Contents

Title Page

Copyright

Get More Books

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

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Author’s Note

About the Author

JUDGEMENT

Book 4 of

The Legacy Series

RYAN ATTARD

Judgement

Ryan Attard

Copyright © 2016 by Ryan Attard. All rights reserved. This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, businesses, events or locales is purely coincidental. Reproduction in whole or part of this publication without express written consent is strictly prohibited.

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Chapter 1

“Hi, my name is Erik.”

“Hi, Erik.”

“Um, I guess, like everyone else, I’m here for a reason.”

This was the first time I had spoken in this group, the first time in a whole month of quiet attendance, twice a week.

Guess I could only put it off for so long.

“I’ve seen some things, done some stuff,” I said. “None of it any good. Or at least I can’t see the point of it now. Nothing has changed in the big picture.”

It was four months after the events on that island, being trapped in a pocket universe for weeks, having to fight my way through horrors that would most likely never leave my nightmares. It was a long story, one that I wasn’t willing to share with the group, given that most of these folks were hardcore war veterans, some of whom were eyeballing me like they knew I was spewing bullshit.

Should I tell them? About magic, about the nightmares, about the Sins and the monsters? About how I was possibly the only hope they had?

Yeah, that would go over well, I thought.

“I was deep in enemy territory,” I went on. “Couldn’t tell you for how long. Weeks, maybe months. But I do remember the moments — those moments where you think you’re gonna starve unless you find your own food, or when you come face to face with a dozen enemies and think you’re done for. And if by some miracle you come out alive, you can’t sleep because you know deep down that nowhere is safe.”

Every single person in this room suffered from PTSD, with some fresh out of a combat zone. But they all had one thing in common: their team. I had no one with me when I was stuck there. People say they often feel lonely even inside a crowd, but you never know what lonely is until you find yourself fighting for your life and knowing that there is no one watching your back.

That is lonely.

It didn’t take long for the others to notice. Abi, my live-in secretary and student, was the first to suggest I get some help. In my line of work, if you make a mistake you end up in a body bag. Heck, even Amaymon, my demonic talking cat, agreed with her.

Like most guys I resisted — for about a week. Then I remembered my father. That crazy son of a bitch was so grief-stricken by the death of his wife and the curse that runs through our family, that he was willing to kill me and my twin sister in order to gain limitless magic.

Crazy runs in my family I guess, but I’ll be damned if I’m going to let it win.

So there I was, masking my misfortunes as best I could, with the hopes that by sharing I wouldn’t end up harming those I loved the most.

I saw the attendees’ blank looks and realized I had stopped halfway through my story.

“I wasn’t exactly military, and I really doubt I can say anything about where I was or what I did-”

“It’s all right, Erik,” interjected the moderator. He was fifty-something with thinning hair and a handlebar mustache that had a lot of gray in it. He was the most comfortable out of all of us, usually with his hands on his protruding belly and a gentle, yet firm, expression. “You don’t have to share details.”

As I said, these guys were military, which meant that ninety percent of the information they wanted to share was classified.

No one gave addresses here.

I nodded. “That’s good, because I got no idea where to start,” I said. “But I do know that this is only gonna get worse if I don’t do something about it. So maybe by being here and talking, I can get a little better.”

“How does your family feel about this?” the moderator asked.

“I don’t have a wife and kids, if that’s what you’re asking,” I replied. “This line of work isn’t exactly compatible with that type of relationship.”

A murmur of approval went around the room and some of the other vets nodded. I would have guessed that at least half of them were divorced, and the rest were well on their way.

“But I do have friends,” I continued. “I suppose I consider them my real family. Heck, they were the ones who suggested I come here.”

The moderator nodded and I was relieved of duty. I sat back down in silence. There was no clapping here. Everyone knew that it took courage to get up and speak. Everyone knew that even walking through the front door was an act of bravery in and of itself.

There was no clapping because everyone knew they were sitting next to someone as courageous as they were.

Once the meeting ended, we all headed towards the back for coffee. It wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be and the cookies were really nice. The point of this was to mingle amongst ourselves and be friendlier towards each other. I’d only spoken to a couple of other people here — most tended to avoid me. I was young, the youngest in this group actually, and there was something about me that gave away the fact I wasn’t actually in the army.

And it wasn’t as if I could go to a meeting in my hometown — everyone there knew me by my reputation, and let’s just say I didn’t exactly come out as citizen of the year.

Today, however, was the day she approached me.

Female soldiers aren’t that uncommon and had I known some of them looked like her, I would have bolted towards the nearest recruitment office years ago.

Her name was Sarah, one of only three women here, and also the only black female in our group. She had that wild look in her eyes that simultaneously made me aroused and fearful, as if you never knew what was going to happen when she decided to turn her attention towards you. Her hair was tied behind her head in a ponytail of black silk, and she must have noticed me eyeing her because not only did she smile back but also casually walked up to me.

“Hey,” she said with an accent that I couldn’t quite place, but which sounded sexy enough to short-circuit my brain for a second.

“Hi.”

“I’m Sarah,” she said.

“Erik.”

“You’re one of those loner types, huh?” she asked, picking up a cookie from the tray.

“Sorry,” I said, looking at my styrofoam coffee cup. “Force of habit.”

“Don’t worry about it.” She leaned in and gave me a mischievous smile. “I actually hate this forced mingling crap.”

I smiled, relieved not to be the only one who was out of my depth in social situations.

“Well, the cookies are good and the coffee’s decent,” I said. “Simple pleasures, right?”

She nodded. “Yep.”

“Where are you from?” I asked. “I mean, I’m sorry if that’s too personal, but I can’t quite place your accent.”

“It’s Haitian,” she replied with a smile. “And it’s no problem. My accent tends to be a conversation starter.”

“It’s quite nice.”

Her smile broadened. “Thank you. You should have heard it when I was a kid. Terrible. How about you? Are you from California?”

“Eureka,” I answered.

She whistled. “Long drive.”

“I don’t mind it. Gives me time to think.”

“I like a man who thinks,” she said. “Are you the thinking type?”

That actually got a cynical snort out of me.

“No,” I replied. “It’s more of a developing habit.”

“Ah,” she said. “So what do you do, Erik? Still in the army?”

I shook my head. “Nah, I bailed out pretty early. Now I’m freelance.”

“Freelance?” she asked with a frown.

“Detective,” I quickly added. “Solving crimes, helping out the cops. You know, the whole Sherlock Holmes gig.”

“So you’re a PI?”

“In a manner of speaking. I have my speciality but yeah, I suppose I’m a private dick.”

She giggled at the double entendre and shook her head.

“What do you specialize in?”

“The bizarre,” I said as dramatically as I could. She smiled and rolled her eyes. “Actually, it’s cases that no one else would take because they’re just too weird.”

“Wow, so you must be really good.”

I shrugged. “Not to toot my own horn, but yeah. I’m pretty awesome.”

She let out a deep chuckle and I felt my heart fluttering.

“Okay, so far I know you’re smart, have a cool job and are funny,” she said. “I like you, Erik.”

“Well, you’re good-looking, clearly intelligent, and you laugh at my jokes. That makes you aces in my book,” I shot back.

“Cool. So do you wanna go out sometime?”

“What?”

She sighed. “I haven’t had a date in forever, and you’ve just checked all the boxes. So, do you want to have dinner with me, or not?”

“Uh,” I began, as I forced my brain to form clear sentences. “Yeah, definitely.”

She beamed at me.

“Wait,” I added after a while. “Isn’t there like a rule here that we can’t date each other?”

“Do I look like the kind of girl who gives a damn about the rules?” she asked with a mischievous grin.

I said nothing, and she grabbed one of the napkins and wrote down a number.

“Saturday, eight o’clock,” she said, handing me the napkin. “Call me.”

I took the napkin and watched her smile and walk away, not really sure of what just happened.

Fifteen minutes later, I was outside and my car was pulling up. Abi was in the driver’s seat, smiling as usual. I opened the passenger door and saw a black cat on the seat.

“Occupied,” he said.

Usually, I would throw him in the back seat, but on this particular evening I simply picked him up, sat down and placed him on my lap.

“What?” I said as both of them stared at me.

“Did they mess with your brain in there?” asked the cat.

“No.”

“Did you find happiness?” he insisted. “Are you now a happy person? God, please tell me you haven’t become one of those annoying dickheads who preach about how amazing yoga and vegan food are.”

I threw the cat in the back seat.

“Hurray, he’s still alive,” I heard him yelp.

“How did it go?” Abi asked.

“Great,” I replied sincerely. “I talked, no one cried or tried to kill me, so that’s good. And I think I got a date,” I added, showing her the napkin with Sarah’s number.

“A date?” she echoed. “In there? Really?”

“Only you can score in a place where everyone’s a little touched in the head, Erik,” Amaymon remarked.

I ignored him.

“So that’s why you’re happy, then,” Abi said.

“Well, yeah. You guys have been telling me to get a social life for years.” I waved the napkin. “Now I have.”

“Hope you guys have fun,” Abi answered.

“If it’s the black girl with the nice ass, I think they will,” Amaymon said, as he pressed his face against the car window and observed the rest of the group heading home.

Sarah caught my eye and I gave her a small wave.

“Anyway,” I said, turning back to Abi. “Did we get any calls?”

“Yep. We got work to do,” she replied as she started up the car and we drove off.

Chapter 2

They say the world is over-populated, seeing as there are billions of us hanging around — although I’m pretty sure whoever conducted that survey did not have the ability to see ghosts. There are more of them hanging around than one might think.

Maybe Heaven’s waiting room has limited seating.

Either way, I don’t mind ghosts. Usually they’re easy cases — most just want to see their relatives one last time, or make sure grandpa’s gold war-era watch doesn’t end up in the hands of Cousin Coke Fiend who will pawn it for a line of snuff.

Usually, I can get one of those cases done before the good stuff comes on TV.

Reginald was not one such a case.

A fat, greedy pervert in his previous life, his death had only served as a convenient way to haunt the basement of the high school he’d worked at as a janitor, where he then spent his newfound influx of free time in the girls’ locker room.

Ironically, that was how he had died. Turns out peeping at jailbait can lead to heart failure.

I dropped the stack of Playboys at the ghost’s feet.

“Here’s your last request,” I said. “Now piss off already.”

Reginald hovered towards the magazines and pages flipped over as if a gust of wind had blown over them.

He looked up. “These are old,” he said. “I want the new ones. Ones I never seen before.”

I closed my eyes and mentally counted to ten.

“You didn’t specify, Reginald,” I said with every ounce of calm I could muster. “Besides, Playboys are Playboys — ass and titties galore. And I’m done being your errand boy. Take the filth and fuck off.”

The pages ruffled violently as Reginald tossed one magazine aside. “No! I want the new ones!”

I sighed again. “I’m done asking, Reginald. Go away.”

“Or what?”

“Or I’ll set my cat on you.”

Reginald was not impressed. “Hah! I ain’t afraid of no cat, you idiot.”

“Your funeral,” I said. “Amaymon, come out here for a sec.”

The ground rumbled and a hole tore open in the gravel next to me.

Amaymon — in his human form — emerged, dressed in his usual black attire, hands inside the pockets of his black cargo pants. A pendant with a ruby dangled around his neck, providing the only color to his outfit.

When he smiled, he exposed a row of shark-like teeth.

Reginald dropped the magazine he was holding. Jackass or not, he was a ghost now, which meant he could sense powerful magic. And few were more powerful than Amaymon, one of the world’s oldest demons.

“Who’s that?” Reginald asked.

I smirked. “That’s my cat.”

Amaymon turned his malicious, yellow feline eyes towards the ghost. “Meow, motherfucker.”

I didn’t know ghosts could shiver but Reginald proved me wrong.

Huh, guess you learn something new every day.

“So what’s it gonna be?” I said.

Reginald backed away. “Okay, okay, I’ll leave.” The Playboys floated in midair. “But I’m taking these with me.”

A few seconds later the air popped as Reginald the Pervy Ghost, as well as a stack of Playboys, imploded into a clump of ectoplasm and disappeared from sight — hopefully for good this time.

Amaymon turned to look at me.

“You gave him my Playboys?” he asked exasperatedly.

I shrugged. “You have a whole shelf. Plus, you never read them anymore. Not after you figured out our Wifi password anyway.”

“‘Erik is awesome’ is not a password,” he replied. “It’s a cry for help.”

My phone went off.

“Get bent,” I said, fishing it out. “Yeah?”

“Erik, it’s Roland.”

Detective Roland March was a rising star at the local PD. Over the past few years, he and I had worked together on various cases, usually involving some supernatural nasty.

“I need you to come down to a crime scene.”

I pulled the phone away from my ear, checked the time, and pressed it back to my face.

“I just got done with a case,” I said. “How urgent is this?”

When Roland spoke again, he did so in his we’re-up-shit’s-creek voice. “This one’s bad, Erik. Real bad.”

“Aren’t they all?”

“Yeah, but this one involves you directly,” he insisted. “Look, I’m sending you a picture and an address. Get here as soon as you can. And bring a witness.”

“What?”

But the line went dead.

My phone rang as a text message appeared and I tapped it open. I read a street address and scrolled down to see the picture. A crime scene photo filled the screen and what I saw there made me snap at Amaymon to hurry up as we bolted towards the car.

I’ve been in this business my entire life. I’m not old, not even middle-aged, but I’ve certainly lived more than your regular Joe. That’s not necessarily a good thing — not when most of that life was populated by horrors and nightmares.

But few things I had seen ever came close to this.

From one end to the other, right in the middle of the open street, dead animals were stapled to the wall, blood oozing out like giant downward brushstrokes. There were dozens — hundreds — of them: cats and dogs of all shapes and sizes, lizards and snakes, an entire aviary’s worth of birds; heck, I even spotted a turtle in there.

And painted in blood at the very top of the grotesquery, like a title, were the words YOU’RE NEXT, WIZARD.

The whole scene filled my field of vision and I stood staring at it with horror and awe from across the street, where a small crowd was being shooed away by the cops.

“Erik,” came Roland’s voice. I saw him appear in between a pair of uniformed officers who were controlling the crowd. “Glad you could make it.” He frowned. “Who’s that?”

I looked to my side and caught Amaymon’s eye.

Usually I don’t like bringing a demon with me when I have to deal with humans. He tended to creep out regular vanilla people — humans are naturally wired to identify and fear predators, and a demon like Amaymon quickly set off our instinctual alarms.

But Roland did ask me to bring a witness, and now I knew why.

“Detective March,” I introduced, “meet Ama-Amadeus.”

Amaymon cocked his head at me, while Roland gave Amaymon the once over. I could see him trying to figure out what was wrong with the stocky teen he was looking at, as if what his eyes were telling him was different than what he was feeling in his gut.

And a good cop always trusts his gut.

“He’s a goth,” I quickly added. “You know kids these days.”

Roland seemed to buy that. “And you were with Erik this whole time, Mr. Amadeus?”

“Yes, Sir, Mr. Detective,” Amaymon replied with usual smirk. He smiled at me — which immediately made me feel very uncomfortable — and draped an arm around my shoulders. “We were together all day, if you catch my drift.”

Roland’s eyebrows shot up. “Well, um… good for you, Erik,” he said.

I shoved Amaymon away. “He’s joking, Roland,” I said. “I’m not gay. Not that there’s anything wrong with that. But I’m not gay.”

“But he said-”

“He’s a dick,” I said, as Amaymon snickered. “He’s a great help in some of my cases, but that doesn’t make him any less of a dick.”

“I love you too, honey,” Amaymon said.

“Shut up.”

Roland turned to Amaymon. “So you’re a PI, too?”

The demon shrugged and nodded.

“Good,” Roland continued. “Because this is a major clusterfuck.” He motioned for us to get closer towards the wall.

I couldn’t take my eyes off of the sign — I was the only known wizard in this town, the only one with enough balls to let people know that terrible shit went down in the dark and I was there to take care of it. Not that anyone ever thanked me for it, but at least they stopped throwing crap at my front porch.

I could feel people’s eyes on me, including the cops, and struggled to concentrate.

“Who did this?” I asked.

“If we knew that we’d be having a different conversation,” Roland said. “But I can read the word wizard and I know only one guy who fits the bill.”

“Harry Potter?”

“Quit joking, Erik,” Roland warned. He glanced behind him. “Look, no one’s happy you’re here, and a lot of these guys were ready to slap handcuffs on you the moment we got the call about this.”

“But why would I say I’m next?” I asked. “Why would I threaten myself? It makes no sense.”

“I know that, and you know that,” Roland said, “and every single cop on the force knows that. But you’re not the most popular guy around here and this…” He waved at the wall. “This is the stuff of nightmares.”

I sighed. “Okay,” I said. “First off, thank you for having my back.”

“Don’t make me regret it,” he interjected.

“Second,” I continued. “Do you guys have any leads? Are there any CCTV cameras around this place?”

“There’s one on the other end of the street,” Roland said, pointing to the right. “But I wouldn’t hold my breath. The angle’s bad and no one saw anything. It was as if this thing just appeared.”

“And the animals?” I asked. “Where did they come from?”

The detective shrugged. “Lost pets, mostly. We got a couple of calls about stolen animals — snakes, turtles, more than a few cats — but this took precedence. Guess we don’t need to investigate the missing pets anymore,” he said grimly.

I took another long look at the wall of dead animals.

“I’ll see what I can do,” I said. “I may have to run to the office and get a few supplies.”

“I can keep the PD off your ass for a day or two, but I’m gonna need answers quick,” Roland said. He looked past me. “Hey, where’s your friend at?”

I snapped my head back, suddenly aware that Amaymon had disappeared.

I knew it was too quiet, I thought.

I scanned the area and out of the corner of my eye, I saw a little black tail disappear around the corner. My magical senses also told me that Amaymon was roughly in that location and I let out a small sigh.

I was this close to losing a demon in the middle of a crime scene.

“I think he went round to ask a few questions,” I told Roland. “He won’t bother anyone, I swear.”

Roland waved his hand and began walking away. “Get to work, Erik,” he spat before disappearing.

I waited for him to get some distance between us before I bolted after Amaymon. Sure enough, I found him just around the corner in his cat form, staring at an empty street.

“Where the hell did you go?” I asked.

“I found a lead,” he calmly said.

“What lead?” I looked around but saw nothing out of the ordinary. “And don’t go transforming where people can see you.”

Amaymon flicked his tail, usually a sign of impatience. “Look ahead, Erik. What do you see?”

“All I see is a wizard talking to a cat,” I remarked. “Which sadly is the least weird thing about my life.”

He hissed. “Look beyond that.”

I closed my eyes and focused my magic. When I opened them I could see the natural layer of magic and energy overlaying our reality, like little shadows in the corner of your eye.

And that’s when I saw the ghost of a young boy sitting by the wall and crying into his knees.

“That’s our lead,” Amaymon said.

“How?”

“Dunno. Let’s go ask him.”

Amaymon padded towards the ghost, who stopped sobbing and reached out to pet the cat.

“Hey,” I said softly. “Are you okay?”

Dumb question, I know, but what the hell are you supposed to say to a crying ghost?

The kid looked up. “Can you see me, mister?”

“Yeah,” I said, squatting down. “My name’s Erik and I’m a wizard. That’s how I can see you. And that right there is my cat, Amaymon.”

“This kitty is weird,” the kid said.

“I’ve heard worse,” Amaymon said.

The kid snatched his hand back and looked at me. “Your cat just talked, mister.”

“I know,” I said. “The problem is he won’t shut up.”

The ghost child looked at Amaymon again. He gingerly reached out to pet him again and smiled.

“Do you have a name?” I asked.

“Arnold,” he replied.

“Nice to meet you, Arnold,” I said. “What are you doing here?”

I’m not good with kids. I know why: it’s because I can’t go down to their level. Baby talk actively nauseates me and I tend to interact with children the same way I do with adults.

Not the healthiest of views, but then again, I wasn’t planning on being a father anytime soon, so who cares?

Arnold gave me a blank look, which was no easy feat for a ghost.

Then he burst out crying.

“He made me,” he said in between sobs. “The bad man made me do it.”

“Made you do what, Arnold?” I pressed.

“He made me hurt all those animals,” Arnold said. “I love animals, they are so cute and fluffy. But he made me.”

“Who’s he?”

Arnold’s eyes widened in horror. “The man who lives in my house.”

I cocked my head. “Arnold, you’re a ghost.”

“I know that, silly,” he said. “I’m not stupid. But I used to have a house and now the bad man lives in it.”

It was my turn to stare blankly at the kid as I tried to digest this new information.

“Arnold,” I began. “What’s your last name?”

“Bentley,” he said. “We used to live on the other-”

“On the other side of town,” I finished as I stood up and sighed.

Amaymon looked at me. “What is it? Do you know the place?”

“Yeah,” I said. “I know the place. Everyone knows the place. It’s the Bentley Murder house.” I looked at Arnold who had gone back to sobbing into his knees. “And I think we just found one of its victims.”

Chapter 3

The Bentley house was on the other side of town, just far enough so that everyone would have an excuse not to build anything next to it. It was once a modest mansion which could house around twenty people.

Now, decades after the infamous murder, the house was abandoned, a shadow of its former self. Windows and doors were torn open, the walls were deeply cracked, and there was not a single inch of drywall that wasn’t molded or covered with signs of infestation.

The Bentley Murder was one of the world’s greatest cold cases, although no one mentioned it anymore. Almost fifty years ago, a super rich family lived there. Sure, they had relatively nothing compared to our Trumps and Kardashians, but they were still rich enough to afford some nice stuff and a big house — which was impressive for those days.

Then, one fine October evening, a maid went berserk. There were many suppositions as to why she had gone crazy: a history of mental illness, reports of Mr. Bentley bumping uglies with her, the staff not being paid enough.

What we do know is that this maid went ape-shit with a pair of garden shears and one of those old carving knives that can easily double as a fencing sword. In one night, she proceeded to hack up everyone in the house, before taking a dive off the roof. They found what remained of her body dangling on the spiked metal fence.

The cops never found out why she did it but if I were to chime in with my two cents, I’d say the moral of the story is: pay your maids and keep it in your pants.

It was later that day when Amaymon and I walked up to the Bentley house, accompanied by none other than Arnold the ghost boy. He wordlessly led us through the front door of the house and into the foyer.

The floor was cracked and unstable, with giant holes strewn about for good measure. The walls were just a series of cracks. A wide staircase loomed at the far end. As I walked through I stirred up a cloud of air and dust so thick I was momentarily blinded. Graffiti canvassed random parts of the house and the floor was littered with empty spray paint cans, soda bottles and cigarette butts.

“Charming,” I muttered.

Amaymon crunched a piece of glass under his boot. He grunted and kicked the shards away. I could feel him about to say something when I heard Arnold belt out a scream.

Amaymon and I ran towards the sound, through a corridor and past the staircase until we came up to a living room.

Which had now been turned into a horror scene.

Everywhere in sight were dead bodies, whole or in pieces, some burnt beyond recognition. The corpses looked anywhere between decades to a few seconds old, which would have raised all sorts of questions, were it not for the sheer shock of seeing a small pile of dead people only a few feet away from me.

“What the actual fuck?” I heard myself say.

Amaymon was standing next to me but he was less affected by the death and horror. To a demon this stuff was second nature. I saw his eyes scan the room and I followed his gaze.

Blood covered the walls. I recognized symbols and sigils from various spells drawn all over. One of them in particular caught my eye and I struggled to place it.

“Necromancy,” I said, finally remembering where I’d seen it before. I turned to Amaymon. “This is a Necromancy spell.”

“Yep,” he replied. “And a pretty strong one at that.”

“Question is, what is it for?”

“Mommy.”

I snapped my head towards Arnold, who was floating above one of the dead bodies that looked like it had been there for decades. He reached downward and his hand passed through the body’s skull.

“Mommy,” he cried again.

“Erik,” Amaymon said. “Something’s off.”

I reached behind my coat and wrapped my fingers around the hilt of Djinn, my magic short sword. I drew out the weapon and held it by my side.

“I know, I feel it too.” I craned my head towards Arnold. “Hey, kid. Get back here.”

Arnold looked at me and sniffed. “My mommy. I found my mommy.”

Magic flared all over the room and I felt my ears pop. The symbols around the room came to life, blood oozing out of the etchings.

A scream erupted while the pile of bodies rose and fell, as if there was something underneath slithering upwards. Arnold’s mother exploded into chunks as a second ghost — this one more solid — burst through and swiped at the kid with a pair of sharp claws.

I lunged forwards, Djinn glowing blue with magic, and intercepted the strike. At the same time, Amaymon stomped the ground and a spike of rock jutted out. But whatever this ghost was, it was smart enough to avoid Amaymon’s earth elemental attack and disappear.

“What the hell?” I began when I felt something grab my leg.

One of the corpses came to life — an honest-to-god zombie — and was using my leg as a crutch to reach towards me. I swiped my sword at him, shearing his arm off, and stabbed the zombie in the head.

Moaning filled the room as one by one, some of the corpses rose to life, swaying drunkenly from side to side.

Rock spikes shot beneath them, impaling the zombies, but they kept on moving.

“Tough little fuckers,” Amaymon remarked. He nonchalantly grabbed one zombie by the head and crushed it to the size of a tangerine. “Guess we’ll have to do this the old-fashioned way.”

I swung again, lopping off another zombie’s head, but there was no end to them. From the other end of the hall I heard Arnold scream again. He was running — or in his case, floating — away from the angry monster ghost, which was chasing him with a lot of snarling and claw-raking.

I charged magic into Djinn and let loose a streak of azure energy that blasted at the monster ghost. It tumbled into a wall and disappeared into it.

“Thank you, mister,” Arnold said.

“Get over here,” I yelled, as I kicked away a zombie. “Stay close.”

“Yes, mister.”

The ghost boy began floating towards me, when suddenly the monster ghost popped out from beneath the ground and smashed into him. The two ghosts were sent tumbling through the air all the way into the foyer and I ran after them, swapping my weapons as I did.

I extracted my gun, a modified flintlock gun with a semi-automatic mechanism, and aimed the weapon at the monster ghost. A blast of lead and magic burned through the ghost, causing it to shriek and release Arnold from its grip.

The kid came running behind me as I fired again and again into that damn ghost monster that finally, after the fifth bullet, disappeared into a cloud of dust and ash.

“What the hell was that thing?”

The answer smacked me in the face — literally — as two monster ghosts emerged.

“Erik!” I heard Amaymon yell. “They’re Geists, not ghosts.”

I shook my head and began blasting off. One of them lunged at me while the other attacked their real target: Arnold. I rolled into the Geist, firing a shot into its gut and snapped my gun towards the second Geist, releasing Arnold from its grip.

At the same time, I felt a knife of cold plunge into my back as the first Geist stuck its meat-hook-like claws in my back. I felt its weight on me and it took all of my strength to work my gun towards its head and fire. The gun went off, giving me a few seconds of reprieve, and then clicked empty. The otherworldly coldness returned and I felt ever closer to actual death.

This is gonna hurt, I thought.

I focused my magic into my body and felt a different kind of agony — unnatural, yet familiar, as if reopening an old wound.

My family curse trapped all of my magic inside my body, meaning that, while I had regenerative powers that would put Wolverine to shame, I could not fire off spells like regular wizards, and instead had to rely on my channels.

But it was either this or death by Geist — and call me crazy but dying was not on my checklist for the day.

My vast magical powers, raw and untamed, flared from my body. Even through the crippling pain, I felt the Geist release me and run away, but the blast got him. I sucked in a deep breath, forcing my body to work, and deftly swapped magazine clips for the gun.

The second Geist was already on me when I thrust the barrel of the gun into his ugly head and fired off round after round, each time digging the barrel deeper and deeper inside his ectoplasmic body.

I took out my gun, switched hands and unsheathed Djinn once again. The blue blade glowed as I jumped and brought it smashing down on the first Geist, which was still lying prone on the ground.

Both Geists disappeared into a puff of smoke.

“Erik, one,” I muttered through the pain. “Ugly-ass ghosts, zero.”

“Mister, look out.”

The ground rumbled as the Necromantic spell took effect again, and to my horror I saw five Geists emerge, rising from the spot where their ugly cousins had disappeared.

“To hell with this,” I said. I ran towards Arnold and yelled for him to get a move on, as we sprinted towards Amaymon.

My demonic familiar was in the middle of a zombie horde, tearing them apart one at a time.

“We need to destroy the sigils,” he said as soon as he saw me.

“Yeah, we got a bigger problem,” I began.

Five Geists came bursting in, shrieking their heads off.

“That,” I said.

“Ah hell.” He grabbed two zombies and literally threw them at the Geists. The corpses passed harmlessly through the ghost monsters, but bought me enough time to charge up Djinn and let out a long horizontal blast, blowing back all five of them.

And now that I was in a room full of zombies, I had them to worry about.

I thrust my sword back, plunging it inside one’s torso and poured magic into the blade. It exploded into a massive blade of azure energy, disintegrating six zombies as energy accumulated. I swung the giant sword around like a baseball bat, shredding zombies along its path, and released all that pent-up energy towards the Geists. The giant energy blade flew off towards them and exploded, tearing off a good chunk of the wall with it.

The Geists evaporated and I felt the Necromantic spell take effect again — more zombies came to life and two dozen Geists manifested themselves into reality.

“Time for something stupid,” I said.

“Just what I like to hear,” Amaymon said. “You got anything in mind?”

“Yeah,” I snarled, looking at the approaching Geists. “Bring the house down. That should get rid of the spell, right?”

“Heck, yeah,” he replied with glee. “Just tell me when.”

“You’ll know when.” I instinctively reached out to grab Arnold’s hand but my fingers passed through his ghostly body.

“Come on,” I said.

I blasted the Geists just enough to stun them, so he and I could slip past. As we went by the door, I said,

“Stay by my side and run out of the house when I tell you to.”

“Run out?”

“Yeah. Out. Even if you have to go through the damn monsters. Just get away from me as fast as you can.”

He looked at me and then at the approaching horde of Geists and a few trailing zombies.

“What are you going to do?”

I held Djinn in front of me and exhaled. “End this.”

Magic coalesced around me as I piled more and more energy inside Djinn. The blade glowed an intense azure but remained unchanged. I was amassing power, charging up for the mother of all Super Saiyan attacks.

“Now!” I roared.

Three things happened at the same time.

The first was Amaymon finally cutting loose. The ground shook and tore apart. The walls exploded and every shred of mortar inside the Bentley house was sent blasting off. I felt the Necromantic spell break apart and its tainted magic dissipate.

The second was Arnold. The little ghost boy sprinted towards the door, dodging past a swiping Geist.

And finally, I got to release all that pent-up magic. It blasted off around me, expanding from my body — a tangible, azure-colored, burning aura of pure magical energy. I screamed in both effort and ecstasy. My power tore through every single Geist and zombie around me, reducing them to ash with a mere touch.

When I felt Amaymon destroying the house, I reshaped the aura of magic into a more conical shape and aimed it upwards. Debris rained all around me as the roof was literally brought down but my magic disintegrated anything and everything that came in contact with it.

The whole thing lasted for exactly five seconds — five seconds of screaming effort as I unleashed more magic than I’d ever consciously had at any point in my life.

Finally, I could do no more and the stream of magic receded into nothing. The aura of blue energy disappeared, leaving behind only a steaming short sword and a panting wizard standing in the middle of a black scorch mark and a pile of debris that, only minutes ago, had been a famous murder house.

Chapter 4

The wailing of police sirens filled the evening air.

I immediately sheathed my weapons and turned to Amaymon. I had to think quick — the first cruiser was already coming up the road.

“Shit, no time to run now,” I muttered. “Gonna have to talk my way out of this one.”

Amaymon snickered. “Yeah, ‘cause that usually works out for you.”

I ignored him. “Go cat and take the kid with you back to the office,” I said. “Hurry before anyone gets a good look at the situation here.”

Without a word he immediately transformed into a black shorthair.

“Come on, kid,” he directed towards Arnold. Then he turned his feline head towards me. “Good luck.”

They disappeared just as the first police cruiser came to a halt directly in front of me and Detective Roland March emerged. He had dark circles around his eyes and looked like he had aged five years since I last saw him.

“Of course,” he said, shaking his head. “Of course I find you here, Erik.”

I raised my hands. “Hey there, Detective.”

Roland looked around. “What the hell are you doing here, Erik?” he snapped.

“Following a lead,” I replied. I lowered my hands. “Why are you guys here?”

“Got a call that a house fell down,” he said. His eyes narrowed. “What did you do?”

“Nothing, I swear,” I lied.

“Then why are you out of breath?” he asked. “And covered in dust?”

I self-consciously wiped dust from my leather trench coat and said nothing.

“I won’t ask you again, Erik,” Roland said, in a tone that I’d never heard him direct towards me before. “What are you doing here?”

“I told you, I was following a lead,” I replied.

“What lead?”

“Can’t tell you that. Client confidentiality and all that,” I said. Much easier to explain than tell him that the ghost of a boy who was murdered here led me straight to his own murder scene.

“Sir, we got a body here,” came the voice of one of the uniformed officers who were searching the premises — or what was left of them.

“Got one here too,” said another. “A whole bunch actually.”

Roland stared at me and took a step back.

“Look, I know how this looks,” I began, “but I swear I had nothing to do with that. I came here, found a bunch of dead people, and…”

“And what?” he insisted.

I shook my head. “And they came to life.”

“Oh, come on!” he snapped. “You expect me to believe in zombies?”

“You know my line of work,” I snapped back.

I shouldn’t have snapped back: nothing good happens when you snap at cops.

“We’ve worked together all these years,” I went on. “You got no reason to suspect me.”

“Really?” He reached behind him and withdrew a pair of handcuffs. “You’re the only one here. I know for a fact that the house was still in one piece a few minutes ago. Then there’s the issue of the first crime scene this afternoon. Your name was tagged on the wall — it was a message for you. Who’s to say it wasn’t from you?”

“You’re deluded, Roland,” I said. “Why would I put the spotlight on me?”

He shrugged. “Free advertisement? It’s much easier to provide a solution if you create the problem in the first place.”

I cocked my head. “Talk about twisted logic.”

Roland sighed and lifted the cuffs. “Sorry to do this, but you know how this looks. Don’t resist. If you’re innocent we’ll work it out.” He approached tentatively and I considered making a break for it.

But I have a rule, no magic against humans.

“What’s this really for?” I asked as he tightened the cuffs around my wrists. “What’s changed since this morning?”

He sighed from behind me. “You know those dead animals we found? Well, they’re all gone. Disappeared right out of our evidence bags,” he whispered. “I know you’re not the bad guy, but the only way I can get you to look at them is inside an interrogation room.”

I smiled. “I did notice a lack of Miranda Rights,” I remarked.

He scoffed. “Yeah, like you would ever remain silent.”

Police interrogation rooms — or as the cops’ PR departments insist on calling them, interview rooms — are designed for one thing and one thing only: intimidation. You’re left in a spartan room with a mirror wall that you know you’re being watched through. They are designed to take away your control of the situation; people fear the unknown and that is exactly what these rooms are designed to exploit.

Now, me, I’ve been in some scary situations. Real scary. I don’t like the unknown but I don’t fear it — I can’t, not if I want to survive in my world.

I’ve been facing down the unknown since I was twelve years old.

And if there is one thing cops hate more than overpriced doughnuts, it’s someone they cannot break.

When Roland brought me to the station — an act that was met with applause, mind you — he dumped me in one of the interrogation rooms in the back and transferred one of my handcuffs to a hook welded on the table, binding my right hand. My weapons and trench coat were confiscated, and someone had the bright idea to turn up the air conditioning, leaving me frosting inside the empty room.

I knew they were watching me the whole time, and it would have been so much easier for me if I pretended to shiver and dropped the tough guy act.

But I never did like taking the easy way.

Detective McDouchebag — because I made it a point not to remember the asshole’s name — finally walked in with a coffee cup in one hand and a doughnut in the other. He gave me a look as if daring me to make a joke but I was smarter than that.

Instead, I went ahead with the more mature silent treatment.

“So, Mr. Wizard,” the cop began, as he sat down in front of me. “Guess you ain’t that tough now, are you?” He smirked and nodded at the handcuffs. “Go ahead then. Get out of those if you can.”

I sighed at him, threw him my best condescending look, and remained silent.

McDouchebag opened a file and flipped it so that it faced me. I gazed down at the crime scene images, where dead animals were suspended from a wall and the words YOU’RE NEXT, WIZARD scrawled on top.

“Nice handiwork,” the cop said. “Guess this is better than taking out an ad in the book, huh?”

I kept quiet and suddenly the cop slammed his hands on the desk, causing me to flinch.

“Listen up, dipshit,” he snarled. “I got a station full of cops who really dislike you. The only reason March is even allowed to contact you is ‘cause the chief likes you, and the fact that cases get closed when you and March work together. Now, I got no reason to suspect a fellow cop, but you — I know a phony when I see one.” His eyes narrowed. “So start talking, Mr. Wizard, or I’ll make you disappear. For a very long time.”

I snickered. “You’re a detective, right?”

“So you can talk,” he said. “Yeah, I’m a detective.”

“And how long have you held that rank?”

“The fuck does that have to do with anything?” he spat.

“Just humor me,” I said.

“Eight years,” he said.

I cocked my head. “Huh. So you’ve been in charge of closing cases for eight years. Now, I’ve only been working with Roland for about five years, which means this department had to endure at least three years of you being the lead case-closer around here.”

I smiled and looked directly towards the two-way mirror, where I knew Roland and some other cops were listening in.

“My condolences to the justice system,” I said loudly.

Detective McDouchebag slammed his hands again. “You think you’re real funny, don’t you?”

“It’s both a blessing and a curse,” I interjected.

“And I bet you thought it was real funny to hide away all the dead animals, right?” The cop furrowed his brow. “Hiding away the evidence before we could find anything on you?”

“That’s enough,” came a voice from the door. Roland stood there with a couple of empty evidence bags in his hands. “Orders from the brass. I’ll take it from here.”

McDouchebag gave me one last dirty look and stood up. As he went to leave, he grabbed Roland by the arm. “Don’t let him fool you, March. He’s got something up his sleeve.”

“Don’t worry, I got this,” Roland replied. McDouchebag did not look very convinced but left anyway.

“Did you really have to piss him off like that?” Roland asked as he sat down and brushed the images into the folder.

I shrugged. “I didn’t have to. But I really wanted to.”

“Real mature, Erik.”

I nodded at the evidence bags. “Those the bags you were telling me about?”

“Yep,” he said. “One minute they’re packed with dead animals, the next they are empty.”

“Did you open them?”

“No,” he replied. “To be honest I was afraid of messing something up, and I went after you.” He leaned in. “Funny thing is, even those corpses we retrieved from the Bentley house did that same thing.”

