Silas Robb: Hell Hath No Fury: Silas Robb, #2

By Erik Lynd

A lover scorned. An ancient enemy of humankind. For Silas they're one and the same and that can be a bit of a problem…

Silas Robb is an ancient demon summoned by the Vatican to protect mortals from the strengthening forces of the supernatural realm, known as "The Pale". There's only one problem. Silas doesn't particularly care for humans and prefers sex, drugs and rock and roll to saving them.

When you're as old as Silas, sometimes your past comes back to haunt you. Sometimes in more ways than one. When an old friend arrives in town, a night of drinking and debauchery turns into a desperate race to save humanity from an ancient enemy.

Once again Silas and his ragtag team must work together to save the world. This time from beings who once ruled it and will stop at nothing to do so again. And they must stop them quickly because Silas has a gig that night and it's all about the rock 'n' roll baby…

Silas Robb: Hell Hath No Furyis the secondbook in the Silas Robb urban fantasy series. If you like fast-paced urban fantasy, dark supernatural forces, and a little humor thrown inthen you will love this series by Erik Lynd.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Broken Gods Press
• Release date: Aug 5, 2018
• ISBN: 9781386541837

Book preview

1

F airies again? Silas Robb asked. He looked at Mort's pasty white face and saw the screen reflected in his glasses, lit by his ever-present laptop. Mort didn't meet his eyes, but Silas didn't blame him; it was hard to stare down a demon.

Yep, this will be the mission where I finally kill him.

They sat in Silas’ limousine. The black and wood trim interior had recently been outfitted with the latest in mobile surveillance technology, and the added hardware made the already cramped space worse for his six-foot-five, two hundred seventy pounds. He found himself once again longing for the freedom of his motorcycle.

Well, this time is a little different. You don't have to fight the fairies; you’re here to rescue them.

From who? Captain Hook? Look Mort, who in their right mind wants to rescue fairies? They’re annoying, petty creatures.

Father Moreales wants them rescued.

Well, of course Moreales wants them rescued. Silas wouldn't be here if this wasn't an assignment from the Inquisition Project, the secret Vatican group run by Moreales that had summoned Silas from the pits of Hell to work for them. They bound him with one of the most convoluted binding contracts he had ever seen, which is saying a lot since Hell is known for its loopholes and fine-print-ridden contracts. Now he was forced to work for them until he had paid off his account. Silas’ work generally involved protecting ignorant humans from the forces of the supernatural that seeped into the world from the Pale, though his ultimate goal was to stave off Armageddon and the end of the world. Frankly, Silas would rather be singing rock and roll in a bar.

Silas fixed his eyes on Mortimer, who was his Vatican liaison and tech guy.

Why the hell would the Project care about a few fairies? They’re a dime a dozen.

It’s not the fairies themselves that are the issue; it’s how they’re being used.

Being used, huh? I didn't think they were good for anything, Silas said. They’re like annoying bugs, only too big to swat at.

Well, I'll tell you if you give me a chance. If you think fairies are annoying, you should try dealing with demons, Mort said.

Silas growled. Okay Mort, I'll listen, but just remember what happened the last time you sent me after fairies. I ended up fighting a vicious Fey Red Cap dressed up like a three hundred pound black woman.

Silas leaned back in his seat and crossed his arms. Mort sighed and tapped at his keyboard.

Xavier Haldan is a relatively unknown, yet wildly successful stock trader. He is the Chairman of the Haldan Corporation, which is really just a holding company with quite a few subsidiaries, Mort said.

Silas opened a cabinet by the bar and pulled out a bottle of bourbon. If Mort was going to be this boring, he was going to have to hurry up and get drunk. He found that excessive drinking helped him better tolerate humans, especially ones that droned on and on about companies, subsidiaries, and stocks.

His company grew exponentially almost overnight, and he came out of nowhere living the life of a rich playboy. But there’s a problem. Until recently, he couldn't trade a stock successfully to save his life; our research suggests that he has never gone to business school, although he does have fake credentials which include an MBA from Harvard.

Silas took a long pull from the bottle then said, Bet his name isn't even Xavier. Who the hell names a kid Xavier?

Well, actually his name is Xavier, but his real last name is Dunkleclerk, Mort said and then quickly leaned over his laptop to protect it.

