Soul Taker Read online

  “You’re not your father,” Caroline said, almost as if she could read my thoughts. “You’re not a monster.”

  Was that true? And even if it was, did it matter? The media sure didn’t seem to think so. If they couldn’t interview Mason Kane, then hitting up his son was the next best thing. How did the Bible quote go again? “The sins of the father shall be visited upon the sons…”

  As I continued to walk through the mansion, my stomach coiled with tension.

  I remembered the night when the law descended on the house, remembered heading for the stone stairs that led down to the beach. At the time, I’d hoped to find my father and his friends chilling out on the strand. Instead, I came across a yawning cave opening that took me straight into the hellish temple under the house. According to all the reports, no one had ever seen that cave opening before that day, or has seen it since. The cops entered the temple through a secret doorway in the library.

  And, to my surprise, that’s where I was headed next.

  Before I consciously grasped what I was doing, I’d entered the library and turned on the lights. In the golden illumination of the recessed ceiling lights, thousands of books stood revealed. I knew from all the news reports I’d read that I was looking at one of the largest occult book collections in the world. They were now mine to do with as I pleased. As the sole beneficiary of the estate, it would be up to me to decide what would happen with these esoteric tomes. I warily took in the books. What dark secrets lay buried in those yellowed pages?

  Caroline let out an appreciative whistle and surged up to the shelves, her eyes the size of saucers. My stomach tightened.

  In the beginning, I’d found her deep-rooted interest in the occult sorta cool. Now I wasn’t so sure.

  Until my thirteenth birthday, anything that went bump in the night had fascinated me. After I learned that my father was a practitioner of the dark arts, all that changed. In New York, I’d tried to reinvent myself. I got into sports, girls and music, keeping clear of the occult. But these books were now calling out to me, pages beckoning to be opened. And they appeared to have the same effect on Caroline.

  She reached out for one of the leather-bound volumes.

  “Don’t touch them,” I cried out.

  She stopped dead in her tracks, visibly alarmed by the panic in my trembling voice. Her hand hovered inches in front of the book she’d meant to check out.

  I must’ve sounded like a complete pussy to her, but I couldn’t help myself. This library had been my father’s collection. Adding to my growing anxiety was the sudden, searing pain shooting down my arm.

  For a moment I thought I was having a heart attack. Then I remembered Dad’s final parting gift. The Ouroboros tattoo on my shoulder was a little souvenir he’d left me with when I was a kid.

  My aunt had tried to remove the ink with laser surgery, but the image of the serpent devouring his own tail had always returned. After three failed attempts at removing the disturbing tattoo, she’d given up. And now the Ouroboros, the mark of my father’s sick cult, was burning like someone had set my arm on fire.

  Caroline shot me a nervous glance. “What’s wrong?”

  “Just leave the books alone, okay?”

  I spun away from the bookshelf and my eyes landed on a golden cross that hung on the only nearby wall not covered in books. I wondered at the sight of the Christian artifact. Dad wasn’t exactly a believer. Before I knew what was happening, Caroline strode up to the wall and inverted the crucifix. As soon as the cross was upside down, the bookshelf swung open, revealing a secret doorway and passage.

  I swallowed hard.

  “Your father didn’t exactly strike me as a devout Christian," Caroline said with a laugh.

  Suddenly, I wanted to pivot on my heels and storm out of this godforsaken place. Before I could turn this thought into reality, Caroline snatched me by the shoulder and stopped me in my tracks.

  I clenched my jaw and shook my head. “What the hell are we doing here?”

  “Facing your fears, babe.”

  I glared at Caroline. A surge of hatred shot through me. Why couldn’t she let me walk out of this godforsaken house? Why did she want me to go down those stairs and face the shadows below?

  “You’ve come too far to turn back now,” she said matter-of-factly.

  “What are you talking about? Damn it, why are you doing this?”

  “You’ve been running from this place all these years. The time has come to stop running, Simon. Go on!”

