The Four Horsemen: The Four Horsemen, #1

By Matthew Dewey

The underground world of Warlocks has always been under threat from the Saints, a fanatical government force. However, it is about to reach its tipping point. A Warlock has joined the Saints, providing them with the help they need to eradicate all Warlock presence. Jack Devlin, a Warlock mercenary, has been hired to track down this turncoat, but he can't do it alone. With the help of three other Warlocks Jack might have a chance to track down the traitor before too much damage is done to their world. If his team doesn't drive him insane first.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Matthew Dewey
• Release date: Sep 14, 2023
• ISBN: 9781536506037

Book preview

CHAPTER 1 - The Job

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JACK

Charon will see you in a moment, Jack, the receptionist told me. And try to relax, there’s no need to get all worked up about meeting him.

I've known her for two minutes, yet she talked to me as if we were old friends. Her blond hair was wound into a tight bun at the base of her neck and complimented her business attire. Discreetly lowering my eyes to her chest, I read her name tag - Betty. I nodded to her as I took a deep breath to steady myself. I played it cool most of the time, but this was different.

I have heard about Charon, of course. A powerful man always has a reputation. The question was: what did he want with me?

Betty’s phone beeped. She nodded to me. I followed Betty through the door she opened into a dimly lit office. She stood aside to let me pass, giving me a strange smile. I decided it was flirty, so I looked back at her and winked. She smiled a little wider as she closed the door.

Dragging my eyes away from the door, I found myself facing a boat. Maybe a yacht would be a better description, but either way, I was not in the office I thought I walked into. I felt disoriented; almost sick. I sucked in another deep breath, held it, and took stock of my surroundings.

There was a pier below my feet. Looking over my shoulder, inland, I saw a few familiar skyscrapers. I was still within the city limits then - good. New Haven City always had a charm when you were far enough away, but I knew what went on in the dark alleys. I was anything but charmed.

I turned back to the yacht and I narrowed my eyes to read the name on the boat - Spirit. Fitting. Charon, the name for the ferryman of the River Styx, transported souls, or spirits, into the underworld.

Cold hit me in a sudden wave, bringing me to full alert, and the nausea disappeared. My eyes flicked to the end of the ship, noticing movement. The ship appeared normal, but what came out of the cabin was truly strange, even in my line of business. Its limbs were as long as my body and as thin as sticks. It wore an immaculately tailored black suit, despite the extremely lanky form, which made it seem like a well-dressed, large spider was crawling out of a hole.

I did a double-take. It didn’t have a head.

No, wait. Black smoke gathered above its torso, barely catching the light from the city, two white sparks shining in its cloud. It took another step forward, the city lights behind it making it easier to see. It stood on the boat deck, as rigid as a flagpole, and almost as thin. It straightened its suit fluidly then saluted me casually before shoving its hands into its pockets.

I have seen many creatures in my life, some nightmarishly scary, and have faced each without even a shiver, but this one made me feel uncomfortable.

Don't mind him, a smooth, deep voice droned at my side. He thinks dressing in a suit makes him look intimidating, but he is as harmless as a rabbit.

I would be lying if I said I didn't flinch slightly. Scary creatures? No problem. But I don't like being caught by surprise. At my side stood an elderly man in a pristine, white suit. His hair was the same color as the suit and I briefly wondered if he dressed to coordinate. Physically, he looked pretty normal; normal that was until my eyes met his. The orbs were as white as the rest of his get-up and they glowed with their startling luminosity. Despite this peculiarity, his wide smile was warm and welcoming.

He continued in his velvet voice.

I trust you know who I am?

God?

He laughed.

So, Charon? I began, properly sizing him up. Besides smuggling weapons, I don’t know much about you.

Good, I prefer to keep it that way, he said, still smiling as he stepped onto the boat with ease and gestured me forward. I will give you two questions before I brief you on the situation, Mr Devlin. I give you no guarantee that I will answer them.

It was true, I had questions and I hated that fact. I'm usually the kind of guy who knows things, an expert, a dependable specialist. I don't like having questions. I also didn’t like his attitude. Some are cocky with a good sense of humor, such as me, then some genuinely think they are better than others.

