Hunting Darkness (City of Darkness Book 1)

by Maggie Alabaster

  "We should burn him." Seamus' voice and the sound of a sword pulling free disturbed my last thoughts.

  "You do it," I murmured.

  "What was that?"

  I cracked my eyes open enough to see Seamus' face a few centimetres from mine. His breath brushed my cheek.

  "I said, you do it," I repeated, only slightly clearer than the first time.

  "I can't understand you. I'm just going to burn this guy, okay?"

  "Mmmhmm." I closed my eyes and heard him dragging the demon a safe distance away. Heard a car door open and slam shut again. Heard the slosh of liquid and the flick of a lighter. Smelled smoke and burning flesh.

  Maybe I should find it sickening, but it was just part of the job.

  I took as deep a breath as I dared and opened my eyes.

  I wasn't dead, decided that wouldn't happen today. A shift of my shoulders, wriggle of my fingers and toes, my neck, then my back. The Demon Hunter gods, if there were such things, had been kinder to me than I deserved. Nothing seemed to be broken. Unless I counted my ego.

  At worst, that was bruised.

  The demon burned quickly. Already, he was little more than a lump of black meat, flames, and ashes. If anyone in the surrounding buildings knew, or cared, no one rushed out to look.

  "Are you all right?" Seamus asked. He offered me his hand. For the second time in half an hour, I accepted help I should have been able to do without.

  "Yes, mostly. I think I'm done for the night though."

  "Are you hurt?" He looked worried, but let my hand when I tugged it back slightly.

  "Nothing a couple of ibuprofen and a hot bath won't fix." And a generous dose of alcohol. "I guess I owe you thanks again."

  He shrugged and turned back toward the burning corpse. Flickering flames reflected in his eyes. "Just doing my job. When I'm allowed to."

  "Yeah, Malachai is going to be pissed if you snuck out and followed me." Even though he saved my ass, orders were orders.

  "Yeah, well lucky I did." He sounded unrepentant.

  "Remember what I said about being reckless?" I asked. "You could have gotten yourself killed. Or worse, fired." He still might. That wasn't my call. "It's not that I'm not grateful," I added.

  "I know, I know." He turned back to face me. "I should get my car fixed. Are you coming?"

  "Sure. I don't feel much like walking tonight." If I was honest with myself, I didn't feel like any more surprises, either. I had enough of those for one night.

  More than enough.

  Demons whose heads went back on? Of all the things.

  "It's going to be a little windy without the windscreen," he remarked.

  "You think?" I climbed into the passenger seat. "In case you thought otherwise, we're still not fighting together. You helped me out tonight, but that was an unusual circumstance."

  "If you say so," he replied.

  I glanced at him. "Don't get cocky."

  He grinned. "Me? Never."

  I smirked. "Yes, you."

  His smile didn't waver. He just pulled away from the curb and headed back the way we came.

  "Not your bike this time?" Linda asked. She clicked her tongue and scowled over the smashed windscreen.

  "Not this time." I glanced at Seamus. He looked confused.

  "Linda does all the demon-related repairs on my motorbike," I explained. "They happen every so often."

  "Only once or twice," Linda said. "A week."

  "Hey!" I protested. "It's nowhere near that often. Usually." I pulled out a packet of painkillers from my pocket and popped two into my mouth. Seamus offered me a bottle of water to wash them down.

  "Mmmhmm." Linda nodded. "You look like you could do with some repairs yourself."

  "I'm fine." I waved off the idea. Apart from a dull ache in my shoulder, I felt fine. I healed quickly—one of the benefits of the job.

  I ignored Linda's sceptical look and asked, "Can you fix the windscreen?"

  Linda gave a one shouldered shrug. "I should be able to, but let me see what I have out the back by way of replacement. The dent in the bonnet, that will take longer."

  She tapped at it. The front of the car looked like something heavy landed on it, but mercifully nothing about it indicated that something had been humanoid. Anything like that would rouse too much suspicion in passing civilians or police.

