The Shadow Enforcer: The Shadow Enforcer Series Book One Page 7

  My turn. I choose Earth... Releasing the protective magic, he spread his arms wide, bending the energy of Earth to his will. The daggers in his hands shone brighter, and the muscles of his arms and chest tensed. The land trembled, and a deep, wide fracture ran through the hard desert land, surrounding the attackers and blocking their way out. The shifters screamed, falling as the earth kept quaking.

  Damian took a step closer to them. With a low growl rumbling in his throat, he turned his arms, his fingers squeezing the grips of his daggers so hard his joints cracked. Dark roots broke through the surface, wrapping around the shifters’ legs and arms, immobilizing them and lifting them off the ground. The men screamed in horror, struggling to free themselves, but to no avail.

  With one wave of his hand, Damian created a bridge over the trench. He crossed over and halted in front of the leader, disgust curving his lips into a snarl. Seizing his hair, he pulled his head back and pressed his dagger under his chin. The man jerked, struggling against the restraints. Damian snapped his fingers, and long thorns erupted from the roots, penetrating the shifter’s skin, drawing blood.

  The man yelped and stilled, staring at Damian, his eyes filled with terror. “Who are you, man?” he croaked, half-strangled by the roots. “What are you?”

  “I’m no one,” growled Damian, anger coiling within him. “All I want is for people to leave me the fuck alone!” He pressed his dagger deeper under the man’s jaw, a thin rivulet of blood trickling from under the shining blade. “Who sent you after me and why?”

  “Please, man...” His voice died out as he met Damian’s glowing eyes. “I swear, I don’t know. I’m just a sword for hire. We all are. I received the assignment through some phone app. That’s all I know.”

  “Where were you supposed to take me if I gave in to your demands?” asked Damian, releasing the pressure on the dagger slightly.

  “Just some abandoned house in Las Vegas,” replied the shifter. “They wanted you out of the state. I have no idea why. I swear, man, I told you everything I know. Please let—”

  “Out of the state or out of the way?” murmured Damian, talking to himself, ignoring the shifter.

  He was about to ask the shifter another question when a tiny fluctuation of the magical energy touched his senses. He lowered the daggers, and they vanished from his hands. Straightening up, he narrowed his eyes, staring in the direction of the magical disturbance, and his stomach twisted with dread. A first wave, dark and sinister, rushed through the desert, enveloping him with its poisonous energy.

  “Did you sense it?” whispered the shifter, his voice hoarse with fear. “Man, let us go or we are all gonna die... Something is coming.”

  “Nothing is coming,” muttered Damian as the second wave of dark magical energy spread around. Lowering down to the shifter, he continued in a quick whisper, “You got lucky, dumbass. I have no time to deal with you.” He closed his eyes, connecting with the power of Earth once again, and the trench in the ground closed up as if it were never there in the first place. “I’m leaving. In about an hour, the roots will disappear. Leave and, for your sake, I hope our paths never cross again.”

  Without waiting for the shifter’s response, Damian took off running. Bathed in the silvery light of the moon, the path was clearly visible. Also, he could sense the flow of the dark magical energy, and the closer he got to Paradise Manor, the stronger and more potent the waves became.

  He stopped in front of the gates into the property, his chest rising and falling with laborious breaths, sweat running down his flushed face. The accumulation of the dark energy was so thick here, he could practically see it without the use of his magic. A black mist that looked like a swarm of angry hornets rotated above the building. Glancing up at the cameras, he didn’t see the tiny red lights around the lens and assumed that the security system was down.

  Without wasting more time, he vaulted over the fence and ran toward the house, but as he reached the main entrance, he came to a screeching halt. The door was locked and even though he couldn’t see the barrier blocking it, somehow, he knew it was there. He had no idea what would happen if he tried to open the door, or just touch the door handle. He reached for it, his fingers trembling slightly, but his hand ran into an invisible, solid wall.

  At the same time, a blood-curdling scream—the cry for help of a woman, scared and desperate—broke through the thick walls of the mansion, raising the small hairs on the back of his neck.