I know ‘Charon’ can’t be your real name; who are you really? I asked as I stepped onto the boat and followed him toward the entrance to the cabin. I watched where I stepped, but made sure that the lanky creature was in view at all times.

I’m afraid I can’t answer that. As you know, I have a reputation for smuggling, Charon began. Usually weapons. I am the biggest source of magical steel in the city, the Underground wouldn’t exist without me. I adopted the name ‘Charon’ for that reason. Charon transported the dead. I transport death-dealers. It has a certain...quality which makes people wary. If I went by my real name, then-

The illusion would be broken. I get it.

That explained why he reeked of wealth, but I had a more important question.

What are you after in New Haven? I asked.

He remained silent as we descended the narrow flight of stairs into the yacht. I couldn't see a thing, literally blinded by darkness, but I knew that we were now in a large, dark hallway. Dizziness invaded again, but I was getting used to it. For a moment, I thought Charon might not answer, but then his words surrounded me in the darkness, echoing.

I want peace, Jack, believe it or not. Only...I know I can never have it.

His answer annoyed me, but not as much as being dropped into a new place without warning, he was keeping me off-center. Light flooded into the hallway as a door opened at the far end. Charon stood in the doorway and gestured for me to enter. I hinted broadly at my irritation as I walked past him.

If I wanted to play dangerous games I would have spent the night with my ex.

It will be worth your while, trust me, Charon replied as he closed the door.

That's usually her line. Now I’m worried.

Charon chuckled, unfazed by my sarcasm, or my most intimidating glare. He was starting to get me down.

The room was richly decorated. An expensive carpet met with sleek wood-paneled walls, which curved rather than cornered at the edges of the room. What looked to be a fully stocked bar, complete with a marble top, was tended by the tall spider creature. I wondered for a moment if it was Charon that was transporting us, or the creature. I hadn't seen or felt it pass me in the hallway. This shifting from space to space was playing hell with my awareness, but I wasn’t going to let it show. I made a mental note to ask Noire about such a creature.

It glared at me with its white sparks, expecting something. I saluted casually, as it had to me out on the deck. Surprisingly, it seemed to ease its glare and began mixing drinks.

The center of the room was dominated by an ornate table and two antique chairs. Charon sat in one of the chairs and gestured patiently toward the other. I sat as he began speaking.

I want you to work for me, but I guarantee you’ve never had a job like this before. No Hunter has.

Straight to the point then. I nodded.

Yeah, I know, or you wouldn’t have contacted me, I replied. Also, it’s kinda a strange coincidence that you contacted me the day the Hunter Association went under.

"Well, you are the Jack Devlin. I couldn’t have you scrounging hunting jobs in The Cafe."

I knew he was using sarcasm to dodge the question, but I liked the idea of a the before my name. I wondered if anyone else referred to me that way.

New Haven is fast becoming a dangerous city, Charon continued. Crime continues to grow. For people like us, it isn't an insurmountable problem. No, not a problem at all. But when warlocks and Saints start working together, that’s a different problem entirely.

He enjoyed the shock his words evoked and so he smiled. It wasn't a pretty sight. He had cruel eyes. He got a kick out of the news, I didn’t. Rogue warlocks and monsters, sure, I’ve dealt with my fair share. Even the Saints tried using monsters. However, warlocks and Saints...that was oil and water.

We know that the Saints have infiltrated the N.H.P.D., but I have recently discovered that they also have a warlock helping them. I lost a shipment of weapons and found them destroyed in classic Saints fashion. Only a warlock could have helped them.

I snapped my mouth closed to prevent my jaw from hitting the table. The Saints were a group of well-organized, warlock-hunting fanatics, and I do mean sincerely fanatical. They believed that, if not eradicated from existence, warlocks would destroy the world. They were a large, government-funded force, but without any magic, they were almost as useless as the New Haven Police Department in finding secret warlock locations.

If a warlock was helping them, it would put the magical community at risk. It would be worse for me than for most. I had a permanent spot in the top eight on the Saints' hit list.

Who is it? I said with significant control. Where are they?

