Falan: The Byron Trilogy, #3

Table of Contents

Falan (The Byron Trilogy, #3)

Chapter 1: A New Horror

Chapter 2: Beat & Bewildered

Chapter 3: The Infection

Chapter 4: A Devourer of Souls

Chapter 5: A Lost Soul

Chapter 6: An Old Adversary

Chapter 7: A Morbid Discovery

Chapter 8: The Nick of Time

Chapter 9: A Glimpse of Evil

Chapter 10: The Warmonger

Chapter 11: Death Do We Part

Chapter 12: Inside the Ley Line

Chapter 13: An Ancient Foe

Chapter 14: The Demon Roads

Chapter 15: The Face of Death

Chapter 16: Rise of the Phoenix

Chapter 17: Defeating a Shadow

Epilogue: Six Months Later

Author’s Notes

​​​​​​​​​​​​​Falan

Chapter 1: A New Horror

Chapter 2: Beat & Bewildered

Chapter 3: The Infection

Chapter 4: A Devourer of Souls

Chapter 5: A Lost Soul

Chapter 6: An Old Adversary

Chapter 7: A Morbid Discovery

Chapter 8: The Nick of Time

Chapter 9: A Glimpse of Evil

Chapter 10: The Warmonger

Chapter 11: Death Do We Part

Chapter 12: Inside the Ley Line

Chapter 13: An Ancient Foe

Chapter 14: The Demon Roads

Chapter 15: The Face of Death

Chapter 16: Rise of the Phoenix

Chapter 17: Defeating a Shadow

Epilogue: Six Months Later

Author’s Notes

Falan

The Byron Trilogy, Book 3

Charity Bishop

​​Chapter 1: A New Horror

San Francisco 1921

Nothing pleased Falan DuLoc more than a test of his skills, and this case could be a real doozy. An evil spirit had moved into Mrs. Proust’s boardinghouse on McAllister Street, which she claimed reeked of week-old cadaver and gave the residents nightmares. The teenaged supernatural investigator surveyed her home from across the busy road, his hands shoved in his pockets and his dark brown eyes keen beneath the brim of his flat cap. The Victorian architecture filled him with excitement. Something about its vibes told him he faced no mere demon this time.

The approach of familiar footsteps turned him to watch Cassi Wu catch up to him, a little winded from her rush through the few raindrops that dampened the pavement. His friend carried a tan rucksack over one shoulder with a casual elegance, full of anything they might need. A fashionable bob framed her slim features. She had a natural knack for reading auras and predicting the future. Cassi glanced at the house and shivered. A nasty presence lurks in there, Falan, and it won’t want to leave, but I can’t see its shape. 

If you sense anything, warn me about it, he said.

She nodded, her hair smashed beneath a stylish hat. Only Cassi would come to a job dressed in the latest fashion, a mauve gown with impractical pumps. She made sure she always looked good, no matter what.

They waited for several slow cars to pass in either direction before they dashed across the road and up the front steps to pull the bell. Small demons flitted above the downward shine of the iron streetlamps, but most were harmless; they stole keys, made people drop coins into gutters, or caused streetcars to stall in intersections. Falan could deal with them if asked, but his real targets were the malicious spirits that inspired murder, violence, riots, or abuse. Some of those demons wore faces and passed for mortals.

The clouds overhead let out a few cold raindrops, which left a wet pattern on his pinstriped jacket. As the doorbell jangled, a distinct sense of evil pressed upon him. He wished he’d brought his dog. Gamr could sniff out trouble and deal with it with a snap of his jaws, but not everyone welcomed a mutt into their home. He glanced at Cassi and found the same keen uncertainty in her golden-brown gaze.

The front door opened a crack to reveal a slender, worried face framed by soft waves of brown hair. A middle-aged woman eyed them in surprise, but once Falan gave his name, she ushered them inside with a polite nod. I expected someone older, she said.

It’s not the age of the supernatural agent but the amount of divine authority that matters, Ma’am. Falan stepped into the house and it recoiled from his presence. A spiral of deep unease unraveled in the pit of his stomach. They stood in a foyer facing a staircase to the second floor, at the top of which sat a stained-glass window. Deeper shadows lurked here than the light cast. A scuttling under the floorboards suggested a potential demonic pest infestation.

Good. He could use the practice. Things had been too quiet in San Francisco since the summer. It felt like something big was about to happen, somehow.

Cassi tightened her grip on his rucksack, but turned to the hostess. You have a beautiful home, Ma’am.

Thank you, but none of us feel safe in it anymore. I have owned it a couple of years, but had no trouble until now. Mrs. Proust led them over to a closed set of doors, beyond which lurked a strange glow. A faint stench of soul-rot pervaded the air that usually accompanied evil. Our unease has been building for several days, but when we returned from the market tonight, we sensed a difference when we crossed the threshold. An evil presence dwells in this room. None of us wants to open the doors and we haven’t, since Byron said not to touch them.

