Shadow Born: A Joseph Hunter Novel: Book 1 (Joseph Hunter Series) Page 8

  6

  I drove our car—the one I had hijacked from the garage—to my house, and Xander rode shotgun. My windshield wipers smeared the pouring rain and the oncoming light across my field of vision, blurring the roads. I squinted into the night, pressing hard on the gas pedal.

  Mel had lived with Derek and Marie in a suburban house on the outskirts of a small town south of Sacramento. I lived about five miles away, in the country. There was less motor traffic to worry about, but more cattle traffic to be wary of. Cows often escaped from the shoddy fences used by the neighboring farms. Sometimes, their horses escaped. I knew of three people who had hit a cow or a horse, totaling their vehicles and nearly totaling their lives. Using my magical perception for the single most important reason ever, I made sure not to collide with any cows on the backroad that night. Damn them and their wily ways.

  Xander didn’t seem too worried about the rain or the pot-holed back roads or the roaming livestock. For the first few minutes of the drive, he stared at his phone in silence. I knew he wasn’t scrolling through his Instagram feed, but rather confirming his suspicions about who had taken Mel.

  After about five minutes of letting him research, I said, “You were chewing a couple theories before the interrogation. What do you think, now? Anything sticking?” I glanced at him, then glued my eyes to the wet world beyond the headlights.

  “You shouldn’t have killed him,” Xander said.

  I chuckled and shook my head, gripping the steering wheel. “Enough with the God Almighty act. I heard you curse earlier. You’re a filthy sinner, just like me.”

  “I don’t think you should have killed him,” Xander said again. “You had your reasons, I know, but he still could have proven useful.”

  “With what? I tapped him of all his information. He had nothing left to give.”

  “That’s the problem. I don’t think we would know, until we knew.”

  “Wow, you really have jumped off the deep end, haven’t you? I hope those theories you were working on are just as enlightening. Wait,” I said, turning the steering wheel in my grip. “I have a theory. And hear me out, okay? I think that as soon as we find out who kidnapped Mel, we’ll know who did it.”

  Xander coughed to clear his throat. “I have an idea,” he said. “But I don’t think you’re going to like it.”

  “I usually don’t,” I said, hitting my blinker like a real man and turning onto my gravel driveway.

  I cut the headlights and put the car in park halfway up the drive. I’d be foolish not to anticipate more Ravens waiting at my house to finish what they had started in the parking garage. Hopefully, like earlier, the brutes hadn’t taken Xander’s presence into account, or the fact that I had rekindled my relationship with magic. They were in for a rude awakening if they hadn’t heard from Ms. Mother recently.

  “What it it?” I asked, scanning the darkness that lay over my property, surrounding my trailer like a fog. The front porch light was off, which I never turned off—it was too fancy not to flaunt its stuff. “Your stupid idea?”

  “My first theory isn’t my favorite, but it’s a possibility, and we shouldn’t rule it out just yet. Hephaestus imbued you with magic, and, as you know, any pact comes with conditions. Requirements that you must uphold. You abandoned your pact, along with your responsibilities, five years ago after you… stopped searching for Callie. The Nephil don’t take insolence well. He could have found you hidden out in this dump—”

  “Easy,” I said, scanning for more abnormalities around the property. The darkness made it hard to see anything from this distance.

  “He could have taken Mel as payment for the past few years.”

  I shook my head. “I’m sure Hephaestus sensed my return after I accessed my power. And I’m sure that ogre will come knocking soon enough. But, no, this isn’t him. Callie died before I retired—in fact, her death derailed me from following Hephaestus’ instructions. I’m zeroed in on that beach-bum, Lost Boys looking vampire. He knew what I had inscribed within her wedding band. Mel is connected to that. To him and to the Mother.”

  After a second, Xander said, “I agree.”

  “Then why the hell didn’t you save us the time and lead with your second theory?”

  He removed a celestial gun from its holster and popped out the magazine. He checked the ammunition, then clicked the magazine back in and holstered it. “Hephaestus… he’s something to keep in mind. Nephil are conniving. If he notices that you’re preoccupied with this, he might blindside you. Not only that, but most of your pact responsibilities included what type of work?”