  "It just adds to the list of bumps and scratches on the rest of the car," Seamus replied cheerfully, as though demon-related dents were a badge of honour of some kind. "I can't drive without a windscreen though."

  "Ain't that the truth," I replied.

  The short drive here was cold and windy. My hair was probably a mess, along with the rest of me. To be fair though, it was undoubtedly a mess long before I got into the car. Neat hair and demon hunting rarely went together. I'd be lucky if I didn't have blood or chunks of demon in there.

  Linda responded with a grunt of agreement and headed out to the back of the old workshop.

  "Lucky she's not busy tonight," I remarked. I sat on the edge of an old toolbox that was as high as my waist, and rubbed my aching shoulder.

  "Yeah." Seamus sat on a pile of tyres nearby. "What did she mean about your bike? I've never seen it with any damage."

  "Uh-ha," I replied, trying to look innocent.

  "Because you bring it here and she fixes it before anyone sees?"

  "Maybe."

  "Why?"

  "Why what? Why do I not want my motorbike looking shitty? I have some pride left."

  He frowned. "You know no one would care what it looks like."

  I turned my face away. "I care."

  "I don't get you," he admitted.

  I shrugged. "What's to get? I go to work, I do my job. I don't want people to think I screwed up, just because some asshole demon kicked the crap out of my bike, or melted the tyres, or twisted it… " I turned my face back toward him.

  "No one would think that." He hesitated. "Is that why you don't want to work with me? You're afraid I'll make you look bad?"

  I blinked a couple of times. "No. I like my own company." After a deep breath, I added, "I don't play well with others."

  And I'm worried I'll screw up some day and get someone killed. Like tonight, when that someone had almost been me. Maybe both of us.

  "You're in luck, I have just the size you need," Linda declared. She appeared, holding a windscreen by suction cups. She put it aside on a sheet spread on the oil-stained ground and started working on removing the rest of the old one.

  While she worked, I pretended to study my own feet. On one hand, I was thankful Seamus came to my aid. If he hadn't, it would have taken a tracker, with magic, to find out what happened to me.

  By then, my remains would have been flushed down into the sewerage system. Only a smear of blood and residual signatures from my soul—or whatever trackers looked for—would be left behind.

  On the other hand, Seamus was usually much more careful and methodical than me. He would have parked out of sight and tried to sneak up on the demon. Or he would have provided a distraction for me to finish the demon off. Driving a car at one, at full speed, down a narrow road, was certainly not something I would have expected from him. Damien, perhaps, but not Seamus.

  The problem was, it was also something I would have done myself.

  I recalled episodes of science fiction shows in which characters swapped bodies, usually with humorous results. To some extent, it felt as though that happened. Not fully, thankfully. I had no desire to be inside a man's body, no interest in having different wobbly bits.

  I grimaced to myself. Gods forbid that would happen. I needed to stop being paranoid. The demon encounter tonight was nothing but a coincidence. It could have happened last week or last month. Or—whenever.

  He could have just as easily met with Damien and Freya, or Malachai if he went out hunting. He rarely did these days. Mostly he trained Seamus and coordinated the rest of us. I should text him a report about our whereabouts, but it could wait
a little longer.

  I rose and moved away from the car.

  Seamus stepped over to help Linda and neither was paying me any attention. They didn't see me slip out on the street. No one came after me, or raised a shout as I walked off into the darkness.

  8

  My phone vibrated in my pocket. I ignored it.

  It was either Seamus checking up on me, or Malachai checking up on me because Seamus told him about our evening. Malachai would be furious, knowing Seamus left the headquarters against his orders. I didn't need an angry lecture, or even concern; I needed answers.

  The phone vibrated again, then stopped.

  My skin tingled with unease. A part of me itched to return to the car yard or headquarters and write tonight off as a loss. I could have a soak, a glass of wine, and curl up with a book. If I went the long way home, I would be able to pick up some chocolate and eat the whole block before anyone knew I had it.

  Instead, I slowly edged toward the harbour.