His mentor advocated safety, since many folks did not know how to approach demons or possess the divine authority to banish them. You had to be born with it, or choose it for yourself. Most people never noticed them. Aware of the dark energy in the parlor, Falan said to ease her anxiety, There’s no reason for concern, Mrs. Proust. We do this all the time. But it’s better done in private. Demons often get surly.

We’ll be next door until you’re done. Mrs. Proust walked upstairs to collect her family and renters. No one protested. They detected a threat to their souls.

In her absence, Falan touched the door handle. An unfamiliar coldness passed over him that piqued his interest. Cassi, do you sense anything new now that you’re inside the house? he asked.

She closed her eyes to concentrate on the mood beyond the top panel of frosted glass and grew silent. Light played across the folds in her dress and hit the silver buckles on her shoes. He waited with patience, knowing it could take her several minutes to discern and unravel her impressions. Worry flickered across her face. This spirit feels different from the others, and I sense its anger. This is not a benign presence, Falan. It’s full of hatred and violence.

That meant it would put up a fight. 

Looked like he might get his challenge after all.

Footsteps tramped across the floor in the upstairs rooms, and voices came toward the stairs. Cassi put out a hand to touch his arm. Should we call Byron?

Nah. Falan rarely asked for help or needed it. Byron has enough problems. 

Their friend, Byron Hayes, had changed roles from a supernatural investigator to the leader of a Council devoted to protecting San Francisco from evil. He’d handled cases like this in the past, but the Council kept him busy. Cassi and Falan ran his investigations for him now, with help from his girlfriend, Raven.

Cassi didn’t look pleased by his decision, but took out anything they might need from the big rucksack while they waited for the family to leave. His hand left the door and dropped to his side as the kids came downstairs and went onto the porch. The youngest held a teddy bear in her arms and stared at Falan with interest, curious about his brown skin. A bearded man, a young woman, and a middle-aged scholar followed them into the rain. Mrs. Proust gathered her coat from the hall closet and shot them another doubtful look. Falan had gotten used to people not believing him capable because of his age, and asked, Have you changed anything in the house lately that may explain the spirit’s presence? Did you get a new tenant? Has an unusual object entered your home?

She shook her head and crammed a cloche hat on her brow, flattening her loose curls. No. I’m careful what comes home to my children. I can’t do much about it, but I know there are evils in this world that want to harm us.

Falan nodded. Do you sense eyes watching you?

She shivered and rubbed the cold from her arms. It’s rare, but yes. No one likes to be alone. It’s worse in the back upstairs bedroom. I can’t rent it for love or money. I don’t want either of you to get hurt, so if you can’t handle it, don’t try to exorcise it. 

After they agreed to her terms, Mrs. Proust left. A sinister silence filled the gloomy place, which became ominous in her absence. A grandfather clock chimed upstairs, and a flash of lightning lit up the second floor. Old houses held too many secrets for their own good, and this one seemed haunted. 

Cassi looked over his silver daggers and chose one. He could dissipate demons with a single touch, one of his many gifts, but she only had a skill of foresight and needed a weapon. Curious to see what lurked in the parlor, he turned the handle and eased inside. He choked on the odd thickness of the air, but his gaze swept the dim area. An unnatural blue flame burned in the fireplace that spread a mystical chill rather than warm the space. Curios and books filled the shelves around a hearth, but their contents interested Falan less than the figure seated in a wing-backed chair.

Animosity radiated out of a tall, broad-shouldered man with a cruel, famished look in his soulless eyes. Falan could see past a demon’s trickery to its true form, but this one had none. That startled him. The green-and-white striped pattern of the chair became visible behind him the longer Falan stared at him.

I don’t think it’s a demon, Cassi said. 

What else could it be? There were only demons.

He didn’t have time to think about it, because the man leaned closer to scrutinize them with disdain. A voice rough from years of smoking asked, Who the hell are you? Why are you here?

Falan paused on the edge of a colorful rag rug; no doubt made by the children who lived here. Despite the spirit’s hostility, he kept his stance confident and his tone casual. We’re exorcists. Mrs. Proust doesn’t want you here, so I came to banish you for good. 

Make me. The spirit leered and sank into the haze.

The air stirred. An invisible force zipped right past him and hit Cassi, forcing her out of the room. The doors slid shut and locked on their own. The frosted glass muffled the sound of her beating on them and shouting at him. An odor bled through the walls that reminded him of the meat market in Chinatown. In a flash of lightning, Falan noticed a shadow in the far corner the light couldn’t dispel. He said, Okay, wise guy. I order you to leave this place.

