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

  The mad logic of her words affected me. On some level, I understood her need for vengeance. That’s what fueled my own decision to keep the world safe from paranormal threats. Yet there existed a critical difference between Celeste and me. I was trying to avenge the murder of my parents by hunting monsters while Celeste had become one herself, seeking revenge by slaughtering innocents. If anything, her rage should have been directed against the man who’d betrayed her in the first place.

  “I’m sorry about what happened to you. Together, we could’ve found the way to—”

  “Ever the knight in shining armor. Sorry, Raven, I’m too old to believe in fairy tales. Nowadays I make my own luck and work my own magic.”

  Magic has already blackened your soul, I thought wearily.

  Celeste placed her palms together, and her eyes narrowed into slits as her lips mouthed silent words. She was casting a spell. My protective ring grew hot to the touch, sensing that a new attack was imminent. My finger hovered over the trigger, but a voice inside stopped me from shooting Celeste before she could complete the spell. She was right about the code by which I lived my life. I had no qualms putting an end to demons, but Celeste was human.

  I couldn’t shoot her. But I couldn’t let her go, either.

  I holstered Hellseeker and sprinted toward Celeste. Her lips moved faster, driven by a greater urgency to complete her magic. I threw myself on top of her, and she brought up the Soul Dagger. I’d anticipated the move and grabbed her wrist as we both crumpled to the floor. The knife sailed through the air. She tried to push me off her, but my weight kept her pinned to the ground. Her eyes flashed with fury, and she spat into my face.

  Why can’t I ever meet any nice girls?

  Before I could respond, I sensed a large figure approaching with swift strides behind me and spun toward my phantom attacker. Too late! A supernatural force snatched me and unceremoniously lifted me into the air. I dangled about ten feet above Celeste, airborne and helpless, her laughter echoing in my ears. Without warning, the force released me, and I went flying. I clenched my jaw as I crash-landed, knocking over one of Robert’s monstrous statues in the process.

  The sculpture shattered on impact. Pain shot through my back but shock masked most of it. Between the Blackmore Witch and this latest craziness, my body was taking one hell of a beating. By tomorrow I would be covered in nasty bruises—if there was going to be a tomorrow.

  A nightmare creature loomed above me. One of Robert’s graffiti creations was peeling itself away from its canvas, haunting art turning into a nightmarish reality. The painting—a devilish creature defined by jagged line work—gained form and substance, a two-dimensional image come to life.

  To the left, a second painted creature followed. The image in question—a grotesquely elongated, spiked shadow—joined the first and closed in. Both the shadow and devil turned to me in unison. Reality rippled and shimmered around them, Ceeleste’s magic struggling to maintain their consistency. I had faced demons and living nightmares but never anything like golems made from spray paint.

  The first creature had caught me off guard, but I wouldn’t let that happen again.

  I whipped out Hellseeker and fired. The bullets hit the two graffiti monsters, and the magical creations reared up with bestial moans. They were no match for my blessed weapon and dissolved on impact in a cloud of paint, splashing back toward the murals from which they’d come. Their monstrous bellows gave way to a silence broken by my own heavy breathing.

  I searched the exhibition space and realized Celeste was gone.

  The spell had never posed a real threat; it was meant to distract me long enough to give her a chance to escape. I spun toward the exit and was about to run after my charming former client when a roiling cloud of fog cut me off. Spreading mist blanketed the space within seconds. As the fog engulfed the sculptures and graffiti murals, I feared the entity or entities traveling inside the mist would crib a page from Celeste’s magical playbook and imbue Robert’s art with an unnatural life.

  I killed the thought. This wasn’t the time to let my imagination run wild.

  Something shifted in the mist.

  A silhouette grew visible in the swirling clouds of unnatural condensation. The stench of sulphur assaulted my senses as the mist fully encircled me. Without warning, Robert’s body lurched from the gray cloud, his steps halting and jerky. The demon had possessed the dead man, using Robert Horne’s corpse as his ride.