Silas sprayed bourbon from his mouth in a futile attempt to keep from laughing.

Holly shit Mort, his parents must have hated him. Poor guy.

Well don't let the name fool you, Mort said as he wiped alcohol from the back of his laptop and glasses. He killed both his parents while he was still in high school when they found out he was selling drugs to underclassmen.

Ah ha... justice, Silas said and raised his bottle in a toast.

And that was just the beginning. He dropped out and started a life of petty crime, robbing convenience stores, mugging people, stuff like that. It would have stayed petty, but somewhere along the line he met up with a magician.

Who? Silas leaned forward; now things were getting interesting. Either that, or he was getting a buzz from the liquor. He glanced down at the bottle; it was half empty.

Mort shrugged. We don't know for sure. In the reports we can pull together there is only mention of a shadowy figure, somebody draped in night that is always by his side. But about the time this person showed up Dunkleclerk...

Silas’ chuckle even prompted Mort to giggle.

Dunkleclerk's luck changed. He went from being a petty, two-bit criminal to running a criminal organization. Within a year he started getting the attention, then respect of other crime families. He had his finger in a lot of things, but their primary industry seemed to be drug dealing. By the time his front company emerged as a legit business, he had upped the ante and was manufacturing a new drug. It’s a derivative of cocaine.

Silas' ears perked up. A new drug? Got a sample by any chance?

No Silas, I don't have a sample.

This is all great. Poor boy comes from nothing and makes a good life. It would make a great movie, but why does the Inquisition care, and what does all this have to do with fairies? I'm going to be late for band practice.

You guys practice? Mort said, and raised an eyebrow.

Silas glared.

Mort quickly went on, it was hard to stare down a glaring demon. We obtained a sample of this new drug, and after analysis it seems to be common cocaine cut with fairy dust. The dust is alchemically altered, but still…its origin is fairy dust.

Gives whole new meaning to the phrase getting high. Hey this is great, fairy dust is made from, well fairy dust, Silas laughed. Is it good shit?

No, it is not good shit. It is incredibly potent and addictive; the average life expectancy of an addict is less than a year. Not only that, but there are side effects.

Like what? People flying off to Neverland?

On some it is lifting the Veil of the Pale, and they are able to see the supernatural world. Most addicts think it is just part of the hallucination, but eventually they’re going to find out how real it is.

That was a problem. If too many humans learned of the supernatural world that existed all around them, it would be the first step in the rapture and the end of the world. At least that was the theory.

Are there other side effects?

Yes, some even more problematic than the Veil lifting. One report is that a man spontaneously changed sexes. Another thought he was Superman and picked up a car and threw it. Unfortunately, he tried it again and, though he managed to get the car over his head, he was crushed. Broke his back in the process. This is bad Silas. It’s only a matter of time before enough people notice these 'miracles', and the Veil comes tumbling down, bringing on full scale Armageddon.

Silas took the last swig out of the bottle. So what's the rundown? He's got some fairies locked up somewhere? You guys want me to beat the crap out of this Dunkleclerk?

No. Direct confrontation could potentially be bad. He has an army of thug soldiers around him at all times and this magician, whoever it is, is very strong. Strong enough to evade all our attempts to figure out who it is. Besides, over the past hour I’ve seen several people entering the building. I believe he’s having some sort of meeting with other individuals in the narcotics trade today. No, Moreales thinks the best thing here is to quietly remove the source of his supply of dust, then regroup with a second plan to take out his operation one step at a time. If he loses the fairies, he will be weakened at least financially. It’s all in the report I sent you a few days ago.

Silas gave him a blank stare. Mort sighed.

You need to check your email, Silas. How many times do I tell you that? It discussed the whole mission. How his operation is on the seventy third floor of this building on our right, the Hockmeyer building. But we can't take a direct approach, so you will go through the basement of the building on the other side of the street. The buildings are connected by an access tunnel under the street. Then it’s up the loading elevator to floor sixty-three, then a series of ventilation shafts and... You really didn't read any of this did you?

Nope. Besides, it sounds complicated. You have access to the security cameras, right? And the elevator mains?

Well sure, of course I tapped their security, at least up to the seventieth floor, and I can access any floor with the elevator. But you can't just take the direct elevator. His men would be on you in an instant, and I have no visibility on the upper floors. There could be two people up there or two hundred. It would be crazy and suicidal to just walk in.

