Shadow Hunter: A Joseph Hunter Novel: Book 2 (Joseph Hunter Series)

by Alex Gates

  The window in Xander’s office opened to the beautiful view of an alley, which led to the back of the building and across the street—away from Gladas and Annabel… and Xander. I wasn’t sure why Xander had meant for me to call Dakota. Hell, I wasn’t even sure that’s what he meant for me to do. But I couldn’t second-guess myself. I had to trust my instincts, which ultimately meant trusting him and his judgment.

  His way had led directly to Annie—the Scylla—without using Gladas as our lead. Because of that, the Demi was unable to spring a trap at the cabin with an Empousa, with the Scylla, or even with Circe waiting for us. He hadn’t been able to track our movements and provide up-to-date progress to his contacts. Instead, Xander had circumnavigated that, allowing use to arrive at the cabin as a complete surprise.

  Gladas’s and the Empousa’s appearance at the cabin hadn’t shocked me. The Demi had probably tracked our movements ever since leaving the office. When he realized we were heading out to Annie’s cabin, he most likely called in a surprise of his own to incapacitate us. But why had he helped me find a cheat to access my new power? Why spill his cooperation with Circe? I didn’t have an answer to those questions, but I had to trust that Xander did. That meant trusting my gut feeling and allowing my instincts to guide me—because, though I hated to admit this, Gabriel was most likely using me right now to protect Xander from Gladas.

  Opening the window, I stuffed Henrietta in my back waistband like a badass and hopped into the alley. As I neared the back of the building—and as my shitty-ass luck would have it—an Automaton stepped around the corner and cut me off. It had dark hair and no shirt and maybe possessed more tattoos over its body than I did. It held a pipe wrench in its right hand. Rapid footsteps sounded behind me, reverberating off the alley walls. I glanced back and saw another Automaton sprinting toward me. This one had to be no older than seventeen. If Gladas were into boys, he would’ve loved this skinny kid duel-wielding butcher knives.

  “Guys,” I said, “how did you even find me here? Never mind, don’t answer that. I really don’t have time for this shit right now.”

  With my right arm in a crude cast and my torso wrapped in bandages, stiffening my movement, I didn’t stand much of a chance against two Automatons—but what choice did I have? Allow them to take me to Hephaestus and barter with him? After I disrespected him and broke our pact in every possible way, he had allowed me a small head start. That would be about all the compassion the Nephil of the Forge had to offer. I doubted he would listen to more than two words from me before smashing my skull in with a hammer, or cursing me into an Automaton for eternity.

  Even if I were at full health, these Cursed beings could probably outrun me. Exhausted from lack of sleep, and with my many injuries from the past few days, fleeing was my last resort.

  I had to fight. Reaching into my front pocket, I removed the Swiss Army knife I’d snatched from Xander’s desk drawer. I flipped it open and dragged the blade across my right palm in a desperate attempt to create some pain and anger. A flash of white overcame my vision as the pain compounded with my other injuries. Blood leaked off my hand and through my fingers. The thick ice that prevented me from escaping the dark, freezing water cracked, allowing a sampling of air for me to breathe—again, that’s all a beautifully crafted metaphor for my blocked power.

  The power rushed over me like cold, fresh air, temporarily numbing my pains. I wondered how much energy I had left before depleting my reserves and dying, but I shoved that thought to the back of my head. I would die if I didn’t fight back.

  With my left hand, I wielded a shadow like a stake. As the kid-looking Automaton from behind approached, I met its advance with a backward strike, driving the dark weapon into its narrow chest. It continued forward a few steps before veering to the left, stumbling, and falling face-first to the ground. The ink-riddled Automaton ahead of me dropped the pipe wrench and lifted its arms parallel to the ground. A small barrel appeared from both wrists, followed by sparks and the sound of snapping twigs. The fucker was shooting at me with handguns—literal handguns. Luckily, the report wasn’t the thunderous sound of a normal gun. It had probably activated pellets or riot rounds to incapacitate me.

  Not expecting the ballistic attack, I didn’t have time to jump behind a dumpster. I raised my left arm over my face, as if my flesh might protect my head. The searing pain of rubber bullets slamming against my body failed to register. I glanced over my forearm to find an obsidian shield covering my body. The shadows had hardened before me like a solid wall and absorbed the damage.