I cocked my head. “What, did they evaporate too?” I asked, half-joking.

Magic can do many things but the rules of physics still had to be observed. Matter remained constant; sure, you could change its shape, but the laws of conservation still applied no matter what discipline of magic you practiced.

Roland nodded. “All that was left was a pile of goop. No one wanted to touch it though.”

“Why?” I asked.

He shrugged. “I know it sounds silly, but it gave us the willies. We bagged what little remained.”

“It disappeared too?”

He nodded.

A million thoughts went through my head. I reached out and grabbed one of the evidence bags. It was sealed, holding inside what looked like mist. I tore it open and observed as the mist shot out of the hole I made with a hiss, before solidifying into something in between vapor and sludge.

“What is that?” Roland asked.

I grimaced. “Ectoplasm.”

As I saw the ghost sludge hit the table, I thought of the zombies and Geists back at the Bentley house.

“Don’t touch it,” I snapped as I saw Roland about to poke it with his pen.

He looked up, clearly struggling to make sense of all of this as much as I was. “What’s going on, Erik? What the hell is happening to my city?”

I looked at the ectoplasm again, which was now evaporating, and was about to answer Roland with a theory I’d just thought of — the only one that made any shred of sense — when I felt a spike of magic.

It was subtle and quick, like the snapping of fingers, but I picked up on it. There was something, here, at the police station, and it was rapidly getting closer and closer…

The commotion grew outside the interrogation room and Roland stood up.

“What the hell is going-”

He never got to finish that sentence. Magic spiked again and this time it was accompanied by the sound of gunshot, loud and omnipresent. A small hole appeared in the two-way mirror and Roland was thrown off his feet, as a bullet tore through his shoulder.

Chapter 5

“Roland!”

I grabbed the handcuffs tying me to the table and poured magic into them. Since my powers were too powerful for regular things to handle, they tended to either melt stuff or make things go boom.

The handcuffs began smoking before shattering like glass.

I vaulted over the table and grabbed the detective.

“Son of a bitch,” he swore. His hand was clutching his shoulder and blood trickled around his fingers from the hole in his shoulder. The bullet had gone cleanly through and I saw something silver and metallic embedded in the wall behind Roland.

“Can you move?” I asked, grabbing his arm. Not waiting for his answer, I turned him around, examined his wound, and decided that he could indeed walk.

“I’m getting us outta here,” I said. “Cover your eyes.”

“Erik, what are you-”

I grabbed the chair I had been sitting on and smashed it into the two-way mirror. The glass exploded together with the chair. Glass and debris rained towards the ground and I used what was left of the chair to sweep at shards that poked out from around the ledge.

I took a look at the other side. “Aw, shit.”

Three cops, including Detective McDouchebag, lay dead on the ground with clear bullet holes in their heads and torsos.

“What?” Roland asked as he leaned over the interrogation table. He looked paler than usual and if he did not lie down soon and get that hole in his shoulder looked at, he’d end up like his pals.

“Dead cops,” I said, grabbing his arm and helping him towards the window.

He looked at his dead buddies and shook his head.

“Damn,” he managed. “They were good people.”

I didn’t argue. Whatever problem I may have had with authority and the police, no one deserved to go like that.

I helped Roland over the window ledge.

“Why are we doing this instead of using the door?” he asked as he landed painfully on the other side.

I vaulted next to him and searched the dead cops for weapons. “Whoever came through here won’t come back,” I explained. “This room is done with, so you’ll be safe.”

I extracted a backup pistol from McDouchebag’s ankle holster and offered it to Roland.

“That should be light enough to shoot with your left,” I said.

He took the gun and watched me as I picked up two Beretta pistols and checked the slides.

“You’re going out there alone?” he asked.

I nodded. “How many times does the station get shot at?” I asked.

He laughed. “No one’s that stupid.”

“Exactly,” I replied. “No one is. But this isn’t someone — it’s something. And it’s no coincidence you got attacked when you booked me. So sit tight. I’ll deal with this.”

“Erik, wait,” he called out just as I was about to exit the room.

I turned around.

“Your gear,” he said. “It’s on my desk. Good luck.”

I nodded my thanks and left.

The police station had become a war zone.

Tables and desks were upturned and used for cover, and every single person had their firearm drawn. The usual noises — buzzing of people chatting, ringing of phones, rustling of paper, sliding of chairs and desk drawers — were now replaced with the deafening cracks of gunfire and the screaming of police officers as they hit the ground and cried in pain, clutching their wounds.

And in the middle of it all was just one person.

One guy wearing a pitch black suit, immaculate and pixel perfect, with slicked back hair and a pair of Ray Bans covering his eyes. Slung across his shoulder was a silver long-barreled rifle with intricate patterns running along the barrel. In each hand he held a revolver, silver like his rifle, and etched with the same patterns.

He was firing with ease and laziness, almost as if pressing buttons on a game console rather than pulling triggers and ending people’s lives.

Two cops sneaked up behind him with taser guns and one of them managed to zap him. The guy turned as if he had just been accidentally poked and kicked the cop in the face.

Now, I’ve been kicked before and I also did my fair share of kicking. I know a good kick when I see one — usually because it tended to leave a mark. If done correctly, kicks used all of the leg’s muscles as well as the hip, making for a really devastating strike.

But if my kick was a shotgun, this guy’s was a freaking cannon.

The cop’s face was torn completely off and grey matter flew from the liquefied skull. His buddy froze halfway through trying to taser the gunman and watched in horror as his friend fell to the ground, effectively decapitated.

The guy in the suit smiled and threw a front kick into the second cop’s chest. The cop was sent flying into the adjacent wall, but the gunman fired after him just to be sure.

I lifted my guns and fired.

As I said, regular weapons can’t handle my magic. I’ve been through countless guns over the years before customizing my current one, and that only happened once I took down a Behemoth and had Amaymon infuse its ectoplasm into the weapon. So blasting off with these Berettas was out of the question.

However, ever since taking on Abi as my apprentice, I had refined my control over my powers and the flow of magic. Each of my bullets had just enough magic in it to add to the punch but not cause it to break down on a molecular level.

The gunman must have sensed me because he leapt high into the air, reached the ceiling, and cartwheeled. Upside down, he fired off a couple of rounds and kicked off from the ceiling. He landed feet first against the wall, ran up a few steps, and spun in the air.

I saw him look straight at me, and despite the sunglasses, could feel him challenging me. And I was never one to back down from a challenge — especially not since he had spent all twelve bullets in his revolvers and I had half a clip left in each gun.

I fired as I advanced.

The gunman cocked his head, avoiding my bullets as if they were tennis balls. He kicked a desk over and the piece of furniture spun in the air as it fell towards me. I ducked, all the while keeping my eyes on the target.

Then I saw one of the coolest things I’ve ever seen a person do in my life — even if it was the bad guy.

The gunman flicked his revolvers downwards. Both guns broke forwards, like old Civil War era revolvers, and he flicked them upwards, sending both cylinders into the air. I barely saw his hands move as he reached into his jacket pockets, threw two new cylinders in the air with bullets loaded in them, and watched as they landed perfectly inside the revolvers.

The gunman smiled at me, knowing that I was impressed, and snapped the guns back in place.

“Holy crap,” I said as I threw myself behind a sturdy-looking desk for cover. Bullets whizzed past my head and I could feel the desk shudder with every bullet it caught.

I felt something burning my hands and saw the two Berettas smoking. The acrid smell of burnt rubber and steel filled my nostrils. I threw away my guns, knowing my magic had destroyed them from the inside.

I heard sobbing next to me. A young cop, no more than twenty years old, was sitting with his knees pulled up and his firearm held tightly with both trembling hands close to his chest. White as a sheet, he had yet to acknowledge me crouching next to him.

“Hey,” I said.

The young cop jumped slightly and looked at me.

“Do you have a back-up weapon?” I asked.

He shook his head with a lot of nostril flaring and erratic shaking.

I grabbed his shoulder. “It’s gonna be okay,” I said. “I promise you, kid. Just give me your gun and everything will be okay.”

I heard more gunfire behind me and knew the desk wouldn’t hold for much longer. Meanwhile, the young cop just stared at me blankly.

“To hell with this,” I said.

I snatched the gun from the kid’s hands and elbowed him in the face. The young cop immediately fell over unconscious and released his grip on the weapon.

Look, I’m not proud of what I did. But in retrospect, I figure that a broken nose is better than a bullet to the head. That kid would grow up to be a better cop because of this, but in order to grow up he had to survive this day — this enemy — and he did not have what it took to survive. Me knocking him out might have been the best thing I could have done for him. When he woke up he wouldn’t remember any of this. That was good. Regular people shouldn’t have to deal with monsters.

That was my job.

I fired off two shots as I came out of cover, both aimed at the enemy’s legs. I figured that if I couldn’t put this guy down in a fair duel, I’ll go for dismemberment.

I don’t play fair — I play to survive.

The gunman lifted his leg and flicked it forwards. I saw a spark as my bullet bumped against something hard and was deflected into the ceiling. The gunman put his foot back down and my jaw dropped with it.

The guy had no shoes. Instead, poking out of his expensive Dolce & Gabbana trousers were a pair of hooves.

I looked at the guy. He cocked his head, smirking the entire time, before gently lifting his gun and pulling the trigger. I ducked but not before feeling something blow up in my hand.

He had shot my gun!

I threw what was left of my weapon at him and dove sideways. My stunt caused me to skid headfirst into a desk and saw a familiar leather-wrapped handle sticking from beneath another desk.

Djinn.

I grabbed the sword and channeled magic into it, just as I saw the gunman’s hooves clomp closer. Djinn’s blade glowed blue and I flicked it upwards, cleaving through Roland’s desk.

The gunman jumped backwards and I blocked one of his astray shots with the blade. I yelled in effort and stabbed forwards. Djinn’s blue blade extended impossibly and shot like a spear towards the guy’s face. I felt the blade make contact and the guy spun.

His shades fell on the ground and shattered. I looked at his face. He was clutching his left eye but I was more enthralled by the sheer amount of facial hair that appeared on his face.

And the pair of ram-like horns that extended from his forehead along his skull.

A second, smaller pair of horns jutted from his temples and when he removed his hand, I got a glimpse at his eyes. The pupils were long and narrow but were set in a horizontal position like a goat’s. They were also ember-yellow in color and bore a familiarity.

The eyes of a demon.

The gunman leapt back. I swiped my sword after him, charging a spell, and sending an arc of energy at him, but he literally somersaulted over it and kept running towards the exit.

I looked down and saw my own gun lying on the ground.

“Eat this,” I spat as I pumped magic into the gun and pulled the trigger three times in succession. I could feel the certainty of my magic sending the bullets after him like homing missiles.

The guy abruptly spun and fired his own guns three times, shooting my bullets out of the air with his own. He fired a fourth time and I was too slow.

The bullet met my shoulder and drilled through.

I’ve been shot countless times before and thanks to my magic, I’ve always walked away from it.

But this was something else.

I screamed my lungs out as pain radiated through my body. I felt as if every single one of my cells was being torn apart, and my blood had been replaced by molten lava. My vision clouded and shadows burst from my body. I could feel my magic working overtime to heal the wound, to push the bullet out, but the more magic I used, the worse the pain got.

Tendrils of black writhed around like whips, slashing and smashing everything around me. I had to control them, but at that moment, I could barely form a thought, let alone muster the effort it took to hold back my powers.

So I did the one thing I could.

I spun Djinn and drove the tip into my shoulder, after the bullet. I could say I felt a fresh wave of pain, but I was pretty sure my nerve endings were already fried. I wedged the tip of my short sword beneath the bullet and wrenched upwards.

The bullet fell on the ground, smoking and hissing.

All that pain suddenly receded and my shadows went along with it. I dropped Djinn on the ground and vomited next to it.

What the hell was that? I thought. Never in my life had I felt pain like that, not even when I tried using magic.

By the time I could see properly again, the goat-demon-gunman was long gone.

I stared at the bullet, a tiny shard of scrunched silver, and saw it had a pattern engraved on it. I picked it up and put it in my pocket, before grabbing Djinn and using it as a crutch to get back up to my knees.

From the wreckage that was once the Eureka Police Department, I fished out my coat from beneath what was left of Roland’s desk and holstered my weapons.

“Freeze!”

I turned and saw half a dozen cops with their guns trained on me.

“Hands in the air, you son of a bitch,” screamed one of them.

I saw the fear in their eyes, as they tried to make sense of what had just happened here. I saw the rage as I stood unharmed while their buddies lay dead on the ground.

I understood it all.

But I had to get out of there.

“Stop.”

Roland appeared by the doorway of the lobby and faltered. I wanted to rush to his side and help him, but any sudden movements would have gotten me shot and I really had my fill of bullets for the day.

“Call him an ambulance,” I said as gently as I could.

The cop who yelled at me turned his gaze from Roland back to me.

“Call an ambulance,” I repeated.

“You’re under arrest,” the cop said.

“I said enough,” Roland said. He managed to stand up with the aid of another cop. “If it wasn’t for Erik here, we’d all be dead.”

Uncertain, the cop lowered his gun.

Roland looked at me with hard eyes. “Go,” he said. “Go find that son of a bitch and make him pay.”

I nodded and walked out, determined to hunt that gunman down and repay him in kind for all the suffering he had brought into my world.

Chapter 6

“So let me get this straight.” Amaymon rubbed his feline belly against my leg. “You’re telling me this guy had goat horns and hooves. And he somehow made it inside a police station without getting noticed.”

“Yeah,” I replied. “And he had guns.”

“So, we’re facing a goat-man version of John Wayne. An actual gun-slinging satyr.” He flicked his tail. “Why not? I live as a cat.”

“And you’re very cute,” I said.

“Kiss my ass,” he replied. “So what are we doing here?”

I looked up towards the large sign that said Sun Tzu’s Noodle Shop, and sighed. This place always intimidated me. It wasn’t that there was anything scary, specifically: the proprietor, Sun Tzu — yes, that one — was as nice as any elderly Chinese guy could be. He smiled and nodded, hummed where humming was appropriate, and spoke almost entirely in fortune cookie riddles.

I liked him for the mentoring and for being a good guy in a world full of monsters.

Amaymon liked him for the free noodles.

But like all ancient beings, Sun Tzu had his secrets, and his came with a side of terrible otherworldly powers.

Then there were the rest of the patrons, an eclectic mix of hooded figures and god-knows-what-else, each of whom had their own bag of tricks. Sun Tzu could kick all their asses at once and his mojo came in handy in keeping his shop a safe neutral zone, but I survive on paranoia.

I felt the silver bullet in my coat pocket, hard and cold against my fingers. If anyone could tell me where it came from, it was Sun Tzu.

Sighing again and gritting my teeth, I pushed the front door and walked inside with my cat at my heels.

When I entered the Chinese shop I felt like the protagonist of a western.

Sun Tzu’s shop was usually empty, except for a few regulars, but this time every single table was occupied. As I walked in, every pair of eyes turned in my direction. I knew immediately there would be trouble — every human being can innately feel when shit’s about to go down.

As I scanned the shop, I saw a large collection of individuals: anything from hooded monster hunters like myself, to humanoid creatures with a variety of features, ranging from scaly to beastly.

Right at the very back, sitting where they always sat, were four Chinese men, playing Mahjong like they always did: the thin and wiry Long, which is Chinese for dragon; the stout and muscular Tiger; the stringy and attentive Phoenix; and the fat and jolly Turtle.

I saw the four of them eyeing me, although I didn’t feel like they were sizing me up, unlike the other patrons. Turtle even gave me the slightest of nods.

Amaymon turned his feline head to look up towards me. “Did you forget to book a reservation?”

I ignored him — Sun Tzu had always welcomed me in his place, but now I felt like I had walked into a trap.

“Erik!” An elderly Asian man wearing a storm-grey Chinese uniform walked out of the kitchen.

As he walked past them, the people standing by the bar leaned out of his way, so no one would actually touch him. Even from this far I could feel his impressive aura, like a vast ocean hanging from the ceiling, threatening to destroy everything with a mere thought.

Sun Tzu beamed as he came over and gave me a hug. “How have you been, old friend?”

He knelt down and rubbed Amaymon’s head. “And how is little kitty?”

“Little kitty ain’t too happy about being called that,” Amaymon replied as he rubbed himself against Sun Tzu’s hand. “But I’d be a little more concerned about what might happen if some genius here tried something.”

Sun Tzu stood up and looked around. He inhaled deeply and I felt the entire shop coming to a standstill.

“No one will try anything,” he said, addressing me but looking at the shop’s population. “This is a place of peace.” Then he beamed at them. “Please try today’s specials.”

And like puppets on a string, they all turned back around and returned to their food.

“Come,” Sun Tzu said. “Sit, sit. I’ll bring out some dumplings.”

“Oh hell, yeah,” Amaymon remarked. He hopped on the table as I sat down. “So what did you do to piss off an entire shop?”

“Get off the table,” I berated. “And I didn’t do anything.”

He cocked his head, ignored my comment, and instead plopped his ass down on the wooden surface. At the same time, Sun Tzu came out carrying out a dish of dumplings.

“Shoo,” he said, waving at Amaymon.

The demon leapt off, transformed into his human self, and took a seat next to me. I could see a couple of people giving us the stink eye — even in the magical community, people hated demons.

To be fair, they brought nothing but death and destruction, so it wasn’t like I didn’t understand where that hate was coming from, but still, Amaymon was my familiar.

“So, Erik,” Sun Tzu said. “What brings you to my shop today? Need more supplies?”

“Just the opposite,” I said as I fished out the silver bullet from my pocket. I set the deformed piece of metal of the table in front of him. “I need to know what this is and who bought it.”

Sun Tzu smiled. “I am not a gun shop owner. Perhaps the answers you seek lie elsewhere.”

That stopped me in my tracks. In all the years I have known Sun Tzu, he had never said such words. He never said ‘no’ or ‘go away’. In fact, he always said something helpful, even if it wasn’t related to the case.

I cocked my head and glanced behind me. I caught people staring at me again, who quickly snapped their heads down to their bowls when they saw me looking.

“What’s going on here?” I asked.

Sun Tzu stopped smiling and stared at me with dark grey eyes that matched his uniform. “Things have been set in motion, Erik Ashendale, and your presence here threatens to upset a very delicate balance.”

“Let me guess,” I replied. “Angels? Demons? Seven Deadly Sins?” I shrugged. “Can’t be the Black Ring Society, I kicked their ass so hard their grandkids are gonna be sore.”

“Nice,” Amaymon interjected. We fist-bumped each other.

Sun Tzu was not amused.

“You jest, young wizard, but there is a much greater power at play here,” he said. He cocked his head knowingly and I got the feeling he was trying to tell me something — something I was not getting. “Powers even greater than mine.”

I raised my eyebrows. “Panda Express?”

Sun Tzu sighed and picked up the bullet. “This is a very powerful spell,” he said. “The bullet itself has become a magical object with the properties of severing and binding.”

I frowned at him. “What’s that, like destroying and repairing?”

He shook his head and plucked a single chopstick from a small container at the side of the table. He snapped it in half and held up both sides.

“If one were to break and repair this, it would become a perfect chopstick once more,” he said, pressing the two halves together. “But severing and binding are different in nature. The act of severing is to divide something, while keeping in mind that the end result is to have two different things of the same nature. Binding is the act of taking those two halves and forcing them to become whole again.”

He undid one of the strings decorating the chopstick container and tied the two halves of the chopstick. “However something bound,” he said, raising the now-deformed chopstick, “will never be as whole as the original. As such it will be crippled, even if repaired.”

I looked at my shoulder and pulled back my collar, enough to expose the place where the goat man had shot me. The wound had healed but a scar remained. Usually wounds healed perfectly, thanks to my magic — not this one.

This one had left a mark.

“You got shot,” Sun Tzu said.

“Won’t be the last time,” I replied casually.

Sun Tzu’s hand shot towards mine and squeezed painfully.

“Listen to me,” he said, in a tone that closely resembled panic. “You cannot be shot with this. This weapon was designed to hurt wizards. You especially, given the nature of your family curse.”

“How do you know all this?” I asked.

Sun Tzu released his death grip on my hand. “I cannot say.”

“Who did you sell this to?” I pressed.

“I cannot say.”

“Erik,” Amaymon muttered.

“Yeah, I know,” I replied.

I glanced backwards and out of my peripheral vision, saw someone standing behind me. “Whoever you are, take a number and sit down.”

I looked at Sun Tzu again, whose face was now contorted with concern. Something was making him uncomfortable — him, the man who was the very definition of a rock, who was like a father to me; the man who helped me set up shop in Eureka.

Something was big enough to faze even him, and if I found it, I’d tear it to pieces. No one, and I mean fucking no one, messed with my family.

“Who’s got you, Sun Tzu?” I asked. “You mentioned forces beyond yourself — who are they?”

Amaymon nudged me again. “Erik…”

I bolted upright, sending my seat flying to the side, and turned, getting right into the face of the guy behind me.

I immediately pegged him as a Paladin: holy knights, lackeys and hit men of the church. They were common around Redwood, although some of them often migrated up here for a case or two.

I was inches away from his grim face.

“Try something,” I snarled. “Go on. See where it gets you.”

Another two dozen Paladins stood up, sweeping their hoods and robes aside to reveal the handles of their cruciform swords.

Amaymon stood up from behind me, snarling like a feral beast.

“Erik Ashendale!”

Aura exploded from behind me, smothering the entire shop. Sun Tzu stood up and slammed the table so hard it exploded into a million pieces.

At the same time, the four Chinese men at the back sprang to their feet, emitting a similar aura to Sun Tzu’s, as if they were all part of the same entity. Weapons materialized in their hands: Tiger brandished a Chinese broadsword with a thick, curved blade; Dragon held a jian, an elegant double-edged straight sword; Phoenix wielded a long spear with a tip on each end and crimson tassels dangling from under each spearhead; Turtle held a thick staff that looked like it would take some serious muscle to swing around.

I looked behind me and saw Sun Tzu glaring at me.

“There will be no violence in this shop,” he said in a low, calm, and deadly voice. There was no questioning that power — he wasn’t ordering, but simply stating a fact.

I looked at him, then the foursome at the back, then the Paladin.

“Amaymon,” I called. “We’re leaving.”

The demon tutted, disappointed we weren’t going to throw down with a whole shop full of Paladins, and whatever the hell Sun Tzu and his boys were.

When we reached the front door, I stopped, turned around, and gave Sun Tzu a final nod, before addressing everyone else.

“I don’t know what your beef with me is,” I said, looking the first Paladin dead in the eye, “and I don’t care. I’m gonna go outside and cross the street. Anyone who’s got the balls for it, you know where to find me.”

Chapter 7

I walked out of Sun Tzu’s shop, turned a corner, and sighed.

“The hell was that all about?” I muttered.

“It was probably about the bounty.”

The voice startled me and I jumped back. Popping his head out of a window behind us, Turtle beamed at me.

“You nearly gave me a heart attack,” I said. “What bounty?”

Turtle’s smile broadened as if telling the punchline to a joke. “You have a bounty on your head. That is why every person in there wanted to kill you.”

“Kill me? For what?” I scratched my head. “I didn’t do anything. Why do I have a bounty on me?”

Turtle shrugged. For someone who was set on hitting me with a very large stick mere seconds ago, this guy was way too jolly.

“Okay, let’s try this from a different angle,” I said, turning towards Amaymon. “Bounties are set by someone, right?”

The demon shrugged.

“I guess,” he said. “That’s some human shit right there.”

“Thank you for your input,” I retorted sarcastically. “Helpful as always.”

“Happy to help.”

“Who set the bounty?” I asked, turning back to Turtle.

He shook his bald head. “That, I truly cannot say. Ah, but that reminds me: Sun Tzu asked me to give you a gift.”

“What gift?”

“The one you will need the most.”

“Dude, I’m getting real tired of this fortune cookie crap,” I said. “And I’m sorry if that’s racist.”

“What is?” Turtle grinned. “I love fortune cookies. Tasty and funny.” He reached behind the window and offered me a chopstick.

“What the heck is this?” I said, waving it around.

“The gift you require most,” he said.

“Is it a magic chopstick?”

“No.”

“Does it have anything special about it?”

Turtle pondered on that for a while, forever killing any hope that he had actually given me a Harry Potter-style magic wand.

“It’s made out of a peach tree,” he finally said. “Quite unique indeed.”

I frowned at the chopstick. “A peach tree? Really? That’s all I get?”

“It’s what you require the most,” he said. “Now I must go. I do hope you survive.”

“Survive what?” I yelled as he shut the window and left me there raving with a damn chopstick.

I turned to Amaymon, fuming. He shrugged again.

“Whatever that dude is smoking, I want in,” he said.

I sighed and pocketed the chopstick. Zen, Erik, I thought. Keep your damn zen.

“Whatever,” I said. “Let’s get outta here.”

I was eager to get back to the office and talk to Arnold the ghost boy. The questions about that guy kept increasing: for one thing he did not have an anchor, a fixed point where his ghostly essence was tethered to. All ghosts had that — unless they were wraiths or other undead monsters.

And as far as I could tell, the kid had yet to display an appetite for negative emotions and human flesh.

More importantly, I wanted to regroup with Abi and form some sort of strategy. I needed to get my head straight.

“Yeah, guess no one had the balls to come out,” Amaymon yelled towards the shop, as we walked past it.

He abruptly stopped in his tracks and sniffed the air. “Huh. Guess I was wrong.”

I turned. “What are you-”

The first one crashed into me, sending me tumbling to the other side of the road.

Amaymon swiped at it, but the creature hopped back and lashed out.

It wore a giant flappy coat that hid its entire figure, showing only a grotesque human head. Its skin was dark purple, with electric blue eyes, feral yet lifeless. From beneath one of its sleeves, it extended a thin arm with oversized serrated claws and spikes all over the forearm like bristles.

Amaymon lazily caught the arm and kicked the creature away, only to be kicked in the face by the other.

The second creature was more slender, with long black hair and a mouth that was torn from ear to ear. This one looked more feminine and even its weapons — a pair of long, curved blades, two on each wrist, jutting from under its sleeves — were more elegant compared to the first one.

She joined her companion and I stood up, unsheathing Djinn.

“Which one do you want?” I rasped.

Amaymon cocked his head. “I’ll take the chick,” he said. “Ain’t nobody kicking me in the face.”

I looked at the taller monster. He flicked his serrated arms out of the tunic’s sleeves, shredding the fabric.

“Why am I always stuck with the ugly ones?” I muttered.

I think the monster guy understood me, judging from the way he shot forwards.

I raised my sword to intercept a strike, only to have him leap over me and bounce towards my back, arms scything the air. I ducked, spun on my knees and slashed at his stomach. The monster leapt again and lifted his shin. My blade got stuck on what I saw were similar spiky protrusions on his legs, trapping Djinn in between them.

The monster thrust his leg down, sending me on the ground in the process, and swung his arm down. I saw the sharp serrations on his arm pass the bridge of my nose as if in slow motion, and yelped as I threw myself backwards. As I moved I let out a blast of magic from Djinn, causing the monster to tumble.

I felt the ground shudder as Amaymon engaged the other monster, only to have her deftly leap over the boulders and rocks jutting from the ground. She landed on Amaymon’s head and the demon was sent tumbling to the ground. With supernatural grace, she spiraled in the air like a gymnast and swung her weapons at me.

I raised my sword and blocked as two curved blades crashed down on Djinn. I saw her raise her other arm — and the two blades that jutted from under there.

Amaymon was suddenly behind her, and with one movement he tore her entire arm off. The male monster sprung into action and swung his arm at Amaymon, biting deep into his neck. Amaymon punched, blowing a hole inside the monster’s stomach, and stomped the ground. Gravel and concrete rose like a wave, and fell directly on the monster, crushing it.

The female monster used me as leverage, vaulting over me, but I’d seen that trick before.

Gun in hand, I tucked it under my armpit and fired behind me. The monster was sent reeling backwards and Amaymon came in with a flying kick that tore her head clean off.

“Well, that was easy,” he remarked.

The rubble exploded and the male monster shot at him, swinging both arms like a massive pair of scissors at the demon’s neck.

“Watch out!”

As I yelled, I realized I was doing something very uncharacteristic. I never had to worry about Amaymon’s safety — nothing could kill that guy, except maybe another demon as powerful as he was.

But then again, until a few hours ago, I thought I was untouchable. I had magic that could heal any wound and more raw power than I knew about — I was a powerhouse.

That is, until a goat-man shot me with his magic bullet and made me feel like a lamb ready for slaughter. That sort of ordeal tended to change a few perspectives, and I was being extra careful.

As I saw the monster scything towards Amaymon, my protective instincts kicked in. I shouldered the monster, grabbed one arm and spun in a reverse shoulder throw. The monster was sent flying in the opposite direction, but not before accidentally slicing me open with one of his serrated forearms.

Blood gushed from my front and I instinctively bent over.

Amaymon thrust both hands forwards and the ground roiled, before exploding beneath where the monster landed.

I turned to face the other monster.

She stabbed me in the throat.

“Erik!” Amaymon yelled.

The female monster had regenerated both hands, each with a fresh pair of curved blades, and a pair of them were inside me — tearing through my neck.

The monster let out a hiss, something which I likened to a laugh. My strength left me, and I heard both Djinn and my gun clatter on the ground.

Amaymon snarled at her but before he could make the first move, the male monster crashed into him, and both of them were sent tumbling away. He roared and magic exploded from him.

This was getting dangerous.

While I allowed Amaymon a good chunk of his powers at all times, it was less than thirty percent of what he could actually do. Any more and the world would be in danger. Creatures that powerful couldn’t exist in our dimension, not without some major consequences.

He had started the fight with about ten percent power — now he was doubling that, and the whole city would feel the consequences.

I had to end this before my own ally caused more damage than we could fix.

I looked at the female monster who still had her claws in me, literally.

Wrong move, bitch. This wizard wasn’t so easy to kill.

Instead of pulling her arms away, I pulled her even closer — close enough to punch in the face. I spun her in an arm lock and thrust my body weight. Whatever these monsters were, they still had human anatomy. Her arm snapped at joint and loosened. I tore it out, and then pulled the blades from my neck.

I thrust her own weapons into her face, stabbing her through an eye and her jaw. Healing magic filled my wounds, regenerating the damaged tissue.

“You can have that back,” I rasped.

I looked at Amaymon.

“Incoming,” I yelled as I scooped up Djinn from the ground and charged it with magic. The blast sent the female monster towards Amaymon, who was more than happy to scream in rage and ecstasy.

He began mercilessly pummeling the two stunned monsters, showering them with punches and bounders. Finally, he grabbed them both by the head and slammed them to the ground. Rock spikes jutted out from the ground beneath them, tearing holes in their bodies as they were sent flying.

I scooped up my gun, holstered it, and joined the demon.

“This ain’t over yet,” he said.

“I know.”

The two monsters swayed back to life, like zombies, with two gaping holes in their torsos, and I forced myself to look for clues, to find out how they kept regenerating.

It was an ancient rule of war, one that applied in most situations: once you know your enemy’s secrets, you can then systematically take them down.

Brute force wasn’t getting the job done, which meant I had to rely on my noggin. Rather than watch their most unwelcome comeback, I looked at the smaller details.

Details like the sheets of paper they had stuck inside their bodies, a taoist talisman, one embedded to the entrails of each monster.

Amaymon apparently noticed it too. “They’re Jiang-shi,” he said.

Monsters were aplenty in this world and not even the most intelligent wizards could remember all of them.

“Meaning?” I asked.

“Chinese vampires,” Amaymon simplified. “They are powered by those talismans. Take those out and we’re good.”

I smirked and lifted my sword. See what I mean? Once you know the way your opponent ticks, you can take them out easy.

The Jiang-shi duo shot forwards again, ready for round three, except this time they knew what to expect. Rather than go one on one with us, they concentrated on the weakest of the pair.

Me.

The male Jiang-shi leapt for Amaymon, who confronted him head on, while the female shot towards me. I dodged the blades and she spun, kicking at my wrist. My grip loosened and Djinn was sent flying. I went in close, behind the range of those blades, but she was expecting that.

She leapt and wrapped her legs around my neck. I know that sounds sexual but trust me, you do not want to be caught in the thigh-grip of an undead psycho-chick.

From my peripheral vision, I saw her strike to the side, towards Amaymon. Her blades dug into his shoulder, allowing her partner to escape his death grip and leap over him — landing right behind me.

His spiky hands scythed towards me, poised to eviscerate me.

I kicked backwards, catching him in the nuts, before remembering that he was an undead monster. Still, that bought enough time for Amaymon to crash into him and take him down.

Meanwhile, the female drove me to the ground, and, still straddling my neck, raised her blades.

“I just remembered something else,” I heard Amaymon yell.

“Really?” I said, grabbing the female Jiang-shi’s blades to stop her from impaling my head. “Do tell. And please, take your time.”

“These fuckers don’t like stakes.”

“They’re vegetarian?” I croaked.

“Nah, man, stakes. As in wood.”

“Isn’t that every vampire?”

“Yeah, but they have a weakness only a certain type of wood. Peach trees.”

“Good to know,” I yelled.

The blades pierced the skin just above my eyebrow, and my demonic familiar was telling me all about my enemy’s botanical preferences.

Wait.

Did he just say peach tree?

“Son of a bitch.”

I doubled my efforts and managed to gain just enough leverage to free my other hand. I dug inside my pockets and felt around for the chopstick Turtle had given me just a few minutes ago.

I stabbed it into her thigh and the female Jiang-shi recoiled as if I had doused her in acid. I flipped us over, breaking the chopstick in the process.

“I found your kryptonite, you ugly-ass bitch.”

She snarled and thrust both her hands into me. Four blades pierced through my torso.

I raised my fist, with the broken chopstick tucked in between my fingers, like a push dagger.

“Wrong move,” I rasped through collapsed lungs, before punching her in the face and stabbing her with the chopstick.

The Jiang-shi screamed and writhed beneath me, before dissolving into a cloud of decaying, smelly gasses. I threw myself off her, my stomach threatening to roil under the immense stench, and saw a single rectangular sheet of paper lying there instead of the Jiang-shi.

I snatched it up. The paper was old and crumpled, with a Chinese character scribbled all over it.

“Where the hell do you think you’re going?” Amaymon yelled from behind me.

The male Jiang-shi was already coming at me, when the ground snatched at him and slammed him down. Partially submerged in the concrete, the Jiang-shi was dragged towards an awaiting Amaymon.

I picked up the broken chopstick from the ground, and was about to offer it to Amaymon, when the demon grabbed the Jiang-shi by the neck.

“I see, now,” he said. “It wasn’t so much teamwork as it was protecting your own asses, huh? When one of you dies, the other gets real weak.” To prove his point he grabbed one of the Jiang-shi’s serrated arms and plucked it out like a flower petal. “That’s one shit condition you gotta live under. But don’t worry, it won’t be a problem for long.”

He wrenched the monster’s head off, dug both hands into the cavity and literally tore the Jiang-shi open like a freaking fortune cookie. Amaymon plucked the talisman off the monster’s rotten flesh and dropped the corpse on the ground just as it disappeared into a rank-smelling cloud.

“Whew,” Amaymon said, using the talisman as a fan. “Talk about your stinkers.”

He looked at the talisman. “There’s still some juice left in this one. Not so much in that one,” he said, nodding at the paper I was holding.

“Maybe it’s ‘cause you gave that guy a Tim Burton-style autopsy.”

He grinned. “Yeah, that was cool, right?”

I shook my head, just as my phone went off. “What the hell is it now?” I said fishing it out of my pocket.

It wasn’t a text or call, but a reminder that I had my date with Sarah tonight.

I smiled. “Let’s go home. I wanna finish this up before tonight.”

Amaymon raised his eyebrows. “Why? You got a date?”

I grinned and showed him the phone. He rolled his eyes.

“Son of a bitch,” he muttered. “I tell you, the world is coming to an end soon.”

“Shut up, Amaymon.”

Chapter 8

Back at the office, I had just finished relaying the events of the past few hours to Abi.

“I need you to whip up a tracking spell for these,” I said, handing her both talismans.

“Mine is better,” Amaymon chimed in.

I cocked an eyebrow at him. “Yes, it is,” I said with a long sigh. “Either way, Abi, you should be able to do this easy.”

She frowned at the paper.

“Sure, but it’ll take a few hours,” she said. “In fact, this right here is the definition of an all-nighter.”

“Not my definition,” Amaymon said.

“That’s it,” I snapped. “You get a time-out. Go to your corner.”

Amaymon flipped me off as he transformed into a cat and hopped on the couch.

“What about him?” Abi asked, nodding towards Arnold.

Floating on the opposite side of my office was Arnold the ghost boy. He was fascinated by all the trinkets I had around, flitting from one to the other. When he heard Abi mention him, he floated closer.

“Arnold, I’m gonna need you to stay here for a few more hours,” I said.

The ghost nodded. “I like it here.”

“I have more questions for you,” I said, “but right now I have something more pressing. A date.”

Abi cocked her head. “Oh right. With the girl from the meeting.”

I nodded. “You got any advice?”

Her eyebrows shot higher. “Advice about what?”

Amaymon snorted.

“About the date,” I said, running a hand through my hair. “I haven’t been out on a date in…” I did some mental calculations. “Never.”

“That is so sad,” she said.

“And since you’re the only person I know with something even remotely close to a social life,” I continued, ignoring her jibe, “I thought you might wanna share a tip or two.”

“You may wanna give her a tip or two,” Amaymon interjected.

“Time out!” I yelled at the cat. I turned to Abi. “Anything?”

“Wow, you must really like this girl, huh?” She sighed. “Okay, rule number one: stop stressing. This girl picked you up, remember? She likes you, so stop shaking.”

I exhaled, self-conscious that I was holding my breath.

“Secondly,” she continued. “I know every dating blog in the world tells you that women don’t need you to open doors for them, but trust me, we like it. And I know you’re a gentleman, Erik, so you got nothing to worry about. Now, food.”

“Just order the roast beef,” Amaymon said.

We both looked at him — was the cat actually dispensing valid advice?

He cocked his head. “Then give her your beef.”

“There it is,” I muttered.

“Ignore him,” Abi said. “Or don’t, that’s really up to you.”

“Oh, wait, wait,” Amaymon added. “Order the chicken breast, and then slather her breasts.”

“Weak, dude,” I said.

“Hang on, I think I have one with ‘pork’,” he said.

“That’s easy,” Abi said. “He could pork her.”

Amaymon looked at her. “I’ve never loved you more.”

“Don’t encourage him,” I told her.

Abi shrugged. “You’ll be fine, Erik. Just go take a shower, put on some nice clothes, and breathe.”