Yeah, but also quick, and then I could get to my band practice. And fuck that regrouping and take out his operation one step at a time shit. Sounds boring and time consuming. I'll just fuck his shit up now and be done with it. Besides, how bad can a human magician be? What's this one worth to old Moreales?

Fifty thousand.

Man you guys just keep throwing peanuts at me don't you?

So you don't want the job? Mort asked.

I'll take it, piece of cake.

Silas knocked on the privacy window and it immediately lowered.

Yeah boss? Steve asked from the driver seat.

I'm going into that building; when I come out I might be in a hurry…or perhaps on fire.

Explosions, screaming, flaming rubble... the usual?

Probably, so keep circling the block. I'm not really sure where I’ll come out.

Silas opened the door and stepped out onto the street. He pulled a cigar out of his pocket and the tip glowed red as he brought it to his mouth. A demon never needed a match.

Mort rolled down the window. You’re going through with it, aren't you? You’re going to ignore my carefully outlined plan and just walk in there.

No, I'm not ignoring it. I am sure it was well thought out and impressive. I’m just going to refer to it as plan B.

Well, at least take the ear piece so we can communicate and I can report your screams of pain and suffering back to the Vatican.

Silas shrugged and put the ear piece on. And without another word, he strode toward the Hockmeyer building, an impressive steel and glass structure stretching to the clouds. Large metal doors glided open as he pushed through. It wasn't a new building, but it had been recently remodeled.

Inside the lobby two large men in suits sat behind an imposing reception desk. As Silas entered one stood, the other reached for something beneath the desk.

Can we help you sir? The standing one asked.

He was large; larger than Silas, as if that really mattered. It was the other one that concerned Silas. Was he reaching for an alarm, perhaps? Silas didn't blame him; it wasn't every day a large guy wearing jeans, t-shirt and a biker jacket wandered into an upscale high rise shortly after two in the morning.

Do you guys work for Haldan directly? Silas asked.

The Inquisition had this annoying rule to not kill civilians. He had to find out how far up they were on the chain of command before he could make a judgment call.

The two men looked at each other and their faces darkened; that was all the confirmation Silas needed. The night guards were working directly for Dunkleclerk. Made sense, they would look the other way from these late night meetings and other criminal activity like good pets.

Sir, we are part of building security. May I ask why you are here? And there is no smoking in the building.

Silas pulled the cigar from his mouth and let out a slow stream of smoke. He approached the desk slowly, letting them clearly see his hands. Can't have them sounding the alarm too soon.

Gentlemen, I have an appointment with Dunkleclerk, I mean Xavier Haldan.

An appointment this late at night? I don't believe you are on his calendar, the seated guard said as the other moved around the desk. Time to move.

I guess my people didn't talk to his people.

With lighting speed Silas' hand shot out and grabbed the top of one guard’s head. He bounced the man's face off the desk. The force of the blow sent him flying out of his chair as his nose exploded in a shower of blood and mucus. He was unconscious before he hit the ground.

The other guard was stunned. No surprise; Silas moved faster than any mortal. Before the towering guard could regain his composure, Silas' fist, enhanced by his demonic fury, slammed into the man’s stomach. The man doubled over as though he had been hit by a sledge hammer, and Silas was pretty sure he had felt something burst in the man's gut.

In the early eighties, Silas had briefly possessed a chiropractor. Not one of his more memorable possessions; however, he did pick up a thing or two about the frailty of human anatomy. For example, a well-placed blow between the first and second cervical vertebrae can induce temporary paralysis or, if you are not careful, death. Fortunately that was a risk Silas was willing to take. Silas brought his clenched fists down on the back of the man’s neck. The guard sunk to the ground with a large thud.

Everything okay in there Silas? Mort asked through the earpiece.

Yeah, you'd even be proud of me. I haven't killed anybody yet. He looked down at the unmoving guard. I think.

I am tapped into the security network, and I have access to the cameras.

Good, I’m heading up now, Silas said.

He pushed the elevator call button and the doors opened immediately. Inside was a normal button panel for all the floors. Floors above seventy were set off in their own panel with a keypad.

Mort, need a little help. There's a keypad.

