Night Slayer: Midnight War

by William Massa

  The creature’s strategy was clear. Having decided that I was too dangerous, it was making a go for the driver.

  A deafening boom tore through the night as gunfire erupted from the windshield. Silver bullets slammed into the incoming beast, and I wasn’t the one who’d pulled the trigger. The reporter had emptied her firearm with one hand while driving with the other, but the slick gambit came at a price. She now fought the Jaguar into a screaming turn and side-swiped grass and shrubbery growing along the side of the roadway.

  The maneuver almost sent me flying again, but with lightning speed, I drove my two blades into the roof of the car, anchoring myself in place. With the other hand, I drilled a few more bullets into the downed gargoyle, taking advantage of the easy target it made on the side of the road.

  For a moment, I just sucked in the sweet night air, with its faint hint of the nearby ocean, and allowed the waves of adrenaline to subside.

  We did it. We had blown up the lodge and managed to escape in one piece. There was the matter of my nasty shoulder injury, but I had a feeling Octurna might be able to help me out on that front—or so I hoped.

  As my racing pulse settled, I slipped back into the car and traded a quick glance with the reporter. She sported a thousand-yard stare and barely acknowledge my presence. One hand white-knuckled the steering wheel while the other clutched the smoking handgun. She was a hell of a woman. Call me impressed.

  The reporter’s distant gaze cleared, feeling my attention on her. A hint of a smile curled her lips as she came back to the present moment. I returned the smile.

  “Well done, slayer.”

  I hated to admit, but I was glad to hear Octurna in my head again after the long silence. Thanks, boss, I communicated silently.

  “I see you made a new friend,” she continued. Was there a note of jealousy in Octurna’s voice? Then her tone softened. “You’re injured…”

  Yeah, some giant drilled me with his stinger.

  “Describe the creature.”

  Big. Pale. Muscular. Ugly as fuck. With tentacles…

  “Sounds like you fought a Nockmar… You’re lucky to be alive. You must immediately return to the Sanctuary. I will try to materialize the fortress.”

  What about the Nighthawk? I mentally asked. Hey, I’d gotten attached to my new set of wheels.

  “Don’t worry about it for the moment.”

  I sensed the reporter studying my expression, almost like she could sense the inner dialogue I was having with Octurna.

  Tell me what to do, I thought.

  “I will materialize at the end of the…”

  Octurna’s voice broke off, grew faint. What was happening? My mind turned blank as a migraine sprouted to life behind my eyeballs. I inhaled sharply. My vision swam and then the darkness came crashing down on me.

  The blood loss had finally caught up with me. The last thing I remember hearing was the reporter’s voice as she asked if I was okay.

  Not even close, lady.

  15

  I came to in a murky haze. Disorientation greeted me. Where the hell was I?

  I took in the details of my unfamiliar surroundings. I was on a soft bed inside a sparsely decorated bedroom. Considering that I neither found myself in a hospital or back in the Sanctuary, I probably had to be in the reporter’s home. I was shirtless, and a thick bandage covered my shoulder injury. The throbbing had subsided somewhat, suggesting that the reporter had cleaned the wound and applied a pretty good field dressing. I heard the sound of running water coming from the adjacent room. Someone was taking a shower.

  My gaze traveled to a nearby dresser, drawn to a collection of framed pictures that confirmed that I was in the reporter’s apartment. I had saved her, and she was returning the favor. I wondered why she hadn’t taken me to a hospital. Maybe my wound and get-up would have raised too many questions. And I bet she had some questions of her own.

  Studying the pictures proved educational. It showed the lovely journalist in various cities across the globe. In one shot, she posed with Iraqi special forces; in another she was covering the devastation in Puerto Rico in the wake of last year’s hurricane. The girl had gotten around. And wasn’t afraid to risk her life in the pursuit of a good story. My respect for her continued to grow.