I nodded. “Shower, clothes, breathe,” I repeated. Yeah, that sounded easy enough.

I winced at Abi. “Can’t I just take her vampire hunting or something?”

“Go!” she ordered. “I’ll watch over the shop, babysit the demon, and the ghost, and conjure up a tracking spell from these vampire talismans.” She cocked her head and pursed her lips. “Now there’s a sentence I never thought I’d say.”

“Welcome to my world,” I said, climbing the stairs towards the bathroom on the second floor.

We were supposed to meet at a place called Michelle’s.

Now, I don’t go out much, less so for dates, but I’ve watched enough sitcoms to know that when a girl invites you to dinner, the place is going to be fancy. I expected suits and ties, prim and proper servers, and foods I couldn’t pronounce.

Instead, Michelle’s was a diner. Not your run-of-the-mill diner, mind you: it was very neat and pretty, with nice atmospheric lighting and a hint of elegance.

But still a diner.

“Huh,” I muttered from a block away. “Not what I expected.”

“Me neither.”

The voice made me jump. I resisted the urge to yell out and turned, finding myself face to face with Arnold the ghost boy — the same ghost boy I specifically asked to stay at home.

“The hell are you doing here?” I hissed.

People were walking past me, giving me weird looks — nothing I wasn’t used to — and I walked into a small alleyway.

The ghost followed me. “I wanted to come,” he said.

“Are you freakin’ kidding me?” I spat through hissed teeth. “My first date in god-knows-how-long, and I get chaperoned by a freakin’ ghost.”

Arnold looked at the ground and his eyes welled up.

Well done, Erik. You made a dead child cry.

“Ah, come on,” I said, instantly feeling like shit.

“I feel a strong connection to you,” he said, sniffing loudly. “I have to stay with you.”

“A connection?” I frowned at him. “You mean, like an anchor?”

He shook his head. “No, silly. Anchors are found on ships. This is a feeling.”

I scratched my head.

“Arnold, why do you feel that connection to me?” I asked.

Ghosts don’t feel connected — hell, they don’t feel at all, unless the cause of their demise was a brutal murder and those feelings lingered on.

But that type of energy was usually tethered to one location, and Arnold here seemed to be free as a bird.

Which made no freakin’ sense unless…

Unless I was his connection.

Arnold shook his head again.

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “But I have to stay by your side. I won’t disturb you, I promise. The lady you are seeing won’t be able to see me either, so it should be all right.”

No, this shit was far from all right, but the kid had a point and I sure as hell wasn’t going to cancel on Sarah.

“Screw it,” I muttered. I sighed and looked at him sternly. “When we go in, you behave yourself. Don’t touch anything, don’t make any noise. Just find a corner somewhere and stay put.”

Arnold looked like he was about to cry again before he nodded. “I’ll be a good boy, Mr. Ashendale, I swear.”

I sighed again. This was going to be a long night and not for the reasons I was hoping for.

“Okay, Arnold. Let’s go.”

I walked back towards the restaurant slash diner, and saw Sarah standing by the front door, clearly waiting for somebody. I smiled as I saw her: she was wearing a pretty dress, nothing too fancy but one she looked damn fine in nonetheless, with her ebony hair hanging around her shoulders.

She gave me a smile that melted my cynical heart when she saw me approach, and her dimples were highlighted under the light of the restaurant.

“Hey,” I said.

“Hey back.”

We spent two seconds looking at each other before I felt the need to break the sexually charged silence.

“So this is it?” I asked motioning Michelle’s.

She cocked her head. “Yep. Opened up recently, and I thought, what better way to check out a new place than a first date?”

“The name sounded fancy,” I said, suddenly self-conscious that I may have overdressed in my neat shirt and sport coat. “Is this a diner?”

She grinned. “More of a hybrid. I get nervous around fancy restaurants.”

Girl after my own heart.

“Don’t worry,” she continued. “You clean up rather well.”

“You look amazing as well.”

“I think she likes you, Mr. Ashendale,” Arnold pitched in.

I shot him a quick glare, which was thankfully covered up by a car zooming by. Hopefully, Sarah will think I don’t like loud cars and not that I was having a bout of schizophrenia.

Arnold realized his transgression and put his hand on his mouth. “Sorry, sorry.”

“Shall we go in? I’m starving,” Sarah said.

“Uh huh,” I said with a nod.

And so we went in, sat down, and proceeded to have the most awkward five minutes in human history. She picked up the menu and pretended to read it, but I knew she must have been planning her escape route.

She had to — she was on a date with me.

“So,” she finally said. “What are you in the mood for?”

I read a statistic somewhere that guys think about sex every twelve seconds. I know that’s not true, but when you’re sitting opposite a sexy woman whose every syllable is a turn on, you think about sex a lot.

Now, I watch a lot of noir movies — because art imitates life, I guess — and I’ve always envied the dialogue between the characters. I had a whole repertoire of Bogart lines to choose from but instead, my sex-addled brain only managed one syllable.

“Huh?”

Art can suck it.

Sarah pointed at the laminated menu she was holding.

“The food,” she said. Then, “What did you think I was talking about?”

She must have noticed my body language because she batted her eyes and grinned.

“I think you’re in trouble, Mr. Ashendale,” Arnold quipped in my ear.

I tried to put on my best please-don’t-leave-I’m-not-as-bad-as-you-think face. “Sorry, I was a little distracted,” I said.

“Oh?” She put down the menu. “Were you on some exciting case?”

“I was,” I replied. “My office is investigating a missing persons case. Which then led to a cold case about five decades old.”

“Really? Fascinating.” She raised her eyebrows. “Anyone famous?”

I cocked my head ever so slightly. “Sorry. Can’t divulge any details,” I said. “I mean, I can, but then I’d have to kill you.”

You know when you hear yourself say something and realize halfway through that it’s a bad idea, and yet you just cannot stop talking?

Luckily, Sarah had a twisted sense of humor that appreciated my line.

“Oh, we can’t have that,” she said with a half smile. “I wouldn’t want you to get in trouble. And besides, I’m way too pretty to die.”

I sighed and laughed. “I fully agree,” I said.

She raised an eyebrow. “Do you now?”

Ah, crap. What happened? What did I do? What did I say?

Think, dammit. How can I fix this?

Sarah let out a giggle. “Sorry, sorry,” she said. “It’s just… You’re-” She giggled again. “You look so nervous, and I couldn’t help myself.”

“You’re enjoying this!” I accused.

“Sorry!” She smiled and laughed, and I found myself imitating her. Her hand dropped from tucking a strand of hair behind her ear to the top of my hand.

I felt a weight lift off my shoulders.

“It’s okay,” I said. “All is forgiven.”

She beamed and her dimples made my heart skip a beat.

“As long as you pay,” I added.

Sarah actually burst out laughing.

“You know what? I asked you out, so it’s only fair,” she said, before leaning forwards. “Or is this part of some elaborate plan to get me to go out on a second date with you, just so I can get back my money’s worth?”

“Genius, am I right?” I said.

She laughed again. “So tell me about this case,” she said.

“You’re that interested?”

“I’m talking to a real-life Sherlock Holmes,” she said. “Of course I’m interested.”

“Don’t tell her about the zombies,” Arnold said urgently.

I slightly tilted my head, and watched as the ghost boy stared at me with real fear in his eyes.

“Girls don’t like yucky stuff,” he added.

I couldn’t express much, so I ignored the kid and focused on the girl.

“I’m investigating the Bentley case,” I said. “Something came up with it. Probably just some conspiracy nut, but the cops think it sounds legit because they want me to take a look.”

“Why not look themselves?” she asked.

“Because then I’d be out of a job,” I replied. “And because they’re too busy investigating some sycophant who likes killing animals.”

Her expression darkened. “I saw it on the news.”

“Oh god, it’s already on the news?” I asked.

“Online,” she replied.

I really hated the internet sometimes.

“So, yeah,” I went on, “I spent most of the day looking at old case files and trying to find leads.”

Her trimmed eyebrows shot up. “Did you?”

I smiled and tried my best not to point out that there was a literal ghost floating less than two feet away from her.

“Yeah. The past has a way of clinging to us.”

She nodded. “Amen to that.”

Fortunately, Arnold the ghost took the hint as well. “I’ll be over there,” he said, before disappearing towards the opposite end of the restaurant, just as the waiter showed up.

“Are you ready to order?” he asked.

“Um…” Sarah began, looking at me. I hadn’t had time to look at the menu, but then I just had an idea.

“Yeah,” I said, looking at my date. “You seem to have good taste. Surprise me.”

She smiled and ordered the both of us a double cheeseburger.

I might have to marry this girl.

The food eventually showed up and we ate. At that point, we were both starving and we felt comfortable with one another enough to go medieval on the burgers. Gotta hand it to Michelle’s: they know how to grill their beef.

About an hour later, we were walking outside. Sarah insisted on paying but I left the tip since I was raised a gentleman. Arnold followed us out but stayed well behind, flitting from one shiny thing to the other.

“Well,” she said when we arrived in front of a shiny grey Mercedes. “This is me.”

“Damn,” I said looking at the car. “Impressive.”

“Not as impressive as a red Mustang,” she replied.

I smiled. “I think this went well,” I said.

“I concur.”

I slowly leaned in. I said I was a gentleman, not a prude. And a gentleman always gives his lady a goodnight kiss.

Her hand pressed against my chest and stopped me two inches from meeting her lips. I backed away slightly, looking into her eyes.

“Not tonight,” she said.

I fully pulled back. “Oh.”

“Don’t get me wrong,” she said. “I like you… I really like you.” She sighed. “But I’ve rushed into things before and got myself hurt.”

“I get it,” I said.

Sarah nodded. “Tell you what: I’ll kiss you the next time I see you,” she said with a smile. “That way you’ll have an incentive to show up.”

“I would have anyway,” I said. “I had a great time.”

“Me too.” Her car beeped open. “I’ll text you when I’m free next weekend.”

I watched her get into her car and drive off.

“Are you okay, Mr. Ashendale?” Arnold was back.

“Yeah.”

And I meant it. What’s a missed kiss compared to the best date ever?

I began walking towards my car when I heard the screeching of tires.

“What the hell?” I began.

A black unmarked van turned the corner at breakneck speed, nearly running me over, then braked abruptly.

“Hey! Watch where you’re-”

Something bit into my neck and I immediately felt woozy. I reached up and pulled a tranquilizer dart from my neck. I felt my magic already taking effect, pushing away whatever poison was coursing through my veins.

I reached behind me for Djinn only to remember that I had left the short sword in the backseat of my car. I mean, who brings a weapon to a date?

The van’s side door slid open and three thugs emerged, their faces covered with ski masks. I threw my fist at one of them and felt something break. But the drugs in the dart were fogging up my mind, making me slow and sluggish.

I heard the sharp crackle of a taser and felt a million volts pass through my body. Every muscle seized up and I was left stunned.

“Mr. Ashendale!” Arnold cried.

His was the last voice I heard before I felt the thugs seize me and throw me inside the van. I struggled and felt myself being tasered again, before one of them kicked me in the head and I passed out.

Chapter 9

I woke up in darkness.

I wasn’t blind, just blindfolded and bound to a chair with something that bit uncomfortably into my skin: zip locks. I took a deep breath but something obstructed my mouth. My first instinct was to struggle and panic, but by now the idea of keeping calm under pressure had been ingrained in my head.

Instead, I softened my breathing, inhaling through the fabric, and looked around. I could see splotches of light through the fabric, which meant my kidnappers had put a hood over my head. Without moving too much, I tried shifting my legs, only to find that they had zip-tied my ankles to the legs of the chair.

I could hear muffled voices over the ringing noise that permeated my ear drums, and closed my eyes, focusing on eavesdropping and trying to find out more about my situation.

“Yeah, we got him. Right where you said he would be, boss.” A pause. “Ten grand? We agreed on fifteen, each!”

Whoever was speaking stopped moving and scraped his boots on the ground impatiently.

“How the hell am I supposed to know that? You said to pick up the guy, so we pick up the guy. Now we gotta play cop with him too?”

Another pause.

“Okay, okay, sorry, boss. Twenty grand, it is. If he knows something, we’ll get it outta him.”

I felt someone seize my shoulders and yank the hood away. Light assaulted my eyes, and I yelped before fluttering my eyelids. When my eyes settled, I saw two guys hovering around me, both looking like they hit the gym pretty hard, and both wore flannel shirts with the sleeves rolled up well past their thick arm muscles, which were about as big as my face.

Ahead was another guy, this one skinnier than the other two, albeit still tough-looking, wearing a tight t-shirt and holding a cellphone to his ear. He glared at me, looked at the phone, and slipped it inside his pocket.

“Let me guess,” I said. “This ain’t my lucky day.”

The skinny guy reached towards a workbench and grabbed something long, black and cylindrical. He smiled as he pressed a switch at the handle and the tip buzzed with electricity in between two nodes at the top.

“No, it ain’t,” he said, waving the cattle prod around.

I looked around, noticing the garage I was being held in, looking for a potential way out. There wasn’t much I could do, not unless I got out of those zip locks.

“So what is this exactly?” I mouthed off. “You guys trying to invite me to join your little ‘roided out group?”

The guy shoved the cattle prod into my chest and I felt as if every muscle in my body was being torn in half. Fire coursed through every molecule of my body.

When he pulled back, I could breathe again.

“Ow, man,” I rasped. “Now there’s a guy trying to overcompensate for something.”

He prodded me again and this time I screamed.

“Not so funny now, are you?” sneered one of the gorillas by my side.

“Thanks for the observation,” I replied. “Now be a dear and go play outside. The adults are talking here.”

I shouldn’t have pissed off the big bad guy — I couldn’t help it, but still, I shouldn’t have.

The big guy swung his fist and I felt my entire head shake. Something loosened in my mouth. I spat out a molar and felt the familiar tingle of magic as I began healing.

“I ain’t stupid,” the big man grunted.

I spat more blood and turned to the other muscled guy. “Can you please control your boyfriend?”

The third guy just cocked his head, as if he couldn’t quite make out what I had just said. The skinny guy zapped me again with the cattle prod, this time stabbing me in the neck. I felt myself blacking out for a second and my stomach threatened to heave.

“That’s my cousin,” the cattle prod guy said. “He’s deaf.”

I blinked, trying to get the black spots out of my vision. “Huh. Guess even handicapped people can be dicks.”

Cattle prod guy switched tactics and punched me right in the face, digging a knuckle into my eye. My head snapped back and already I could feel a black eye swelling up.

“We have some questions.”

“Oh good, I thought you’d never ask.” I shook my head and grinned. “I know it’s a little early in our relationship but I guess we shouldn’t wait. My answer is yes, dear, a thousand times yes.” I glanced at the other two guys. “And I’ll even let your flying monkeys stay with us.”

This time both beefed-out guys punched me, one in the back of the head and the deaf guy hit me in the stomach. Meanwhile, cattle prod guy kicked me in the crotch.

“Ow,” I moaned. “Dick move, man.”

He grabbed my hair and tilted my head back, while bringing the nodes of the cattle prod close to my right eye.

“Take this seriously,” he said, over the loud electrical crackling.

“You have my undivided attention.”

“The book. Where is it?”

I grunted. “I think you guys hit me way too hard. I’m pretty sure I heard you say book.”

“That’s what I said.”

“Huh?”

He jabbed the cattle prod into my shoulder and a million volts went through me.

“YEOW!” I screamed. “Enough with the damn cattle prod! Seriously!”

“Then answer me, asshole,” he said. “Where is the book?”

“What book? The hell are you talking about?”

“The book our boss wants.”

“I don’t know who you’re working for.”

The guy frowned at me and cocked his head.

I sighed. “Guess you should have planned this out first, huh?”

The guy backhanded me so hard I felt my jaw unhinge a little, and thrust the cattle prod into my thigh. I really should stop antagonizing these people before they caused too much damage.

“I don’t know who you’re working for,” I said. “And I don’t know which book you’re talking about. Do you have a title?”

“No.”

“Have you checked on Amazon? I hear they’re good.”

I felt the big, non-deaf guy place his giant hand on my shoulder. His finger dug into my collarbone and pain flared.

“Don’t be a smart ass,” he said as he squeezed.

I was bent in his direction and turned my head towards him. “I missed you too, big guy.”

The deaf guy — cattle-prod guy’s cousin — waved and signaled with his hands before reaching into his pocket and handing something over to his cousin. The cattle prod guy glared at a business card before shoving it in my face.

“Have you ever heard of them?” he asked.

It was a neat piece of art: black background with a cool, sleek graphic adorning two words in blazing silver: RYLEH CORP.

To the casual observer it was just a regular — albeit expensive-looking — business card.

To me, it brought back memories of Verdant Moon and Leviathan’s island. A few months ago, a group of crazy wizard terrorists created a video game that sucked away magical energy. They also stole a device that tore open a hole to another dimension and nearly caused the end of the freakin’ world.

A dimension run by the Sin of Envy, Leviathan.

A dimension I was trapped in for two whole weeks.

And it turns out that it was all funded by Ryleh Corp, whoever the hell they were. My sister wasn’t able to uncover much about them — only that they were a financial conglomerate with fingers in all pies and completely untouchable.

Were they behind whatever was going on now as well?

“I have no idea what that is,” I said. The humor was completely gone from my voice.

Cattle prod guy must have sensed that because he smirked. “I think you’re lying to me,” he said. Electricity sparked from the cattle prod. “And you know what happens when you lie to me.”

“Mr. Ashendale!”

Oh good, Casper was here.

Arnold the ghost boy appeared at the garage door, somehow out of breath. “I followed you as fast as I could, Mr. Ashendale, but they had a car and it was pretty fast.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

Here’s the thing about talking to ghosts: people can only hear your side of the conversation.

Cattle prod guy paused. “Don’t worry about what?”

“Mr. Ashendale, what happened to you?” the ghost asked. “How can I help?”

“It’s okay,” I said, smiling reassuringly at him.

The big guy pressing on my shoulder immediately released his grip.

“I think he snapped,” he told cattle prod guy. “I heard about this. It’s called Stocking Syndrome or something. Makes prisoners go crazy.”

“That’s Stockholm Syndrome, dumbass,” I corrected. “And that is so not what’s happening here. That’s not even what Stockholm Syndrome is.”

“Mr. Ashendale, I really think you should get out of there if you can,” Arnold said in his whiny voice — which I really did not need at the moment, given my situation.

“Hey, Arnold!” I snapped, causing my captors to stare at me as if I had really lost my marbles.

I looked directly at the ghost. “Will you shut up for just a second? These dickheads were just about to tell me everything they know, and I really don’t need you telling me how dire my situation is.”

“Dude,” said the buff guy. “He’s really lost it.”

Cattle prod guy waved his weapon close to me. “Maybe he needs another zap to snap him out of it.”

I glared at him. “Listen up, Dicknuts,” I said. “You got exactly two seconds to get that shit out of my face and cut me loose. That way, we can still depart as friends.”

Predictably, he sneered at me. “And what if I don’t?”

“Then, in exactly five seconds, I’ll get out of this chair and shove that prod so far up your ass, your eyes will light up like a Terminator’s.”

“Yeah, like hell you will.” He laughed. “Okay then, asshole. How exactly are you gonna get out?”

I cocked my head. “You made a mistake,” I said. “Next time you tie someone’s legs to a chair, make sure one of them doesn’t have more slack than the other.”

“What-”

I planted my right foot on the ground — which I had shimmied out of the bonds just a fraction of an inch — and leaned forwards, spinning on it. The chair whipped around, catching cattle prod guy’s arm and swinging his weapon towards the beefy guy. The gorilla spasmed and fell on the ground writhing.

Meanwhile, I snapped my wrists apart, and the sudden jerk broke the tense plastic of the zip lock binding my arms behind my back. As I fell forwards, I turned so that I faced the deaf beefy guy. I thrust my arms forwards but instead of pushing towards him, I planted them on the ground and allowed gravity to do its job. I vaulted over in a handstand and the chair came crashing down on the deaf guy’s head.

I heard wood snap and break, and found myself able to move again. Tied to my legs were the chair’s legs, and I pulled them free, using them as makeshift batons. The deaf guy groggily climbed to his knees. I swung towards his knee with one stick and cracked him over the head with the other.

I heard the crackle of electricity and turned to face the cattle prod guy. His eyes were wide open in surprise and he thrust his weapon forwards. I swung my dual weapons, striking his weapon, wrist and side of the face in a quick flurry of blows. He staggered backwards. I moved in, feigning a high attack, and kicked him in the nuts.

“Now we’re even,” I growled as he bent forwards. I hit him over the head for good measure and watched him crumple to the ground.

I discarded the two sticks and reached downwards, picking the guy’s pockets for his cellphone and the Ryleh business card.

“Mr. Ashendale!” Arnold called out in panic.

“I see him,” I said, scooping up the cattle prod and zapping the first beefy guy for a second time. “Night, night, gorilla.”

He fell unconscious again and I dropped the cattle prod.

“Now then,” I said, pocketing the business card and turning on the smartphone. “Let’s see who your boss is.”

I pressed redial and waited.

“What now?” came a gritty voice from the other end. “Did he talk?”

“Damn straight he talked,” I replied.

The voice on the other end changed tones immediately. “Who is this?”

“I could ask you the same question,” I said. “Who the hell are you? What the hell do you want?”

“Shit,” the voice swore on the other end.

“You bet your ass you’re in shit, pal,” I replied. “I don’t know who you are, but I’m gonna find out. And then I’m gonna come for you.”

“Shit,” the voice said again before the line went dead and all I heard was the tone dial.

I looked at the ghost. “You wouldn’t happen to know where we are, do you?”

He nodded. “We are one hour’s travel away from the restaurant,” he replied.

“Swell. Where’s my jacket?”

I found it strewn over an oily workbench and inwardly cursed these idiots. I fished my cellphone from the jacket pocket and dialed Abi.

“Erik?”

“Yeah, it’s me.”

“What’s up? You sound out of breath.”

“Listen,” I said. “Where are we with the tracking spell? Did you get it done?”

“No,” she replied. “The damn thing just fizzled out when it ran out of juice. Sorry. Wait, aren’t you supposed to be out on a date? What happened?”

“Oh, you know, just the usual,” I replied. “Ate dinner, got kidnapped and tortured, and now I’m trying to find the bag of dicks that started this.”

“Oh my god, are you all right?”

“Yeah, they were idiots,” I replied. “Good thing I have a thing about not using magic against vanilla humans. They actually gave me some good intel.”

“Do you need back-up?” she asked.

“No time,” I said. “But contact Gil and see if she found anything on Ryleh Corp. Their name came up again and I don’t like this. Also, ask her about a book.”

“What book?”

“Good question. Just do it, okay.”

“Sure thing. Hey, Erik — be careful out there.”

“Always am.”

I hung up on her and pulled out cattle prod guy’s phone again, dialing a number. “Roland, it’s me.”

Detective Roland March grunted in assent. “What is it, Erik?”

“Listen, I’m in a hurry, so I need a quick favor. Can you trace the last call this phone made?”

“Which phone?”

“This one I’m calling you on.”

“Erik, we’re not the damn CIA,” he replied. “And besides, I’m pretty sure what you’re asking is illegal.”

“Okay, what if I text you a number?” I said. “Can you tell me the last known location?”

“What’s this about, Erik?”

I put on my jacket and swiped the keys to the van the goons had brought me in.

“I think I got a lead on the guy who attacked the station,” I lied.

I could practically feel his rage through the phone. “Send me that number,” he said.

I hung up and texted him the number of whoever hired the goons to kidnap me. Seconds later, Arnold and I were inside the van, driving towards my car. I found it right where I left it and popped open the trunk. Luckily, I always keep a change of clothes inside.

I pulled on my coat, which I had rolled in the trunk. Djinn was resting on the back seat. I wasn’t the type to bring a weapon on a date, but after tonight, I might have to reconsider that rule. Strapping on the short sword, I climbed into the driver’s seat with Arnold floating on the passenger seat beside me, and heard my phone go off.

It was Roland, texting me the location.

“Here I come, you son of a bitch.”

Chapter 10

Hollywood teaches us that a cemetery is the last place you’d want to be in the middle of the night — but that’s a completely different story if you happen to be a wizard.

For one thing, all the magic was there. I don’t mean that zombies rise out of their graves or anything like that. The last thing dead people want is to come back here.

But magic does go through cycles, just like everything else in the world. At night, magic is strongest in places regular people tend to stay away from, and cemeteries are at the top of that list.

I parked just outside and killed the engine. Arnold the ghost boy was already phasing through the car, when I stopped him.

“Wait,” I said, waving my hand through his opalescent body. “Listen.”

One lesson you learned early on when your childhood consisted of running away from monsters, was to listen before jumping out into the unknown. You listened for the snapping of branches, the heaviness of footsteps, the cracking of bones and sinew, as whatever was lying in wait for you tensed up and prepared to pounce.

Voices reached my ear: a single person speaking. Usually, people kept their voices low in these places, but this guy was speaking casually as if he was in a park.

I had parked downwind — another trick one learned from a terrible monster-filled childhood — but I couldn’t make out what he was saying. If I wanted to eavesdrop I had no choice but to get closer.

Silently, I motioned for Arnold to keep quiet, pressing a finger to my lips, and crouched down. He mirrored my movements, and we both stealthily made our way inside the cemetery, going from one tombstone to the next. Up ahead, like a lighthouse in a dark ocean, light emitted from a mausoleum, illuminating our path.

Standing beside it, waving his hands in the air as he chanted, stood the Necromancer — or at least that was what the Wanted posters called him.

I recognized his dark robe — a sleeveless tunic that came down to his knees which he kept open, revealing his bare chest — his mangled long hair, greasy and dirty; his face covered in black symbols, drawn on with what I hoped was permanent marker because they significantly improved his gaunt and skeletal visage.

The Necromancer had been a wanted criminal for about a year or so — a jackass with a penchant for stealing corpses from morgues and cemeteries to use for his experiments. Necromancers were some of the most dangerous Specialists out there, literally dealing in death. They created an imbalance between the cycle of life and death, and although most of them just controlled the dead bodies — ghouls — like puppets on a string, the energy required usually meant that something had to be sacrificed.

As it turned out, this guy was not as awesome as the rest of his ilk. For one thing, he started out as a petty criminal, going in and out of jail, and my sister suspected that he had learned magic via textbooks rather than under the tutelage of a real Specialist, and simply chose to focus on the creepiest one he could think of.

I guess some people have to overcompensate.

I watched as the Necromancer pulled out several vials from his robes. The foul stench coming from them made me regret my decision to stay downwind of him: I resisted the urge to gag and vomit. The smell of blood and decay was not something that you ever got used to.

The Necromancer poured the contents of the vials all around him. At first, I thought the process was random, but once the stench-induced tears dried up, I saw that he kept glancing at something small and glowing — his cellphone.

Who keeps a Necromantic shopping list on their phone?

Have some class and buy a damn scroll.

“Rise!”

At his command, the ground shook and the tombs where the disgusting liquid had landed on cracked open, shattering from the inside as decayed corpses rose to the surface.

One by one, six ghouls made it to the top, each clumsily breaking through the restrictions of six feet of dirt and a heavy wooden casket. They were in various states of decay, but all looked fresh enough. The oldest one couldn’t have been more than a few weeks old.

I frowned. The rule with Necromancy was, the older, the better. Sure, it took more energy to animate an old bag of bones rather than a fresh stiff, but sometimes the recently deceased could still have some of their original essence inside them. Your soul doesn’t just up and leave the moment a doctor declares you dead — our essence, which is what eventually becomes ectoplasm, was technically magic, and a part of our physical bodies.

And that made a Necromancer’s ability to control a ghoul that much harder.

So why was this genius summoning fresh bodies?

I could only think of one reason: information.

“I summoned you all here because I need you to answer some questions,” the Necromancer announced.

Point, Erik.

The Necromancer’s attention turned to his cellphone again and he held it up.

“What can you tell me about this?” he asked, waving his phone from one ghoul to another.

The first ghoul grunted at the phone and recoiled from the light.

“Just look at the fucking picture and tell me what you know about it,” the Necromancer snapped.

I felt magic charge the air as he pumped more juice into the spell he was using to keep the ghouls alive.

“That’s a book,” groaned one of them.

I tried not to squeal in surprise.

Ghouls that talk?

I thought I had seen everything in my years of dealing with the bizarre, but sometimes the universe still threw a curveball my way.

The Necromancer turned towards the one who had spoken, a pot-bellied man with white hair and a grizzled look.

“Yes, I know it’s a book,” the Necromancer said impatiently. “It’s a very important book. Where did you last see it?”

“I don’t know.”

“How could you not know?” The Necromancer kicked some dirt. “You all worked at Ryleh Corp. And according to my source, you were the last people working in that damn storage unit before the book disappeared. One of you must have seen something.”

The ghoul who had spoken shrugged. “It’s a book,” he repeated.

“That’s it, you’re done here.” The Necromancer poked the old man in the forehead with his index finger and traced a symbol. The old man fell limp on the ground.

“How about the rest of you?” the Necromancer said. “Anyone feel like helping me out here?”

None of the other ghouls spoke up.

“How about you… what the hell is your name?”

“Reginald.”

I reared up when I heard his voice, before remembering I was supposed to be stealthy and ducked back down.

But sure enough there he was, Reginald the pervy ghost, once again roaming the earth.

“Why am I here?” Reginald asked.

“You were one of the last people to see this book,” the Necromancer answered as he stabbed the screen of his phone with his opposite finger.

“No, I wasn’t,” Reginald answered.

“What?”

“I was a janitor. In a high school. I only worked for Ryleh part-time.” Reginald cocked his fat bald head. “I had a buddy who took care of the roster and he would hook me up with a few extra gigs.”

The Necromancer looked like he was about to burst a blood vessel. “Then why the fuck are you here?”

“You summoned me.”

“To tell me about the fucking book!” the Necromancer screamed.

“The book?” Reginald paused. “I was working late one night when some guys brought in a shipment.” He glanced at the old guy’s corpse and looked back up. “They said it was full of antiques and I really like antiques, so when everyone left I went in to sneak a peak and maybe grab something they won’t miss. I opened a few crates, but whatever they had inside was too big, and everything looked rusty. Then there was this one crate that gave me a bad vibe, but I opened it anyway, and inside was that book.”

“And?” the Necromancer pressed on. “What happened? Where did you hide it?”

“I didn’t take it,” Reginald said defensively. “I touched it and the next thing I know, I’m a ghost floating around my workplace.”

“So you just touched this and died?” The Necromancer smiled with glee. “That’s great. That means this is the real deal.”

“Glad I could help,” Reginald muttered half-heartedly. “Do I get anything in return?”

“You get to move on,” the Necromancer said.

“At least turn me into a ghost and let me go back to my school,” Reginald pleaded.

The Necromancer frowned. “Why?”

“Because I was in a girl’s locker room before that fucking wizard found me, and I miss them.” Reginald rubbed his hands. “They all had nice, perky titties.”

I took all of my willpower not to gag. Even the Necromancer looked disturbed.

“Wait,” he said. “What wizard?”

Oh, shit.

I was the last one to dispose of Reginald when he had been a ghost. Ghosts were tricky in that they were just ectoplasm — residual energy. So when a wizard was around them, they retained a bit of that energy, like a fingerprint on a greasy surface.

Reginald took a few steps ahead from the group and pointed at the tombstone me and Arnold were crouched behind.

“The one hiding over there.”

I sighed and motioned for Arnold to stay put.

The Necromancer backed away behind his ghouls.

“Come out. Now!”

I stood up in full view of the Necromancer and his five undead goons, before glaring at Reginald.

“Reginald,” I said, extracting my gun. “There is a four letter word in the English language that perfectly describes people like you. It starts with a C.”

He opened his mouth to say something but I cut him off by shooting him in the face. Reginald exploded into a million chunks.

“Now then,” I continued, turning to the Necromancer. “I’m assuming you’re this week’s bad guy, and honestly, I’ve been through enough shit this evening. So do us both a favor and save me from having to kick your ass by giving up.”

The Necromancer didn’t get any of that.

“You!” he screamed, pointing at me.

I sighed again. “Why does everyone say that when they see me?”

“Don’t interfere with my plans, wizard.”

I pointed at the shattered tombstones from where the ghouls emerged. “Then clean up after yourself. And wash your damn face. Oh, and stop reanimating dead people, you creep.”

The Necromancer reached inside his jacket and pulled out two of the smallest guns I’d ever seen. Light from the mausoleum illuminated their surfaces, reflecting off of their weird shape.

One of them was in the shape of a fish; the other, a crocodile.

He pointed the two plastic water guns at my direction.

Before I could even begin to ask what the hell did he think he could accomplish with a pair of children’s toys, the Necromancer spread his arms and sprayed.

The same foul-smelling concoction rained down, and some of it splattered on my leather coat. I saw it drip like blood, sloshing red and vicious over every tombstone in the vicinity.

“Clean this up,” he said, activating his spell.

“Clean it yourself,” I said, aiming my gun at him and pulling the trigger.

One of the ghouls moved in, blocking my shot, while at the same time dozens of tombs exploded in a shower of dirt, splintered wood and marble. Reanimated corpses rose from their graves en masse, surrounding me, while the Necromancer laughed maniacally.

“Get him!”

Chapter 11

Many people wonder as to what’s the difference between a ghoul and a regular zombie. Well, a ghoul is a reanimated corpse that retains some semblance of humanity due to being directly controlled by whoever brought it back to life.

A zombie, on the other hand, runs solely on instinct, and that is to attack, kill, and eat whatever is in front of it that isn’t already dead.

I avoided a lunge from one such zombie, tucked my gun under its chin and blew its head off.

“Zombies. I thought we were done with the whole zombie thing.”

Clearly, no one had told the zombies that.

I switched my gun over to my left hand and pulled out Djinn, just in time to swipe at another zombie and sever its hand. The zombie paused for a fraction of a second before it snapped its jaws at me. I kicked it in the chest with enough force to cave in bones and it fell motionless.

I fired two more shots, blasting one zombie per shot, before pouring magic into Djinn and unleashing a wide beam of energy that threw most of my assailants on their asses.

“Is that the best you got?” I yelled at the Necromancer.

He was hiding behind the ghouls he had summoned. Hands extended, he chanted undertone, using words that I couldn’t discern due to the zombie groaning all around me. But despite not getting the gist of the spell, there was no denying its potency.

Magic rained down around him and I wondered just how he had become so powerful. I mean, the worst this guy had ever done was steal bodies and take them out for a stroll — since when did he have this kind of juice?

I rushed at him, trying to stop whatever he was going to do before he actually did it, but the zombies got in the way. I had never tested the limits of my healing powers against a zombie’s bite and I wasn’t willing to risk it now.

I blasted away with Djinn, before stabbing the fattest zombie I could find and embedding my short sword inside its stomach. I fired at its head, blowing it clean off, and used the zombie’s giant body as a battering ram against his friends.

I poured magic into Djinn, elongating the blade to ten times its size, causing it to shine in painfully bright azure light. I swung the sword around me, and the magic blade cleaved through entire ranks of undead, slicing effortlessly through them like a hot knife through butter.

Djinn retracted back to its normal size, blade smoking and hissing, and I once again turned my attention to the Necromancer — who had just finished his spell.

Runes glowed on the four ghouls, sickly green light snaking over their decaying flesh. Bodies that had once belonged to weak men were engorged to nearly eight feet, thick muscle roping around bones the size of scaffolding struts. The light from the runes extended behind their bodies and hardened into black, rusted armor. Thick round wooden shields materialized on their left arms, while wicked-looking battle axes appeared in their right hands.

But what really sold it was the horned helmet on their heads — thick plated metal with a pair of white enamel horns, stained with what I hoped was just blood.

The four undead monsters exhaled simultaneously, emitting jets of steam as the green light that coursed inside them pulsated foul life into them.

“Behold,” the Necromancer sneered. “Draugs.”

“It’s actually Draugar,” I replied reflexively.

“What?”

I raised an eyebrow. “One Draugr, many Draugar. That’s what you have.” I rolled my shoulders. “What kind of a Necromancer doesn’t even know the proper name of the creatures he’s summoning? Oh, that’s right, a fake one.”

The Necromancer snarled, and the four Draugar followed suit, emitting a rumble that hit me in the stomach like the kick of a bass speaker.

Smart move, Erik. Keep antagonizing the guy with the undead vikings. That usually ends well.

The Necromancer exhaled loudly. “Whatever their names-”

“Draugar,” I interjected.

He growled and even in the low light from the mausoleum, I could see his neck veins throbbing. He looked at me with pure hatred.

“Kill him.”

The four undead beasts rushed at me. And I do mean rushed.

Usually the undead weren’t exactly known for their agility, although after facing those Jiang-shi, I was seriously reconsidering my knowledge of undead bodily constitutions.

The Draugar charged like vikings, screaming bloody murder, and raising their ginormous axes over their heads.

I fired at one of them and caught him in the face. A giant hole appeared in his cheek and he fell to the ground, before picking up his axe and scrambling right back up.

Meanwhile, a pair of them swung at me. I ducked an axe aimed at my neck and used Djinn to block the other.

But I was a tiny, skinny dude and these were freaking Vikings.

I caught the brunt of the blow with my short sword, but the heavy head of the axe was only deflected and I felt something bite deep into my ribs. The weight behind the blow sent me reeling backwards and I lost my footing.

The other Draugr brought his axe down again and I managed to block, this time by charging Djinn with magic. A third Draugr appeared out of nowhere and charged, shield held forward. He ran me over like a quarterback going for the goal and I was thrown into the air before rolling painfully on the ground.

I felt the familiar rush of heat and cold as my healing magic took effect, mending my dislocated shoulder and cracked ribs where the Draugr had shield-bashed me.

At the same time, something stung my other side and a foul stench filled the air. I lifted my shirt up and saw a cut from where the axe had nicked me. The wound was shallow but covered in necrosis and dead flesh that was spreading. Clumps of dead, putrid-smelling flesh was flaking off as my healing magic fought back whatever Necromancy was in those Draugar’s weapons.

I aimed my gun at them and fired. They huddled together, their shields raised — and so did not see me when I holstered my gun and ran towards them.

“My turn, bitches.”

I planted my foot on the rim of the closest shield and vaulted over the Draugar, all the while charging Djinn with magic. I landed behind them and spun, swinging Djinn at the same time. The azure blade, engorged with magical energy, cleaved through one Draugr, before being blocked by the other two, who used the shafts of their axes to stop me from bisecting them.

The fourth Draugr came near and swung his axe, and I stepped out of the way.

“Let’s see how you like it,” I said, bringing my sword down on his hand and severing his limb. The hand, still holding the axe, fell limp on the ground but the Draugr remained unfazed.

