The Daemonicon Chapters: Books 1 - 3

by Ryland Thorn

  Jack is uncertain if she is truly irritated by his lack of frivolity or if she’s just teasing him. For a moment, he says nothing. Then he accepts that she is at least back on the job. “Give Nathanial a call. Find out if anyone – ” he begins, but before he finishes thought, it all becomes moot.

  The laughter has returned.

  It is the sound of a madman hidden beyond the reach of Lennox’s fading Hellfire orb. It is like the signature track of a comic book villain, and it echoes around in the darkness so that it is difficult for Jack to know exactly where it is coming from.

  The stench of tar mingles with the lingering odor of sulfur and rot.

  “Had to ask, didn’t I?” Lennox mutters to herself in ironic irritation. At the same time, she raises both of her blades as if preparing for another wave of attacks.

  Jack is more forthright. He swaps his blades for his gun. “Show yourself!” he demands of the darkness.

  The tar man continues to laugh. The sound is filled with malice and derision but little true joy or humor. “Now why would I want to do that?” the tar man responds, his voice as oily and vile as his face. It is a voice of ridicule and towering disrespect.

  Jack has lost all patience. “So I can blow your loathsome head off!” he says.

  The tar man lets out a snort of mirth. He seems genuinely amused by Jack’s response. But he doesn’t come into the light.

  “Lex, can you make your orb brighter?” Jack says out of the corner of his mouth.

  Lennox doesn’t reply directly. Instead, she mutters a word that feels to Jack like he’s swallowed half a gallon of curdled milk, and the orb immediately glows more brightly. But not enough to do more than throw shadows about. Jack still has no clear shot.

  “I must say, I am both surprised and impressed,” the tar man says in the darkness. “I did not believe you would be able to master my children so readily. I wonder, how much of that holy water do you have left?”

  The way he pronounces his words sounds somehow slimy, as if there is oil dripping from his tongue as he speaks. It is repulsive, the sound of mucus mixed with venom, as if the words themselves are toxic.

  “And how do you think you will go if I release my children in a more crowded location?” the tar man adds.

  Jack has witnessed much in his many years walking the earth. He is hardened to horrors that would strike others dumb or make them go catatonic with terror, and he accepts death as an everyday occurrence. But the thought of what the demon spawn might do in a crowd where people can’t get away is enough for a hard ball of fear to form in the pit of his stomach.

  Nor is he alone in his reaction. Beside him, Lennox utters a strangled gasp as she imagines the potential carnage. A quick glance shows him that her face has gone pale. She is dismayed at the thought.

  “Why?” Jack demands. “Why would you do this?”

  Again, the tar man’s laughter starts to echo throughout the alleyway. “Why would a fish swim in the sea? Why would a monkey swing through the trees? Because it is who I am! Because, after all these years spent hiding from the likes of you, I am finally free to do what I wish!” the tar man says in between his laughter, his vile, slimy voice taking on a hard edge of contempt. “Because we – because I can, and there is nothing you can do to stop me!”

  As the tar man’s laughter once more starts to echo throughout the alleyway, Jack sets his jaw and strides toward where he thinks the tar man might be.

  “But the question you need to ask yourself isn’t why I would do this. It’s what you can do to stop me,” the tar man continues. “Because this is only the beginning. You see, I’m enjoying this little game. I don’t want it to end too soon. I want to see what you and your lovely girlfriend will do.”

  Jack has heard more than enough. The tar man’s words are an irritation he doesn’t need.

  He senses movement in the dark, like the billowing of an overcoat, and raises his gun. But the light is inadequate. Jack can’t see clearly enough. The movement could as easily be that of a homeless man in the shadows, so he does not fire.

  Lennox utters another word that is repulsive to Jack’s ears. The orb of Hellfire starts to move down the alley, casting its reddish light all about. Jack feels a moment of grim satisfaction. To the tune of more laughter echoing from the walls, he takes a strong, two-footed stance and steadies his aim. All he needs is a stylish fedora and he would be the spitting image of a 50s detective getting set to take down an enemy. Apart from the grime on his clothes and his purple sneakers.