  I tried to climb out of bed, but the sharp jolt in my chest painfully reminded me I wasn’t in the clear yet. I exhaled sharply, bit my tongue, and tried it again. I gasped as I stood up and limped toward the nearest window. A quick glimpse outside revealed Wilshire and Lincoln Boulevards as my cross streets. I was in a high-rise apartment building located in Santa Monica, eight stories above the glittering cars on the streets below. It was still dark outside, and judging by the lively traffic, it couldn’t be past midnight yet, suggesting I hadn’t been out that long.

  Still feeling weak, I stumbled back to the bed and laid down again. I knew where I was now.

  The shoulder wasn’t throbbing, but weirdly enough, the discomfort had traveled inside my chest and stomach. I remembered the urgency in Octurna’s voice when I had described the monster who attacked me. Had that thing poisoned me? I had to get back to the Sanctuary.

  Easier said than done. I attempted to reach out to the sorceress, but my words fell on deaf ears. And then I remembered the magical motorcycle I had left in Malibu. Not exactly the type of equipment you wanted to leave behind. I felt like a teenager who had taken his dad’s expensive car out for a joyride and failed to return it. Octurna wouldn’t be pleased. She’d be even less pleased if I let myself die in Santa Monica.

  I was still going over my options when the shower turned off. I waited for a minute. The door opened, and the reporter emerged from the bathroom. She was wearing a robe, her damp mane of auburn blonde hair clinging to her face. Standing there in her light blue bathrobe, skin glistening, she looked even more stunning than I would have guessed. This woman had an earthy, untamed quality about her—petite, athletic and less voluptuous than Octurna but equally tantalizing. Her eyes met my admiring gaze and held it, our chemistry palpable.

  She slipped beside me into bed, still wrapped in her bathrobe.

  “How are you feeling?”

  “Like I went head-to-head with a T-Rex.”

  She smiled softly. “Don’t tell me you’ve done that before?”

  “Not yet,” I chuckled.

  “Thank you for saving me,” she said, her voice emotional.

  She touched my hand. I leaned forward, almost kissing her. Her freshly washed hair smelled like citrus. Clean and wholesome, like sunshine. And then our arms and legs instinctively wrapped around each other, both of us seeking solace and comfort in the other’s warmth. It felt both natural and necessary after the terrors of the Cabal lodge. This wasn’t some cheesy movie love scene; we were both too emotionally and physically drained for heated passion. No, we clung to each other inside our shared warmth, a celebration of being alive and having overcome great horrors as we unwound our taut nerves. Sobbing softly against my chest, she continued to whisper the same two words into my ears, her breath on my skin.

  “Thank you, thank you.”

  We stayed like this for who knows long, more in need of closeness and connection than physical release.

  “What’s your name?” I asked, my fingers brushing through her wet hair.

  “Keira.”

  “Nice to meet you, Keira. I’m Jason.”

  “You look familiar. Have we met before?”

  I thought about this for a second. As a SWAT commander, I had given my share of news interviews over the last few years but didn’t want to go into my full background at the moment. I decided to steer the conversation in a new direction.

  I nodded at the photographs. “I see you get around.”

  “I like to keep busy,” she said with a smile.

  “Some nice moves back at the mansion. Who taught you how to shoot guns and drive like that?”

  Her lips stretched into a sexy grin. It was nice to see her amused.


  “My dad. He was a Navy SEAL who wanted a son.”

  “I bet he’s proud of his daughter.”

  She gave me a ragged smile. “All my friends growing up were taking ballet while I was shooting and practicing martial arts with my dad.”

  Encouraged by the strength in Keira’s voice, I shifted to a more painful subject. “How long did they keep you at the mansion?”

  “Five long days,” Keira said with a heavy voice.

  “You were doing a story on the…the group that meets there?”

  “The Order of New Magic. We had heard rumors of a new cult that was gaining popularity and attracting a lot of Hollywood types. I was supposed to infiltrate the organization and do an exposé for the Times. My cover was solid, and I had gained the trust of a few of the Order’s members. I thought I was getting somewhere when they invited me to the Malibu mansion. I never expected…”

  She broke off, the memories threatening to overwhelm her. She didn’t need to say more. Best not to dwell on the fate that had awaited her in the pit.

