Witch Wars (Shadow Detective Book 7) Read online

  Today wasn’t the first time I’d asked myself such questions. I’d lost track how many philosophical debates I’d had with Skulick over the years regarding the very same topic. In the end, it all came down to the cliché that God works in mysterious ways. That despite a multitude of injustices, we had to fight to make this world a better place. Ironically enough, Malcasta shared a similar frustration for the Dark Lords’ unwillingness to get more directly involved in the affairs of mankind. It had left her no choice but to break away from her old masters.

  Maybe both God and the Devil had abandoned humanity, leaving us to fend for ourselves. The thought was even scarier than the alternative. Skulick liked to say that good and evil were engaged in a long-drawn-out conflict, and that most of us were so busy fighting our battles that we failed to gain a full overview of the war. Whatever the truth might be, my heart went out to poor Sister Dubois. I would make Malcasta pay for her crimes.

  My demon claw tightened around the bone hilt of my enchanted blade. The chapel sizzled and pulsed with power. If I didn’t stop this soon, it would be too late.

  Malcasta took a bold step forward, readying herself for a magical assault. Determined to be the one to strike first, Damona clicked her long nails together, and an orb of sparkling energy flashed into existence around her perfectly manicured fingers.

  Without hesitation, she hurled the fireball at her sister. Blue flames split the dark chapel as the spell rocketed toward Malcasta and slammed into her with concussive force.

  The impact drove the evil witch back a few feet, but she braced her heels against the ground and brought her open palms up to absorb the brunt of the attack. For a moment, she stood inside the eye of the mystical storm, her face locked in a defiant mask, unwilling to let her sister win this battle.

  Then a hideous smile played across Malcasta’s skinned features. I saw her lips move, and although I couldn’t hear the words, their meaning was clear: My turn.

  She whipped up her arms, twisted her right hand, and crows erupted from her swirling robe. The tornado of screeching birds flew toward Damona, but she immediately formed a shield of yellow-red energy. As the first crows slammed into it, the magic incinerated them on contact.

  Unfortunately, she had solely bought herself a brief reprieve. For every crow Damona erased from reality, two new ones took its place. The protective shield quickly began to weaken, and more and more of the birds penetrated Damona’s defenses until ravenous birds covered her entire body.

  Her cries of frustration turned into screams of pain. The crows were tearing her apart.

  Damona desperately tried to fight back. She tore one flapping crow from her robe after another, her once-beautiful features now painted scarlet. Patches of skin were missing and hung from her in long, gory strips. I was beginning to understand how Malcasta and her followers had removed their faces. All things considered, it made me feel slightly better about having a demon hand. At least my face was still intact…at least for now.

  Triumph lit up Malcasta’s mad gaze. She was winning this witch duel. But her victory was coming at a price—and it might just provide me the opportunity I was waiting for. She had channeled all her magical power into her attack, and the chapel’s floor was turning solid again. Her influence on the environment was waning.

  The time had come to make my move.

  I turned away from the two insane spell-slingers and focused on the real prize—

  The Ice Witch’s heart. Tapping into every reserve of strength, I sprinted toward the blue crystal at full bore.

  Malcasta unleashed another blast of crows at her sister, unaware that I was moving in on the glowing relic. Only once my gloved demon hand closed around the shimmering crystal did the skinned witch realize that something was amiss. By then it was too late. Sword up and ready in my right hand, the witch’s heart clutched in the other, I spun toward the chapel’s exit.

  At the same time, Damona finally succumbed to the attack. Her body slumped to the ground in what seemed slow motion, every part of her covered in black birds, their beaks and feathers now speckled crimson.

  As Damona hit the floor, Malcasta whirled toward me. Her eyes were squirming with madness and inhuman fury.

  “He’s got the heart. Don’t let him escape!” Malcasta shouted.

  The monster-nuns rushed me, but they quickly made the acquaintance of my hungry blade. Demon Slayer whistled through the air and took the first nun’s head off in one fell swoop. Black blood sprayed as the head soared through the chapel, trailing the long habit.