  Caroline’s magnetic gaze glittered with determination. Once again, a wave of mistrust gripped me, and I saw my cute, purple-haired girlfriend in a different light.

  She seemed way too eager about all of this. And how had she known about the trick with the crucifix?

  The pain in my shoulder churned as Caroline produced a small flashlight from her purse, flicked it on and guided me toward the opening in the wall, which yawned at me like a dark wound.

  “Do we really have to go down there?”

  “Yes.”

  I studied my lover. Was Caroline still talking about me, or was she referring to herself?

  I swallowed hard. Caroline was right about one thing: I’d come this far. There was no turning back at this point.

  My blood roaring in my veins, my heart crawling up my throat, I started to descend the dark stone staircase, my girlfriend leading the way.

  I was both impressed and scared by her recklessness. Was she really doing this for me? Or was some other motivation driving her?

  Another thought followed this: Was I trying to paint Caroline as a villain to justify my cowardice? What kind of jerk would do that? She’d been nothing but sweet and supportive to me. Plus—and I’m not proud of this—she had a great butt. I stared at it as we descended into darkness.

  I was nineteen. Give me a break.

  My footsteps rang out as we moved deeper into the bowels of the seaside cliff on which the mansion rested. I followed Caroline, our flashlight beams bobbing along in the dark.

  Somehow I set one foot in front of the other, an automaton under the command of some unseen master.

  I couldn’t tell how long it took us to reach the actual temple space below. All I remember is entering the hollowed-out cavern and seeing the whole place lit up with a preternatural light. Surely the flashlight in my hand couldn’t produce such bright illumination.

  I stopped to exhale as I frantically waved my flashlight back and forth over the curved rock ceiling. In my imagination, I saw the cavern collapsing on us and burying us alive. I would spend the rest of my days in this black hole, surrounded by the ghosts of my past.

  My heart knocked against my ribcage, and my next breath lodged in my throat as I took in the stone altar that dominated the far end of the space. I started to approach the dark center of this demonic place of worship, just as I had so many times before in my memories and dreams.

  Besides Caroline and myself, there was no one else here, but I felt as though invisible eyes were watching us both, almost as if the lost souls of the cultists still dwelled within this hollowed-out cliff. The air tasted stale and had a hint of copper, almost as if the blood spilled within the temple had permanently tainted the atmosphere.

  I found myself in the same nightmare that had haunted me for six years.

  But this time it was real.

  I was back home.

  I stepped up to the altar, and in my mind I saw the poor young woman staring up at my father’s raised knife. What had turned my old man into a monster? What sick quest for power had brought him to such a dark place? I’d never gotten the chance to ask him. Not sure that any answer he could have given me would make a difference, anyway.

  My hands were trembling, and I choked back the scream building in my chest as I noticed the iron rings growing from the altar’s stone surface. My father had fed ropes through those rings to restrain the sacrificial victims.

  I could almost imagine the black stains spreading across the altar’s surf
ace. The blood of my father’s many victims, which had seeped into the rock and left a permanent blot on the landscape.

  Jesus, I had to get out of this place.

  Screw facing my past. I didn’t need this shit.

  The darkness of this cavern had become vampiric, draining my energy. It wasn’t safe here. I needed to grab my girl and run.

  I was about to turn and run back up the stairs when I noticed a flash of silver on the stone floor near the sacrificial altar.

  I grew stock still and my mouth turned ashen.

  Impossible. It couldn’t be.

  I bit my lip as I leaned closer. Resting on the ground next to the altar was a knife.

  I had seen this blade before. The last time I’d laid eyes on it, my father was wielding it with murderous glee.

  Caroline joined me, her eyes as wide as my own. So I didn’t imagine the whole thing. Great. But how was this possible? According to all the police reports, my father’s sacrificial blade had vanished during the SWAT raid. One officer recalled my father dropping his murder weapon when the hail of police bullets tore through his chest, but that was the last mention of it. The forensic team had failed to locate the knife when they searched the temple. It was almost like it vanished into thin air.

