The Daemonicon Chapters: Books 1 - 3

by Ryland Thorn

  If he had consciously sought for the best response possible to infuriate Jack even more, he couldn’t have come up with better than that. Jack’s blood starts to boil. He wants to grind the tar man’s face into a body pulp, and the only thing that prevents him from doing so is that he still needs answers to his questions.

  “What did you mean by ‘we’?” Jack bellows. He bashes the tar man into the pavement so hard that he fears he has gone too far. The tar man’s eyes open wide in shock despite the swelling, and he pauses in his laughter. But a moment later, he is laughing again.

  He is not a man at all, but a comic book character, a caricature of a fictional villain. Indomitable. Stronger than all expectations.

  Jack is frustrated beyond belief. He thinks to draw out one of his knives and press the blade against the tar man’s flesh as he did with the demon spawn. It will burn him just as the splash of holy water is still burning Jack’s hand. Perhaps that will loosen the tar man’s vile tongue.

  But before Jack moves, the tar man starts to speak.

  “All this time, and you know nothing,” the tar man says, his voice burbling as if he is speaking through a throat full of mucus or blood. “Less than nothing. You and your people are just a joke,” he says.

  With that, the tar man starts to cackle with legitimate glee.

  Once again Jack snarls with undiluted rage. He smashes the tar man against the concrete again and again and wants to continue to do so forever.

  But something has changed. The odor of sulfur and rot is now stronger than it had been before. And there is a new weight on Jack’s legs.

  Jack curses his own foolishness. He doesn’t need to check to figure out what has happened. While Jack has been smashing the tar man into the pavement, the tar man has been conjuring one of his demon spawn.

  Nor is that the end of it. As Jack realizes the danger he is in, the tar man twists and writhes in his grip. The demon blood in Jack’s veins gives him an edge in strength over that of a normal man. But there is demon blood in the tar man’s veins as well, and it is powerful. With the distraction of the demon spawn on his legs, Jack cannot hold the tar man down. The tar man wrenches himself free and stands up in one fluid motion. Jack tries to regain his grip, but the tar man shoves him away and then aims a kick that catches him squarely in the face.

  Jack finds himself on his back on the pavement with his nose and cheek aching as if he has been struck with a piece of two by four. He snarls in anger, certain that the tar man will now seek to attack, and draws out his blades. At the same time, he feels the slimy burn of a demon spawn on his leg. It has worked its way to the cuff of his trousers and is slithering up his calf. Already, the muscle feels weak, as if his flesh has become withered under his skin.

  But the tar man doesn’t attack. His expression is no longer a mad grin. Instead, it is full of scorn and derision. “That is twice you have defeated my children,” he says, and this time there is not even the slightest hint of a laugh. “Once more, you surprise me. But you are not the only one capable of surprises. I know where you are heading. I know your purpose.” His sneer becomes even more pronounced and he looms over Jack like a living threat.

  “It is my task, my purpose, to stop you achieving yours,” he says, his voice dripping with acid. “Madame Brigette will not be able to give you the information you seek once I am done with her and her Arcane Emporium.”

  Jack is beyond dismayed at the tar man’s words. How could he possibly know?

  He makes a convulsive effort to launch himself at the tar man despite the increasing pain in his leg from the demon spawn. But the tar man steps nimbly aside and laughs with pure malice before turning away.

  Jack has no choice. He has to deal with the demon spawn that is draining the vitality from his leg. He cannot stop the tar man from reaching his motorbike and accelerating into the night.

  Once more he lets out a guttural, primal roar, but this time it is to give voice to his frustrations and hate rather than his rage.

  Chapter Thirteen: Breaking Out

  The concrete pavement is cold and hard. The demon spawn wrapped around Jack’s leg is pulsing rhythmically, and with each pulse Jack experiences a new wave of pain. But what he feels most is a combination of disappointment and remorse that is akin to humiliation.

