Stained Credence: The Wretched

By R.N. Sullivan

She'd been kept hidden. Kept Imprisoned. And now she's free... But some things shouldn't be free. Samael has been waiting for centuries, and his demons have sent word she's found. Natalya knows he's hunting her, and she should use her powers to escape...but that means sacrificing Grady to the demons after her. Saving him was one thing, but even supernatural powers are sometimes no match for the undoing potential of human audacity and sarcasm. Natalya is gone again, but now Samael knows there's more to be had than just her...Grady is no mere human. Extorting the world's most powerful witch, Samael enlists him to seek the key to bring Natalya to her knees...a key living in exile amongst forgotten giants deep in the Siberian Forest. A deadly game of cat and mouse ensues, spanning across continents and realms beyond human perception. Not all will survive, and only the wretched know guilt.

• Language: English
• Publisher: SlyGirl Publishing House
• Release date: Jul 21, 2023
• ISBN: 9798985150384

Book preview

Chaos and Chains

North America

She stood at the door to her room, straining against the chain tethering her to the stone wall. Fresh scars cut across the faint lines of old ones. Deep purple and mottled green bruises peered from beneath the shackle binding her, stretching across her slight forearm.

Boom.

The air shuddered. The walls quivered.

Boom.

The percussion shivered through her body.

Like shattering teeth. Splintering bones.

With the chain pulled taut, she peered through the small, square hole serving as the only view outside her stone prison. The edges of the window were ragged and timeworn. The tiny, nearly insignificant slivers of wood came into focus, the thin fibers reaching and grasping frantically for their missing halves all these years later.

Boom.

Like the sonorous strum of a bass string, the rumble cascaded down the stairs and tumbled feverishly across the stone floor. She lay her fingertips against the door, the slight palpitations striking her through the wood, like the heaving breath of life.

She glanced back at the chain holding her; crude runes scrawled across the iron cuff, their trenches filled with decaying blood.

Iron on iron.

A muffled clatter of stumbling footfalls pulled her attention back to the door. She looked again through the window, but it did not allow her to see who, by the sound of it, was all but falling down the staircase.

Heavy breathing and even heavier foot falls preceded Kail’s flushed face.

He gazed, bright-eyed and wild, at her through the window and gave a guileful grin before focusing on the iron key and lock. The tumblers rose and fell, and she stepped back as he pushed the heavy door just far enough to slide his slim, boyish body through. He pressed his back against the door, and it resisted his weight before the hinges moaned their way back to their original position.

Kail beamed at her, his green eyes charged with mischief. They’re here, Natalya. He reached out and squeezed her shoulders, his smile bright and hopeful. He gave her a gentle shake, and her chain rattled and clinked.

His eyes trailed down her arm, and he wrapped his hand around it, easing her wrist into the dim light. He rubbed his thumb against her forearm, as though his touch could take away the damage. Kail’s gaze moved to the arm hanging at her side, marred with deep lacerations and jagged scars. His smile fell, tugged down by his trembling chin.

He lowered her arm. Do you remember what it feels like to walk across the grass? How it springs up between your toes? Do you remember the infiniteness of the night sky? His smile was soft. You’ll be reminded soon.

Her eyes narrowed, and she tilted her head to the side. Her lips parted, showing a sliver of white behind them. It’s over. He breathed a laugh, his smile bright once again. We can leave. She shut her mouth, her jaw pulsing.

Trust me. Please, just trust me this one time. He peered pleadingly through the slices of dark brown hair sweeping across his face and drew a deep breath. I did what needed to be done, what should have been done a long time ago. Kail chewed his lip and wrung his hands.

"I just had to wait for the right good people to be in place. A sneer slashed across his mouth. Ones he couldn’t buy."

She raised her head and eased her jaw, drawing in a slow breath. Her gold-dusted eyes asked him for more. More of what he had done. More of what was coming.

