Shadow Born: A Joseph Hunter Novel: Book 1 (Joseph Hunter Series) Page 5

  “That’s disgusting,” Xander chimed in.

  “That’s what I said to her. I said, ‘That’s the worst kind.’ She giggled—the most beautiful sound I have ever heard. But she grabbed a box and skipped off to the produce section and to Mar… to her mother.”

  “Joey,” Xander said, his voice dropping to that level of existential concern. “You’re a depressed wreck, and I’m sugarcoating that. I think living alone has really messed with your head. You ever get out with friends? Get out of the house and away from your thoughts? When’s the last time you’ve really talked with another human being?”

  Well shit, I thought. An answer to any one of those questions and I would be stuck in this car all night listening to Xander try to save my soul, try to bring me over to his Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. A rock to lean on, an ear to listen.

  “Well, I think it’s right about time for me to evacuate this stuffy car and take a walk.” I grabbed the door handle and asked, “You waiting in here, or you setting up in the garage?”

  Xander stared at me with concern stamped across his face—eyebrows coming together as he tilted his head and made steady eye contact, pursing his lips. He looked like a damn caricature of worry. “I don’t like where we’re leaving this conversation.”

  “I don’t like where we’re taking this conversation,” I said. “How about this?” I opened the door. Wind blew raindrops into the car. “I arrive as scheduled and talk to the scary bad guys about my wife’s killer. I find closure and move on in my own way. If it doesn’t work out, if I’m still all mopey and depressed, as you say, then I’ll answer your stupid questions.”

  Xander chewed on the proposal. “How do I know you’ll make good on the deal and not just leave at the first hard question I ask?”

  I sighed, then extended my arm and stuck out my pinky finger. “Pinky promise. How about that?”

  Xander’s lips straightened across his face. “Not what I was expecting.”

  “Take it or leave it.”

  He grabbed my pinky with his, and we shook on it.

  “I hope that was as satisfying for you as it was for me,” I said. “Now, I’m headed in. If the party ends up being pretty fun, I’ll give you a call. You can crash it.” Xander had issued me one of the company’s cell phones, as mine remained stuck in a bowl of rice within my house. I stepped outside and slammed the door, then leaned toward the closed window and held up both my middle fingers. “I’ll call,” I said. “But don’t hold your breath.”

  Turning, I headed toward the parking garage.

  The vehicle entrances to the abandoned parking garage were barred shut by yellow bars and rolling gates. I wandered around the perimeter of the building, looking for an entrance. A shoe propped a door open on the opposite side of the structure from where we had parked. Using logic for once in my life, I shot Xander a text and informed him of the development before stepping into the uncharted territory. When the delivered receipt showed, I pushed open the door, pausing to pick up the shoe—a size eleven, left-footed Nike.

  Destructive magic in public places is a big no, no.

  After an Acolyte receives a pact with their Nephil, they are held accountable for their actions—there are a few strings that come with such power. One, don’t use your gifts to harm innocent people or their property unless instructed to by your Nephil. Quick heads up, most Sheep—or regular guys and gals—know nothing about magic or the supernatural world. They just blindly live their lives in perfect suffering. Law two: you have to follow your patron’s bidding no matter what. Three: you cannot abandon your patron or your gifted powers after you have sworn your service to a Nephil. Yup, you guessed it. To attain access to their power and receive magic, you pretty much have to do a ton of weird shit for these supernatural folks without question. It’s pretty much an unspoken agreement that if you follow the dumb rules, then the Nephil will stay off your back and leave you alone—unless, of course, they need your help with some stupid shit. Now, Acolytes aren’t the only ones forced to to follow the rules.

  People who failed to receive a pact at a university, but who still wished to serve a Nephil, had the option to pledge their eternal service and become cursed. Likewise, a Nephil can also curse an Acolyte who refuses to follow the laws and abuses their magic, though they lose access to their power in exchange for eternal servitude. The Cursed, being controlled by the Nephil, also have to follow the laws mentioned above.