  “Exitius!” roared Damian, placing all the magic he could gather into a single strike.

  The invisible wall exploded, and the dark mist appeared in its place, quickly dissipating. The door blew up with a thunderous bang, showering him with wooden splinters.

  Chapter 7

  ~ Damian Blake ~

  Damian approached the threshold and quickly surveyed the room. The foyer was dark as the weak, silvery glimmer of the moonlight coming through the doorway couldn’t illuminate its every corner. As soon as he stepped inside, freezing air enveloped him, sending shivers down his back. A stream of dark magical energy rushed through the house, making him stop and hold his breath, sharpening his already stretched senses.

  Soft whispers filled the room, but because of the strange acoustics of this house, he couldn’t figure out where they were coming from. It seemed like the hissing sound was coming from every direction at once, flowing above and below him, wrapping around his body, invading his mind with its malignant presence.

  He groaned and bent forward, wrapping his arms around his head. The whispers became louder, more invasive, commanding him to leave and never come back. A short cry filled with dread and hopelessness sounded somewhere in front of him, breaking through the haze in his feverish mind. With sheer effort of will, he straightened and looked around, searching for River.

  “Detective Evans?” he breathed out, a white cloud forming in front of his lips. “River... are you here?” His soft voice carried through, bouncing from the ceiling and walls in a weird, hollow echo.

  The whispers got agitated, fusing into a loud, continuous noise. He could no longer distinguish separate words. It seemed like the terrifying meaning was projected directly into his mind. The darkness became thicker and heavier, and he could feel its cold and sinister touch on his skin. The flow of evil energy rose to the next level, wrapping tightly around his arms and chest, suffocating and immobilizing him, draining his strength and magic.

  “No...” he growled. Resisting the hold of the malignant energy, he reached for the power of Earth, barely detecting its flow through the surrounding darkness. As his eyes lit up a bright orange, two daggers materialized in his hands. Gathering every scrap of magic and elemental energy he had within, he channeled it through the blades. The rays of undiluted energy of Creation erupted from them, cutting through the dark energy as if it were something tangible.

  As he moved forward, fighting for his every step, the darkness retreated and slowly dissipated, falling to the floor in shreds of gray ash. The flow of dark energy subsided, and the whispers quieted down, melting into a heavy silence. The air warmed up slightly, but it was still too chilly for comfort. A heartbeat later, he stood in the middle of the empty foyer, breathing laboriously, his shirt soaked with sweat despite the cold temperature.

  Cowering in the corner between the foyer table and the wall, River sat on the floor with her legs bent, her head bowed down to her chest. He approached her and squatted, noticing that she was holding Gypsy tightly in her arms. She squeezed the poor cat so hard that he had to wonder if Gypsy was still alive.

  “Detective Evans,” Damian called her, softly touching her shoulder. “River? Are you okay?”

  She raised her head and looked at him, recognition lighting up her face. She dropped Gypsy to the floor, and the cat meowed, sounding relieved. To his shock, she wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing her trembling body to his.

  “Nick,” she said, threading her fingers through his sweat-soaked hair. “I knew it was you. I knew you’d
come back to me.”

  He cringed, realizing she was talking to her late husband, thinking he was Nicolas Evans.

  “River, I’m not Nick.” He unlocked her arms gently and pulled away. She met his eyes, smiling through tears, and Damian noticed a barely visible purple glow in her dilated pupils.

  “Nick, I love you,” she said, pulling him closer again.

  “Dammit,” murmured Damian to himself, making his daggers disappear. “She’s infected with some demonic energy.”

  Quietly cursing under his breath, he lifted her and straightened, holding her in his arms. “Okay, Detective, tell me where your bedroom is,” he murmured into her ear. “Time to go beddy-bye. Let’s see if I can get rid of this demonic infection with my limited abilities, otherwise we’ll be in a world of trouble.”

  She chuckled, pressing her wet cheek to his. “I don’t remember you being so tall, Nick. But I don’t care.” Her hand caressed the back of his head and neck as she continued in a happy whisper, “I don’t care about anything. You’re here, with me. That’s all I need.”