I didn’t tell them about you. I only told them he was holding a woman prisoner. Other than that, they don’t know anything about you. They’ll never believe him, even if he does tell them.

The elevator hushed to a stop, its daunting whisper rushing across the stone floor to her prison. Kail melted, his clout abandoning him, and he stood limp before Natalya. She looked past him, training her eyes on the dark door. Acrid enmity burned in the golden specks of her eyes. She raised an unchained hand and guided Kail behind her. The iron links of the chain clinked as he stumbled against them.

Boom.

The crash lacked the same solid tone carried with every other strike, like the weakening beat of a timpani. The mansion had given way. The final blow had fallen, and the giant was entering.

The door burst open, its hinges crying their opposition. Malnyk lunged into the room, and the heat from his rage resonated in the gloom. His glare fell upon Kail, and he snarled. "You, pathetic boy! Useless spawn! His wild eyes leered past Natalya, and he stalked toward the boy. I loathe that I saw your beginning, but I will relish your ending."

Natalya gripped Malnyk’s face, digging her nails into his eyes and cheek. Deep scores of blood tore across as he reared back from her. Tears welled and blood spilled into them, swirling and dancing with one another against the brim of his eyelids. He opened his mouth to spew rage and hate but only spit and sputtered like a clogged kettle.

Her lips coiled into a smirk as he floundered, mirth lighting her eyes in the dark. Malnyk clamped his jaw closed, and his nostrils flared. His fists curled and vehemence tremored through him.

He hurled himself at her, but Natalya raised her hand, meeting his chest and shoving him away. She stalked forward, eager violence gleaming in her eyes, but the chain held firm and snatched her arm back. Her body snapped against its hold, and she snarled at the hindrance.

Malnyk stumbled and fell, sprawling backward across the stone floor. He lay like a worn doll, played too roughly with, then cast aside. Natalya lowered her arm, the still-healing welts and bruises, from where the manacle had once rested, stark against her skin.

Malnyk gawked at her, his eyes bulging and feral, his teeth gritted. Natalya looked down at him with callous disinterest, but beneath that mask something stirred. A flicker glimmered in her eyes, a forgotten smolder given a breath of life, and the corner of her mouth ticked up—delectable brutality and menacing destruction.

Malnyk’s scrunched face wilted, the anger draining into uncertainty.

Kail stretched to look around Natalya, peering at his father sprawled on the floor. A slim grin cut through the amusement plastered across his face, stealing Malnyk’s attention.

Kail’s eyes glinted, a dare sparking within them.

Malnyk bared his teeth, and rage ripped through him as he sprang from the floor. He rushed toward Kail, his bloodshot eyes berserk. Natalya raised her arm again, his blood filling the space beneath her nails.

Stop.

Her command cracked through the room, sharp as a whip. Malnyk’s flailing body came to a rigid halt.

He shook his head, wary with disbelief, and made to step toward the two again.

Natalya’s skin mottled with shadow lurking beneath, giving way to the brilliance of her eyes. You will not harm him.

Malnyk faltered, his feet stuttering against the floor. He balled his fists and edged closer.

The air rushed from the room, taking Malnyk’s breath with it. He clutched his neck and stumbled.

Turn and leave! she bellowed, her voice rising as though more than one pealed from her throat. As though within her resided a legion.

Malnyk’s throat tightened, and his gut shriveled.

He stepped back, worry wavering across his face like rain against hot asphalt. His wide eyes bounced about the room, floundering for something known. For something controllable. They came to rest on the boy. His boy. That goddamned son of his.

Fury gripped him and he moved forward, shoving a hand in his jacket.

Kail sucked in a harsh breath and stepped back. He helplessly watched his father pull the pistol from his jacket and aim it at him.

No! Natalya’s voice lashed like lightning through dark clouds.

A pearlescent light shimmered from her body, encompassing her like a drop of dew around dust. Its brilliance grew as it deepened, pulsating as though it drew breath with a life all its own. Silver outlined the white aura, a vein of deep blue brimming inside. The indigo thread seemed to struggle between the sterling and nacre, as if working to keep the two bound together.