  Two more nuns leaped toward me, and I speared them with my blessed sword before they touched the ground. Buoyed by growing bloodlust and an impending sense of victory, Cyon and I considered attacking Malcasta herself. Fortunately, the sane part of me managed to talk the demon out of this foolish strategy. Besting Malcasta’s followers was one thing, but going up against the formidable spell-slinger was a different story. I had the witch’s heart, and it was time to leave. Best for me to retreat and live to fight another day.

  Meanwhile, the nuns who had been struck down earlier by Damona’s lightning display had sufficiently recuperated to join the fray. With banshee howls that turned my blood to ice, they bolted upright and zoomed toward me. This was my cue to get the hell out of Dodge, and I started for the chapel’s exit.

  Malcasta’s harsh scream of frustration followed me. I hazarded a glance backward and saw the witch launch herself off the ground.

  The air whistled as she overshot me.

  A heartbeat later, she landed in front of the chapel’s wooden double doors to bar my escape. If I wanted to get out of this house of worship turned black magic abattoir, I would have to go through Malcasta first. Her robe billowed menacingly, a mass of flapping wings and cawing beaks. The magical crows were eager to attack their next target.

  I paused. So much for escape. I would have to face the witch in battle after all.

  “You dare to take the heart from me?” Malcasta hissed.

  I figured my actions spoke for themselves as I defiantly met the witch’s gaze. My brain was busy running the odds of making it out of here alive. My protective ring could ward off a few spells but was no match for a prolonged magical assault. The longer I stayed in the chapel, the less likely it was that I’d ever leave.

  Malcasta dramatically twisted her wrist and released more ravenous killer birds.

  Alright, let’s see what you got, I thought.

  My sword lashed out with expert speed and skill at the incoming wave of crows, splitting at least six of them in half before their eager beaks could reach me. The others wheeled around, screeching in protest, to regroup.

  I had survived the first salvo, but I held no illusions about my chances. Cyon had heightened my physical abilities and fighting skills, but I faced overwhelming numbers. It was only a question of time before I met the same fate as Damona.

  I took a step back, hit with sudden inspiration. Perhaps I couldn’t kill every crow Malcasta threw at me, but then again, I didn’t have to. I had the heart. And that gave me an advantage. I pointed the sword at the crystal in my hand.

  “Back off, or I will destroy the heart.”

  “I doubt that very much, monster hunter.” And with these words, Malcasta pulled out a pendant from her robes. On a long golden chain hung an orb glowing with a red-blue light. The object shimmered in the dimly lit chapel. I knew instinctively what I was looking at. The energy trapped within the jewelry was Skulick’s soul.

  From the corner of my eye, I noticed the remaining monster nuns closing in on me. The chapel had become a congregation of the damned.

  “Do what you must, Raven, but know you will never see your partner again.”

  I swallowed hard. I could shatter the Ice Witch’s heart and save this city, but it would come at the cost of Skulick’s soul. I know what he would have told me. One life is a small price to pay to protect millions. But dammit, this was the man who raised me, who saved my hide so many times I’d lost count. The
man who made me who I am today. I wasn’t willing to make that sacrifice. At least not yet.

  I was frantically trying to think of a way to escape with the heart, the soul pendant, and my life intact, fully aware how limited my options were, when a fireball of red-blue energy flung Malcasta from the chapel’s exit.

  Behind her stood Demona. She was a woman of blood, still covered in a writhing mass of scarlet-drenched birds. Somehow, she’d tapped into her dwindling reservoir of strength to buy me a few precious seconds.

  As the fireball trapped Malcasta in a web of sizzling lightning, I ran toward the door. A heartbeat later, I was sprinting down the cloister’s passageway, my unholy prize clutched under my arm, desperate to put some distance between myself and this place. I needed to find a haven where I could clear my head and figure out a plan of attack. The glowing relic in my demon hand hopefully would give me some leverage in whatever came next.

