Sailor Ray and the Dark Descent (The Pact Book 2) Page 10

  With demons, engaging with them is more of a concept because they really have no purpose other than to fuck shit up for everyone else. After wallowing in the mess that I’m in now, I realize that. Before my dad died, I was stupid enough to go after him alone—ignorant to the damage that a well-trained band of witches and a handful of demons can dish out.

  Anyway, I’m fine with Abby and Blaze coming. Me going alone in my condition wouldn’t be the best, but at the same time, I don’t want to drag them into a slaughter fest. There’s a lot of bad blood going on between me and the demons in the area. The demons know that I’ve escaped and that I’ll most likely be looking for a way to rescue their captive. While in theory I could be anywhere, logic says I’d be looking for answers. They’ll be expecting me, and if they’re really on their shit, they’ll be expecting backup as well.

  “Who knows,” Abby picks up, cutting me from my thoughts, “maybe once we get Ben back, we can locate a drug lab or something and level it. It’ll do a lot of good.”

  “And it’ll stir up a lot of trouble,” Blaze chimes in. “I’m not against it, Abby, but we have to see what we’re dealing with first. Out of the three of us, Sailor’s the only one that’s dealt with these guys first hand. We need a bit more of a profile on these guys if we plan on going down that road. We don’t want to be in over our heads.”

  Blaze gets it. Good. Being overzealous against an organized unit is never a good thing; supernatural or not. Abby’s smart, sure. But these guys aren’t to be taken lightly, no matter how good or resourceful you are in the field.

  Fifteen minutes later, we arrive at the spot where I managed to hide my car—a not so friendly looking alley that just screams sketch. I take the time to examine the exterior of my Mustang and it seems to not have been tampered with in the slightest, which is a God-send for Chicago.

  “Everything look okay?” Blaze asks. I turn back and flick my thumb in the air. He’s trying his best to look casual—arms folded with his body leaning against the front of his sedan. Abby is tucked away in the passenger side, getting a full view of the sidewalk and anyone who passes through her line of sight. At this time of day, they’re enough people to deter a public scene, but every little bit of protection counts.

  “Yeah, it looks all right. No boot or anything. I’m going to need your help for a bit, though…can you lend me a hand?” Blaze buries his revolver into the back of his pants and speed-walks towards me.

  He studies my face for a moment. “Hey, what’s the problem?” His eyes shift from me to the car and then back to me again, confused by my antics. I lamely point down at the ground by the driver’s side. “Your shoes aren’t untied. I don’t get it,” he says flatly.

  “Keys. I need you to get them…I have a magnetic key holder installed right under the car door. What? You thought I was going to hotwire my own car or something?”

  “Possibly,” he says with a grunt as he gets down on his stomach. “I don’t know what it is you do these days,” he adds while fishing around the underside of my car. Hiding the key was an idea that I heard about online, and it actually came in handy. I didn’t have to worry about getting pick-pocketed or losing my keys during a case. However, it’s not too practical when you’re trying to make a smooth escape. “This, them?” Blaze unclips a set of keys and raises it level with my waist.

  “Yup.” Not missing a beat, I unlock the car door and slide into the driver’s seat. I reach over to the glove compartment and shuffle through a set of maps and falsified papers before my eyes set on exactly what I’m looking for—a little black box. Everything should be there, but I can’t resist the urge to check it. With a twist of the key, I unlock the box and smile when I notice that nothing’s been tampered with. I lost my other fake ID when they captured me. Having your actual ID on you at any time in the field is beyond stupid. That being said, the ‘Casey Gertran, FBI’ routine will have to be in remission for quite a while, but one day, I’m sure she’ll make her return.

  “Okay, everything is good on my end,” I yell over the turning engine. I begin pulling in my car door but a jolt of pain halts my movement. I wasn’t careful enough this time, and I was doing so well, too. “Ah, geez,” I moan. “That really hurt.” Not that I should be surprised.

  “You sure you’re okay to drive?”