I don't know, Charon sighed and brushed a hand across the table as if removing an invisible speck of dust. That’s why I need you. You know New Haven, you’re a fellow Champion. It’s common sense.

Well, what do you know?

Nothing more than what I've just told you. I know, it’s not a lot, but it is the grand sum of the information I have gathered. More than anyone else in this city knows.

It wasn't enough. That made things a lot more difficult. There are a few sources in New Haven I could turn to, but even then, this was the Saints we were talking about. Warlocks had as much of a tough time tracking Saint activity as Saints had tracking warlocks. However, that meant I had all the ammunition I needed to bump up my price.

Time to haggle.

Well, M, I don't accept this mission.

Those are two different movies.

It's pointless, Charon, I interrupted. "New Haven is a big city with the largest warlock population in the world. If the traitor was in one of the smaller colonies, then I could maybe, maybe, find him. In New Haven, the Saints would find me before I even got close to their new pet."

Maybe you don't have to do it alone. What if you had help?

I stood up quickly, causing my chair to grate across the floor. Haggling failed before it began. That was not what I wanted to hear. I am the best Hunter in the city, hands down, and I have never needed, wanted, or taken any help.

Turning to keep from meeting his eyes, I faced the spider creature. He looked almost like a human now and was leaning casually against the bar. His free hand extended towards me, offering a glass of green liquid. How long had it been holding that out? Its bored expression made it clear that the answer to that question was: too damn long.

It seems to me, if you don't accept help with this task, Mr. Devlin, you put us all in danger, Charon said. You know as well as I do that if the Saints raided the right areas, which they could with the help of this traitor, we would be on our knees. All of New Haven is at risk.

I took the glass from the spider creature. It was freaky watching such a long, skinny arm withdraw back behind the bar.

Charon was right, but the idea of working with other Hunters made me edgy and angry. I had met a few Hunters and they were the same way. It wasn’t a line of work that encouraged teamwork: too much death, too many friends at risk. However, lying in a gutter with a Saint bullet in my back with the rest of the New Haven warlocks didn’t appeal to me either.

I take it you already have someone in mind? I muttered.

Charon reached into his pocket and pulled out two photographs. I took them from him as I started to circle the table and stared - glared - at my new team. The first was a woman, I was guessing she was in her late twenties, but warlocks generally look younger than their age. Black hair, a dark green jacket, and a katana of all things on her back; a Hunter and an odd one. Swords were flashy and attracted too much attention. I guess a sheathed katana strapped to your back is a lot more subtle than a sword hanging from your hip, but still, too wild for me.

The second photo was of a man dressed like a government employee. I was tense. Even in the photo, I could tell this guy was no warlock. There was no energy about him and he appeared, in a word, ordinary.

Who's the suit? I asked.

Ah, Samuel Evans, Charon answered. He's a database analyst.

I gave him a hard stare.

I know, he waved his hands slightly in mock defense. He's not a warlock - yet.

Yet? There is no yet for this guy. Most men become a warlock before the age of ten. This guy's twenty years too late.

I believe it can be done. Trust me.

Believe what can be done? You’re not thinking-

Just - trust me.

Again, he smiled and it was as aggravating as the last.

Where can I find him? I asked, giving in.

He works at Beyond Banking, Charon replied, taking my question as a confirmation that I was going to do my part. You get him here in one piece and I will make a Warlock out of him. He is an unknown, a nobody. That makes him cheap and easy to intimidate. Perfect clay to be molded for someone like you.

I rolled my eyes and pocketed the pictures.

And the chick?

She goes by the name of Jade. Hunter. Grew up in New Haven...left at sixteen, no history after that. She is back in the city hunting large prey, but I don't know exactly where she is or what she's hunting.

I tipped back my head and swallowed the green drink. It wasn't bad. Hit all the right spots on the way down at least.

I think that's everything, I said as I tossed the glass to Spidey.

He caught it with ease, which did bring a smile to my face.

How do I contact you once I'm done?

I turned back to Charon and found I was looking at Betty behind her desk. Dizziness exploded through me. I sighed and rubbed my eyes. When I opened them. Betty looked up from her book, unsurprised by my sudden reappearance.