  On the opposite side of that coin, a Nephil could curse a human for no other reason than bad breath; however, if that person was not in a patron’s service beforehand and if they did not seek out the Nephil, then they have no obligation to serve, though the curse remains. From there, the Cursed without a master is left to their own devices, usually cursing—or infecting—others and expanding their kind. That’s how the world gets clans of vampires or packs of werewolves or hordes of zombies that run amok. Those are the monsters that Xander and I usually fought—like modern-day Van Helsings.

  Where did we leave off? I know I went on that tangent for a reason…

  Oh, yeah. I had just picked up the shoe propping open the door. I placed it back where I found it to prop the door open, figuring Xander would need a way into the garage.

  Darkness shrouded me like plunging into the depths of a frozen lake—that’s why I went on a rant about the laws, hurting Sheep, and destroying property. The parking garage, isolated from any Sheep, was a damn good place to use destructive magic without harming innocent people or their property. I sighed, realizing I had stepped into a trap. If the creatures really wanted to meet and have a civil conversation, they would have at least set the location in an open parking garage with proper lighting and a few witnesses. Instead, they went for abandoned and pitch black, and not a single person—not even my shadow—to witness it.

  I itched to call on my magic, to see through the dark, to defend myself against their impending attack. Instead, I settled for the small flashlight built into my phone. It cast a soft white light across the cement. The lack of vehicles made the ramps and columns feel more like the skeletal remains of a monster, rather than supports to an abandoned building. Using the light, I navigated stairs to the basement level.

  Now, I know what you’re thinking—won’t the phone light attract attention? Obviously, the answer is yes. But, in my defense, if the bad guys—or gals—had chosen to conduct their meeting in a bitch black area, there was a good chance they could see in the dark. So, light or no light, they had watched me walk into their domain. I had no advantage in this situation, so I decided to at least be able to see where I walked.

  Pausing at the bottom of the steps, I listened before exploring. I heard water dripping onto cement and wind ripping through the cavernous spaces above, but nothing else. If I chose to use my magic, I could have enhanced my senses to find magical auras and locate the baddies, but I refused.

  Remember the third law? An Acolyte cannot abandon their patron or their gifted powers after swearing service. Well, I had done exactly that. In my search for Callie’s killer, I had also used my magic to harm Sheep in order to obtain information, all while ignoring the tasks that Hephaestus had commanded of me. That right there—using his imbued power for my own gain, while refusing to work for him—made me an oath-breaker. To complete the trifecta, I eventually abandoned him completely.

  If I accessed my magic now just because I was a little afraid of the dark, not only would I expose myself and possibly Mel to the enemies I had created over the years, but Hephaestus would catch a whiff of my location. Knowing him, I wouldn’t even get a chance to appeal my case to the Nephilim Council. That deformed loser would just kill me himself.

  I stepped deeper into the bowels of the basement level. A rank odor met me, but I pushed through it. I was versed in death, and the stench of rot wouldn’t dissuade me from getting the information I needed. Water puddled on the ground, reflecting the glare of my phone. Darkness owned and overran most of the underground area. To appease my growing des
ire to utilize my magic, I gripped the butt of the gun Xander had given me.

  Turning my phone over, I checked the time. Just past nine. I tapped Xander’s contact, dialing his number. When he answered, I didn’t say a word, I just used the light to guide my way. He listened on the other line, as we had discussed.

  “Hello!” I called out, loud enough for my voice to carry and echo. The fingers on my right hand completely wrapped around the Glock’s handle. Though years had passed since my last magical fight, I didn’t feel nerves or anxiety. A calm had settled over me, as it always did before a battle. I felt natural, like a shark in an ocean of blood.

  Despite my steeled resolve, I gasped when a strange, cold female voice responded to my call. “Joseph Hunter.” If a bag of hissing snakes could form words, they would have sounded like her.

  I shivered, glaring into the darkness before me, seeking out the source. I saw no one. Nothing.

  Then movement shuffled behind me, and I whipped around, casting my phone’s light in the direction of the sound.