He kicked me away, while his buddies stepped in front of him, flanking him from either side.

Meanwhile, the Draugr I had bisected earlier glowed green and mashed himself together again, before standing up, good as new. Even the disarmed Draugr — literally — simply grew another hand, complete with an axe, while the severed limb dissolved into sickly green mist.

“Okay,” I panted. “This might be a little tricky.”

The Necromancer laughed. “Only fire can stop the Draugr,” he said. “Your weapons are useless.”

“How about mine?”

A blinding flash of light exploded next to the Necromancer, sending him flying over several tombstones. One of the Draugar turned and ran towards the new threat, only to be batted away.

From the light emerged a man dressed in white robes. He had leather belts and straps covering his body, with bits of armor covering his arms, shoulders and legs. An assortment of daggers, knives, vials and pouches decorated his hips and chest, while in his hands he held a thick bleach-white staff, with a cruciform spear tip glinting wickedly as it caught the light coming from the mausoleum.

As the man turned to look towards me, I noticed his long snow-white hair, tied behind his neck with several thin straps of leather, and a white trimmed beard. His eyes were electric blue and seemed to glow in the dark.

“Draugar,” he said in a thick Slavic accent. “How quaint.”

The Draugr that had attacked him got back to his feet and was joined by another.

Meanwhile, I scrambled away from the two remaining Draugar as they focused their attention back towards me. I dodged an axe, and moved closer to my opponent this time. Djinn had a short range and it was time I played that to my advantage. At close range, their bulk actually worked against them.

I thrust Djinn into a Draugr’s head and blasted my magic through it. Pure energy, much like fire or lightning, is just plasma — the scientific equivalent to the classical element of fire.

And sure enough, the Draugr screamed as blue energy coursed through him, burning him from the inside. He dissolved into green mist just as his friend swung at me. I felt the axe bite into my chest, three inches deep. The force of the swing flung me across the graveyard and I crashed against a tombstone, cracking the marble.

The Draugr joined his other two companions against the newcomer, who blocked an axe, spun in the air and kicked him away, sending him reeling backwards. Without breaking a sweat, he thrust his spear into the undead Viking and hoisted him in the air.

Then, in a display of pure badassery, he actually used the impaled Draugr to bat away the other two, before throwing the Draugr inside the mausoleum. The guy pulled a vial from his person and threw it at the Draugr, showering him in something that smelled vaguely of alcohol.

An instant later, the Draugr caught fire and screamed as he dissolved into green mist.

The other two Draugar roared, ready to get revenge for their fallen comrade. One of them charged — only to be stopped in its tracks when I shot it three times in the head.

The guy in white looked at me, clearly expecting me to be dead, and nodded.

“He did say fire, right?” I said.

“Perhaps it’s the wrong kind of fire,” the guy said, pointing at the wounded Draugr.

Sure enough, the undead Viking was climbing back to his feet.

I pointed my gun and focused on a spell. I hadn’t tested this before, but hey, no time like the present right?

I squeezed the trigger and held it tight. I felt the gun go off but instead of a bullet, an eight foot tongue of flame burst forth like a flamethrower, showering the Draugr in flames and instantly evaporating him.

“That is the correct kind of fire,” the new guy remarked.

I released the spell and blew smoke from my gun. “One left.”

“Look.”

The Draugr had retreated towards the Necromancer.

“You,” the Necromancer shouted, glaring at the new guy. His nostrils flared in panic and anger. “What are you doing here?”

“The same reason you are,” the new guy shot back. He pointed the spear at the Necromancer. “Where is the Necronomicon?”

“Hah! Like you can handle its powerful magic,” the Necromancer said. He reached inside his robes and pulled something out. “I didn’t want to use these just yet, but against a wizard and a Kresnik, I have no choice.”

He placed down on the ground two statues, one of a horse, the other of a bull. Then, with a flare of magical energy, he stomped on them, crushing the ceramic.

“Oh no, you don’t!”

The newcomer rushed at the Necromancer, just as the Draugr scooped up his master. The new guy kept charging forwards, spear at the ready, until from the two broken statues erupted a blast of magic, and the new guy was sent flying back the way he came, sailing past me.

Snarling and snorting were two beasts, both around ten feet tall with the bodies of men — if those men had spent their lives in a gym and getting steroid infusions from birth.

But that wasn’t their most disturbing feature.

From the neck upwards, they had the heads of animals, one neighing with the head of a horse; the other, a bull.

I heard groaning beside me and watched as the new guy pulled himself from the rubble and twisted his neck back in place.

“Are you Erik Ashendale?” he asked, picking up his spear.

“Yeah.”

“I’m Greg. And I am a Kresnik,” he replied.

“Greg the Kresnik,” I repeated. “Well, Greg. We got us some minotaurs to face.”

“Not minotaurs,” he said. “Ox-Head and Horse-Face.”

“Come again?”

“Gozu and Mezu,” he explained. “Guardians to the entrance of the underworld.”

I looked up as the two beasts snarled at us, while the Draugr backed away, taking the Necromancer further and further away from us.

“Greg,” I began, as I tightened my grip on Djinn. “I got a lot of questions, but right now I just need you to answer one: are you on my side?”

“For now, yes.”

The two monsters took a step towards us, prompting me and Greg to back away.

“Good,” I said. “Next question: how do we defeat these two?”

I could see him shrug in my peripheral vision. “No idea.”

“Oh, swell.” I raised Djinn, took a deep breath and steadied my footing. “Well, Greg, you seem to know these guys better than I do, so I’m gonna need you to come up with a-”

And before I could finish my sentence, Greg yelled out a battle cry and charged the pair of ten-foot, animal-headed monsters.

I watched him run with disbelief.

“Asshole,” I muttered, before running after him.

Chapter 12

Greg charged towards the Ox-headed guy, which left me to deal with Horse-Face — not that I was complaining. Horse-Face was smaller, leaner, and looked less likely to twist me around like a pretzel.

But Horse-Face was agile — agile enough to dodge my swing at him — and spun before unleashing a high kick that would have made Jet Li jealous. Worse yet, instead of a foot, this guy had a hoof: a big, black, almost-the-size-of-my-whole-freaking-head hoof.

It hit me like an anvil and the world spun.

My face was numb and part of my vision went dark. The guy had just caved in part of my face. I fell on the ground and Horse-Face stomped on my chest. Up to this point, I had never really been crushed, or at least not trampled flat by a wild animal.

Nice to see this guy try and broaden my horizons.

Meanwhile, I was in the perfect position to watch Greg the Kresnik get his ass handed to him.

The Ox-Head guy battered his spear away, before thrusting his entire arm at him in a massive lariat move. Greg was sent reeling backwards and planted the butt of his spear to steady himself…

Just in time for Ox-Head to take a few steps forwards, jump into the air, and drop-kick Greg in the face with two massive hooves.

And I thought my opponent was vicious.

Speaking of which…

I pulled out my gun, pressed it against Horse-Face’s knee joint and pulled the trigger twice. Cartilage and bone fragments exploded from the monster’s leg. He reared upwards, removing his leg from my chest and stumbled backwards. I scrambled up and fired again and again, until the gun clicked empty.

I switched weapons and charged at the horse monster, blade glowing blue. I sliced down and he raised his arm in defense. The blade bit down a fraction of an inch and stuck. Horse-Face snarled, steam jetting from his oversized nostrils, and swiped his hand aside, tearing Djinn from my grip.

He punched me with his free hand. I was sent flying. Wind whistled in my ears until I felt a large impact on my back, and slid down the mausoleum wall, covered in my own blood.

“Wizard!”

I healed just enough to see Greg giving me a look of concern in between beating Ox-Head with his spear. He dodged a blow, struck the monster in the abdomen — to little effect — and was distracted by me flying across the cemetery.

“Hang in there,” he yelled.

Magic coalesced from him, as if he had flipped a switch or removed a limiter on his powers. He batted away Ox-Head’s oversized arm with his tiny one, and lifted his leg up in a kick. Ox-Head fell flat on his ass.

At the same time, Horse-Face came towards me to finish the job. Greg whipped his spear around, hitting the monster in the head with the shaft, before stabbing the cruciform spear tip inside his body. White light exploded from the tip, shearing away at Horse-Face’s body…

Until Ox-Head charged into Greg, sending him flying.

Horse-Face sagged, no longer in mortal danger, and together with his partner turned to confront Greg, who slowly backed away.

He stabbed the shaft of the spear on the ground, before nicking his thumb on the spear tip and dragging a line of crimson along the shaft. The white wax wood of the spear glowed, along with the silver spear tip, and magic flooded the area.

“By the power of the holy light, I purify you.”

A supernova of white exploded from Greg, beating away at the two monsters. They stood still, like two rocks in the middle of a raging river. I could hear Greg yelling in effort, and for a while it was working. The pair of monsters seemed to shrink and retreat, parts of them flaking away under the intense power of the Kresnik. I could feel him getting tired but if he held out a bit more, Greg would have weakened them enough to take them down.

But he failed to take into account the unpredictable nature of my real powers. I wanted to hurt the monsters, I wanted to cut loose.

And my power responded to that.

In a flash of black, I found myself in between Greg and the two monsters. Both my hands were outstretched, and tangible shadows extended from them, forming oversized hands that grasped each monster by the head. I exhaled, blowing out scorching steam, relishing in the sheer power I was bathed in.

I squeezed my hands into fists, crushing the ox and horse heads on both monsters, sending them backwards. My power flare was enough to also push Greg back, who leaned on his spear, and looked at me with something akin to fear and awe.

“So the legends are true,” he muttered.

“We tried it your way,” I heard myself say. My voice was gravelly and harsh, like the crunching of metal and rock. I was still me, and yet in many ways, not. “Now, we do it right. There will be no purification tonight — just death and destruction.”

I was immediately upon the monsters who were already standing up, green light reforming their heads.

Before they could complete their healing, I unleashed all of my wrath on Horse-Face, raining down punches into his torso, drilling crater after crater. I kicked, slashing with my leg and sharp shadows at the leg I had shot at earlier, this time cleaving it apart. The monster roared in pain and stumbled on its stump. I kicked its chest, stomping on its breast like it had done to me, while shadows scythed all around it, shredding away mercilessly.

Something whacked against my side, crushing ribs and part of my spine. My shadows repaired the damage before pain could even register. In fact, I barely noticed that Ox-Head was still stuck there, mid-charge, trying to pull me off his friend.

And despite a clear four-foot height difference, more than a thousand pounds of weight difference, and the fact that he was a magically-charged minotaur, he couldn’t make me budge a single inch.

I grabbed him by the scruff of the neck, tendrils of black shadows wrapping around his entire body.

“Bad move, Bub.”

I tossed my arm over my shoulder and Ox-Head followed, slamming on the opposite side. I waved my arm from side to side, and watched with sickening glee as the monster was slammed from side to side, while my foot crushed Horse-Face’s chest.

Finally, when I got bored, I raised both my hands, and the shadows swimming around my body obeyed, lifting both monsters up in the air. I clenched my fists, watched as shadows wrapped around them like coffins, and started crushing them, pressing them both from the outside at a subatomic level, ensuring their utter destruction.

“No!”

Greg the Kresnik appeared at my side, slicing at my shadows with his radiant spear.

Horse-Face was released, and as the monster fell, Greg pulled out a dagger from his belt and thrust it into the still-shadow-wrapped monster. He pushed a switch on the dagger’s pommel, and the weapon exploded in a painful flash of light. Horse-Face was gone for good.

Meanwhile, he thrust his spear into Ox-Head, and channeled an enormous blast of magic. I felt my shadows tearing, along with the disintegration of the second monster.

Finally, he launched a kick in my direction, sending me stumbling backwards.

“Regain your senses, Wizard,” he said, bending over to pick something up.

I felt a familiar call from the object and recognized it as mine.

Djinn — that was my weapon he held in his hands, a part of me as much as these shadows were.

“Mine!” I roared, exerting my will over the weapon.

Djinn spun in Greg’s hand, slicing his arm at the wrist. The weapon flew directly into my awaiting hand, and I felt whole again. This was mine, my heirloom, my mother’s before it was mine, and I shall have it — no one else.

As soon as I felt the familiar leather-wrapped handle of the short sword, the cool steel, alive with the essence of a jinn that once guarded my mother’s remains, I felt in control again.

The shadows receded, and the feral mind was replaced by one that stared at my surroundings, aware of what had just happened, yet still feeling like I had been possessed.

Meanwhile, Greg the Kresnik picked up his severed limb and reattached it, light sealing the wound. He hefted his cruciform spear.

“I’m not gonna fight you,” I said in my normal voice. I spun Djinn and kept it loosely at my side, just in case he got any bright ideas. “And I’m guessing you don’t wanna fight me either. We’re both tired, both used a shitload of magic, and trust me buddy, you do not wanna go up against what you just saw.”

Greg relaxed his stance a fraction of an inch. “What was that?”

“Some family issues I’m still working through,” I replied flippantly. “It’s a work in progress.”

Greg smirked. “Not much progress.”

“Says the guy dressed like the Witcher.”

“I do not know this witch you speak of,” he replied, straightening up from his fighting stance. “But you are not one to talk; you’re dressed like a video game character.”

I cocked my head. “How is that an insult?”

“Does the Punisher know you stole his coat?”

“You know I can still kick your ass, right?” I shot back.

Greg grinned. “The feeling is mutual, Erik Ashendale.” He nodded towards where Arnold the ghost boy and I were hiding earlier. “Better call out your friend. We have much to talk about.”

I saw Arnold peek his little ghost head from behind a tombstone.

“Hold your horses there, Greg,” I said. “You want me to trust you? Cool. Start talking. Who are you, how do you know my name, and what the hell are you doing in my town?”

Greg the Kresnik sighed and lowered his spear.

“My name is Greg, and I have explained earlier, I am a Kresnik.” He held up his hand to stop me from asking what the hell was a Kresnik. “I know your name because your sister employed me to find the Necronomicon — the most powerful Necromantic tool in the universe — before it falls into the wrong hands.” He smiled at my dumbfounded expression. “Now, can we go somewhere more comfortable to talk? Ironically, graveyards really unnerve me.”

Chapter 13

So what do you do when you’re in need of a neutral place to talk to a stranger who helped you defeat a bunch of undead monsters with animal heads?

Well, if you’re me, you’d go back to Sun Tzu’s Noodle Shop, where fights weren’t allowed and the food was decent.

This time round, the population inside the shop was significantly less, with only a few tables occupied, and more than enough space for me and my new friend to hunker down for a while.

As soon as I stepped across the door’s threshold, a burly Chinese man in a black tunic blocked my path. Tiger was nearly a foot shorter than I was, but I froze, not daring to take a single step forwards. His small beady eyes, black as night, spoke of a world of hurt if I dared push his buttons.

Sun Tzu calmly exited from the kitchen, spoke something in Chinese that made Tiger back away with a growl, and smiled politely at me.

“You’re back I see,” Sun Tzu said with a berating tone. “Will you be causing me more trouble?”

“No one has tried to kill me yet,” I replied. “So maybe this time I’ll just hang out with my new buddy and try the dumplings. No trouble whatsoever.”

Sun Tzu’s expression remained unchanged — blank, with a touch of omnipotence — and nodded at Greg the Kresnik, who bowed politely before the elderly Asian man.

“Back so soon?” Sun Tzu directed at him.

Greg nodded.

“My business here will soon reach a conclusion, Venerable One,” he replied. Gone was the attitude from his voice.

I looked from Greg to Sun Tzu. “You guys know each other?”

No one said anything. Sun Tzu merely made a throaty sound that I’ve only heard come out of annoyed elderly people, and pointed towards a table at the farthest corner of restaurant.

“That should suit your conversation quite well, Erik,” he said, before making a beeline for the kitchen.

I turned to Greg.

“What the hell did you do to him?” I asked.

From the corner of my eye I saw Tiger and his three buddies — Dragon, Turtle and Phoenix — pause their Mahjong game long enough for the four of them to look at me with a warning expression.

Greg shrugged and began walking towards our table. “I don’t know what you mean,” he said, pulling out a chair and sitting.

He reached across his chest and took off a rectangular case he had strapped across. Before leaving the cemetery I had seen him dismantle his spear into two pieces and cover the spear tip with a weathered leather pouch, before stuffing the two halves of the spear into the rectangular brown leather case slung around his back.

I sat down opposite him.

“Sun Tzu doesn’t get intimidated,” I said flatly. “Hell, he doesn’t get emotions, period. I’m not even a hundred percent sure the dude is human. Point is, he’s been riled up these couple of days. And again now, when he saw you. See where I’m going with this?”

“Towards the same direction most internet conspiracy theorists go to,” Greg replied, as he poured some water from a ceramic jug into his glass. “Paranoia and insanity.”

“You’re an ass, Greg.”

Right that second, Sun Tzu appeared at my side, carrying a plate of noodles, steamed dumplings, and vegetables. As he set the plate down he glared at me.

“What?” I retorted. “He started it!”

More glaring.

“I won’t do it again,” I said, defeated.

“Enjoy your meal,” Sun Tzu replied, leaving our table.

“I’m taking the dumplings,” I whispered at Greg as I reached for them with my chopsticks.

Greg shrugged. “Help yourself,” he replied. “I’m a vegetarian.”

I rolled my eyes and stuffed my mouth with food in an effort not to say something very rude. As if I needed any more reasons to dislike this guy.

“Okay,” I said, swallowing my food. “We’re in a safe place. Start talking.”

Greg sighed, took a drink and gently set his cup down. “What do you want to know?”

“We’ll start with the basics,” I said. “You’re a Kresnik.”

“Correct.”

“What the hell is a Kresnik?”

Greg raised his eyebrows. “A hunter, just like you.”

He must have seen the look of annoyance on my face because he sighed again and decided to elaborate.

“Most lore describes us as the natural enemy of vampires, creatures of purity as opposed to the tainted nature of vampires. In reality, we are hunters of all things undead, seeking to restore balance between the cycle of life and death.”

Okay, that made sense now, given the demonstration I had seen in the cemetery.

“So you’re not human?” I asked.

“Yes and no,” he replied.

It was my turn to sigh. “Has anyone ever told you how annoying that is?”

“Yes,” he admitted, “but one has to provide one’s own entertainment.”

“One also needs to answer the fucking question,” I shot back, “before one gets a sword shoved up their ass.”

Greg grinned.

“No, to answer your question,” he said. “I am not human, not by your definition anyway. I eat, feel, and bleed just like everyone else, but my nature has better equipped me to deal with my task.”

“Like grabbing two giant zombie Vikings with your bare hands and wrestling them to the ground?”

“Precisely,” he replied. “Although if we are talking surprises, you would win in that department. I’ve heard of your powers but I did not believe the reports until I saw them with my own eyes.” His eyes narrowed. “Do you often lose control of yourself like that?”

I put down my chopsticks. “Listen Greg, I barely know you. So excuse me if I don’t spill the beans on my most intimate secrets.”

“I merely ask out of curiosity,” he replied.

“Here’s one of my curiosities,” I retorted. “What reports are you talking about? Who the hell is compiling notes on me?”

“I belong to the Russian Orthodox Church,” he replied.

“I barely noticed the accent.”

Greg rolled his eyes and ignored my comment. “My organization was contacted by your sister, Gil Ashendale, to investigate the disappearance of one of our most dangerous artifacts. Her network of spies informed her that said artifact resurfaced here, and as such, here I am.”

“So she wanted to make sure that if you ran into me, you’d know what you’re in for,” I said.

I shouldn’t have been surprised. It was not beyond my sister to go all Machiavelli on me. What really surprised me was that she didn’t inform me about any of this.

“I was following my own case,” I began.

“Yes, I saw the ghost child,” Greg said.

Before we showed up at Sun Tzu’s place, I told Arnold to go back to the office and tell Abi and Amaymon what had happened. I told him to tell them to lay low, and to expect some kind of revenge.

People like the Necromancer were petty by nature.

“I’m led to believe that both our cases are somewhat related,” Greg continued. “Your mysterious ghost infant, and the disappearance of the Necronomicon.”

I leaned forwards. “Yeah, speaking of which, what exactly is this thing anyway? Some kinda super spell book?”

Greg snorted in derision.

“You would say so,” he said. “The Necronomicon is the single most powerful Necromantic tool in existence, containing all spells which relate to life and death, and the cycle thereof. However, its real power lies in the summoning of beasts that lie beyond our dimension. Ancient civilizations had different names for it, most notably the Book of the Dead in ancient Egypt. Its modern name comes from a story by H.P. Lovecraft.”

“I thought it sounded familiar,” I remarked. “So in essence, this is a big bad evil grimoire that, for some reason, your church was guarding instead of outright destroying. And now it’s somewhere in Eureka, possibly in the hands of the most inept Necromancer to ever walk the planet.”

“A Necromancer who summoned six Draugar, and both Gozu and Mezu in one sitting,” Greg countered. “Inept would not be the word I would use.”

“And Jiang-shi,” I added, remembering the fight I had the last time I visited Sun Tzu’s place. “But it doesn’t make sense. The most he ever did was raid morgues. Now he’s the Chuck Norris of Necros? Something doesn’t fit here.”

“Perhaps he took lessons,” Greg said. “From a very competent teacher.”

“If someone was giving magic lessons that made people that powerful, I’d know about them,” I said. “Or at least my sister would.”

Greg shrugged. “Fair point. The fact of the matter is, he was questioning the dead about the Necronomicon’s location, which means he hasn’t found it yet. We must not let this happen.”

I nodded. “On that, we can agree,” I said. “So what’s our next step?”

Greg raised an eyebrow. “Our?”

“Yes, our,” I said. “You didn’t think I was just gonna let you run around by yourself, did you? Besides, that asshole sent goons after me. And I agree with you on my case being involved with yours. Something here stinks, and my gut is telling me to see this Necromancer business ‘till the end. So, again, I ask: what’s our next move?”

Greg shrugged. “I do not know.”

My jaw dropped a little. “And they call me clueless,” I muttered.

“Do you have any ideas?” he retorted.

I extracted my cellphone. The screen was still showing me the last picture I took: the Ryleh Corp business card I swiped from goons who abducted me.

“Greg,” I began, “you won’t believe the evening I’ve had. It started off with a nice date, after which I got kidnapped, escaped, traced their employer to the graveyard, fought a shitload of undead, and now I’m here with you.”

“You make it sound like this is a date,” he said, laughing into his glass. “Word of warning, Greg is not cheap.”

“The point is,” I said, ignoring him, “in light of this evening’s events, I suggest we both get a good night’s sleep and go see my sister first thing tomorrow morning.”

He shrugged again. “We can even go now. I like working at night.”

“Yeah, well, it’s three in the morning here on Earth,” I said. “And Gil will punch you in the throat if you interrupt her beauty sleep.”

He grinned. “Maybe she too has a date.”

“That’s just wrong, dude. She’s my little sister,” I replied. “And besides, I pity the poor guy who’s shacking up with her.”

“She’s that horrible?” Greg asked.

“I wouldn’t say horrible,” I said. “Unique is the word. Don’t worry, you’ll understand soon enough.”

Chapter 14

Unlike her financially-challenged brother, my fraternal twin sister lived in a mansion; the same one we grew up in during our childhood. As kids, we were filthy rich — Michael Jackson, rich. My family descended from one of the oldest magical families on the planet, so we had saved up a few million tons of gold over the years.

And we were also the best Warlocks around, hopping from one dimension to another in such a way that would have made the British Empire look like an afternoon stroll.

I left that life when I was just a teenager and headed out on my own — my sister did not.

Greg and I walked past the front gate, the first ominous and foreboding barrier to the Ashendale mansion. Masked guards were stationed everywhere, peppering the enormous verdant front yard like giant ants. I used to be terrified of them when I was a kid, but now that I had faced things that would have driven any other person into an insane asylum, I barely even noticed them.

A maid held the enormous, intricately carved, front door open for us, inviting us in. I walked in first and looked around. Memories always flooded back every time I walked into this place. Greg came up behind me, politely wiped his feet on the thick bristles of the carpet, and froze when he sensed the newcomer.

Walking slowly, the tapping of his dress shoes echoing along the corridor even before he came into our field of vision, Mephisto waltzed in, clad in his usual butler suit, swallow tails and all. Tall and lanky, with his ponytail gently swaying with each step, he smiled politely, and sent a continuous stream of shivers down my spine.

Behind rimless spectacles that he did not need, his cat-like yellow eyes glowed ever so slightly, just enough to make one question what it was they were looking at.

I heard Greg suck in a breath, and gave him a sideways glance, trying to convey that this guy was not the enemy, no matter what his instincts were telling him.

“Master Erik,” Mephisto said in his usual cool, dry tone.

I grinned, trying to show him he did not unnerve me. “ ‘Sup, doggie.”

Greg relaxed a fraction of an inch and said nothing — not even when Mephisto looked directly at him.

“Welcome, honored guest. Master Gil is currently attending to an issue, but has instructed me to invite you both to the dining room. Breakfast is being served.” He spun sharply on his heels. “Please come along.”

Greg waited until Mephisto was a few paces away from us before giving me a quizzical look.

“Yep,” I said. “You’re on the right track.”

“But he’s-”

“A demon, I know.” I sighed. “Mephisto’s been in our family for… well, a very long time. He’s Gil’s familiar, so try not to start anything.”

Greg grimaced. “Such a foul creature.”

I rolled my eyes and stopped us both on our tracks. Mephisto, a small distance away from us, sensed our halting and stopped walking, but remained with his back turned to us, waiting.

“Listen up, Knight in Shining Armor,” I said, addressing the Kresnik next to me. “This is a Warlock’s house. Which means you’re gonna see some shit you ain’t gonna like. And then you’re gonna see some other shit that is just downright nasty. So either accept that and let it go, or walk away. If you feel the need to spout some holier-than-thou crap, keep it to yourself. If you feel the need to start some shit, don’t. This is a lion’s den and trust me, you do not wanna poke whatever monsters are lurking around us.”

I looked pointedly at Mephisto, and then back at Greg, who nodded silently. We resumed our walking and from the front I heard Mephisto say,

“Eloquent as always, Master Erik.”

Gil sat at the head of a long table, barren save for a plate of sliced fresh fruit in front of her. She saw us coming in, nodded in acknowledgment, and cocked her head towards the chair adjacent to hers.

“Well then, double your efforts,” she said into her bluetooth earpiece. “Yes, I know.” She rolled her eyes. “I know. Just do it. Transfer the usual funds and do your bloody job.”

She tapped the earpiece and threw it next to the plate.

“The one time my assistant takes a day off, and all hell breaks loose,” she said, running a hand through her long white-blonde hair. “Figuratively, of course.”

Gil stood up and extended her hand towards Greg.

“It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance,” she said, almost reverently. “Your reputation precedes you.”

Greg looked at her hand and left it hanging, nodding instead. “And yours, Gil Ashendale.”

I looked from my sister to the Kresnik. “Is it just me, or am I sensing some tension here?”

Gil ignored me — not an unfamiliar occurrence — and sat back down.

“Sit, brother,” she said in a tone that sounded very much like she was chiding me. “You too, Sir.”

“Call me Greg,” Greg replied. “Your brother certainly does.”

“I apologize for his manners. Or lack thereof.”

I poured myself a glass of orange juice and paused midway to see the both of them looking at me.

“What? It’s eight in the morning. I’m starving.”

Gil sighed and snapped her fingers. Almost immediately, a maid appeared with a tray of food, an assortment of fruits, meats, and pastries. She set the tray down and hurried off, never making eye contact with any of us.

“Why does it feel very Mein Kampf in here?” I asked, spearing a sausage from the tray.

Gil rolled her eyes. “By now, you’ve heard that the Necronomicon has made its presence in our city, yes?”

I pointed at Greg with the fork. “Isn’t that why he’s here?”

“It is,” Greg replied. “I must retrieve the book and take it back to my church, where it will be locked away for eternity.”

I scoffed and Greg glared at me. “Do you have something to add?” he asked.

“It must be a short eternity,” I said, stuffing two strips of bacon into my face. I swallowed and motioned at him with my utensil. “This is a dangerous object that only spells out bad news, right? So why not destroy the damn thing? One less pain in the ass to deal with.”

Gil cocked her head, as if pondering the question for the first time, while Greg furrowed his eyebrows.

“We will do no such thing,” he said. “The existence of the Necronomicon is crucial to our state of balance. It is a seal to some creatures, just as much as it is a doorway for others. No, we must retrieve it, and hide it.”

“In the same church where it was stolen from?” I added.

Greg turned his head so sharply I thought for sure he had snapped something. “You question our mission?”

“Nope,” I casually replied. “Only your security system.” I could feel him boiling beneath his calm composure. “I mean, think about it. This all-powerful relic of magic took a trip from Mother Russia all the way to the good old U S of A, without you guys even knowing it was here, or being able to stop it. Correct me if I’m wrong, but if you knew that the book was stolen, you’d do your best to capture it while it was still in transit, where it’s the most vulnerable. The fact that you’re here means you couldn’t do it.”

“What are you implying, wizard?” Greg said, in a tone that made me miss the zombies in the graveyard.

“I’m implying,” I said, “that either you got played, or someone on your team is secretly batting for the other side.”

Greg slammed his fist on the table.

The ancient, sturdy wood of the table creaked under his superhuman strength, sending food scattering from the tray and plates.

At the same time, my hand flew on Djinn’s handle. I saw Mephisto hovering by the doorway, still and steady, and very much deadly.

Only Gil remained unfazed. She gently set down her teacup, steadying it on the table.

After a few tense seconds, Greg looked away before lowering his head.

“My apologies, Miss Ashendale,” he said softly.

“Accepted.” She pursed her lips and gazed at him with something close to annoyance. “However, my brother does raise a good point. You are here now, Kresnik, which means neither you nor your church were able to complete this task on your own. Which brings me to my next order of business: our subsequent step.”

Gil extended her hand to the side. “Mephisto,” she ordered.

Immediately, he was at her side, lowering a tablet into her hand, before resuming his post by the door.

“Both of your assumptions were correct,” Gil said, tapping her device, “even if at the end they are wrong. The Necronomicon was indeed stolen, but even if the Russian Orthodox Church was aware of the theft, they would have been powerless to stop it.”

She set the tablet on the table, and all three of us looked at the same logo.

“Meet the third, and most likely, scenario,” Gil said. “Ryleh Corp.” She swiped at the tablet’s screen. “And its CEO, Alan Greede.”

Chapter 15

I glared at the profile picture on Gil’s tablet.

Alan Greede looked more at home at the Genius Bar rather than the head of a multi-national corporation. A soft, smiling face, with bright white teeth and horn-rimmed glasses, wearing a dark polo shirt and beige slacks. On his wrist was one of those flat rectangular computer watches, whatever the heck they’re called.

To the outside world, Alan Greede was Steve Jobs with a full head of hair, but one look at his eyes — his dark, unsmiling eyes — told me that this was a guy with secrets, a guy who got his way.

Gil swiped the tablet again, showing more pictures of Greede.

“We know practically nothing about him,” she said. “Ryleh Corp is one of those multi-nationals that seep in everywhere and you just don’t notice. Their money runs wide and deep.”

“So, this guy’s just another douche-bag collector?” I asked. “Maybe he’s got some fascination with the macabre?”

Gil shook her head. “That was my first assumption, until I did some more digging. While Ryleh Corp is present virtually everywhere, their activities in Eureka spiked around three years ago.”

She gave me a knowing look. Three years — that was how long ago we had defeated Lilith, the Sin of Lust.

Greg caught the look as well.

“What happened three years ago?” he asked.

“We fought a super demon,” I replied. “Her disappearance was sure to leave a power void.”

“You are referring to the Seven Deadly Sins, yes?” Greg shrugged when I looked at him. “We have all heard of their appearance on this plane,” he explained. “And of your involvement with their destruction.”

“So much for keeping a lid on it,” I muttered.

“Regardless,” my sister said. “Ryleh Corp’s influence has become more prominent. My sources at the underground magical community have been sending in reports of their activity, and all of it leads to one thing: Ryleh is planning something.”

I cocked my head. “We have an underground magical community?” I asked.

“That is what you got from my sentence?” Gil sighed. “Of course, there’s an underground community — there always is an underground community. Where have you been living in the past few years, brother?”

“Welcome to a world where the air I breathe is mine,” I sang.

Gil rolled her eyes and looked like she might throw something at me, so I stopped.

“So, to recap, we have a real-life version of Evil Corp, a book of the dead, and Mr. Turtleneck over here,” I said, stabbing the profile picture of Alan Greede with my finger.

Gil turned to Greg. “When was the book stolen?”

He pursed his lips and ran a hand through his stark white hair. “I do not know exactly. I would say about three weeks ago, give or take.”

Gil swiped at the tablet and showed us yet another picture of Alan Greede.

“This was taken three weeks ago, when one Alan Greede visited our city, for the first time abandoning his post in Seattle.” She looked at me. “This is not a coincidence.”

And she was right. It was all too convenient, too neat. This guy wasn’t even trying to hide.

“Besides,” Gil continued, “we’re forgetting a crucial element.” She tapped through the tablet and showed me a photograph, one that haunted my nightmares.

A beach on Lake Michigan where an inter-dimensional rift had appeared, vomiting monsters from another world into our own.

This was reason I couldn’t talk to anyone for a while.

It was all just too much; getting trapped on an island full of monsters; living with a community of elf-like humanoids called Vensir — which were now living somewhere on Earth, tucked away in a remote corner; finding out that the whole pocket universe was powered by Leviathan, the Sin of Envy, and that the plane was crushing into Earth; fighting him, fighting Raphael, the angel who went rogue; and to top it all off, begin taken to Heaven to witness capital punishment by Grim Reaper.

My mind broke soon after. I stopped functioning, simply going through the motions, living more akin to a ghoul than to an actual human.

Therapy helped.

Knowing I was getting closer and closer to the bastards who started all this helped even more.

“The Black Ring Society,” I snarled.

The Black Ring Society was a terrorist group, and the guys responsible for opening that rift in the first place. When we interrogated one of their lieutenants, we discovered one of Ryleh Corp’s calling cards. At the time, I thought they were just a supplier, just an innocent third party caught up in this cluster-fuck.

Now, not so much.

“I can’t prove Ryleh’s ties to the Black Ring Society,” Gil began.

“But you got a hunch,” I finished.

She nodded and that was all I needed.

Gil was the smartest person I knew. Nothing short of a genius, really. She had survived this world without my volume of power.

Not only that, but she rose to power and became her own boss, before becoming everyone else’s. If her instincts were telling her this Greede guy was bad, you could take that to the bank.

I reached into my pocket and pulled out a business card, an exact replica of the one we pulled off from the Black Ring Society months ago.

“Where did you get that?” Gil asked.

“Some guys jumped me yesterday,” I replied.

“Wizards?”

“Nah, vanilla.”

“Excuse me?” Greg said, furrowing his eyebrows in confusion.

“Vanilla means regular,” I explained. “As in, they were regular people. Utter dicks, but no magic to speak of. I was abducted by them after… well, after my date.”

Gil raised her eyebrows. “You convinced some drunk girl to go out with you? Well done, brother, on no longer being a hermit.”

“She wasn’t drunk!” I retorted. “I think.”

“And where did you meet this woman?” Gil asked.

“What’s it to you?” I took one look at her intense gaze, and decided I should provide an answer — my sister had her crazy face on. “If you must know, I met her at the meetings.”

Gil frowned. “At the meetings?”

“Why does everyone give me that look?”

She raised her hand. “Far be it for me to judge who you spend your nights with-”

“You judge all the time!”

“But do you really think it’s wise to shack up with someone with… issues?” she continued.

“Do you wanna rephrase that, so you don’t sound like you own a few plantations in the New World?”

“You know what I mean, Erik,” she said. “I’m just looking out for you.”

“And I appreciate that,” I said. “Now, butt out.”

I noticed Greg looking at us like we were a pair of zoo animals he was seeing for the first time.

“Anyway,” I said. “Back to the card. I found it on one of the guys who jumped me. They were working for the Necromancer. That’s when I met Whitey McBeard over here-” I gestured at Greg “-and we had the time of our lives fighting animal-headed zombie creatures.”

“He was asking the ghouls for information,” Greg added. “About the Necronomicon and Ryleh Corp.”

“Which means that the Necromancer is independent from Ryleh,” Gil said.

“So if we were to retrace the Necronomicon’s steps,” I said, “it goes something like this: Someone — most likely commissioned by Greede — stole the book from the Russian Orthodox Church, and transported it here to Eureka. According to some of those ghouls — and that asshole, Reginald — the book just came to life and whizzed off. The Necromancer must have either been tipped off, or maybe he did some tracking spell. Either way, now we have two guys chasing after the Necronomicon: the Necromancer, and Ryleh Corp.”

“And us,” Greg added.

“And us,” I agreed.

“Ryleh has yet to make a move,” Gil said, a worried look on her face. “I’ve been tracking their movements rather closely and so far they’ve been quiet. If they really are after the book — and all evidence points in that direction — then they must be using channels that not even I can tap into.”

“Then it’s settled,” I said. “We just go ask this Greede guy directly.” I looked at Greg. “How good are you at scaring people?”

“You will do no such thing, brother,” Gil snapped. “Greede is not someone you can mess with. I have been working tirelessly for the past few months to get in touch with him, to worm my way inside the same circles he’s in, and I’m close. If you step in guns blazing, all that effort would have been for nothing. And what happens if he calls the police and you get arrested again?”

I sighed. “So you heard about that, huh?”

“You know I dislike the fact that you work with law enforcement, exposing magic like that,” she reprimanded.

“Well, someone has to help then,” I retorted. “Speaking of which, have you ever seen a goat-like humanoid? One that’s really good with guns? This guy in particular shoots silver anti-magic bullets. I tried asking Sun Tzu about it, but apparently the Paladin Parade is in this week, and he got all jumpy.”

Gil gave Greg a sideways glance, whose face remained impassive.

“I heard of their arrival,” she admitted. “But I’ve never heard of this goat-man.” She lowered her eyes, lost in thought. “Anti-magic bullets?”

I reached into my coat pocket and plopped the deformed bullet I had dug out of my shoulder on the table.

She snatched it up and gasped.

“This is some really intricate magic,” she said. “I’m surprised this type of magic can be worked into something like this.” She looked at me. “May I keep this? I might be able to elicit more information out of it with further examination.”

“Go right ahead,” I replied. “What about those Paladins? What are they doing here?”

Gil shook her head.

“What does that matter?” Greg asked. “We must focus on the book.”

