Sacrifice of the Sorcerer Read online

  Meanwhile, the crowd had swallowed Karen. Alice wasn’t sure when she’d lost sight of her friend. But everyone was so friendly and so interesting that she didn’t mind being left on her own.

  As a pair of handsome men chatted her up, Alice reminded herself that these were potential business contacts. As charming and pleasant as their conversation might be, most of these guys were looking for a fling, not a relationship. Alice knew this from painful personal experience. Any question about where the relationship was going always ended with a quick break-up.

  Sorry babe, I lost my virginity when I was 25, I’m still catching up.

  The men she’d dated in the Valley were all obsessed with displays of wealth and power. Offers to be flown to an exotic location and be put up in fancy hotels were far more common than a call for a third date. Once you convinced yourself that no one would ever love you for who you were, it was difficult to change your attitude about relationships. No wonder open relationships were the new normal out here. Sex parties weren’t scandalous or some big secret, but a simple lifestyle choice. At least that’s what these guys wanted her to believe.

  Alice’s idea of a lifestyle choice involved healthy eating habits and physical activity, not drugs or an STD.

  Anyway, she wasn’t here to meet Mr. Right. She was networking. And perhaps, if she was honest with herself, even having fun.

  Alice quickly lost track of how many times her glass had been refilled. She felt pleasantly blurred around the edges, the lights and laughter swirling around her like a lazy carousel.

  She combed the crowd for Karen. Where was that crazy girl? Alice suddenly wanted to tell Karen that she’d been so, so right to drag her to this wonderful party.

  As Alice cast about the mansion, she suddenly felt eyes on her and turned. From across the crowd, a tall, wiry man observed her with unflinching intensity.

  Ian Zorn.

  He seemed to tower over the other partygoers, his eyes sharp and cruel and reminiscent of a bird of prey. The smile on his pockmarked features lacked warmth.

  It had a sobering effect on Alice. A voice piped up inside her, urging her to flee the mansion without looking back.

  And then the moment passed as some woman stepped in front of Zorn, blocking the magnetic host from Alice’s immediate view.

  A chill raced up her neck, and she quickly downed another glass of the wine. The sensation of blissful abandon returned, and all thoughts of leaving the party disappeared as the liquid burned down her throat.

  Without consciously noticing it, Alice was pulled deeper into the center of the crowd. Before long, she found herself sandwiched between two couples that were both eager to make out with her.

  The crazy part, she suddenly found nothing wrong about it.

  Nothing at all.

  She let their hands run over her lean, fit physique, returned their kisses with the same hunger and desire.

  Somewhere in the back of her mind, alarm bells were going off. Had someone slipped her an inhibition-melting drug? No, she would remember taking a drug, unless…What if they had spiked the wine which she was consuming like water?

  But why would her new friends do that? No, she was just being a Girl Scout again. She hadn’t had this much fun in years. Maybe ever.

  More sensations chased away these burgeoning doubts. She didn’t know who was touching her anymore. There were hands sliding all over her skin, sliding her cocktail dress off her shoulders.

  Alice sighed and gave in to the pleasure.

  To the darkness.

  To the void.

  Chapter Eight

  A flash of blinding moonlight greeted Alice’s return to consciousness.

  Squinting against the harsh light, she groggily tried to make sense of her new surroundings. Her head was pounding something fierce, making it difficult to think.

  Where was she? Where was Karen?

  She needed her phone, but when she tried to sit up, she nearly puked.

  Taking deep breaths to steady herself, Alice looked around.

  A shadowy landscape of gnarled roots, thick undergrowth, and massive trees surrounded her.

  She turned her head and tasted soil, which she immediately spat out.

  From the looks of it, she was in the middle of a forest, somehow, and her skull felt like it was about to explode.

  How had she gotten here? And where was here, anyway?

  Her throbbing head struggled to make sense of all the pieces and assemble them into some coherent order.

  Alice remembered the party, the wine she’d been enjoying so much. She’d started to worry when she lost Karen in the bustling crowd. Then there were hands and mouths all over her.

