Devil's Conflict Read online

  Devil's Conflict

  Luther Cross: Book 4

  Percival Constantine

  Contents

  Before You Start…

  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

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Epilogue

  Thank You!

  Get a free book!

  Afterword

  About the Author

  Also by Percival Constantine

  WHO IS LUTHER CROSS?

  FIND OUT IN THIS EXCLUSIVE BOOK, AVAILABLE FREE!

  Learn where Luther comes from in this special novella, available only by clicking here. As a thank you, you’ll also get four additional short stories featuring Luther for free!

  Just go to cross.percivalconstantine.com to get started!

  1

  There are a lot of things you could say about Chicago. Traffic’s a pain, our sports teams suck, we don’t put ketchup on hot dogs, and the weather is downright schizo. But you know one thing you can’t really criticize?

  We’ve got one of the best damn skylines in the world.

  That’s what always strikes me whenever I look out over the city at night. It’s why instead of choosing to go to a bar at the street level, I instead come to the Signature Lounge at the top of the John Hancock Building. Sure, it’s overpriced, but where else in the city are you gonna be able to enjoy a scotch with a view like this?

  My name’s Luther Cross. I’m what’s known as a cambion. My mother was human and she was impregnated by a demon. Though not just any demon—a former Hell Lord named Abraxas. Makes me kind of like royalty down in the pit. Wasn’t something I ever counted on, but now I’m making it work for me.

  While sipping my Glenlivet, I stared out the window, the glow of my crimson eyes reflected in the glass. In the past, I’d have tried to hide that. But that was the old me, before I went to Purgatory and had a new side to my personality awaken.

  For years, I was used as a pawn. Raised by an organization called the Sons of Solomon, who thought I was some kind of weapon to be used against the forces of darkness or whatever. Then got my chain yanked by angels and demons alike. And after Purgatory, I had enough. The old Luther was gone, and I stopped giving a damn about anyone other than myself.

  I looked down at my hand. Small sparks of fire appeared on my fingertips. Hellfire to be exact. Started to exhibit the power in Purgatory. And over the past two months, I’ve only grown more powerful.

  Oh yeah, speaking of which. I used to just be a half-demon paranormal investigator. But now, I’ve followed in pop’s footsteps and I’m a full-blown Lord of Hell myself, ruling over the domain once held by a demon named Asmodeus. Wasn’t what I counted on, but it was part of the deal I struck with another demon, Lilith.

  I hadn’t spent a whole lot of time down there since the transfer happened. Lilith was handling the bulk of the duties down there. Me, I was content staying out of it. Didn’t care much about being an absentee Hell Lord. It gave me the power to walk around without having to worry about angels or demons riding my ass, and that’s all I wanted—to be left alone.

  “Excuse me…”

  I rolled my eyes and looked away from the window to address whoever this chump was. So much for being left alone. The guy was in his 60s, his gray hair having long receded from the top of his head, and he wore glasses. I could see the glisten of flop-sweat on his forehead and he kept looking around the room nervously.

  “What do you want?” I asked.

  “Are you Luther Cross?”

  “Who wants to know?”

  “I do.” He sat down at my table and I sighed. “My name is Charles Morrison and—”

  “Stop.” I held up my hand. “When did I say you could sit at my table?”

  “I-I’m sorry, I just assumed—”

  “Yeah, well when you assume, you make an ass outta you and me,” I said. “You got ten seconds to tell me what you want.”

  “As I said, my name is Charles Morrison and I need your help.”

  “What makes you think I can help you, Chucky?”

  “Because I’m being pursued.” He looked from side to side and then leaned forward and lowered his voice to a whisper. “By assassins.”

  “Sounds like you pissed someone off.” I raised my glass and sipped the scotch. “Sorry to hear that. But Chicago’s a big city, lots of powerful people live here. You shouldn’t have any trouble finding a bodyguard.”

  “I don’t need a bodyguard, Mr. Cross. I need you.”

  “Y’know, I only like the phrase ‘I need you’ when it’s being said by a hot little number preferably wearing some kind of lingerie,” I said. “When some George Costanza-looking motherfucker says it, doesn’t do much for me. No offense.”

  “I think they might be demons. Or working for demons.”

  I finished my Glenlivet and held up the glass. Looking around, I caught the waiter’s eye and pointed to it. He nodded and within a few moments, brought me a fresh drink.

  “What about your friend?” asked the waiter.

  “He’s not my friend and he’s not staying long,” I said and the waiter left. Morrison was staring at me the whole time, no doubt waiting for my reaction after he used the D-word.

  “Did you hear what I just said?” he finally asked.

  “Yeah, you think you’re being chased by demons. Not my problem,” I said. “I know an exorcist out in Rogers Park, I can give you his name, but that’s about it.”

  “I don’t need an exorcist,” he said. “What I need is Luther Cross. The man who I was told I could trust.”