I will be here on Mondays and Fridays, any other time and you won't find us, she replied with a small smile.

Uh...right...does Charon ever stop doing that? I asked.

Who's Charon?

There was a pregnant pause. My eyes narrowed, but she merely giggled.

Oh, lighten up, Jack. I trust everything went well?

Yeah, thanks, I muttered and walked towards the door, desperate to escape these people. I stopped halfway out and turned back to Betty.

Something felt wrong again. A feeling that gripped me the moment I arrived. At first, I thought I was just nervous about meeting Charon, but no, something was wrong in the room.

Yes? Betty said.

I asked her for her number. She smiled that same strange smile. She found a stray sticky note, took a moment to write it down, and handed it to me.

I'd like to hear from you soon, she said, returning the wink I gave her earlier. It was disconcerting.

I read the note and looked at her. Her smile didn’t falter.

You will, I said.

Promise?

I nodded. She then lowered her eyes to her work. I mumbled my goodbye and walked through the open door. When I was out on the pavement, I turned back to the building to see if it was still there. It was. Good, that trick was pinching my last nerve.

Time to work, I said to myself as I climbed into my van.

CHAPTER 2 - Recruitment Tactics

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SAM

My elbow slowly slid across the desk until it gave way to space and my face hit my keyboard. I jerked myself upright, tried to look busy and, at the same time, took a cautious look around the room. The only person who appeared to have seen my colossally idiotic move was the guy from the legal department. He rolled his eyes and turned his back to me.

Everyone else was going about their incredibly boring business; tapping away at their keyboards like they were possessed. I gave a silent and mirthless chuckle. Yeah, like a ghost would want to possess any one of these pasty-faced weirdos. The tapping drone soon slipped into the back of my mind, nullified by my sheer will to ignore it.

Sadly, all my efforts to block out my surroundings were immediately sent to the waste bin. A large file fell out of the sky and hit my desk with a dull thud. My vision was assaulted when my eyes lifted to face the portly man, who had moved to stand in front of my desk.

Mr. Evans.

Mr. Anderson, my direct superior, greeted me.

Morning, um, sir.

It was a mumble. I wasn't too keen on addressing a bully in respectful terms. One of Anderson's large, and frighteningly hairy, eyebrows lifted, giving me a minuscule glint from one of his beady eyes.

It's evening, Evans. You worry me, Evans. No, not 'worry'. That says I care about you. I don't. You bother me. This is the second time this week you've failed to complete your reports. Do I need to remind you-

I'm expendable...and there are others who could take my place? I finished for him.

I've heard it enough times. It was practically the mantra of every employee in this place. Anderson had gone so far as to have it printed on posters, then plastered the damned things along every hallway. Anderson could have been an endless source of inspiration for George Orwell.

No, Mr. Anderson was not in the business of morale-boosting, but fear-mongering. I suppose a threat would make one work harder, but not longer. Employees were dropping like flies but were replaced just as quickly so it never made a difference.

Right, and that 'could' can just as easily change to 'will', if you catch my drift.

Yeah, I got his drift - the entire tidal wave of it.

This isn't baseball. I don't often give three strikes.

Sports analogy, which means he was finishing up.

I have always held that two is quite enough; one mistake is unfortunate, two is too much. You have worked with us for three years now, Evans, so I will break my rule this once. I will give you a third, and final, chance. Mess up again and you will be sweeping the street outside this building before the ink dries on your letter of termination.

That last remark annoyed me. Mr. Anderson did not make idle threats and often fired employees for no other reason than to show that he had the power to do so. I would have given anything to punch him then and there, but I'd probably lose not only my job but my fist in the fat rolls of his enormous belly. Then again, I doubt I would have the guts if I even had such a chance.

I understand...sir.

Would he note the sarcasm? Nope, a little too subtle for him. A smile oozed across his features, satisfied.

Good. Get it done today, Evans.

I let violent thoughts flood my mind for a moment longer before sighing, flipping him off when I was sure he couldn’t see, and then returning to my work.

That's pretty risky, Sam.

A