  “Yeah, I just went at it the wrong way,” I respond, trying my best to stop my pain from bleeding into my voice. Blaze leers at me speculatively and grabs the door to my mustang. “I’m going to be at my apartment until it’s time to roll out for the night. It’ll give me time to change and get ready. You have my number and I have yours. We’ll meet up here and do the rest on foot. The area I have in mind isn’t too far from here. I’ll be in this exact spot at eleven. I’ll text you thirty minutes ahead of time to confirm that we’re still on. You know what to bring, right? Expect demons. Come prepared.” Blaze nods. “Let the hunters you’ve been hanging with know what you’re up to. Give them a code word or a report back time in case things go south. I know you’re not from here, but they shouldn’t be above being on reserve.”

  “Sailor—”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll be safe. My place is warded and there are medical supplies, too. I can take care of myself, Blaze, but I do appreciate everything you’ve done for me. I wouldn’t be here without you.”

  “I can say the same about you.” We exchange smiles and I momentarily find myself stunned by the sincerity that reflects in his soft gaze. We really have been through a lot together, Blaze and I. It’s both sweet and sad. “Take care, Sailor.”

  “You too.” My smile tries its best to widen but I fight the urge. Now isn’t the time to get wrapped up in nostalgia. A few happy memories won’t do anything to avert the subtle sinking feeling that’s pulling at my core. It’s been bothering me virtually ever since I woke up at the hunter’s safe house; more so since I’ve been out and about. I need to get it together. Ben is in danger and so is his mom and everyone else that’s involved. One slip up can cost us everything.

  It’s okay to be nervous, it’s normal, I get that, but for some reason, whatever I’m feeling is nearly impossible to shake.

  “Call me if you need anything.”

  “I will.”

  I watch Blaze as he shuts my door and walks back to his car. Once he and Abby pull off, I let out a long-winded sigh before switching into drive. It’s a little past two, so I’ll roughly get about seven or so hours of rest before I’m back on my feet. I’ll need to be as good as I can get for tonight. Without Alfonse, I’ll just be a liability if I can’t hold my own.

  I try not to think about it on the way home. Twelve minutes later, I’m at my front door. I know for a fact that nobody worth mentioning saw me pull out from the alley, but I can’t say anything about secrecy once I hit the road. More or less, I’m a high priority target. Alfonse or not, I put a kink in an underground demonically influenced drug ring. It’s better to avoid high traffic areas at all costs.

  The first thing I do once I get inside is go straight to my room and take a shower. It doesn’t take but a few seconds underneath my showerhead to realize just how exhausted I am. I breathe deeply as the steam opens my lungs while warm waters soothe my aches and bruises. How in the hell are you going to pull this one off? I shake my head in defeat and run my fingers back and forth through my hair, baffled by my own question. Sleep. I just need sleep and some food. That’ll be nice. When was the last time I actually had a decent meal? The medicine that Blaze gave me royally screwed with my appetite and I already didn’t have one to begin with. I had been knocked out for almost half a week, and ever since I’ve woken up, I’ve been on the move.

  I linger in the shower for a bit longer, studying the healing cuts that riddle my torso. Most of them were shallow with a few exceptions. I’m not an expert on torture, but whatever method he used made them sting like paper cuts whenever my open flesh was exposed to the air. He was pulling his punches, also. They were only meant to slow me down, it seems, not put my
life in serious danger.

  All he wanted was to break my spirit and possess me. The superficial cuts would heal, as would any other damage he inflicted. Assuming he was strong enough after I exorcised him from the waitress in the coffee house. He almost had me, too. Even though Al repelled him once, he could have easily tried again as long as I was at his mercy. I could tell he wouldn’t stop at anything until he had me as his own. It was like I was more than just a hunter to him. I was almost like his prize. The way he taunted me and played with my emotions…it made me sick.

  And he’s still out there, alive and well.

