The Devil Walks In Blood: Nick Holleran Private Investigator Book Two (Nick Holleran Series 2) Read online

  THE DEVIL WALKS IN BLOOD

  BOOK TWO

  NICK HOLLERAN Private investigator

  BY DAVID GREEN

  EERIE RIVER PUBLISHING

  www. EerieRiverPublishing.com

  Copyright © 2021 by David Green

  All Rights Reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any manner, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without express written permission by the author(s) and or publisher, except for the use of a brief quotation in a book review.

  Eerie River Publishing

  www.EerieRiverPublishing.com

  Hamilton, Ontario Canada

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, organizations and incidents are either part of the author’s imagination or

  are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. Except all the details about Hell, that is real.

  Paperback ISBN: 978-1-990245-08-4

  Digital ISBN: 978-1-990245-06-0

  Edited by S.O. Green and Michelle River

  Cover design by Michelle River

  Book Formatting by Michelle River

  ALSO BY DAVID GREEN

  Dead Man Walking

  A Place Beyond the Storm

  In Solitude’s Shadow

  Path of War

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  https://www.facebook.com/davidgreenwriter

  To all those who read Dead Man Walking and wanted more Nick; and for those who gave me the chance to bring it to you.

  Chapters

  A Note from the Author

  PROLOGUE

  I, ME, MINE

  YOU CAN’T DO THAT

  CARRY THAT WEIGHT

  A LITTLE HELP FROM MY FRIENDS

  ACT NATURALLY

  TWO OF US

  TOMORROW NEVER KNOWS

  A DAY IN THE LIFE

  DON’T LET ME DOWN

  COME TOGETHER

  THE END

  GETTING BETTER

  EPILOGUE

  Afterword

  Acknowledgments

  A Note from the Author

  Welcome back to Hell.

  And I’m not just talking about writing the legendary “difficult second book.” You hear that difficult second bandied about, don’t you? About albums, movies, and whatnot. I always wondered why—is it the pressure of expectations, a shorter time frame, the lack of a plan, too much of a plan. Maybe a mixture of all, a heady mix of good and bad colliding to create that “second difficult thing”?

  I have to admit, while some of the circumstances around getting The Devil Walks In Blood to print were less than ideal, finding Nick’s new home at Eerie River Publishing and actually writing the story have been a dream. Holleran is a pleasure to write, as are all the characters—good, bad, and indifferent—who live in the city of Haven.

  When I sat down to write Dead Man Walking, Nick’s original adventure, I had a plan in mind of where his story would lead. I even went and wrote a short-story prequel which you’ll find in an upcoming Eerie River anthology—look out for the hints of Whiskey Pete’s in this very book—which really helped me nail the character of Nick in my mind, to cement his voice further before turning to The Devil Walks In Blood.

  The second book heads to darker territories and widens the scope of Heaven and Hell, but at the same time we go deeper into the characters and mine some lighter moments. There’s big action and quiet, reflective conversations, razor-sharp wit and emotional punches. If you liked Dead Man Walking, there’s everything you enjoyed here in The Devil Walks In Blood and more.

  Nick Holleran’s back… You just can’t keep a dead man down. Enjoy.

  David Green

  “Through me you go into a city of weeping; through me you go into eternal pain; through me you go amongst the lost people.”

  ~ Dante Alighieri, The Inferno

  PROLOGUE

  CHILD OF NATURE

  From the sidewalk, I watch Nick Holleran through his office window. The man should have died. Again. Mystery swirls in Hell. Questions with elusive answers that I must uncover.

  A wind threatens to stir, but dies, just like that. The air is heavy—so thick I can taste the coming rain on my tongue. He arrives. Lucifer. The Master of Hell, and someone I have served for eons. He views me as a friend, perhaps more, but how can one such as he have companions?

  He exists to lead; I am made to follow.

  His hand clamps on my shoulder. The weight makes my knees buckle. That is the Devil for you. He does not try to dominate; he just does.

  Despite that, he wishes for peace and solitude. His selflessness strikes me. Always has. Even when he led his armies against God, he did it for the humans, for those of us in Heaven who chafed against God’s rule. Since the Great Divide, I can count on one hand the number of times he’s intervened with events in Hell. It has not happened since the Dark Ages.

  And then, last night…

  His fingers rest on my shoulder still, and though I should be well used to his presence now, I can hide nothing from him. The question forces its way from the tip of my tongue and onto my lips.

  “Why did you spare the human? Holleran’s stuck in Hell, even after death. He knows that. There is no ticket into Heaven for him. Revenge is a sin, and in the eyes of God, he is guilty.”

  Sometimes, no matter how I struggle, no matter the years together, the battles we fought and the quiet times of reflection, I just don’t get Lucifer.

  This is one of those occasions. You’d think some clarity would reach me, that I could understand even one thing he does. Perhaps I overestimate my worth—it’s not for me, Suraz, mightiest of Lucifer’s Nephilim, to understand him.

  Still, now and then, Lucifer forces me to question him, to wonder if I picked the correct side, all those years ago.

  No, Suraz, you have made your peace with that. You chose the path to walk, there is no returning.