With the gun readied and finger on the trigger, his attention veered, and Malnyk dropped his arm, the gun sinking to his side.

The light grew, morphing from an aura tightly surrounding her to an entity vast and dangerous, all its own. Malnyk squinted, unable to make out the dull silhouette she had become. Within the light, she stood like the wick within a fire.

Malnyk raised the gun again. A quaver in his arm tipped the muzzle haphazardly. The light swelled and snuffed the shadow of her out, leaving a reminiscent orb where she had stood. Natalya and Kail were absorbed by the glory that welled from her.

The shackle fell away, and she reached behind her with an open hand. Blue threads of light extended from her palm, wrapping around Kail. Raising her hand, she spoke, and the blue lightning lifted him from the floor. Kail sunk into its warmth, casting his head back and opening his chest in its opulence.

Her words filled the white light until Kail no longer existed in Earth’s atmosphere, but a place where life ceased and death was unknown. A place between worlds.

Malnyk squeezed the trigger, his finger responding more to gutless reflex than actual command. With blazing ferocity, the light surged as though screaming in a single breath for him to stop.

To surrender.

With that final exhalation, both murderer and gun were enveloped, swallowed by the silvery-blue ether.

From her palm lashed threads of burnt coal, covering Malnyk like fresh webbing. Their vaporous bodies hardened, spreading like charred vines. They gripped his chest and spread like a plague, clinging to his face and running their ravenous fingers into his mouth and nose.

He dropped the gun and tore at the vines. Thin tendrils sprouted from their growing fingers and buried beneath his skin, anchoring themselves against bone.

No sound escaped the silver membrane. The percussion of the gun was hushed and if Malnyk screamed, it went unheard.

Death and respite were all that now strummed.

The song of insanity.

The light consumed all in its wake with a ravenous hunger, and with a final, deep breath, all the room’s sentinels disappeared into its ether.

Schitzos and Stilettos

North America

Grady received the call just before 2:00 a.m., telling him to come to the office. It was rare for him to receive a call so early in the morning, and in his hazy state of mind, he had neglected to ask for details. Not that he’d been given the opportunity. Harvey had hung up just as soon as he’d finished telling Grady to get his ass to the office.

He pulled a clean-enough pair of slacks from the hamper and stumbled his way into them. Just, please, don’t let there be shit, he begged the empty room. "It is too early in the morning to be dealing with shit."

In the bathroom, he filled his cupped hands with water and sank his face into it. Tilting his head up, he leaned away from the counter. Water rolled down his neck and onto his chest. Or dead people. Please don’t let it be any un-aliving.

With a wrinkled shirt and slacks, a water-splashed face, and quickly brushed teeth, he grabbed his briefcase and headed out the door into the dew-soaked night.

Greene Brooke was a revolutionary psychiatric facility and was more than just top-of-the-line; it was leaps and bounds beyond anything developed thus far. Or at least, that was the pick-up line he preferred to use when describing his occupation, since there were few ways to glamorize the fact some of his patients smeared poo on themselves as casually as a woman applied lip gloss.

Most of the patients housed there suffered extensively from their illnesses, which doomed them with the inability to live on their own. Being held at Greene Brooke was hardly a sentence compared to the one their own minds held them in. Many of its residents had been tossed on the scales of the American judicial system for having committed crimes directed by their addled minds and had been selected to serve their time at Greene Brooke versus a state facility, or worse—prison.

His phone rang, and Harvey’s face stared at him from the screen. Grady answered gruffly, On my way.

Listen. Shit’s crazy. Grady’s brows raised as shouting spilled through from the background. I know it’s early, but try not to look like you just rolled out of bed.

Grady frowned, his chin and neck rumpling together, as he craned to steal a glance at his wrinkled attire.

