Hellbent Halo Boxed Set

by E. A. Copen

  “Doesn’t stop him from hitting me. Come on, big man. Take your best shot.” I took a step back and spread my arms wide. “I’m right here.”

  Victis ground his teeth and clenched his fists. Anger rolled off him in pulsing waves, flooding the room with raw emotional power. Power that would translate easily into magic if I pulled hard enough.

  That’s it, Victis. Make yourself useful and get pissed off. See, Milly? I don’t need you.

  Khaleda grabbed my shoulder and jerked me toward the bathroom. It tipped my balance enough that I almost fell. With another shove, she pushed me behind her and through the bathroom door. “Victis,” she growled. “Get dressed!”

  “But Teacher, I don’t have any clothes.”

  “Then break into another room and find some. I don’t care how you get them, just get them.” She spun around and stormed into the bathroom with me, slamming the door shut behind her. “What the fuck?”

  I shrugged. “He started it.”

  She let out a deep, guttural, yet feminine growl of frustration. The small, primitive part of my brain said I wanted to hear her make that sound again, except that I wanted her full breasts crushed against me, fingernails shredding the skin on my back.

  “Josiah!” she snapped. “Did you hear anything I just said?”

  I hadn’t, but I could guess. She wanted me to leave Victis alone. It wasn’t his fault. Blah blah blah. “Oh, pull ya head in, will ya? You want me to do this or not?”

  “You’re an insufferable prick, you know that?”

  “So everyone keeps telling me.” I sighed. “Grab the rats for me, would ya?”

  She narrowed her eyes at me but went to get them anyway.

  I performed the sacrifice in the tub, as that would be the easiest place to clean it up. If the maid came in and found the rest of the place drenched in blood, she’d call the coppers, and we’d be behind bars. But in a hotel bathtub, we were almost certain to get away with it. No one ever checked the bathtubs with a blacklight, and if they did, they wouldn’t be staying at that dive.

  The summoning symbol I used was one I had learned under Danny. It was impossible not to think of him as I drew it on the wall and infused it with a spark of my own blood. Why was it I hadn’t thought of him all this time, and now he was everywhere?

  Under the symbol, spread out in the bath, I’d placed a street map of New York. Khaleda sat on the floor atop a symbol matching the one I’d just drawn on the wall, another circle I had already closed. Both circles sat inside a larger one, this one simple. The objective, hold the spell in place and keep the power from leaking out to do any damage to the outside world.

  With the closing of the second circle, magic buzzed all around, running through me like threads. Other threads hung in the air too. Victis’ crimson anger, the buzzing black thread of Khaleda’s anxiety and the thin streak of blue thread wrapped around it. I shifted my grip on the razor blade resting between two fingers. What was that?

  I gave it a gentle tug and felt the pull in my own chest. Momentary panic gripped me. I’d never seen anything like that before, not attached to me. Did it mean she’d cast some sort of spell over me? No, I’d have noticed. Besides, Khaleda wasn’t adept at that sort of magic. I’d have reasoned maybe she’d taken a tiny bite and fed on me, but I knew that wasn’t the case. What the fuck was it?

  “Everything okay?” she asked.

  “Of course, it is. I know what I’m doing.” I’ll have to sort that out later. I brought the first rat out of the container and held it squirming in front of me. “I invoke the name of Andromalius, great and mighty earl, master of thirty-six legions. Let that which is hidden be brought to light with this sacrifice.” I stabbed the razor blade into the squirming rat while it struggled and screamed.

  Behind me, Khaleda gasped, but not because of the rat. An icy arm of magic stabbed through her chest, pushing the swirling, glowing ball of silver, black and red that was her soul to the surface. Not enough power. Dammit.

  I seized the second rat and commanded even louder, “I invoke you, Andromalius. Lend me your power. Reveal the location of her stolen soul. I command you!”

  A presence reared inside the larger circle, slithering like a venomous snake into being. Khaleda arched her back as the presence slid over her, winding up her body. The serpent head reared back, fangs poised to sink into her breast. I drew the razor over the second rat, pressing in deep until warm, fetid blood ran down my arm.