  Damn it, she’d known this party would turn into an orgy. But why had she gone along with it? She wasn’t that type of girl.

  Oh my God, they drugged me, she realized. There was no other explanation that made sense to her mind.

  Her worst fears about this party had come true—and then some.

  And things were about to get a lot worse. Nearby branches snapped, and someone shuffled through the thick undergrowth.

  Fear clawed her pounding heart.

  She wasn’t alone any longer.

  Someone lurked in the moonlit forest.

  “Hello, who’s there?”

  There was no answer as Alice squinted into the impenetrable darkness. And then the shadows lifted, and a robed figure peeled from the blackness.

  Alice let out a gasp as her gaze fixed on the monklike figure in front of her, the moon’s glow etching the new arrival in eerie silhouette.

  This is a horror movie, she thought, her mind frantic with building hysteria. You’re the dumb girl in a horror movie, and now you’re gonna get killed.

  To Alice’s amazement, her instincts took over, and she jumped to her feet, her body breaking through the paralysis of her terror. All those burpees were paying off in ways she could have never imagined.

  She heard another branch break and spotted more movement as two more robed figures emerged from the darkness.

  The faceless spooks stood like stone sentinels, watching her, the air thick with mounting tension. The billowing cloaks made it impossible to tell if these strangers were male or female or even human. They stood in a loose circle, blocking her escape. Her gaze darted from one to the other, her heart beating like a rabbit caught in a circle of predators.

  And then reality sped up as the three hooded spooks burst into motion and zeroed in on her.

  Alice had no choice now.

  She barreled away from the approaching apparitions, determined to put as much distance as possible between herself and the fast-approaching pursuers.

  She was a goddamn fitness guru. She was faster and stronger than these freaks.

  Drawing strength from her warrior workouts, which focused both on physical and mental toughness, Alice ran as if her life depended on it—which she was pretty sure it did. The forest became a blur of shadows and moonlight as she hurtled through the night.

  She didn’t get far before more of the robed figures materialized in front of her. Instinctively, Alice cut a sharp left, but she bought herself only a few seconds before more of the robed figures emerged from the bushes.

  Alice spun around only to realize more strangers had snuck up on her from behind.

  A ring of spooks was drawing closer.

  Blood roared in her ears, her heart rattling her rib cage.

  Fuck!

  And then the robed figures were upon her. Faceless demons reaching out for her with icy hands.

  Her elbow shot out and connected with a satisfying crunch with one assailant.

  The figure reeled back and gasped. The hood slipped off, and she recognized her attacker as one of the men who’d made out with her at the party.

  Disgust mixed with terror.

  These assholes were human, after all.

  Alice reached out and yanked off the hood of another figure. Another face first glimpsed at the party appeared. The
woman had gone on and on about the app she helped develop.

  Adrenaline surging, Alice fought with all her might against the incoming horde. Her training gave her an edge, but she was one person against a mob, and before long steely hands were restraining her arms and legs. One figure clamped a hand around her throat, cutting off her air supply.

  No!

  The familiar features of this newest assailant stood revealed in a splash of moonlight. It was none other than her friend Karen, her eyes manic and without mercy, her lips twisted into an animalistic snarl, barely recognizable.

  Betrayal turned to shock.

  What in God’s name was happening here?

  Alice kicked out and caught her friend—no, Karen wasn’t her friend, had never been her friend—in the thigh.

  The woman hissed and drew back, and Alice could breathe again.

  A scream exploded from Alice’s throat, born of sheer horror and confusion.

  “Scream, all you like. There is no one here to answer you.”

  Alice’s terror-stricken gaze found the man who’d spoken. A long face dominated by a pair of fierce, almost hypnotic eyes and a cruel slash of a mouth peeked from the hood of the dark robe.

  “You belong to me, my dear Alice,” Ian Zorn said.

  Zorn nodded at his followers, and they tightened their grip on her.