  Fed up with my thoughts, I force myself out of my self-loathing shower session and slip into something more comfortable, forgoing my bandages. I head over to the kitchen and browse through my pantry. Without much of a choice, I settle on some wheat crackers and grab a chocolate health shake from my fridge. Taste wise, it isn’t the greatest, but it’s packed with all the good stuff my body craves. The chilled sensation I get from my first sip, to my surprise, is quite refreshing after a hot shower, and I resist the urge to drink more until I put something else in my stomach. Half a stack of crackers later, I walk back into my room, shake in hand. I set it on the dresser near the doorway and painfully squat down to the chest at the foot of my bed. After inputting the code, I flip it open and glaze my eyes over the contents until I locate the medical kit to the far right, half-buried under some misplaced notes. I pull the kit out and shuffle through the various forms of medicine I’ve managed to get my hands on by means I’m not at liberty to discuss. Found it.

  I pick up the blister pack of extended release Tramadol and pop one of the pills into my mouth, letting it sit for a bit before I wash it down with the rest of my shake. Hopefully it provides enough relief to go hunting tonight. This stuff is strong. Not morphine strong, but strong enough to be prescription only. I’d rather not double up on it unless I really need to.

  After taking my medicine, I sit on my bed and set two alarms; one at nine forty-five and another at ten. I debate on whether to sleep outside or inside of my room. As trivial as it sounds, it’s a rather important decision. While my apartment is warded, the wards inside my room are the strongest. The other areas have some protection against demons, but in the past, Alfonse was able to speak to me with little effort. I’ve never heard his voice once I’ve crossed into the boundaries that outline my room. The abandoned building Blaze brought me to was warded, as well. I didn’t hear anything from him there, either. Even when we were out and about, there wasn’t as much as a peep from him. The wardings interfere with his ability to draw strength from me, and I have almost eight hours to myself. I can go crash somewhere else, but then I’ll be vulnerable, assuming I become a blip on the demon radar again. Being in my condition with demons chasing down my back isn’t exactly an ideal situation. And if Al did come back—

  No. I jar myself from my line of thinking. I should have more faith in Blaze and Abby. We can do this without him. I don’t need him for anything. This thing inside me is literally evil.

  An image of his face flashes in my mind from when I last saw him, and I press my hand against my forehead. His warm and infectious smile…the calmness of his voice. I want to forget it all. That whole experience was disturbing, but in the way you only realize once you wake up from a fucked up dream.

  My bedroom it is.

  I make a U-Turn, bury myself underneath my sheets and wait for the Tramadol to take over. All I can do now is rest. Things are going to start picking up soon and I need to be ready for whatever the night brings. If I’m not careful, there’s a chance it can be my last.

  Chapter 9: Chasing the Blue Devil

  From the edge of my desk, my phone throws a tantrum. It’s rumbling body and flagrant screams pull at my attention. “Ten o’ clock,” I mutter before shutting off my alarm.

  I’d managed to get sleep, but it was light—about seven hours, which was more than enough to feel refreshed. Even though the quality wasn’t the greatest, it was better than nothing. When I woke up an hour before my alarm, most of my pain had subsided, so I decided to get to work on prepping for tonight.

  In the trunk of my car I keep a little bit of everything. Incense, herbs, guns, extra cash—you name it. It comes in handy if it’s nearby, which is almost always. On foot, my selection is limited to what I can carry without bringing much attention, with the exception of special cases outside of densely populated areas.

  As much as I’d love to, it would be a tad difficult to walk around the city with a shotgun strapped to your back.

  Tonight, the plan is to interrogate users in the downtown area of Chicago—hopefully humans. We want to find out where Gareth is, and with a bit of luck, Ben. After that, we save him and take the appropriate steps to ensure that his life is never threatened again. Easier said than done.

  While it would be great to snag a couple of humans off-guard, odds are there are a few demons around, so we’ll have to take precautions. Getting roughed up by a demon in an alley isn’t on my to-do-list, so I plan to come prepared.