I scoffed and smirked at him. “And you think that a whole bunch of church flunkies appearing in town at the exact same time as the Necronomicon is not related? I think it’s safe to assume they’re here for the exact same reason you are, Greg — the Necronomicon is up for grabs, and whoever has it wins the jackpot.”

I looked at Gil. “Anything to add?”

“For once, brother,” she replied, “I wholeheartedly concur.”

“Hallelujah. So what’s our next move?”

She snapped her fingers and Mephisto came gliding from where he was silently hovering. He took the tablet she offered him.

“Compile all the data we have on the Necromancer,” she ordered him. “This is a priority. I want to know where he is, and what he’s thinking, and I want to know it all yesterday.”

The demon nodded and wordlessly walked out.

I rose to leave.

“Where are you going?” she asked.

I shrugged. “Home,” I said. “I got a business to run. And besides, I know what you’re gonna say: sit tight and wait. Which happens to work out great since I got my own case to solve.”

I nodded at Greg. “You coming?”

The Kresnik stood up and bowed towards Gil. “Thank you for your hospitality and your help.”

She dipped her head. “The pleasure is all mine.”

We were barely outside the mansion’s gates when Greg tapped me on the shoulder.

“The look on your face tells me that you’re planning something,” he said. “Would you care to share?”

I smiled. “We’re going to have a look at this Ryleh business.”

“But your sister-”

“My sister said we weren’t allowed to talk to Greede,” I said. “She never said anything about sneaking into the warehouse where the Necronomicon was last seen and looking for clues.”

Greg shook his head in disbelief.

“Come on, Greg,” I said. “What’s life without a little rebellion?”

“Anarchy,” he replied, straight-faced.

I held up my hand with my index and pinkie fingers extended. “Rock and roll, baby. So, are you in?”

He grinned and mirrored my gesture. “I can do a little anarchy.”

“Amen.”

Chapter 16

We snuck in at night.

Why? Because all good heists happen at night.

And also because I had no frame of reference on how to pull a heist other than The Italian Job, and that was way too complicated for the likes of myself and my partner in crime.

Sneaking in at nighttime was simple enough that even the two of us could pull it off with a moderate chance of success.

The first barrier was a fence and some guards were patrolling outside. They moved about lazily, each barely moving two feet from their perch, and I spotted one of them sleeping on the job.

The fence wasn’t even electrified. For a rich guy, Alan Greede sure was lax with his security.

Ah, well. That just made our job easier.

Greg poured some type of potion on the fence, promptly dissolving it into a molten puddle with the barest of hisses.

“I need to get one of those,” I murmured undertone.

He smiled and hushed me with his finger.

I flipped him off.

He grinned again and passed through the fence. I followed after him and tapped him on the shoulder, drawing his attention towards a guard. We ducked, counted to three and popped our heads out to find the coast cleared.

We literally walked up to the front door and stopped in front of a padlock.

“Got any more of that potion?” I asked. Greg shook his head. I exhaled into my hands, warming them up against the evening chill. “Okay, I think I can pick it-”

Greg smiled, grabbed the padlock and simply wrenched it apart.

Oh. Right.

Superhuman Kresnik strength.

He unhooked the broken padlock and opened the door, both of us rushing in before someone noticed our presence.

I waited for my eyes to adjust. Shelves lined every inch of the warehouse, stacked next to each other and packed tightly with crates, packages and god-knows what else.

“That’s a lot of crates,” I muttered.

We separated and walked between the shelves, careful not to make any noise or brush against anything. Most of the light came from the back, so we naturally gravitated towards it, although I scanned some of the crates as we passed by.

Different packages had different languages on them. Some I recognized as government seals or logos of official institutions, while others seemed rather crude or even hand-drawn.

My eyes caught subtle movement from the side and I found myself staring at a crate that looked like faded tupperware, except this was large enough that I could almost fit inside it. As I approached I saw something dark floating inside the container, until my face was pressed against it, trying to see what was inside without actually opening the crate.

A small hand, almost like that of a baby’s, pressed against the other end of the container as if reaching out for me. The shock of seeing a human limb made me jump back and almost knock a shelf over.

Greg hushed me from the other side.

“Sorry, sorry,” I whispered hoarsely, still unable take my eyes off of the container.

The hand was still there but now the rest of the mutated baby body floated into view, bumping against the side before lifelessly bobbing away.

“This guy is one sick bastard,” I said.

“Did you find anything?” Greg asked.

“Just something that will haunt my nightmares,” I replied.

“Keep looking. If it’s not related to the Necronomicon then it is of no interest to us,” Greg said.

I forced my eyes away from the container and continued looking, except now my imagination populated every parcel I passed with all manner of horrors.

Finally, I reached the opposite side of the warehouse and saw Greg emerge from the adjacent side.

The back of the warehouse had fewer shelves. Instead, boxes and crates of all shapes and sizes were left open, with their contents bare. Most were nondescript, full of hay or styrofoam, with packing peanuts spilling out. Others were clearly marked with radiation labels or toxic warnings, but whatever dangers they held within them had long been extracted, leaving behind empty shells.

One crate in particular caught my eye. It wasn’t the shape or size or anything inside, but rather, the sigil on the side of the crate.

Stamped in red ink, the symbol looked like an eye: two circles, one inside the other, with ten angel wings emerging from the outer circle. I craned my head: just left-hand wings, so that all faced the same direction.

Bisecting the two circles was a cross with a serpent draped over it — a symbol I recognized as the Flamel, named after the famed alchemist.

I moved closer without realizing, inspecting the symbol. Something about it felt familiar, as if I had seen this somewhere, a long time ago. I felt I should know this, that this was a small yet crucial detail I had missed.

But what was it?

Greg approached the crate and glared at the symbol.

“You know what that is?” I asked.

It took him a second too long to shake his head.

I sighed and pulled out my phone. “Whatever it is,” I said, snapping a picture of the symbol, “it’s bound to be important.”

I peered inside the crate itself and pulled out a handful of straw. Frowning at it, I threw it back inside. There was nothing strange about straw.

Unless…

“What are you doing?” Greg asked.

I ignored him and proceeded to pull out handfuls of straw from the crate. Entire clumps came out before I found what I was looking for.

“Ah hah.”

I pointed at the bottom of the crate.

Carved into the wood were thousands of small sigils, each so tiny that it was impossible to make out their details unless I put them under a microscope. But clumped together like this, the depression in the wood was evident and we only had to look hard enough to see the tiny suckers.

“Something tells me we hit the jackpot,” I said.

Greg peered even closer to the symbols, thrusting his head inside the crate, before finally straightening up.

“It seems your instincts were correct,” he said. “Those are indeed spirit warding symbols, meant to keep the powerful magic within the Necronomicon suppressed.”

He suddenly snapped his head around. I was no stranger to seeing someone getting spooked, almost like an animal.

“What is it?”

“We’re not alone,” he said, gently reaching inside his tunic for a long dagger. He held it close to himself in reverse grip, his icy blue eyes darting from one side to the other.

I pulled my coat back and reached for Djinn. “Maybe we should head back-”

I never saw it coming — the creature was suddenly in front of me.

Crouched on all fours, its feline body was coiled for attack, while it looked at me with a round human head. Its teeth were bared and ink-black, its eyes just two round marbles, glittering like opals.

From behind it, a scorpion’s tail arched over with a stinger the size of my forearm, quivering slightly.

Manticore, I thought.

I felt Greg shift to my side — he had seen it too and slowly took a step back.

I heard the clicking of nails on the floor and saw a second manticore come out, surrounding the two of us. They made sounds like sea lions, emitting a deep trumpet-like voice that was dulled only by the hissing of air as it passed through their serrated teeth.

From the depths of the warehouse, calmly strutting out from between the shelves — the same shelves I had just walked through — came out a third manticore, bigger than the other two put together, with enormous black shaggy hair draping the back of its body.

The trio of manticores hissed and yelled again, before going silent.

“Move!” Greg yelled.

Both of us threw ourselves in opposite directions, just as the smaller manticore on my side stabbed with its tail. The stinger met the crate instead and reduced it to smithereens.

The tail came round again and I ducked. The manticore leapt at me, claws raking. I slashed with my short sword, emitting a beam of blue energy that caught the beast at the side and sent it tumbling. At the same time, the bigger manticore stabbed at me, its stinger barely nicking my thigh.

“Son of a bitch!” I roared. The pain sent me tumbling to the ground. A large patch was torn off my pants, with my skin sizzling and blistering.

Note to self: avoid manticore venom.

My healing magic kicked in, repulsing the effects of the poison, and I threw myself along the ground, skidding away from a second manticore attack.

“Run for it,” I yelled at Greg.

“Right behind you.”

We both took off just as I felt a manticore pounce after me. It slammed against one of the shelves, denting the aluminum skeleton and knocking most of its contents on the ground.

The larger manticore leapt into the air and landed on top of another shelf, silent and nimble as a cat, while its smaller cousin shook itself from its daze and bounded after me.

I pulled my gun and fired. Bullets tore into the manticore but did not stop it. I poured as much magic as I could into the gun while still maintaining my run, and fired again. This time the manticore faltered.

I heard a trumpet-yell above me and dodged, just in time to see the big manticore’s stinger pierce the space my head occupied a split second ago. It roared and reached at me with its paws. I dodged and swiped Djinn at the shelf, slicing through the legs. The shelf toppled over me, sending the manticore over like a catapult.

Trapped, the smaller manticore shook its body and pressed on, slipping in between the narrow space I had created. I had to watch out for that tail swinging around but the damn thing was faster than I was. I could feel its snarling breath getting closer and closer, hear the claws tear at my leather coat as it swiped and missed.

I half spun and fired.

Even in the closed space, the manticore managed to dodge two of my shots, while simply shrugging of the rest. I thrust Djinn forward and hooked my finger inside the ring-shaped cross guard, channeling magic. The blade glowed azure and elongated, shooting out like a spear.

The manticore tucked its body impossibly to one side as Djinn shot past it. Sparks flew as the blade met the aluminum shelves. The manticore clawed at the weapon and moved closer and closer to me, claws and teeth at the ready.

“Dodge this.”

I extracted my finger from inside the ring and released all the magic I had channeled into a single blast. The azure blade exploded, taking with it both myself and the manticore, as well as blowing up every shelf around me.

I was thrown backwards, shot from in between the shelves and slammed into a garage door, sending a loud sound echoing throughout the warehouse, and possibly the entire state of California.

But I had survived.

The manticore had been reduced to an abstract painting plastered on the wall and I was here, still alive and kicking.

The larger manticore hissed and roared, its trumpet-like voice punching me in the stomach like the bass in a dance club.

I scrambled to my feet and began backing away.

“Good manticore,” I began, trying to placate the giant monster that was making its way towards me. “There’s a good lion… mutant… thing.”

The manticore did not appreciate my efforts in the slightest.

It pounced. I dodged and came face to face with its tail and that giant stinger. I raised my short sword just in time to deflect the appendage but the force of the hit sent me stumbling backwards.

Out of nowhere, a stinger shot towards the manticore like a missile. It struck the side of the beast and sent it roaring backwards. Greg stood on the opposite side of the warehouse, with a dead manticore at his feet, dagger broken off inside its head. Blood drenched his hands from where he had torn the stinger off, and he now pulled out a pair of curved daggers from his person.

The manticore took one look at the Kresnik and bolted towards him. Greg dodged and slashed at its side but the beast simply shrugged it off. It leapt on him, throwing him on the ground, claws digging into the Kresnik. The tail went high, stinger quivering, ready to impale the manticore’s prey.

I charged Djinn with magic and swung, sending a crescent-shaped arc of energy at the manticore, throwing it off of Greg. Closing the distance, I followed up my strike, hacking into the monster.

The manticore roared and snapped its jaws at me. I backed away and the stinger came down, stabbing once, twice, thrice.

Djinn was sent flying from my hands.

The stinger plunged into my shoulder and came out my back.

Pain flooded my body as it seized up and I couldn’t move a single muscle. I saw black shadows leaking from the wound as my powers took effect, protecting me from certain death. I fought against the pain and held fast as the manticore struggled to extract its tail from inside me.

I reached down and grabbed the first thing that I found: a sharp length of aluminum, torn apart by my earlier blast. I stabbed the metal stake in between the tail segments until I saw the tip emerge from the other side. Yelling with effort, I grabbed the stake with both hands and twisted, separating the segments and ripping out flesh. The manticore screamed as it waved around its severed tail, blood raining everywhere.

I tore the stinger from my shoulder and grabbed the manticore by the mane at the back of its head.

“Let’s see how you like it,” I snarled, as I plunged the stinger into one of its ugly glittering eyes. Black blood exploded from it. The manticore went wild and lunged onto me, its claws ripping into my back and shredding clothes and flesh.

But I barely even registered the pain.

I extracted the stinger and stabbed its other eye, before pulling its head to one side and plunging the stinger inside its jaw. I felt the manticore sag and fall on the ground, in a puddle of its own blood.

I kept stabbing it over and over again, blood spurting upwards and onto me.

Finally, my body gave out and I tore myself off of the beast. Its claws were still attached to my back and the act of pulling away tore entire chunks of flesh. I reeled back and found myself lying on the ground. Djinn lay just a few inches away. I reached out for it, claiming back my weapon.

Greg took a step towards me.

The doors and windows on each side of the warehouse exploded and dozens of men dressed in back from top to bottom entered wielding assault rifles.

“Don’t move, don’t move!” one of them yelled as they turned their weapons at me and Greg.

The Kresnik slowly raised his hands, still holding the daggers.

Meanwhile, I was still curled up in pain, just as two of them tore Djinn and my gun away from me and turned me over. I tried fighting back, only to have someone press their knee on my shoulder wound. One of them tied my hands in zip locks and they hoisted me to my feet, before dragging me and Greg out of the warehouse.

Chapter 17

The car ride to the main Ryleh Corp building lasted only a few minutes.

I was still writhing in pain, surrounded by men in black, while Greg sat in another SUV, most likely in a similar situation.

The SUV stopped abruptly and the doors slid open. Rough hands grabbed me and dragged my hunched figure all the way inside. Greg was putting up some resistance. They tasered him and pulled him along, throwing the both of us inside an elevator, all the while sticking their weapons in our faces.

Even in my state I recognized the make and model — I had seen these weapons before, in the hands of my sister’s enforcers. In fact, these men could have been those same guys: same outfits, same training, same weapons.

Soldiers trained to deal with the supernatural.

The elevator dinged and the doors opened, revealing a penthouse with neat marble floors and modern art decorations. The soldiers escorted us to a large silver door, sleek and elegant, opening it. Greg and I were made to sit down in front of an ostentatious glass desk, spartan except for a few chrome and black knickknacks. Behind the desk, a leather chair was swiveled around so that all we saw was the back.

Like a cheesy villain, the chair spun around, and Alan Greede smiled at us.

“Hello there,” he said with a smile.

I snuck a look at Greg but the Kresnik held his gaze steady on Greede, studying his every move.

“So nice of you to join me,” Greede continued. He fiddled with a ring on his finger. “I understand you broke into one of my warehouses tonight.”

He looked at us intently, as if waiting for one of us to say something in our defense. When we remained silent he sighed. “I suppose you might be asking yourselves why you were brought here and not handed over to the police.”

I let out an involuntary gasp as another wave of pain washed over me, earning me a look from Greede.

“Sorry about that,” he said with a half smile. “Suppose I should have put a sign at the entrance: Beware of the Manticores.” He tapped a button on a big black landline phone. “Denise, can we have a giant sign put on warehouse three that says ‘Beware the Manticores’?”

His secretary’s voice cracked through the speaker. “Sure thing, Mr. Greede.”

Greede looked up from his phone, a big grin on his face. “I love being rich,” he said. “You can get away with pretty much anything.”

“Including smuggling the Necronomicon?” Greg spat in his direction.

Greede raised an eyebrow. “Wow, so you do talk,” he said. “Honestly, I pegged you as more the strong-silent type of guy. If anyone was gonna run his mouth I thought it would be this guy.”

“Give me a second,” I replied, gritting my teeth as my magic burned through the manticore’s venom coursing through my veins. “Be right with you.”

Greede waved me away. “No, please, take your time. It’s a wonder you’re still alive after that, anyway.”

“Where is the book?” Greg asked.

“Straight to the finish, huh?” Greede grinned at me. “This guy must be a real hit with the ladies.”

Greg balled his fist, ready to pounce on Greede, when the latter gave a sharp head motion. Soldiers — who were standing still and silent a few feet away inside the office — raised their weapons in unison. Greg froze and receded, and Greede smiled. The soldiers lowered their weapons.

Greede sighed and placed both hands flat on the table. “So, where were we? Ah yes, the book. That damned book.” He let out a bark of laughter. “See what I did there? Damned book — ‘cause it’s actually damned, you see?”

I rolled my eyes. “Don’t quit your day job.”

“Why would I?” he retorted. “I have everything I ever wanted and some I didn’t know I wanted. The Necronomicon is just one item on a huge list.”

“You don’t know what you’re messing with,” I said.

“Au contraire,” he replied, “I know very well what I’m dealing with.” He splayed his fingers dramatically. “Magic.”

“Then you’re an idiot,” I shot back.

He raised an eyebrow. “And yet I’m not the one in deep doo-doo, now am I?”

His snickering made me want to reach over and punch him in the face, but the zip locks on my wrists held fast.

“Do you honestly think you can control what’s inside that thing?” I asked. “It’s a Book of the Dead, you moron. What do you think is gonna happen the moment you start messing with it? Zombies and ghosts don’t buy whatever snake oil you’re selling over here, so that ain’t gonna help with your goal of world domination, now is it?”

Greede leaned in closer, staring at me with those black, soulless eyes.

“Who said anything about ruling this world?” His smile turned sinister. “Do you take me for a fool? I researched that book, I know it’s more than just a Necromancer’s wet dream. No, Mr. Ashendale, I do not want to rule. I want chaos. And power. And maybe unlimited jelly doughnuts. But mostly the chaos.”

“Why?”

He grinned. “Because it’s fun. And because I can. We live in a rather boring world and I just wanna make it a little more… exciting.” He leaned back into his chair. “Really, I’m just being altruistic here.”

This guy was crazy.

Not the kinky, quirky kind of crazy; the real kind. The kind that sought death and destruction simply because it amused them, the kind to snuff out lives just because they can.

And, with access to magic, there was fuck-all anyone could do to stop him.

Now it all made sense: the lax security at the warehouse, the blatant stealing from Greg’s church, the sociopathic honesty. He knew he was unstoppable, and was daring us to do something about it, just so he could watch us squirm. He wanted us to enter the warehouse and get mauled by the manticores, he wanted Greg and Gil to come after him, to seek out a challenge just so he could beat them down.

My sister and Greg were all about methodology and toeing the line, but I saw the real solution. I had dealt with his type before, with a guy named Crowley who had hunted me when I was a kid.

There was only one solution here: Greede had to go, right here, right now.

With one swift motion I pulled my bound hands into my chest, snapping the zip locks. Greede’s eyes widened in shock but he was too stunned to react.

I reached across the table, grabbed a box cutter and fistful of his hair. The soldiers snapped their guns in place, just as I pressed the box cutter to Greede’s neck and drew a single drop of blood.

“You move, he dies,” I barked at them, all the while glaring into Greede’s face.

He waved his hand, signaling his men to stand down lest they kill him in the crossfire.

“Last chance, Greede,” I growled. “Where’s the book?”

“You’re making a mistake.”

I pressed the blade even further. “Wrong answer.”

Even in his situation, Greede managed to smile. “Too bad. Also…”

I felt something scalding hot press against my hand and looked down. The box cutter’s blade began bending sideways, liquefying.

An invisible force squeezed my entire fist. I fought back but the force spread all the way across my body, slowly pushing me away. My back pressed against the chair, hands at my sides while shards of the box cutter bit into my palm.

Greg made a move, only to be met with the same force I was under.

Greede snapped his fingers and two strands of violet light emerged, elongating and wrapping around me and Greg, binding us to our chairs. I struggled but the magic bonds held fast. I saw Greg similarly struggling and the spell held fast even against his Kresnik strength.

I snapped my gaze at Greede who sat back down, running a hand through his hair.

“Bet you didn’t see that one coming, huh?” He grinned at the two of us. “But that handcuff thing…” He imitated my movements, sharply pulling his clasped hands towards his body and grinning like an idiot. “I gotta remember that one. Did you learn that on Youtube?”

He shrugged and signaled one of the guards. The soldier brought over our weapons, setting Djinn and my gun in front of Greede along with Greg’s knives and disassembled spear still in its carrying case. Greede raised his eyebrows at the sheer number of Greg’s blades.

“Damn,” he said, picking one up and looking at the Kresnik. “You must have some serious issues.”

Like a curious child he fiddled with the spear’s case, opening it, and peered inside. “Oh, look at that. You could really poke a sucker with that thing.”

He looked at us, clearly expecting some sort of reaction from us and peered at Djinn without touching it.

“Hell-o.” He leaned in over the short sword, sniffing it. “You’re an interesting piece of work.”

I realized I was holding my breath. Djinn had a long history, being an heirloom from my mother’s side, a powerful tool used in countless acts of magic. Even without the essence of the jinn inside of it, the weapon was a formidable magical tool.

And the thought of Greede touching it made me sick to my stomach.

“Old, powerful,” Greede went on, before looking at me. “Would you mind if I borrowed this for a while?”

I glared at him, but that only made him laugh.

“No, no,” he said. “On second thought I’d rather not.”

He leaned in towards the short sword and whispered, “Can you hear me in there?” He turned his head, pretending to listen to the sword, while at the same time grinning at me. “Nope, nothing. Poor little guy must be shy.”

He moved onto my gun and pulled it out. “How the hell do you aim with this thing?” he said, as he pointed it at me and closed one eye. “Seriously, what are you compensating for?”

He set the gun down and inhaled sharply.

“Here’s what I’m looking at,” he said, suddenly serious. “Both of you have exactly zero chance of taking me on. In fact, if I wanted, you’d both be dead right now. But fact of the matter is, the Necronomicon is out there, scurrying about, causing all sorts of naughtiness. And while I encourage that sort of behavior, I really want that book. So here’s the deal: both of you walk out of here, unharmed.” He smiled at me. “Relatively.”

The purple light binding us to the chairs dissolved and suddenly I could move again.

Greede pushed our weapons towards us. “Go on then. Shoo. Go save the world or whatever it is you hero types do.”

Greg snarled. “Why?” he asked. “What do you get out of this?”

“The Necronomicon, of course. Haven’t you been paying attention? Or is this a language thing?”

“I will never give you the book, Greede.”

“You won’t,” Greede said, “but that doesn’t mean the book won’t end up in my hands anyway.” He chuckled at our bewildered expressions. “Call it destiny, call it fate, call it me bribing some fat cat in a suit. Point is, whatever your course of action, that book will inevitably end up in my hands, regardless of whether you go stop the bad guys or not.”

He spread his arms, inviting us to reclaim our gear.

Slowly, I reached out and grabbed Djinn, keeping an eye on the armed guards. They remained motionless, as did Greede.

“This isn’t over,” I said.

He smiled at me. “Golly, I hope not. This really was a lot of fun.”

And just like that, Greg and I walked out of that penthouse office and exited the Ryleh Corp building.

Chapter 18

After the physical and emotional beat down at the Ryleh building, I desperately needed to refocus, and judging by the way he kept glaring at nothing, I’d say Greg felt pretty much the same way.

I had severely underestimated Alan Greede and paid the price for it. He had done what very few managed: he had got in my head.

It was two in the morning by the time we made it back to my car. I dropped Greg off at a motel and went straight back to my office where I spent most of the night staring at the ceiling, replaying my conversation with Greede in my head over and over again.

We had to get to the Necronomicon first and shut it down. I shuddered to think of the kind of damage someone like Greede would be able to do with a tool that powerful at their disposal, and finally managed to drift off to sleep, but not without the usual deluge of nightmares snapping me awake every couple of hours.

The next morning I woke up determined. Screw worrying and living in fear — I was a hunter, a warrior.

Greg arrived at my doorstep, a grim expression on his face.

“Come on in,” I said.

Abi walked out of the kitchen with a coffee mug, just as Greg entered the office. “You must be Greg,” she said.

The Kresnik smiled at her. “Erik did not mention the fact that he was married to a woman as beautiful as yourself.”

Abi choked on her coffee while I whipped my head around so hard I might have given myself scoliosis. “She’s not-”

“We’re not married,” she said.

“It’s not like that.”

Greg raised his eyebrows.

“She’s my apprentice,” I said.

“Is she now?” A smile tucked at the corner of his lips. “And she lives with you?”

“So what if she does?” I shot back.

“I am not judging you. Many men would do more than offer tutelage and lodging in order to sleep with young, beautiful girls.”

I sighed. It was way too early in the morning for this shit.

“That’s not what’s happening here,” I retorted. “She’s my apprentice. Just my apprentice. She’s also part-succubus, so try and focus.”

“I see,” he said. Immediately I could feel his discomfort, his eyes darkening. “And how often do you consort with demons?”

Both Abi and I were about to say something in response, when the cat walked in.

“Did I hear someone blue ball Erik?”

Greg cocked his head at the animal. “The cat talks,” he stated, more casually than most people who hear animals speak. “It’s cute.”

Amaymon shifted and stood erect in his human form, hands crossed and grin lopsided. “Meow, bitch.”

If Greg was tense before, he was in full-on battle mode now.

“Relax,” I said, seeing his hand reaching for the disassembled spear at his back.

“I could not sense you, demon,” Greg said. “That is impressive.”

Amaymon shrugged. “Thanks, I guess. Maybe you ain’t the hot shit you thought you were.”

“Or perhaps a certain wizard is hiding you in plain sight,” Greg said, looking at me accusingly.

“We’re not doing this,” I said. The Kresnik looked at me quizzically. “We’re not gonna have this showdown. Let me remind you, Greg, that your church lost the Necronomicon, and that my sister has allied with you. I’m here pro bono. My only concern is the ghost boy. Speaking of which, where’s Arnold?”

Amaymon stuck his thumb over his shoulder. “He’s upstairs in your room. Has been there since you sent him back here.”

“Good. Leave him there for now.”

Amaymon nodded but gave me a look that unsettled me.

A thinking look.

Amaymon wasn’t the thinking type. In fact, he was the kind of demon that gave the rest of them a bad name — wanton destruction, pulling pranks which left the victims maimed just for shits and giggles, and tearing apart whole communities just to occupy an afternoon.

If he was trying to send me a subliminal message, I’d better take the hint.

But not right now.

I turned back to Greg.

“Where was I? Oh, right. The you’re-under-my-roof talk. Point is, you came to us for help, so you do not get to judge anything you don’t like.” I pointed at Amaymon. “He’s a demon, but he’s under my control. And if I tell him to go nuts, you can’t say anything otherwise. Same goes for her.” I pointed at Abi. “If she wants to run around going all succubus on people, you can’t say shit.”

“I’m down with that,” Amaymon interjected.

“You’re not helping.”

“When have I ever?”

“And I never went ‘all succubus’ on anyone,” Abi replied. “Not that I don’t appreciate what you’re trying to say.”

I rolled my eyes. “Point is, anyone can do whatever it is they wanna do — except you, Amaymon, don’t get any ideas — and no one is gonna judge them for it.”

Greg raised his hands. “I was merely observing my surroundings,” he said. “You are very high strung in the morning. Maybe a good bowel movement will help with that.”

I sighed. “I’m surrounded by children,” I murmured. Then loud enough for all to hear, “Abi, please go prepare the map downstairs. We’ll be down in a minute.”

She nodded, drained her coffee, and dropped her mug in the sink on her way downstairs to the basement.

“Amaymon.” I turned to look him directly in the eye. “I’ll be right with you.”

The demon uncharacteristically remained silent and simply backed away.

“You must be asking yourself why you are here,” I told Greg.

He shrugged. “You will tell me when you are ready.”

“Drop the zen master act,” I said. “Yesterday, we had our asses handed to us. And we didn’t even lift a finger.”

“Alan Greede is a dangerous man,” Greg said. “He should be thoroughly investigated and stopped.”

“I couldn’t agree more. But he’s not our priority right now — the book is.”

“It seems we are once again in agreement.”

I crossed my arms. “And since we are fresh out of leads, we’re gonna have to make our own. I distinctly remember you saying something about sensing necromantic magic at the cemetery. How does that work?”

Greg pursed his lips.

“It’s an innate ability my kind possesses,” he answered, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “All magical abilities have their own signature, like a color on a painter’s canvas. Necromancy has a distinctive shade to it, a hue that stands out above the rest, especially to Kresniks. It is how we find our prey. Zombies, vampires, ghouls — these are all creatures of Necromancy, in one form or another.” He cocked his head quizzically. “Why does this aspect of my physiology interest you so much?”

“Because,” I said, “that’s how we’re gonna find the Necromancer. He’s the closest out of all of us to getting the book. We find him, chances are we also find the book.”

Greg shook his head. “If I could locate such a small signature by myself I would have done so long ago. Unfortunately, a city of this size is too large for me to lock onto one single being. Not to mention the extraordinary prevalence of magical energy that canvases all of Eureka.”

“You can thank my sister for that,” I said. “But with regards to your radar issue, I got you covered.”

I motioned for him to follow me downstairs.

My basement served as little more than a store room for all the junk I had collected over the years but never used.

A narrow little hole with barely enough space for three people, three walls were aligned with aluminum shelves, which in turn were stacked with tupperware boxes containing god-knows-what, trays full of magical trinkets, a set of potion equipment which was almost entirely for Abi’s tutelage, and — my personal favorite — a few crates of booze.

Greg and I walked in, finding Abi standing beside a small table with a map of Eureka spread open and held down by candles. A bowl lay next to the map, full of dead animal remains, mostly rat and bird — Amaymon’s sole contribution to this whole enterprise.

“As I said, I got you covered,” I said, pointing at the map. “The map is fairly self-explanatory. The table is pure wood, no metal bits in it, so as not to magnetically interfere. The candles are symbolic of ‘lighting the way’, and nearly every tracking spell has some mention of candles in it, so why not have them?”

Greg nodded. “Have you ever tried this yourself?”

I shook my head. “My situation is a bit more… complicated.”

“I see.” He looked at the bowl. “What are the animal remains for?”

“Death residue,” I replied. “The cat killed them this morning and took the time to skin them.”

“How altruistic of him.”

“Not really. He was giggling the entire time and singing Let it go.”

“I’m starting to regret taking him to see that,” Abi said. “He kept making inappropriate remarks. There were kids there.”

“Told you.” I turned to Greg. “Anyway, this is how you can locate the Necromancer.”

He looked at the whole set up and nodded. “Yes. This could work.” He pulled the chair, but did not sit down.

Instead, he looked at the smallest wall, directly opposite the entrance. The wall that had the fullest shelf out of all.

The shelf covering a large sigil with the Chinese character for ‘gate’ inscribed inside it.

“There is magic there,” Greg said. “I can sense it even from back here. Potent magic.”

I grimaced. “It’s nothing,” I said, perhaps a little too quickly.

Greg looked at me and frowned.

“It’s nothing,” I repeated. “This is my house, so expect some surprises. But trust me, nothing will come at you unless you provoke it.”

I gave Abi a look, wordlessly telling her that what I had just said also applied to her. To her credit, the apprentice simply shrugged. She knew by now not to pry too hard.

Greg sat down facing the entrance and pulled out a chain from his person. On one end of the chain was a ring, which he slid into his left middle finger, while the marble-sized metal ball on the other end was left to dangle over the map.

He looked at me. “This will take some time.”

“How much?”

“Perhaps an hour. Less, if the Necromancer is actively using his powers.”

“Good,” I said. “That gives me time for a proper breakfast. You want anything?”

“Just some privacy.”

I started to leave and Abi followed me. “Mind the shop,” I told her.

“No need to leave your apprentice behind, Erik,” Greg called.

“Don’t worry, Greg, she isn’t here as your warden,” I said, before turning to her. “If he does anything suspicious, kick his ass.”

Abi smiled sweetly at Greg, who sighed and concentrated on the map.

When I climbed out of the basement, Amaymon was right where I had left him.

“You’re acting weird,” I began.

“Something’s off about him.” His voice was low and throaty — very unlike the regular Amaymon, who approached life in a way that would have made Deadpool proud.

I shrugged. “He’s an ass, I know, but-”

“That ain’t it,” the demon cut me off. “Something’s off about all ‘o this.”

“Can you describe this feeling?” I asked.

“I can’t,” he replied. “It’s this feelin’ I get. Like when Mephisto used to run one of his ploys back when we were under the Demon Emperor. Like someone’s pulling our strings and we’re just followin’ along.”

I glanced over the entrance of the basement.

“Let’s get out of here,” I said. “There’s a diner down the street. We can talk there, without our guest eavesdropping.”

Amaymon nodded and followed me out the door.

Chapter 19

The diner was in that perfect state of busy but not packed. Patrons flowed around the counter, getting their coffees to go, while a select few — us among them — occupied a booth or table. The ambient noise was a mixture of coffee machine sounds, the gargling of foaming milk, the rumbling of pressing coffee beans through a filter, joined by the clinking of plates and mugs, and silverware clattering together.

Intertwined with all of this was the usual symphony of human sounds: breathing, sighing, talking on cellphones, keyboard sounds from smartphones (Amaymon assured me there was a special place in Hell for the bastard who invented that) and of course, talking.

My familiar and I sat behind the wooden partition, a furniture island stuffed with fake plants, occupying a booth that shielded us from any sounds coming our way: the optimal spot for the type of conversation we were about to have.

Amaymon and I stared at each other for a moment.

“Are you expecting a formal invitation,” I asked, “or maybe you’re trying to lure me into buying you dinner first?”

The demon chuckled. “You are buying. I ain’t got no money. Still can’t understand that bullshit.”

I pretended to be annoyed. “Well, go on then. What’s bothering you?”

“That Greg dude,” he said. “What do you know about him?”

I relayed everything to him, from the moment I met Greg to the meeting with Alan Greede.

“Holy shit,” he said when I got to that last part.

At that same time, a lovely young waitress showed up at our table, looking uncomfortable around the demon.

“What can I get you?” she asked.

“I’ll have a large coffee and the short stack,” I replied.

“Same, with a side of bacon,” Amaymon said and the waitress left. He waited until she was out of earshot. “So essentially, we know fuck-all about the guy currently in our house, alone with Abi.”

“She can take care of herself,” I replied. “Besides, Gil seems to trust him.”

He scoffed. “She’s also the one who trusted the angels, and we all know how well that turned out last time.”

I winced. The archangel Raphael was the reason I ended up trapped in another dimension in the first place. Few things in this world can break you like watching an angel fall from grace and going on a rampage. There was a small shrine in a park somewhere in downtown Chicago, in memory of all the people Raphael killed when he went rogue.

I spent a whole night reading about it, obsessively stalking the story on the internet, before the alcohol took effect.

“Yeah,” was all I could say.

The conversation between Gil and Greg crept up in my head for some reason, replaying itself over and over. Only this time, it was like someone was highlighting the facial expressions, like when you watch a movie so many times you start noticing stuff in the background.

Gil’s facial expressions, her usual air of command, coupled with a reservation I rarely saw.

Greg’s assuredness around her. Mephisto was as much a demon as Amaymon — hell, they were brothers, for fuck’s sake — and the Kresnik failed to display the jitteriness he did around my familiar.

The whole thing did not add up.

“What’cha thinkin’?” Amaymon asked.

“Greg,” I replied. “He acted nervous around you.”

“Understandable.”

“But he was fine with Mephisto, when we went to see Gil.”

Amaymon cocked his head. “What are you implying?”

I looked the demon dead in the eyes. “That maybe he knew about Mephisto, but not about you. Almost as if someone was feeding him information.”

“But they only stopped at your sister,” Amaymon surmised, “because they don’t know anything about you. Or maybe someone — let’s say, your sister — fed them just enough information to keep ‘em happy, without revealing the whole deck.” He frowned. “Question is, who is your sister affiliated with that she’d want to keep you a secret from?”

The answer came like a flash of lightning.

Amaymon and I stared at each other, both of us thinking the exact same thing, the exact same name, and neither one of us daring to say it out loud.

The waitress chose that time to come with our food, and placed it hurriedly on the table.

“Thanks,” I said, not taking my eyes off my familiar. She scuttled away without a word.

“You thinkin’ what I’m thinkin’?” Amaymon asked.

“That we scared off that poor woman?”

“That too.”

I looked at my plate of pancakes with a slight distaste in my mouth. “You think it’s them?” I asked. “For real?”

Amaymon shrugged. “Only one way to find out. But it’s the only logical conclusion.”

“Arnold too?”

“Yep,” he said. “He’s a MacGuffin.”

“Poor kid.”

Amaymon chuckled and grabbed the maple syrup from the table, slathering his pancakes in the sticky goo. “He ain’t the issue. The real deal is the guy alone with Abi right now. This is a turncoat situation — question is, a turncoat for which side?”

I picked up my coffee and took a sip, happy to get my first dose of caffeine for the day.

“Could be our side,” I suggested.

“Mighty optimistic of you, given our current track record.”

“A guy can hope.”

“That guy better also pack some heat, ‘cause hope ain’t gon’ cut it.” He shoved a pancake into his mouth.

“But why?” I asked, lightly poking at my food with my fork. “Why here? Why now?”

“That’s easy,” he replied. “In two years you turned this whole town upside down. You took down two of the Seven Deadly Sins. That sort of power gap tends to get filled up pretty quickly.”

“With fuckers like Alan Greede.”

“Exactly. And fuckers like Alan Greede bring along with them all sorts of baggage. In this case, quite literally, in the form of the Necronomicon.”

I cut a slice of pancake and put it in my mouth. “The goat guy at the Precinct,” I said between mouthfuls. “He was there to steer me in the right direction.”

“Yup.” Amaymon had already wolfed down half of the contents on his plate and washed it down with big gulps of coffee. “Goat Boy was another MacGuffin.”

“I’m starting to hate that word.” I sighed and put down my fork. “Okay, so we got motive, or as close to motive as we’re gonna get with just a whole load of guessing. This is the part where we come up with a plan.”

Amaymon grinned, exposing his serrated, shark-like teeth. That smile made me feel better: Amaymon was back to his usual self.

“Oh, I got a plan,” he said. “And if things are gonna play out the way I think they are, then I got the motherlode of all plans.”

I cocked my head and felt myself emulating his smile. “Do tell.”

We spent the next thirty minutes talking. Amaymon shared his speculations and did an excellent job of connecting the dots. I found myself nodding, surprised at how everything he said made sense.

This was the same guy who, when I first got him as a cat, broke the doorbell out of spite.

Although, now that I thought about it, his plan was very much along that same mentality.

