The cabbie rolled down his window. What the fuck are you doing, lady? Get out of the street.
She inhaled a deep breath and called back to him over the busy sounds of the city. I need a ride. Rushing to the side of his cab, she fumbled her way into the backseat, apparently still slightly dizzy from the remaining Ativan.
The cabbie leaned back in his seat and sighed as he stomped on the gas pedal. Where to, lady?
Listen, this is an emergency, and I dont have any money on me.
The cabbie glanced in the rearview mirror, eyeing the hospital gown. Look, lady. I dont give free rides. Either you pay or you get out of my
Before he could finish his sentence, Allsún shoved her hand in front of his face, releasing another swirling puff of faerie dust. She cleared her throat. So, about that free ride?
The man blinked as if in a haze before he said, Free ride? Sure, I can do that. Where to?
She smiled. Head toward the south end of the city, and hurry. I dont know where were going, exactly, but as we get closer, Ill figure it out.
The pull deep inside her chest increased with every mile, her senses sharpening the nearer they came to their destination. She marveled at how quickly she had burned off the drugs. Her head cleared more with each passing moment. No wonder theyd had her hooked up to the stuff. Shed probably needed a dosage more appropriate for someone three times her size.
When they reached the edge of the city, the tall buildings and industrial sprawl faded into quiet suburbia. Out here the bright lights of the skyscrapers shimmered from a distance, but the streets were dim, lit only by the occasional streetlight. She directed the cabbie through a series of turns until they were fully surrounded by rows of small brick houses. The view of the city disappeared. She would search all night if she had to. Because maybe, just maybe, she could save someone tonight.
* * *
DISPOSING OF A body was never pretty. The metallic odor of the doctors blood invaded Davids nose, and he fought not to gag as the scent mixed with the smell of rotting garbage. The open Dumpster smelled more like decaying flesh than the actual dead guy did. Better get this over with. Lifting the doctors corpse, he hefted the limp body into the trash. God forgive him. It went against every fiber of his conscience every time, but he always got the job done. A part of him wished he could call up the guys family or at least take him to the morgue, make sure he had a proper funeral, but unless he wanted witnesses, that wasnt a possibility.
Boy, how much fun would it be to explain to the police that hed killed a man because the guy was possessed by a demon? That one would really go over well with the copsabout as well as fat-free doughnuts and decaffeinated coffee.
After closing the Dumpster lid, he pulled an old black bandana from inside his jacket and wiped down everything he had touched. He couldnt leave his prints around. Once he finished, he slipped down the alley, hobbling through several back passageways until he reached his parked motorcycle. A sharp pain shot down his leg with every step, and he winced. Damn it.
He let out a long breath and unlatched the saddlebag on his black 2011 Harley-Davidson Dyna Super Glide, a piece of perfect machinery, if you asked him, and the one beauty who never failed him. He dug around the inside of the saddlebag, then frowned as he uncapped the bottle of hydrocodone. He shook two of the white horse-sized pills into his hand and dry-swallowed them, then placed the prescription bottle in the saddlebag once again. He hated taking the pills, but they were the only way he could operate with his leg as jacked up as it was. At least the doctor insisted the limp and the pain were only temporary, and hed be healed soon.
Every four to eight hours, depending on his level of pain and the amount of strain hed put on his muscles, he was reminded of his most recent failures and misgivings.
Robert, that sadistic skinwalker, had tortured the only woman David had ever loved. Kidnapping and torturing Allsún had been pure fun and games for Robert, and because the sicko had torn up Davids leg, leaving him with a limp, David had been humiliatingly unable to save Allsún himself and had been forced to watch as his friend and fellow hunter Jace McCannon did it for himbut not before Allsún had incurred the kind of physical and mental damage she might never recover from. Sure, hed been the one to actually get Allsún out of the building and to safety, but Jace had been the one to kill Robert.
If only David had been stronger, a better fighter, he could have bested Robert to begin with, and Allsún would have remained safe. He would never forgive himself for all the pain shed endured. Her suffering was his fault for not protecting her.
He knew nothing good would come from blaming himself, but it didnt matter. The guilt was enough to hurt him until the day he died. But hell, he had already failed her in so many other ways, what was one more thing added to the list?