  “It’s okay,” I said. “You’re safe now.”

  “The things I saw you do in the mansion… Who are you?”

  “A friend.”

  She chuckled warmly and pressed deeper into my body. “I know that. But how…where did you come from? Your weapons, the things you did with your hands… You went all Harry Potter meets the Punisher on those guys…”

  “Are you fishing for a story?” I said, trying to make a joke.

  Keira flashed me a ragged smile. “You think anyone would print a story like this? I need to understand what’s going on here if I ever want to catch a good night’s sleep again.”

  “This madness is new to me too,” I finally said. “What I can tell you is that monsters and magic are real. Bad people live in the shadows of our world, and I’m going to stop them.”

  The determination in my voice surprised me. I remembered my hesitation after I destroyed the succubus, the doubts about my role in all of this. My experience at the lodge had fundamentally changed my outlook. Octurna had told me this was my fight as much as hers. At the time, those had just been words. Now they actually meant something. I was committed to this mission. No one else stood a chance against the Shadow Cabal. Even the best intelligence agencies in the world couldn’t oppose an organization if they weren’t even aware of their enemy’s existence. More importantly, what good were guns and special operatives against magic and supernatural monsters? Fire had to be fought with fire. Magic with magic.

  Kiera traced a fingertip down my arm. “I couldn’t help notice your tattoos. They feel warm to the touch.”

  They are the source of my magic, I thought but couldn’t bring myself to say it. Within the medieval walls of Octurna’s Sanctuary, the craziness of the last few weeks somehow all made sense. The setting had normalized the fantastic. Now, back in the real world, it all started to feel like a dream, some elaborate fantasy that wouldn’t bear the critical scrutiny of reality.

  “Who are you really, Jason?”

  The Night Slayer, I wanted to say in my best Batman voice, but I felt ridiculous even thinking about it.

  “I don’t know where to start.”

  “Try the beginning.”

  I regarded this beautiful woman, saw the vulnerability beneath her strength, her desperate need to make sense of what happened to her. Keira deserved to hear the truth. Otherwise, she would drive herself mad. It might not happen the next day or even the next week, but as time went by, the questions would continue to gnaw at her brain until her mind wouldn’t be able to take it anymore. Her sense of the world had been severely shattered. She needed me to pick up all the broken pieces and stick them back together in a way that would make sense to her. I didn’t even know if I could explain this insanity to her satisfaction, but I had to try.

  And so I did.

  At first, the words came haltingly. My story started to flow as I found myself caught up in the events of the last month. I wisely skipped the dirty parts and concentrated on the critical details.

  Keira relaxed as I spoke. As fantastical as it all sounded, my story added up, especially considering what she had witnessed with her own eyes. I didn’t need to convince her that gargoyles and tentacle beasts and magic were all real. Once I wrapped my tale, I let out a long breath. As therapeutic as my story was for Keira, my retelling was also helping me put the last month in some sort of perspective and context. For a change, I was the one with the answers. Until this point, I hadn’t realized how much I’d needed this, needed to see the fantastic reflected back to me in the eyes of a regular person. My crazy tale proved to both Keira and myself that we hadn’t lost our minds.

  She regarded me differently as her fingers trailed the lines of my tattoos. Her touch was electric, and my body stirred.

  Our earlier embrace had awoken something in us both. Desire.

  Emotional needs were giving way to physical ones.

  I barely remembered opening her robe and slipping out of my pants. Hungry lips and roaming hands explored each other. I stopped thinking about the pain in my chest and focused entirely on Keira now. Our lovemaking was intense and frantic, pent-up terror and anxiety desperate for a physical outlet. We both came at the same time, and our bodies shuddered and groaned with pleasure. Sweaty, limbs tangled, unwilling to let go.

  We lay together for a few more minutes. It was Keira who ultimately broke the silence.