  The majority of the bullets I’ve been using since I got to town have been outfitted solely for killing. When I was at Hex and at the coffee shop, protection was my primary concern, so I adjusted my inventory to fit my needs. This time, I plan to do things a little differently.

  Recipes and methods amongst hunters have been a closely kept secret for generations, dating as far back as the days of King Solomon, the wisest man who ever lived. As time progressed, we lost most of the information through various wars, natural disasters, and the collapse of civilizations, although some things remain as clues engraved in our culture or in old text. Legend has it that Solomon kept a journal filled with everything he had learned. It’s even said that some of the pages had remedies for ailments that don’t even exist in our time. When I was younger, it sounded too good to be true, until I heard a story about a couple of pages that were found in Israel decades ago, preserved in a clay jar warning about ‘evils unseen.’ It was only a dozen or so pages from an unknown author, but according to some theories on the inside, it was most likely a juvenile attempt at copying the original manuscript during one of Solomon’s visits to the different regions of people he protected as king. I imagine that the knowledge we picked up over time led to some of the advances we’ve come up with over the years in hunting and also the more polluted variants that twisted his knowledge for evil. I guess that’s why the pages that were found were eventually destroyed.

  Solomon was good to try to spread his knowledge, but the people he trusted didn’t have the same character as he did. Once he saw that his insights were being used to for the wrong purposes, the tale continues to say that he promptly divided the book and scattered it throughout the land, never to be seen again. Fortunately, a few of the pages were found by one of the good guys and we managed to take whatever information we could and use it to further our own findings, like weaponry, for example. The text that was found was not surprisingly on demonology and the supernatural, and it solidified some things we naturally learned along the way just from inhabiting the same space as them. The pages mainly covered findings on exorcism, cases from their time as reference points, certain methods for battling demons, and early highlights of paranormal history. Seeing that it was a copy of a journal believed to be hundreds of pages, the stuff that was found was like a shorthand edition. A lot of things looked like they made sense if you knew previous concepts or had a general understanding of the big picture. From what I’ve heard, nothing really was concrete. The bullets I use, for example, are based off of knowledge passed down through history, presumably from his teachings and other advances made from trial and error (there is no direct proof that Solomon actually made the journal—it’s just a theory, but biblically speaking, Solomon was said to be the wisest man who ever lived). Most of the wardings we use are thought to have originated from him, too. But as I said before, the majority of Solomon’s teachings were unfortunately lost with the passage of time, w
hich is why we’ve crafted different methods based off of other texts and practices to get our desired results—like the other bullets I’m going to be using tonight.

  When traditional witches perform a spell using black magic, unless extremely talented, they draw energy from a malevolent force via demons, objects, or ceremonies to serve as a conduit to fuel their supernatural endeavors. More often than not, it’s a mix of all three. For a weak spell, a demon’s influence may not be directly needed. Instead, certain objects or herbs can be collected and used in order carry out a ritual. When a demon is summoned, however, certain precautions are to be taken. More specifically, a combination of sigils used to ensnare the summoned demon and protect the witch from harm, dubbed “The Witch’s Seal.” While within the seal, a summoned demon is forced to stay within the given boundaries. The only way a demon can pass through the seal is by obtaining a human vessel. When summoned, they (most often) take the form of a dark mist, matter, or that of an apparition with human features. After the ceremony is completed, the caster dismisses the demon and goes along their merry way.

  From studying the fundamentals of the seal, a duo of sisters were able to make a derivative comprised of components gathered from their own research, without including the evil witch stuff. Hex Bolts are what they’re called—bullets made to restrain and weaken demons so they can’t leave their vessel. Since Hex Bolts can inhibit a demon’s strength, it also cuts into their regenerative abilities, allowing them to feel pain and die. Of course, the human will die, too, so it’s not ideal for an exorcism. In fact, the properties of a Hex Bolt actually are counterproductive to an exorcism—the modified seal engraved in the bolt is used to retain whereas an exorcism is meant to extract.