A muffled buzzing noise broke his train of thought. His phone was vibrating in the pocket of his jeans. He slipped his hand underneath the edge of his leather bike chaps and pulled out the sleek new phonecourtesy of his fellow hunter Shane Gray. The name Damon Brock flashed across the screen. His division leader calling could only mean one of two things: either there was another bitch-fest meeting he would have to attend or a demonic possession had been reported.
Having grown up in Rochester, David had the advantage of knowing all the rabbis in the city, so once he had grown old enough to begin his work as an exorcist, the rabbis had introduced him to the pastors, the priests and the imams, until he had an entire network of holy men aware of the work he did. When people figured out a family member was possessed, their religious leader was always the first person they called. Any time a parishioner reported a possession, someone in the network called Damon or reported it directly to David.
Sure, the system wasnt perfect, but it definitely helped David find the monsters. He had been called in a few times for some druggies who had taken one too many tabs of the brown acid and were spouting all sorts of demonic bullshit, but for the most part the system worked.
Knowing he couldnt avoid Damons call, he finally hit the talk button and pressed the phone to his ear. Yeah?
Father OReilly called. Someone needs you, Damon said without so much as a hello. Cold and straight-to-the-point, as always. He wasnt one to fool around with pleasantries, especially where the Execution Underground was concerned.
Whats the address? David asked.
South side of the city. Almost out in the suburbs. Damon rattled off the info.
David quickly committed the address to memory, pulled out the keys to the Super Glide and mounted his bike. Whats the situation?
A woman from OReillys parish called him, Damon said. Shes certain her husband is possessed by the devil. The Father heard her scream, and then there was a gurgling followed by...nothing.
Poor old bastard was probably scared shitless. David shoved back the bikes kickstand with the heel of his boot and jammed his key into the ignition.
Theres a meeting tonight. Come here once youre finished.
Anything else? David asked.
Damon hesitated before he said, You know I dont agree with your theory that there are going to be more murders, but OReilly said to tell you the family had an infant.
Theres a meeting tonight. Come here once youre finished.
Anything else? David asked.
Damon hesitated before he said, You know I dont agree with your theory that there are going to be more murders, but OReilly said to tell you the family had an infant.
Shit. Without another word, David hung up the phone.
He turned the ignition key, and the engine rumbled to life. Within moments he was zooming through the streets, cutting in and out of traffic. He needed to get thereand fast.
This night was going great. One dead body was bad enough, and now he had another possession and a bitchfest meeting to boot. Somehow he doubted things were going to get any better.
He didnt care what the other members of the Execution Underground said or that Damon didnt support his theory; something big was about to go down with the demons in Rochester, and he was determined to find out what that was. It had been two weeks since the infant girls murder, and hed been expecting more to come. Since hed found the victim, Rochesters demons had been quietway too quiet for his comfort. Hed never seen such a drop in demonic activity in all the years hed been hunting. Since the decline in possessions, a feeling of dread had been slowly building inside him. Something in his gut told him these past two weeks had been the calm before the storm.
Beyond the sheer horror of the babys death, something just wasnt right about the situation. Demons rode humans like disposable cattle, but they didnt kill them for sport. They used them for pleasure, to get their rocks off and escape the hellfire for a while, and if the human happened to die in the process of their twisted games, so be it. But they didnt set out to kill normal humans, and there was no way a demon would have a good ol time possessing a sixth-month-old baby. The little girls death was more than collateral damage. Demons were sick dipshits to begin with, but it took a special kind of evil to kill an infant.
Initially, hed had no leads on the case. During an examination of the infants corpse, hed found little indication of what type of demon had orchestrated the murder, let alone its motivation. Demons left messes behind them, but this one hadnt. That set off more red warning flags than heroin track marks on a cheap hooker. Those warning signs told him one thing: something bad was about to go down. His best guess had been an Abyzu. The awful little shits were known for preying on infants, using their life force for energy and power. But Abyzus, who did set out to kill, werent commonat least not since the decline of so-called SIDS.
The whole case was a mess. No evidence, no indication of what was to come, just a dreaded gut feeling things were about to become even messier.