  Five silhouettes of corrupted bodies appeared from the shadows—vampires who had waited too long to feed. Their teeth extended into jagged fangs, their arms elongated and dangled around their knees, and their fingers morphed into talons that nearly scraped the ground. Leathery wings folded at their backs, the tips rising above their monstrous heads.

  “Holy guacamole,” I said. “Congratulations to you five for being the most terrifying things I’ve seen all day. Not all week. Earlier, Monday I believe, I saw a picture of your mom.” I pointed to the center vampire. “She makes you look pretty. I had nightmares for days after that.”

  The five vampires hissed at me, but they didn’t attack, which unnerved me more than if they had attacked. It was unnatural, like watching a horror movie and the person beside you just laughs the entire time. What do I do with that response? Someone’s face is getting carved off and worn by a naked, dancing psychopath, and my date is giggling like a seven-year-old girl at a fake tea party. Unsettling.

  Vampires who haven’t fed—Ravens, as Xander and I called them in our service days, was short for ravenous—never resisted the chance to feed. They couldn’t. It would be like a lion looking at a fresh kill after weeks of not eating and saying, “Nah, I’ll pass.” Ravens literally could not go against their baser cravings. Their restraint from swarming and killing me meant that they were not your typical vampires, but in the service of a Nephil. This meeting wasn’t only with a few Ravens. A Nephil had set it up. The woman who had spoken from the darkness, most likely—and that fucking terrified me.

  Who was she, and why was she wasting her time setting up a meeting with me? An ally of Hephaestus was the only reasonable answer I could come up with. But that didn’t makes sense. This had been about Callie’s murder, and I had still obeyed Hephaestus during that incident seven years ago. Unless, he now used the anniversary of her death to draw me into this trap and kill me. That didn’t feel right, either. Why would he send another Nephil with her Cursed to finish me off? This had nothing to do with him. Which brought me back to question numero uno: Who was this Nephil?

  I lifted the Glock and centered the sights on the middle Raven’s face. Due to their changed state, they were stronger and faster and more durable than a fed vampire. A human-made bullet wouldn’t take them down, would barely slow them. I grinned, knowing my gun had some silver surprises. I held my aim high and steady. It made me feel better about myself, the way a big truck makes a poorly-endowed man feel.

  “Lower your weapon, Mr. Hunter,” said the glacial voice from behind me.

  I turned my head to face her—though I didn’t give my back to the Ravens or lower my weapon.

  A woman stepped from the shadows. Even with the darkness pressed around us, I could see her—as if she wanted me to see her. She wore twin blades on her hips. I couldn’t make out the material or design of the weapons, but they glowed red, as if stained by blood. Her black hair fell around her shoulders like writhing darkness.

  “Sorry, but I don’t think I’ll be lowering any weapons,” I said, triangulating my position so I could see the Ravens and the woman at once. “Call me crazy, but I’m slow to trust someone who associates with such company as these things.” I gestured at the cursed creatures.

  She sauntered along the edges of the shadows, never fully stepping into the glow of my phone’s light. “If we meant you harm, we would have attacked you by now.”

  They’d certainly had ample opportunity to kill me already, but they hadn’t. So, why did she want me alive? To give me the information about Callie’s killers? That seemed too easy, too simple.

  There was something strange about her appearance… something that I couldn’t quite place. She seemed to disappear into the darkness, only to reappear faintly as a silhouette, a shadow of herself. I didn’t trust her wavering form or her promise of safety.

  I kept the gun fixed on the Ravens, just in case they tried something funny. “If I made a habit of trusting your kind,” I said, “well, habits don’t get the chance to form in death… do they?”

  She clicked her tongue like a teacher scolding her student. “For the last time, lower your weapon, or I will be unable to ignore the threat any longer.”

  I scraped my teeth against my lip and considered her offer. “You know,” I said, resigning to her word and dropping the gun in its holster. If she was a Nephil who had control over cursed Ravens, then my silver would do next to nothing against her. I wasn’t an idiot, though. To even the odds, I unsheathed the silver-bladed hunting knife, courtesy of Xander. The Ravens kept their distance, still not attacking me, even with my gun put away. “I like a strong woman, one who can dominate me. Submit my strong will to her own. If you’re free after this, I say we grab a drink, head back to my place—or yours—see where the night takes us.”