  I shook my head, not knowing where Xander was going. I kept peering into the darkness around my trailer. I didn’t see any movement, nothing unusual—other than the extinguished light. “Killing,” I answered.

  “Killing the Cursed,” Xander clarified. “A Nephil is forbidden by the Nephilim Council to carry out the murder of another of its kind. It is punishable by death. That’s how a lot of the Egyptian Nephil died—internal conflict and violence.”

  I snored and nodded off, then jerked awake and shook my head. “Sorry, but you are quite boring.”

  “I’ve had a few run-ins with sorcerers and necromancers since M.I.S. recruited me. They’re cold and powerful magic wielders, but they don’t have the juice to control vampires. Look at this.” He handed me his glowing phone.

  I grabbed it and glanced at the screen. An image appeared—a wheel with a star in the center. My heart rate accelerated. “What the hell is this? It’s the same symbol from that douche-rocket’s ring.”

  Xander agreed. “Hecate’s symbol,” he said, taking back his phone and placing it in his pocket. “She’s a Nephil. The mother of vampires, some say. I’m not exactly sure what she’s capable of, as our records have a lot of conflicting results. But, Joey, I think she’s this Mother figure—the woman from the shadows.”

  It took a second for me to process what Xander had said, and the information didn’t quite compute with clarity. I didn’t even think that Xander fully understood what he’d said. But the gist was clear enough, and that terrified me. If his theory proved correct, then the vampire from the garage probably hadn’t lied to me. I would never see Mel again.

  “You really think a half-baked fallen angel murdered my wife and stole my child?” I asked as a wave of heat rushed over me.

  “We’ll have to dissect the particulars later, but it’s my best guess. It explains why we could never find a trail before. It explains most everything that’s happened today.” Xander hesitated, then added, “And Hephaestus, it makes him an enemy, too. If he finds out that you’re hunting his kind, he’ll kill you to protect himself.”

  I chewed on my nail for a second, then gripped my wedding ring and turned the gold metal around my finger. The familiarity of it comforted me. “I don’t care which Nephil I have to kill,” I said, releasing the ring and grabbing the door handle. “If it means getting my girl back, I’ll take on all those Olympus bastards.”

  I popped open the door and stepped into the rain before he could change my mind.

  I scampered across the gravel driveway and up to my front door, which was closed. Not wanting to risk alerting my possible company, I skirted around the side, nearly slipping in the slick muck as I stepped off the cement. I bit back a curse that would have given away my location and tiptoed to the backyard. I had taken the liberty of cementing a patio area where I could drink my tequila sunrises—only while watching the sunset, of course.

  Crouching below the back windows, I scuttled past the patio and to a hatch that led down to the basement beneath the master bedroom. That’s right, I built a basement under my trailer. One day, my shit will be on YouTube. I’ll open my faded front door wearing nothing but a robe and a pair of pink bunny slippers, holding a mimosa, and I’ll invite the camera crew into my trailer. They’ll ask me seventy-three questions.

  As I worked the combination lock to the door and fantasized about my interview, footsteps slapped o
n the cement behind me. I reached within for my fire, then pivoted to face the threat.

  Xander stood there, both his pistols drawn and pointed at the ground.

  “What the hell are you sneaking up on me for?” I whispered, returning to the combination. The lock snapped a second later, and I looped it off the latch and then folded out the door. “You didn’t walk by the windows, did you?”

  “I’m not an idiot,” Xander said.

  “You had me fooled,” I muttered, stepping down the hatch, grabbing the interior handle to the door. “I’m going down to get a few things.” I winked at him. “Cue the getting-dressed montage.”

  “What?” Xander asked, thick as lumber.

  “Nothing,” I said. “Listen, the hatch doesn’t lock from the inside, so you’re not joining me.” I tossed him the lock. “After I shut the door, lock it, then move around to the front and wait for my signal. Enter the house that way. I’ll use the access point below my bedroom. When I’m ready to party, you’ll hear the music. You can join the fun then. We crystal?”

