Destroyer of Worlds Read online

  Destroyer of Worlds

  (SPECTR #5)

  Jordan L. Hawk

  Destroyer of Worlds (SPECTR #5) © 2014 Jordan L. Hawk

  ISBN: 978-0-9885641-9-0

  All rights reserved.

  Cover art © 2013 Jordan L. Hawk

  Image credits:

  Lightning photo: © Can Stock Photo Inc. / aspectimages

  Model: © iStockphoto.com / NicolasMcComber

  SMASHWORDS EDITION

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Edited by Annetta Ribken

  Chapter 1

  Caleb sat in the windowless back of a SPECTR van, wondering how the hell he was going to get out of this mess.

  He studied the heavy bolt across the doors. He’d heard another fall into place on the outside once they’d shut behind him. The whole vehicle looked more like an armored car, really…except armored cars didn’t generally come with attachment points for restraints.

  At least the manacles hadn’t come out. Not yet, anyway.

  “Can I get you something?” Forsyth asked. “Bottled water?”

  Like Caleb was his guest instead of his prisoner. Yeah, right. That’s why he had two armed guards sitting to either side of him, packing assault rifles, grenades, and God only knew what else. All for little old Caleb.

  Well, not for Caleb, not really. They were meant for Gray, the vampire spirit living in his head, who would become a permanent resident if someone couldn’t figure out how to exorcise him in a week. The victim of a possession had forty days, no more and no less. After, the only cure for possession was a skull full of silver-jacketed lead.

  But for the moment, he had more immediate problems. Like what Forsyth intended to do with him, and how he’d get out of it.

  “A pillow would be nice,” Caleb said, wincing as they hit another pothole. His butt didn’t have enough natural padding for this.

  Forsyth smiled. He sat ramrod straight, both hands resting on his knees, in a pose which screamed “military” even if he headed up the research division of Strategic Paranormal Entity Control, aka SPECTR. “I apologize—we built this vehicle for function, not comfort. I assure you, your new quarters will be much more pleasant.”

  Caleb thought about asking what function the truck normally served. Transporting possessed people like him? But John said the research division didn’t do actual fieldwork.

  John. Fuck. What must he think about all this? When Forsyth hauled Caleb off, John looked…well, scared.

  “Will we see John again?” Gray asked. The drakul lurked like a tiger in the forest of Caleb’s mind, unnaturally still and silent as he watched through their shared eyes.

  I don’t know, Caleb thought back. God, he hoped so.

  “We might have freed ourselves. Why did we accompany these mortals?”

  Because if they’d opened fire at SPECTR-HQ, they would have hit John and Kaniyar. And John isn’t as resistant to bullets as we are.

  Gray stirred restlessly. “We will leave soon?”

  I don’t know. They could probably survive being shot up by the guards, but then what? SPECTR would just hunt them down—after all, Gray was a dangerous Non-Human Entity, and SPECTR’s entire mission consisted of keeping creatures like him from wandering around snacking on people.

  “I do not eat mortals. They are foolish to fear me.”

  Which was true in its way. Gray ate demons, the beings which did go around snacking on people. But there were no exceptions under the law.

  If they escaped now, they’d be on the run from a federal agency. Hell, for all Caleb knew, the FBI and DHS would get in on the act, too. He didn’t have the slightest idea how to get a fake ID, or credit cards, or anything he’d need to successfully disappear.

  He had one possible chance. A group who identified themselves with the symbol of a moth had contacted him…Christ, had it just been yesterday? They’d offered to exorcise Gray—on the condition Gray wasn’t subsequently destroyed, the way everyone else thought he should be. The way John thought he should be.

  Gray flinched back from the thought, as if Caleb jostled an open wound. Until he’d found himself stuck in Caleb’s living body, Gray had only the faded memories and dull nerves of the dead to tell him about humanity. About what it meant to really live.

  Now he’d experienced color, warmth, and pain first hand. Then topped it all off by falling in love with the man whose job it was to kill him.