  Alice gasped with pain as they dragged her across the forest floor, rocks and branches nicking her skin so many times that she lost track of all the little pains racking her body. Alice continued to struggle in their grasp, refusing to give in, but her efforts were in vain.

  She was their prisoner.

  “Not a prisoner, my dear,” Zorn said. “You’re our sacrifice.”

  Alice was still grappling with these words—and the fact that Zorn could apparently read minds—when they arrived in a small, secluded grove. Without the dense canopy of the trees, the moon turned the night into day, revealing details of her surroundings she wished had remained hidden.

  The Zorn estate stood tall in the near distance, a symbol of power and wealth within the natural landscape. Here was a well-kept oasis within the forest, a circle of grass lined with stone pathways and bordered by a small lake. The grove would have been almost charming except for the ominous configuration of rocks at its center.

  Every instinct told her that this place was evil. She struggled helplessly as Zorn’s followers hoisted her into the air and placed her exhausted form on to the altar.

  This is an altar… I’m their sacrifice!

  This craziness wasn’t happening, couldn’t be real. The stone biting into her bruised shoulders and legs said otherwise.

  Alice tried to move, only to realize that some invisible force now pinned her to the altar. The robed figures encircled her, features remaining shrouded in darkness. One of them was that bitch, Karen. If she got out of this, she’d claw the other woman’s eyes out.

  But deep down, Alice knew she wasn’t going anywhere.

  A knife gleamed in Zorn’s bony right hand. The blade shimmered in the moonlight, offering a promise of agonies to come.

  Tears rolled down her cheeks, but whatever magic had trapped her on the altar wouldn’t even let her beg for mercy.

  Zorn chanted words in a language that sounded both familiar and utterly alien.

  Inside her head, Alice was screaming. She was about to die. These rich Silicon Valley assholes were about to sacrifice her like some fucking animal. The whole thing was absurd. A cruel joke.

  And then she spotted the stranger in the near distance. Weirdly enough, no one in the freaky congregation paid him any mind. Despite her terrified state, Alice sensed that this man wasn’t like all the others

  For one, he stood apart from the crowd. For another, he didn’t wear a monk’s robe. His long black leather trench coat stirred in the late-night breeze as he met her gaze. There was no fanatical hatred in those laser-focused eyes, no insanity in the chiseled features.

  The man regarded her with deep compassion, and suddenly a male voice entered her mind.

  Everything will be alright.

  This telepathic message wasn’t the craziest thing she’d experienced tonight.

  The even crazier part—she believed him.

  An instant later, Zorn brought down the sacrificial blade.

  Chapter Nine

  Weylock drove up the shady, gently winding streets in the black Ford Mustang he’d rented for the night. He could have teleported himself through space, but why squander the demon’s energy when he’d need it for the upcoming confrontation with Zorn? Besides, he took great pleasure in driving this particular car. The Mustang had been his ride of choice for his entire adult life. The car handled well and looked great. And most importantly, it reminded him of what it was like to be a man again.

  The endless inner battle with the demon was chipping away at his humanity every day. Each victory over the creature came at the cost of some of his most treasured memories, and each day saw his past fading further and further away in the rearview mirror of his life. So he clung to the stuff that once mattered to Jaxon Weylock.

  A good cup of coffee. A ride in a Mustang. His FBI badge.

  And most dear to him, the wedding picture tucked safely away in his wallet, both a source of blissful joy and crushing sadness.

  In time, the man he once was would cease to exist, and only the Hexecutioner would remain. The monks had told him as much. At first he hadn’t believed them, but now he could feel it happening. Until he lost himself completely, he’d resist the beast to the best of his abilities and focus on the job at hand. A woman’s life hung in the balance. He would do everything in his power to prevent Alice from joining the faces of Zorn’s other victims in his Book of the Dead.

  For a moment, Weylock wondered how Sara Thwaites was getting on with her life after he’d saved her from the werewolf serial killer. She’d been through hell and back, and Weylock sincerely hoped she was doing well. In this new war, even the survivors of the horrors were victims. The scars these encounters left on their souls would take the rest of their lives to heal, if they ever did.