  Like so many other nights before, it drew me toward it. Maybe this wasn't about demons and understanding what was going on. Maybe this was just my need to see the city lights twinkling off the water. Nothing was better at soothing my nerves.

  Well, except chocolate and wine. I was only human after all.

  I passed a cathedral, dark and silent at this time of night, no pealing bells to announce the hour. No worshippers singing psalms or listening to sermons.

  If I was lucky, the gargoyles were made from actual stone. I watched them as I passed, but they didn't so much as twitch.

  A couple of blocks further along, I turned a corner and headed down a long set of stairs toward the Opera House.

  Even on a Tuesday night, the famous landmark was lit for some occasion or other. Tonight, the sails were illuminated in ordinary white lights, not pink or rainbow, or mercifully, not an ad for some sporting event.

  To the left, the Harbour Bridge stretched out over the water. Bobbing lights near the top suggested a group of people were taking the night climb up the famous structure. I had done the walk myself once. The view was well worth the effort.

  The sound of a ferry horn echoed across the water, a counterbalance to the distant thrum of traffic and the whisper of a warm breeze. The wind brought with it the smell of exhaust fumes and pizza.

  I found a section of railing and leaned against it to watch the ferry slide past. Probably the last of the day, bringing late workers or tourists back to their hotels. Lights shimmered around it, reflected on the swell. Silhouettes walked around on deck to prepare for docking.

  A faint thump-thump of music came from one of the restaurants on the side of the harbour, accompanied by a shriek of laughter. A city that never slept, never disappointed me. There were always things going on, good or bad. It was never boring.

  Even when boring was all I wanted.

  In spite of the familiar sights and smells, I felt uneasy. The air held something apart from pollution, smoke and the scent of fine food.

  I did a slow turn around. Eyes searching, looking for anything out of place, a clue to whatever niggled at my sixth sense.

  A handful of tourists walked a hundred metres away. Their evening attire suggested they'd come from a performance. Ballet perhaps, or a symphony. Nothing which interested me overly much. I preferred a good live band at the pub. Still, art was art, how people chose to partake of it was up to them. Even if they wore gowns which cost more than I made in a year.

  I wouldn't swap this life for theirs, no matter how well it paid.

  Looking as casual as I could with my body as taut as a violin string, I moved from the railing and strolled down the side of the harbour, away from the more popular areas.

  I headed up a hill, away from the Opera House, where I found quiet streets and parks bordered with enormous trees. A sign, lit by a handy streetlight, told me to beware of falling branches. Trees throwing limbs down at me didn't scare me nearly as much as creatures which might lurk in them. Not all demons were the size of humans and not all baddies were demons. My mind returned to the stone gargoyles. The real things were often nasty, with sharp teeth. All the better to nip people with.

  Footsteps crunched toward me.

  They got heavier. A steady rhythm, pound, pound, pound.

  I froze.

  Only after the jogger passed did I suck in a breath. Running in a dark park, close to midnight. Some days I didn't know if humans were crazier than demons, or the other way around. Perhaps both, since I was walking here too. The jogger didn't even give me a glance.

  "And that's how demons find their next meal," I muttered. People caught up in their daily lives, not paying attention to things around them. They were distracted even before the invention of smartphones and earbuds.

  The fountain at the end of the park was still and silent. No water poured over the lotus flowers, or from the mouth of a deer. Or was that a dog? It was well-lit here, but the sculptor had been creative. I studied it, but couldn't figure it out. Maybe it was a dog-deer demon, or some fanciful creature from mythology. The plaque beneath it was too dark and worn to read.

  I stepped around the fountain, taking in the rest of it, although I had seen it a hundred times before.

  An archer.

  A man with a sword and a loincloth.

  Cupid.

  Did I imagine Cupid blinking?

  I sucked in a breath and turned just as something slammed into me. Only a low stone wall stopped me from tumbling into the water.

  "What the hells?" My sword was already in my hand before I faced my attacker.

  Smaller than the demon Seamus had killed, he was still taller and more solid than me. His light blonde hair was tied at the back of his neck. Like me, he wore jeans and a worn leather jacket. His boots were solid and studded with metal.