  “I do not wish to think of these things.” As if they could help it. “You mean to contact these moths?”

  I don’t see we have any other choice. Caleb shifted on the uncomfortable seat, and hoped like hell he just looked bored or nervous, not like he was plotting with the voice in his head. For right now, we wait and see. Forsyth is acting like he wants me to cooperate. He saw us fight the wendigo. He probably figures it’s a lot safer and easier for him if I come along voluntarily. I don’t want to kill anyone if we don’t have to, so let’s see what our options are before making a decision.

  Still, it would help to know where they were going. “How long a ride do we have?” he asked.

  “Another hour and a half or thereabouts,” Forsyth replied.

  Might as well ask the direct questions, if Forsyth was in an answering mood. “What are you going to do with me once we’re there?”

  “You’re not a prisoner,” the older man said with a reassuring smile. “We’re just going to take the opportunity to run a few more tests on the drakul. We’ll exorcise you first thing next Saturday, well before the deadline.”

  Sure, he wasn’t a prisoner. That was why they hauled him around in an armored truck, in case he—or Gray, more likely—decided to make a break for it. “John—Agent Starkweather—couldn’t exorcise me,” he said cautiously.

  “We have access to more resources than a field agent,” Forsyth replied. “Don’t worry.”

  Right. Forsyth knew how to exorcise Gray but just, what, forgot to mention it before? Next he’s going to be selling me oceanfront property in Kansas.

  But pointing it out would just end up with them in a cell for certain. John kept telling Caleb not to be such a dick around authority. Time to start taking his boyfriend’s advice.

  “Oh, okay,” Caleb said, plastering a tentative smile on his own face. “And once Gray’s gone, I can leave, right? Go back to Charleston?”

  Forsyth smiled back. “Don’t worry, son. You’ll be drinking beer with Agent Starkweather by Saturday night.”

  That seals it. We’re getting the fuck out of here as soon as we can.

  “Good.”

  * * *

  John sat behind his desk, staring blankly at the wall, feeling as if the floor beneath him had collapsed and dumped him into the lowest basement. How did everything go wrong so fast?

  A soft knock on his door broke him out of his stupor. How long had he sat there, staring, feeling helpless? Impossible to tell; most of SPECTR-HQ existed underground, which meant no windows to show the change from afternoon to evening to night. “Come in,” he said; his voice sounded rusty from his dry throat.

  The door swung open and Sean entered. “Hey,” he said. “I just heard. Are you okay?”

  John shook his head slowly. “No. No, I’m not.”

  Shutting the door behind him, Sean took the seat across the desk from John. “Want to talk about it?”

  Did he? “I promised. I promised Caleb if he cooperated, he’d stay free.” Anger began to burn at the edges of the numb shock filling his chest. “Caleb cooperated, Gray cooperated—they both did everything we asked. Gray
saved Tiffany’s fucking life, and Forsyth’s, and who knows how many other peoples’. They didn’t do anything wrong, but Forsyth is locking them up anyway! It isn’t fair, damn it.”

  Sean tiredly shoved a lock of hair back from his forehead. “Listen, I know you didn’t expect this to happen, but it’s going to be okay. Forsyth has way more resources than we do. If anyone can exorcise Caleb, it’s him.”

  “But—”

  “Let me finish.” Sean leaned forward and fixed John with a serious look. “Yes, Gray cooperated, and yes, he even came in handy. But he’s still an NHE, John. You and I both know he’s probably just biding his time until the forty days are up. Smart NHEs lie, remember? The ones high up on the food chain are clever enough to say and do whatever the faust wants to hear, until it’s too damn late. You know that.”

  “Gray isn’t like them.” Even as the words left his mouth, he knew how they’d sound to Sean. Hell, he knew how it would sound to him, if Sean had been the one to fall in love with an NHE.

  Sean shook his head and sat back, lips thinning. “Shit, I was right—you do have a fucking death wish.”