  Behind me, the door of the chapel banged open, and the terrifying shrieks of the monster-nuns filled the hallway. Malcasta’s flock was picking up the chase which could only mean that Damona had fallen.

  I turned right and passed through another doorway. I found myself in a gallery flanked by a row of stone columns on one side that looked out at the cloister’s snow-covered inner courtyard. A few tall trees dominated the courtyard, now stripped bare and sheeted in ice. I considered making my stand in the arcade but opted against this strategy—I would be an easy target in the open space. Better to remain in the gallery where the columns offered some cover.

  Moving swiftly, I reached the end of the gallery, pushed through another doorway and arrived back in the reception area. There was no sign of the nun who had tried to stop me earlier. Candles flickered in the lobby, panting the saintly statues with a soft, golden glow. Nothing hinted at the horror that had invaded this holy place.

  I did not look back as I stormed out of the convent. Outside, the frosty morning air pricked my face. Muted sounds of traffic rang through the darkness as the city slowly awoke. If the damn witch got her way, she would silence this metropolis once and for all. I refused to let that happen.

  Up ahead, the stolen Hummer waited for me. A thin layer of snow covered the black vehicle. About a hundred feet still separated us. My legs pumped, and I gulped oxygen, pushing myself harder.

  Eighty feet.

  I was going to make it.

  Sixty feet.

  I’d jump in the car, find a place to hole up, and strategize the next move.

  Forty feet.

  A piece of cake.

  There was a rush of air behind me, and something reached down from above. Claws or hands hooked my coat and penetrated the skin under the fabric. A beat later, the talons of the flying predator violently yanked me off the snowy ground.

  I cried out in fear and frustration. The car was right there, but I’d never reach it now. My aerial abductor whisked me into the night sky, higher and higher. The pavement receded below me, and within seconds, I found myself a few hundred feet in the air. If the creature that had latched onto me like some giant bird of prey let go of me, I would be street pizza. A fall from this height would kill me even with my demonically improved regenerative abilities.

  A mad cackle filled the night, and I tried to twist my neck, hoping to gain a look at whoever or whatever had plucked me off the ground, but I couldn’t see.

  Buildings rushed by below, a landscape of rusting rooftop water towers and chimneys trailing smoke. I failed to exhale as my wild flying lesson came to a sudden halt. The claws let go and unceremoniously dropped me on the nearest roof.

  I fell about ten feet and managed to land without breaking my ankles. The sharp impact rattled my teeth and shook my whole body, however, and I lost my balance and crumpled to my knees. Pain spiked up my back. For a moment, I remained frozen in place, wondering if I was in one piece.

  A shape cut through the air right above me, and I swiveled toward the incoming sound. Shock welled up at me as my eyes found my aerial abductor. An emaciated witch circled the roof on a flying broom, her tattered robe and wild hair dancing in the wind. Correction, she wasn’t riding a broom. No, it was a gnarled branch. There was something primal about her presence. She made me think of an elemental spirit unleashed by some mad nature goddess. As she leaned over the flying stick, wreathed in spectral green light, her arms looked like branches themselves.

  More insane laughter rang out, and I spun around. Three more witches were circling the rooftop now, sharks closing in for the kill, all of them mirroring the striking appearance of the first one—thin, almost skeletal women who clung to their twisted branches for dear life as they sliced through the night sky. These followers of Malcasta looked revolting, but they still wore human faces. I guess they had not yet earned the privilege of carving the skin off their cackling visages.

  I tracked their approach, sword in both hands, ready to lash out if they dared get close enough. The demon inside of me was eager to draw black blood.

  Come now, don’t be shy, girls. Let’s dance!

  The first witch drew closer.

  That’s it, come to daddy…

  Almost as if the fast approaching witch sensed my eagerness, she started to pull back. They weren’t here to engage. They were merely making sure I wouldn’t escape. I was trapped on the roof, with at least fifteen stories separating me from the streets below. Their job was to keep me put until their mistress arrived. And I had a strong feeling she’d show up any moment now.

