Shadow Detective Supernatural Action Thriller Series: Books 1-3 (Shadow Detective Boxset) Read online

  He paused, his wings sweeping the air with greater control and precision.

  “I needed to seize control of Morgal’s power the next time he manifested himself. That gave me twenty-one years to set the perfect trap for the demon.”

  The insane extent of Horne’s plan, the crazy level of dedication it had required, started to dawn on me.

  “You raised your children to be part of this madness,” I said out loud. “Your sons as well as your daughter. Brainwashed them until they were your soldiers, willing to blindly make any sacrifice required from them.”

  In my mind’s eye, I replayed the murders of the three Horne sons but this time Eric, Gabriel and Robert all helped guide Celeste’s hand as she pierced their hearts with the Soul Dagger. They had offered up their lives and souls to aid their father’s insane quest to become an even greater monster than he already was.

  “My offspring served only one purpose—to pave the way for my transformation.”

  “You led them to their deaths,” I said. “Parents are supposed to love and protect their kids, not use them as pawns in some sick game.”

  “We all die, Raven but we don’t all truly live. Their sacrifice wasn’t in vain, and they were glad to make it. They believed in the plan, and as you can see, everything worked out perfectly in the end.”

  For you, you old bastard, I thought. But what about them?

  Another insight occurred to me.

  “It was you who taught Celeste magic.”

  “I felt it might come in handy as we neared the day of reckoning.”

  I considered this and asked, “How did you know about the Soul Dagger?”

  “I kept close tabs on your father’s work, even as he tried to hunt me down. I read the reports on the Berlin Ripper case.”

  The Horne demon took a step toward the edge of the still-glowing circle but didn’t pass beyond its boundaries.

  “I’d always feared we might not be able to contain Morgal in the magical circle long enough for our souls to successfully switch bodies,” he continued, clearly pleased to have a captive audience to hear all about his triumph. If I could just keep him talking, maybe I could find a way out of his mess.

  “You needed a distraction.”

  “That’s correct. The Soul Dagger would allow them to attack Morgal in a way that would throw him off balance and allow me to successfully complete the ritual. For my plan to succeed, I needed to retrieve the blade.”

  “Then why not just steal it? Why bother going through the whole charade with Celeste asking for our help?”

  “I didn’t know if Hell was monitoring my actions. Morgal had to believe that Celeste’s offer was real so he would let his guard down. That scar on your chest connects you with Morgal. It’s why I can read your mind now, Raven. I knew he’d scan your thoughts once he entered the temple, and if you were convinced that Celeste had betrayed you, he would have no reason to be suspicious of my daughter.”

  “So you wanted me to be here for all this? It was part of the plan from the beginning?”

  “I leave nothing up to chance. You were always the key, Raven. Especially for what follows next.”

  The Horne demon held up the Soul Dagger, the implication clear. He would hand deliver my soul to the Prince of Darkness.

  “It’s fitting,” Horne said, “that your father’s death opened my eyes to my true destiny, and now his son’s death will assure I fulfill it.”

  Horne had waited for this moment for twenty-one years.

  But so had I.

  My eyes remained riveted on the two magic circles, which had changed color from blood red to electric blue. Horne still hadn’t attempted to leave the ring of glyphs, and I guessed that the soul transfer spell hadn’t quite run its course. Horne’s victorious rant couldn’t disguise the fact that he hadn’t actually won yet.

  Over the course of my conversation with the Horne demon, the Seal of Solomon I wore on my index finger had grown hot as it ate away at the magic holding me in place. I already sensed some feeling gradually returning to my hands. My anger was breaking through Morgal’s paralysis spell, or maybe swapping souls with the demon had weakened the magic. I couldn’t be sure. But I liked to believe that my love for my parents and my need to avenge them played an important role in what happened next.

  Tapping into my rage, I kept focusing on my hand. I moved my fingers inch by strenuous inch while I visualized pulling off the ring with my other hand and throwing the Seal of Solomon into Horne’s protective circle. I replayed this image over and over again, all the while masking my thoughts with the very real anger I still felt.