  Jack’s finger is on the trigger. He is more than ready to fill the tar man’s body with bullets made from silver and garlic salts. Perhaps the garlic is better suited to revenants and vampires, but the silver and salt tend to be effective against most with demonic blood in their veins. And these bullets have runes of power carved into them as well.

  Jack thinks it is just a matter of time before the Hellfire orb shines its light on the tar man. He thinks he will get his shot soon enough, perhaps when the tar man starts talking again. Jack will put an end to the malice in the tar man’s heart and the ridicule in his voice.

  But the tar man doesn’t start talking again. And he is either further away than Jack thought or he can move very quickly. The sound of a motorbike starting up mingles with the tar man’s laughter. Jack’s aim wavers. For a moment, he is uncertain. Then he curses to give vent to his frustration and turns back to Lennox so fast that his trenchcoat billows out behind him.

  “We can’t let him get away!” Jack shouts.

  Lennox is already moving. She understands the situation as clearly as he does, and reaches her Ducati a heartbeat before Jack. She sheathes her knives and slips her helmet over her head, raising the visor so she can see clearly.

  Jack has already holstered his gun. Together, they stand the bike up. It isn’t easy. The road is still covered in slime from the demon spawn. There is no point in trying to start the Ducati on so slippery a surface, so they turn it back the way they came and push it until they reach more certain ground. All the while, they can hear the tar man’s bike revving in the darkness. The tar man is still laughing like a madman, and it becomes clear to Jack that he is taunting them. He could have already accelerated into the night, beyond their ability to follow.

  It is frustrating and galling both at once, but it gives Jack hope that they can catch him. Lennox has to take a moment to check the bike over. She grimaces in disappointment at the new scratches on the red, steel framework. But other than that, the Ducati seems to be in good shape.

  “Can’t ask for much more than that, I guess,” Lennox says, and quickly climbs on. She seems to accept the minor damage as just part of life. As if it is nothing much to worry about. Which, given that the tar man is still laughing, is a fair assessment. “Now, let’s see if you still start.”

  Seconds later, the Ducati roars back into life. Lennox turns to Jack and offers a grin. “Are you just going to stand there all night?” she asks him.

  Jack doesn’t need a second invitation. He climbs on and Lennox guns it, leaving the Hellfire orb to fade out behind them.

  As they start to speed into the darkness, Jack can’t help but think of the tar man’s words. He ponders that the tar man had said he was finally free to do what he wished. That this is only the beginning.

  Jack thinks about what the tar man could be planning. But most of all, Jack wonders about the slip the tar man made when he said ‘we’ when he meant to say ‘I’.

  Chapter Nine: Mario’s Pizzeria and Bar

  The tar man leads Lennox and Jack on a tense, desperate chase through Hope Town. Jack grips Lennox’s waist tightly with one hand and leans into the corners as best he can, trusting Lennox to stay in control despite reaching insane speeds through the dark and narrow streets.

  Normally, Lennox would be hollering in mad glee, excited by the sheer speed and danger it represents. But the tar man is ahead of them, weaving and dodging between the few cars on the roads with surprising expertise. Instead of
joyful exuberance, Jack can sense Lennox’s determination mixed with a certain annoyance that she can’t easily catch up.

  Yet they are not falling back, either. The tar man is no more than half a block ahead of them. Too far for Jack to hear if he is still laughing. Close enough for Jack to see the man’s overcoat stream out behind him like the cape of a comic book villain, like Jack’s own trenchcoat does in the wind.

  Jack is glaring at the tar man’s back with an intensity that threatens to drill holes in the man’s spine. Jack is pressed against Lennox closely enough that he can smell the jasmine of her perfume over the lingering stench of demon spawn residue. He is conscious of her form against him, conscious of every small move she makes to maintain control of the Ducati. He uses this consciousness to move with her, to make it easier for her to ride as fast as she can.

  At the same time, he has drawn his gun and is aiming past Lennox’s shoulder at the tar man’s back.

