Chapter 19 (Adam Novus Chronicles - Book 1)

Nothing exciting happened in the next few weeks. I’ve had only two cases since my meeting with the ‘Were-Council’, and they were of a lightweight variety. Not to mention that one vampire guy came in and wanted to hire me to find his lost pet dog… and I did, to Marcus’s infinite amusement. The little pooch was shacked-up with his new girlfriend, a mixed breed that was twice his size. What can I say, it was a paying gig, and I needed to do something… anything. If I wasn’t flush with the money I liberated from the dead thief that robbed Julius, I don’t know how I would pay my bills… or my secretary.

Nobody wanted my professional services, as if I had the plague. Nina mentioned that the ‘Were-Council’ put a word out emphasizing that I wasn't to be messed with, and everybody seemed to get the wrong impression. I was becoming an outcast in the supernatural community, without really having the time to become a part of it. It was a big pain in the ass. I am sure if they get to know me, I will grow on them. OK, that just makes me sound like some sort of a fungus… drat.

I didn’t suffer any repercussions from ‘The night of the bloody knife’ (Marcus’s attempt at gallows humor), but some people certainly did. He informed me that all those involved with the snuff movies were eradicated, including the missing gang members. All were hunted down with the full support of both councils. Which I guess explains the sudden deaths of a few high city officials; local news stations were all frenzied about it.

At the same time, both councils exonerated me for killing a bunch of humans, and two werewolves. I think they mostly wanted to sweep the entire affair under the rug, especially werewolves. What Zain did, and his father covered up, was a big embarrassment to their entire species. It was safe to say that I wasn’t their favorite person in the world. Well, you can't win them all, and everyone hates when their skeletons are exposed to the public. Although, Katarina Bast did call me to say that if their council had any more questions, they were more than happy to conduct the interview by phone or using a video conference. One would think that they did not want to meet me in person again… how rude.

As for the normal world authorities, they downplayed the entire event. Not wanting to panic the population with a serial killers’ gang that was living in their midst. It was not that hard seeing that most of the dead girls were homeless and living on the street. Mrs. Barkin’s granddaughter, Mary, was among the few exceptions.

Those girls that survived the ordeal the Alpha’s put them through, would need a lot of counseling given that they were witnesses to brutal rapes and murders. I cannot even imagine how they felt knowing that they could be the next participants in the gang’s sick show. But I believe they will be fine; financially secure for a long time by anonymous donations Marcus arranged.

Mrs. Barkin was the hardest to deal with. I needed her to keep silent about my involvement with the whole case and I refused to take the money she tried to offer; her discretion was payment enough, but then it took me an entire hour just to get her to allow me to pay for my meals in the future. It simply did not feel right to take anything from her; she was struggling as it is. Nevertheless, from that day, my orders seem to grow larger for the same price, and she always puts something extra on my plate.

The only constructive thing I did in all that time was practicing how to summon the black knife at will without having to immediately kill anyone. I’ll admit, the thing never failed to show up whenever the situation demanded it, but it was a bit unnerving to trust a weapon you were never 100% sure that it would be there.

The trick I finally figured out was similar to what I did before attacking that first group of Alphas inside the guardhouse. I had to mentally reach deep within myself and will it into existence, or pull it from that other place where it resided when not in use. It sounds easy, but it took me more than a week to perfect the technique. Like an amputee that needs to learn how to use a prosthesis. Not something that comes naturally, but after some time it becomes second nature. Still, even after doing it a few hundred times, every single instance when that blade materialized in my hand—from thin air—felt a bit eerie… completely unnatural.

There was a small catch that I didn't particularly appreciate; in fact, it was a bloody nuisance. Normally, my presence to the senses of supernatural beings was dull and masked without the knife, as Marcus explained to me after I killed Damien. However, the moment the knife was in my hand, that presence increased a thousand-fold. The first time I managed to summon it inside the house—it freaked Nina out. She thought some monster was in my office and was probably in the process of killing me.

It was funny seeing her rush in the middle of a partial change, with a paperweight in her hand, of all things. It took a while to calm her down and to reassure her I was perfectly safe, oh, and convince her that I wasn't some kind of a monster. I do not think she liked my knife summoning practice periods, which strangely coincided with the times she started taking her lunch breaks.

