worried he might double-cross me. I trusted the demon…to an extent. Knowing that Cyon had once upon a time been human and one of the good guys was reassuring. But then again, he had allowed himself to be seduced by Malcasta’s mother. Yeah, that’s right. The demon who had been hitching a ride inside me for the last few months turned out to be the father of the skinned witch who almost destroyed this city. And as the saying goes, the apple doesn’t fall too far from the tree.
I turned the key and opened the loft’s backdoor entrance. According to Archer, Father Cabrera had left a team of his exorcist commandos behind to guard our base and protect Skulick. I hoped Cabrera had informed his men that I wasn’t their enemy anymore.
I flicked on the light, revealing a large training facility. A variety of monster hunting weapons lined one wall. Racks of weights and workout equipment gathered dust on the other side of the spacious chamber. Punching bags hung limply in the dark space. How many times had I staggered out of this place with a bloody nose after a sparring session with Skulick? Over the years, I had donated buckets of sweat and blood here, but it had been a long time since I had set foot inside. In fact, I could barely remember the last time I’d trained in the facility.
On an average day, I went
straight from the underground garage to the second floor that served as our living space and command center, bypassing the workout chambers. Even before I was forced to go on the run, work had kept me busy in the field. Who needs a workout when you have homicidal ghosts and witches to battle?
As soon as I entered the space, I knew something was wrong. It wasn’t just neglected; something bad had happened here recently. The cloying stench of cordite hung in the air. My throat tightened as I traded a quick, alarmed look with Archer.
Instinctively, I reached for my blessed pistol, reassured by Hellseeker’s weight in my hand. Archer’s fingers closed on the Witch Whip looped around her belt. Moving silently, we crept up the emergency staircase instead of the lift.
My stomach churned as I climbed the flight of stairs, expecting some monstrous evil to peel from the shadows at a moment’s notice. I reached the top and entered the main floor of the loft. Relief turned to horror as my worst suspicions stood confirmed. Corpses lay sprawled across the floor, blood pooling around the broken bodies of the exorcists that Father Cabrera had left behind to guard Skulick. Milky sunlight shafted through the shattered windows, exposing every detail of the massacre.
“What happened here?” Archer said in a voice drained of all emotion.
I shook my head, unable to find the words. While we were battling Malcasta in the park, another enemy had struck.
Man, I just couldn’t catch a break.
Cautiously, I advanced deeper into the loft, gun up, eyes alert as I swept the area for survivors—or lingering bad guys.
Judging by the bullet-riddled bodies littering the floor this enemy hadn’t used magic, fangs or teeth to take out Cabrera’s team. These were warrior-priests, trained by the Vatican to face the worst that Hell threw at them, but they weren’t invulnerable. Volleys of hot lead had cut a deadly swath through the loft. The walls pockmarked with bullet holes. Miraculously, my partner’s bank of computers remained intact, the screens flickering with incoming new reports—a touch of normalcy among the madness. I accidentally stepped in a pool of sticky blood, my shoes leaving scarlet footprints on the hardwood floor.
Shadow Detective Supernatural Dark Urban Fantasy Series: Books 7-9 (Shadow Detective Boxset Book 3) Page 13