  Before I could give him a taste of Hellseeker, the undead monster was upon me. The reanimated corpse brusquely knocked my blessed pistol from my hand. The gun clattered across the floor.

  I was battling an actual zombie demon, and my scar still hadn’t given so much as a twinge. What was going on here?

  The answer would have to wait. Steel fingers closed around my throat and lifted me with inhuman strength into the air. My feet dangled inches above the floor. The possessed corpse let out a roar of triumph. Robert’s slack, empty features hovered right above mine. The zombie-demon’s foul stench made my stomach lurch. A forked tongue danced between bluish lips, offering a glimpse at the demonic creature hiding inside the dead body.

  The white eyes roamed over my face, taking in every detail. The beast reminded me of a dog sniffing its trapped prey, a final ritual soon to be followed by the killing blow

  “You’re not the soul promised to my master,” the hellhound whispered. “Where is the one we seek? Answer me, mortal.”

  I wanted to tell the thing to go to Hell, but in this case it would be redundant. Instead I asked the question that had perplexed me since first meeting Celeste.

  “Who is your master, hellspawn?”

  The zombie’s lips twitched and a terrible grin split his face.

  “You’re not the soul promised to my master, but he’s met you before.”

  “What?” I blinked at it, perplexed. Generally speaking, when I faced a demon, one of us didn’t walk away.

  “Don’t you already know?”

  The voice had changed. The new one made the first one sound almost childlike in comparison, its confident intelligence and sense of absolute power undeniable. There was something familiar about it. I was gripped with a sudden horrific suspicion.

  “We met a long time ago, Raven. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten? I sure haven’t forgotten you. Or your parents.” The creature let out a peal of laughter and a cold shiver of dread crawled up my spine. It couldn’t be. It was impossible.

  My eyes flitted to the walking corpse’s shadow. The silhouette painted across the floor wasn’t human but belonged to a nightmare creature straight out of the deepest pits of Hell. Massive batlike wings extended from a broad back, framing an elongated, horned head. Whirling tentacles undulated from the thickly muscled torso and lashed the air.

  I knew that form. It belonged to the creature that still haunted my nightmares.

  I finally understood why my scar hadn’t been able to detect the demon’s approach. The demon hunting Celeste was the same monster whose mark I bore on my chest. After all these years, I was finally facing the demon who’d slaughtered my parents.

  12

  Iowa, 21 years earlier.

  Snow fell outside the boy’s bedroom window. Wide-eyed and open-mouthed, young Mike Raven marveled at the winter wonderland that had sprung up overnight. Christmas decorations twinkled in the night, a constant reminder that the holiday was only a few weeks away at this point. There was a red glowing Santa astride his sleigh, pulled by sparkling reindeer. Further off, near the dense woods enclosing the property, stood an inflatable snowman family.

  Mike Raven had lived the first eight years of his life in Los Angeles, and this was his first experience of what his dad called a “real winter.” To say that he was excited would be an understatement. He couldn’t wait for tomorrow to arrive, when he would finally explore the snow-blanketed world beyond his window.

  His father had promised to help him build a snowman come the next morning and his stomach
fluttered with happy anticipation. Dad’s job as a traveling salesman kept him on the road for most of the year, and Raven didn’t see him that often. This Christmas was going to be different though. In Raven’s young mind, this was definitely shaping up to be the best Christmas ever.

  He kept his face pressed against the cold windowpane, and his breath left smudges on the glass. Despite his eagerness for the day ahead, sleep was catching up with him. A yawn escaped from his lips, and his eyelids grew heavy. It was an hour past his bedtime already. He was about to crawl back under the covers when his gaze locked on a strange shape outside. At first he wasn’t sure what he was staring at. As the shape drew closer, details became visible and his heart hitched into his throat.

  The weird figure advancing toward their home was made of snow cast in the form of a human silhouette. Flakes danced around the inhuman figure as it slowly turned its featureless head toward him. Raven grew stock still, terror keeping him rooted. He wanted to back away from the window, but his body refused to cooperate.

  “Dad,” he croaked in a tiny voice.