  The firing ceased. I dropped the shield and sprinted forward—I’m using the word ‘sprint’ with great liberty. More accurately, I staggered forward like a marathon runner with a pulled hamstring finishing the race. I formed another stake from shadow. No judgment on my choice of weapon. I know I’ve used that option way too much and I should try something new, but why? The stake had worked every time. What if I tried to form an axe and the shadows didn’t respond to that? You expect me to die just to look cool? I don’t think so. I’d stick with ole reliable until I’d practiced otherwise. I cocked the stake back and heaved it forward, punching it through the Automaton’s face. It stood on wobbly legs for a three full seconds before collapsing.

  With both of the Automatons dead, I jogged—as best I could—to the street at the rear of the MIS building and hid in a patch of darkness beneath a canopy.

  Tires peeled on pavement, and a second later, Gladas’s car hummed past my hidden position. I didn’t catch much as he sped away, but I made out Xander’s silhouette as Annie held a gun to his head. Had they heard the gunshots after all? Did Gladas freak out, spurring him to… what? Take Xander back to the warehouse and Circe?

  Shit, why couldn’t anything ever work out as planned?

  A few minutes later, a car pulled to the side of the street and Xander’s phone vibrated in my hand. I didn’t answer it, deciding to hobble to the passenger door of the vehicle and step inside. Dakota hadn’t tidied her vehicle any—trash and clothing and food remained littered across the interior.

  “Holy shit,” she said, clearing her passenger seat. “You have a massive gash on your forehead.”

  I grimaced as I sat down and buckled in. Exhaling some pain, I said, “Yeah, a Raven got slap-happy with a handgun. Sorry to drag you into this.”

  “Did you just apologize? Wait, did that bump on your head knock out your idiocy? Had I known that was the cure, I would have done it days ago.”

  I removed Henrietta from my waistband and set her on my lap. “Listen, we’re sort of in a shit storm here, and Xander is getting pummeled. The bad guys have him. I need to get over there and throw some shit back in their faces.”

  “Like a monkey?”

  “Like a damn chimpanzee. Did you bring the 9mm?”

  She nodded toward the back seat, where a box of ammunition sat atop a balled-up sweater. I reached for it and removed a round, taking out Xander’s pocket knife.

  “You okay?” she asked.

  “No,” I said, pressing the blade to my right palm, readying myself.

  “What are you doing? You’re not going to bleed in my car.”

  I turned to her. “Shut up. Just shut up. I need complete silence to focus. If I bleed in your car, I doubt you’ll even notice with all the shit in here.”

  “What are you doing?”

  “It’s the only way I can consistently reach my new power,” I said. “Create a strong emotion like rage or terror or pain, and use that like a wedge to open the seal a little. I’m already angry and a little scared, so the pain offers that final blow.”

  “Will Xander be okay?”

  I wasn’t sure how to answer. Gladas wanted a cure for Annabel’s curse, placing him on his own team. That made him more dangerous than if he worked with us or with Circe. At least then, he would have been predictable. As it was, he would help whoever offered him the best chance of saving his love. Did killing Xander hurt his chances of doing that? I thought so.
With me slipping away, Xander was the only leverage they had to draw me to Circe.

  Telling Dakota where to go, I closed my eyes and settled into the seat. I held Henrietta and ran my fingers over her, feeling the runes I’d tattooed on her body years ago. The power swelled within me as it recognized the Nephilim script. Each sigil carved into the metal had a purpose—one on the trigger matched the one on my finger, so that only I could fire the weapon. One on the sights allowed the weapon to aim true, one on the muzzle silenced the shot, one on the magazine matched with the one on the grip, speeding up my reload time. One on the slide numbed the recoil, and another read and activated spells inscribed on each round as they were fired. I didn’t have the energy or the time to charge every one, so I had to choose the most efficient options.