  I began to sip the new drink, and that’s when I saw it. On his finger, he wore a gold signet ring with a symbol topping it off. A white stone with a red cross. Though the line going through the cross was higher than usual. It was a symbol I recognized.

  “Opus Dei,” I said, my eyes narrowing. “What the fuck do you bastards want with me this time?”

  “Excuse me?” he asked.

  “You heard what I said. I’ve dealt with your kind before. So now, not only are you interrupting my quiet time, but you’re also part of an organization that once tried to kill me.”

  “Mr. Cross, I honestly have no idea what you’re talking about,” said Morrison. “Yes, I am a member of the Opus Dei, but it’s a large organization spanning the entire globe. I’m not aware of all the activities of our members.”

  “I think it’s time you left,” I said.

  “You don’t understand—”

  “I’m gonna give you to the count of three.” I fixed my eyes on him now, the glow from my eyes growing powerful enough that it cast a red hue over my vision. “And then I’m going to get angry.”

  “Wait, you have to just listen—”

  “One.”

  “I’m not here on behalf of the order, I’m here because—’

  “Two.”

  “Please, if you’ll just give me a chance to explain—”

&nbs
p; “Three.”

  “Dakota Reed sent me!”

  I froze and the crimson tinge over the room faded. Several seconds of silence filled the air, and then I realized we were being watched. Our exchange must have been more distracting, because everyone in the Signature Lounge was looking right at us. During the silence that followed, they eventually turned their attention back to their own conversations. Except a man in a tuxedo, the Lounge manager, who came over to our table.

  “Mr. Cross, is everything all right?” he asked.

  “Yeah, everything’s fine,” I said, looking up at him. “Just a misunderstanding.”

  “I feel it’s my duty to remind you that we can’t tolerate outbursts such as—”

  I stared into his eyes and his face started to glaze over for a brief instant. Just a slight nudge using my powers to keep him from causing me any more grief. Already had enough to deal with.

  “We cool?” I asked.

  “Yes sir, of course,” he said. “I apologize for disturbing you.”

  The manager left and my focus was back on Morrison. I picked up my drink and took a long sip, never taking my eyes off him. A member of the Opus Dei and he said Dakota sent him to find me? That stirred my curiosity.

  “Time for you to start talking, Chucky,” I said. “What do you know about Dakota Reed?”

  Morrison hesitated, sighed, and then said, “I don’t think we should talk here. Is there somewhere private we can go? Where we won’t have to deal with the threat of prying eyes and ears?”

  Could understand his apprehension. Chicago had a pretty vibrant supernatural underworld and there were interested parties all over the city. Dakota posed particular interest. I met her last spring when she came to me, pregnant by mystic means. At first, we thought the baby might be a cambion, like me. But then it turned out she was carrying a nephilim.

  Dakota had been impregnated by an angel. Which was a violation of the armistice between Heaven and Hell. Someone upstairs had a mind to try and thaw out the cold war between the two sides. With the help of an angel named Raziel, I kept Dakota out of harm’s way. After that, Raz took her into hiding.

  No one had seen her since. And if someone found out that Morrison knew where to find her, well…they’d be really keen to extract that information.

  “Fine,” I said and finished the rest of my scotch. I stood and took my leather jacket from the back of my chair, pulling it over my collared shirt.

  Morrison followed me as we left the Lounge. I told the manager as we walked through the exit to put the drinks on my tab and we went to the elevator. I hit the button and slid my hands into my pockets, watching as the numbers ticked up on the display.

  “Dakota speaks very highly of you, Mr. Cross,” said Morrison.

  “Do me a favor,” I said. “No more talking until we get where we need to go. Not a fan of chit-chat.”

  Morrison nodded and the elevator arrived. I hit the button for the lobby and the car began its descent. We rode down in silence all the way to the ground floor, not another word passing between us. The doors opened and I led Morrison through the lobby and out the door, to the parking garage right next to the building.

  As soon as we’d left the elevator, I started to sense something was wrong. I didn’t look behind me, but I reached out with my sixth sense. Being a cambion gave me the ability to perceive the supernatural around me. And I could sense the presence of something following us. I glanced over my shoulder and saw a uniformed cop keeping pace behind us, maintaining his distance.

  Smart guy, definitely a pro. If I were anyone else, I wouldn’t have spotted him. Unfortunately for him, he wasn’t dealing with anyone else—he was dealing with Luther Cross.

  We entered the garage and got in the elevator. The cop followed us in and he called out. “Excuse me, could you hold the door?”

  I pushed the door close button and shrugged as the cop jogged to catch up to us. “Sorry, I’m pushing it, but I think the button’s broken.”

  The doors closed and we rode the elevator to the fifth floor. When they opened, I grabbed Morrison’s arm and pulled him onto the parking level. We made a bee-line for my car, the ’69 black Camaro. But as we approached, I saw we weren’t alone. There were two more cops standing by my car, one of them leaning against the trunk.