“There it is,” he said, with a self-satisfied smile. “The grand plan to fuck the fucker.”

I grinned. “Is that an official title?”

“It could be.”

“We gotta let Abi in on this.”

“Already on it,” he said, lifting up a phone.

My phone.

The phone I had in my pants pocket.

“I thought I told you to stop doing that,” I said.

“I’m a demon, Erik,” he said pointedly. He finished texting and handed the device back to me. “There. She’s all caught up.”

“Hey, that was quick. Wait, you Facebook messaged her our plan?”

The demon smiled slyly.

“A text message would have been way too obvious,” he said. “And besides, do you think Greg would have access to Facebook? The problem with guys like him is they think magic can solve everything. They overlook the little stuff, and that’s where we get them, every single time.”

I pocketed my phone and signaled for the check. “You know, you’re beginning to scare me. And not in a violent kind of way. You’re kinda acting like your brother.”

He sighed and made a face. “I know. How d’you think that makes me feel? That asshole is so lame.”

Chapter 20

When we got back to the office Greg was still downstairs, muttering to himself.

“How’s it going so far?” I asked.

He looked up from the map. One of the candles had been more consumed than the rest, meaning he had actually zeroed in on a direction, and was now working on an exact location.

“I found three possibilities,” he said, glancing at the circled locations on the map. He tapped the first. “This one is another cemetery.”

I shook my head. “Unlikely,” I said. “He’s planning something big and he’s got way bigger zombies with him than whatever he could find in a cemetery. Besides, to a guy like him, going back to that sort of place would feel like being stuck. He’d wanna move on.”

“Agreed,” Greg said. “So perhaps this one. A museum. There are several antiques here that could be emitting such a signal, especially if the people handling them have no idea what they really are.”

I grimaced. “I don’t know about this one. We could be following loose ends here.”

“Loose ends are all we have, Erik.”

I pursed my lips. “What’s the other one?”

Greg sighed. “You’re not going to like this. It’s another museum.”

I groaned.

“And this one is right across the street from a school,” he continued. “A community college.”

“That’s new,” I said. “Okay, we gotta narrow this down. Abi!”

The apprentice poked her head at the entrance of the basement. “You called?”

“Yeah,” I said. “I need you to run a search.” I rummaged for an ancient notepad and grabbed a pencil stub from one of the containers around me.

“Here are the addresses,” I said, jotting down the last two locations Greg had given me.

I tore the sheet of paper and handed it to her.

“And what exactly do you want me to do with this?” she asked.

“Is there a way to find out their manifest?” I asked.

She raised an eyebrow. “You really don’t get computers, do you?” She sighed. “I can’t just hack into this, I don’t know how.” She stopped to think and smiled. “But I can do the next best thing.”

She ran to the office, where a computer was on my desk — no idea why, I rarely used it other than to waste time on Youtube — and sat on my chair. Seconds later she was looking at both museums’ websites, scrolling through the exhibits.

“You just wanted to see what’s new on display, right?” she asked.

I nodded.

“Well, this is a way to do it without bringing the Feds to our door.”

“The Feds?” Amaymon was curled up in cat form on one of the two couches. “Speaking of which, how’s Jacinda?”

“Shut up,” I snapped.

Agent Jacinda Mathews was an FBI agent who visited my office a few months ago on account of someone using my office computer to order escorts, six at a time. Turns out they suspect that kind of stuff, especially when on a crackdown against human trafficking.

Long story short, I was out on a trip, came back only to be interrogated, and the Feds chalked it up to someone hacking into my computer as part of a larger network. No harm, no foul.

Until Amaymon seduced the agent, got me fined, and somehow still ended up sleeping with the cop.

The cat chuckled from the couch and wisely dropped the subject.

“Anyway,” Abi said. “Here is a list of what they’re showing.”

She clicked on the first website, the first museum, and I spent the following five minutes staring at pictures of stones, arrowheads, rusted flintlocks, and several other bits of historical junk.

“Nope,” I muttered.

“That’s all they got,” Abi said. “Let’s switch over to the other one.”

The second website slowly started looking like the first one. I sighed and closed my eyes for a second, before opening them again and having a slight heart attack.

“Wait! Stop.”

Abi looked at me.

“Go back,” I said, pointing at the screen. “More, more. That one!”

Abi frowned at a picture of two men in hard hats unloading a crate. “What about this one? You recognize one of the guys there?”

“Nope, not someone,” I said, fishing out my phone, “but something.”

I showed her the picture I snapped inside Greede’s warehouse, of the circular, ten winged symbol — the sigil on the crate that had once housed the Necronomicon.

Greg frowned at both pictures and nodded. “That is an exact match.”

“Which museum is that?” I asked.

Abi check the address. “The one next to the college.”

I sighed. Of course it was.

“There’s more,” she said.

I tried not to sigh again. “What now?”

“The community college is hosting a rally of sorts,” she said.

“You’re kidding me.”

She shook her head, red hair billowing around her head. “Wish I was. Apparently they won a game or something, so there’s going to be an all-night blow out.”

I looked at Greg. “That’s our guy. He’s a showman. Plenty of people to awe, plenty of meat shields if something goes sideways.” I looked at the picture on my phone and decided to play a little game with Greg.

It’s called Fishing-for-Answers.

“This is convenient,” I muttered, looking at the picture. “They could have at least switched the crates. Throw us off.”

“Are you suggesting that this is a ploy by Alan Greede?” Greg asked.

I shrugged. “Who else? That’s his crate, right?”

Greg poured his icy blue eyes at me, cold and calculating.

Finally, “I wouldn’t be so sure. Yesterday, he seemed to imply that he too was searching for the Necronomicon. So why transfer it to a museum? What purpose does that serve?”

“Well, if it ain’t Greede, and it ain’t the Necromancer,” I said, counting down on two fingers, “that leaves Gil, and I know for sure my sister wouldn’t let something that dangerous out in public.”

“I agree,” Greg said. “Tales of her prowess have reached as far as my country. I have confirmed with my own eyes that she is not irresponsible.” He scratched his beard. “Which leaves Greede, the morally questionable one.”

“Nothing questionable about that,” I said. “Guy’s insane.”

“Yes,” he said. “But something makes him even more perilous: his ambiguity. Despite our encounter with him yesterday, we still know nothing with regards to his motives.”

“So you’re saying he’s pulling a Machiavelli on us,” I said.

“I do not know what that means.”

“He’s pulling a Rasputin,” Amaymon loudly interjected.

Greg pursed his lips, even more confounded.

“Whatever,” I said. “Point is, we gotta stop this,” I tapped the screen, “before either the crazy guy with the zombies gets the book, or the magical sociopath.”

I heard it too, and sadly that sentence made perfect sense in my life.

I turned to Abi. “Meanwhile,” I said, “I need you to investigate Arnold’s case. I sent you a couple of leads on your phone.”

She never batted an eyelash. “Yeah, I got that,” she said, her voice giving away nothing. “I’ll get on it as soon as you guys leave.”

“Good,” I said. “Take the kid with you. Some fresh air might do him good. Amaymon, mind the shop.”

The cat pressed a paw on the TV remote. “What is it you think I’m doing?”

“Wasting your life away.”

“I’m a cat, Erik.”

Touché. Score one for the household feline.

“Okay, then,” I said, picking up my weaponry. I looked at Greg. “You ready?”

“To put an end to this? Most definitely.”

When we got the museum, chaos had already erupted.

Not the evil, Necromantic kind.

No, this was worse — much worse.

Two streakers ran past, their genitals flapping in the wind and paper bags over their heads, as a crowd of people wearing college t-shirts cheered them on as they blazed by. The ground was a mess of beer, paint — which everyone had on their faces — and various other bodily fluids that I tried very hard not to think about.

Stickers depicting an animated moth were found at intervals, and the banner with the same mascot indicated that the moth was either the symbol chosen by whichever sports team had yielded them this particular victory, or perhaps a Chthonian deity that had suddenly invaded their minds.

Not sure I was able to tell the difference.

Greg and I had to park a few blocks down and walk through the rally, since the massive influx of inebriated people made it very difficult to operate a car through.

From across the campus I could see the dimmed lights of the museum, with workers still loading crates for exhibits. There was a full block separating the party from the workers, and from that darkness, emerging like the villain of cheap horror flick, the Necromancer came out.

And sadly, like most villains, he did not come alone.

Swaying in the darkness, dozens of zombies emerged, gaunt and decayed, materializing from within the shadows. They did not groan — reanimated dead people had nothing to say, really — and walked slowly, deliberately.

Markings all over the Necromancer’s body glowed deep crimson. He was shirtless, wearing only his sleeveless tunic, a thin leather coat that came down to his ankles. Leather pants adorned his skinny legs, with silver charms and skulls clinking with every step he took.

Behind him, the largest bodyguard in existence. The Draugr, the one on which the Necromancer had escaped on from the cemetery, hoisted its axe and shield, grunting with every breath. The faint green glow of its body created a mesmerizing effect in contrast with the crimson coming from its master.

The zombies made their way towards the museum, only to be intercepted by a parade of students.

“Hey, what the hell, man?”

The guy who uttered that barely got a chance to process what happened to him.

The zombies turned to him all at once, pouncing with primal need, tearing at his flesh.

It’s a rather dumb misconception on the part of Hollywood to assume that zombies eat brains. Zombies don’t care what part of the human body they eat.

So long as it’s alive.

Chaos erupted as the Necromancer lost control of the zombies’ natural hunger for mortal flesh. His army pounced on the student rally and he just stood there, wondering where it all went wrong.

And that’s when he saw me and Greg standing on the other side of campus.

Chapter 21

“Get the zombies, get the zombies!” I yelled.

Greg swung his spear, sending a zombie spinning out of his way. “And what is it you think I’m doing?”

I blasted another zombie with Djinn. Two of them assaulted a single guy, ripping at him and leaving deep bite marks where they wrenched out flesh. I stabbed one of the zombies in the head, kicking the other so hard its neck broke.

The kid was long gone.

Greg and I made our way through the confusion of biting, wailing, scratching and flailing, destroying any undead monster coming our way.

All the while I kept my eyes on the prize.

The Necromancer and the Draugr strode hurriedly towards the museum, where men were unloading crates, now stunned at the scene of horror.

“Stop!” yelled one of them, a security guard. He reached for his pistol but the weapon got stuck in its holster.

The Draugr swung at him, hitting him with the axe. The guard went down, his head split open. Gun fire came from a second security guard. The bullets phased through the undead Viking. It grunted and swung again, and the second guard went limp.

Meanwhile the Necromancer waved his hands intricately. Blackness shot out from between them, hitting the workers like light rays but ink-black instead. The men screamed as their flesh boiled and melted like tallow.

Once they lay in heaps on the ground, the Necromancer gave a command. The blobs reached up, tore open their melted skin, revealing white skeletons beneath. Three skeletons rose, their eyes glowing a dark purple reminiscent of ultraviolet.

The Necromancer pointed in my direction and the skeletons formed a perimeter around the entrance of the museum while the Necromancer and his Draugr entered.

I struck a horde of four zombies lunging at me and was met with more. At this rate the Necromancer would not only reach the Necronomicon and take control of it, but would probably have time for a bathroom break and order some pizza.

Time to bring out the heavy guns.

“Greg,” I called out behind me. “Do you have something that can clear a path?”

“Yes,” he replied. His spear was a blur in his hands, the cruciform tip flashing white as it tore through the undead.

“I’ll buy you some time,” I said.

My gun was in my hands a second later and I fired towards a zombie groping at me from the ground. The buckshot tore its head open but that wasn’t what I focused my magic on.

The initial spark coming from the gun became larger and larger, growing into a tongue of flame. I repeated the flamethrower spell I’d used at the cemetery, burning a semi-circle in front of me that rose into a low wall of fire. Zombies still came through, but their limbs were burnt off, slowing them down.

Slow enough for Greg to finish collecting his power.

“Stand back,” he said, plunging the blunt end of his spear into the ground so hard it shattered concrete.

Painful bright light shone from the cruciform blade of the spear and shot forwards like a massive laser beam. Any zombies caught in its path were disintegrated, leaving a straight road of charred corpses and blackened ground.

Greg leaned on his spear, panting heavily. “Go,” he said. “I’ll be fine.”

His electric blue eyes glowed even more as he tapped into his power — power he must have been holding at bay this entire time.

He pulled out his spear. I nodded, silently thanking him and ran through the path he had just created.

The nearest skeleton lunged at me and I blasted its head off.

“One down.”

The second one flailed its bony arm, only to be sheared off by Djinn. I kicked the third skeleton in the ribs, loosening one of them, before it could make a move.

Suddenly, bony arms tightened around me, pinning my arms to my sides. The beheaded skeleton planted its feet firmly on the ground, stopping my writhing. The one-handed skeleton slapped me in the head with its remaining hand, and I felt the world spin. It wrapped its strong fingers around my throat, squeezing the life out of me. In my hazy, rapidly-blurring vision, I saw the third skeleton pull out its loosened rib, holding it like a knife. As it came closer I saw it eyeing my torso.

I struggled but my head was spinning. I couldn’t focus on one thing and each breath became labored. Something hot and cold at the same time pierced my side. The third skeleton was now face to face with me, pulling out his melee weapon for a second stab. Darkness enveloped me as the mixture of being choked and stabbed sent me to the ground, clinging to life by a thread.

A thread that was soon cut as the stabby skeleton knelt next to me, piercing my torso, chest and stomach over and over again.

Darkness claimed me, and then became alive.

The stabbing skeleton froze. Its bones began rattling before exploding into a million fragments as shadows burst from inside of it.

“About time,” I croaked.

My hidden power cloaked my body and wrapped around the one-armed skeleton, squeezing it into fine powder.

“One to go,” I said, shakily standing up.

The beheaded skeleton looked at me and managed to shrug even without a head. My shadows wrapped around its spine, levitating it a few inches above the ground. With a twist, I pulled out its spine and batted the rest of its bones away, before dropping the bone.

Inside the museum, the Necromancer was engaged in a fight of his own.

The Necronomicon book hovered in the air, light and darkness swirling around it. Just looking at it made me feel nauseous. The foulness of its magic was unlike nothing I had ever experienced before.

The Necromancer was fighting it, swirling in his own light and darkness, pushing back. Sweat trickled around his body and he stumbled — the toll of using too much magic at one go.

The spirit inside the book was winning, slowly driving the man to his knees.

I focused magic around my eyes, looking beyond the physical plane. Around the Necronomicon, with the book sitting in the middle of it, was the Lich, a foul creature of the underworld.

It resembled a decayed corpse, opaque and unearthly, with bone and sinew dangling out and flesh barely holding it together. Death coated it like an all-enveloping dark cloud, and when it spoke, the Lich emitted screeches and noises that sounded like someone being strangled and gasping for their last desperate breath. Its eyes, red, crimson and purple all at once, looked down upon the Necromancer with absolute knowledge that nothing could withstand its vast power.

Tendrils from its body expanded, converging around the sarcophagi littering the museum exhibit. Like something out of Scooby Doo, the coffins creaked open, until whatever was inside of them burst forth, and walked once more among the living.

Six mummies emerged, all in various states of decomposition and preservation, filling the air with the stench of death and antiquity. Their bandages were yellowed and black, stained and thick, until some started coming loose, revealing the putrid flesh beneath before it turned to dust. The mummies, however, never lost their limbs or any mobility, lithely walking until they surrounded the Necronomicon.

The Lich gave a single command and the mummies pounced on the Necromancer. The Draugr stepped in front of its master, swinging its axe and catching one of the mummies in the face. The mummy stumbled backwards, before swatting at the Draugr, hitting him with twice the strength, and the six of them proceeded to brutally rip the undead Viking apart, piece by piece.

The Lich declaimed something, its power once again converging around the Necromancer. I did not understand a single syllable but the intent was clear: the Necromancer was dead meat.

A blast from Djinn deflected whatever the Lich was about to do and now everyone’s focus was on me.

“Does this remind anyone else of a cartoon?”

I rushed at the nearest mummy and swung with all my might. The mummy met my strike, blocking it. I ducked, lashed at its legs and managed to make it stumble, just long enough for me to get past it. Two of the mummies kicked, one high, one low, and made contact. My shadows converged against their limbs, barely able to contain the damage and I was sent stumbling forwards, crashing into the Necromancer.

I grabbed him by his obnoxious ponytail, rolled onto a tiny bun above his head, and pulled. The hair came undone and the Necromancer moved along — avoiding a death ray from the Lich in the process.

I slammed him against a carbon-fiber column with fake hieroglyphics. “Stay here,” I ordered.

“Thank you,” he squeaked.

“I’m not doing this for you,” I said. “You’re the only one who can stop this guy, so think of something before the whole damn city becomes an extra from The Mummy.”

The six mummies emitted a screech like a cat’s and I swung at the nearest two. The energy blast from Djinn cut deep, through bandage and whatever the heck lay beneath, but that didn’t stop the mummies from swinging. I ducked and a bandaged fist tunneled through the fake column. The mummy was stuck there, flailing its other arm to try and loosen itself.

The other five reached me. Shadows and azure energy kept them at bay, but the damn things were unstoppable.

Two ebony daggers sailed through the air, each burying deep inside a mummy’s head. Runes glowed on the daggers and the mummies fell with a shriek, turning into dust.

Greg blazed through the entrance of the museum exhibit, his spear shredding at one of the remaining mummies.

“Thanks for the save,” I said.

Greg acknowledged my reply by killing the stuck mummy and evening the odds in our favor.

One of the remaining mummies grabbed his spear and they struggled for control.

Another mummy latched onto my coat, prompting my shadows to pierce it multiple times. With each thrust, dust and sand billowed but the mummy remained stuck until I charged Djinn with magic, combined my shadows into the weapon and cut through the mummy’s arm.

The last mummy — the one previously stuck to the column — had loosened itself and was on top of the Necromancer, who was busy kicking at it as it attempted to choke the life out of him.

Greg may have evened the odds but these creatures were too much for us, even one-on-one.

Not unless I could stop them at the source.

I plunged Djinn into the mummy’s stomach, holding it barely beyond reach. I felt its strong calloused fingers scrape against my face, leaving scratches, but I ignored the pain.

Instead, I outstretched my left hand and shadows shot forwards, taking the shape of a giant fist. My spell went straight into the Necronomicon, sending the book skittering on the ground.

The Lich screamed, loud enough to shatter glass and the fake walls around us. I felt something wet and viscous trickle down my ears, and fell on the ground. I saw the Necromancer in the fetal position, blood pouring from his ears.

The Lich spat curses and roars in languages long lost to our civilization. The surviving mummies staggered backwards as if pulled by an invisible string. Their bandages became unravelled and dust covered the ground before clumping together again.

Thousands of scarabs — thick, fat dung beetles — glistened black as they moved like a sea towards the Necronomicon, swirling together in a disgusting cloud of pincers, legs and gossamer wings.

The Lich’s tone changed, turning almost into a gloat, and a few seconds later I found out why.

The sea of beetles meshed into a solid form, growing claws, teeth, four legs and a giant head. Standing at nearly ten feet tall, the Sphinx roared and zeroed in on us, before coiling on its powerful legs and lunging at us.

Chapter 22

I’ve seen a crap-load of monsters during my tenure as a monster hunter. When it’s your job to prowl the streets of a city notorious for its monster population, you tend to encounter all sorts of weird crap.

But I can honestly say that I’ve never encountered a real-life Sphinx.

Look at me, having new experiences.

“Aw, fuck me sideways.”

The Sphinx landed two inches from my face, its paws crushing the floor beneath it. Greg twirled his spear and stabbed it in the Sphinx’s hind legs, tearing open a gash. The monster turned on itself, swiping a paw at Greg. The Kresnik was sent flying, three deep gashes in his back.

Djinn flashed azure and I slashed, only reaching up to the Sphinx’s elbow. The monster stumbled. It swung its giant humanoid head, snapping unhinged jaws with teeth the size of my face. I barely managed to avoid being cleaved in two, letting out a breath of relief. Two seconds later I felt something pull me back. My coat was snagged in the Sphinx’s teeth and as it swung its head, I was thrown around the museum hall like a rag doll.

Greg stood up and threw a vial towards the Sphinx’s eyes. The monster roared and reared, with me still stuck to it, thrown from side to side.

“Sorry,” Greg yelled.

“Screw you,” I replied, holding on for dear life.

Greg pulled out five daggers, holding them close, while wrapping his other arm around his spear, holding it steady. He ducked under a swipe, and planted a dagger on the ground. Slashing with his spear, he leapt to another position and planted more daggers, forming a pentacle. He backed off and channeled his magic.

Light shot like a thin white laser from one dagger to the other, forming a barrier around the Sphinx. The monster tried moving past the barrier and light flooded the ground, pushing it back.

Roaring, it bent low, like a cat ready to leap, its lion-like body shifting. I took advantage of this position and grabbed onto the Sphinx’s tooth that I was hanging from. Shadows spiraled around it like a lasso. More shadows wrapped around a fake column, and I hoisted myself up and around…

On top of the Sphinx.

I buried Djinn into the monster’s neck, shadows wrapping about the Sphinx’s upper jaw. I felt the monster snap and bite at the black tendrils to no avail.

Beneath my new seat I felt muscle coil and made the mistake of looking back.

Two gashes on its back tore open, revealing a mass of insects beneath. A pair of jet black wings burst out, long, thin and twice the size of the Sphinx itself. One flap was all it took to send those daggers flying, throwing Greg himself into a vacant sarcophagus. The Sphinx took to the air, with me screaming as I held onto for dear life.

From my vantage point I could see a black-clad figure dash towards the Necronomicon and the Lich hovering around it.

The Necromancer sent out a ray of darkness at the book, only for it to be completely absorbed by the Lich. It did however stumble just an inch, and that was all the Necromancer needed to fire off another spell.

The Lich yelled something in its unique language of — I assume — ancient Egyptian, mixed with a lot of growls and screeches.

The Necromancer’s tattoos glowed crimson once more as his magic wrapped around the Lich, and the impossible happened: the Lich began backing down.

“You’re mine,” the Necromancer snarled.

The Lich replied with something, and it seemed like the Necromancer could understand the undead spirit because he retaliated with:

“Shut up! Just shut up and give me your power, you stupid ghost.”

Meanwhile both me and the Sphinx were airborne, with the ceiling of the museum inching closer and closer to my head. The Sphinx kept spinning around, trying to reach behind it with its bizarre human head and unhinged jaw full of dagger-like teeth, trying to reach the pesky human straddling it.

I buried Djinn deeper into the Sphinx and twisted. The monster spun in the air before its wings went rigid and took a nose dive…

Straight towards the Necromancer and the Lich.

We landed on top of the Necromancer, squashing him beneath the Sphinx’s giant body. He gasped and comically tried to scramble away. The force of the impact shook me loose and I was sent flying into the hovering Necronomicon.

“No!” Greg and the Necromancer screamed in unison. But it was too late. My hand brushed against the book, and the death curse came into effect.

The effect was instant.

A wave of necromantic energy burrowed deep inside me, expanding, infiltrating every vein and blood vessel. Death came fast and slow at the same time, taking over one cell at a time.

I saw the Lich hovering over me, my finger still brushing against the corner of the Necronomicon. The spirit loomed over, bits of flesh brushing against my face, and it opened its mouth to speak.

“You are mine, human.”

It spoke in plain English, still rasping and snarling. The Lich bore its eyes into mine, watching me as its death magic worked its way to my heart.

“Die, human. Die and join my army.”

Fuck off, I screamed on the inside.

The Lich seemed to understand me — it grinned in response. “Do you really think you have what it takes to fight me off?”

It was my turn to grin. Yeah, I do, I thought.

Dark Erik rose from his slumber, shadows fighting off the death curse with frightening ease. The Lich was thrown back, leaving the Necronomicon behind.

I stood up, clad in tangible darkness. I watched as the Sphinx melted into a puddle of goop, relieving the Necromancer from its pressure. I saw his eyes on me, scared. Greg too, had the same expression on his face he had when I first used this power at the cemetery.

Nonchalantly, I picked up the Necronomicon.

“So this is what the fuss is all about?” My voice was deeper and more guttural, emitting power with every syllable. I fought back to hold the full brunt of this power at bay — I knew where it led, the beast-like rage and destruction.

So I held back, using only a fraction of what I had in store.

“No.” The Lich struggled to stand up. I felt it tug at the Necronomicon, claiming back its dominion over it.

“Like hell,” I snarled.

The Lich backed away. Instead, I felt it search for something else, something close by — something as important to it as the book.

“You can understand it?” It was the Necromancer who spoke. He stood up on shaky legs, greedily eyeing the Necronomicon in my hands. “How come you’re not dead?”

“I’m complicated,” I replied.

“Erik,” Greg said. “We must seal that book while its host is stunned.”

I collected shadows in my hand, forming a dagger. “I got your seal right here.”

“NO!”

Greg and the Necromancer blasted me, darkness and light working in tandem. The book was torn from my hands and I was sent backwards.

The Necromancer was closer to the book and he lunged for it.

“Mine!” He clutched it with both hands, looking at us with wide eyes. “It’s finally mine. You stupid fuckers! You practically handed this to me.”

His giggling was interrupted when the Lich wrapped its hands around his throat.

“No one touches the sacred text, you barbarian. Pay for your sins with your life.”

Magic left the Necromancer, filling the Lich with life as he became more solid, grabbing the book with his decayed skeletal hands.

“Where is it, humans?” he screamed. “Where is my body?”

Greg swooped in front of him, spear flashing. The light spell worked, sending the Lich screaming.

Two giant fists of shadows shot from my body into both Greg and the Lich, sending both of them flying.

I stood up, pissed off, and pointed at Greg.

“I’ll deal with you later,” I said, before turning to the Lich. “Okay, asshole. You get two seconds before I get really mad. What’s this shit about your body?”

The Lich snarled. “He said my body was here. He said I could have life again, walk among the living.” The Lich’s eyes flashed. “It’s here, I can feel it.”

“Let me guess,” I said. “This guy you’re talking about, he wouldn’t happen to be called Alan Greede, would he?”

“There’s no need for you to know,” the Lich replied. “You’ll be dead soon.”

A blast of necromantic power, larger than the ones before it, shot towards me.

I held Djinn in front of me, azure light and shadows swirling around me. Our powers met each other, pushing and straining. Deep grooves appeared in the walls, shattering the carbon fiber columns.

“Just in case you really are that dense,” I said, straining against the power, “you can’t beat me.”

I dug deeper into my power, calling more and more, all the while feeling less like myself.

I saw my power slowly overtake the Lich’s, and the scream that followed was one of the most horrifying things I’d ever heard.

“No, no, NO! Not like this.”

The Lich’s power extended, catching the Necromancer as he tried to scramble away.

“Give me more, mongrel. I require more.”

The Necromancer struggled, before his eyes rolled into the back of his head and he fell limp. The Lich snarled and roared, his power growing, pushing against mine.

Suddenly, all that pressure was gone. I stumbled forwards, my eyes looking around for signs of foul play. The Lich had completely disappeared.

“Where did it go?”

There was nothing around me, save the signs of battle, an unconscious Necromancer and Greg, who was leaning against his spear, using it as a crutch to stand up.

“It’s not over yet, Erik,” he said.

Hearing his voice riled me up. “You bet your Russian ass, it’s not over yet,” I said, stomping my foot. “The fuck is wrong with you? Partners don’t attack each other.”

“That’s not what I meant,” he replied.

Magic, foul and ancient, exploded from beneath us and the ground erupted. A mummy, complete with a golden death mask and carrying a highly adorned staff, rose out.

The Necronomicon hovered in front of it, open. The text on the pages glowed, emanating power and death.

“Yes.” The mummy’s bandaged hand grasped the book and looked straight at me. Beyond the golden visage of the death mask, I saw the dark purple glow of the Lich’s eyes. “I live once more!”

At his declaration, a dozen portals opened all around him, some on the ground, others in midair. Creatures, mismatched and unidentifiable, reached from beyond, clawing their way through our world.

But they never made it.

The Lich’s powers wavered, shutting the portals down.

“How?” he asked. Then, as if he had figured out the answer, he shut the Necronomicon and sighed. “It seems I still require more time to fully reawaken. No matter. I have what I wanted.” He looked me in the eye. “Next time we meet, it shall be at the end of your world, and the beginning of mine.”

A single portal opened and swallowed the Lich, leaving us alone in the half-destroyed museum.

Chapter 23

I stared at the spot where the mummified Lich had disappeared with disbelief.

It had been right there: the book, the opportunity to end it all. I had had it in the palm of my hand — literally — and it should have been over.

The voices in my head, backlash from using my powers, told me to rage and rampage, but I had to remain in control. I willed them back, dissipating much of the darkness around me.

Greg stirred behind me. “We should be-”

I whirled and swung my leg. In one motion he went down and I had my gun pointed at his nose. I wanted nothing more than to pull the trigger, to pay him back for his betrayal. If it weren’t for him, this would have been over, and the whole city wouldn’t be in danger from an immortal Egyptian spirit.

“Why?” I growled. “Give me a reason why I shouldn’t blast your head off?”

“You misunderstand.”

“You sucker-punched me from behind while I was in the process of destroying an evil artifact,” I retorted. “Not much to misunderstand about that.”

Greg narrowed his icy blue eyes. “You were going to destroy the Necronomicon. I could not allow that.”

“‘Cause you want it, right?” The gun started quivering in my hands. “The thing that can kill people just by touch. It brought a fucking Lich back to life. And you wanna keep that thing around?”

“It is not that simple!” Greg was now on his feet, my gun pressed against his chin. “If we destroy the Necronomicon, there is no telling what will be unleashed. It’s a prison, Erik, and we have no idea what’s inside of it.”

The doors burst open and men with guns rushed in.

“Stand down, stand down!”

I turned my weapon onto them. “I don’t have time for this shit.”

Greg raised his hands. “Do not fight back,” he said.

“Oh, now you’re a pacifist.”

“A firefight might kill him,” Greg said, nodding at the unconscious Necromancer behind us. “He’s our only chance to stop the Lich.”

I grimaced at the unconscious man, then at the armed men, pointing their weapons into my face. Finally, I surrendered. My gun was torn from my grip and someone pulled my hands behind me, binding them with zip locks. A black hood covered my face and I was dragged out.

The drive was short. We stopped abruptly and were dragged out of the van, before being forced to sit down. Minutes passed in silence, with the only sound being the scraping of my feet on the ground and Greg fidgeting next to me.

The door swung open loudly, and footsteps echoed, stopping in front of me. The hood was yanked from my face, and I saw my sister pursing her lips in disgust, while Mephisto yanked the hood from Greg’s face.

“That was you?” I half-yelled.

Gil was not amused. “Don’t you take that tone with me, brother,” she snapped. “You’re lucky we got to you first, before the police did.”

“Yeah, but did you really need to go all Gestapo on us?”

“The hood was to protect your identity,” she said. “And you deserved all you got. Letting that Lich get away like that.”

“He did that,” I reported, cocking my head towards Greg. “I had the book in my hands and he stopped me.”

Gil raised her eyebrows. “You held the Necronomicon?” She shook her head. “Of course. Your healing powers must have instantly countered the Necromantic curse.”

Mephisto snapped his fingers and I felt a sharp burst of air slice through my bonds.

“Come on,” Gil said. “I want to know everything.”

She led us to a more comfortable conference room, and sat us down around a table.

“Where are we, Gil?” I asked.

“In one of my safe houses,” she replied. “I have a few dozen of them scattered around the city for such emergencies. Now, tell me about the Lich.”

I shrugged. “What’s there to tell? That book was haunted or something. That ghost came out, kicked the Necromancer’s ass — where is he, by the way?”

“He’s confined in a room,” Gil said. “We’ve administered basic first aid on him.”

I nodded. “Good. Guy had his ass handed to him by the Lich. It even absorbed some of his life force.”

Gil turned to Greg. “Can Lichs do that?”

He shrugged. “Lichs are very rare. Not a natural occurrence. The original owner of the Necronomicon must have been extraordinarily powerful to control such an artifact — even more so to still reside within it after all these years.”

“And it’s now walking among us again,” I said. “The damn thing is inside a mummy or something. A mummy that Greede brought in.”

Gil slammed her fist on the table. That, more than anything, freaked me out. My sister is the very definition of ice queen. She did not lose her cool, ever.

“I should have stopped that shipment,” she said. “I should have done something sooner.” Her eyes met Greg. “Do you know what it wants?”

“The Lich was the Necronomicon’s first owner,” Greg explained, “but that relationship is not so easily defined. The book itself has a will of its own, an impression from all the horrors contained within it. I believe the Lich is merely doing the book’s will.”

“It’s going to release all of its contents,” I said, putting it together. “The Lich is just a puppet, a meat suit to cast the spell.” I smiled at Greg. “So that’s what Greede meant when he told us that our actions won’t matter. We found our third party, and it’s not the Necromancer. It’s the damn book itself.”

Gil peered closer. “You spoke to Alan Greede?” she asked. “After I specifically asked you not to?”

Oh.

Crap.

Gil caught the guilty look on my face and snarled. “Dammit, Erik.”

“I had to, Gil.”

“No. No, you didn’t have to,” she said. “You could have heeded my warning and stayed away. You could have let me deal with him.”

“He’s dangerous,” I said. “He’s got powers, lots of ‘em.”

“And you think me so inept at my job that I was unaware of that fact?” she snapped. “I know Greede is powerful, which is why I avoided a direct confrontation until I was sure of what type of magic he uses, its limitations, and if there is an external source he’s drawing it from.”

“Oh.” That was all I could manage. The rest of my brain was too occupied with telling me I was stupid.

Gil sighed.

“We’ll deal with this later, brother,” she said, in a tone that reminded me a lot of a school teacher berating a student. I immediately shrank into my seat.

“Right now, we have a Lich to stop,” she continued. “This is our priority right now, before Greede. Greg, you’re our resident Kresnik. Do you have a strategy?”

He shook his head. “Unfortunately, this is beyond even my power now. I was only assigned to retrieve the book. Now that the Lich is awake, I’m afraid it’s too late.”

“The hell it is,” I stood up. “So what if it’s too late? Do we just roll over now because some clock hit the countdown? Hell, no. We fight.”

“I fully agree with the sentiment,” he said, “but one cannot fight an enemy that is unseen. And whatever is inside the Necronomicon is beyond all of us here.”

I inhaled deeply, exhaling in a long stream.

“There’s the ghost of a murder house with my apprentice, a whole bunch of police officers in the hospital because some Wild West Goat Boy shot up the station, a crime scene that would give PETA a heart attack, and god-knows-how-many kids died yesterday during the zombie attack. And do you know what all of those have in common? They are all tied up with this case. I don’t know how or why yet, but I sure as shit am not gonna find any answers by giving up.”

I loomed over him. “And most importantly, our enemy is a mummy with a book. A fucking mummy! I am not losing to a mummy. In fact, I think it’s high time we go all Rick O’Connell on its ass.”

Greg cocked his head. “I do not understand. Who is this Rick you speak of?”

“Brendan Fraser from the movie The Mummy,” I said. “Come on, you’ve seen The Mummy.”

“Never heard of it.”

“The fuck do you guys do in Russia?”

“Drink vodka and not watch movies with stupid names.”

“How dare you? The Mummy is a classic!”

“Boys!” Gil snapped. “Please focus on the issue at hand. Erik, do you have a strategy to go along with your speech?”

I grinned at her. “Point me to the Necromancer.”

I’ve seen beaten men before, people who took a hit so hard it rattled everything inside of them. All their bravado, their arrogance, all the tough guy acts they put up — all of that suddenly gone.

The Necromancer was huddled in a corner, sobbing. He looked up when he heard the door snap open, his hair in greasy clumps in front of his face, revealing only a single bloodshot eye.

“What do you want?” he mumbled, looking at me.

“Your blood.”

The Necromancer snapped his head up, fear etched into his face. “What?”

I grinned. “You heard me.”

He crawled further towards the wall. “Why?”

“You’re gonna help us find the Lich,” I said. “And the only way I know to do that is with a tracking spell. Now, I’m thinking your average tracker ain’t gonna work on this guy, so we gotta step up our game.”

“A blood trace,” he said.

“Bingo.” I approached him and placed an empty syringe at his feet. “And since someone in this room was dumb enough to have their life force sucked out by the Lich, I’m thinking that same someone can act as a catalyst.” I pointed at the syringe. “Your choice, dude. Draw your own blood or I’ll draw it for you.”

I pulled out Djinn, reinforcing my threat.

Dejected, the Necromancer picked up the syringe and pulled off the plastic sheath off the needle.

“You don’t have to threaten me,” he said, sticking it in his arm. Gil went over by his side, helping him draw blood.

He looked at her. “I’ll cast the tracking spell myself if I have to. That bastard stole my life force.”

“And your powers along with it,” I added.

“Not all my powers,” he said. “I can still stop him, weaken him enough to turn him back into a spirit.”

Gil pulled out the syringe and examined the blood inside.

“That would be most helpful,” she said. “But don’t harbor any illusions. You’re my prisoner now, and you will pay for your crimes.”

“Don’t care,” he said. “I just want what’s mine.”

“In that case, welcome to the team,” I said.

“Erik!” Gil said.

“What?” I retorted. “You said it yourself, he would be useful, and shit-heads like him can’t stand losing, can you, Shithead?”

“Fuck off,” the Necromancer replied.

“See?” I told Gil. “And besides, if he steps outta line, he’ll have to deal with me. And we all know how that story ends.”

Gil looked at Greg, who simply shrugged.

“Enemy of my enemy,” was all he said.

Gil sighed. “Fine. I’ll get the spell ready with this,” she said, holding up the syringe. She glared at the Necromancer. “You want to help us? Start by telling us everything you know about the Lich.”

“Okay,” he replied with a defeated nod.

“Meanwhile,” Gil continued, “Erik, Greg, I need you to go to Warehouse Four.”

Greg nodded. “Are you sure?”

Gil’s eyes were steel. “Yes. It’s time.”

“Anyone wanna let me in on this?” I asked. “What’s Warehouse Four?”

“It’s where I keep certain… unsafe objects,” Gil replied.

“You mean more unsafe than, say, a basement full of monsters, or the demon you tote around as your butler, or pretty much anything that goes through your books?” I asked.

“Yes.” She bit her lip nervously, before looking at Greg.

I looked from one to the other.

“Okay, I gotta ask this,” I blurted out. “What’s going on between the two of you?”

“Nothing is going on, brother,” Gil said, walking past us. “Just go to Warehouse Four. Greg knows what to look for.”

She hurried past us.

“Yeah, that’s not suspicious at all,” I said, as me and Greg walked out of the cell and shut the door after us.