And don’t talk to anyone before me.

A dull beep followed by a sound equivalent to holding a brick to his ear indicated Harvey had hung up. Grady tossed the phone on the seat and pressed the gas pedal a little further.

Grady swiped his badge at the gate, waited for it to open, and was startled when someone walked out of the guard shack. He rolled his window down. Identification, the guard said.

Grady had never been stopped there. Though he knew there was a protocol for it, it had been swept under the rug since his employment began. He handed the man his company ID, and the guard checked it more thoroughly than Grady thought necessary, especially considering they saw each other almost daily.

Handing it back, the guard said, I need you to open the trunk now.

Grady bristled at the demand but raised the lever on the floor. The guard shined his flashlight through the windows as he made his way to the trunk, where he rummaged before closing it. He then signaled for Grady to continue driving. As he passed the guard shack, Grady saw a second guard with a shotgun propped between his legs.

He pulled around the corner into the multi-level garage. What the fuck, he said to himself. Why is it full at three in the damn morning? Grady eyed the cars as he drove past them and scrunched his nose at the tell-tale no-smoking sticker in the windows. Full of rentals, at that.

Grady parked and pinched the bridge of his nose. Dear, sweet baby…I am not ready for whatever is happening. He heaved a sigh and slid his briefcase toward himself. He rolled its locks, releasing them to place his phone and wallet inside.

Grady stepped from the car, clipped his badge to the front of his wrinkled shirt, and plucked a crumb from a light stain. I reek of professionalism.

His footfalls echoed in the cement garage, the engines around him ticking and hissing as they still cooled.

Harvey paced and chewed the end of his thumb as Grady stepped through the metal detector. Several wands and a few unnecessary hand pats later, Grady was deemed harmless enough to continue down the hall, and he hurried to his boss. Just as he opened his mouth to start questioning, Harvey cut him off by curtly saying, Office, and hurried in that direction.

Grady sat in one of the two dark brown leather chairs sitting across from Harvey’s enormous and meticulously organized desk. Of all the offices in Greene Brooke Grady had been in, Harvey’s was by far the most luxurious and well-adorned. Fitting to the man’s personality.

Harvey dug through a filing box while muttering to himself, and Grady inspected his shirt for more leftovers.

A knock on the door stopped Harvey’s digging, and he turned to it. He looked at Grady squarely and pointed a well-manicured, cocoa-butter-infused finger at him. Not a word. The big man strutted to the door. Grady was accustomed to Harvey’s eccentric quirks, but this enigma-wrapped discord was a new beast entirely.

With the door cracked, Harvey’s tall and wide body blocked any view of his office, in turn, giving no chance for Grady to see who stood on the other side. Grady’s interest spiked when he heard a stranger’s voice speak his name, and he strained to hear what was being said.

Harvey’s mild tone broke way for a blunt sternness, which made Grady sit back in his chair, like a child next in line to be chastised. "I fully understand who you are and who you work for. However, I do not, in any shape or form, give a rat’s ass. You aren’t speaking with the general public here, so you can take that self-indulged authority you’re toting, along with that badge, elsewhere because I am neither impressed nor intimidated. As much as you may like to think you do, you do not run anything in this building. I do."

Without giving the chance for a rebuttal, Harvey pushed the door closed and turned the dead bolt. With wide eyes, he let out a breath through puffed cheeks. He leaned closer to Grady and whispered, "For the record, I am intimidated, and I currently don’t run anything. Not anything involving them, anyway."

Grady gaped at Harvey as he walked back to the box to continue foraging through it.

Harvey, can you ease up on all the anonymity? Enlighten me. Please?

Either suspense was Harvey’s word of the day, or he was outright ignoring Grady because he continued digging. Denied his request for inclusion, Grady slid down the slick leather chair in pitiful protest.

Harvey lifted a mold-green file from the box and held it above his head with as much flair as a man brandishing the Holy Grail. Hah! he declared triumphantly. Grinning, he placed the file on his desk.