  My index finger lingered on the sigil marking the sights. I reached for my elusive power and charged the sigil. I only needed enough of a charge to fire one shot, so I didn’t waste all my energy. Still, after partially charging that one symbol, my head swam and my body tingled. I had to take a second to catch my breath. Cold sweat formed on my brow and back. I still had two more sigils to fill, but I didn’t think I had enough strength to do it. I didn’t have a choice, though. I moved my left finger to the rune that read and activated spells carved into the rounds. I reached for my power again. The thick ice had started to freeze over, preventing me from reaching the magic.

  It was funny how survival worked. When I was on the verge of death and fighting to live, the ice cracked open from desperation. Yet, as I used the power and it drained my energy, the ice closed over so I wouldn’t kill myself from overuse. Survival both revealed and hid the magic.

  With the rune partially charged, I dropped Henrietta back onto my lap. I trembled from a cold that had seeped into my bones. When I reached into the box of ammunition, rounds scattered onto the seat and floor as I struggled to hold one.

  “I can’t do it,” I said in a whisper, my voice barely strong enough to fill the silence of the cab. I should have started with the round. What was I thinking? “I can’t keep my hand steady to carve the rune.”

  Dakota glanced at me as she drove. “What are you saying?”

  I panted for breath. “Pull over. You need to do this for me… to save your boyfriend.”

  Dakota steered the car to the curb.

  “I need you to carve a fire spell for me.” Her dashboard was dusty enough, so I used my finger to trace the outline of the rune. It would serve the purpose fine. The tighter the inscription, the less energy used to create the spell. I trusted Dakota to copy a poor rendering of what I intended rather than my own shaking, left-handed fingers. A general depiction would be enough for me to mentally will the spell into the carving.

  “I can’t,” she said.

  “You have to. I physically can’t do it. So, get over yourself and copy that image into the round.” I leaned my head back and closed my eyes. “I’m going to rest. I need the energy. Wake me when you’re done.”

  Less than a second later, Dakota shook my shoulder. I didn’t respond, preferring to remain asleep. She shook me again, burrowing her fingernails into my skin. My eyes sprang open, only to see Callie and Mel standing in the center of a pentagram. I was chained to a chair, naked and painted red with blood. The smell of smoke moved through the air, mixing with the dead rot of my family.

  “Come to us,” they said in unison. “You are the key to destroying our enemies.” They chanted it like a mantra

  Panicked, I scoured the area for anything to help me escape. I saw the silver coins from Medea’s house placed around the pentagram, forming a circle. They were set in a perimeter of blood—of my blood, I presumed. As I stared at the floor, the coins glowed white and the blood turned to black. A great darkness crept from the pentagram, an impossible summoning—demons no longer existed in the world, they couldn’t be brought into it.

  The cold darkness shot forward and slammed into my chest, knocking the chair over. My head slammed against the cool marble floor—

  And I jerked awake in Dakota’s car. The seatbelt locked, throwing me back against the seat.

  “Joey,” Dakota said, placing a hand on my shoulder.

  I shifted away from her, panting and shivering. I caught my breath, and my heart rate returned to non-fatal levels. “I’m okay. Just a nightmare. Fuck.” It wasn’t, though. None of my recent nightmares were actually nightmares. They were visions calling me to something. But what? I shook my head, figuring I could dwell on that later. “How’s the rune?”

  Dakota held a round between her thumb and index finger. It was sloppy, though not by design. She nearly matched what I’d sketched in the dashboard dust—which was all I could have asked for. “How does it look?” she asked.

  “It’ll work,” I said, taking it from her and pressing my thumb against her interpretation of the spell. “How far away are we?”

  “We’re here. Is that the warehouse?” She pointed across the street to an empty lot. On the other side of it stood the warehouse we’d scouted earlier.

  “That’s it.” I extended my hand to her. “The knife?”

  She shook her head, but she handed it over. I clenched my teeth as I dragged the blade across my wrist. The pain ballooned and popped, coating my sight in flurries of white. I rode the wave and used it to break through the ice again. Before my exhaustion caught up to the pain, I poured power into the symbol on the round, keeping the spell’s true name in my mind to bypass the crude display of the rune. The ice sealed again and I slumped in my seat.