It’s an ultimate concealed weapon that not even an airport scanner could detect. Take that TSA. Maybe I could book a gig in Las Vegas, but then I was a one-trick pony, so maybe not. But Nina’s reaction did expose one weakness, a liability. In a fight with any supernatural, I would need to hide that trump card as long as I can. After all, surprise had killed more people than one could count.

I was becoming restless, and quite bored. That is why my semi-feline secretary told me that I should get out and do something. If for no other reason, then not to kill her mood any longer, because I was beginning to mope.

I still took some time every day to search for the missing Grimoire, but no luck so far. Not a pip on the Darknet hot items shopping sites, and every contact Marcus, Esmeralda, and Julius could think of—produced zero leads. Whoever got it was not trying to sell it, and that was a worrying thought. I mean, it was a freaking Grimoire from Hell, and according to Julius, filled with occult rituals that could produce some nasty stuff. I won’t stop searching for it, but I fear that any hope of finding it was starting to be slim to none.

Sitting at home and watching videos all the time did lose its charm, not that I did that all the time, just occasionally. Besides, binge-watching movies, and TV shows of the past decade, while fun, was somewhat depressing.

God, I needed to kill something, in a non-psychopathic way… honest.

Julius gave me this list of the shops that sold books and other magic-related peripherals; now was as good a time as any to check some of them out. Maybe there was some obscure book tome that would shine more light on my peculiar condition. He admitted that it was a long shot at best, but I had time on my hands.

The first place was just a regular bookshop, I couldn't find anything that related to me. The nice lady managed to sell me a book on the damaging effects of UV radiation on human skin. I bought it as a gag for Marcus, and she looked like she needed the money. The second was this herbal store, in fact, a Wiccan supplies store, run by a real witch, go figure.

The first thing I saw upon entering was a hot babe on a ladder, wearing a miniskirt, and trying to reach the top shelf. My mind went straight to the gutter. Long silky legs, ass to die for, and wavy red hair, perfect for… what was I coming here for? My mind was drawing a blank; if she could just reach a little higher... And then she turned around.

Sweet baby Jesus! I lost interest in a second; she was a bit older than me, by say… half a century? This was the freakiest thing I ever saw; for God's sake, she is old enough to be someone's grandma, and I was checking her out. Why is someone her age wearing a miniskirt anyway, isn't there a law against that?

“I’ll be with you in a minute dear.”

Her voice, silky smooth, one a hotline operator could envy; not that I would know how a hotline phone operator sounds like… pure speculation.

She climbed down and gave me a nice toothless smile. Did she forget her dentures?

“What can I help you with?” she asked, in that pleasant voice.

I could see her reflection in the big antique mirror hanging on the wall beside us, and it was not what my eyes were seeing. In the mirror, she was a hot babe, worthy to be a centerfold in certain magazines; in reality, she was… ready for a retirement home?

“Yes... I am looking for any books you have on removing curses," I mumbled.

Grandma raised her eyebrows, “That is not a request I hear every day, but let me see if I can find something,” she said and went looking deeper into the store.

I looked around while she was away. A lot of regular things, multicolored candles, Ouija boards (made in China, I checked), and a truckload of incense—I don't care about incense.

She returned a few minutes later carrying a dusty old book. “Here you go, it’s a book on various curses and known cures for them; I'm sure some in there are ancient.”

I hope it will give me some hints; it should, considering the price she asked for it.

As I was leaving, I could not help but ask, “Excuse me, ma’am, can you tell me why your face looks so different in the mirror?” That was innocent enough.

She looked confused for a second and then laughed.

“Oh, you have the sight, it’s OK. I am just trying a new glamor spell; it will last for a few days, and it works on my husband— we like to spice it up a little.”

She told me the last part in a lowered voice, as if she was saying something naughty.

“Don't worry; the mundane humans see only what you saw in the mirror.”

There was this warm feeling in my cheeks, and mental images that uncontrollably crossed my mind were the ones I hope would soon forget.

“Ah, yes, that makes sense... and… have fun? ... Goodbye now,” I mumbled and quickly got out, hearing her quiet giggle before I closed the door behind me.

Her husband is one lucky man; I hope he can survive the experience, enough said.