"Now I am ready to enlighten you, so quit pouting. Do you happen to remember a case that drew some attention a few years ago from this kid who the media dubbed ‘The Demon Whisperer’?"

Grady sat up in the chair and stared at the floor, trying to recollect such a case. He shook his head as he looked up. All that makes me think of is some trashy video game.

There was a kid a few years back who was admitted here for a series of extra-heinous crimes.

Laying it on thick with the Law and Order gimmick, there.

Harvey smirked but leveled his eyes over his reading glasses. This kid scared the shit out of me. He was on a whole new level of demented and deranged, especially considering he was only a teenager at the time. Barely sixteen.

Grady acknowledged the severity with a nod and delicately asked, So, totally bat-shit, huh?

I guano you not.

Grady snorted.

Harvey continued. What I need you to know is the main reason why the kid ended up here. He constantly babbled about talking with demons and that he had an angel locked in his basement.

That definitely fits the requirements for having tenure here.

With pension. Anyway, no one ever found where this kid came from…no origins, no house, nothing. Wherever he came from, it was from money, though. His outfit alone was worth as much as a year’s salary for me at the time, not to mention the thousands of dollars he carried on him. The house he described having lived in was never located, but according to his many boastings—which were nearly as ostentatious as the clothes he wore—the place had to have been a damn fortified castle. And for reasons I can honestly sympathize with, no one ever came forward to claim their precious, lunatic baby boy.

So, what happened to Captain Crazy?

Dead.

Killed himself?

That’s what you will find in the report.

Grady raised an eyebrow. Are you implying that’s not the truth?

Harvey laced his fingers together, placed them on his desk, and leaned forward. You tell me how someone rips their intestines out, lays their throat open to the spine, and threads their intestines through their mouth and back out their neck.

Grady’s face twisted. Ew. That’s a rather dramatic exit. What did the cameras show?

We didn’t have the level of surveillance we do now, but it was a reliable system, and they showed nothing. The cameras in the hall showed no one entering or exiting.

What about the one in his room?

Harvey glowered. Nothing that could ever be explained and just enough for it to be swept under a rug, which was later set on fire and forcibly forgotten. With haste. The tone in his voice was drenched with sincere loathing.

Grady could understand Harvey’s disdain. The need for certain people with certain powers to not have their false appearances tarnished often outweighed the need for morals and justice.

A knock on the door shattered the solemnity in the room.

Harvey shook his head and waved his hand, dismissing the interruption. "Well, it appears Demon Whisperer’s family has been located and are now in custody. I honestly don’t know much about that situation, but what I do know is, apparently D.W. didn’t fall far from the bat-shit tree. Dad is a super fruit cake."

Is that a clinical term?

Harvey blurted out a laugh. Yes, and when the storm troopers stormed, they apparently encountered some unmentionables. Literally, they won’t mention them to me.

"I have the feeling that didn’t keep you from finding someone who would mention them to you."

An audacious smile lightened Harvey’s face. One of the unmentionables, you should know—they found a girl…in a dungeon.

Grady raised his brow. Was she angelic?

I’m not privy to that detail.

So, who’s the dad?

Harvey shrugged. "I’m not certain. From what I’ve gathered, he’s one of those black-market, dirty-deeds, highway-to-hell kind of fellows. The guy had a dungeon, Grady. Not a basement, but a dungeon. That’s some ‘It puts the lotion on its skin’ meets Nosferatu business."

Another, heavier, knock sounded.

Harvey cut his eyes to the door, narrowing them to embittered slits.

He turned back to Grady. "The girl in the dungeon? She’s here. Which is why you are here," he said, pointing finger guns at him.

Grady’s face screwed up with cynicism. Why me?

Harvey chuffed, as though Grady had no authority to question such a declaration. Why the hell not? You graduated Karma Otter Butter from about three different universities after all. Harvey rubbed his eye with the heel of his palm, his tone abandoning its humor. All joking aside, you were specifically requested.

