Humphreys - Nights Black Agents

NIGHTS

BLACK
AGENTS

PAXTON LOCKE
BOOK 2

DANIEL HUMPHREYS

NIGHTS BLACK AGENTS

PAXTON LOCKE BOOK 2

By Daniel Humphreys

Published by Silver Empire

https://silverempire.org/

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the authors imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Copyright 2018, Daniel Humphreys

All rights reserved.

For Evan and Kent.

Be innocent of the knowledge, dearest chuck,

Till thou applaud the deed. Come, seeling night,

Scarf up the tender eye of pitiful day

And with thy bloody and invisible hand

Cancel and tear to pieces that great bond

Which keeps me pale. Light thickens, and the crow

Makes wing to th rooky wood.

Good things of day begin to droop and drowse;

Whiles nights black agents to their preys do rouse.

William Shakespeare

MacBeth Act 3, Scene 2

CHAPTER 1

Paxton

Joplin, MissouriMonday morning

I was halfway through a stack of pancakes when the dead guy walked in the door.

Well, to be more precisehe walked through the door. I guess not having to carry keys is one of the few advantages to being dead.

Despite the fact that it was only about the tenth-weirdest thing Id seen that week, I froze for a moment with my fork halfway between the plate and my mouth. I tried to cover for my surprise by exchanging the forkful of syrup-dripping sweetness for my cup of coffee, but my companion had already noticed the hesitation.

Cassie turned in her seat and scanned the diner behind us. A couple of trucker types in jeans, flannel shirts, and baseball caps bent over the counter, intent on their meals. One of Willy Lomans coworkers sat primly in the corner booth, paging through a newspaper and sipping coffee. The ghost that she couldnt see stood by the door and gave me a pleading look.

She turned back and cocked an eyebrow at me. Thanks to the fickle hand of fate, my new partnershe stomped on the concept of sidekick with both bootshad recently gotten a full introduction into the eldritch shadows of our reality. I still ached from the experience, but for Cassie, it had been merely mind-blowing. Of course, Id exhausted reserves I didnt know I had to bring her back from the brink of death.

I reminded myself that Id promised to be as honest as possible with her. I took a sip of coffee and picked my fork back up. We have a visitor.

She didnt turn back to look again. My tone told her that it wasnt the sort of visitor shed be able to see. Does that happen often?

I swallowed and grimaced. The pancakes were getting cold, falling apart under their own weight. No. They dont usually come out in the daytime. I studied the ghost as I spoke. At first glance, he was an average-looking twenty-something in khakis and a windbreaker. But most people that age werent semi-transparent with massive chunks of flesh missing from their neck.

So, what do we do?

Id been starving less than an hour ago, but the apparitions sudden appearance had spoiled my appetite. I wiped my mouth with a napkin and signaled the waitress. We pay the check and we see what he wants, I suppose.

My name is Paxton Locke. Ten years ago, I was a normal sixteen-year old. My interests consisted of video games, girls, and comic booksand not always in that order. My unassuming teenage life derailed when my mother began to dabble in dark magic. By the time the dust settled, shed killed my father and left me with me magical inheritances of my own in the form of an ability I call the push and a mysterious, leather-bound book of magic. The grimoire defied belief. The cuneiform text within not only translated into the readers native language, the information it displayed varied depending on the desiresspoken or unspokenof the reader. My childish innocence meant that the first few spells I learned were useful but benign.

The push is much more dangerous. It gives me the ability to control other people. And while Mother was a few cans shy of a six-pack, my dad raised me right. I dont push people unless I have no other choice.

When I made the mistake of wondering what shed sought in those ancient pages, the glimpse that I got of what she sought terrified me to such an extent that I doused the book in diesel fuel and burnt it to ashes. Suspecting that a magic book might leave behind magicaland potentially dangerousashes, I collected them and buried them for safe-keeping.

The ordeal that Cassie and I suffered a few days before came about as fallout from my mothers machinations . After wed made it out by the skin of our teeth and, perhaps, quite a bit of divine intervention, Id recovered the ashes. After I did I learned that my suspicions that they were still dangerous had been correct.

A simple healing spell Id learned so long ago had restored the grimoire to an intact state. Maybe I should have left it buried, but I couldnt risk its potential discovery. For the moment, the safest place for it was with me. Us.

Of course, the safest place wasnt always the most convenient. I grumbled under my breath as I shouldered my way out of the diner. I had the strap of a canvas messenger bag running diagonally across my chest, and the grimoire thumped against my hip with each step. My legs were still healing from last weeks multiple beatings. The combination of the encumbrance and my own injuries imparted an awkward hobble to my movement that would have been funny if it werent so annoying.

These were the kind of hassles they didnt mention in the Dungeons and Dragons Players Handbook. What I wouldnt give for a bag of holding. I held the door for Cassie and turned to the waiting ghost. All right, whats up?

His lips moved, but I didnt hear anything. Well, I dont usually hear them when they talk, but in this case, I got nothing. I sighed.

Look, Im still fumbling my way through the rulebook here, but you dont need a throat to talk to me, dude. Try again.

He waved his hands and seemed to be shouting, but I still didnt hear a thing. I muttered under my breath.

Im so glad I didnt finish breakfast so I could play charades with a smart-ass ghost. Where are we going?

He looked as annoyed as I felt, but he gave me a tight nod and pointed to the side of the diner. It was an add-on to a larger truck stop convenience store. Thankfully, it was a slow morning, or people would have been pointing and staring at the nut who was having a conversation with thin air.

Back parking lot? He nodded. I frowned, but I turned to Cassie. Pull around, okay? Ill be fine.

You sure? Wed parked my new-to-me RV in the front lot, next to the tractor-trailers that I assumed belonged to the guys at the counter in the diner. I winked at her and gave her my best Han Solo grin.

Hey, its me. Ill be fine.

She rolled her eyes, but dug the keys out of her jacket pocket and trotted across the parking lot toward the RV. Shed been getting a lot of practice driving lately since Mother and her coven burned down my childhood home and torched my old RVand my walletin the process.

All things considered, Id rather mess with a pack of witches and their familiars than the DMV any day. At least you can shoot the witches.

I shoved my hands in the pockets of my own jacket and followed the sidewalk around the side of the building. A twenty-four hour truck stop never shuts down, really, but the parking lot was pretty much empty save for a couple of big rigs and a dusty sedan. If I had to make my guess, they belonged to the folks inside the diner.