This was a bit of a downer. Here she was, ready to kick the bucket and still doing it. On the other hand, there was me, in the prime of my life, and cursed to a life of celibacy. Going all the way with me was a death sentence, and that just sucked. C'est la vie—as French say.

There was another place that I needed to check, an occult dealer named Xavier that procured hard-to-find items. It was the last address on my list. Frankly, I did not have my hopes up.

It took another hour driving through frantic New York streets to get there. I was getting convinced that all taxi drivers in the city were possessed by the angry spirits of executed serial killers. At least three of them cut me off in such insane maneuvers that I was sure an accident was unavoidable, yet they somehow managed to evade the almost certain collision. They all looked at driving rules as mere suggestions rather than laws. If I ever go insane and start a psychotic killing spree, they will be first on my list.

The occult dealer had one of those places where people don’t come if they are not invited. Julius mentioned that if your accounts don’t merit at least a platinum credit card, you have no business going there. The entire building screamed exclusivity, and that book of cures for curses at the hot grandma’s place was more than I planned to spend today.

There were not any signs to indicate that there was an occult store here, just the mahogany doors with a brass doorbell. Well, Julius did say that Xavier was dealing in items that would make sense only to those who truly knew the magic was real, so it did make sense. You don't want the IRS on your ass because most of the things you sell cannot be taxed in any way without attracting unwanted attention to the entire supernatural world.

But the place was locked, which was a bit strange; it was already evening, but not that late. I was about to turn away towards my car when a faint but familiar stench entered my nostrils. It's not something you can easily forget, no matter how much you want to. The smell of rotting flesh, and old blood.

There are some places in the world when such a smell is quite common, but not here, in this neighborhood. My intuition was telling me it was not some roadkill that was dumped in the gutters, but that there was a dead person near. (I hate when it does that, it's never a good thing.)

I went around the building and jumped over a decorative fence; hoping nobody saw me and called the cops to look into my suspicious behavior. The first sign my intuition was right was when I noticed the back door had been forced open. The second was the almost unbearable smell of death.

Breathing through my mouth, I entered inside and immediately saw that the whole place was ransacked. Oh, and I soon found Xavier. He had been dead for a long while, the body was in an advanced state of decomposition; smelling bad enough to gag a maggot. The cause of death was an acute case of a missing heart, as in—surgically removed since I could see inside his empty chest cavity. Other marks on his body told the story of torture and pain. Not the easiest way to go to the great beyond.

This is the second guy I found recently with a missing heart; a very disturbing pattern. Even more worrying was that both had some connection to Julius. The first one stole from him, this one knew him.

In this type of situation, a normal law-abiding citizen calls the authorities or throws up. I did neither; instead, I called Julius; it was his contact anyway.

Some people tend to be quite excited when they get the call informing them of the death of their acquaintances; Julius was… reserved. He told me to wait there and he would come as soon as possible. I had no intention to stay in the same place as Mr. Stinky here; he reeked to high heavens. Therefore, I went to a small enclosed garden in the back, and on the way picked up a few quality Cuban cigars I spotted in the fancy climate-controlled humidor. I quit smoking long ago, but after smelling that decomposing corpse, I would gladly inhale burning plastic fumes, just to cleanse my olfactory organ.

Despite the circumstances, it was rather peaceful. Sitting in a nice oriental garden, puffing on a quality cigar, and just chilling. If it wasn’t for occasional wafts of putrid flesh from the house, this would be quite an ideal setting. You can say all you want, but the rich people know how to enjoy life… except in cases when they end up being brutally murdered.

“Those things can kill you," Julius said as soon as he saw me sitting in the garden, making Indian smoke signals. He managed to get here in under an hour, and I was on my second cigar by then.

"Of all the things that can end my life, these are not even in the top ten," I replied, taking one last drag from a big cigar, before putting it out in an ashtray beside me.

I followed him as he entered the back door, preparing myself mentally for the nasty stench. Everybody says you should breathe through the mouth in such cases, only—it doesn’t help; you can almost taste the foul aroma of rotting flesh in the back of your throat.

Julius stood by the corpse for a minute, then kneeled beside the bed and put his hands in prayer. That's a first—a praying demon. How could he stand the smell was beyond me; maybe demons have a super resilient olfactory system?

"Was he a friend of yours?" I asked after he was finished.