  “It can’t be,” I muttered. “There’s no way the cops would’ve missed this knife during their search.”

  “Perhaps the knife only reveals itself to those it deems worthy. Perhaps it took your return to this place for it to show itself. You should…”

  Caroline’s voice grew distant to my ears as all my thoughts turned to the knife in front of me. The five-inch, double-edged blade gleamed in the circle of light. Where the blade met the curved wooden handle someone had etched a pentagram into the steel. It pointed at me like an all-seeing eye, almost as if it was judging me, contemplating whether I was worthy of wielding it.

  I crouched before the mysterious knife, strangely eager to inspect the blade.

  Could this really be my father’s knife, or was it some kind of bizarre practical joke? The logical part of my brain refused to believe it. My heart knew otherwise.

  My fingers tightened around the knife’s handle. I almost felt like a young King Arthur reaching out for Excalibur.

  At this point in my life I was unaware of the long history of the athame—or Hexblade, as it was properly named. All I knew was that this knife had drawn blood and served as my old man’s preferred killing tool.

  I would become intimately familiar with its long, sordid history soon enough.

  A pang of disappointment rippled through me as my fingers wrapped around the handle and brought up the knife. Perhaps I’d expected some wild surge of energy or electricity upon touching the athame. No such thing happened. It felt like I was holding an ordinary blade in my hand.

  What did you expect, buddy? A magic fireworks display? Some dude with a beard popping up to tell you that you’re the chosen one?

  I was still studying the gleaming blade, my distorted reflection playing across its steel surface, when I sensed movement behind me.

  I turned to look at Caroline over my shoulder.

  And froze.

  My girlfriend was lurching toward me, a large stone in her hand, her lovely features now locked in an icy mask.

  Before I knew what was happening, she brought the rock down on my head.

  The impact sent me sprawling. The last thing I remembered was hitting the altar, tasting dirt and catching the vague outline of Caroline as she towered over me. To my horror, she bent down and scooped up the knife I’d dropped. My father’s sacrificial blade gleamed in the beam of my flashlight, which had fallen to the floor beside me.

  With horror I understood that it was my turn to be sacrificed. A moment later, darkness swept away all conscious thoughts.

  The void awaited me.

  Chapter Three

  As I surfaced from the black ocean of my mind, my lungs gasping for air, the first thing I noticed was the torches that now burned in the surrounding sconces. Crimson flames licked at the oily shadows of the cave.

  Someone was determined to crank up the dramatics.

  I tried to move and realized that someone—Caroline?—had tied my hands and feet to the iron rings that lined the stone altar. I was splayed out on the rock, my heaving body ready to be sacrificed in the same grisly manner as my father’s victims.

  Fear tugged at the pit of my stomach.

  I strained against the thick ropes with the sudden, explosive energy of a madman. The restraints wouldn’t budge, making a mockery of my desperate struggle.

  Footsteps rang out on the stone and Caroline filled my field of vision, her bloodless face waxy and unreadable as she loomed over my prone form. Was this really the woman I’d shared a bed with for the last three months?

  She wasn’t my Caroline anymore.

  This leather-clad, pierced and tatted goddess of darkness shared very little in common with the girl I’d fallen in love with.

  Who are you kidding, buddy? a voice whispered deep inside me. You knew she was damaged goods from the moment you laid eyes on her. Why else would she be drawn to the son of a monster? What sane girl stocked her bookshelves with occult tomes?

  I pushed these dark thoughts aside. Beating myself up would not help with my predicament.

  I had to focus on the here and now, on finding a way out of this mess. One thing was for certain—if I made it out of here alive, we were definitely breaking up. Fuck, I couldn’t believe my mind could still crack jokes at a time like this.