  “This is a nice ride you got here,” said the one leaning. He rubbed his fingers over the surface.

  “You mind?” I asked. “Just had it cleaned.”

  He scoffed. “Why bother? You know it’s supposed to snow tomorrow, right?”

  “My friend and I gotta be going now, so how about you gentlemen leave us be?”

  “Oh?” asked the other cop, stepping closer. The name tag on his jacket read Phillips. “I don’t think I like your tone, boy. Are you telling two CPD officers what to do?”

  “Not at all,” I said, taking a step back. “I’d just like to get home before it’s too late.”

  “Unfortunately, we can’t let you leave,” said the cop who’d been leaning against the car. He stood upright and reached for his belt, drawing his nightstick. The tag on his jacket identified him as Miller.

  Then I heard the sound of a door opening. I turned around and saw the cop from before emerge from the stairwell and close the distance between us. Cole was printed on his nametag.

  “And why not?” I asked.

  “Your car’s in no condition to be driven,” said Miller.

  I shrugged. “Seems fine to me.”

  Miller raised his nightstick and bashed it against my tail light. The sound of shattering glass echoed on the level. “Check again. You’ve got a light out.”

  I sighed. “You really shouldn’t have done that.”

  “And why’s that?” asked Phillips, getting in my face.

  “Because,” I said, channeling demonic energy into my fingertips. “You’re just some pissant demons possessing these cops. And I’m Luther Cross, bitch.”

  Phillips’ eyes changed to bright yellow when I put my palm against his chest and said, “Ignis!”

  His shirt instantly erupted in a blaze of fire. I punched him in the face to throw him back and he rolled on the ground, trying to extinguish the flames.

  Cole drew his gun and pointed it at Morrison. I held my hand up and, just as he squeezed the trigger, said, “Sepio!”

  Morrison shut his eyes and turned away, but the bullet struck the invisible barrier I cast around him. That should keep him out of trouble while I finished these two bastards off. After that, I’d figure out what to do about him.”

  While my attention was on Morrison, Miller struck. His nightstick hit the back of my head and dropped me to the ground. Might be a low-level demon, but he hit pretty damn hard. I was on my hands and knees and I sensed him coming in for another attack. I kicked my leg back, striking his shin. He fell as I got back to my feet.

  I took his discarded nightstick and turned to look at Cole, who had his gun trained on me. Figured, the one damn time I left my gun in the car was the time I ended up needing it.

  “Get back, Cross,” said Cole. “This doesn’t concern you. Just get in your car and we’ll let you drive away.”

  “What do you know about me, Cole?” I asked.

  “You’re the mongrel son of a demon’s whore,” he said. “Hunt us down so you can earn brownie points with those winged cocksuckers.”

  My fingers tightened into a fist and I felt heat under my skin. “That was then. I’ve had some changes in the past few months. Now, I’m a mongrel Hell Lord.”

  The way Cole’s eyes bulged, you’d think they were about to explode out of his sockets. Seems not everyone got the memo about my promotion. The heat under my skin had built up and flames started to dance around my fingertips.

  “You shouldn’t have insulted my mom.”

  I held out my arm and a burst of hellfire exploded from my palm, crossing the distance between us and completely consuming Cole’s body. He screamed as the hellfire surged through his every cell, utterly destroyin
g every single aspect of his dark soul.

  When it was done, Cole was no more and his gun clattered to the ground. I walked over and picked it up, looking at Miller and shooting him in the leg.

  “I’ll deal with you in a minute,” I said, and then walked over to Phillips, who was still writhing in pain from the flames. I put two bullets in his eyes and a bright, yellow light emerged from his sockets before he stopped moving completely.

  I knelt down by Miller and looked at the nightstick I’d taken from him. I tapped his cheek with it and stared into his eyes. I could see his anger and fear in those yellow eyes.

  “You damaged my car,” I said. “I take that kinda shit personally.”

  “Give me a break, man, it was nothin’ personal,” said Miller. “We were just hired to kill that old bastard.”

  “Who hired you?” I asked. “You tell me, and this will go a lot more smoothly. But if you wanna be a hard-ass, then…” I held up the nightstick and waved it in front of him. “Well, we’ll see just how many holes this little guy can squeeze into.”

  “C’mon, man,” said Miller. “We had no idea you were a Hell Lord. If we knew, we wouldn’t have messed with you, honest.”

  “That’s not an answer,” I said, hellfire flowing from my hand and over the surface of the nightstick, coating it. “Just who exactly are you working for? One of the Hell Lords? Someone else?”

  “I-I can’t tell you…I don’t know…”

  “Wrong answer.”

  I went to work on the demon, his screams like music to my ear as I tortured him. I made good on my word and probably set a few penetration records with that nightstick. Before the hour was up, he still hadn’t given up anything—because he didn’t have anything to give up.