  I sensed Horne was catching psychic impression of my thoughts, and his demonic eyes lit up with sudden alarm. But by then it was already too late.

  I saw my mother’s frozen form, her bluish lips, her wide-open eyes staring emptily into space.

  I saw the roaring flames consume my father’s car as he slammed into Morgal.

  I saw myself, a young orphan lost in a world of horrors.

  Horne had taken my parents from me, and with them any chance I’d had at a normal life. My rage exploded and movement returned to my body. In less than a second the ring was off my finger.

  “No!” Horne said.

  Yes.

  I hurled the ring into Horne’s magic circle.

  The Seal of Solomon clearly didn’t like Horne’s magic too much as the circle went from blue to a searing, almost neon yellow.

  And then the circles were gone.

  Judging by the terror in the old man’s wizened features, interrupting the magical ritual had sent his soul back to his ailing human body.

  Morgal regarded me for a beat. Had I just made the biggest mistake of my monster-hunting career?

  Instead of attacking me, Morgal inclined his head a fraction of an inch in thanks to me and then turned toward the man who’d dreamt of being a demon.

  “Please.” It was the only word Horne managed to say before the demon launched itself at him.

  19

  Flesh was Morgal’s canvas, pain his muse. The demon had spent eternity figuring out new ways of torturing the damned. Considering the horrors he was willing to inflict on random strangers, I couldn’t imagine what was in store for Horne.

  The next few moments gave me a gut-wrenching preview.

  Morgal tore into the old man and went to work. Horne’s cries of agony soon devolved into animal squeals. Horne had become a screaming piece of meat, and Morgal was both butcher and surgeon working him over.

  Mercifully Morgal’s large wings enveloped the altar, sparing me the details. I don’t have the stomach for torture even if it is well deserved.

  With Morgal focused on his grisly handiwork, I cut a hasty retreat. More than anything else in the world, I wanted to face the demon in battle, but I didn’t stand a chance against this agent of darkness. Confronting him without a more powerful weapon than Hellseeker was suicide. My best bet was to get out of here so I could fight another day.

  Relieved to be in charge of my body again, I made my way toward the magical circle that had served as Morgal’s prison. Horne’s haunting screams intensified as I retreated.

  I stopped in front of the circle and swiftly retrieved both the Seal of Solomon and the Soul Dagger. Crouched at the edge of the circle, the low angle offered me a view of Celeste’s dead body next to the altar. The sight filled me with sadness and pity. She’d never had a chance. Horne had molded and manipulated her since birth, used her as a means to an end on his mad quest for power. Just one more victim of the man’s out-of-control ego.

  I slipped the relics into the deep pockets of my coat and continued toward the stairs. I didn’t get too far before Morgal became aware of my escape attempt. I froze as the demon turned his reptilian visage toward me. We looked at each other. Into each other. No words were exchanged, but the expression in those nightmarish, bottomless eyes sent chills down my spine.

  The demon returned his full attention to Horne. The message was clear. M
orgal would spare me today, but I sensed he wouldn’t extend the same courtesy to me the next time around. I’d spared Morgal from a fate worse than death, and apparently there was some honor among demons. Or perhaps Morgal wanted to conserve his energy for the blood-caked old man on the altar.

  Either way, there was a knowing smugness in the demon’s gaze. Perhaps letting me live for now with my own demons was the greater hell. I had saved my parents’ killer. That wasn’t going to be easy to live with—and how was I going to tell Skulick?

  There would be a rematch in the future, I was certain of that. I’d better be prepared for when our paths crossed again.

  Turning away from the temple, I climbed the stairs, my muscles aching with each step, as Horne’s death screams receded behind me.

  My pace had picked up considerably by the time I reached the library. Outside the mansion, I heard wailing sirens. The cops were closing in on the property. Great. If Detective Archer showed up now, she might not believe I’d been an innocent bystander for these murders.

