Dark Strike Read online

  This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Dark Strike, Shadow and Light, Book Seven

  Copyright © 2020 by Kim Richardson

  All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction

  in whole or in any form.

  Cover by Kim Richardson

  Text in this book was set in Garamond.

  Printed in the United States of America

  [1. Supernatural—Fiction. 2. Demonology—Fiction.

  3. Magic—Fiction].

  CONTENTS

  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

  SPELLS & ASHES

  BOOKS BY KIM RICHARDSON

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  CHAPTER 1

  “Look! A gray hair! A friggin’ gray hair!” yowled Tyrius, his right paw in the air with what I suspected was a hair pinched between his toes. He stilled, his blue eyes wide, and then keeled over on the kitchen counter on his back, his legs splayed and twitching like a dying beetle. “My kids are going to be the death of me. I just know it. I feel it in my bones.”

  I rolled my eyes and tore open the box with the word KITCHEN written on it in blocky letters. I reached in and grabbed the first glass, unwrapped the newspaper and tossed the paper on the floor before placing the glass on the kitchen cabinet’s first shelf. “That’s not a gray hair. That’s a white one, silly. In case you’ve forgotten… you’re covered in beige and white hair.” I grabbed another glass from the box. “You’re overreacting a little. Don’t you think? They’re just kids. Kids are supposed to drive their parents crazy. Everyone knows that.”

  Two months had passed since Kora had given birth to four beautiful baby baals, all white, two with Tyrius’s blue eyes and the other two with their mother’s yellow eyes. I’d seen my share of kittens before, but these were spectacular, with wide, intelligent baal eyes and a giant dose of cuteness.

  My grandmother had been beside herself with glee that she could provide a home for this new family. She spoiled them rotten, with freshly cooked meals every day and “Raw meat Fridays.”

  Tyrius rolled back and sat, his tail curled around his feet. “That’s just it. They’re not kids anymore. I can do kids. I can tolerate all the sticky paws and drool—even on occasion some furballs. Kids are cute. They’re happy to see you. They’re all smiles and want cuddles.” The cat narrowed his eyes. “But these ones… they’re teenagers. They don’t listen. They’re defiant. They talk back. They think they know everything.”

  I laughed. “I was just like that once.” I thought about it. “Still am.”

  “Ha. Ha.” Tyrius’s tail twitched behind him. “They’re a bunch of little devils.”

  “They are a bunch of little devils. Demons. Devils. Same difference.”

  Tyrius’s eyebrows dropped over his eyes and his ears lowered. “You’re not exactly being a supportive best friend. What happened to ‘I’ll always have your back, Tyrius’ or ‘I’m on your side, Tyrius’?”

  I let out a long sigh. “It’ll be fine. It’s just a phase. All teenagers are supposed to drive their parents crazy. It’s in their DNA. They’ll grow out of it.”

  “Not soon enough.” The cat picked at the nail of his front paw. “Wait till you have your own kids. You’ll see. The talking back is especially brutal.”

  “Well, it’s way too early to have that conversation with Gareth.” I wouldn’t want to scare away the elf with baby talk. “Besides, I’m not sure kids are in my foreseeable future. Plus, in my line of work, it’s probably a bad idea to even think of starting a family. I wouldn’t want my kids to be orphaned before they turn two.” If I ever did decide to have a family of my own, I would without a doubt quit the Hunting business at least until they were young adults.

  “Speaking of procreation.” Tyrius spat out his nail. “Where’s that elf of yours? Still selling his drugs over in New Jersey?”

  “Herbal medicine,” I corrected.

  “Tomato. Tomahto.”

  I pushed the tall glass to the back of the shelf. Twilight Natural Medicine was Gareth’s shop that sold medicinal herbs in Hoboken, New Jersey, to anyone who needed it—half-breeds and humans. “He’s still debating whether or not to keep his store open in New Jersey or close it and open a new one here in Thornville.”

  “Well, it would make more sense since you live here now.”

  I smiled and glanced around the small galley kitchen made up of white shaker cabinets and subway tiles. “It would.”

  Gareth and I had decided to find a place of our own and move in together. It was the logical next step in our relationship, and we were practically inseparable. It made sense to find a place we both liked to start our lives together.

  With my grandmother not getting any younger, I wanted to find a place near her. Turned out, the house across the street from hers was up for rent and I jumped on it as soon as I saw the owner hammering in a FOR RENT sign on the front lawn. In fact, I had run out of my gran’s house, yelling, “Don’t do it!” and “I’m here!” all the while swinging my arms at the old man, frightening him half to death.

  I would have been frightened of me too.

  The poor old man, Mr. Wallace, now my landlord, had slipped on the grass and fallen back on his behind, dragging the sign down with him. Oops. I’d helped him up, of course. We’d signed the papers that afternoon. That was a week ago.

  The fact that it was a rental was even better. Not having to deal with taxes or a hefty down payment, which I didn’t have, was a blessing. Renting, for now, was just what I needed.