One of Gil’s ninja wizards — which were identical to the guys who grabbed us at the museum — placed a seal on the lock.

Greg and I walked outside of the safe house in complete silence.

And when I say complete silence, I mean awkward silence.

Very fucking awkward.

Stellar levels of awkward.

“Greg?” I finally said.

“Yes, Erik?”

“Are you sleeping with my sister?”

I don’t know why I asked that — I really don’t.

Greg did a double take, which increased my suspicion, and shook his head.

“I just arrived in America two days ago, Erik. When would I have time to sleep with your sister?”

“You say you showed up two days ago, but you and her are clearly in cahoots,” I said.

“We corresponded through our organizations,” he replied. “This is why we are so well-connected.”

“Uh huh.” I nodded and we walked some more towards my car, which Gil’s men had been nice enough to hijack along towards the mansion.

“How far is Warehouse Four?” I asked.

“About forty minutes,” he answered.

“Cool,” I said. “I gotta stop by the office first.”

Greg nodded and we both got into the car, driving in silence.

Then, Greg looked at me.

“Hypothetically speaking,” he began. “If I were interested in your sister…”

I slammed the brakes so hard the car skidded three feet forwards before coming to a grinding halt.

“You what?”

Greg raised his hands. “Just asking hypothetically,” he said in a placating tone. “Your sister is a very remarkable woman. Strong and beautiful. Any man would be lucky to have her.”

I snorted, half-expecting flames to shoot out of my nostrils. “You did not sleep with my sister,” I said.

“I did not sleep with your sister,” he confirmed.

“Good.”

The car started moving again.

“But hypothetically…” Greg continued.

“Greg, I can’t speak for my sister,” I said. “As you said, she’s a remarkable woman. She can do whatever she wants.”

Greg nodded and smiled.

“But,” I continued, “that still doesn’t stop me from hunting you down and cutting your dick off.”

His smile disappeared. “Got it.”

“No, seriously. Your dick, cut off. Flopping on the ground, before it shrivels up. Picture that, Greg. Associate that image with my sister the next time you think about bumpin’ uglies with her.”

“Message received, Erik.”

I would not meet his eyes and decided to turn on the radio, discouraging further conversation about this topic. Pink’s U + Ur Hand started playing and I turned it up, much to Greg’s horror.

I grinned.

Thank you, universe.

Chapter 24

“Wait here.”

I parked just outside my office, before snatching the keys from the ignition and getting out of the car.

“Do you need any help?” Greg asked from inside the car.

“To carry some stuff? No, Greg, I’m good,” I replied, rolling my eyes. “Just sit tight for a second.”

The office was barren. I knew Abi was out with Arnold, chasing a lead. I found a note on my desk with the address she was investigating and took out my phone, texting her two words:

It’s on.

Amaymon waded out of the kitchen. “Where’s your new boyfriend?”

“In the car,” I said, picking up a gym bag and examining its contents.

Ammo, holy water, charms and trinkets, wooden stakes, boxes with specific spell ingredients in them — it was all there, ready to go.

“Is it that time yet?” Amaymon asked, hopping on the desk.

I nodded and approached the feline. “You sure about this?”

He cocked his head.

“About getting double-played? Yeah, I’m sure.” His yellow eyes glowed. “Don’t forget who I am, Erik. Now put your hand on the pendant, and hold on to your panties.”

I gingerly touched the ruby around the cat’s collar and the spell took effect.

Warehouse Four was lonely, set apart even inside the giant span of land that was disturbingly devoid of any life — no life, no cars, not so much as a single skittering roach.

“Charming,” I muttered as I got out of the car.

Greg offered me a grin. “Yes, it is quite isolated.”

He extracted a large, ancient-looking key from one of his many pockets, and stuck it inside the enormous paddock bolting the door shut.

The paddock came undone and Greg pushed the door aside.

We walked inside.

“What the heck?” I spread my arms — the warehouse was naked, just empty concrete and shadows. I frowned at Greg. “Wasn’t there supposed to be some sorta super weapon in here?”

Greg remained silent.

“Cat got your tongue?” I grinned at him and sighed. “Greg, is there anything you wanna tell me?”

Greg looked from side to side, as if expecting something to go down.

“I believe it’s time for me to come clean,” he said. His eyes seemed to glow inside the darkness of the warehouse. “About this case and about my intentions.”

“Lemme guess,” I said, “you’re not gonna take me to prom?”

“Please be serious, Erik,” the Kresnik said. “This is serious business.”

I snorted. “You mean as serious as us chasing down a false lead? Or as serious as you leading me into a trap?”

His eyes widened. “How…”

“I’m a hunter, genius,” I replied. “Been one all my life. You really thought I couldn’t smell your pal lurking in the shadows?”

I craned my head, looking at a plain concrete column.

“Come on out.”

I heard scraping behind the column as boots kicked the layer of dirt on the ground and whoever was behind moved into the light.

He wore his hair long and his face in a permanent frown. His eggshell-white medieval tunic was decorated with leathers and belts, and a sword hung from his hip.

I immediately recognized his ugly mug: the Paladin who got in my face the first time I’d visited Sun Tzu’s.

“Well, well, well,” I said. “Come to settle the score?”

The guy displayed none of his previous bravado. “I have come here to arrest you.”

I looked at Greg. “Is he for real?”

Greg nodded. “He’s here to restrain you, Erik. As am I.”

“Oh, yeah?” I grinned at the Paladin. “You and what army?”

The Paladin chuckled. “This one.”

He clicked his fingers, and a million space-distortion spells went off.

All around me, Paladins popped out of nowhere, clad in full medieval armor — white tunics and gunmetal armor plating — wielding lances in one hand and shields in the other.

A seal was stamped on each shield, the exact same sigil Greg and I saw on the crate inside Greede’s warehouse: ten wings surrounding a circle with a Flamel symbol inside of it.

The Paladins took one step in unison, and their lances dropped to point towards me.

Greg stepped in between them.

“I’m sorry it has come to this,” he said. “In reality, I am not an emissary for the Russian Orthodox Church but rather I work for-”

“The Grigori,” I finished for him.

I grinned at his shocked expression.

“Yeah, I already know,” I said, shrugging.

Greg sighed and shook his head. “It seems I have underestimated you,” he said. “So it is a good thing we took extra precautions.”

Another space-distortion spell went off behind the Paladins surrounding me and I heard the familiar scuffle of resistance.

Three figures came into view.

One I immediately recognized as my apprentice. Abi’s hands were locked in wooden shackles in front of her, etched with runes to prevent her from using any magic.

Floating next to her was Arnold the ghost boy, hovering uselessly.

“Sorry, Mister Ashendale,” he said when he saw me. “I couldn’t do anything to stop him.”

The third figure was their captor, a man wearing a dark suit and sunglasses, even in the darkness of the warehouse. His goat horns jutted out from under the shaggy mane of hair.

Goat Boy held one of his silver revolvers at Abi’s side.

I caught her gaze, mentally asking her to trust me. Abi stopped struggling and settled with glaring at Goat Boy, her looks promising him an ass-whooping if she ever got out of those bonds.

I turned back to Greg.

“And the plot thickens,” I said. “Release her.”

“I’m afraid I cannot do that.”

“Don’t piss me off, Greg,” I said. “You won’t like me when I’m pissed off.”

The first Paladin — I guessed he was their boss or something — drew his longsword. “You dare threaten one of the Grigori?”

“Back off, Boromir,” I retorted. “And put the sword away before someone really gets hurt.”

“Erik, don’t do anything rash,” Greg said. “Just let us get this over with.”

“Not until she goes free.”

Magic exploded from my body, and I had to physically hold back from reaching for Djinn and start swinging.

The Paladins surrounding me stumbled backwards but held their formation. Boromir fell on his ass.

A gunshot went off and I heard Abi scream. Goat Boy had his gun pointing at the ceiling. He grinned as he press it against Abi’s temple.

I immediately powered down and glared at him. “When this is over, you and I are gonna have a long chat,” I said.

Goat Boy nodded. “Anytime, Wizard.”

I turned to Greg. “You, asshole. What exactly is this charade for?”

Greg cleared his throat.

“Erik Ashendale,” he announced. “You are hereby charged by the Council of the Grigori to answer for your multiple counts of violations. You will stand trial to deem your loyalties and intentions. Failure to comply will result in swift termination of yourself and all who consort with you.”

In other words, Erik, you better play our game or we’ll kill your family.

I turned to Goat Boy. “Congratulations. You are now the second biggest dick in the room.”

Greg shook his head.

“This is not how I wished for this to play out,” he said.

I spat out a laugh of derision. “Bullshit. You’ve been playing me since day one.” I grinned at him. “What? You think I didn’t see this coming?”

“How could you?” Greg asked.

“Simple,” I replied. “I followed the clues.”

Greg cocked his head, clearly amused. “Go on.”

“Well, there was a number of things that just didn’t add up,” I explained. “Like how the dead animals in the first crime scene were basically ectoplasm. At first I thought it was the Necromancer, but that guy is a dumbass. He can barely tell the difference between his elbow and his asshole — no way he could pull that off. And why? He had no reason to throw shade on himself.

“Secondly, Sun Tzu.”

I turned to Boromir who was throwing me his best glare.

“You remember him, don’t you?” I taunted. “Old Chinese guy? Nearly made you wet yourself? Anyway, that guy ain’t scared of shit. But the damnedest thing happened: you guys showed up and he starts telling me about how things are out of his hands and there are higher powers at play.”

I cocked my head at Greg. “I’m guessing you guys have something on him, to make him dance around like that.”

“Impressive,” Greg said.

“Oh, I ain’t done yet.” I snorted at him. “I’ve been in this business for a very long time, Greg. I know when things feel phony. Like, for example, when I’m being led towards a particular conclusion. In this case, we had the Necromancer, the perfect patsy.”

“The Necromancer was really after the Necronomicon,” Greg said.

“And how would a petty crook even know about the book?” I said. “However, that guy wasn’t your biggest mistake. He was.”

All eyes followed my pointed finger, towards Arnold.

The ghost boy looked around. “What about me?”

“Phony clues led me to the Bentley house,” I said. “I even found him at the crime scene. The perfect plant — a talking clue. But here’s the thing: a ghost who isn’t anchored? Now, that’s mighty suspicious. Hell, he didn’t even bat an eyelid at the demon I keep as a house pet.”

I turned to look at Greg. “So yeah, I knew about this whole thing. From Day-fucking-One.”

A throaty giggle echoed from the shadows, followed by the sound of applause. A singular figure emerged, clapping sardonically.

“Bravo, Master Erik,” Mephisto said. “Bravo indeed.”

Chapter 25

Mephisto snapped his finger and Arnold exploded into a ball of mist. The white ectoplasm swirled, becoming an ethereal canine which trotted towards the demon. Mephisto reached down and the ghost dog was sucked into his hand.

Of course.

Mephisto was an Air Elemental. It would have been child’s play for him to create a phantasm and pass him off as a ghost. I’d never stopped to test the consistency of Arnold’s ectoplasm.

I suspected the kid was a patsy, but this — this was in a league of its own.

Don’t let him get to you, Erik.

I forced a grin.

“Well, you’re here, doggie,” I said, knowing he hated that name, “which means your master’s here too.”

Gil appeared from behind her familiar, her head hung low, olive-green cloak gently flapping with every step.

“Brother.”

“Gil,” I said. “Should I even be surprised at this point?”

“I had nothing to do with this.”

“Said every guilty person ever.”

“She’s right.”

The new speaker was foreign to me.

He walked with a casual stride that reminded me of a puffin looking for a mate. Everything about him screamed rich and fancy, from the champagne-colored three-piece suit he wore, the rose gold jewelry, the gleaming white dress shoes that matched the gleaming white teeth, and a tan that looked way too perfect to belong anywhere outside an editing studio.

The man ran a manicured hand through his perfect blond hair.

“This was my masterpiece,” he said.

Oh, good. An actual, justifiable reason to punch this prick.

“This isn’t a game show, Jared. This is an important trial ordered by the Council of the Grigori. Please behave yourself.”

That voice, I knew that voice. I’d only heard it a handful of times but I remembered it. A sexy voice, one that brought up good memories — and bad ones. A voice my mind immediately associated with group therapy and cookies and flirting and dating.

Sarah, the girl I was out on a date with less than three days ago, emerged next to the rich prick.

No way.

No fucking way.

She looked at me with those same eyes she used to flirt with me, eyes full of humor, strength and rebellion.

“Hello, Erik.”

Fuck.

“Hey, Sarah.”

She grinned. “It’s Akasha actually.”

“Huh?”

“My name,” she said. “It’s Akasha, not Sarah.”

“You used a fake name,” I said. My brain felt like soup. “You were never a part of that support group. Just as you were never really interested in me.”

She shook her head. “Well, I believe everyone can benefit from a bit of therapy,” she said, giving the rich prick next to her a sideways glance.

He ignored her.

“And I did have fun on our date,” she went on. “It gave me a chance to get to know the real you. Before… well, you know…”

“Before you put me on trial and possibly cut off my head along with that of everyone who ever loved me?”

She shrugged.

I was left speechless and the only sound in the warehouse was Abi, who muffled something that sounded a lot like “bitch”.

I couldn’t agree more.

“So what exactly am I being accused of here?” I looked directly at my sister, the only person I could get a read on. “You did mention trials, right? What’s my so-called crime?”

Gil opened her mouth but Jared loudly cleared his throat, silencing her.

“Your crimes will be revealed once the trial begins,” he said. “For now, you will need to surrender yourself. Mustafa.”

Another man appeared, wearing an elaborate red tunic and a turban on his head. His mustache looked almost cartoon-like, twisted at the ends and going beyond the man’s lips. His skin, naturally dark, looked ashy with a grayish pallor to it.

The man approached and raised his hands. I saw intricate tattoos on each palm and when the man activated his magic, the tattoos glowed.

“Mustafa will remove your weapons,” Jared said.

“Will he now?” I pulled back my coat, revealing Djinn’s handle sticking out. “Go ahead, Mustafa. See what happens.”

“Erik, please,” Sarah — I mean, Akasha — said. “Don’t make this any harder than it already is.”

I pursed my lips at her. “Man, you’re good. They should have given the Oscar to you instead of Leo.”

I raised my hands and allowed Mustafa to unhook Djinn’s sheath from my belt. At his touch I felt powerless, almost as if he was sucking the magic out from me.

Mustafa worked quickly, taking my gun from my thigh and stripping me of my coat. When he was done, he gave the stuff to a pretty Arab girl who stood behind him this entire time, not making a single sound.

Mustafa nodded at Jared.

He pressed his hands together and magic exploded from his tattooed hands. Sigils appeared all over the warehouse and the land shifted. Light blinded me and when I regained my vision we were no longer in the dinky warehouse.

Everywhere I looked was crystallized: the walls, the floor — they were all made out of a polished crystal-like substance. Inside the crystal I could see the faint outline of sigils at work, which told me that this was an artificial zone.

Like, for example, a pocket universe.

In front of me, sitting behind a judge’s bench of gold, chrome and crystal, were Akasha, Jared, Greg and Mustafa. Gil sat on the far left of the bench. Mustafa’s pretty assistant was docked to one side, a stack of paper on her desk.

“You weren’t kidding when you said trial,” I remarked.

I tried moving but my feet were locked in place. Something bound my hands to the raised pedestal just in front of me.

Beneath my feet I saw possibly the most complex magical formula I’d ever seen: I was standing in the middle of an Abjuration circle, a Disruption formula, a Kinetic seal and a Spatial Lock seal, all woven into each other.

“Nice,” I remarked.

“The work of Mustafa, our unrivaled sigil master and Abjuration expert,” Jared said, beaming proudly as if he was talking about his own achievements.

“Abjuration?”

So that was why that feeling was so familiar, feeling as if my magic was behind washed away, leaving me helpless. Thanks to my previous dealings with an Abjurer when I was a kid, I harbored a particular hatred for the magic.

Jared picked up a judge’s gavel and slammed it on a plinth.

“Let us begin,” he said. “Present at this trial are five of the ten members of the Order of the Grigori. Akasha, ranked at number two; myself, ranked third; Greg, ranked fourth; and Mustafa, ranked seventh. The tenth seat, usually reserved of probatory members and honorary guests, is occupied by Gil Ashendale.”

Jared shot her a disgusted look.

“Let the record show that Miss Ashendale also happens to be the defendant’s sister,” he spat venomously.

Gil’s expression looked like she was actively restraining herself from setting Jared on fire.

“The Captain of the Knights of the Order of the Grigori, together with the twelfth regiment, have also been allowed to reside in the courtroom given the defendant’s level of danger and notorious penchant for violence.”

I glanced behind me.

Boromir and his crew stood in rows ten feet away, motionless. Except for Boromir himself, whose fingers drummed on the hilt of his sword, almost daring me to try something.

“Let us move on,” Jared said.

“Hold on,” I interrupted.

Jared looked at me like I was a roach he found in his salad.

“You, Mustafa,” I said, before Jared could stop me. “I got a question for you.”

Mustafa cocked his head and looked at Jared.

“Mr. Ashendale, I am-” the latter began.

“An asshole, I know,” I shot back.

Gil pursed her lips, trying not to smile. Akasha actually giggled. Jared looked at them and rolled his eyes.

“Ask away,” Mustafa said in a soft voice.

“You’re an Abjurer, right? Heck, Fancy Pants over there just said you did all this, so you must be pretty good.”

“I am the highest authority in my branch of magic,” Mustafa replied.

“Hurry this along,” Jared said.

I looked Mustafa dead in the eyes. “When I was a kid I was hunted down by an Abjurer. The guy killed my mentor right in front of my eyes. His name was Alastair Crowley.”

I saw Gil’s expression darken from the corner of my eyes.

“I killed him decades ago,” I said. “But I also swore to myself that I’d find out who he was allied with and stop them too.”

Mustafa nodded.

“Yes, I know the man whom you speak of,” he said. “I’ve had many apprentices during my lifetime, not all good men. One such man fell to the dark allure of magic, and taught this Crowley. My student was killed by his apprentice and the rest of those who misused my tutelage met a similar fate, by my hand.” His expression remains unchanged. “Is that all you wanted to know?”

“Yes,” I replied. I looked at Gil. “I had to ask.”

She nodded, understanding.

“If the interruptions are over,” Jared announced, “may we please proceed?”

“Whatever, asshole.”

“Captain,” Jared said, looking at Boromir. “If the defendant speaks out of turn again, you may deter him using force.”

I looked back at Boromir who raised a billy club and grinned.

“Erik Ashendale,” Jared said. “You stand before this Council today, accused of multiple heinous crimes.”

He picked up a sheet of paper from in front of him.

“In the past three years you have consorted with non-human creatures, including but not limited to, succubii and demons — I understand you keep one as a house pet. How quaint.

“You have negotiated with angels and other celestial beings about the fate of this plane of existence. You have crossed the planar threshold and travelled to alternate dimensions. You have then brought back several natives of that alternate dimension to Earth, where they are now hiding… somewhere.”

Jared made a show of looking at Gil and rolling his eyes at her.

“You have also exposed magic to the public on multiple occasions, have allowed yourself to be captured on film, consorted with the police, and performed multiple spells in their presence as a consultant.”

He switched papers and paused for a breath.

“You are also in possession of lost magic — Life magic — which, if left unchecked, has the potential to destroy life as we know it. I understand this last part was also witnessed by a member of our Council,” he said, looking at Greg.

The Kresnik shot me an apologetic look.

“Eat shit,” I said.

A sharp blow smacked against my shoulder and I doubled over the podium. Boromir smiled and smacked me again, before retreating.

“Let’s add disrespect to the Council to the list, shall we?” Jared said.

“But it’s so much fun.”

I braced myself for another blow from Boromir and felt my leg on fire.

Jared sighed and shook his head.

“Mr. Ashendale, do you understand that if you are found guilty of any one of these crimes, you will die? That your sister will also die, as will the girl whom we are detaining outside the perimeter of this hall? So, I ask you now: how do you plead?”

I looked at Gil who shook her head. I knew that look. She was working the numbers, working the situation. She probably had a whole bunch of strategies lined up, aces in sleeves to trade for her life, and hopefully mine.

But I had something better.

I looked at Jared and grinned.

“Guilty on all counts.”

He raised his eyebrows.

“You might also wanna include the time I publicly fought two of the Seven Deadly Sins, capsized a tanker — that was fun — and the fact that I operate a business for all who need help with supernatural issues.”

“Mr. Ashendale-”

“And the time I destroyed Carson Mansion when I was sixteen,” I added.

Jared nodded. “Noted.”

“Oh, and the time me and him,” I said, indicating towards Greg, “destroyed a gravesite, and crashed a college party, which later became infested by zombies.”

“I-”

“And that time we destroyed a museum because someone-” I pointed at the Kresnik “-wouldn’t let me do my job.”

Jared let out a frustrated growl. Boromir snapped his billy club into my back again.

“What?” I yelled at him. “I’m confessing!”

“That’s quite enough, Mr. Ashendale,” Jared snapped.

I raised my hands as far as my shackles allowed.

“Since you were so kind as to confess immediately,” he said, “this Council finds you guilty. Your punishment with be a swift, and sadly, painless, death.”

“No, it won’t.”

Boromir stepped towards me but a look from Jared stopped him.

“Okay, Mr. Ashendale,” he said with cocky smile. “Since you were kind enough to hurry this trial along for us, we have some time to spare. Please, amuse us.”

“You’re not gonna find me so amusing in a few seconds,” I said. “In fact, once this whole farce is over with, I’m gonna track you all down, and we’re gonna have a lovely chat about that one time you tried to kill me.”

Jared snorted.

“You’re powerless here, Mr. Ashendale.” He sighed and smacked his gavel again. “This Court-”

“Of dickheads and fucktards has ceased to amuse me!”

I wasn’t the one who spoke.

Echoing inside the crystal room, Amaymon’s voice boomed louder than ever.

The ruby pendant beneath my shirt glowed blood-red and burned to a million degrees, eating a hole through my shirt. It exploded, light and magic filling every inch of the crystal courtroom.

Amaymon, in human form, appeared next to me, grinning maliciously as he extended both his middle fingers towards Jared and the rest of the Grigori.

“S’up, mothafuckas!”

Chapter 26

The Knights all rose at once, their lances stretching towards the demon.

With a swipe of his hand, Amaymon sent them all flying backwards, rock jutting from beneath their feet and slamming into their armor and shields.

He spun and smashed his fist into the podium in front of me, destroying the chains.

I spun, just in time to see Boromir, the Knight’s Captain, raise his billy club again, hatred in his eyes. I dodged and smacked my elbow into his nose. Concussed, he stumbled backwards. I snatched the billy club from his hand, smashed it against his temple and Boromir went down.

Keeping my momentum, I spun, once again facing the Grigori, all lined up behind the judge’s bench. I threw my arm back and launched the billy club at them. It flew straight for Jared’s nose but was intercepted mid-flight by Greg who snatched it out of the air.

Still, I got to see Jared’s panicked expression, eyes wide open.

“You didn’t check him?” he screamed at Mustafa.

“You assured me he couldn’t use magic without his weapons!” Mustafa yelled back.

I laughed at them. “Well, you must be feeling all kinds of stupid right about now.”

Jared turned to Mustafa, fuming. “Do something.”

Amaymon snarled and punched a Knight so hard a hole appeared in his chest. The dead soldier was sent flying back into the comrades, toppling them over like bowling balls.

The seals interwoven into the material of the room glowed. Mustafa had his hands together, intertwining his fingers in different positions, muttering beneath his breath. Nausea punched my stomach as the Abjuration field tripled in strength.

Even Amaymon faltered.

Jared let out a chuckle — none of the Grigori seemed to be affected by Mustafa’s sigil work.

“You are cut off from your element here, demon,” Jared spat.

Amaymon grinned, malice dripping from his presence. His power pushed against Mustafa’s and the ground shook.

Rock and stone rose in pillars, floating in front of the demon, much to the disbelief of the Grigori.

“Bitch, I am my element.”

He stomped the ground and rock exploded everywhere.

The crystalline structure of the room cracked and billowed into dust and shrapnel, all swirling around the laughing demon. One by one, Mustafa’s sigils exploded, sending backlashes of power into their creator.

Mustafa was thrown on the ground, while Jared began looking for a way out, running behind Akasha and my sister.

Amaymon brought his hands together, formed them into claws and with a yell of effort, raked the air. The ground, walls and ceiling parted, obeying his commands as my familiar tore the room apart.

Light exploded and we were once again in the warehouse.

The backlash of magic threw me into a column, slamming my head against the hard concrete. Blood began trickling but my healing magic soon took care of that problem.

The Knights and Grigori were also strewn about, lying on the floor and panting.

Only Amaymon stood tall and proud, still grinning.

“Round two,” he said.

Mephisto took a single step towards Amaymon, only for Gil to yell “NO!”

She got up. “Stand back, Mephisto. We cannot have you two fighting.”

Mephisto wrapped an arm around her and I was immediately on my feet. He may have been contracted to her, but Mephisto had once done the impossible: he had betrayed his previous master, our father.

Gil was certainly weak now — he could turn on her.

Instead, Mephisto helped his master up and allowed her to use him as a crutch.

Jared stood up, looking disheveled much to my delight. His hair was messed up and his suit stained. He glanced down at his watch, only to find it lying on the ground, shattered. He snarled at me.

“Knights!”

Only a few of them stood up, barely half their original numbers.

I made it next to Amaymon, standing back to back with him, as the Knights surrounded us. The demon stomped the ground and the concrete in front of me shifted, transmuting into a pair of swords that rose from the ground.

“Thanks,” I said, hefting my new weapons. They were heavy and awkward but better than nothing, especially when faced with knights in full armor.

“Kill them,” Jared ordered.

“Belay that!” Akasha brushed debris from her ebony hair. “Jared, you had your turn. And while you may be the official law administrator of our group, this situation has escalated beyond your control.”

She looked at me. “The same goes for you, Erik. We still have the girl.”

To emphasize her point, she pointed towards the Goat Boy who still held Abi under gunpoint.

“Is that how you wanna play this?” I asked. “You kill her and there’s nothing stopping me from holding back. And trust me, I have been holding back.”

She nodded and smiled. “I know. But so have we. Let us keep this civil then. No one needs to die in vain.”

The Knights suddenly stepped back, lining up neatly with their lances pointing up in the air.

I cocked my head at her and dropped my swords. They were immediately swallowed by the ground.

“Civil?” I nodded. “Yeah, I can do civil.”

“Since when?” Amaymon interjected.

“Shut up,” I hissed.

Then, to Akasha, “Why aren’t you in charge, instead of that prick?” I asked pointing at Jared.

He leered at me and said nothing.

Akasha shrugged. “Because I don’t care about administrative procedures.”

“You’re the muscle, then?”

She smiled and my heart did a little summersault. “So to speak.”

“No wonder we got on so well.”

She beamed. “I like to think we still do.”

“Kinda hard to trust you when you’re holding my apprentice hostage.”

“Son of a bitch!” Amaymon suddenly hollered. He squinted towards Goat Boy. “I thought I recognized that ugly mug from somewhere. Berphomet, is that you?”

“You know this guy?” I asked.

“Yeah,” Amaymon replied. “He used to be one of my brother’s boys.”

“He worked for Mephisto?”

“No, not that brother. There’s four of us, man. Berphy here used to work for my brother, Baal.” Amaymon chuckled. “Baal was the Demon Emperor’s top assassin. Cool as ice and sharp as a tick. Haven’t seen him in centuries.”

He smiled at Goat Boy. “S’up B-dawg. How’s it hangin’?”

Goat Boy — Berphomet — lowered his sunglasses and peered at Amaymon with his yellow goat eyes.

“Amaymon,” he acknowledged.

“Why you got my succubus, man?”

Berphomet shrugged, his revolver steadily aimed at Abi’s head.

“Orders,” he replied, cocking his head towards the Grigori. “Theirs.”

“I just kicked their ass,” Amaymon replied. “Gimme back my succubus.”

Abi yelled something at him through the gag she now had in her mouth.

“I don’t think she likes it when you refer to her as ‘your’ succubus,” I told Amaymon.

He frowned at her. “Now, you wanna nitpick? Now? With a gun to your head?”

She shrugged.

Amaymon looked at Berphomet. “See what I gotta deal with? Humans, am I right?”

“Sorry, Amaymon,” Berphomet replied. Nothing about his tone indicated he was sorry. “Orders are orders.”

Amaymon looked at me and rolled his eyes. “You see were civil gets us? I could just kill them all, but no! Erik wants to be civilized ‘cause the pretty lady said so.”

Akasha beamed at him.

“Thank you,” she replied. “It’s nice to be complemented by a species other than my own.”

“Amaymon, stop flirting with her,” I said.

He chuckled. “You’re just jealous ‘cause I got further in five seconds than you did in five hours.”

“I think I liked you better when you were a pendant,” I said. “Speaking of which…”

I tossed him the ruby pendant, which he attached to his neck.

“Is that how you managed to smuggle him inside?” Akasha asked. She looked at Gil. “You did not mention that particular trick.”

My sister shrugged.

“I’ve never heard of it,” she replied. “And it is certainly not something I would ever consider doing with my familiar.”

“Of course not,” I said. “Amaymon and I are true partners, not master and slave.”

Amaymon held up a peace sign. “Kumbaya, motherfuckers.”

“Interesting,” Akasha mused. “It seems you are more than just the sum of your parts, Erik. Greg was right. You are the man for the job.”

I looked at the Kresnik. “When did I agree to a job interview?”

“We chose you, Erik,” Greg said. “Although you did come highly recommended. Your sister holds you in high regard.”

Amaymon elbowed me. “Is it okay if I throw up? I’m not being rude, I’m just allergic to this cutesy crap.”

“Right behind you,” I said. “Okay, Greg. What job would this be? And why in the fuckity-fucks would I ever do something for you?”

“Because we are willing to trade the girl and your freedom in exchange for the Necronomicon,” Akasha said.

“Just like that?” I said. “You pull my string and I dance.”

Akasha cocked her head gently and smiled.

“So all I have to do is clean up a mess you started,” I said looking at Greg, “and then maybe I get to walk free.”

“You might still face future trials,” Greg said, “but not death. You would have served the Grigori and we will take that into account.”

“Do I get a badge?”

“Excuse me?”

I shrugged. “A badge. I think I’d want a badge.”

Greg shook his head.

“Okay, whatever,” I said. I looked at Abi. “You okay staying there for another few hours?”

She shook her head and nodded towards the gun, before rolling her eyes.

Even gagged and cuffed my apprentice still managed to give me attitude.

“If I’m gonna do this, we’re gonna do it my way,” I told Akasha. “That means I’m gonna need him,” I pointed at Amaymon, “and him.” I pointed at Greg.

“Why Greg?” she asked.

“Because he’s the only one who can deal with ghosts and spirits and all that crap.”

“This is true,” Greg said.

“And he’s the only one of you guys I’ve actually fought,” I added.

No need to elaborate on that bit — they got the message. If something went pear-shaped, Greg would be the first to get it.

A hostage for a hostage.

Hammurabi would be proud.

“I have no problem with volunteering,” Greg said. “I want to fight by your side one more time, Erik, and show you I am not a bad person.”

I snorted. “Let me guess: you’re just a victim of your circumstances?”

“No, I quite like working for the Grigori,” he replied. “Fantastic health insurance.”

He smiled and I rolled my eyes.

Great. Nothing worse than a Russian tough guy trying to be funny.

“Then it’s settled,” Akasha said. “Once you have completed your task, meet us back here.”

She turned and began walking away, towards the back of the warehouse.

Portals appeared like scabs in the air. Jared shot me a dirty look and was the first one through the portal. Mustafa said something to his assistant, who placed my coat and weapons on the ground, before both of them stepped through their own portal.

Akasha gave me a final smile and disappeared, along with Berphomet and Abi.

“Bye, Berphy,” Amaymon called after them. “Catch you later.”

“Good one,” I commented. “Very creepy.”

“I know, right? That was one of my best.”

“Gil,” I said, picking up my stuff and looking at my sister. “I’m gonna need the Necromancer too. Where is he?”

“We have him detained outside,” she said.

“Did he locate the Lich?”

“He said he needed more time.”

I growled. “Give me a second with him,” I said as I began walking outside.

I found a black unmarked van in the parking lot and opened the doors. The Necromancer lay inside, his hands cuffed together.

Without a word, I grabbed him by the hair and threw him on the ground.

“What the hell, man?”

“The Lich,” I roared. “Where is it?”

“I don’t-”

“Wrong answer.” I slammed his head on the tarmac. “Wanna try again?”

“Ouch.”

“Dude, I’ve had a really bad day. Like, really bad. The kind that comes along once in a lifetime and fucks you up for the rest of your days.” I yanked his hair again. “So you better stop wasting my time and tell me what I wanna know.”

I didn’t add an “or else”.

Didn’t have to.

The Necromancer nodded and scrambled back into the van.

Gil rolled her eyes at me, while Greg sighed his disapproval.

“What?” I said. “That was civil… By my standards.”

Chapter 27

Okay, so maybe displacing my emotions onto the Necromancer was a tad unfair to him. Maybe I was really pissed off at Greg, and Akasha, and my sister, and that oversized dick called Jared — but they were the goddamn Grigori.

They controlled everything, created the rules, monitored every single magic user on this planet, from the heavy-hitters to the one-trick ponies doing party tricks.

Mouthing off was one thing. What I really wanted was to kick some ass and take names.

Couldn’t do that.

The Necromancer — well, the guy had it coming.

And besides, it got us results.

It was dawn when we ascended the mountain.

Yep. An honest-to-god mountain. Big one, too.

Amaymon, Greg and I took point, scaling its side, stopping at intervals to allow the Necromancer to catch his breath. The guy made me look like an Olympic athlete.

“Keep up,” Amaymon yelled, looking back at him.

The Necromancer wiped sweat off his face and wheezed. He looked like he was about to have a heart attack any moment now.

“I’m not sure,” he said, panting heavily, “as to why I am here exactly.”

“Unfortunately, you are the closest thing we have to an expert in this field on such short notice,” Greg patiently replied.

All of us stopped now, mid-way to the mountain peak.

“You will help me reverse any spell the Lich may have cast and lock it back in its jail,” Greg continued.

Amaymon slammed his fist into his own hand. “I never pummeled a mummy before.” He smirked. “Never had the opportunity.”

“Oh, it’s all the fun you can get from a museum piece,” I said. “Plus deadly Necromantic magic thrown in for good measure.”

“Can’t wait.” The demon glanced at the Necromancer, who was gulping water from a travel canteen like someone was paying him to do so.

“Five bucks says-”

He stood at attention, his eyes darting to and fro.

“What is it?” I asked.

He shushed me and laid a hand on the ground. “Somethin’ ain’t right.”

Greg unslung his bag and pulled out the pieces of his spear, screwing them in place. “I sense something, too. It’s faint but close.”

The Necromancer put his canteen down. “I don’t-”

A blob of darkness fell on him, silent and lithe, and if not for his brief scream, we’d have missed it.

“The fuck?” I managed.

On top of the Necromancer, stood an elongated humanoid creature, with impossibly long arms and legs. Bat-like wings sprouted from its back.

The creature shrieked and I saw its face: a blank mass with only a wide mouth running vertically from top to bottom. Feelers danced around and it swooped on the hapless Necromancer beneath it.

Twin rocks sprouted from the Necromancer’s sides, stabbing the creature in the gut and lifting it high in the air. Amaymon appeared next to it, a large boulder in one hand, and slammed the rock on top of the creature, squashing it into paste.

Amaymon picked up what was left of its head.

“What was that?” the Necromancer shrieked. “What the fuck is that thing?”

Amaymon smelled the goop. “Whatever it is, it ain’t from around here.”

“No shit,” I said.

“Nah, Erik, you ain’t listening to me.” He frowned. “This is not something that should be here. This does not belong in your plane, or mine for that matter. It’s an…”

“An Outsider,” Greg interjected. He grimaced in my direction. “That is the true power of the Necronomicon. It summons powers from outside of this world — from outside of this universe even. The Lich has now unlocked the power of the book.”

“It looks familiar,” I said, pointing at the creature.

Amaymon cocked his head. “What, this? You seen this before?”

“Yeah. It’s familiar anyway.” I shook my head. “I can’t shake the feeling I’ve seen it before.”

“The other plane?” he asked.

I shook my head again.

No, nothing on Envy’s island was like this. Everything there had a purpose, an evolutionary line, just like in our world.

No, this was something else.

Amaymon looked behind us. “Well, whatever it is, it brought a shit ton of friends.”

“Where?”

Before he could answer, the mountain side exploded, rocks flying everywhere. From the holes, something long, slimy and foul emerged: tentacles, each the size of a minivan reached out by the dozen.

“Run!” I yelled.

Greg swiped his spear at the closest tentacle, slashing a deep wound. Ivy-colored goop and mist dripped from the cut, but whatever creature that tentacle belonged to kept on the assault.

Amaymon raked the air, bringing a rock slide on top of the largest cluster of tentacles. Two seconds later, three more holes exploded, and more tentacles poured out. He swore and grabbed the Necromancer in a fireman carry.

“Get to the top,” he roared.

I felt something wrap around my leg, sending me stumbling down, pulling me closer to the hole where the tentacle came out from. Greg appeared, slashing with his spear, giving me enough time to pull out Djinn and do some damage of my own.

The sound of flapping wings filled the air, accompanied by the skittering and scarping of limbs.

The human-like creatures, thousands of them, exploded from between the tentacles, like termites leaving their mound. They filled the sky, blocking out the scant few rays of early sunlight.

And suddenly I remembered where I’d seen them.

“Nightgaunts,” I yelled, catching up to Amaymon and the Necromancer on his back.

“What?”

“The creatures,” I said. “I remembered where I’d seen them before. It wasn’t on the field. It was in that Lovecraft book Abi gave me last Christmas. There were illustrations and these things look just like Nightgaunts.”

“H.P. Lovecraft?” Greg approached me, swatting away tentacles. “He was a consultant for the Grigori once. We had tried to educate the public about magic by allowing certain authors to write about us. We thought the world was ready for the truth.”

“You can’t handle the truth!” came Amaymon’s voice, along with a stream of stone and debris. The rock shot towards the approaching Nightgaunts, felling four in one go.

The demon grinned. “Too obvious?”

I shrugged — I was two breaths away from doing the exact same joke, but sprinting all the way up the side of a mountain with monsters that inspired renowned horror authors, seemed to have stilted my concentration.

“Does it say how to kill them?” Amaymon asked.

“Nope,” I replied.

“Fucking writers.”

He set the Necromancer down and looked at the oncoming tide of Nightgaunts and whatever tentacle creatures were boring their way through the heart of the mountain itself.