  To his growing horror, more snowy shapes emerged from the frozen yard. The snow golems shared little in common with the smiling, carrot-nosed snowman family billowing happily in the wind nearby. These creatures were blank-faced and boasted muscular, threatening physiques.

  Monsters aren’t real, Raven thought.

  He was about to learn otherwise.

  “Dad?” he repeated. He was still paralyzed with fear, but his voice sounded stronger.

  A loud bang rattled his bedroom window, and he jumped back. A shrill scream escaped from his throat as a snowy fist punched the window a second time. Glass turned to ice and shattered. A sharp gust of air blew into his room, snowflakes hitting his face. Raven let out another piercing scream and fled his bedroom.

  Terrified, he surged down the hallway. His breath coming in uneven, panicky bursts, he screamed, “Mom, Dad!” He pushed open the door to his parent’s bedroom.

  Eight-year-old Raven stopped dead in his tracks. For a beat, he struggled to process what he was seeing. His mother’s body lay splayed across the bed. Her skin was an unnatural blue, covered in frost, the eyes open wide and the lips frozen in a rictus of a scream. His mind went blank, shock stunning him into silence. Later on, the tears and nightmares would come, but right now there was only a deep-seated numbness.

  Something moved in the dark bedroom. One of the ice creatures emerged from the shadows, menacing and alien. Raven’s terror gave way to raw anger. He would kill it. The nightmare creature had hurt his mother, and he would tear the thing to pieces. As the figure lurched toward him, his father’s voice filled the bedroom. “Raven, get down!”

  Somehow his dad’s voice cut through his paralysis, and he hit the floor face first. There was a loud crack, and then a bullet punched into the inhuman assassin. Tufts of snow exploded from the entry point and the snow creature went supernova, a red aura of fiery heat enveloping its form. The next moment the ice golem fell apart, the magic animating the snow rendered ineffective. Where his mother’s killer had stood, there was now only a pile of black, watery sludge.

  Never again would Raven find much beauty in winter, or snow, or even Christmas. It would always make him think about the tragic day when his childhood ended.

  A strong arm reached down and pulled him back to his feet. In his father’s other hand was a glowing green pistol. Somehow, he understood that the weapon’s magic had destroyed the snow monster.

  “Listen carefully, son. Our home is surrounded by those creatures but I’m going to keep you safe. I won’t let them hurt you.”

  Raven looked up at his father and nodded. The man was dressed in a bathrobe and wore his favorite plaid pajamas underneath. There was something different about his dad’s face, though. A dark fire burned in his eyes, and he seemed almost…dangerous. This wasn’t the face of a traveling salesman but of a hero from the movies. Raven had never seen his father like this.

  The sound of breaking glass reverberated through the house. At least one of the lethal ice creatures had made it inside.

  “Come on, move!” his father barked. “I promise we’ll make it out of here. Do you believe me? Answer me, son!”

  Raven nodded again even though he didn’t know what he should believe at this point.

  Gun out, his dad whisked him through the living room. The lights of their Christmas tree cast multicolored shadows, adding a surreal touch to their escape. Some part of the boy’s mind still believed this was nothing but a nightmare. They’d decorated the tree only a few days earlier. How could it be possible that his mom was now lying dead in the other room? Any minute now, he’d wake up and smell the pancakes she always cooked for breakfast on special occasions, and then they’d open presents and sing songs and have a snowball fight, and everything would be right in the world.

  A window shattered nearby. Raven whirled to see an ice monster as it pulled itself into their living room in a flurry of snow.

  His father’s gun blazed, the crack both deafening and reassuring. The ice golem exploded in a cloud of snow. Another lurched from the kitchen, icicle fingers glittering red in the Christmas tree lights. Another quick shot from Hellseeker reduced the beast to a puddle of melting snow.

  His dad’s fingers dug deep into the boy’s hand as they ran. More windows exploded, and Raven tried to remember how many of the creature he’d spotted back in the yard. There had to be more than ten. How many bullets did his father have?