  The house was a small, light blue two-story American Foursquare with white trim and a large front porch. Red, orange, and pink petunias draped from the flower boxes below the front windows, and mature lilac trees flanked the house on both sides. Even though they weren’t in bloom anymore, their vibrant green leaves were a lovely contrast with the blue of the house. I would have signed on the dotted line just for the lilacs.

  The house had three bedrooms, two of which became our separate offices, and just one bathroom upstairs. It had been renovated over the years, always keeping to its true architecture, and it was a lovely home.

  Gareth, bless that sexy elf, didn’t mind being so far from his shop and told me he’d be happy with whatever I chose. Good thing he didn’t know I’d signed the papers before I called him to tell him about the place. Oopsy.

  And the bonus? The elf cooked and cleaned. I’m not lying. Men like that were practically extinct. He was a keeper. I was a very lucky gal.

  His father’s face, with his perpetual frown, flashed in my mind’s eye. Gareth’s father was the warden of Imadell, the elven city. I wondered what he’d think of his son, a High-born elf, living with the likes of me, an a
ngel-born with archdemon essence in her veins who was still working out where she belonged. He’d hate it—that was a fact—and the thought brought a smile to my face.

  I was no longer Unmarked, an angel-born without the mark of archangels. The proof was that glorious P-shaped birthmark on my neck, which I couldn’t stop staring at without grinning like an idiot. I was officially marked and blessed by the archangel’s sigil, just like all angel-borns and just like my parents. Though the archangel Raphael had done it, she’d given me the archangel Michael’s sigil, same as Layla’s.

  Now, with the added protection of the sigil, Layla and I would no longer be subject to demons, greater demons, or even archdemons, like the king of all douches—Lucian. He nor any other archdemon bastard could infuse us with his power anymore. The only reason Layla and I had his essence, why we were Unmarked in the first place, was to help him steal the Holy Grail. Yeah, it didn’t turn out as he’d planned. Suck it, Lucian.

  Granted, we still had his archdemon essence in us, but it didn’t make us bad, not really. Not unless we wanted to be bad. However, it did make us stronger, more resilient to demonic energies. And maybe a little badass too.

  Layla and I were both part of the angel-born army. We’d been signed up as Operatives, kind of like a special police unit for the angel-born, with a regular salary. It wasn’t a nine-to-five job. It was more of a twenty-four-hour job with a case-by-case approach. The assignments were given to us by our boss, the Head of House Michael.

  The first few weeks on the job had been especially busy. Following Lucian’s douche move, thousands of demons had escaped through his Hellmouth, and we’d worked around the clock to track down and vanquish them all. My Hunter skills had really come in handy. The other angel-born Operatives had been a little standoffish at first, and I was grateful to have Layla with me so I didn’t feel so awkward.

  But I’d earned my place there. I’d literally died for it. And if the other angel-borns had a problem with me or Layla, they could go screw themselves. Because I wasn’t leaving.

  Things improved after the third week. Most probably because I’d tracked and killed two hundred and fifty-six demons on my own. Color me impressed. The respect started coming in after that, which was just fine by me.

  I folded the now-empty box, placed it on top of the pile of empty cardboard boxes, and moved on to the next one filled with plates.

  “Is that more of Gareth’s stuff?” the baal lowered himself on the counter, stretching his long, elegant limbs as he lay down. He looked like one of those cat statues in ancient Egypt.

  “Yes,” I answered. “I never had much of anything.”

  “I know.”

  “And most of what I had was destroyed by those werewolves.”

  “Along with Father Thomas’s kitchen.”

  “Along with Father Thomas’s kitchen.”

  “Well,” said the cat. “Now with your new job, you can afford to buy new stuff if you want. But it looks like you won’t need to. The elf has enough kitchen supplies to open a restaurant.”

  I turned to look at the mountain of unopened boxes with the word PULLOMANCY written in bold. “That’s what he cooks his elf magic with. He asked me not to touch them until he gets home.”

  The cat tipped his head. “So… are you going to open them?”

  I grinned. “What do I look like? Of course I am.” It wouldn’t hurt to take a little peek. The elf’s magic intrigued me. Now that we lived together, I’d get a real sense of how he cooked his magic. He was going to teach me. There was no getting out of that one.

  Tyrius stopped cleaning his side in mid-lick. “What’s that sloppy smile about? If you’re thinking about ways to boink the elf on the kitchen counter, I’m going to hurl.”

  I shook my head. “Don’t be gross. I’m just happy. Okay? Can’t I be happy for once? I finally have a great guy in my life and a real job. I’m renting this fantastic house. What more can a gal want?” A bigger closet? To eat cheesecake every day without adding any extra pounds? A girl could still dream.

  “I’m not used to that expression of ‘smiling’ on your face is all.” Tyrius continued to clean himself. “And you’re doing it a lot lately.”

  “So?”

  “I’m used to the killer frown or the crazy eyes. You know the ones. This here… it’s like a new Rowyn.”

  “And what?” I pressed my hands on my hips. “You don’t like this new Rowyn?”