  The demonic snake screamed and threw itself through the air, slamming into the wall of my circle. He exploded into a black mist that rained blood on the bathtub in fat, wet drops. Tap, tap, tap. They struck the map in five messy globs, one on each borough. The blood ran, filling every street, crawling through every neighborhood, testing every door, and trying every lock. It flowed in every direction, finding nothing.

  Until one crimson smear reached lower Manhattan. Then, as if called, every drop of blood squirming on the map turned and sped for SoHo. No, not SoHo. It’d moved too many blocks west for that. The blood moved into Tribeca, racing down Canal Street until it reached Greenwich and made a hard left.

  No.

  It coalesced there in a thick puddle, building on itself until it formed a large, square building made of brick. An old warehouse that’d been converted into high-end flats.

  “Bugger all.” I spat and tossed the rat carcasses into the trash. I released my hold on the spell and drew the razor blade over the chalk outline of the largest circle, releasing the magic.

  Khaleda collapsed with a gasp. “Where?” she asked, her voice breathless.

  I turned on the shower to wash the blood from my body. “Danny Monahan has it.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  KHALEDA

  The address Josiah marked on the map matched the one written on the inside of the pizza box. I stared at the address in silence while he scarfed down another piece of pizza. He’d pulled on another pair of pants, complaining it was his last good pair, and sat on the bed with his back to me, staring at his phone while time ticked away.

  Victis stood next to me, a silent statue of solid muscle. “You shouldn’t go, Teacher. This is a trap.”

  I agreed with him. It felt like another setup, but we couldn’t just ignore the results of the spell. Daniel Monahan had my soul locked away somewhere in his expensive Manhattan loft, and he was probably going to use it as part of his crazy plan to destroy New York. I didn’t give a damn about the city, but I wanted to feel whole again. Ever since I’d come back, there had been something missing, something intangible. I wanted it back. If Josiah wasn’t up to the task of killing his friend, I’d claw Danny’s eyes out myself to take back what was mine.

  “Don’t have a choice,” Josiah said after finishing up his pizza. He licked his fingers and grabbed another piece. “Danny knows where we are. If we don’t go to him, he’ll come for us. Besides, I agreed to help your boss stop him from wrecking New York.”

  Victis crossed his arms. “Decimus isn’t my boss.”

  Josiah ignored him. “Which reminds me. Khaleda, ask your pet to detail the surveillance God’s Hand has on the five hundred block of Greenwich.”

  I clenched my fists on my knees when he referred to Victis as my pet, even if he wasn’t wrong. He was only doing it to rub in what I’d done. Ass. What I did saved your life. Don’t forget that. Just the same, I turned to Victis. “Please, Victis. Do you know what security they have in place there?”

  He huffed out a sigh. “There was a recon team in an unmarked van outside. Three days ago, a secondary team attempted to infiltrate the apartment to plant a transmitting device. They were forced to engage Monahan’s security team and pulled out before there were casualties.”

  Josiah twisted to look at Victis. “You sound as if you didn’t approve.”

  Victis shook his head. “They were Commander Decimus’ men. He pulled them back too soon. They should have engaged the enemy.”

  “What if they’d lost?” I asked, tilting my head t
o him. “Then they’d be dead, your operation exposed, and you’d have nothing to show for it.”

  He made a fist and struck his chest. “We took an oath to die for the order. I stand by it. Commander Decimus is a coward who’d rather run from a fight than engage.”

  “Or,” said Josiah, standing, “he actually values human life. Wouldn’t that be novel? An angel who gives a damn?”

  Victis started to say something, but I cut him off by putting a hand on his arm. He couldn’t win an argument with Josiah, and I was tired of listening to him serve as a mouthpiece for God’s Hand. After spending the day with him, I was starting to believe I wasn’t the first person to brainwash him into loving them. God’s Hand hadn’t even needed magic. All they’d done was pick him up, put him back together, and give him a purpose.

  I shivered at that realization. Once, I’d been like him. Blind to everything but a singular purpose. For me, it had been revenge. Stripped of that, I had nothing, or so I thought. Josiah was right. I didn’t need blind purpose to keep going, no life goal. Just the unshakable will to keep on living.

