Dead Set Read online

  Smart choice.

  Once I was alone with my daughter, I asked her about what she remembered, but true to the contract, she remembered nothing. In fact in all their minds it was as if Cathy had been injured in jiu-jitsu and was restored to health.

  With his sister returned to him, Kris reverted back to the fun-loving and good-natured kid we’d known was there all along. Even Porter was different with Cathy home. Sure, they still bickered—show me a mother and daughter that don’t from time to time—but there was a level of wholeness I hadn’t noticed before.

  I noticed a lot of things now.

  I spent my waking moments trying to pack in as many memories as I could. I used those two weeks to haul the kids to theme parks, to take my wife dancing, and to do all the things I should have been doing all along.

  But, no matter how hard I tried to stem the tide and slow the seconds, they kept coming—an unrelenting march of moments leading to this, my final day.

  “Cathy, you’re dripping,” Porter said, pointing to the thin dribble of cookies and cream rolling down our daughter’s fingers. “Get a napkin.”

  “It’s empty,” Cathy said, fumbling with the dispenser.

  “I’ll get some,” both of the women in my life said, heading to different tables.

  “Goodbye, Kris.”

  “Bye, Dad!”

  I set my ice cream down, and with a heavy heart pushed open the glass door and stepped out into the light chill of a late fall evening. I stopped to take a seat on one of the park benches outside, turning my head so I could watch the final moments of what had been my family.

  After a few agonizing seconds they cleaned up the table and walked out the door. They rolled right past me, talking and laughing as if I wasn’t there—because for them, I wasn’t.

  True to the contract I’d signed with 69 Mallory Lane, my family would now be safe. Safe from the dark things that wanted nothing more than a succulent bit of innocence to snack on and, most of all, safe from me.

  Family demands sacrifice.

  55

  Bathroom Bloodied

  Black blood speckled the bar’s cheap bathroom mirror. I wiped what I could with my hands, but Demon blood is a pain in the ass to get off basically anything.

  How many was this now? A dozen? Two? Have I really lost count?

  I turned the faucet on and let it shudder a few times before unleashing a blast of water into the tiny sink, then jammed my hand against the soap dispenser—empty.

  Damn it.

  Cold water poured over my hands.

  The soap didn’t really matter; it would take a lot more than crappy pink goo to wash away my inequities—or the monster blood.

  Working for the House had become a full-time occupation, and judging by the feral Imp whose lifeblood was oozing into the floor drain, I wasn’t half bad at it. So far, the requests—I felt better calling them that—had been centered on removing any competition that had settled into the Sunshine State.

  I picked at the fleshy bits of Minor Demon gore stuck under my nails.

  Let’s see, five Imps, two Incubuses… that’s not right… The plural of Incubus is Incubi, right? Where’s Porter when I need her?

  I knew exactly where my wife was—far away from me. That had been part of the deal, along with restoring our lost daughter and broken family.

  I’d told myself it was worth it, and repeated those words in the mirror each and every night, but truth be told even I wasn’t sure I believed them anymore.

  The bathroom door banged against the dead-bolt.

  “Somebody’s in here!” I shouted over the splashing water.

  Somebody who’s gonna have to figure out how to haul away a dead Imp…

  “Gene?”

  I froze—I wasn’t in a part of Florida where anyone would know me. Worse yet, my deal with Mallory Lane meant most of the people I loved wouldn’t know me even if I wanted them to.

  “Who said that?”

  My words bounced off the dingy tile, but received no response. I stepped over the fallen Imp and placed a hand on the door—secretly hating the fact that now I’d have to wash my hands again—and threw open it in a single motion.

  The twangs of a blisteringly fast banjo thundered down the hall, carried on smoky air and blending nicely with the voices of a raucous crowd. It was ladies night at this backwater middle-of-the-state watering hole, and what ladies there were had already drawn the rest of the sweaty masses toward the stage.

  I was alone.

  I pushed the door closed and locked it again, then rolled up my sleeves, content to scratch my head and think through ways to maneuver what remained of the Imp out the exhaust window.

  “Whoa… I knew that guy. We did some milk curling and cattle mutilations back in the early 1400s… Tough way to go.”

  An Imp—or more accurately, my Imp—stared back at me from the blood-smeared glass.

  “Stewart?”

  “Yeah—boss, you don’t look so good.”

  I waved him off. “I’ve been better. What do you want?”

  “I… I screwed up. You told me to protect her and—”

  I folded the dead Minor Demon’s wings over its bloodied face. “I’m a little busy right now.”

  “But—”

  “Look, it doesn’t matter. You did what I told you to do. Cathy’s spirit is back in her body—that was part of my deal with the House.”

  “What?!” the mirror-bound imp practically fell through the glass. “When did that happen?”