  He has yet to pull the trigger. There is still too much distance between them to be sure of hitting his target. The tar man weaves and dodges as he rides, as if aware of Jack’s hostile intent. And there is always a risk of a stray bullet striking somewhere Jack doesn’t want it to go.

  As the seconds tick by, Jack catches fragments of Lennox cursing into the wind. She sounds angry and is pushing the Ducati to even greater speed. Jack strongly relates to her mood. He knows that at any moment, the tar man can conjure more demon spawn and cast them into the night. Jack is desperate to stop him from doing so, and wills the Ducati onwards.

  The distance between the two bikes is decreasing. It is still dark, but the Ducati’s headlight is bright enough to show their quarry clearly against the road. The tar man is no more than fifty yards ahead of them, and Jack can taste the anticipation along with the lingering smoke and pollution that is common in the city.

  “A little closer,” he mutters under his breath. “Just a little more.”

  The road is not perfectly flat, and Jack’s aim isn’t steady. The bike judders and vibrates over every imperfection. Nor is the tar man making it easy with his random swerves left and right. But Jack knows his gun well. All he needs is a smooth half-second with the tar man holding his line. That, and a little less distance between them.

  Lennox is an experienced rider. She knows how to get the best from her bike even on roads that aren’t the greatest, and the tar man seems to be slowing down. Within just a few moments, they have closed the gap to no more than twenty yards.

  Jack feels a surge of vengeful satisfaction as he gets his smooth half-second. It is all he needs.

  Bang!

  Jack pulls the trigger just as the tar man makes an abrupt left turn. Lennox and Jack both curse at once, and Lennox has to brake very hard to make the same turn. She does so, and they find themselves in a better-lit part of New Sanctum, with less garbage piled up on the streets.

  They are out of Hope Town. The streets are wider, but this is a long way from good news. There are more people here, both in vehicles and just walking along the pavement. Lennox and Jack have come to a restaurant district. It is a picturesque area that surrounds a loop of the Styx, New Sanctum’s largest river, and not even its proximity to Hope Town can keep people away.

  It is just the type of place Jack feared the tar man would lead them toward. There are too many people about in search of entertainment and a meal. It is a bad place for the tar man to release his spawn.

  Jack curses again as Lennox pulls the Ducati over to the side of the road.

  “Where is he?” she demands over her shoulder.

  For an instant, Jack doesn’t answer. Despite the comparative brightness of this area, he too has lost sight of their target. “Look for where the most people are,” he says, and scans left and right.

  It doesn’t take long to find him again. Jack spots the tar man at the same time as Lennox points and shouts, “There!”

  The tar man is standing next to his bike, which he has parked in a crowded motorcycle parking space. He is staring straight at them from a few dozen yards away, and although he is no longer laughing, there is a wide grin on his oily, mucous-covered face.

  He is in front of a restaurant with outdoor seating that nearly blocks the whole pavement. “Mario’s Pizzeria and Bar,” the sign cheerfully advertises in a mixture of reds and black on a white background. There are perhaps a dozen people seated at the outdoor tables under a scattering of gas heaters that resemble old-fashioned street lamps. Waiters and waitresses in crimson and black are taking and delivering orders.

  Jack doesn’t bother too much with restaurant food beyond the occasional messy burger and fries. He sometimes doesn’t bother with food at all, and can go for days without it affecting him one way or the other. But to him, Mario’s looks like a nice place. He only hopes it will remain that way.

  The tar man is still taunting them. He gives them a grin that is no different from a sneer and raises both middle fingers in their direction. Then he turns his back to them and walks into the restaurant as if he has a right to do so. Lennox and Jack are too far away from him to smell it themselves, but they are familiar with his stench. The customers at the restaurant and the serving staff all recoil. It is like a pebble thrown into a pond, creating ripples of revulsion as the waves of foulness expand.

  In moments, the tar man is gone from view.

  “Move!” Jack grates. Lennox opens the throttle at the same moment. The Ducati lurches into motion and they reach the motorcycle parking bay within seconds.