"Xavier was one of my descendants. Many generations removed, but still…" there was a sadness in his voice, and his feelings were of regret and pain. That took me by surprise, but it really shouldn’t. He was a mix of human and a demon, so it stood to reason that he could sire a child… or many. Considering how long he has been here, who knows how many descendants he had.

"I'm sorry, Julius, my condolences."

"Thank you. There are many of them, and I try to keep track of the bloodlines. After so many generations, my demon blood is quite diluted, most of them do not even know. Xavier here was different; some of my family gifts were passed on to him. So, I helped him when he was still young, and loaned him the money to open this shop. He was a good man Adam, and didn't deserve to end like this."

"Julius, this happened some time ago, and the man who robbed you was killed in a similar manner; he too had his heart removed. Do you have any idea what this is all about?"

He just shook his head. "I wish I did; then I would have a clue who had done it… and then I would rip their heads off." He said that through the clenched teeth, his emotions were precise and cold, rage mixed with purposeful killing intent. At that moment, I was glad he was not mad at me; I never fought a demon before and was not eager to try.

His eyes opened wide. "The safe! Come with me."

We went upstairs to the living area, and there, in the room that Julius walked into, was an open safe. One of those small ones, which you can hide behind a painting. Now it was wide open, and quite empty.

"Xavier used to keep here all the really dangerous magical artifacts he managed to acquire during his career. Nothing even close as dangerous as that Grimoire of mine, but in the wrong hands…"

So… someone is going after magical thingamajigs and is not asking nicely for them.

I wanted to call Marcus again, so he could do his bloodhound thing, but it would seem that Julius got the same sensitive nose as my compadre vampire did. Who knew so many supernaturals had the nose? (Note to self: silent farts can be traced back to you—refrain.)

Julius confirmed my suspicion, there were the same number of people as Marcus sniffed out in a dead thief’s house, and the faint scent of gun oil.

“I’ve been thinking for weeks of anyone who would steal and kill for this stuff, and I am drawing a blank. My Grimoire is useless to anyone without a great amount of magic, and Earth is severely lacking in it. I thought for a while that a greater demon from Hell had found a stable portal, however unlikely that may be. But I don’t think they would be able to hide in the modern world.”

“Can they? I mean open a portal from that side?” I asked, having a vision of crazy demons running around and killing people.

“Not likely, or we would hear about it for sure. The only portals that still exist are random wild ones that last for a short time. As I told you, the chances of surviving passage through one are not good. I was insanely lucky, and even then, I had so many broken bones and contusions, it took me a few months to get on my feet. Arguably, the chances are that in the past a few of my kind managed to cross over in the same way I did. And judging by some religious texts I acquired, the Christians didn’t greet them with open arms. Setting them on fire was the preferred method of purification.”

“Well, I think someone is certainly making a nice collection of genuinely powerful occult artifacts, and they don’t care how many people they have to kill for them.”

Julian nodded, while his emotions radiated trepidation and deep worry.

We checked the rest of the house for clues but didn’t find any. Julius called the Cleaners and they were just pulling into the driveway as we were coming out.

“Mr. Novus, I didn’t know this was one of your calls.” One of the men in overalls said to me. (It says a lot when the undertakers know you on sight.)

“Ah, no, I’m just an innocent bystander on this one,” I replied, a bit confused at his reaction.

“Just so you know, sir, we operate 24-7, and we are always at your service. Or as they say at the home office: You stab 'em we slab 'em.” He said with a smile and went into the house.

It is easy to connect the dots if you have access to someone’s emotions. The elation at first and then a sense of disappointment that followed. I would have bet my left… kidney, these ghouls were having some sort of a wager at my expense. Not that I could blame them, I was a busy little bee of late. But they should show some more respect to a customer that puts food on their table. By the rates they were charging me, this bunch probably had lobster for every meal.

After saying goodbye, Julius went to his limo, with a driver no less; I started my Ford with some trouble, hoping the old rust bucket wouldn’t die on me.

Thinking about food made my stomach rumble, which reminded me that the only food I had at home were days-old Chinese takeout leftovers. Except for a few pastries at Mrs. Barkin’s this morning, I have not eaten for the entire day, but that was easily rectified. It was late, but there sure had to be a few places on my way back to the South Bronx that still served a hot meal.