  “Six months, three weeks, four days, and…” I looked at my phone, “two hours ago.”

  “Something doesn’t make sense…”

  I dragged the body toward the window.

  How am I going to get it up and out without covering myself in Imp gore?

  “What doesn’t make sense?”

  “I lost her just now.”

  My heart seized in my chest, and not from the cheese fries I’d eaten earlier. “What do you mean ‘just now?’”

  The Imp turned away from the glass. “Damn it. They’re coming—”

  “What do you mean just now?!”

  “I mean, she never left.”

  The bathroom door banged again.

  “Damn, they’re fast,” Stewart said, pulling away from the glass. “I’ve got to go! I’ll find her—I made you a promise.” The tiny purple creature vanished into the hazy streaks of grime.

  I stood transfixed, staring into the mirror, and then right through it. The door banged again, but my knuckles remained white against the cheap porcelain sink while a broken record refrain rolled in my head.

  She never left…

  What’s next?

  First, don’t panic, there’s plenty more Weird Florida to tide you over until the next installment…

  What about Rob the Mechanic and his previous demonic girlfriend?

  Or the Old Tampa Hotel and Gene’s first charity ball?

  Or even what it’s like to deliver a Magician’s baby?

  Did you know you can get all these and more sent directly to your eReader from the www.martin-shannon.com website for the low, low price of only your email?

  It’s true.

  Come on by and keep the weird going…

  Gathering Gloom

  Tales of Weird Florida

  College isn’t all wild parties and air guitar, there are dark corners in those hallowed halls of education…

  None of that matters to Eugene Law, a young and naive Magician more concerned with beer and friends than the hard road to Magickal proficiency. Yet when a chance encounter shows off the true depth of Gene’s power, he’ll find himself in the crosshairs of deadly ambitions.

  Will Gene see the truth in time, or will he be lost deep in the heart of a Gathering Gloom?

  Enjoy this look back at Gene’s college days in the exciting book two of The Tales of Weird Florida.

  Available at Amazon.

  Afterword

  I’ve done my best to paint Florida i
n a unique and Magickal light, but don’t take my words as gospel. I encourage each of you to come down to this strange slice of Americana and see it for yourself.

  If you do, don’t be surprised if a little Florida Magick rubs off on you, the Sunshine State has a habit of doing that—just don’t say I didn’t warn you.

  Martin

  Somewhere under the Cypress

  October 2019

  Acknowledgments

  Books don’t happen on their own, nor do they grow on trees—okay well, they sort of do—but you get the picture.

  This book and all of its Magick could not have happened without the help of the following people:

  Dawn Ius, my first coach—thank you for lighting the fire.

  Josiah Davis, my editor—thank you for believing in me, and for fixing all my stupid.

  Amber Townsend, my beta reader—thank you for countless calls and texts. So much of Weird Florida only exists because of you.

  Denise Koehler, Font Artist Extraordinaire—thank you for bringing my vision of Florida Magick to life.

  Kira Butler, Graphic Artist to the Stars—thank you for bringing martin-shannon.com out of the nineties.

  KA Miltimore, Cass Kim, Edison T. Crux, and the rest of my anthology buddies—thank you all for believing in me, and for the kick in the pants I so desperately needed.

  Last but not least, thank you, reader. To know you’ve made it this far warms my heart more than you can imagine.

  About the Author

  Martin Shannon’s been using his imagination to avoid weeding since he was in short pants. His first series, Tales of Weird Florida, is an homage to the Sunshine State he knows and loves, and spent countless hours riding his bike through as a kid. It’s got mystery, mayhem, and more than a little Magick. He hopes you enjoy the supernatural side of the upside down state, but if not, he’s got a banjo, and he knows how to use it. You can find out more at www.martin-shannon.com.

  On Newsletters, Writing, and Reviews

  Thank you for making it this far. It is my sincere hope you enjoyed the story, and the opportunity to slip into the sometimes too tight shoes of Eugene Law and company. If you did, please take a few seconds to help me spread the word, and in exchange I promise to send out free short stories as well as keep you up to date with each new novel in the Tales of Weird Florida world.

  Writers live on reviews, newsletter sign-ups, and tiny scraps of praise. The writing life can get rather lonely, as evidenced by my social-media presence. So, drop by, say hello, sign up for the newsletter, and if you feel strongly enough, write a review or tell your friends. Remember, every time you write a review, an angel gets its wings.

  Also by Martin Shannon

  Tales of Weird Florida - The Eugene Law Cycle

  Dead Set (Now Available)

  Gathering Gloom (Coming January 2020)

  Beaten Path (Coming March 2020)

  Bloody Deed (Coming May 2020)

  No Fury (Coming August 2020)