Devil's Taunt and Other Stories Read online

  Devil’s Taunt and Other Stories

  Percival Constantine

  Contents

  Introduction

  Devil’s Taunt

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Epilogue

  The Reckoning

  Ties That Bind

  Bloodlust

  Haunted Road

  Thank You

  Introduction

  If you’ve received a copy of this ebook, then that means you’ve signed up for my mailing list. And for that, I want to take a minute and say thank you. Luther Cross is a character I’ve had in my mind for several years. Though the initial novel I started writing with him was abandoned, the character stuck with me, eventually finding publication in the form of Pro Se Press’ Single Shot Signatures line.

  But I didn’t feel that was working quite right for me, so I decided to begin a novel series featuring the character. You may or may not have already read the first novel in the series, Devil’s Due. And hopefully it intrigued you enough, which is why you signed up for my list and are now reading this introduction.

  This story is loosely based on the opening chapter of the original, unfinished Luther Cross novel. It’s been expanded and altered a lot since I wrote that first chapter so many years ago and I found some great ways to tie it into Devil’s Due and to answer some questions you might have about Luther’s past.

  Also included in this collection are the four Luther Cross stories originally published as Single Shot Signatures for Pro Se. With Pro Se deciding to discontinue the line, I thought it’d be a nice treat to provide those stories for all of you here in this collection.

  One note about those republished stories. When I sat down to write Devil’s Due, I decided to follow the trend used by many urban fantasy authors and write it in first-person instead of third-person. But those Single Shots stories were written in third-person and I decided I’d present them as originally intended.

  Devil’s Taunt

  A Luther Cross Novella

  Prologue

  The sleek, black ’69 Chevrolet Camaro pulled up outside the United Methodist Church in Gary, Indiana. The driver stepped out of the car, a cigarette held between his lips as he looked up at the massive abandoned church beneath the moonlit sky. With the decline of employment and the rise of poverty and crime in the area, this example of Gothic Revival was left to fall to the wayside.

  He smoked the cigarette down to its filter and dropped it on the sidewalk before crushing it beneath his shoe. Reaching beneath his suit jacket, he drew out a stylized revolver with Enochian sigils carved into the barrel. Once confirming the gun was loaded, he slid it back into the holster and started walking towards the church entrance, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his trench coat.

  The doors were shut on him. He tried pushing, but they wouldn’t budge. The man kicked the door once and it didn’t do much. The second kick, he could hear a little crack. He gave it two more before the door finally burst open.

  They had a sense of humor, he had to give them that. Demons operating out of an abandoned, gothic church. Showcased their arrogance. His blue eyes scanned the large cathedral as he entered, remaining back by the entrance. With his hand held out, he closed his eyes and concentrated his senses, trying to pick up some trace of demonic energy.

  And he could feel it. There was a demon here. Not only in this building, but in this very room with him. Opening his eyes, he drew the revolver and held it at the ready, looking around the room. All he could sense was the demon’s presence, but he couldn’t pinpoint its exact location.

  “Alistair Carraway,” said a voice echoing in the darkness. “What brings you to this little shithole?”

  “Been tracking you for some time,” said Alistair, his voice colored with an English accent.

  “And how did you find us?”

  Alistair grinned. “Your demons don’t hold up so well under torture. By the end of it, they were begging for an exorcism.”

  He could sense the demon’s anger flare up.

  “Doesn’t have to be this way,” Alistair continued. “All I want is the girl. Leave her to me and you can walk out of here, no fuss, no muss.”

  Alistair stepped down the aisle, moving towards the center of the nave. His eyes went to the galleries up above the side aisles, trying to see if he could catch sight of the demon in the darkness. But there was nothing. Just a deafening silence followed after Alistair issued his terms.

  “Come now, you know my reputation amongst your kind,” said Alistair. “Do you really want to test me?”

  “There are things we fear far more than Alistair Carraway.”

  “What, like the wrath of your master?”

  More silence followed.

  “I know what that woman is to you. I know what she’s carrying,” he continued. “But you can’t have her. Either of them.”

  “Oh?” asked the demon. “You would risk your own life for a whore and a Hellspawn?”

  The voice now seemed to come from the gallery on the left. Alistair turned in that direction, aiming the gun up there.

  “The big, strapping hero.” The demon spoke again, this time the voice coming from the ambulatory behind the altar.

  “I think we’ve had enough of this game, don’t you?” asked Alistair.

  “Absolutely.”

  Alistair’s eyes widened. The voice now came from directly behind him. He spun around, raising the gun and firing. The demon was fast and dodged the bullet, pouncing on Alistair and knocking him to the ground.

  He was strong, possessing the body of a young man with a black mohawk, a denim jacket with the sleeves torn off, ripped jeans, and safety pins through his earlobes. His eyes were bright yellow, and he roared like a lion just before he pounced.

  The gun was dropped to the side. Alistair stared into the demon’s eyes, the creature struggling to keep him pinned down. And then, Alistair started speaking, muttering in Latin.