  He sighed and took the first step toward the right wing of the house, but she stopped him.

  “Pick up Gypsy, too,” she murmured into his ear. “We shouldn’t leave her alone, right?”

  Stifling a sigh, he looked down at the cat, jerking his chin toward his shoulder. “Gypsy, up,” he said, hoping that in the given situation, the smart-ass feline would do as she was told. He wasn’t that lucky.

  “Gypsy, up.” The cat mimicked his voice, rolling her green eyes. “Who do you think I am? A friggin’ dog? Kneel before me, peasant, and I’ll decide if you’re worthy of carrying me.”

  “Goddammit!” hissed Damian, and despite his effort to contain his energy, the floor trembled a little. “Not now, Gypsy. I need to help River, don’t you see?”

  “Fine, I’m doing it for my mistress. Not for you,” the cat agreed mercifully. She crouched and jumped up, pushing off his bare arm with her claws extended before landing on his shoulder.

  He hissed in pain and glanced down at four bleeding scratches on his bicep. “You did that on purpose,” he muttered through clenched teeth.

  “Yah think?” the feline’s voice filled with sarcasm sounded in his mind, and he grunted, fighting the desire to grab the cat by the scruff of her neck and propel her across the room.

  “Are you talking to my cat, Nick?” River giggled like a little girl, kissing him on his cheek. “You’re so cute when you do that.”

  Damian froze in place at the touch of her hot lips to his skin and swallowed hard, shivers running down his back. Just to make sure his appearance wasn’t modified by some crazy spell, he turned slightly and looked at his reflection in the antique mirror. The edges of the mirror were covered in frosty swirls that were quickly melting as the air became warmer. A dark shadow moved behind him, but it was so fast that he wasn’t sure it wasn’t his imagination. He frowned, observing the room as it reflected in the silver, but could see nothing except his usual self with the cat on his shoulder and a young woman in his arms.

  Pressing River tightly to his chest, he walked through the foyer and into the dark hallway. Family portraits and antique paintings lined the wall, and a thick, burgundy carpet covered the floor, dimming the sound of his steps. A light scent of vanilla lingered in the air, and everything around looked so peaceful and normal, as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened in this house just a few minutes ago.

  “Take the second corridor on your right. Her bedroom is the only door at the end of it,” directed Gypsy. “Even you can’t miss it.”

  “Thanks,” murmured Damian, walking briskly through the hallway.

  He found her bedroom and pushed the door open with his foot. Gently lowering River on the wide, king-size bed, he sat down on the edge next to her. The cat hopped off his shoulder and settled by her side, purring loudly.

  River looked up at him, her eyes alight with love. He knew she didn’t see him—she saw her dead husband, but he couldn’t take his eyes away. Reaching up, she gently brushed his hair off his face. He flinched as she exposed his scar, pulling away.

  “Nick, what did you do with your hair? It looks terrible,” she said softly. “Did you cut it with our kitchen knife or something?”

  Damian frowned, wondering why she could see his hair while hallucinating her late husband. “Yeah, something like that,” he replied, taking her hand and lowering it down. Then he moved his hair over the left side of his face to cover his scar and added, “With a dagger, actually.”

  “You have a dagger?” she asked, staring at him in awe. “Since when?”

  “Two of them, ma’am,” murmured Damian absentmindedly, observing her with interest. She was dressed in silk pajamas. It was pale blue with black tuxedo kitties printed on it, reminding him of Gypsy. His lips quirked up in a mirthless smile. “A bad-ass detective, alright... Let’s see if I can cleanse you.”

  No purifying energy... no healing power... Goddammit, I’m useless...

  For the best effect, he was supposed to position his hands over her forehead and heart, but he quickly decided against it. Pressing his palm against her forehead, he took her hand with his other hand and channeled the energy of Earth, circulating it through her gently. Her eyes opened wider, and she gasped, staring at him with her full lips parted.