  Victis uncrossed his arms. “Are you cold, Teacher?”

  I shook my head and switched on the television to listen to the weather report. Josiah moved around in the background, gathering things into his bag and searching for a clean shirt. He moved with a solemn purpose, much like a soldier preparing for battle. In place of guns and knives, Josiah armed himself with magic pendants, a length of silver chain wrapped through his belt loops, and five simple bands of gold for his fingers.

  I tried to ignore him, but he wasn’t an easy person to ignore, especially when he got into that mode. Despite being a tall, thin man with average looks, he had a way of calling attention to himself whenever he entered a room.

  Victis’ cold stare followed him around the room as he worked, a predator watching another predator prepare for the hunt. Memory flashed behind his eyes. What had his pre-deployment ritual been? Prayer and fasting? Did he know when he broke into that apartment in Brooklyn that he might face a fate worse than death?

  The weatherman was calling for eight to twelve more inches of snow and winds in excess of forty miles per hour, creating whiteout conditions. Despite assurances that the plows and salt trucks were working in full force around the clock, there was talk of canceling the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade, though one interviewee seemed to think the idea was crazy. He called the parade an American Institution and spent three minutes pretending to be offended by the suggestion.

  Never mind all those paradegoers might be dead in a few days’ time. He didn’t know that. How could he? Sometimes, I envied the average person whose biggest concerns amounted to a snowstorm, a parade, and which drive-thru to hit for dinner.

  At eleven, the three of us got up to retrieve our coats. Mine still held splashes of blood from earlier in the day, so I spent five minutes dabbing hydrogen peroxide on the troublesome spots. It didn’t take them all out, but hopefully, no one would notice in the dark. My leg ached, but I had less trouble walking on it now that I’d had a few pain killers. Just the same, I sent Victis to pull the cab up.

  “What are you going to do if this is a trap?” I asked Josiah, pulling my coat closer. The wind vomited a new assault of white flakes down the street.

  He patted his trusty bag. “Got everything I need in here. God’s Hand wants me to kill him, you know. I think he can be reasoned with.”

  I turned to give him a questioning look, but the icy wind stung my eyes, so I quickly shifted my gaze forward. “I thought you said he was crazy.”

  “Oh, he’s mad as a cut snake in every sense. But he wouldn’t be inviting us if he didn’t want something. He’ll be offering a trade for your soul.”

  “A trade?” I considered what Danny might want. As little as I knew about him, I knew Danny and Josiah had history. “Your soul for mine?”

  Josiah smiled. “That’d be the easy way out, wouldn’t it?”

  Victis came around the corner at a snail’s crawl, his taxi a yellow beacon in a sea of white.

  “And what about his plan to destroy all of New York? Think you can talk him down from that?”

  He shrugged. “Have to see. Trust me, Khaleda. Just let me handle him, and we’ll be headed our separate ways in no time.”

  The cab pulled up. Josiah jumped forward and opened the door for me. I hesitated just long enough to make sure it wasn’t a trick before climbing in.

  Chapter Fifteen

  JOSIAH

  Howling wind pushed the curtain of white down the streets. Mounds of dirty white snow, freshly plowed, buried parked cars in front of a flat, six-story shrine of brick and glass. Black canopies rustled against the onslaught of early winter. A yellow moon rose behind sharp silver clouds, casting milky light on everything.

  I stopped on the sidewalk across the street to look up at the top floor. Danny was in Penthouse One, waiting for me. Waiting to kill me maybe, or maybe just ten million strangers. Maybe both.

  The surveillance van for God’s Hand sat up the block, facing away from the building. It was a white windowless van with a plumbing logo flaking off the side. Bastards had to be freezing in this cold. The temptation to turn on the van had to be overwhelming. Let the heat run and warm those achy old bones. Just for a minute. No one’ll notice the exhaust. But the van sat behind another mound of snow with frost crawling up the windshield in fractal patterns. Gotta hand it to the bastards. They were stronger than me. I’d never had the patience for stakeouts.