  “Exorcizamos te, omnis immunde spiritus, omnus satanic potestas—”

  The demon recoiled, pulling away in pain, trying to cover his ears. Alistair got back to his feet and continued speaking while reaching one hand into his jacket.

  “Omnis infernalis adversarii, omnis legio, omnis congregatio et secta diabolica.”

  “You think this will stop us? You’ll be too late to save them, Carraway!”

  Alistair knew the demon was right. There was no time to waste with an exorcism, not while Grace was still lost somewhere inside here. He picked up the gun and pointed it at the demon. “Where are they?”

  “You’ll have to kill me before I ta—”

  Alistair’s response was to put two bullets into the demon’s head. Iron-forged, silver-coated hollow-points. Inside each round was a mixture of holy water, salt, and other herbs designed to ward off the supernatural. Enough to kill a demon possessing some poor bastard.

  Stepping forward, Alistair looked down at the now-vacant body. The punk’s eyes were gone, burned out by the death of the demon inside. A part of Alistair felt remorse at having to kill the kid, but time was a factor if he wanted to save Grace’s life and stop this cult from completing their ritual.

  He knew they were in the building, somewhere. It was just a matter of finding them. Alistair knelt down by the dead body and checked the pockets. Nothing on him but a switchblade and half a pack of cigarettes, which Alistair helped himself to. He stood and walked along the side aisles, moving into the first door he found.

  That door led to a stair
well, which he slowly descended into the basement area. As he moved deeper, he could hear something. A chorus of chanting voices. Alistair moved along, sticking close to the walls and the shadows they cast. His heartbeat increased, the adrenaline beginning to pump through his body.

  The chanting became louder as he moved through the dusty corridor. He reached beneath the unbuttoned collar of his white shirt and drew out a necklace from which a pendant of the Seal of Solomon hung. Alistair whispered words of a protection spell and moved on.

  He knew the voices were here, behind this door. With a swift kick, Alistair knocked the door in. The large room had seven figures wearing crimson cloaks, gathered in a circle. Their chanting ceased immediately and they all cast their eyes to Alistair. In unison, they all turned, facing him.

  Seven worshippers. Seven sacrifices. Seven sins. Alistair knew why these men were here, and what the demon had planned to do with them. From the center of the circle, he heard a woman screaming. He could see Grace writhing on the ground, her brown skin glistening with sweat, black hair plastered to her face. Her knees were bent and occult symbols had been carved into her pregnant belly, with more on the rest of her naked body. She gritted her teeth in pain, her eyes clenched shut.

  “You sons of bitches…” muttered Alistair as he stepped into the room and raised the gun, firing into the head of one of the cultists. A second lunged at him and Alistair took a step back, firing two rounds into his chest. Alistair allowed the cultist’s body to fall to the ground.

  One shot and five cultists left. Not the best odds. Alistair shot another. Four left. He flipped the gun around and clutched it by the barrel. A cultist came at him, drawing an ornate dagger from beneath his robes.

  Alistair dodged the first and second slash, then charged in and bashed the butt of the revolver against the cultist’s head. The force dropped him, blood dripping from the fresh wound. Alistair bent down quickly and picked up the discarded knife.

  Three left. They stood between Alistair and Grace and he heard her screams become even more pronounced. It was coming. Soon, it would be here.

  “Kill him,” said the cultist in the center—clearly the leader.

  The two flanking him charged with their daggers. Alistair took a few licks, but pressed on, dodging their strikes. Grace’s screams echoed in his head, trying to distract him, but Alistair wouldn’t let himself lose focus.

  The two cultists were on either side of him. One thrust forward with his dagger and Alistair sidestepped, grabbed the cultist’s arm, and continued thrusting so his dagger went into his partner’s gut. Alistair then drove the knife he’d claimed into the cultist’s back.

  He drew the blade from the wound, blood dripping down the edge as he faced the leader. “It’s over. You can’t complete the ritual now.”

  “Perhaps not,” said the cult leader. “But the child will still be born. And one day, he will bring humanity to its knees!”

  The leader charged. Alistair threw the dagger, striking him in the head and the leader fell down at his feet, dead.

  “Sorry son, but you won’t be there to see it.”

  Alistair went to Grace’s side. He realized for the first time she’d been placed in a circle. The inverted pentagram—Sigil of Baphomet. Grace reached out, grabbing hold of his wrist. She opened her eyes and looked at him.

  “A-Alistair…he’s coming…”

  He looked at the knife. If he killed her now, he would end all this. And what about the leader’s prediction? Could he really risk all that? The ritual wasn’t completed, maybe there was hope for the child. Or maybe he was doomed no matter what course of action he took.

  Grace’s screams continued and Alistair made a choice. He set the knife down and removed his trench coat and jacket, ready to go to work. Not long after, Grace’s screams were replaced by the sound of a crying child.

  * * *

  Alistair pulled the car up to the monastery located outside Rock Island, Illinois. He drove all night, one hand on the wheel, the other cradling the infant, wrapped in his trench coat. He took a deep breath and opened the driver-side door, moving slowly so as not to wake the child.

