The Demon's Reprisal [COMING TO AMAZON]

Chapter 1 ⁓ Kane

Rain pattered the stone of a forgotten, overgrown cemetery. It wasn't a place that had received visitors in years. The creaky iron gate had been left open. Broken fences, covered in vines and vegetation, merged with the brush surrounding the remote area. Not even the lights of the city could penetrate the dense wall of oak trees secluding that once-consecrated location from the outside world.

A strong gust blew through the trees and swept over the cemetery. Metal upon metal rattled in the shadows.

"Careful," Milton whispered, his deep voice abnormally quiet.

Even in a cemetery, the other man managed to look polished. He stood out among the shadows. A white shirt tucked into his slacks and kept tight with a belt nicely finished his cultured look, only to be thrown off at the sight of the man's boots, covered in muck.

If Milton had divested himself of the sword sheathed on his back and the loaded shotgun in his hands, he could have passed for a middle-aged librarian.

He technically is a librarian, I thought. He owns enough books. He just doesn't share.

In the pitch-black night, the cracked and fallen headstones dotting the graveyard made the walk to the mausoleum hazardous. Milton, on point, paved the way with careful steps and wary eyes. He pointed toward a shadowed structure not far away.

"Over there," Milton whispered, nearly lost behind the gust of another strong wind.

There was another loud rattle in the dark, and in the distance, the foliage atop the blackened trees swayed.

A curt nod to each other was all that was needed to resume our trek.

Our boots crunched against the dead leaves and brown grass as we closed the rest of the space to the mausoleum. We didn't go inside, leaning strategically on either side of the slightly ajar door. At my back, carved flowers rose to entwine a brass epitaph that couldn't be read, aged and worn. Inside the crack of the doorway, only darkness was promised further within.

"Kane. Are you ready?" Milton asked, keeping his deep voice low.

Back to the stone of the crypt, he began inspecting his shotgun, making sure it was battle-ready. He pushed his glasses further up his nose.

I unsheathed the sword on my back. The grooves of the hilt dug into my palm, and I let the weight of the weapon, heavy in my hand, point lazily downward.

"We have to kill it tonight."

Milton acquiesced with a nod. He held his shotgun upward and peeked through the ajar door.

"It's fed," he said. It won't be near the surface. It'll have gone as far underground as it possibly can."

My fingers tensed on the hilt of the sword. I'd seen the bodies of its recent victims—a family, mutilated and torn apart. If I'd been able to perform a more effective tracking spell, we'd have stopped the monster's reign before it slaughtered so many.

"I'm fucking ready," I growled. I fixed my grip on the hilt of the sword, palms sweaty.

Milton pushed the door slowly open. It screeched on unoiled hinges. I pressed the flashlight attached to my jacket on, illuminating the area. Milton entered first. I followed.

I took my time looking over the shadows and cobwebs covering the various golden boxes lining the walls. It was a columbarium, and a dismal realization settled heavily over it all, one that spoke of so many cremated remains being forgotten with time.

"And down they went, down into the darkness, down they went to be devoured," Milton recited unnervingly, standing at the edge of a winding stairwell leading down.