  I sensed more movement. Shock constricted my chest as two men joined Caroline around the altar. One was tall and emaciated and sported the same goth fashion sense as my treacherous girlfriend—a black leather trench coat draped over a scarecrow frame. A mane of long, unwashed hair framed haggard features that appeared to have gone through life without ever encountering sunlight. The second man was muscular and handsome with cruel, iron-gray eyes that bored into me. He wore a reddish faux-leather jacket, his thick physique bulging under the skin-fitting fabric. Gruesome tattoos covered his throat and forearms.

  The freak pack’s excitement was palpable.

  Caroline grabbed the skeletal man’s bony arm and pressed herself against his side. In that instant I realized Caroline had never really cared for me. I had merely been a means to an end. The key to my father’s dark kingdom.

  “What the fuck?” I asked, my voice raw with emotion. I knew the answer but didn’t want to accept it.

  “We’re about to complete your father’s work,” Caroline said. “Isn’t that wonderful?”

  My blood turned to ice. Up until now, I’d been clinging to the hope that there might be some other rational explanation for what was happening here. Caroline’s words destroyed that possibility.

  “Who the fuck are these guys?” I demanded.

  Caroline held my questioning gaze for an eternal beat. “Six years ago, your father tried to gain the favor of the forces of darkness. Where he failed, we’ll succeed. We’ll complete the ritual and call forth the powers of the Void.”

  My heart sank. God, how could I have been so foolish? Caroline had played me from the start. She’d used me. Lured me into her trap, talked me into giving her access to this place. It had never been about me facing my demons. On the contrary, this wicked wench planned to unleash those very same devils upon the world. And my blood would fuel her dark ritual.

  “I see you’re finally accepting the truth. Good. Took you long enough.”

  “You lied to me. I thought you cared.”

  She studied me with glittering, fanatical eyes. “I do care, Simon. I care about your father’s work more than you can imagine. Unlike you, I’m not scared of the dark. I embrace it. Worship it. Serve it.”

  Each word was a sharp barb piercing my soul. I shook my head, wishing my hands weren’t tied to the altar so I could press them against my ears and drown out her words.

  I felt sick to my stomach. But despite my churning emotio
ns, a part of me still wanted to talk some sense into her.

  “I don’t know what ritual you plan to carry out here, but you’re dabbling in forces you can’t control.”

  “Is that so?”

  Caroline removed the athame from her leather jacket. The pentagram shimmered in the light radiating off the torches. Icy certainty gripped me. I would soon make my acquaintance with the pointy tip of my father’s sacrificial knife.

  “You really believe you can gain favor with the lords of darkness by offering me up to them?” I tried to sound tough, but I don’t think I succeeded.

  Caroline’s black-painted lips curled into a frosty smile. The flickering torches painted dark circles under her eyes and hollowed out her face, outlining the skull under the skin.

  “Your father’s blood runs through your veins, Simon Kane. I want the Lords of Darkness to take notice when I summon them. I demand they take me seriously.”

  The torches in the cave flickered, as if in anticipation of the ritual. I wondered how she’d planned this charming little betrayal. She must’ve have called her helpers as soon as she’d knocked me out. Hell, they might have followed us all the way from Denver, waiting in the shadows, biding their time.

  Would my death grant Caroline the power she craved? She seemed to think so. I wasn’t so sure, personally. My father had devoted a lifetime to mastering the dark arts. Caroline and her pimply cohorts felt like rank amateurs in comparison, the few books of black magic on her shelf no match for my father’s vast library on the occult arts.

  I made one last, desperate attempt to talk some sense into Caroline before she made the biggest mistake of her life.

  “Um, have you considered the forces of darkness might not appreciate you murdering the son of their greatest follower?”

  This plea elicited mocking laughter from Caroline.

  “You call Mason Kane Hell’s greatest follower? More like Hell’s greatest failure.” She shook her head, giggling. Damn it, I used to like that giggle. Now it made me want to throw up.

  “Your blood will make the Void take notice, and your death will put me in the good graces of the dark side. I will succeed where your father failed.”