  I passed Eric Horne and the dead bodyguards, who’d finally been allowed to rest. Eric was slumped in his chair, his blank gaze directed at the wall of books as if searching for an explanation for what had gone wrong here today. With Celeste’s death, the animation spell stopped working.

  Once outside the library, I stumbled through one hallway after another, the knowledge I’d gained from the Noh mask forgotten. The place felt even more oppressive and decadent than when I first set foot inside. The oil paintings, the marble sculptures—I found no beauty in these expensive objects. To me, they served as sharp reminders of Horne’s insatiable greed.

  Scanning the hallway ahead, I detected no signs of any guards. Horne’s security team must’ve fled when the supernatural fog enveloped the property. At least I hoped they’d fled. A machine pistol makes for a poor choice of weapon against a demon.

  The sound of approaching footsteps made me freeze. The police were here. I hid behind the main staircase that dominated the lavishly appointed front lobby. A beat later, the heavy oak door was rammed open and police officers swarmed the lobby.

  I slipped on the Noh mask and focused on one of the incoming cops. As the officer passed my hiding spot, I emerged from the space beneath the staircase, now just another cop combing the scene.

  No one paid me any attention as I slipped out the front door. I never looked back as I descended a set of stone stairs to the grounds below. I passed immaculate stretches of grass and perfectly trimmed hedges. Up ahead, a collection of police cruisers formed a barrier around the mansion. Sirens painted the night red and blue.

  Archer was just getting out of her car. She met my gaze, and for a beat, I thought she could recognize me despite my magical disguise.

  The moment ended as she rushed toward the mansion, not paying me any mind. Just wishful thinking of my part, I guess. After what happened in the temple, I wanted to fall into her arms, feel her heat against me. I craved human contact and connection, anything to release this maelstrom of emotions.

  You chose the lesser of two evils, I told myself. Morgal was just the blunt instrument that had delivered the deathblow. It was madness to seek revenge against the weapon instead of the murderer. Horne was the one who had signed my parents’ death sentence. Allowing him to gain a foothold in Hell would have been worse than sparing Morgal. Or at least that’s what I tried to convince myself of as I walked away from the estate.

  Numbed by the events of the evening, I stumbled through the woods and somehow managed to locate my ride.

  I got into the car, fired up the engine, and drove back to the Cursed City in silence. I was in no mood for music. My hands shook, clinging to the steering wheel like a life raft.

  Once back at the loft, I headed straight for the bar area. Instead of pouring myself a drink, I took a deep pull straight from the bottle.

  As always, Skulick sat hunched before his bank of monitors, busy monitoring the web and media outlets for our next potential case.

  “So, how did it go?”

  I wanted to tell him the whole story but something held me back. Why reopen this old wound unless I could offer closure?

  “It was Horne who ordered the hit on your parents, wasn’t it?”

  I stared at Skulick, stunned by my partner’s uncanny insight.

  “How did you know?” I asked.

  “Used to be a detective, kid. Once you told me that Horne made a deal with the demon who killed your dad, I started doing some digging.”

  I nodded and took another swig. “Horne felt you and Dad were closing in on his cult activities and figured that breaking up your partnership would make you back off.”

  I filled him in on the rest of the story, and Skulick listened quietly, his face betraying zero emotion. When I was done, he nodded at the bottle of Johnny Walker, and I poured him a generous drink.

  He usually sipped his whiskey, but now he knocked it back in one swig. His voice quivered as he said, “I’m sorry, kid. I wish I could’ve been there with you when you faced these monsters. I’m so sorry you had to go through this on your own.”

  I walked over and put my hand on his shoulder. “I wasn’t on my own.”

  I meant it. For twenty-one years, Skulick had been my protector and teacher, both father and friend.

  I was the man I am today because of him.

  His injury had changed our partnership, but we were still a team. And we had a new enemy now. Morgal.

  “Don’t keep beating yourself up. Next time we face the demon, we’ll kill him. The bastard isn’t getting away again.”