  Up ahead, the hallway ended in the door leading to the garage, where his father’s treasured black Plymouth Barracuda was parked. The car had always reminded him of the Batmobile, and Raven sometimes imagined that his dad was a superhero out fighting crime instead of a boring vacuum cleaner salesman. Now he was starting to wonder if his fantasies had been right all along. His dad flung the hall door open, and together they raced down the stairs and ran for the car. Loud crashing noises drifted from above, but the monsters seemed to be intent on tearing the place apart rather than following them.

  His father tore the Plymouth’s passenger door open and helped Raven get inside. He pulled the seat belt over him, the buckle snapping in place with a resounding click.

  “Brave boy,” his father said and patted his cheek. For one brief moment, the monsters ceased to be of importance. Raven felt proud, as if the two of them could overcome any challenge. Just like Batman and Robin.

  The door slammed shut, and his father clambered in on the driver’s side. The engine revved, a beast coming to snarling life.

  “Hang on!” his father shouted.

  Dad floored the gas, and the Plymouth tore through the flimsy garage door. Two snow monsters appeared seemingly out of nowhere and launched themselves at the vehicle. Raven cried out as the two bodies thumped against the moving Plymouth. To his surprise, strange symbols lit up along the windows, reminding him of the colorful lights of their abandoned Christmas tree. The creatures reared back from the lights as if hit by an electrical charge and transformed into splashing puddles of water that streaked down the windshield.

  The car’s speed increased as they whipped down the driveway.

  Raven relaxed just a fraction. They were getting away. His dad had saved them, just like he promised.

  Houses blurred past them as his father navigated the Plymouth down a series of winding roads. As the snow-blanketed world rushed past the Plymouth’s window, Raven could only think of his mother’s frozen, lifeless form. His dad might have saved them, but all help had come too late for her. Screeching tires pulled him out of his disturbing thoughts. A wall of fire lit up the night, blocking the road ahead.

  His dad’s features darkened. A shadow eight feet tall rose from the ring of flames, a creature straight from the depths of Hell. Later, Raven would learn that the snow monsters had been the first wave of the hellish attack, mere hellhounds that could take on various forms or possess the living. The entity ahead was different. This was one of the Dukes of Hell, a full-fledg
ed demon.

  His father slammed the brakes, and the car screeched to a halt inches away from the flames. The demon grinned, and a long, tentacle-like tongue flickered out from between its teeth. The tongue whipped through the air toward the Plymouth’s windshield. With a crackle of mystical energy, the sigils and glyphs powered up, but the magic failed to prevent the attack.

  With the precision of a laser beam, the tip of the tongue dug itself into the soft flesh of the boy’s chest. Blood spurted and agony exploded through his little body as he went into shock. Instinctively, he fought back against the urge to close his eyes and block out the horror and pain. He knew if he passed out, he wouldn’t make it out alive.

  From the corner of his eye, he saw a knife slicing down. The blade severed the tip of the tongue, and black blood splashed Raven’s face. The sticky fluid burned his skin, the stench overpowering.

  Whip-fast, the damaged tongue withdrew back into the monster’s mouth. With a roar of rage and pain, the demon’s wings flared out, and he launched himself at the Plymouth. The boy’s father never showed any fear. That was what he would remember most about this moment. Not his own terror or pain, but the calm, steady gaze of his father as he told Raven to run and never look back.

  Raven could only nod, hot tears streaking down his face. His dad released the seat belt and handed him the green glowing gun.

  “The gun will keep you safe. Use it the way I taught you. NOW RUN!”

  Raven didn’t remember taking Hellseeker or opening the door. Didn’t remember climbing out of the car. Didn’t remember breaking into a run.

  He only recalled what happened next.

  His father cranked the engine, and the Plymouth blasted toward the demon at full crank. Raven did go against his father’s wishes and turned his head as he ran, watching the scene unfold.

  The demon rippled toward the incoming vehicle. Gunfire filled the night, his dad blasting away as he charged forward in a suicide run. Even at eight years old, Raven understood that his father was buying him time to get away—and the currency for this distraction would be life.