  He has let the tar man escape. Worse, somehow he has led the tar man to Madame Brigette. How that could be, Jack doesn’t know. He does know that some of those with demon blood in their veins have psychic abilities. Jack himself experiences occasional premonitions. Could the tar man have the ability to read minds as well as being able to conjure demon spawn? And what did he mean by saying it is his task to stop them?

  Tasked by whom?

  Jack can no longer feel his leg. He can not even stand, and he could be in real danger if he lets the demon spawn continue to sap his strength. Snarling like a dog caught in a trap, he reaches down with his knives and slices open his trouser leg to expose the awful black glob attacking him.

  He curses out loud. He wants nothing more than to rip the demon spawn into pieces with his bare hands. But he knows that if he tries that, every piece will reform into a new whole.

  Instead, he lays the flat of his blades on the demon spawn’s flesh in a move that is almost delicate.

  The demon spawn begins to squeal almost at once. Its flesh starts to boil and give off the usual putrescent vapor. Jack keeps his blades where they are until the demon spawn collapses in on itself and dissolves into a horrible sludge on his leg.

  He does his best to wipe away the mess with what remains of his trouser leg, then climbs laboriously to his feet.

  As he does, Lennox emerges from the restaurant.

  Jack’s feels a moment of relief. He thinks that the tar man will not get too far ahead. They will be able to set out after the tar man right away, and with the way Lennox rides, they might even be able to catch up.

  But one look at Lennox is enough to almost stop Jack’s heart in his chest. There is a lust for violence in her eyes that is a long way from human, and the grin she favors him with is borderline demented.

  The demon blood in Jack’s veins is buried deep inside. It gives strength to his rage and hate, but otherwise has been under control for nearly two hundred years. He has never been close to letting it escape. But Lennox is different. She is younger, and her demon blood is both stronger and much closer to the surface. She takes a regular dose of suppressant to keep it in check. But there is still a danger of her non-human part taking over.

  Only moments before, she had been in control of her demonic nature. Now, it is like she is a hair’s breadth from growing a forked tail and letting out a demonic cackle. Jack can almost see the Hellfire burning in her eyes.

  “Lex!” he exclaims, his voice strong and commanding enough to cause her to flinch. He fears that she has lost all control.

  Lennox looks at him as if seeing him for the first time. It is a long, lingering look that takes in everything from his worn, purple sneakers all the way to his untidy, unwashed hair. When she is done, she licks her lips in an expression that is far less wholesome than normal desire, and her grin returns with a vengeance. With her hips thrust forward, she casually drops her knives to the ground. Then she struts toward him.

  Gone is her usual playfulness and teasing banter. In its place is something far more direct. Far more confident and challenging, like a cat toying with its prey.

  It forcefully reminds Jack that some demons have an appetite for more than just violence. Some have a supernatural talent for inspiring desire.

  “Say my name one more time, my handsome fellow,” Lennox says, her voice almost purring. “I like the way it sounds on your lips.”

  Jack’s throat is suddenly dry. He has forgotten how to swallow. The way she looks, the provocative way she moves and sounds, the overt hunger in her expression is beyond captivating to him. He experiences desire for her that is far beyond any he has felt in decades, and every fiber of his being is urging him to
act on that feeling. He feels hot all over in a way that has nothing to do with the effort he’s expended in fighting the tar man. He imagines himself picking her up and crushing her onto one of the tables in an act of unfettered violence and passion, and it is all he can do to stop himself from doing so.

  Lennox sees his reaction and her grin becomes triumphant. She steps in close and wraps her arms confidently around his neck. “You have no idea how long I have waited for this,” she murmurs.

  Even though he understands that this is part of the power of her blood, Jack almost gives in. It is as if every lustful thought he has had since Lennox became his partner has freshly awoken in his mind and compounded tenfold. His pretense at being no more than her mentor, her partner in vanquishing demon kind, has been swept aside as easily as gossamer before a storm.

  Jack has just enough presence of mind to sheathe his blades under his trenchcoat. Then he wraps his hands around Lennox’s waist and looks at her like he has been careful never look at her before, with an expression akin to hunger. It is like lust and need and longing and anger all rolled into one, and Jack knows that his own, long-buried demon blood is rising in response to hers.