  “As mud,” he said.

  “Ha. All this action is making you funny, isn’t it? Bad look for you, though. Feels like you’re trying too hard. Stick to your fire and brimstone gig.”

  I pulled the hatch shut over my head and descended the steps.

  I reached the basement floor and removed my loner phone, activating the flashlight feature and shining it across the space. The light illuminated dusty boxes and old furniture. Navigating around all the stuff I couldn’t quite throw away, I reached the center of the room. I reached upward and pulled a thin string. A dull light burned across the bunker, casting enough of a glow for me to see without the cell phone’s assistance.

  The place was mostly used as storage for shit I didn’t need but was too lazy to get rid of. A lot of workout equipment that I planned to use at the New Year. Boxes filled with Callie’s belongings—clothes and perfumes and things that I couldn’t convince myself to give up or throw away. One of her boxes lay open—probably from a drunk, nostalgic night—and I happened to peer inside it.

  For a moment, I couldn’t do anything but stare at her old T-shirts. She loved college football, and most of her graphic shirts featured the logo of some collegiate program. Oregon Ducks attire filled most of this box—her favorite team, because they had the best jerseys. And that’s a real quote from her. She knew football inside and out, better than anyone I’d ever known. But she liked the Ducks—not for their play style or their recruits or because she was from Oregon—for their jerseys.

  I grabbed a shirt from the box and held it to my face, inhaling deeply like a creeper. Her scent had faded, replaced with the stale stench of dust and mice droppings. I lowered the shirt and stared into the box. So much time had passed since my last visit to the basement. I closed my eyes and tried to imagine her perfume, but I couldn’t. Only the dust and the droppings and the dry wood reached my nose.

  I cracked my neck and peeled my attention from her belongings. I didn’t have time to get lost in memories of her. When this was finished, I could come down here and drown in my sorrow all I wanted. For now, I had more pressing matters to attend.

  Dropping the shirt and placing a hand on my back pocket, I felt the paper from Mel’s room crinkle. The tangibility allowed me to move away from Callie and focus on my daughter. I hustled to the corner of the basement and dug through a pile of old, ratted towels. Beneath them, I found a twenty-pound sledgehammer. I wiped my face.

  If I picked it up, my life would change forever. It would represent a declaration of war against two Nephil—Hephaestus and Hecate. If I lifted that heavy hammer, I would be leaping back into my old life of hunting and fighting and killing. Even if I did save Mel, I would drag her into that world, into all that danger. Her adopted parents were dead. She would have nowhere to go this time.

  I had vanished from Hephaestus once, and that task had proven nearly impossible. I doubted I could do it again. But I didn’t have any other options. I had to save Mel and I needed my full strength to do it.

  “One thing at a time,” I said. “Save your daughter. That’s all. Figure the rest out later.”

  I lifted the sledgehammer and dragged the head across the basement floor to the center of the room, beneath the dull light. I stared at the floor.

  “Fuck it,” I said.

  With a deep breath, I brought the sledgehammer high over my head and slammed it into the cement. The floor cracked, breaking into shards, crumbling further with each successive hit. I worked the concrete until it lay piled in chunks. Tossing the sledgehammer aside, I cleared the rubble and exposed a four-by-two metal chest.

  Above me, footsteps rattled the ceiling. Muffled voices grew louder and more desperate. My guests must have heard me. Well, lucky for them, I would make my appearance pretty soon now. They couldn’t reach me, so I took my time getting ready. I had lied to Xander. Other than the exterior hatch, there was no access to the basement. The vampires could search and search for an entry point, but unless they could break through the solid steel door that Xander had so kindly locked, then live after activating the nasty runes protecting the basement, they would find absolutely nothing. I guess they could dig through my floorboards, but come on. I was most likely dealing with Ravens, and I doubted they could figure that much out.

  I opened the chest.