  “Sparing the human… I might ask you the same thing, Suraz.” His voice is a murmur, but it rolls like approaching thunder. The rich baritone still makes me shudder. His voice threatens to overwhelm my senses, and I wonder how a mere human like Holleran coped in Lucifer’s presence. “Didn’t you save him from a demon, out for revenge? Perhaps you inspired me. You certainly made enough of a mess. Ruby’s still cleaning the demon ichor off the floor, poor woman.”

  “You were watching?”

  “Always. I wondered what you saw in that place. The Styx. Is it her? The owner? Do you think I should get to know her better?”

  Lucifer is in a rare mood. He’s jovial. Playful almost.

  I glance from the corner of my eye, tilting my head upwards at his face, and see him smiling as we hug the lengthening shadows of the late afternoon day, watching Holleran together. We ignore the Haven City drizzle as it drifts onto grey streets. I don’t know what drew me here, what compelled me to watch through the detective’s window. It concerns me that Lucifer felt the same pull.

  I let my gaze linger as I struggle to recall the last time I stood in Lucifer’s presence. Time’s a funny thi
ng when you’ve lived for an eternity. The concept slips in my mind. It could have been months or decades, and my…vices don’t help my memory.

  Spirits drift amongst the ignorant humans scurrying about Haven, blind to what surrounds them. Elsewhere, monsters and demons and malevolent forces lurk. Despite it all, the late-afternoon holds a strange quality. Even the Devil’s presence doesn’t account for it.

  I frown, considering Lucifer’s words. “The demon would have killed Holleran. He may have meddled in affairs beyond his comprehension, but he acted with honor. I saw justice dispensed.”

  “If Holleran didn’t ‘meddle’, who would? You? The Nephilim? Absin is absent all too often, and you’re spending much time at The Styx these days, my old friend. Are you taking up another vice or sharpening an old one?”

  Anger makes my head spin. With a snarl, I face Lucifer. A head taller than me, my ‘old friend’ could crush me with a thought. Right now, all I can think of are the decisions the Devil made that led me here. Banished from Heaven, unable to die or return home. They plague me. Always. Millennia of doubt and regret because of loyalty to my master. My friend.

  His golden eyes, framed by his obsidian skin, narrow, but one side of his mouth curves upwards. The smug bastard.

  “Hell’s pulse beats beneath The Styx,” I snap, defensive. “Information flows there and someone must control the current. As for Absin, she feels the Seal’s pull, as you well know. She lingers there, as if the rest of Hell has ceased to exist. Besides, if this human is so precious to you, you’re lucky I spent the evening drinking.”

  The smile turns into a full grin as Lucifer holds up a hand.

  “Peace, Suraz. I understand.” Sudden sadness flits across his features. “You’ve experienced perfection. Lived it and had it ripped from you. It’s natural you seek to fill that hole, however you can.”

  Lucifer drops his gaze to my forearms, as though he can see the track marks under my clothes. Of course he would know. Pity washes over his face before turning back to Holleran’s office. My anger, always writhing in the murky waters of my corrupt soul, sinks beneath the surface once more.

  There are some things I still can keep from the Devil—secrets that are mine to carry—though I punish myself for them. One day, he’ll uncover them.

  I blame Lucifer for my failings. When we warred against God, he didn’t coerce me. I rose to the challenge, and led our armies, humans included, into the fray. Memories of Lucifer, prostrating himself before his brother, flood my mind. Gritting my teeth, I force them away.

  “What brings you from the lower levels?” I ask instead. It isn’t often Lucifer spends time on Hell’s surface.

  “Rituals and occult magic. What else?” Lucifer sighs, and Hell groans at the sound. “Michelle Wheeler had everything she needed. A dual sacrifice. A cardinal sin. She even fooled our detective into helping her. She pressed his buttons so well I almost admired her for it.” He points towards Holleran’s back, framed by the light flooding through his window. The human talks on his cell phone, oblivious to the Devil’s sympathy. “We were very lucky. If she’d chosen anyone else, she might not have been stopped, and I’d be obliged to provide a very dangerous woman with some exclusive privileges in our little corner of Hell. You can blame my brother and his fucking rules for that.”

  I grunt, a noise that could almost pass for a laugh. “With Holleran breathing, I take it you broke a few of those.”

  Lucifer shrugs. “Let’s say I misinterpreted them. Hell is mine, and so are the humans that don’t reach God’s,” and his mouth twists when he says, “lofty standards. If my brother has a problem with me sparing Holleran and sending another soul through His gates, He knows how to reach me.”

  “What brings you here? Does the human compel you so much?”

  Lucifer keeps his counsel. His concentration is like a physical presence. I follow his stare and see the human jump with shock as he turns to his window. The cigarette he smokes sticks to his lip. Beside me, Lucifer cocks his head and smiles.