  Khaleda stopped next to me, her limp barely noticeable. Victis stood next to her in a sweatshirt that was too tight across the chest and arms. I had voted to leave him behind, but Khaleda wouldn’t have it. She’d let her guilt make a decision for her again. Hopefully, it wouldn’t get us killed.

  We crossed the street as one.

  No doorman waited inside to open the door, and the lobby was deserted at that hour of everyone but the night watchman. He looked at us and saw trouble, but was smart enough not to get involved directly. His eyes tracked us to the elevator and narrowed as I tapped the button. Plastic rattled. The faint hum of a dial tone as he picked up the phone, no doubt to announce our arrival to Monahan’s security upstairs.

  I got into the elevator and pressed the button. As the car carried us up, I wondered if I could do it. Could I kill Danny Monahan in cold blood? God’s Hand would back off if I did. Some might even call me a hero, but New York would never know. Every night from this one forward, I’d fall asleep with a friend’s blood on my hands.

  Not that I was innocent by any means. I’d left plenty of corpses cooling behind me in my day, but most were nameless, faceless thugs. Criminals who’d be rotting behind bars otherwise. Killers. Had Danny killed? It was hard to imagine. Between the two of us, I’d always been the violent one. Danny was a bookworm with a gentle soul who loved theory and knowledge. I’d once seen him cry over a dead cat in the street. How could that boy grow into such a monstrous man? I had to hear it from his lips, this plan to kill millions. Until I heard him say it, I couldn’t believe it.

  The elevator stopped, and the doors opened with a ding. Two thick men in black suits and turtlenecks were waiting for us. Ball caps, sunglasses, earpieces with white wires crawling down their collars, military-grade weapons in hand… It was like walking onto an army base and not a residential floor.

  “Mr. Quinn,” said the on the right. He nodded to Khaleda. “Ms. Morningstar. You’re expected.” He frowned at Victis. “No one said anything about a third party.”

  “This is Victis.” Khaleda gestured to her pet. “He’s my personal attaché. He goes where I go.”

  Bodyguard One looked to Bodyguard Two. “Have to clear it with the boss.”

  He stepped away and tapped the communication device in his ear. The other guard moved just enough to allow us to step off the elevator, placing himself between us and the door down the hall.

  “You got any ciggies, mate?” I asked as we waited.

  He scowl
ed at me. “No smoking in the building.”

  I sighed. “Well, that’s going to make for a long night. What d’ya do on your breaks then?”

  “None of your business.”

  “You should switch to vaping,” said a heavily accented female voice.

  She strolled forward, blonde curls, tiny black sleeveless dress, sparkling diamond necklace… I hadn’t seen her in the hallway when we first emptied the elevator, but she was there now filling it completely with her presence. She walked up to me, a small device in her hand. It was too big to be a pen. One of those things that wished it was a cigarette. I’d always thought they were for trendy city kids, the ones more concerned with being relevant than catching the buzz.

  The blonde puckered her lips, slid the contraption between them and inhaled. Interest flashed in her ice-blue eyes as she pulled the machine away and blew out a perfect circle.

  I smiled. “Well, if I could look as good as you, maybe I would.”

  She giggled and offered me her hand. “Noelle Islana. And you are?”

  “Josiah Quinn.” Her fingers were like ice.

  “You’re Daniel’s friend.” She gave me a once over, eyes rolling over me like a snowplow over ice.

  “And how do you know Mr. Monahan?” Khaleda crossed her arms. There was an edge to her voice that said she didn’t like being upstaged.

  Noelle’s smile didn’t waver. “Oh, I’m just his neighbor. I live in Penthouse Two through there. We’re old friends, though. Moved in about the same time. Daniel has the most interesting things to say. Intelligent. Dark past. Dangerous.” She eyed me again and licked her lips.

  “Poor girl,” I said. “Hate to break your heart, but you’re not exactly Danny’s type.”

  She puffed on her vape whatchamacallit and blew sweet-smelling smoke in my face. “Oh, I know. It’s too bad, really. It gets so lonely up here, you know?”