  My four guns rested comfortably inside like babies tucked into their bassinets. My two oldest and biggest children—an assault rifle named Hansel and a twelve-gauge named Gretel—lay side by side. My younger babies—two Glock 17s named Henrietta and Bambico—nestled in close to their elder siblings. The sight brought tears to my eyes.

  Each weapon bore runes, ones that I had poured my energy and magic into. Below the first compartment holding the weapons, I had holsters and belts and magazines. I no longer had any ammunition, though. When I had buried the guns, I knew that if I kept the rounds and shells, my children would want me to take them outside and play ball. So, I had handed my inscribed ammunition over to Xander to destroy. Which sucked, because it had taken the better part of an hour to carve the sigils into a single round and then pour magical energy into it.

  The shotgun, Gretel, fit through a scabbard that looped around my shoulder and fixed to my back. Henrietta and Bambico strapped to my hips courtesy of holsters that I thought looked like something from a badass western. I’m your huckleberry. Fuck yeah—fist pump. Maybe a little corny, but also, I had to readjust my pants a little. The assault rifle, my boy Hansel, fit over my back by a strap, crossing over the shotgun’s scabbard. I looped the ammunition belt around my chest, even though it was empty.

  Why the heavy artillery, you might ask. And it’s a good question. An Acolyte gifted with the ability to access magic has to learn how to control their power. If not, the results are similar to—or worse than—when I blew up Xander’s car on accident. Through practice and constant communication and service to their Nephil, an Acolyte can learn to control unfocused magic—usually monks, who do nothing all day but mediate, or druids, who have lost sense of time as they abandon society for nature and live unnoticed for hundreds of years. For the more impatient, we have to channel that magic through an instrument—typically wands, staffs, or swords.

  Call me progressive, but I preferred guns and ammunition.

  Wow, cheater much, you might think. But let me tell you, it’s probably the most complicated and tedious form of channeling magic. Not only do I have to inscribe the gun with runes, but I have to do the same to the magazines and every round. I then have to charge the runes of every round of every gun with my energy before a fight. If I overexert the charged energy during a battle, then the weapons are as useless as Xander’s old love noodle and I don’t have focused magic to use. It takes time on the backend to carve sigils onto the ammunition, but it saves a lot of energy during a fight and helps with the precision of my attacks. And when I run out of ammo, I’m out, stuck with just my baser means of chaotic power. Unfocused magic isn�
�t an unlimited source for me—or anyone—to access. Each usage without using a pre-charged focus drains me physically, and if I overexert myself, I die. Acolytes who use, say, a staff, have to channel their energy and magic through that staff, until they run out of juice. It’s simpler than firearms, but they just aren’t my style. I leave that shit to the Gandalf wannabes.

  One last thing about the importance of a focus. It’s reason numero one million why no one really cares about or feels threatened by most sorcerers—those Wikipedia nerds who access magic without a pact. Without the proper training or a focus tied to their patron’s power, they can only draw on a the limited exhaustible, life-sustaining magic within themselves. Once that’s used, inevitably performing some bullshit trick to impress their friends, they die.

  So, without my ammunition now to complete my focus, I would have to draw on the internal, more chaotic side of my powers. I closed my eyes and sent my perception upward, toward my room. Vampires don’t have heartbeats, but they have a distinct aura that emanates their life force. Using that as a beacon, I counted six bodies directly above me.

  I stepped clear of the center of the ceiling, flattening by body against the far wall and sitting on my haunches. I focused, circling my hands around each other and building a ball of fire. The power trembled between my palms—the energy wild and uncontrolled. Luckily, I was sending it upward, not really caring where I hit, as long as I didn’t cave in the entire room and kill myself.

  The energy ripped from my hands and exploded like a grenade when it crashed into the ceiling, burning through dirt and cement and laminate, burrowing a hole into the bedroom of my trailer. Debris and dust rained into the basement, as did two Ravens. They landed with a thud on the concrete, bones snapping—that wouldn’t really hurt them, but it would slow them down a second. One of the fallen Ravens crawled onto its hands and feet, staring right me. Half its face had burned off from the explosion.