  “I know how it sounds, but just listen—”

  “No, John, you listen,” Sean snapped, anger and bitterness lacing the words. “Once in your damned life, just listen, all right? Do you have any idea what the last month has been like for me? Coming to work every day, wondering if you’d be in your office, or if this was the morning they’d find you in little bitty pieces all over your condo?” He leaned forward, intent. “I tried to be reasonable; I tried to keep an open mind. If Caleb had just stayed with you, if you kept a spirit ward and a locked door between you, maybe I wouldn’t have been scared out of my wits. But you started fucking him!”

  John rocked back. He couldn’t remember Sean ever being this pissed off at anything, let alone him. “I love Caleb!”

  “And if it was just Caleb, I’d be his biggest fan for making you happy. But it was never just Caleb, and every night, you went home and left yourself totally vulnerable to the thing in his head.” Sean brought his fist down on his knee in frustration. “Do you have any idea how scared the situation made the rest of us?”

  Fuck. It had never even crossed John’s mind. “I didn’t think about it from your perspective,” he admitted.

  “No, you didn’t.” Sean sagged back in his chair. “Look, there’s no point in arguing. It’s out of our hands now. If it will make you feel better, send all the notes you’ve made from Brimm’s books to Forsyth. I’m sure they’ll have Caleb exorcised before the deadline. Next Sunday we’ll all go down to King Street and drink green beer.”

  “Green beer?”

  “It’s Saint Patrick’s Day, dumb ass. March 17.”

  “Oh.” He’d forgotten, what with everything else going on. Only the 16th held meaning for him any more. The day Caleb’s time ran out.

  Sean rose to his feet. “Go home and get some rest. Take the weekend off and let Forsyth worry about the drakul. You’ll feel better by Monday, you’ll see.”

  “Maybe you’re right.” He roused himself to add, “Thanks, Sean,” as the other agent started out the door.

  Sean paused, giving him a lopsided grin which didn’t quite reach his eyes. “What are best friends for?”

  When the door closed behind Sean, John leaned forward to rest his throbbing head on his desk. If Sean was right, and Forsyth’s people could exorcise Caleb…Gray would die.

  And if Sean was wrong, and Gray couldn’t be removed by the afternoon of the 16th, Caleb and Gray both would be put down like a pair of rabid dogs.

  Either way, John would lose someone he loved. The only difference was whether he lost one or both of them.

  And there wasn’t a damned thing he could do to keep it from happening.

  * * *

  When the truck’s engine finally shut off and the doors opened, Caleb discovered he couldn’t get a look at the outside of his new accommodations after all.

  It was some kind of base with plenty of security, judging by the stopping and starting the truck had done in the last ten minutes. He’d assumed the truck would pull up in some kind of parking lot to let them out, but instead he found himself inside a large concrete room, utterly featureless except for a few support pillars, a steel roll-up door to allow the truck access—now shut—and an elevator.

  “I’m sorry if the surroundings seem a bit spartan,” Forsyth said, climbing out before him and waiting politely by the open door. “It’s procedure. Your room will be much nicer.”

  Procedure? What the hell sort of research facility needed this kind of procedure? After talking with John, he’d imagined RD to be more like a library or a university, where guys sat around staring at moldy old books to figure out new ways to perform exorcisms or make spirit wards. Or maybe a high tech lab, where they’d stare at all those blood samples they’d taken from him through a microscope and chant Latin at them or something.

  No obvious way out presented itself. Maybe through the steel door, if Gray could break it, but he didn’t know what waited on the other side.

  Still, if he could keep Forsyth convinced he wanted to cooperate, maybe the guards would relax and make a mistake. Then he and Gray would get the fuck out of here.

  “No problem,” Caleb said. “I understand.” His leather coat creaked as he climbed out of the truck. The confined space smelled of exhaust fumes, hot metal, human sweat and cologne…and something else.

  It was faint, just a trace, nothing anyone not possessed by a drakul would notice. A whiff of mange-clotted fur, rank with rot and corruption, which made his stomach clench with hunger.