  My attacker smiled. His eyes glowed faintly blue. Apart from that, he looked human.

  "A Demon Hunter, all alone." He cocked his head to one side and smiled.

  "Yeah. What do you know?" I asked rhetorically. What was it with these guys tonight?

  "I know enough." He shrugged with one shoulder. In his hand he held a sword of his own, his grip loose, like he knew what he was doing with it. "What about you?"

  "It's a bit public for a tangle, isn't it?" I asked. I sized my opponent up for potential strengths and weaknesses. He was right-handed, by the look of it, like me.

  He swaggered a few steps toward me. "I'm an exhibitionist."

  I took a few steps of my own—away from the fountain. Even on a hot night, I wouldn't swim in there. The gods knew what lurked in the shallow water. I might survive this fight, only to die from some nasty bacteria.

  "Really?" I asked. "You don't mind if a few dozen tourists from around the world see you get your ass whipped? You might end up on YouTube." Malachai would be furious. Before he made them take the videos down. Lucky he did, or Damien would be busy uploading tutorials and sharing all their secrets.

  The demon laughed, low and husky. "I wouldn't mind that either, but that's not what they'd see. If you prefer not to have them see you beaten, we can take this somewhere dark and private."

  "I would prefer that," I agreed with a nod. I brought up my sword and drove the demon back, toward the shadows between the enormous trunks.

  The demon let himself be herded until we were out of sight of anyone else. Then he lunged.

  The clang of steel on steel echoed through the park. Something in a tree fled in a ruffle of feathers. Hopefully just an owl.

  "Not much we can do about that noise," the demon said. "I guess we'll have to keep the groaning to a minimum. Wouldn't want to disturb the neighbours."

  I grinned. We were evenly matched. The perfect remedy for being overpowered earlier. I might have tried to press the demon a little harder, but I was enjoying myself.

  "Don't forget the panting," I said.

  "I would never forget that," he replied. He offered me a wink. "So what is a nice Demon Hunter doing in a place like this?"
He parried my blow and dropped back a few steps.

  "Who said I'm nice?" I asked. I feinted and let the demon overstretch, but he drew back in time to take a swipe at me. The tip of his blade grazed my jacket, leaving a nick in the leather.

  "Hey. That's an expensive jacket."

  He snorted. "Ten years ago it might have been. Unless you're just really hard on your clothes."

  "Everyone's a critic." I waited for him to swing again and dropped to a crouch. The blade whispered over my head.

  I launched myself at the demon's legs and used my arm, raised in front of my face, to push him off his feet. Before I too fell, I rolled and jumped back up. I held back a hiss of pain that came from putting weight on my injured shoulder.

  "And you fight dirty I see." The demon's sword was gone from his hand and now lay a couple of metres away. He clambered to his feet and drew a small knife instead.

  "Yeah, do you have a problem with that?" I asked. I eyed the knife. It looked sharp, and again, he looked practiced in its use.

  "No, of course not. Dirty is fun." The demon grinned.

  "Why does that not surprise me?" I shook out my shoulders. As much fun as this was, I was starting to tire and the painkillers were wearing off.

  "I have no idea, I'm sure." He ran at me, but ducked away at the last moment. He trotted the few steps to his sword and scooped it up. He must have put his knife away, because it was no longer in his hand.

  "Rule number one, don't bring a knife to a sword fight." The demon hefted his weapon and assumed a defensive posture.

  "I thought that was a knife to a gunfight?" I remarked.

  "That too, but I hate guns." He grimaced in disgust. "Too noisy and no finesse. I'm surprised Demon Hunters don't carry them."

  I wrinkled my nose. "Like you said, they're loud. They'd draw too much attention." And came with a risk if one was fired at a demon with an exoskeleton. Some bullets might penetrate, but others would bounce, putting the shooter at risk of getting hit with a ricochet.

  In addition to that, shooting a shade would be as effective as shooting mist.

  "How many Demon Hunters have you fought?" I asked. "You seem to think you're an expert on us."