  Jack is off before Lennox stops the bike properly. He puts too much weight on his wounded leg and winces in pain as it starts to buckle. He has to lean on the bike seat, gun still in hand, to steady himself.

  “You all right, old man?” Lennox asks. She has taken off her helmet and looks worried.

  Jack knows that it isn’t his wound that is the key source of her worry. Like him, Lennox fears what might happen in the restaurant. Even now the first shouts of shock and confusion are starting to ring out. Soon the shouts will turn into panic and horror. Beyond that, there will be screams and anguish beyond measure.

  Unless Jack and Lennox can stop the tar man.

  “I’m fine,” Jack says. “Let’s go!”

  Together, they step up onto the curb.

  Chapter Ten: Panic

  There is a big man next to a stand displaying the restaurant menu. Jack notices in passing that as well as pizza, the restaurant offers a wide range of Italian and more international food, from pastas and risottos through to salads and steaks. The big man is wearing the black and crimson uniform of the serving staff. He has a round face and has shaved his head, leaving only a wispy moustache to decorate his top lip.

  He looks anxious. There is sweat shining on his scalp, and he is trying to watch Jack and Lennox at the same time as he turns back and forth to try to work out what is happening.

  Behind him, the diners at the outside tables are starting to shift in their seats. The increasing noise from within the restaurant is unsettling to them. No one is eating, but only one or two have started to stand. The other serving staff have paused in their work and are looking nervously at each other.

  As Lennox and Jack approach, the big man holds out a hand as if to stop them.

  “Uh,” the man says. He is trying to focus his attention on Jack and Lennox. He gives Lennox a pass, but looks Jack up and down, taking in his trenchcoat, purple sneakers and generally unkempt appearance. Although lighter than the alley in Hope Town, it is a long way from daylight. The big man completely fails to notice Jack’s gun.

  The lingering stench of demon spawn remnants are not so easy to overlook. The big man’s nostrils flare as if he has smelled something awful, and he starts shaking his head. “Nah, man. You can’t come in. And your friend – he won’t be staying long, either.” Despite his uncertainty, the big man speaks with surprising confidence.

  Jack glowers in anger. He doesn’t have the time or patience to respond delicately. As Lennox smirks at the
assumption that the tar man and Jack are friends, Jack bats the big man’s hand out of the way and starts to shoulder past. But the big man has other ideas. He plants his feet solidly and takes on a belligerent expression. He looks as if he is about to try to stop Jack physically.

  Jack glares at him and raises a single finger. “Don’t,” he says flatly. Then he grimaces in impatience. He raises his gun and the big man flinches backwards in shock. But Jack isn’t trying to threaten or scare him. He doesn’t care about the big man beyond getting him out of his way.

  With that thought in mind, Jack fires the gun into the air twice in quick succession.

  Bang! Bang!

  “Everyone, get out of here! Go now!”

  The big man backs into a table, upsetting the food and drinks so that they spill and some hits the floor. The diners at that table and the others react in various degrees of fear and shock. More food is spilled as people lurch to their feet, and many who have a clear route to safety are already starting to scamper.

  To Jack, all that matters is that when he moves toward the restaurant proper, those few customers in his path are eager to get out of his way.

  The entry to the main dining area of Mario’s Pizzeria and Bar is marked by a glass door that stands wide open. As they approach, the shouts of outrage and confusion from within turn into the screams of real fear and horror that Jack has been expecting. At the same time, there is a stampede of diners trying to get out of the restaurant, and they are blocking the entrance.

  Men and women are rushing to escape, their expressions a testament to the horrors they have seen. Couples are holding onto each other for reassurance at the same time as they push and shove their way through the crowd. There are shouts and curses and the occasional wail, and while as a group they are short of panic, there is plenty of fear in their eyes.

  The door is like a spillway on a dam opened as wide as it goes. Jack understands that every second is precious, and his blood starts to boil in frustration. But he and Lennox have no choice other than to stand aside and wait for the flood to ease.