  This rooftop was as good a place as any for my last stand. My grip tightened on my blessed sword, and I waited for the witches to make their move.

  As I held their magnetic gazes, the world around me changed. For a beat, I was on fire, flames devouring every part of my body. I was tied to a stake. Vague faces watched as the hungry blaze roasted me alive. The pain was indescribable, like nothing I’d ever experienced before in my life. I opened my mouth to a scream, and black smoke filled my scorched lungs.

  There was a flash of blinding light as the fire melted my eyes, and then I was back on the rooftop, my face sticky with sweat, my hands shaking. What had just happened? Was it some horrific vision triggered by Malcasta? No, this had felt different…almost like a memory.

  And then I noticed the intense warmth radiating from my chest. It was coming from inside my coat. I reached for the source of the strange heat. My hand disappeared into my trench coat’s inner pocket and extricated the object in question: It was a leather-bound book of black magic, the copy of the Daemonium that I had taken from Varthek the ghoul.

  As far as I knew, there were only three copies of the infernal spell book in existence. Two remained under lock and key with the White Crescent. Skulick had traded our copy with the Vatican Exorcists in exchange for a vial of Angel Blood, which had played a crucial role when we fought the demon-vampire Marek a few months back. The book listed the real names of the most powerful demons—a vital element needed by anyone who wanted to call on them.

  Cyon had pretty much told me that acquiring the grimoire was a lucky break as it would allow us to conjure Morgal into our reality. I had forgotten about the magic book during the excitement of the last few hours. Why was the accursed tome giving off waves of heat? Was the grimoire reacting to the presence of the flying witches? That seemed to be the most logical explanation. But if that was the case why hadn’t it become active earlier when I faced Malcasta?

  I pushed the question aside, distracted by more immediate concerns. The hovering witches closed in, almost as if they sensed the magic of the book. One of them drew abreast of the roof, leaving about twenty feet of thin air between us. She clung to her deformed branch, her grotesque body hunched forward, skeletal hands wrapped around the stick. What happened next threw both the witch and me for a loop.

  My mouth uttered words in the witch tongue I had first heard back at the precinct. That was new. Apparently, I was now fluent in the black magic language spoken by these godforsaken servants of Hell. The phrases flowed from
my lips without hesitation even though I didn’t understand a single word. To be honest, it was all gobbledygook to me, but it seemed to terrify the witch.

  A chill rippled up my neck, and goosebumps popped up on my forearms. Could it be possible? Was I casting a spell?

  It felt like I had stepped outside of my body and was watching myself from a distance. A ball of sizzling energy formed around my demon claw. I didn’t know any magic, nor had had I intended to tap into the horrific secrets of the spell book I’d taken from the ghoul. And yet here I was, about to lob a mystical fireball at a flying witch.

  My amazement grew as I watched myself bring up the demon hand, blue-green flames licking across the reptilian hide, and let the spell fly. As the magical ball of energy rocketed toward its target, I understood what was happening.

  My newfound abilities had nothing to do with some long-hidden talent that had been awakened by the grimoire.

  Cyon was a spell-slinger!

  12

  The witch on her flying stick mirrored my sense of shock as the furious fireball engulfed her. She contorted in agony, unleashing a bone-chilling death cry. Flames hissed as they erased the witch from reality. The gnarled branch remained frozen in the air for another beat before it dropped to the roof, landing right in front of my feet. It sparked with green flashes of eldritch energy.

  Almost on instinct, I held out my demon hand toward the four-foot branch, and it shot into my waiting palm. Not a second too soon as two other witches landed on the rooftop and brought their branches up like Kendo sticks. As they zeroed in on me, I met them with a savage snarl. A dark joy roared in my heart, but it did not belong to me. Cyon had been looking forward to this moment.

  Sword in one hand, the dead witch’s flying stick in the other, I faced the attacking spell-slingers. The stick flashed out and connected with my attackers. A burst of energy ignited the night, and the impact sent a shock wave up my arm.