  It was his turn to roll his eyes at me. “I’m just saying… if you’ll let me. I’m just getting to know the new Rowyn. It’s going to take me some time is all.”

  “Hmmm.”

  “I mean… you did die and returned as a sparkling extraterrestrial. It was a Twilight moment without the vampires. That has to mess with one’s mind a little.”

  I dipped my head. “There is that.”

  Tyrius scratched behind his ear and shook his head. “You were a freaking meat suit, Rowyn. We spent years making fun of them. I even kept a ‘Best Of’ list.”

  “I know. I was there.” And it was an experience I would never forget. Especially the getting stabbed part, then the dying, and finally the ending up in Horizon, chatting with an oracle. It had been a mind-blowing experience, yes. But it had also been awesome.

  The Siamese cat cocked his head. “You think they’ll come calling on you again for your services?”

  “The angel legion?” I laughed again, reaching down and grabbing a plate from the box. “I think I’ve died enough times this year. Once was enough. Thank you very much.”

  A knock came from the front door.

  Tyrius jumped to his feet, his ears swiveling around the top of his head. “Demon balls,” he cursed. “The celestial calvary is back!”

  The plate slipped from my fingers, but I caught it before it smashed to pieces on the floor. “No. It can’t be.” Could it?

  “It’s your day off. Right?” asked the cat. “So, it’s not the angel-born needing you to polish their egos. This smells like the big kahunas. Halos anonymous.”

  I licked my lips, frowning. “They never used the front door before. They’ve always just showed up.” And never once invited. Okay, I’ll admit angels weren’t my favorite celestial beings before. But now that I’d lived in their skin—literally—I’d never feel the same way again. I might even feel a bit of respect, on a good day.

  So, why would they show up now?

  The baal sniffed the air. “I’m not smelling any celestial farts. But it doesn’t mean it’s not them. Imodium does exist in Horizon.”

  I set the plate down on the counter. My heart thumped in my chest as I made my way through the small hallway that opened up to the living room on my left, passed the staircase on the right that led to the second floor, and moved to the front door. I could make out a shadow on the front porch of someone wearing dark clothing, but the privacy glass kept me from seeing who it was.

  Something brushed against my leg and rushed past me. “Tyrius. Don’t do anything stupid.” I glared down at the cat. “Even if it is angels. Got it?”

  The cat sat next to the door sill and looked up at me. “But stupid is so much more fun!”

  Great. “I mean it, Tyrius. Anything stupid, anything at all, and I’m sending you home. To be with your kids.”

  The cat’s mouth fell open. “You wouldn’t.”

  “Don’t test me, kitty. I’m getting my crazy eyes again.” I took a deep breath and pulled open the front door.

  “Father Thomas?” I stared at the priest. He wore his usual dark ensemble of black slacks and a black shirt, the white square of his clerical collar stark against the deep tones. He stood a few inches taller than me with a drool-worthy, athletic physique, and though I’d never actually known his age, I pegged him to be somewhere in his early thirties.

  “How’s it hanging, Padre?” said Tyrius, and for a moment I thought I heard him purr.

  My eyes never left the priest. Something was wrong. His usual handsome features were twisted in fear, sho
wing lines of pain around his eyes and mouth. He looked like he’d seen a ghost. Or something worse. The priest wasn’t the type to scare easily.

  Father Thomas was a modern-day Templar Knight, a band of priests who waged a secret war against the church’s enemies—demons, half-breeds, and other supernatural baddies that posed a threat to the church—which the church hid from the public. They called themselves the Knights of Heaven, and they were a team specially appointed by the church to investigate all the “unusual crimes” that happened in the city and the surrounding areas, specifically New York City.

  “What’s happened?” I questioned with dread settling in the pit of my gut.

  His dark brown eyes flashed with a broken spirit that made my heart clench. “A priest,” he said, his voice haggard like I’d never heard before. He sighed and added, “A member of the Knights of Heaven has been murdered.”

  Oh crap.

  CHAPTER 2

  St. Joseph’s Church, Father Thomas’s assigned parish church, was Thornville’s oldest catholic church, dating back to the seventeenth century. An architectural stone beauty, it boasted expansive stained-glass windows and gargoyles perched high atop the towers. The gargoyles were my favorite. Some part of me wished they could break free from their stone confinements and come alive, and then we could become friends. Yes. I was a little mad that way. But they were so cute with their claws and teeth and tails and wings. They reminded me of Tyrius, only bigger and without the fur.

  One thing was for sure. I’d always enjoyed my visits. Until now.

  I stood in one of the many separate offices that branched off from the church’s main building at the back and a level up from the main floor. Chairs and side tables were strewn all over the place, discarded and broken and tumbled. Papers littered the floor and books lay in piles at the foot of a tall bookcase as though an earthquake had shaken them all off. An assortment of swords and daggers that could skewer an elephant decorated the wall on the left and gleamed in the morning sun.

  Hello, pretties. They were practically begging to be handled, preferably by my calloused, not-so-ladylike hands.