  Lennox’s smile is proud and victorious, as if she understands exactly how under her spell she has him and is feeling exultant. Her nails are like claws digging into the back of his neck. She is drawing him even closer, and he is no more than a heartbeat from giving in to his most basic need.

  Instead, Jack closes his eyes. “No,” he says. It is as if the word is torn from his soul, as if he is denying himself his heart’s craving.

  As soon as the word is said, Jack senses Lennox stiffen in shock.

  “What?” she demands, her tone verging on anger.

  “You are not yourself,” Jack says, still not looking at her. He fears that if he does, all will be lost.

  There is a moment of absolute silence. It is as if the world itself is holding its breath in anticipation of Lennox’s response.

  “Not myself?” she says, and there is a hard edge to her tone that is reflected in the tension that has suddenly appeared in her arms. Instead of holding him seductively around the neck, she is now on the verge of trying to throttle him. Jack risks looking at her and can see the fire of fury in her eyes.

  The provocative Lennox has been replaced by a being of anger.

  Nor has she finished speaking. The way Lennox asked her question implies that she is just winding up, and that Jack will not like whatever it is that she is going to say next.

  As much as he admires her fire and strength, Lennox’s spell is broken. Jack’s own desires are all but forgotten. He tightens his grip on her waist to hold her in place and glares at her.

  “When was the last time you took your suppressant?” he demands.

  For just a moment, he fears Lennox is too far gone. She snarls in anger that he should interrupt her and hold her as he is doing. She grips him by the lapels as if she is going to head-butt him in the face, and he picks her up and shakes her like she weighs no more than a doll.

  “Lennox! Get a hold of yourself! Do not let the demon take control!”

  Lennox lets out a gasp of surprise at his actions. Yet she recovers swiftly. She looks at him with naked hatred, lunges for his face with fingers bent into claws, and utters a shriek that reeks of madness.

  Jack shakes her again. “Lennox! Don’t make me hurt you!” he shouts.

  She hisses and spits at him like a cat and struggles to reach him.

  He has no choice. Cursing in exasperation tinged with real fear for Lennox, he dumps her hard on the ground. She yelps like a dog and struggles to get back to her feet, but Jack moves too quickly. Taking no joy at all in his actions, he pushes her onto her back and places a knee on her chest. At the same time, he catches her hands in his own.

  “Get off me!” Lennox yells. “You disgusting, dirty wretch, take your filthy knee off me! When I get my hands on you – ” she begins, but she doesn’t finish the thought. Instead, she snarls and starts to chant in an ancient tongue that feels like fingernails tearing at the inside of his brain.

  “Stop it!” Jack shouts, and slaps her hard across the mouth. It is a stunning blow, and for a moment Lennox is too dazed to continue her spell, too dazed to fight back.

  Jack swears under his breath and clamps one of his hands around both of her wrists. With the other, he reaches into the pouch he wears at his waist and fumbles about for a vial of clear, greenish liquid. As quickly as he can, he pulls the stopper with his teeth and tips the contents into her mouth.

  Lennox regains her focus, and her expression turns into one of utmost disgust. It looks like she is trying to spit the liquid out. Jack clamps his hand over her mouth.

  “Swallow!” he commands. There is no give in his words or expression. He is determined to offer her no choice at all. “It’s your suppressant. Swallow it!”

  Even as he says the words, he has no idea if it will do her any good. He fears that her demon blood has already gained too much control.

  Chapter Fourteen: Apologies

  Jack keeps his hand clamped over Lennox’s mouth for what seems like a long time. His muscles are locked into place to prevent her from struggling against him. To an observer, he would appear as rigid and unyielding as a statue, an unkempt man of strength with his knee on Lennox’s chest. He would appear to be a bully, a violent attacker, and any police that happen to pass would arrest him without hesitation.

  Yet within him, Jack is a turbulent mess of emotion. In the two hundred years he has hunted creatures from Hell, he has become largely inured to the types of fears that others have to endure. Jack holds no concern for what might happen to himself, nor does the destruction of property make him anxious.