  “Mr. Hunter—”

  “Joseph,” I interrupted. “Joey to my friends, and you, of course. Some people call me Joan, but they’re just being rude.”

  “Joseph,” the woman said, “Might I say one thing?”

  I cocked my head and sighed. “Say your thing. Who am I to stop you?” I gestured with the knife for her to continue.

  “You speak too much. Do you know that?”

  “Well, that’s not really what I expected you to say. But, yes, I’ve heard that before. Not for a while, though. As I’m sure you know, I’ve been quite absent for the past few years.” If the shadow woman had cautioned to bring five Ravens to meet with me, I figured she knew about my past, about who I had been. I grabbed my jaw and massaged it. “I’m a little out of practice right now. Mouth is cramping. Throat’s getting thirsty. Some water would be nice, but I’d hate to have you do that for me. You’ve already gone to so much trouble to throw this party in my honor.”

  The woman in the shadows vanished, then reappeared off to the left, as if she had glitched over a few feet. When she reappeared, she spoke, but her voice was quiet, muffled, as if she held her hand over her mouth.

  “Sorry, didn’t catch that last part,” I said.

  With a little more clarity, the woman said, “You need to know something, Joseph Hunter.”

  “Then spit it out. I have a hot date with a barstool and a bottle of tequila, and I can’t be late.”

  “As with Callie, so with Melanie,” she said, speaking my daughter’s name. “If you wish to see them, though, lay down your arms and surrender.”

  Well, that sealed the deal. Like lightning flashing across a stormy sky, I dropped my hunting knife to the ground and drew the Glock from its holster, firing a shot shot that registered like thunder. The bullet passed through the woman’s forehead as if through mist, slamming into a cement pillar and throwing shards of concrete across the parking garage.

  She disappeared into the darkness.

  I had a brief second to cough out a nervous laugh before the Ravens screeched. Pivoting from the woman, I fixed the Glock on the center Raven and fired again. The silver-filled hollow point b
ored through the Raven’s head. The creature didn’t die, but the silver must have burned, for it screamed and tore at his face with its talons, shredding flesh from bone as it tried to dig out the poison I had planted into it.

  Xander’s voice echoed through the parking garage.

  The Ravens—like most sentient beings—didn’t care for what he had to say. They continued their advance on me. I fired four more times, a head shot reserved for each Cursed. They spasmed with agony, repeating the first Raven’s disturbing method for removing the silver. I doubted they could get it all out unless they tore off their entire faces.

  Mentally calculating, I figured I had four shots left in Xander’s ten-round, dumbass, useless magazine. Holstering the gun for now, I grinned with bloody glee and bent over to retrieve the hunting knife. Walking over, I drove the silver blade across the nearest Raven’s neck and sawed off its head, relieving it of its searing pain. Magic burned through my body, waiting impatiently for me to call upon it.

  A shot spoke like God’s voice, and a Raven’s face exploded. The gore splashed onto the ground and over my shoes. Another shot boomed, and another Raven fell, sans its head.

  “Wait,” the woman said, her voice frigid in her sudden return.

  The remaining three Ravens stilled, despite their agony.

  “Joseph,” Xander said, stepping into the illuminated area of my phone’s light. His eyes were wide with terror, and that scared me more than any monster. He was a soldier, steeped in fighting nightmares. These pathetic Ravens didn’t scare him, and neither did the woman in the shadows. Which meant something had happened. Something terrible. “Joseph,” he said again, panting.

  Behind me, the woman cackled. It began low and methodic, then worked its way up to a high-pitched, chaotic peal.

  “It wasn’t just a trap,” Xander said. He had his two celestial guns——forged from the legendary sword, Ascalon—drawn and glowing and aimed at the three remaining Ravens. “It was a distraction.”