  A little up ahead on the road, a bloated moon dangled over Zorn’s expansive property. Weylock parked the car at the side of the twisty road, and he strode toward the mansion.

  As he approached, his black FBI suit morphed into the ragged leather coat, his clean-cut appearance became grizzled, humanity giving way to the power of the demon inside him.

  The time had come for Special Agent Jaxon Weylock to take a backseat for the Hexecutioner.

  The Santa Ana winds shook the trees and buffeted his coat. He welcomed the warm breeze against his newly stubbled face. Air tousled the long, untamed hair which had replaced his FBI buzz-cut.

  The wrought-iron gates that enclosed the property came into view. Three guards fronted the entrance, the bulges under their suits suggesting they were packing. Hired muscle, oblivious of the pure evil of their employer. Unwitting accessories in the crimes of their unholy master and undeserving of the wrath of the Hexecutioner.

  Weylock drew a circle in the air, and one of his mystical tattoos ignited with searing energy. The demon snarled in irritation but did his bidding. Instantly, a cloak of invisibility enveloped him, and he brushed past the guards unseen. He never slowed his approach as he phased through the closed iron gates.

  The night was eerily quiet as Weylock made his way down a flagstone path toward the house. He’d always been a bit of minimalist, even before the monastic cell in which he now dwelled, and had never put much stock on material possessions. He’d never dreamed of living in a mansion, but Weylock didn’t judge anyone who chose this lavish lifestyle. As long as a person’s wealth hadn’t come via the unjust exploitation of others, they deserved to reap the fruits of their hard labor.

  All significant accomplishments in life required sacrifice. Personal sacrifice, though, and not the sacrifice of others—an important distinction many people forgot about. Ian Zorn was about to receive a refr
esher in that critical lesson.

  Edging deeper into Zorn’s domain, Weylock picked up voices on the warm gusts of wind. Unearthly, plaintive cries begging for release from this earthly plane. The souls of Zorn’s victims remained trapped in this palace of darkness, their pain and suffering continuing to fuel the Silicon Valley mogul’s success even in death.

  Your suffering ends tonight, Weylock promised the lost souls. Vengeance will be yours.

  As soon as he made this promise, the urgent voices grew silent, sensing the sincerity of his words and his power to make them a reality.

  Weylock headed to the back of the property where the voices had come from.

  He opted for the direct route and walked straight through the abandoned luxury home instead of circling it.

  There were no guards at the mansion.

  Zorn didn’t want any witnesses, even ones on his payroll.

  Once again, Weylock walked through doors, walls, and furniture as if he were just one more of the dead spirits bound to the Zorn estate.

  He took in his surrounding, the overpriced art and furniture, the long tables filled with expensive wine and food. All of it paid for by human suffering and black magic. Empty glasses and discarded plates and napkins littered the faux fur carpet, remnants of the night’s festivities.

  His gaze took note of a large fireplace and pointed his hand at the flickering flames. With a sudden roar, the fire burst from the fireplace and ignited the carpet and walls. Hot tongues of fire licked the property.

  Weylock pressed onward, black smoking around him, hellish light painting features taut with anger crimson.

  His demon taunted him for his emotional response. The creature rarely communicated through words, but he did so now.

  Do you truly serve justice, Hexecutioner, or is this personal vengeance? You can’t punish me, so you take it out on the rest of the world?

  Weylock was used to the demon’s occasional jabs and blocked out the creature’s words to the best of his abilities.

  The demon had learned to choose his words carefully, knowing that Weylock had the power to hurt him in turn. If the beast crossed a line—like any taunt involving his departed wife—the consequences would prove swift and painful. Yet the Hexecutioner also had to hold back. If he retaliated too hard against the demon, the magic might not flow so freely. There was a delicate balance of give and take between the two of them, a dance between hate and need. The symbiosis between man and demon exacted a high price on both of them.