At his utterance, a mist formed in the surrounding air, born of the indwelling light that gave him power over evil. It chased away smaller entities at once, but the darkness coiled and hissed at him, building in its strength as the spirit stood. It didn’t act or move like a demon. Its sunken eyes glared at him with a hatred that emanated outward in tense waves. 

Falan could banish demons with a touch, or at least cause them pain, and he lunged forward. This one met his punch, gripped his fist, and delivered a blow that knocked him across the room and into a shelf. Curios rained down around him and a statue broke on the floor. The fast-moving spirit hammered him with brutal fists. Falan threw up both his arms in self-defense. Cassi was right; this was no demon! Falan received a kick to the ribs that pushed the air from his lungs. His attacker focused so much of its energy on him that Cassi got the door open and ran into the room, swinging his rucksack hard. It struck the spirit between his shoulders. The canvas burst open and a tin of salt spiraled into the air, its contents falling in iridescent particles. When it hit the spirit, it cried out in pain. So, something could hurt it after all! Cassi snatched up the fallen canister and flung the crystals at him. A low, inhuman snarl rattled the rain-pelted windows and shook the chandelier in the foyer. The spirit slapped her to the floor, but she ripped the top off the tin and doused him with salt. He dissipated with an angry roar. A crack of lightning tore across the heavens, and a shift in the house’s energetic fields told Falan the spirit had fled. 

At least we know salt deters him, Falan said. He tried to find the best in every situation, and normally Cassi appreciated it, but this time she scowled at him and crawled through the mess to reach his side.

Her gentle hands cupped his face, and he caught a whiff of her perfume. You’re bleeding, she said.

He dabbed at a shallow cut on his forehead. It’s fine. If I am lucky, it’ll scar and leave evidence of my victory with which to impress lovely young ladies.

She rolled her eyes, but smiled. Falan had no time for other girls. Cassi let him help her to her feet and smoothed the wrinkled folds of her long dress. She pushed her hair out of her face and bit her lip. He went into retreat. We didn’t destroy him. That means he could return. I still sense him here, within the walls. He’s even angrier now.

He dusted the salt off his rumpled white shirt and thought about what to do. The flame no longer burned in the hearth, but an essence of evil lingered in its wake. A subtle but weighty tension built under the floor. Falan recovered his cap and crammed it on his brow. What do you suppose he is? he asked.

I don’t know, but I’ll try to find out. Cassi put both her hands on the spirit’s vacated chair and shut her eyes to concentrate. She didn’t move for a long time. The hair on his arms lifted, to warm him of a threat. Falan closed the chimney flu to stop the draft, and glanced into the shadows, but saw nothing. 

It may be a ghost, she said at last.

He scoffed, but the sound stuck in his throat. She opened her eyes and fixed them on him. Ghosts were not real. People told stories about them, but no one ever saw them. Why would a ghost turn solid and be able to touch him?

She said, I think he lived here before Mrs. Proust. He may be dead, but part of him dwells in this place, like a curse. There is something of his here, and until we find it, we can’t be sure his essence won’t return. That is what my intuition tells me, anyway.

A thunderclap shook the street, and he flinched. San Francisco rarely got storms like this. Maybe it had something to do with the strange shift in the city since the summer months. The demons were too quiet. Normally they caused no end of trouble.

Cassi frowned. It might be wise to call Byron.

Falan didn’t want to share this discovery with his mentor until he knew more about it, but she’d give him trouble if he argued, so he shrugged. Sure. Go ahead. There’s a phone in the hall.

She hurried away to dial 722 Steiner Street, and he heard her speaking on the line as he regarded the room with fresh eyes. Since he’d never met a ghost, he didn’t know how to deal with them other than to follow her advice and destroy anything that belonged to them. Cassi hurried back with a relieved air. I didn’t talk to Byron, but Raven said to wait for him. 

No time, he said. It’s coming back.

The eeriness in the air warned him the ghost would soon reappear, and stronger this time. Falan recalled what Mrs. Proust said about the bedroom, and they climbed up the stairs to the second floor, armed with everything in his duffel and fresh salt found in the kitchen. The steps squeaked under his weight, and his hand glided up a faded banister. They faced a long, dark hall despite a single bulb overhead, and an unnatural coldness seeped into them. The closer he got to the bedroom, the greater his edginess, but Falan knew how to purify houses and banish evil. He opened its door and crossed the threshold. 

Cassi stayed in the corridor without being told, but he walked across the weathered floorboards to stand at a window. A dim street lurked outside, a few cars passing in the downpour, but anyone on the sidewalk hid under a newspaper or an umbrella. The closeness of the space sunk into Falan and the odor worsened. It smelled of a dead mouse, a sign of evil. He ran his palms along the walls in search of any vibration, shift, or chill to alert him