  “I want to help you. Let me stand with you while you face these horrors.”

  “You don’t have the training…”

  “Neither did you, until a month ago…”

  “That’s different,” I protested.

  “How so? Besides, I wasn’t saying I need a bunch of fancy weapons and spells. I can help in other ways.”

  I processed these words. To be honest, the reporter’s willingness to confront the horrors impressed me. Most people would have retreated into a world of denial and tried to rationalize the impossible. Not this girl. Not Keira.

  Octurna and I had become mankind’s best chance against the darkness, but could the two of us defeat this enemy on our own? I doubted it. Now that the Shadow Cabal knew of our existence, they would come after us without mercy. We would need allies in the battles ahead. And I was beginning to believe that Keira could be one of them. Only one hurdle remained—what would the sorceress think of this idea?

  “Never wise for a man to make important decisions while in the arms of a new conquest.”

  I almost jolted back from Keira, the sorceress’ voice in my head catching me off guard. Talk about weird timing. How long had she been listening in on our intimate exchange? And had she watched us make love on one of her windows?

  “Very funny,” I said. Judging by Keira’s searching expression, I realized I had spoken out loud.

  “Jason, you must immediately get back to the Sanctuary. The Cabal is tracking you…”

  She started to break up, the words becoming garbled and turning to gibberish in my head. Something was interfering with our telepathic link. There was only one thing it could be: black magic.

  The Cabal was on my tail. How were they tracking me?

  This question was still cycling through my mind when the tattoos on my body lit up with red energy.

  Keira recoiled. “What’s going on?”

  My tats crackled with a surge of power. I jumped out of bed, nerves on edge, jaw clenched.

  “Get dressed! We have to get out of here!”

  I didn’t have to repeat myself. The alarm in my voice and fear in my wild gaze told its own story.

  I had just finished putting on my pants when I spotted the shadow outside the window.

  I froze for a beat, eyes fixed on the bizarre sight that now confronted me. Hovering behind the pane of glass, floating eight stories in midair as if auditioning for a starring role in a remake of The Lost Boys, was Professor Brogan. Had he been floating outside the window while I told my story to Keira—while we sought and found pe
ace and comfort in each other’s arms? No, my tattoos would have warned me.

  I wondered how he found us. More importantly, how had he survived the magical bomb? The reach of the explosive must’ve been limited to the mansion. The Cabal acolyte had remained safe within the pocket dimension of the oil painting.

  Brogan’s slate-gray eyes burned with an unholy fire, electricity running up his hand as he drew a circle in the air. I had become familiar with the gesture over the last few days.

  The bastard was about to cast a spell.

  16

  I expected the window to shatter as a burst of incredible magical energy speared into Keira’s apartment. What followed in the wake of Brogan’s hand gesture was both less dramatic and even more mindboggling. One moment I was staring into Brogan’s eyes; the next, I was completely submerged underwater, struggling to breathe. With horror, I realized the entire apartment had filled with water, and I was looking out at a smiling Brogan like a fish trapped in an aquarium.

  I swapped a quick glance with a terrified Keira. Brogan’s magic obviously was far more advanced than my own, plus I was unarmed and wounded. Saying the odds weren’t in our favor was putting it mildly.

  I spun around in the freezing cold water and dove toward the floor where Keira had stashed my gear. A plan was forming in the back of my mind. Grab my weapons, snatch Keira, and make a go for the apartment’s exit. We would run out of breath in seconds. My lungs were already screaming for precious air. Neither one of us had had a chance to take a deep breath before Brogan struck. I prayed that Brogan hadn’t flooded the whole building.

  Pushing all thoughts of possible failure aside, I fought my way through the icy water. Thankfully, Keira was keeping her cool despite this latest crazy development. Her SEAL father had probably taught her to swim, too. And she had already figured my plan as she scooped up my silver daggers and sidearm. Would the wet gun and submachine gun still work? I hoped they would. After all, they were magic.