  “Hell stirs,” he says, turning that penetrating gaze on me. I feel tiny in his presence. Meaningless in the face of such magnificence. “The layers merge, and beings that shouldn’t escape the lower levels bubble to the surface. Two Amarok stalked Holleran last night. They say there are Wendigo in the forest. The Wheeler woman uncovered ways to summon me and bind me to her will; how? Even now, I feel the disease of an Amhuluk, and they’ve kept to the lower levels for centuries. Those Dagon cults in New England stir again. And that’s just America. All across Hell, humans are discovering the nature of their existence faster than before. Some are seeking the unseen creatures, demons and deceased, for good or ill. Curiosity is in their nature, but I feel destiny is forcing the issue. Your friend Absin’s instinct is correct; the Seal weakens, well before its time. A showdown approaches—I don’t know when or how—but it’s between my brother and I. This time, I won’t surrender. We deserve more than this. All of us.”

  For millennia, Lucifer has offered little more than sardonic wit and disinterest. Passion lights a fire in his soul once more. I often put his disinterest down to melancholy. He never encouraged the humans to follow him in his war against God, but he fought, and lost, for them.

  “A war with Heaven?” I whisper, trepidation battling with eagerness.

  Lucifer shakes his head. “It may come to that. All I know is this: the weather’s changing. I can smell it in the air. And, in the eye of this gathering storm, stands Nick Holleran. The human has plagued my resting mind of late, and our meeting confirmed his importance. Watch him, Suraz. For me. Guide him, if you can.”

  Lucifer caresses my face; his touch thrills my skin. I close my eyes to savor it. The sensation reminds me of Heaven. My master. My friend. More than that. Oh, how I wish for more.

  But he will never give it.

  “Suraz,” Lucifer whispers. He’s looking into my eyes, my very essence. The Devil smiles. “Holleran has one life left. See he doesn’t waste it. Every human dies, but I feel as though his passing must achieve some purpose first.”

  Lucifer dissolves into the waiting shadows, and his sudden absence hits me like a body blow. Shaking my head, clearing the fog from my mind, I gaze across the street, up at the human’s office.

  “Nick Holleran,” I whisper, tracing where Lucifer’s fingers grazed my skin. “What makes you so important?”

  I, ME, MINE

  SEPTEMBER 21st

  HAVEN CITY, OREGON

  “A case?” I mutter.

  My cigarette flutters from my lips to the floor, smoke tendrils drifting upwards. I can’t see myself, and I’m glad the eyeless ghost-girl who’s stood in the corner of my office for the last five years can’t either. At least, I think she can’t. Reckon I must look as surprised as a fish that got the hook in the wrong end.

  “A fucking case? You haven’t so much as twitched for five years, and now you’re offering me a job. How’re you even gonna pay?”

  It isn’t my best quip, but under the circumstances…

  She cocks her head, twisting around until she’s facing my laptop.

  “Can you turn that racket off?”

  I blink. Nirvana’s Stay Away plays, on a low volume I might add, and my fingers feel thick as I hit pause. “What, you don’t like my music?”

  “Is that what you call it? I prefer a little more…melody in mine. Don’t you have any Beatles records?”

  “Records?” I ask, glancing at Spotify. “Wait, what the Hell are we talking about? I don’t even know your real name!”

  “It’s Diana.”

  Not Darcy, the name I gave her. I’m actually kind of disappointed.

  “Close enough, I guess. Okay, so why’s it taken you five years to speak to me? I’ve tried, you know. More than once.”

  She turns her sockets on me and my blood chills a few degrees. It’s like those eyeless
pits pin me to the chair. They see everything; I’m sure of that.

  The analytical part of my brain fights its way to the surface as I study her. With her eyes missing and her black skin now grey, washed out like all ghosts, it’s hard to place an age on her, but I’d guess no more than sixteen. Max. Her long, pigtailed hair runs down to her waist, and she’s wearing a striped, one-piece dress that stops just above her knees. Not from this decade. The 1960s, if that comment about ‘Beatles records’ is any indicator. I lean back in my chair, waiting for her to answer.

  Girl could’ve stood in that corner for sixty years, if I’m right. A life sentence for a victim.

  She shrugs, just a bump from those slim shoulders. “I don’t know… Part of me noticed you, but it’s like a haze. Your name, what you do, the people who visit you.” Her mouth curves into the hint of a smile. “The conversations you have with Rosa. Your music. It washes over me, but some of it sticks. Most of the time all I can think about is his face. The man who killed me, leering at me as I fight for air. As he takes my eyes. The memory smothers me, but for a while now, I saw more. Heard more, like… I knew when you were here, and when you left. Who visited you. Just now, it lifted. I can’t explain it.”

  “Yeah, it’s been a strange couple days,” I whisper, rubbing my eyes.

  That’s the understatement of the year. My last case—shit, was it really only yesterday?—dragged me right back to the night I died. The night when all this started.

  His name was Dean Wheeler, a crook with enough enemies to hire a P.I. to follow him, and with enough paranoia to lure a tail into a dark alley. That’s how I wound up with three bullets in my chest and the power to see the dead.

  Then his wife arrives in my office, mutilated and fearful, telling me she’s being followed by Dean. The ghost of Dean. Needless to say, I went flying into the fray. The next thing I know, one of my best friends gets murdered in front of me, and I’m breaking into Wheeler’s villa, out for blood. Only I’m the one who winds up bleeding, a sacrifice in Michelle Wheeler’s ritual to summon Lucifer and wreak her revenge on the world.