“Get to the top,” he said. “I’ll hold them off.”

Had it been anyone else, I would have said something like “don’t be stupid”.

But this was Amaymon — in the past twenty-four hours he had taken the best defenses and spells the world’s greatest magic users had to throw and shoved them right down their throats.

Instead:

“Can you handle it?”

He raised an eyebrow at me. “I’m sitting in the middle of a fucking mountain. Surrounded by other mountains.”

I rolled my eyes. “Okay, no need to be condescending.”

“I’m an Earth elemental.”

“I get it!”

“I’m spooning enough rock to start a second K-T Event.”

“See, this is why no one likes you,” I said as me, Greg and Necromancer started running ahead to the top of the mountain. “Try to leave us something to stand on.”

He grinned. “Eat shit.”

And with that, the earthquake began.

There were mummies waiting for us — of course there were mummies waiting for us!

We had fought our way through whatever had slipped past Amaymon’s assault: Nightgaunts, tentacle monsters, and when we made it to the top, a Sphinx.

This one was less tough than the one we had previously fought, and Greg and I made short work of it.

The Necromancer whimpered on the side, while I called him the shittiest cheerleader in history.

Ahead of us was an archway.

A door had been carved into the peak of the mountain, leading to an open enclave. Columns decorated with sigils and hieroglyphs surrounded a large summoning circle and a magic formula that was glowing and pulsating.

The Lich — still inside his decaying mummy body — stood in the middle of the formula with the Necronomicon held in both hands.

You didn’t have to be a Kresnik, Necromancer, or a demon to know that shit had hit the fan about ten minutes ago and it was now raining monsters.

The mummies approached us, carrying a variety of weapons: spears, staffs, short swords, maces. I felt Necromantic energy from each of them: one hit and I was toast.

Greg and I launched ourselves at the mummies, taking them by surprise, while the Necromancer clasped his hands together and began chanting undertone.

The ground spilt open and the undead rose: zombies, skeletons, Draugar. They climbed from beneath the ground at the Necromancer’s call. He gave an order and the army spread out, holding at bay the mummies, Sphinxes and Nightgaunts that protected their master.

I never thought I’d say this but…

Hurray, new zombie army!

The Necromancer’s army pushed them back, giving me and Greg an opening straight towards the Lich. Instantly, six mummies, better armed than their cousins appeared out of nowhere and engaged us.

The Lich laughed sinisterly.

“Get the summoning circle,” I yelled at the Necromancer.

He nodded and ducked beneath a wrestling match happening between three of his Draugar and a Sphinx.

I swiped Djinn to intercept a mace being swung at my head and pulled out my gun, blowing both of the mummy’s kneecaps. As it went down I stabbed its head and channeled a small explosion of magic just to be safe.

“Keep them occupied,” I yelled at Greg, looking at the Lich. “I’m going Super Saiyan.”

My shadow powers were never meant to be used outside of life-threatening situations. As an expansion of my healing magic, they basically came into effect when all was lost and the Grim Reaper sharpened its scythe.

But ever since I started using them more frequently — thanks to the two Sins I’d faced so far — I could forcefully bring out a portion of that power and still retain some control.

Shadows draped beneath my leather coat, before working their way around my body.

The Lich sent black lightning my way. I raised Djinn, deflecting his spell and swung my free hand. Shadows formed a lance and shot towards the Lich. The mummy’s shoulder was torn off, revealing a writhing mass of obsidian scarabs beneath, before yellowed bandages covered up the wound.

The Lich screamed, releasing a foul purple gas from its mouth. The effect was instantaneous — had I not been in this enhanced form I would have died instantly.

Acid hissed as it ate through my face. I screamed, pulling back, and my healing magic struggled to repair the damage.

From beneath me, the summoning circle became active again, and I felt something foul and otherworldly wrap around my waist. I opened my eyes, now fully healed, and saw a portal shimmering to life.

A thick black tentacle, twice the size of the ones I saw outside, was squeezing the life out of me.

The Lich snarled and black lightning arced through me. I could barely breathe. Every cell in my body was decaying and frying at the same time.

“I told you I would kill you,” the Lich said. “Human.”

Suddenly, the summoning circle burned bright crimson. The portal snapped shut, bifurcating the tentacle holding me. It flopped on the floor writhing erratically before shriveling up.

“What?” The Lich turned its mummified head and saw the Necromancer kneeling beside one of the sigils in the summoning circle, a black ritual dagger plunged into the ground.

The summoning circle fizzled, its energy fluctuating out of control. Some of the Nightgaunts began dying at random, either exploding into black goop or just evaporating.

“You!”

The Lich flew towards the Necromancer with impossible speed and backhanded him. The Necromancer was sent flying. He crashed against the wall and fell limp on the ground. Blood gushed from his head.

The majority of his zombie army fell dead on the ground, skeletons becoming a decayed pile of bones, while the Draugar simply melted into nothing.

“I own you, little insect,” the Lich roared. “How dare you use my magic against me?”

The Necromancer chuckled and pulled out a second ritual dagger.

“Give me back my powers,” he said, slicing his finger with it. “You outdated piece of toilet paper.”

The dagger exploded in his hand, as did its twin planted inside the summoning circle. Necromantic magic whipped around in tendrils of black and purple, sickly arms of death waving around erratically.

The Lich extended his influence over the summoning circle and opened the Necronomicon he clasped in his hands.

“I’ll show you,” he said as foul power emanated from within the book. “I’ll teach you all a lesson.”

Greg’s cruciform spear sailed across the room, knocking the Necronomicon from the Lich’s hands. He screamed as the holy light inside the spear burned his hands and followed the Necronomicon as it skittered on the ground, far from his grip.

“You!” he screamed looking at Greg. “I’ll rip you apart limb from limb. I’ll-”

I plunged Djinn into his back, reaching all the way up to his heart.

“School’s out,” I growled, pushing magic into the weapon.

My shadows coalesced around Djinn’s blade, dulling the fiery azure light with strokes of black. I twisted the blade and Djinn’s magic snaked outwards from his wound, until the shadows sprung out, shredding the Lich’s mummified body into tiny disgusting pieces.

I felt the Necronomicon, lying still by itself, burn with power as the Lich was pulled back towards it.

The malignant spirit was once again trapped inside.

I looked at Greg and sighed, giving him the thumbs up.

He smiled, before suddenly convulsing. He fell to his knees, eyes wide open, unable to breathe.

“Greg,” I cried, running towards him.

Before I could reach him, I felt something punch me in the gut. My shadows flared against the intrusive magic.

I felt the life being sucked out of me, as if someone was tearing away every last drop of blood, every muscle fiber, pulling the very bones away from my body.

The ground opened beneath us, swallowing both me and the Kresnik. Darkness and panic lasted only for a split second before we were regurgitated back up, more than ten feet away from the summoning circle.

I saw Amaymon check Greg’s pulse. He nodded at me — Greg was just unconscious.

“What the hell is going on?” I managed to say.

Amaymon remained silent, his eyes focused steady ahead.

I followed his gaze.

The Necromancer stood up, cradling the Necronomicon in his hands, and began giggling victoriously.

Chapter 28

It should have come as a surprise, but it didn’t. I’m not as jaded as to think people never change but the ones who genuinely do turn over a new leaf are a rare handful.

The Necromancer, despite being given the opportunity to do so otherwise, kept insisting on proving he was the world’s largest asshole.

“So,” I said, straightening up. “You’re the new bad guy?”

The Necromancer grinned. “From my perspective you are the bad guys because you’re standing in my way.”

He paused and absentmindedly caressed the book in his hands.

“No, wait,” he said. “I’m still the bad guy. I quite like being the bad guy. Feels good. Powerful.”

I sighed. Always the same shit with these guys.

“So what,” I asked. “You’re gonna become the new Lich now?”

“That old thing?” The Necromancer scoffed. “He couldn’t bring out the Necronomicon’s true power. Real Necromancy requires a living being. Here, let me show you.”

Blobs of mist and darkness began forming around the Necromancer, solidifying into horrors.

“Amaymon,” I said, craning my head to look at my familiar. “Time to cut loose.”

He cracked his knuckles and neck. “Hell, yeah!”

A dome of earth cocooned Greg’s unconscious figure and I knelt down, shadows burrowing deep into the rock beneath me. The entire room shook and I could feel the entire mountain strain under the influence of Amaymon’s powers.

“How far do you wanna take this?” he asked.

I looked at the Necromancer and his stupid, terrified look.

“Tear the whole thing wide open,” I snarled.

And that was exactly what Amaymon did.

The mountain peak exploded as the Earth Elemental pulled it apart, exposing the hall we stood on to the elements. Tons of rock rolled down the side of the mountain and the ground beneath us was reduced to rubble.

The Necromancer looked around. He opened his mouth to say something, when he remembered the summoning he had initiated and poured more magic into the spell.

Nothing happened.

I pointed at the shattered ground.

“The summoning circle is gone,” I said. “No more summoning.”

I turned to Amaymon. “Stay back. I got this one.”

“Your call, boss.” He raised a boulder shaped like a throne and casually sat on it, crossing his legs.

“You think you won?” spat the Necromancer. “You think that just because you possess a demon you have defeated me?” He shook the Necronomicon. “I have millions like him at my beck and call. In fact, I have just the one.”

He flipped the book open and smeared blood on a page. The spell took effect and leaping from the pages, a chimera came in full view.

Easily five times my height, this monstrosity was an amalgamation of a lion, with a scorpion tail and two bull horns emerging from within its mane.

“Not as subtle as my master’s,” the Necromancer said, “but it will do nicely.”

The chimera leapt on me and I swiped with Djinn. The magical blast stopped the monster in its tracks. The scorpion tail came around and I blocked with my short sword, before two lion paws threw me to the ground, tearing at the shadows around me.

“This is the best you can do?” I said through gritted teeth as I held the monster back. “Your teacher must blow.”

“My teacher is the greatest,” the Necromancer replied. Clearly, I had hit a nerve. “He was the one who taught me all of this, the one who raised me from the gutter. No more petty crime for me. Now I am the Necromancer, Lord of the Undead.”

I punched the chimera’s lion face and got some leverage on it. One of its claws dug into my shoulder and blood oozed along with the shadows.

“I’d love to meet him,” I said. “Maybe I could kick his ass too, once I finish up with you.”

The Necromancer spat out a laugh.

“Oh, you have met him,” he said. “Or rather you met his private group of magic users.” He grinned. “I believe you know them as the Black Ring Society.”

The chimera leapt back, and pounced on me. Debris exploded everywhere, obscuring my vision.

But I didn’t need to see it anymore.

I held my hand out, stopping the chimera’s swooping paw with ease. I felt the monster strain against the puny human but to no avail.

The Necromancer sensed the change in the tide of battle.

“So your master is the guy who controls the Black Ring Society,” I said. “Interesting.”

I looked at the chimera struggling to rip my head off. Shadows wrapped around its neck.

“You’re big,” I said, “but nothing compared to Lilith’s Alpha. Or Leviathan. Compared to those guys, you are painfully weak.”

To prove my point, I elongated Djinn, creating a massive broadsword of azure energy and swung it from beneath the chimera…

Cutting it in half.

The monster let out a pathetic whelp and both of its halves fell on opposite sides, like an open sandwich, before evaporating into black mist.

“The first rule when engaging an unknown enemy,” I told the flabbergasted Necromancer, “is to hold back. Play the dumb card, and let the enemy reveal their tricks.” I twirled Djinn. “I faced monsters, real monsters. Did you really think a little Necromancy could ever match up with the power of gods and monsters older than the world itself? Get real.”

I looked at Greg’s unconscious figure next to Amaymon.

“It’s a good thing he’s knocked out,” I said. “Thanks for that. Now he can’t report to his pals exactly just how powerful Amaymon and I truly are. Sure, they know we’re strong, but humans always need to quantify shit. This way they can’t know our limits, and that gives us the advantage.”

I pointed at the Necromancer. “And thanks to your big mouth, now I know how your magic works. Real Necromancy requires a living person, isn’t that what you said? Makes sense. Life, death, rebirth — it’s the cycle of life, the law of conservation of energy. Call it whatever you want. Point is, you’re pulling off your magic thanks to your blood.”

Shadows shot from my body. Six spears of darkness pierced the Necromancer. I made sure to avoid any vital organs.

When the shadows retreated, blood began gushing down from the Necromancer.

“Using your own blood as a catalyst,” I said. “Let me be the first to tell you how bad an idea that is. I speak from experience. Sure, the magic is strong, but you got several weaknesses. Like, for example, when you get stabbed and your supply starts running low mighty fast.”

“Help me,” he croaked from the ground. He still held onto the Necronomicon, blood soaking it.

“You got two options,” I went on, ignoring him. “Try something stupid and bleed out as a result. Or let go of the book. Relinquish it, and lie very still.” I cocked my head at his wounds. “I’d hurry if I were you.”

He wasn’t in any imminent danger — I purposefully chose areas in the human body which hurt a lot and bleed profusely but it was nothing a few stitches and painkillers wouldn’t fix.

But he didn’t need to know that.

The Necromancer started sobbing, slobbering into his own blood. “Take it,” he said, pushing the book away from him. “I give up. I don’t wanna die.”

The Necronomicon exploded with power, its malignant force raging out of control, more wrathful than before.

“Stop it,” I yelled. “Stop before you bleed out.”

“This isn’t me,” he cried. “Help me.”

“The book,” Amaymon said. “It’s taken over him.”

“Help me!” screamed the Necromancer.

The book’s magic doubled and swallowed the Necromancer — not metaphorically.

One inch at a time, the Necromancer’s body was eaten by the Necronomicon until he was completely swallowed in.

“That’s new,” I said.

The Necronomicon’s magic did not recede.

“Any ideas?” I asked Amaymon.

“Smash it?” he suggested.

“Tried that. Didn’t work.”

“Then I’m out,” he said.

I grimaced at the book.

“It wants to feed,” I said. “It needs a host. Which means it’s alive somehow. It must be using the Necromancer as its essence, so it pulled him inside to protect its battery.”

“Erik, what are you thinking?” Amaymon asked.

“Something very stupid,” I said.

I grabbed the Necronomicon and forced it open. “You wanna eat someone?” I yelled at it.

Death magic surged from within it.

“Then eat this.”

I forced my shadow magic inside it. Instantly, it was swallowed by the book. I gave it more. The book’s hunger pulled me closer and closer, and I let it swallow me.

Chapter 29

I woke up inside the Necronomicon.

A wet sensation covered every inch of my body, immediately followed by heat and fire — not exactly the two things I’d associate with the word ‘book’.

A canopy of red sludge filled my field of vision. The walls and ceiling pulsated, red goop squirting from the organic-looking substance they were made out of. The rush of the river was loud. I looked down — my feet were ankle-deep in running blood.

That was when I saw my body for the first time.

Black and obsidian, with veins of red and orange, like running magma beneath a volcano. I looked at my hands and saw claws instead of digits. At the centre of my chest, my heart pulsated yellow and orange, burning like a miniature sun.

I felt powerful, sure of every breath, every decision, every move.

I was power personified.

I was Dark Erik.

Or at least that was what I called him. The manifestation of my subconscious, the avatar of my hidden powers, a curse I inherited from my family eons ago.

But this guy existed only inside my head, inside my subconscious.

I connected the dots. Inside the Necronomicon was an alternate dimension, with the same frequency as what is commonly known on Earth as the ‘Thought Plane’.

Which meant this was not the real world.

I looked around me, hearing for the first time the cry of souls as they slithered over the flesh walls like ectoplasmic spiders. The river of blood. The little peaks between the pulsating borders of the walls and ceiling, revealing beyond them light, darkness and Chaos — windows into the Unknown, and whatever lay within it.

No, this was not reality, or Hell, or Heaven, or anything with actual substance.

This was Limbo.

I heard tangible splashing, as something solid walked towards me. Walked — which meant it had mass and a physical form.

It was human.

Or rather, it was once human.

The Necromancer loomed into view, drenched from head to toe in blood. His eyes black as night and lifeless.

“Welcome,” he said in a rasp that showcased his madness.

“You’re not him,” I replied. Steam emitted from my mouth with every word I spoke.

The Necromancer cocked his head.

“Yes and no,” he said. “I am him, much like you are you. But you are more, as am I.”

“Start making sense,” I said.

I reached back for Djinn and found nothing.

Of course. My subconscious had no need for weapons. Or clothes for that matter.

Don’t worry, I didn’t feel self-conscious about my nudity — kinda hard to feel self-conscious when you’re made out of black stone and there’s literal fire pulsating through your veins.

“I am the Necromancer’s ambition,” the Necromancer said. “I am the thirst for power, the desire to transcend death.” He looked around. “And this is my current domain.”

Blood rose like a tidal wave and swept me away. I was buried in blood, drowning in it.

“Give in,” came the Necromancer’s voice, as clear as if he were standing next to me. “Give in, human.”

The blood became heavier. I felt myself being pushed deeper into the river. Souls and monsters reached out for me, and I knew as soon as they touched me, it was game over. I struggled but the pressure from above was too much.

One of the hands reached me and immediately recoiled. Souls began screaming at me, running away or snapping with anger.

Of course. My power is Life Magic. The opposite of this domain, Death.

I was the only one alive in the realm of the dead.

Shadows, fire and magic burst from me, and the blood evaporated. I climbed to my feet. The fleshy substance beneath my feet cracked and sizzled, cooked to a crisp, jet-black plank.

Life Magic repelled the enclosing flesh walls and the streams of ectoplasmic souls. I felt the Necromancer struggling to control the environment and force me back but my power was too great, too focused.

A tangible aura of power emanated from beyond the shadows exploding from my body, tearing the Limbo world asunder for a split second — enough to sever the Necromancer’s connection to it and send him stumbling on the ground.

He got to his knees and regurgitated blood and blackness. The Necronomicon’s foul influence left him and when he looked up, he was himself again: a power-hungry coward.

“What are you?” he whimpered.

I wrapped him in shadows and brought him closer. “I’m complicated.”

My shadows extended towards the fabric of the room, searching.

Searching for cracks in the seams, for traces of magic, for the tiniest of openings.

I found it, just an echo of a small portal, the spell that brought me and the Necromancer to this world. That was our way home.

I focused my influence on it, opening the portal for just the briefest of moments and threw both myself and the Necromancer through it.

We transferred through Chaos space and my mind was assaulted — but not by the Necronomicon’s defenses. This was something different: it was almost as if I was watching the machine at work, peeking beneath the hood.

Life and Death. The cycle, the only cycle that ever mattered, and I was looking at it, momentarily enlightened.

I felt my brain slowly tearing apart and forced myself to close my eyes and push ahead. Knowledge of that caliber was not for my eyes. I was just human and there was such a thing as knowing too much. I was not equipped to deal with that knowledge, and I knew exactly where being greedy lead to.

So I closed my eyes, ignoring the knowledge around me, resisting the temptation to take a peak, to learn how to bypass death, for myself and others.

No, I was just human.

That was enough.

We were spat out into reality.

A gush of blood rushed out with us, before the portal was snapped shut. After vomiting us out, the Necronomicon snapped shut, once again dormant.

I released the Necromancer from my grip. My shadows told me his brain was unresponsive, damaged by the book’s influence. He’d probably end up in a coma for a few years.

Shit. No one deserved that.

My brain buzzed, still erratic from having been through the precipice of life and death. A speck of knowledge had made it through, and my brain was struggling to forget it. Blood trickled from my nose.

This was not something my healing magic could repair — knowledge was meant to be used.

Because only then it could be assimilated, decoded, and hopefully forgotten.

I approached Greg. Might as well put it to use, while it lasted.

Amaymon wordlessly lowered the earth dome protecting his unconscious body and I knelt down beside him. My shadows had all but disappeared and I willed the last dregs into my hand.

A ball of black swirled in my palm.

Slowly, I lowered it into Greg’s chest, imbuing him with Life Magic, healing his wound and restoring the life force that the Necromancer had taken from him.

Greg’s eyes snapped open and the Kresnik sat upright.

“What happened?” he asked.

I smiled. “We won.”

He stood up, gingerly. “I can see that.” His eyes fell on the comatose Necromancer. “Is he..?”

“No,” I replied. “But he suffered major brain damage. The book’s influence was too much for him.”

“We need to get him medical attention immediately,” Greg said.

“Agreed.”

Greg picked up his spear and looked at the Necronomicon as if it were made out of the plague.

I casually walked up next to him and, to his horror, picked it up.

“Doesn’t affect me,” I said. “I beat this thing.”

He nodded and pulled out a large crimson handkerchief. Golden sigils were embroidered on it, a spell to bind the Necronomicon.

“Please hand it over, Erik,” he said.

I grinned. “You know, I think I’ve got a better idea.”

I tossed the book over my shoulder. Greg watched it sail across the room and bolted after it…

But not before Amaymon caught it. His jaw unhinged impossibly wide, and swallowed the Necronomicon whole.

“What did you do?” Greg grabbed the demon by his shirt. “Give it back.”

Amaymon grinned and shoved the Kresnik, sending him tumbling backwards. Then, he leaned back and let out a mighty belch that shook the ground.

“Sorry dude,” he said. “That thing’s gone by now.”

Greg snarled at me. “You gave the Grigori your word.”

“And you held my apprentice hostage,” I shot back.

Greg lowered himself into a fighting stance, his spear at the ready. “I will not allow myself to be your pawn.”

“Nobody asked you to.”

“What?”

I pointed at Amaymon.

“He didn’t destroy the book,” I explained. “Right now, you precious Necronomicon is somewhere underground, anywhere between here and New York. You ain’t gonna find it with all the shovels in the world.” I smiled sweetly at the Kresnik. “Unless, I tell him to bring it back up, of course.”

Greg’s eyes narrowed and he lowered his spear. “What do you want?”

“For my life not to suck,” I replied. “But since that ain’t happening anytime soon, I’ll settle for leverage. Now, you guys have to play the game by my rules. That means I set the ground for negotiations.”

“That makes no sense,” Greg said. “You gain no advantage by doing this.”

“On the contrary, dear Greg,” I replied. “I gain a lot. See, now I understand why you didn’t let me destroy the book when I had the chance. You guys want this, bad. And if you want something that is so dangerous, so volatile — well, that tells me you’re anticipating something twice as bad.”

I cocked my head at him. “And that anticipation means you’re scared. So go ahead and call my bluff. Kill Abi, and Gil, and anyone I care about. That gets you half a dozen corpses. But something tells me the Grigori — Jared included — would rather lick my man bits to get the book back, than have to face whatever is coming without it.”

Greg burst out laughing. Not a fake laugh, like he was trying to distract me. This was from the heart.

The guy was actually cracking up.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m not the one who makes the rules, even though I get a say in the matter. To be perfectly blunt, this was Jared’s idea, and none of us like him very much.” He grinned. “I am simply enjoying the vision of him licking your… man bits.”

He dismantled his spear and tucked it inside his case.

“Come on then,” he said, walking away from the scene and down the mountain. “Let us go negotiate.”

I looked at Amaymon, who shrugged. He picked up the comatose Necromancer and hoisted him over his shoulder as if the man weighed no more than a bag of candy.

“Plan worked,” he said.

“Yep.”

Our plan did work. Success: what a new and rewarding sensation.

I could get used to it.

Chapter 30

“Honey, I’m home!”

I looked around warehouse four again, only to find no one there. I lowered my arms and wiped the smug grin off my face, before turning to Greg.

“Where is everybody?”

Greg knelt down and drew a sigil on the ground. He murmured something and pressed his index finger inside the symbol.

Light flashed and suddenly the warehouse became populated: Berphomet was the closest, his arms crossed but the revolver in his hand at the ready.

Directly behind him, Jared emerged from a giant SUV, stretching and yawning.

His hair still looked perfect.

Asshole.

Akasha was sitting on an armchair, sipping something from a mug. I caught a whiff and nearly gagged.

Next to her, Abi and Gil sat around a small, round table, with Mephisto hovering silently behind them.

Abi lowered the poker cards on the table.

“Flush,” she said. “I win.”

Gil sighed and handed Abi a folded piece of paper, which the apprentice took with glee.

“The hell…” They all turned to look at me.

Abi jumped from her seat and bounded towards me, stopping only when Berphomet cocked his revolver, the menacing sound stopping her in her tracks.

“Hey, Erik,” she said.

“What’s going on?” I asked.

She shrugged. “You’re been gone for hours,” she replied. “We had to make the time pass somehow.”

“So you’re all chummy with my sister now?”

“She’s the only one I know here,” Abi replied. “Did you expect me to play poker with the guy who abducted me? Or perhaps the girl you dated for a single evening before she turned out to be using you?” She grinned at my expression. “Besides, we were just trading secrets: I win, I get a spell. She wins, I give her a beauty tip.”

Gil looked at me self-consciously. “Glad you’re back safe, brother.”

Her eyes sidelined.

“Greg,” she said, blushing slightly.

I looked at the Kresnik.

“Remember what I told you in the car,” I growled undertone. “I’ll cut it off.”

“Yes, yes.” His tone was about as convincing as a teenager saying they will voluntarily clear their room.

Akasha drained her mug and set it down on the ground before getting up from her armchair.

“Glad you made it out alive,” she said. “Where is the Necronomicon?”

“Straight to it, huh?” I said. “Do you want the long version or the short version?”

Akasha glared at me. “Get on with it, Erik.”

“Not so fun when you’re the one being toyed with, huh?”

“What can I say? I’m more of an on-top girl,” she replied. “Now, where is the Necronomicon?”

“Right here.”

I pointed at Amaymon who set down the Necromancer he carried on his shoulder and allowed Greg to take him away, towards a regiment of Knights.

Akasha looked at Amaymon. “I was given to understand the Necronomicon was a book.”

“It is,” I replied, not even bothering to contain my glee. “He swallowed it.”

“He swallowed it?”

Amaymon chuckled. “Phrasing, babe.”

I rolled my eyes. “Sure, Amaymon, piss off the people who we’re trading our lives with.”

“Hey, I wasn’t the one with the whole cat-ate-my-homework idea.”

“Where is the book?” Akasha snapped.

“It’s somewhere,” I shot back. “And yeah, we can get it back. Provided you meet certain conditions.”

That was apparently the last straw for Jared, who until now had been quietly observing from the sidelines.

“Conditions?” he spat. “What gives you the impression you can dictate conditions?”

I ignored him.

“Hey, aren’t you a guy short?” I asked Akasha. “Where’s the mustache guy?”

“Mustafa had urgent business to attend to,” she replied.

“And look at me when I’m talking to you,” Jared snapped.

I obliged him. “Yeah, conditions. Mine. Keep up, dummy.”

A vein throbbed in his temple.

“Here’s how this is gonna work,” I said. “You guys can take the book. In fact, I want you in particular, Jared, to take the book and shove it up your ass. But that’s beside the point. You guys get the book and in exchange I get Abi back, all charges against me dropped, magical and real, and you fix the mess you caused.”

I looked at Gil. “The precinct, the Bentley house, the cemetery, the whole damn mountain: fix it. This happened because the Grigori have no respect for what we do, how we operate — with people, rather than against them — and people got hurt. Good people. So fix it.”

Gil gave Akasha a sideways glance but the latter remained impassive.

“Third,” I continued, “and this is the most important one: this shit can never happen again.”

“Excuse me?” Jared said. “You want to break the rules, do whatever you want, and not pay the price?”

“Cut the bullshit,” I said, getting in his face.

No one did anything to stop me.

Jared’s eyes remained steady but I could smell fear coming from him. This guy was not the fighting type.

“As I told Greg, you kill me, kill my loved ones, and all you get is a pile of dead bodies. But you’ll never find the book. And I know you want the book — hell, you need it. You’re scared shitless of something, and you’re gathering all the assets you can in preparation for this.”

I backed away a step. “I don’t know what it is that you’re doing, and I don’t care. But the moment you fuck with me or my family again, I will make it my life’s mission to hunt down each and every one of you, and make you pay.”

I grinned at Jared, making him flinch.

“Starting with you, asshole.”

At the same time, I held out my hand and Amaymon pressed the Necronomicon into my palm. They stared as I held the book without any side effects.

I offered it to Akasha. “Do we have a deal?”

She looked into my eyes and nodded. “Yes. We promise to be more… mindful, in the future.”

Jared’s eyes widened. “Now hang on, Akasha. As the judiciary member of the Grigori-”

“The decision is made, Jared,” she replied coldly.

“On what grounds?”

“On the grounds that I am your senior,” she replied. “I hold the second rank of this organization, and thus my word is final.”

“I beg you, Akasha, do not listen to him. Don’t be a slave to your emotions.”

Akasha’s entire demeanor changed. Suddenly, it was as if I was looking at a bomb about to go off. I felt more magic in her than I expected, magic on par with that of the Seven Deadly Sins or perhaps an archangel.

Instinctively, I took a step back.

She turned to Jared. “A slave?”

Jared froze on the spot and looked like he was trying not to soil himself. There were very few words that could offend strong black women in positions of power.

‘Slave’ was definitely one of them.

“Leave,” she barked and Jared scrambled so quickly I thought he was going to leave skid marks on the ground.

Akasha looked at the Necronomicon, still in my hands, and craned her neck.

“Evans!”

From one of the SUVs emerged the largest man I’d ever seen.

Easily eight feet tall, roped with muscles and a comically small head, when he emerged the SUV tilted back to its original place.

I could almost hear the vehicle sigh in relief.

The giant man walked towards us with deceptive grace. He held his trash-can-sized hands out and I plopped the Necronomicon in one of them. At the same time, Abi took a step and hid behind Amaymon.

I watched as the giant closed a fist around the book and turned to look at Akasha.

“Don’t let him get to you,” he said, with a voice full of kindness.

Akasha smiled and patted his giant forearm. “Thank you, Evans,” she said. “I’ll be with you shortly.”

The giant looked at me, squinted, and gave me a slight nod, before returning to the SUV.

“That’s new,” I muttered.

“Evans,” Akasha said. “He holds the eighth seat in our organization. He’s also my retainer. We thought it was best to bring one of our heavy hitters, given what happened last time.”

“You started it,” I said as I watched the giant struggle to get back into the SUV.

Hang on.

How come he could grab the book without any protection and not keel over?

I watched the giant and caught a glimpse of it — a white ink tattoo on the back of his neck. He was too far for me to make out the details, but I recognized a talisman when I saw one. The Necromancer’s words echoed in my head and I did a quick calculation: the book’s curse only worked on living beings because only they were subject to the cycle of life and death.

The talisman made sense now.

“A golem,” I said.

Akasha smiled.

“Very perceptive,” she replied. “Yes, I’m afraid the real Evans is quite shy and doesn’t go out much himself. But his talents are undeniable: he managed to create the first ever organic golems.”

She turned to Gil. “Clearly, the Necronomicon is not simply a Necromancy tool, as we first suspected. Henceforth, I must declare it a Warlock artifact, due to its summoning properties. Do you have any objection to that?”

“No, Ma’am,” Gil replied.

That took me by surprise. I don’t think I’d ever heard Gil utter the word ‘Ma’am’ in my lifetime.

She glared at me when I grinned.

“We will need it safe,” Akasha continued.

“I have just the place for it,” Gil said. “It will be hidden out of the country, in a family-owned specialized prison in the middle of the Polynesian region. Given the large abundance of running water and volcanic activity, no one will be able to trace its exact location.”

“Excellent,” Akasha said. “Make preparations immediately.”

Gil nodded and looked at me, smiling for a second before she and Mephisto began walking towards her limo.

Greg offered me a hand.

“I’m sorry again for deceiving you,” he said. “But I can honestly say it was an honor fighting by your side. I hope to have the pleasure again someday.”

I grinned and shook his hand.

“You’re not so bad yourself, Greg,” I said. “My suggestion: get out more.”

He laughed. “Yes, I might do that.” He winked and began walking away. “I might even watch that American movie.”

“The Mummy,” I said. “Watch it and thank me later.”

He raised a hand and got inside the SUV occupied by Evans.

Only Akasha remained.

“Game’s over,” I said.

She giggled.

“This one, perhaps,” she replied. “Manipulating the Grigori — that was a dangerous move.”

I shrugged. “I seem to remember something about you liking danger.”

From behind me, I heard Amaymon and Abi make gagging noises. I turned, frowning at them, and found both trying to look innocent.

Akasha laughed and pressed a piece of paper into my hand.

“What’s this?” I asked.

“My real number,” she replied.

That shut up the two idiots behind me.

I raised my eyebrows.

“You tried to have me killed,” I said.

She shrugged. “A far more interesting second date than most, wouldn’t you agree?”

I stood there, speechless.

“Besides,” she went on. “Dating you would really piss off Jared. And your sister. Oh, and before I forget…”

She stood very close, rose on her tiptoes, and pressed her lips against mine.

“Told you I’d kiss you the next time I’d meet you,” she said, with a wink. “Call me.”

I watched her walk towards the SUV with Evans and Greg in it. All the vehicles simultaneously roared to life and gently drove away.

“That was interesting,” Abi said. “Are you really gonna call her?”

“Maybe,” I said.

“You said it yourself, she did try to kill you,” Abi said.

“Yeah, but that just means she’s into some really kinky shit,” Amaymon supplied. “Besides, did you see that ass?”

“Not helping, Amaymon,” she said.

“Oh, come on,” he countered. “A hot chick who can take action, loves danger, and dating her would piss off both his sister and a group of pricks who tried to have us all killed — why is this even a question?”

I shrugged and looked at the number. I tried weighing the pros and cons, but let’s face it, I’m a guy.

Amaymon was right on this one. It was a no-brainer.

“Ah, what the hell,” I said, pocketing her number, before turning to the both of them. “Let’s go home.”

Chapter 31

The phone rang in my office.

It was a full day after the whole Necronomicon-Grigori thing, and I was looking forward to a day of eating, sleeping, and maybe calling a certain girl and planning a date.

Lord knows, I deserved it.

I picked up. “Hello?”

“Mr. Ashendale.” The voice sent a cold chill down the back of my neck.

I glared at the receiver before pressing it back to my ear.

“Alan Greede,” I said. “To what do I owe this… What the hell do you want?”

“To thank you, of course,” he replied.

“Thank me for what?” I asked. “The Necronomicon is gone, probably halfway around the globe by now.”

“Ah, yes,” Greede replied. “Your sister has it, if I’m not mistaken. Gil Ashendale.”

Hearing him mention Gil by name made my stomach churn.

“She certainly has quite the reputation.”

“Then you know what she’s capable of,” I shot back. “Better stay away from her.”

“Indeed,” Greede said. “I wouldn’t want anyone to mess with my plans. Not yet anyway.”

I scoffed. “Good luck with that, whatever they are. Now, if you’ll excuse me-”

“Turn on your television, Mr. Ashendale.”

“What?”

Greede sighed. “Your television. I know you like to keep the remote on the coffee table.”

My eyes transfixed the remote, exactly where he said it was — exactly where I always left it.

The bastard had been inside my office, inside my house.

I looked around, scanning for signs of the intruders, maybe a hidden camera.

“Turn on the news,” Greede instructed.

One push of a button later and I was staring at live coverage of a highway wreck.

Trucks and containers were piled on one side, like an effigy, complete with smoke billowing from them. Cars marred one side, blocking the highway completely, accumulating together so that the helicopter shot made them look like ants.

Even the concrete was shattered, pulled apart into small islands of black, revealing the innards of modern infrastructure.

The news anchor was saying something but I didn’t care. I was too busy looking at one of the containers, at the black SUVs around it, and the carnage and destruction that law enforcement and ambulances had yet to quell.

I had seen enough of Gil’s tactical vehicles to recognize them in my sleep and now I was seeing them in a nightmare.

“What have you done?” I growled into the receiver.

I could feel the plastic bite into my palm and heard the creaking of the receiver, but none of it mattered.

Nothing, except the psychopath on the other end.

“I told you,” Greede said. “I always get what I want.”

“You killed her,” I said. “You killed my sister.”

“Don’t be so dramatic,” Greede replied. “Your sister was nowhere on site. Neither were the rest of the Grigori.” He chuckled. “As if I would be so lucky. All I have is a bunch of dead soldiers… and a certain book, of course.”

The plastic creaked louder at my ear.

“This ain’t over.” I heard my voice low. My free hand was shaking.

No. I needed to be calm, steady.

“You hear me?” I spat into the receiver. “This ain’t over. I’m gonna hunt you down, you son of a bitch, and when I find you, you’re gonna regret the day you crossed paths with me.”

Greede chuckled and started saying something, but I never heard it.

The receiver snapped in my hand, breaking apart. In a fit of rage, I punched the phone, shattering the keypad.

Amaymon came in, silent in his cat form, but his presence was unmistakable.

“What happened?” he asked.

A million emotions raced through me, stemming from my initial meeting with Greede, all the way up to the effort I had gone through to get the Necronomicon.

And now it was in the hands of a mad man, one who would stop at nothing to get what he wanted.

A man who had to be dealt with, permanently.

My mind settled on that one thought, finding peace in the single-mindedness of it all, forming it into one notion:

Si vis pacem, para bellum.

I turned to Amaymon. “We’re going to war.”

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Author’s Note

Writing a book is never easy, but this one felt less hard than others. By now, Erik and his pals are just an extension of the madness in my head, and I cannot wait to start the next one.

But writing is not just about me — I’ve always insisted that, by communicating with my readers and fans, I could create a better world for you to inhabit.

And the best part is, you guys always come through for me.

This year, I would like to specifically thank:

J Staffey, Robert Loblaw, Hector Santiago, Alan Kleynenberg, Trevor Hook, Thomas Altum, Pete Ffrench, Ann Newman, Dennis Kelly Jr., Teresa Stump, Linda Collins, Lisa Marriott-Smith, Linda Sue Stephens and Stephanie Gooding.

These wonderful people — as well as a few more who wished to remain anonymous — were my beta readers (I call them Ninjas). They read the book beforehand and sent me feedback, often with encouraging words that kept me from the verge of a nervous breakdown.

I still get nervous hitting that publish button, but when I know there are fans like them — and you — out there, who support me and my dream, it makes all the hard work worthwhile.

So, sincerely, Thank You.

Ryan Attard

About the Author

Ryan Attard is the author of the Legacy series, the Pandora Chronicles, and the Esper Files.

Hailing from a faraway island, it wasn’t long until Ryan began creating his own imaginary friends and writing down their adventures.

As Egan Brass, he writes the Esper Files — a tale of super-powered individuals set in a steampunk universe.

He also dons a cape and a mask, and spends his free time learning Victorian insults in order to both confuse and enthrall his foes.

He’s also one to write his bios in the third person.

Email: ryanattardauthor@gmail.com

Website: http://ryanattard.com

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