Got it, just push the floor button.

Silas pressed floor seventy three and stood back. He noticed that the Muzak version of Yesterday was playing over the speakers. And they call the place I’m from hell... he mumbled.

Just so you know, I cycled earlier footage through the main computer in the security room. So far the main security is unaware of your intrusion.

They were quiet for a moment, nothing but Muzak Yesterday in the silence. Silas wished he had brought another bottle of bourbon with him. As it was, he had to be content with puffing on the fine Cuban.

So do you miss her? Mort asked.

Not now Mort, Silas growled.

It’s been a few months, I was just wondering if you were over her.

I was never under her, at least not in the way you mean. She was just a partner.

Right, just a partner. Like me, only with tits.

Now that was a scary image, thought Silas.

Naw Mort, you aren't a partner. You're just tech support.

The elevator dinged as it reached the seventy third floor. Showtime.

Okay, I have limited influence with the electronic security at this point. Good luck, Silas.

The doors opened and Silas was greeted by a well-appointed lobby complete with leather chairs, glass coffee tables, and beautiful artwork. There were also about a dozen large and, Silas guessed, heavily armed men standing or sitting in chairs. Some were reading magazines, others were talking quietly. A few checked smart phones. They all looked up when the elevator opened.

Thugs, personal guards, Silas guessed. Must be a meeting of big wigs.

Howdy fellas, this where the big meeting is? Silas said and pointed to the large set of double doors across the room. He was halfway across the lobby when they started to react, putting away phones and dropping magazines.

Here hold this, Silas said and tossed his lit cigar at one particularly large thug.

He gave a push with his demonic fury as the cigar left his hand, and it flared up into a small flame. The thug yelled as the burning wad of tobacco hit his face and he fell back, knocking over two slightly smaller men.

The ones still standing were reaching for their guns now, but Silas was quick. He lifted the nearest leather recliner and threw it at three more of the men gathered together. The mortal flesh of the body he possessed would never have been capable of such a feat without serious damage to its musculature and tendons, but demonic energy coursed through him, enhancing his mortal shell.

He grabbed the nearest thug, knocking the gun from his hands, and spun him around, just as the others leveled their various side arms at him. Gun shots rang out.

Bullets smashed into the head and body of the man Silas used to shield himself. A head shot would have killed him instantly. The body shots, however, never made it through. Just as Silas had suspected from the man’s bulky shirt and coat, he was wearing body armor. Silas had once possessed a bodyguard for a high ranking corporate CEO who had been trained to spot indicators like that.

The body and body armor effectively protected him as he backed toward the double doors. A bullet whizzed close to his ear, and he felt a hot stab as one found his arm. He almost dropped the body from the pain, but it had missed bone and artery, so he held on.

When he reached the door, he kicked it open. The double doors slammed open, and Silas threw the bullet-ridden body at the gunmen, before he quickly shut and locked the door. They could easily kick the door down despite the lock. He grabbed one end of the twenty foot, solid-wood conference room table and with mighty heave turned it on its side and slammed it up against the door. He admired his handiwork. It would hold them for a moment, and that was all Silas needed. He hoped they wouldn't shoot blindly through the door with their bosses just on the other side.

He turned back to the room. Five men stood around the space where the table had once been, glasses of champagne halfway to their lips.

Okay, now which one of you is Dunkleclerk?

Color drained from the face of the one in the middle, and he made a break for the side door. Silas leaped and closed the distance instantly, tackling him to the ground. The other men scattered away from him as Dunkleclerk screamed.

Where are the fairies? Silas yelled. From the corner of his eye Silas saw Dunkleclerk's business associates pull guns from holsters. I have no concern with you. If you put those guns away and leave there I’ll have no need to kill you.

Silas let his demonic nature show through in his face and the timbre of his voice. The men turned and ran, stumbling over themselves as they attempted to move the table and get to the door. Silas turned back to Dunkleclerk and slapped him, partially to get him to stop blubbering and partially because it felt good.

I asked where are the fairies? Silas was acutely aware of how silly he looked standing over a guy yelling about fairies while a pack of hardened thugs banged on either side of the door.

He couldn't hear what Dunkleclerk was trying to say through the blood and tears, but he glanced towards the side door he had tried to escape through.

Thank you, Silas said.