  “A demon passed through here, not long ago.” Unease battled with the urge to hunt.

  What the hell would a demon—a werewolf, by the smell of it—be doing here? Was one of the lab workers or guards possessed? They’ve got damn poor security if that’s the case. And Forsyth would have to be a lot stupider than I think he is.

  “Mortals sometimes work with demons. You have seen this already.”

  Yeah. But Forsyth didn’t strike him as the kind of moron who thought he could swagger around striking deals left and right, without any consequences to himself. Besides, the guy worked for SPECTR—he must have seen what could go wrong working with demons, plenty of times, even if he didn’t work the streets like John.

  It didn’t make sense.

  The elevator doors opened, revealing a simple steel interior, like a freight elevator. The one at SPECTR-HQ had been the same way, no doubt to make it easier to clean off blood and grime.

  “This way,” Forsyth said, stepping inside.

  Caleb’s gut clenched. No telling where he’d end up if he entered. Some kind of underground bunker, or a cell, somewhere he couldn’t easily escape.

  Gray roused beneath his skin. “Then we fight?”

  Caleb took a deep breath. Smelled again the delicious scent of demonic corruption, better than a warm plate of chocolate chip cookies to Gray’s inhuman tastes.

  No. Something’s wrong here. And maybe John’s damn Boy Scout attitude had rubbed off on him, but he wanted to know what.

  Gray didn’t like it, but settled back anyway, watchful. Even though every instinct in him screamed to run, to fight, to do anything else, Caleb walked into the elevator with Forsyth.

  Chapter 2

  To Caleb’s surprise—and relief—the elevator didn’t take them to an austere prison block full of guards packing silver-jacketed rounds. Instead, it dinged open on a hall which could have belonged in a hotel, complete with ugly beige carpet. A mirror hung on the wall, and fake plants stood in pots. The air held a hint of mildew, at least to his jacked-up senses, along with the funk of sweaty feet.

  And, again, beneath the normal scents, a hint of demon, as if one had walked here some time within the last couple of days.

  Anticipation curled through his blood. “Will we hunt?”

  I don’t know. The way Caleb’s luck had gone lately, though, they probably would.
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  Forsyth stopped in front of a door and swiped it open with a key. “This is your apartment. Take a look inside and let me know if there’s anything you need.”

  Caleb stepped inside warily. To his surprise, “apartment” really did sum it up. Hell, the place was larger than the one he’d lived in back in Charlotte. A spacious living room, complete with television, held two comfortable-looking couches, and a coffee table strewn with books and magazines. Caleb spotted a short hall off to the left; on one side was a bathroom. Behind another door on the opposite side lay a bedroom decorated in the same bland style as the living room. Mirrors hung on most of the walls, to give an illusion of space, and Caleb realized immediately there weren’t any windows. So no leaving the easy way.

  A desk stood in one corner of the bedroom. An unused sketchbook lay on it, along with a set of colored pencils and charcoal. “Your file said you worked as an artist in Charlotte,” Forsyth said from the doorway, when Caleb picked up the sketchbook. “I don’t know if you normally use pencil, but it will give you a creative outlet while you’re here at least.”

  Was it supposed to make him feel less freaked out? Because honestly, it had pretty much done the opposite. Caleb put the sketch pad back and slid open the closet door. Inside hung several sets of identical loose gray pants, without pockets, and white t-shirts.

  Huh.

  “This way you won’t have to worry about clothing during your stay,” Forsyth said.

  Caleb closed the closet. “You guys have thought of everything.” Everything except a computer and phone. Looked like they didn’t want him communicating with the outside, at least not on his own. “You said I could call John?” Might as well find out now.

  “Of course. I’m sure Agent Starkweather will be happy to hear from you. Cell phone or webcam?”

  He really wanted to see John’s face right now. Actually, he really wanted to feel the other man’s arms around him, while John’s calm, steady voice told him everything would be okay. But he’d take what he could get. “Webcam, thanks.”