  Little by little, as he kept moving the elemental energy through her body, the purple glow in her eyes vanished. Her fogged gaze cleared, and the expression of love on her face was replaced first with shock and then with anger. Damian let go of her, and she jolted into a sitting position. He was about to get up, but before he could make another move, he was staring at the barrel of her gun.

  “Damian Blake,” she hissed, cocking her weapon. “On your knees, hands behind your head.”

  “Ma’am, I was—”

  “On your knees, Blake, or so help me, I will shoot you where you stand!”

  “Like father, like daughter,” muttered Damian as he lowered to his knees, locking his hands behind his head.

  “Mrrr... I like your position... Satisfying,” purred Gypsy snidely.

  “What are you doing in my bedroom, Blake?” River got up, holding her gun trained at him.

  “I swear, ma’am, I mean no harm,” started Damian as peacefully as he could muster. “I was doing my evening run, passing by Paradise Manor, and I noticed that your front door was gone, and the security system was down. I thought someone broke into your house and wanted to make sure you were safe—"

  An expression of confusion fogged her eyes. Her hand trembled, and she lowered her gun but kept it level at his chest.

  “What do you remember?” he asked quietly. Still keeping his hands locked behind his head, he sat back on his heels.

  “I don’t remember... No, I do remember...” Her voice faded, and she finally lowered her weapon. “I don’t know how to explain it.” She sat down on her bed and placed her gun next to her, rubbing her forehead. A strained expression crossed her features as she traveled back in memory, trying to make sense of what had happened. “If I tell you, you’ll think I’m crazy.”

  He smirked, cocking his head a little. “And why do you care what the man you’re holding at gunpoint thinks?” She gaped at him as if she had a hard time comprehending his statement. He looked heavenwards and added, “Just tell me what you remember. I promise I’m not going to judge or think you’re crazy. I’ve seen more ‘crazy’ in my life than I care to admit.”

  She took a deep breath, ready to continue, but then exhaled as if deflated. “Why don’t you get off the floor and sit down, Damian.”

  She pointed at a chair next to a small vanity table. Damian got up, pulled the chair a little closer to the bed, lowering himself down.

  “You’re right about the gunpoint, though.” She chuckled apologetically. “I hope you understand how I felt when I found a man whom I’d seen only once before sitting on my bed.”

  “I understand, ma’am, and I don’t blame you,”
replied Damian, rubbing his arm where the scratches left by Gypsy’s sharp claws prickled painfully. “Please continue. What do you remember?”

  She nodded. “I woke up because I heard someone calling my name,” she started. “The voice sounded familiar, but maybe I was still partially asleep because I didn’t recognize it right away.” She bit her lip, and bitter wrinkles materialized around her mouth. “I can’t believe I didn’t recognize Nick’s voice right away. It’s only been three months...”

  Her voice shook, and she pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes, fighting tears. Damian didn’t say anything, allowing her to continue when she was ready.

  “I remember getting off the bed and walking to the foyer,” she continued at length, dropping her hands on her lap. “As I walked, I could hear him calling me.” Tears spilled from her eyes, but she didn’t bother wiping them. “This house and its stupid acoustics. I couldn’t understand where his voice was coming from. It sounded as though it was coming from every direction at once.”

  She fell silent for a moment, thinking. Then she raised her eyes at Damian, looking like a lost little girl.

  “This is where the real crazy started,” she said with a half-shrug. He nodded, encouraging her to proceed. “I don’t know why, but I walked up to the mirror. When I looked in it, I didn’t find my reflection there. At first, I saw Nick. He was saying something, but I couldn’t make out his words. His face was strained as if he were screaming, but I couldn’t hear anything. Then the whispers began... Louder and louder, until I could hear nothing but these strange, hissing voices. And then came darkness...” Her voice trailed off, and she looked out the bedroom window, sadness and fear reflected in her light, blue eyes. “After that, I don’t remember anything until the moment you woke me up here.”

  Damian got up tiredly, straightening his pants. “If I may ask, ma’am,” he started, but she threw her hands up, interrupting him.

  “Can you drop that ma’am-thing already?” she asked, sounding slightly unnerved. “A moment ago, you were practically in my bed. I think that would permit the use of first names.”