  Skulick patted my hand. “Your parents would be proud of you, Mike. And so am I. You make us proud every day.”

  There was a lump in my throat as I put the bottle of Johnny Walker down and nodded at the bank of screens. Time to change the subject before I got too emotional.

  “Anything happening out there?”

  Skulick cocked an eyebrow. “Ever hear of Club Link?”

  “Do I look like I have time for clubbing?”

  Skulick winked at me. “Two hours ago, a couple was found dead there. Authorities have shut down the place while they investigate.”

  “Sounds like someone partied too hard.”

  “There were eyewitness reports of a strange figure in the club, a pale woman dressed all in white. It got my attention.”

  I was surprised to find myself up for another case after my run-in with Horne and Morgal. I guess I needed something to get my mind off what happened. Fast.

  “So who is the woman in white?” I said.

  “Two months ago, a model overdosed at the club,” Skulick explained.

  I soaked this in and said, “You’re saying the ghost of a dead model haunts this club?”

  “Only one way to know for sure.”

  “The fun never stops around here.”

  “We don’t call it the Cursed City for nothing,” Skulick said.

  I cracked a smile. It was a little shaky around the edges, but it felt good to know I could smile at all after what had happened.

  Morgal would pay for his crimes. In the meantime, our war against the supernatural went on. Monsters dwelled in the shadows of this city. It was up to Skulick and me to shine a light on the darkness.

  THE END

  1

  Anxiety churned deep inside the pit of Joe Cormac’s stomach, and he wished he had never signed up for this crazy ghost-hunting expedition. Hell, he would have almost preferred to be back in Iraq instead of squeezed into an equipment-stuffed van alongside a team of parapsychologists gearing up for a paranormal investigation.

  Two men in their late twenties, scruffy scientist types, flanked their more refined-looking leader. Steve—bald, Dominican, with a double chin—and Nick—wild mop of curly hair and an equally frizzy beard—formed a protective circle around Dr. Michelle Gould. The fair-skinned, raven-haired leader of the trio of ghost chasers was in her mid-forties, a former Goth girl turned student of the weird. The emerald e
yes framed by a pair of large, round glasses shone with an intellectual excitement that stood in sharp contrast to Joe's grim-faced expression of unease. Dr. Gould loved hunting ghosts and probing the mysteries of the beyond. The paranormal was her calling. For Joe, it felt more like a curse.

  Unlike Gould and her two assistants, Joe had not chosen this path in life. It had been thrust upon him. Shrapnel from an IED back in Iraq had nearly killed him. Correction, it did kill him. But when the medics brought him back, Joe was…different. It wasn’t just the scars covering his torso, either. He was able to see the souls of the dead.

  Dr. Gould’s words rang out in his mind for the hundredth time:

  "You survived for a reason, Joe. I truly believe that. You've been given a special gift."

  Joe didn’t feel so special at this moment. He felt scared.

  The van came to a sudden, grinding halt. They'd reached their destination: Club Link. There had been six deaths at the club in the last three months. Cops shut the place down when a couple was found in the basement with their necks snapped. According to eyewitness accounts, a spectral figure had been spotted in the club that same night. It was just one of many sightings since the strange string of deaths. The police naturally ignored those reports, but they'd gotten Gould's full attention.

  "Two months ago, a model overdosed at Club Link. I believe she is our lady in white," Dr. Gould said, unable to hide her growing excitement.

  At times like these, Joe called her “Dr. Ghoul,” if not aloud. What demons drove the parapsychologists? Why would someone voluntarily seek out spirits and face down the supernatural? Every time the question came up, she skillfully changed the subject. The parapsychologist remained a mystery to him. Mind reading wasn't among Joe's psychic abilities, so all he could do was speculate. Something had set Gould on her current journey. And perhaps it was best if he didn't know what exactly fueled her unusual obsession.

  Dr. Gould nodded at Steve to open the van door. Biting night air greeted them, and Joe's teeth chattered as he wrapped his arms tighter around his upper body.