He picked up the crying Dunkleclerk and threw him through the window. His screams dwindled as he fell. The men had paused in their attempt to move the table to watch the sight, but scrambled all the harder when Silas returned their stare.

He had to move fast now. Throwing Dunkleclerk out the window had started a timer on when the police would be here.

What the hell is going on? A body just hit the ground right in front of the limo, Mort said in his ear.

Did anybody see it?

Not yet. The streets are deserted at the moment.

Drive over it and park, Silas said. That might buy him some more time.

It's in the middle of the street.

Better a limo taking up the whole lane, than a body in the shape of a pancake, Silas said.

Jesus Christ Silas. Steve, park over it. I know it's gross, just do it.

Silas ignored their arguing as he opened the door. Beyond was a hallway where several evenly-spaced doors lined one wall. He kicked the first one in and saw that it was some kind of office, same with the second, both empty. He kick in the third door.

It was a room full of beautiful naked women, all of them Asian.

Silas was surprised, and he almost stumbled. He had been expecting a room full of more people he had to kill. They worked around a long table covered with tubing, glass vials and beakers. Propane tanks were stacked under the table. It was like a pornographic meth lab, only instead of household materials they were working with professional grade equipment.

I thought this shit only happened in the movies, Silas whispered.

Against the far wall of the room was a large glass box, inside was a wire bird cage surrounded by a drawing and mystic symbols. Trapped in the cage were the fairies, perhaps four or five. They laid on the ground as though exhausted.

Hello ladies, Silas said with a smile and stepped into the room.

There were no screams, no signs of panic; the girls just stopped what they were doing and turned to him. It creeped Silas out and set off warning bells. He thought there might be something fishy going on when they started walking towards him like something out of the Dawn of the Dead.

From the side door a figure emerged. For a moment Silas thought it might be the cleaning lady. She was old—wizened would be the right word—and stooped, but even upright she would not have been much more than four and a half feet tall. She wore a black handmade dress that covered her from neck to toe, and a long, wild mane of gray hair shot out in all directions from her head. No, she definitely wasn't the cleaning lady; she was someone much more dangerous.

Baba Yaga, Silas said switching to Russian. In 1905 he had possessed the monk Rasputin and picked up the language.

Oh shit, that’s not good, Mort said in Silas’ earpiece.

What brings you from the Motherland? Silas asked, ignoring Mort.

I come to take what is mine, Silas, she said, rage in her eyes. The world.

Trust me, it really ain't all that great, Silas said.

She threw back her head and let out a long withering screech. The women, now gathered in front of Silas, began to change. Their faces elongated, forming jagged, fleshy beaks. Arms stretched and fingers lengthened; nails turned to talons. Their legs grew thick at the hip and a second joint appeared causing their legs to look like a chicken's. As a final touch, wings sprouted from their backs and unfurled.

Harpies. Ugly, vile creatures—part woman, part avian. An odor reached his nose and he winced. They also smelled to high heaven. With a number of shrieks, cackles, and odd chicken noises they rushed at him.

Silas charged, jumping onto the large table that dominated the room. He had no clue what types of chemicals were in the various large beakers and flasks, but he didn't have many options; the harpies would tear apart his mortal flesh. He began kicking the glass beakers and vials, sending liquid and glass flying into the harpies. They sprang back, halting their lunges as they attempted to cover their exposed flesh with their claws.

Some of the chemicals were caustic and immediately burned faces and chests, which, Silas thought, was an improvement. Others did little damage, but caused a small flock to retreat in fear. Silas kicked over a Bunsen burner, and one of the beakers caught fire, effectively turning it into a Molotov cocktail. It shattered against the wall sending flaming liquid over a group of the harpies.

A harpy dodged past the flying glassware and leapt onto Silas. He held her snapping beak away from him as she dug her claws into the flesh of his shoulders and upper arms. She smelled of bird shit and wet feathers. He swung her around and threw her at another one of the creatures preparing to leap.

Jumping down from the table, he heaved it forward and flipped it toward the monsters. More of the liquid ignited, and soon half of the room and several of the harpies were enveloped in flames.

Silas glanced at Baba Yaga. She appraised the scene, every bit the disapproving grandma, and he knew it was only a matter of time before she would take action.

In the cage, the fairies were gripping