CHAPTER THREE
WITHIN FIFTEEN MINUTES David reached the address. Shutting off the ignition and setting the kickstand, he parked his bike on the street several houses away. He quickly jogged toward the house, ignoring the shooting pain coursing through his leg.
As he crept up the porch steps, the hairs on his arms and the back of his neck stood on end. His senses heightened, he listened for the sound of screams or yelling from behind the door. Nothing.
He breathed deep, preparing himself, then froze. The smell of rotten eggs hit his nose, and he swore under his breath. David knew that smell.
Sulfur.
Without hesitation, he slammed into the front door with his full weight. It caved in after two hits from his two-hundred-plus-pound frame. Thank God for flimsy locks and no dead bolts. When his leg still functioned well, one kick wouldve done the trick. He frowned at that thought. As he stepped through the broken doorway, he pulled his gun and cocked the hammer, preparing to shoot. He was so ready to try out those new bullets. Holy-water-filled bullets wouldnt kill a demon, but they would definitely slow it down for a few moments, and that was all he needed.
He listened intently, trying to get a sense of where the demon was.
After a quick scan of the ground floor, he called out, Is anyone home?
An eerie silence answered. The quiet was too absolute. No sounds of talking or movement. His stomach dropped, and something inside told him he wasnt searching for a demon anymore. He was searching for its victims. Its dead victims.
He charged up the stairs. Agony seared through his leg as he climbed the steps faster than his pain-in-the-ass physical therapist would have approved of, but he wouldnt allow that to hold him back. Not again. Three bedrooms to scan. Slowly he pushed open the door to the first and stepped inside. From the size and décor, definitely the master bedroom, probably where the wife, whod called Father OReilly, and her husband slept. Unlike the rest of the pristinely organized room, the comforter and bedsheets lay in a twisted bundle, as if someone had shoved them off in a rush to jump out of bed. Otherwise, no signs of anything out of the ordinary. But there was no way he had the wrong house, not with the sulfur he smelled. Even old rotting Easter eggs that the kids hadnt found for months didnt smell that potent.
He moved to the next bedroom, gun still drawn. He peeked inside: the room of a teenage boy. Sports memorabilia and a game system, but nothing unusual, just another messy bed. Turning toward the last room at the end of the hall, David stared at the open doorway. A shiver ran down his spine. Most people would have run in the other direction. It didnt matter what dumbasses movies made the average citizen look like; in the real world, when people felt threatened, they ran, which honestly was the smartest thing to do. Instincts served a good purpose. But it was Davids job not to run.
With a deep breath, he stepped inside. Immediately he lowered his gun. He was standing inside a babys nursery. He turned on the light and blinked rapidly as his eyes adjusted to the sudden brightness. From the pale pink molding on the white-painted walls and the small onesies lying in a neatly folded pile on a changing table near the crib, he could tell the room was meant for a baby girl. His stomach twisted into knots.
Not again. Dear God, not another baby.
Adrenaline coursed through him, and he fought back panic. He needed to find her, find the whole family, but to do so he needed to stay calm, collected, no matter how much the situation primed him to leap into action.
Where was this family? No signs of a struggle, yet they werent here, and the disarray of their beds in comparison to the rest of the immaculately clean house suggested they hadnt planned on leaving. No, David could tell something had woken them and forced them out of their beds.
Tucking his gun back into its holster at his hip, he limped over to the babys crib and peered inside. A single bloodied thumbprint dirtied the white-painted wood. Shit.
As quickly as he could manage, he jogged down the stairs. There had to be something hed missed. He stopped as he reached the bottom of the staircase. Light shone faintly underneath the door of what hed initially thought was a closet. He wrenched the door open.
Carpeted stairs descended down into a basement. Several drops of blood stained the tan carpeting. One painful step at a time, David negotiated the stairway. His heart thumped against his chest. The sound rang in his ears in the silence.
Though hed known as soon as he reached the porch steps that something was wrong, nothing could have prepared him for the sight before him. A large lump crawled into his throat as he surveyed the gore-covered scene. The basement looked as if someone had taken the contents of an entire blood bank and used them to set off an explosion with a messy homemade bomb. Blood soaked the walls, ceiling and floor, seeping into the carpeting.