  I glanced at Dakota. Her blonde hair was put in a loose ponytail. Strands fell into her face, covering her dark-blue eyes. Maybe I was drunk on lethargy and delirium, or maybe the pain had rendered my already busted mind-to-mouth filter useless. “You look really pretty tonight. If I live through this, I promise I’ll take you to that dinner we agreed upon. Do you like Mexican? I know the best Mexican restaurant.” Hot with embarrassment at my words, I didn’t give her a chance to respond. “Can I ask for your help in one last thing?”

  “Anything,” she said.

  I told her what I needed.

  When I finished, she said, “You better live then, because if you expect me to do this, I’m definitely cashing in on that date.”

  “It’s not with Xander, remember. It’s with me.”

  Dakota bit her lower lip and shrugged. “I think I’m okay with that.”

  That set a hot lump in my throat and made my stomach tingle. “You might want to rethink that opinion. Remember, I don’t have any money. So, technically, you’ll be taking me to dinner. I also don’t have a car, so you’ll need to pick me up. And my only clothes“—I glanced down at my now tattered and bloodied outfit—“are ruined. Other than that, I’ll treat you to a good time, my lady.” I grabbed the handle and opened the door.

  “Joey,” Dakota said. She leaned across the center console and kissed me.

  16

  As I staggered up the lot, I made out Gladas’s car parked in the warehouse. I forced myself forward, grimacing with each step. The injuries throughout my body, along with my drained reserves of energy, had compounded into one vicious mockery of life.

  I reached the chain-link fence that surrounded the property and gave it a shake, rattling the metal and drawing attention. “Hello!” I called into the night. “Anyone home?” Closing my eyes, I set my forehead in a diamond gap and waited for the bad guys to take me away.

  It didn’t take more than a minute for a handful of them—all clad in black—to appear from the darkness. They trained their assault rifles on me, one of them stepping forward. I squinted through the night to decipher anything strange about him—talons or fangs—but I didn’t notice a thing.

  “Hi,” I said, wriggling my fingers through the holes in the fence. “I’m Joey.” I sighed. “I was hoping to get a meeting with Circe. You know her? Three sets of tits, one way smaller than the other two bazookas. She has bird feet and smells like snail juice.”

  “Hands on
your head,” the lead man said as he advanced, not once taking his aim from me.

  I lifted both of my hands and set them on my head. “She’s expecting me. Said she needed some real men to service her, if you know what I mean. Said the dogs in black were too… insignificant for her needs.”

  The man tightened his grip on the gun’s frame. Had I struck a nerve? Had I insulted his love or his master? Or his ween? As a Demi, Circe could curse humans, but she couldn’t control them. I doubted she cursed her followers, as it decayed their minds and made them less reliable, especially without the ability to control them. So, were these soldiers part of some harem, and she paid them with more than a little coin? Or were they just hired muscle? I doubted any Nephil—and Circe was once a full-blown Nephil—would stoop to hiring security services. They prided themselves on control and manipulation. I was sure of it.

  I meant to expose that truth and press that button over and over again, until the men snapped. Why not? I would rather fight someone out of control with rage than someone with the peace of mind to string a logical thought together.

  “She told me she has you on a leash and throws you the occasional bone, just so you’ll keep sitting when she tells you to sit. Me, though,” I shook my head, “she gives to me freely. Begs me for it. Tell me, dog, has she ever fallen to her knees and begged you to give it to her? Or do you just beg her for everything?”

  The man had unlocked and opened the gate, now standing in front of me with his gun breathing on my face. I ventured around the layer of thick ice and looked for an opening—something that would provide me with a jolt of energy and strength. I found a tiny crack and placed my lips to it, breathing the power in. It filled my body with a red-hot energy.

  In a blur, I reached out with my left hand and gripped the barrel of his gun, jerking it to the side. Pulling him close to me, I struck him across the face with my right elbow and disarmed him, turning the weapon over and spraying the other four men before they could comprehend what happened. As they wet the asphalt with their blood, I flipped over the assault rifle again and battered the lead man in the skull. Something cracked, and I doubted it was the composite butt of my new toy. The man crumpled to the ground. I dropped the assault rifle, scampered through the gate, and grabbed another weapon. The bad guys—unlike Xander—didn’t play by the rules, either, equipping their assault rifles with drum magazines.