Doubtful suspicion cut across Grady’s face. What? No way. I haven’t done anything to gain that kind of credit.

Harvey waved his hands. "Man, I’m serious. I don’t know why they asked for you. Don’t get me wrong, you’re good at what you do, but this is out of your league. I’m happy you’re getting the opportunity, but I honestly can’t see why you’re getting it."

Gee, thanks.

"Look, I’m not telling you this because I’m your boss or because I think someone else deserves the opportunity. I’m telling you this as your friend because I don’t want to see you fail, and I can’t help but feel as though you’re being set up for exactly that. This is nothing like you have ever dealt with. I have considerably more qualified employees here that would better suit the job, but they want you, regardless of what I say.

It’s out of my hands at this point, to be honest. As of right now, you don’t work for me anymore, and I can’t be consulted with anything involving this case. Harvey stood and walked to the door. By the way, all kinds of higher-up federal-type people are involved, so no pressure. He opened the door, revealing two surly men as the prize.

Harvey cued for Grady to remove himself from his office with a scooping motion of his arm. Let the fuckery begin, my friend.

Understanding he had little to no choice, Grady pushed himself from the comfort of the chair and walked up to the men, impulsively extending his hand for a shake. With all the insolence in the world, both men turned from his gesture, and one coldly ordered him to follow as they walked away.

Grady let his hand hang limp and lonesome at their ostracism, and turned his head to glare at Harvey. A little lube next time you call me in for an early morning fucking like this.

Harvey placed a hand against his chest, feigning indignation. What do you think I’ve been doing this whole time? Oh! Hold on! Harvey pulled Grady back into his office by his shirt and slammed the door shut, bolting it again. He dashed back to his desk and grabbed the folder. Look at this, he said, pulling out a single photograph and holding it up to Grady’s face.

Blinking, Grady leaned back so his eyes could focus on the picture—old and worn, with folds and creases that had been pressed between the insides of a wallet.

Between the frayed white lines, a young woman sat on a bench in a stone-walled room. The print was in poor condition, but it was clear she had dark, long hair and not so much a sadness, but an emptiness about her. The darkness of the room swallowed her. She had not looked at the camera, but instead gave her absent attention elsewhere, showing only the side of her face to the photographer.

An arm crossed over her chest, dipping her fingers into the ends of her hair. Scars showed between the shadows of her biceps, bruises and cuts lining her forearm.

The angel? he asked.

You tell me, Harvey said and snatched the picture away, sliding it back into the folder’s dark isolation.

A pang of sympathy needled through Grady, as though the picture was, in essence, an extension of the woman.

Harvey walked back to the door, unbolted it, and pushed Grady into the hallway. He gave a snippet of a wave and shut the door. The bolt turned with a solid clunk, and Grady sensed Harvey’s smile behind it.

Left in the hall with the two glowering agents, he jovially asked, So, what are you waiting on? Without so much as a downturned smirk, they turned in robotic unison and marched down the hall. Grady followed.

Grady grew more contemptuous the longer he stared at the backs of their heads. The fact they could not be bothered by a cursory introduction was one thing, but that they led him through his workplace, the building he spent more time in than his own home, was considerably unnerving. They marched through the hallways in step with each other, the heels of their overly shined shoes clicking on the tile in pretentious unison.

Arrogant pricks, he thought. Couldn’t even shake my hand. What kind of man doesn’t shake another man’s hand?

Just as his pride began to overcome his quiet, Grady realized they were approaching the doors to the only elevator which traveled the full height of the building. His lips pursed closed, and his ego regressed.

Greene Brooke’s nine floors were divided into three sections. The first three floors were dedicated to medical and scientific development, equipped with a hospital and laboratory. Grady played a minute role in this section by simply filling out reports of behavioral impacts on the medications administered to patients.

The center three floors were where he spent his time,