  However, he does still fear what might happen to others. Normally, he translates that fear into anger and hate, and uses it to strengthen his resolve in the face of the loathsome beings he battles.

  This time Jack is battling no loathsome being. This time, his foe is part of Lennox herself. He can’t help but fear that his efforts have been insufficient even as he hopes they are not. If Lennox is beyond redemption, if the demon has gained ascendancy, he also fears what he might have to do to her.

  But fear is not Jack’s only response. As well, he is angry with himself that he did not question her sooner. He had the chance. If Jack had said something when he first realized that Lennox’s demon blood was gaining control, then perhaps this could have been avoided. Lennox would have taken her suppressant by her own volition, and all would be well.

  Jack also hates himself for hitting her, despite the need to do so. He hates that he had to wrestle her to the ground and use his strength to physically hold her still. He is her protector and never meant to become her assailant. And, worse than everything else, Jack also hates how close he came to giving into his own desires when it was obvious that Lennox was not herself.

  He knows he will carry the memory of it all for the rest of his life.

  Jack can’t help but snarl in response to these mixed emotions. He feels as if he has become contemptible, as if his own actions have made him as vile and despicable as the monsters he fights. Yet he understands that he could not have done anything else. He understands that Lennox’s very humanity is at stake, and only time will tell if the suppressant will be effective or not.

  So he keeps his weight firmly locked into place, and keeps holding Lennox down, and hopes for the best.

  Eventually, after several minutes have passed, Jack senses she is starting to relax.

  The fire of demonic madness in her eyes fades, and the light of sanity returns.

  With some trepidation but increasing hope, Jack removes his hand from her mouth. “Are you okay?” he asks her.

  Lennox does not shriek at him in mindless fury, or scold him for placing his dirty paw over her face, or start to pronounce the words to a spell. Nor does she say something mocking or flirty with a raised eyebrow and playful grin.

  Instead, she turns he
r head enough so that she can look away and gives a brief nod. It is like she is embarrassed by what has happened. Too ashamed to look at him squarely.

  Jack relaxes a little, but doesn’t yet let her up. “Are you sure? Your demon is under control?” he presses.

  “I’m sure,” Lennox replies, her voice uncharacteristically meek. “Let me up. Please.”

  It is enough. From what he has seen of it, Jack doesn’t believe that Lennox’s demon could feign meekness even if it wanted to. Lennox’s demon is elemental, a wild thing filled with passions and rage. It is like she is a succubus, and Jack would not be surprised if it is that type of demon whose blood resides in her veins.

  Subtlety is not part of a succubus’s nature.

  Jack gives an affirmative grunt and releases Lennox’s wrists. Then he takes his weight off her chest and forces himself to stand despite his ongoing weakness. Yet he is still cautious. He knows that he could be wrong. Lennox could still choose to attack.

  She doesn’t. She slowly sits up and rubs her wrists as if his grip has hurt her. At first, she doesn’t look at him. Then she flicks a quick glance his way. Jack doesn’t know if she is humiliated or if she hates him for what he has done. It could as easily be either.

  “Thank you,” Lennox says quietly. She still isn’t really looking at him. “Although I gotta say, this isn’t really my idea of a fun date.”

  Jack can hear the attempt at humor in her voice. He gives her a grunt in response. Then, satisfied that she is not feigning control and that the demon is not lurking inside her, ready to pounce, it is his turn to bow to his shame. He turns away.

  “Sorry,” he mumbles.

  “For what?” she asks, and there is genuine confusion in her tone.

  Jack still doesn’t look at her. “For everything. For not seeing it earlier. For hitting you. For….” He doesn’t finish his sentence, but he is thinking of how he responded to the overt lust displayed by Lennox’s demon. He is more ashamed than at any other point in his life.

  For a moment, there is silence. Then he hears Lennox get to her feet. Her movements are less certain then they had been with the demon in control. Perhaps the vitality-draining effects of the demon spawn have taken their toll.