  Alistair ascended the steps and approached the large, wooden doors. Engraved in the stone archway above them was a unicursal hexagram surrounded by a circle. Alistair kept the baby in one arm and raised his other, banging a few times on the heavy wood. After a few moments, the door opened and an old, bald man with a silver beard and glasses and dressed in a black robe stood on the other side.

  “Alistair?” he asked in surprise.

  “’Morning, Thomas,” said Alistair. “Mind if I come in?”

  “O-of course,” said Thomas, stepping aside and holding the door open. His gaze was fixed on the child as Alistair moved inside, slumbering in his arm.

  “Mind putting on some coffee?”

  “Right this way.”

  Thomas led Alistair through the monastery into a kitchen area. Once there, Alistair took a seat at a table while Thomas went to the counter to prepare some coffee. When it was ready, he brought two mugs over and sat across from the paranormal investigator.

  “When did you become a father?” asked Thomas.

  “He’s not mine,” said Alistair. “There was a case. A woman named Grace was pregnant and this is her baby.”

  “What’s so important about this—” Thomas interrupted himself. “Wait. Who’s the father?”

  “I don’t know his name.”

  “Let me rephrase—what is the father?”

  Alistair’s blue eyes met Thomas’ intense stare. He looked back down at the baby’s sleeping face and gave a sigh. “A demon.”

  “Dear God…” Thomas involuntarily slid his chair back in surprise. “Alistair, you can’t be serious. You brought a cambion here?”

  “She was taken by a demon and his cult. I tracked them down to that abandoned church in Gary. The plan was after the baby was born, it would be anointed in the blood of seven sacrifices—seven sinners. I killed the demon running the show and the cultists. The child was born clean.”

  “Have you gone mad?” asked Thomas. “That child is cursed for life! Best to kill it and get it over with! You know what happens if the armistice is violated—”

  “I’ll deal with that,” said Alistair. “Think about it, Thomas. A cambion fighting on our side. Think of how powerful he’ll be. Of the advantage he’d have.”

  “He’s a child of Hell.”

  “And Lucifer was once the most beloved of all angels. Look how that turned out,” said Alistair. “How you come into this life doesn’t mean shit. What you do with it does.”

  Thomas shook his head. “What do you want from me?”

  “I need to leave him here. If there’s anyone who can set him on the right path, it’s this order.”

  “That’s a lot to ask, Alistair.”

  “I know it is, Thomas. But you owe me and you know it. How many times have I been there for you? For this order?”

  Thomas sighed. “And where will you go?”

  “There’s still the question of who his father is and how I can protect him. I’ll be back when I can, but you know what my work’s like.”

  “True.” Thomas rose from his chair and walked around the table to Alistair’s side. He held his hands out. “Well, if we’re going to be responsible for raising him, is it okay if I take him now?”

  Alistair slowly stood and looked at his old friend in the eye. He could sense Thomas’ apprehension, but he also knew the monk to be a man of his word. Alistair carefully handed the infant over. The baby stirred in the old man’s arms, opening his eyes and staring up. Thomas nearly gasped when he saw the glowing, crimson eyes the baby had.

  “He’s unique, gotta give the boy that,” said Alistair.

  “Does he have a name?”

  “Yeah, he does. Grace had one picked out for him before she died.” Alistair reached a hand out and rubbed the baby’s bald head. “Luther. Luther Cross.”

  1

  I p
arked the ’69 Camaro in the garage of the Drake Hotel, located in Chicago’s Gold Coast neighborhood. Saved myself some cash by choosing the self-park option, and money was something I had in short supply.

  My name’s Luther Cross and I’m a paranormal investigator. Well, kind of. Pretty much starting off fresh. Grew up in a monastery out near the Quad Cities. Sounds like a strange life, and it was. But it wasn’t your typical monastery either.

  After college and an apprenticeship with a man by the name of Alistair Carraway, I was all set to make my mark on the city of Chicago. Didn’t have a whole lot to my name, but fortunately Alistair helped me out with some start-up funds and even gave me his old car.

  I opened the driver’s side door and stepped out. Once I closed it, I looked at my reflection in the window, running my hand over my cropped hair. Shaved just before leaving my studio apartment in Albany Park, so my dark skin looked smooth as possible. Straightened my black bowtie and checked inside my tuxedo jacket to make sure I had enough business cards. Convinced I was all set, I left the garage and went into the hotel.

  There was a charity banquet going on tonight. Save the whales, save the children, save the owls, I didn’t really know what the cause was, nor did I particularly care. But showing up to these things and doing some mingling made it possible to develop a client base.

  And right now, I needed work. I’m a cambion—half-human, half-demon. I’ve spent my life studying the occult and the supernatural, training how to fight it. But all those skills that make me such a badass don’t mean much without anyone to hire me. And the start-up cash Alistair gave me was running short.

  The elevator doors opened and I walked towards the banquet hall. There was a registration table set up outside. A middle-aged woman with her burgundy hair piled atop her head smiled at me as I approached the table.