by Michael Todd
Max shook his head. “I knew it. It all starts in some creepy hotel.”
He tilted his head. “That is an understatement. We were attacked by demons, and only Chris and I lived. However, both of us were Damned. Korbin showed up at the scene and took us into the fold, and I became a merc. It was a no-brainer for me. I told the church I’d play a pastoral position and exorcise as many as I could. They let me stay, and it ended up becoming a thing in the mercs. All the teams tried to get a member of a church to join them.”
The trainee was impressed. “And the rest was history. That’s crazy.”
Maps' eyes glistened. “You have a hell of a story, Pops. And after that, you went right on killing demons and not taking a damn name. That’s insane.”
Damian chuckled. “It wasn’t quite as fantastical as that, but yes, I’ve had my fair share of fights. I’ve stepped onto the edge of a helicopter and looked down into a pit of demons. I’ve seen a portal open and a beast the size of your house step out. I’ve been on the brink of death and was brought back to do this job. It’s one of those things I simply knew I had to be a part of, kind of like this gig.”
She shook a fry in the air. “You know what I wonder? Katie seems so funny and happy—well, except when she’s ripping heads off, of course. Then there’s you, and you’re so mysterious and serious. How did all that difference fit into the team you guys had when you laid shit down on Incursion Day?”
“We merely did what was necessary. I’m not always so serious, only around people whom I don’t know. I restrict my life to the people who are my family. The rest can keep their distance, because I don’t trust them. Maybe that’s a leftover trauma from being an orphan kid, or maybe it’s from seeing so much bad in this world. I’m simply very private.” Damian took another sip of bourbon.
Max took a fry out of Maps’ hand and smiled. “He’s actually not that serious all the time. Did you know that he watches soap operas?”
Her mouth fell open, and she slapped her hands on the table. “Get the fuck out of here. That’s bullshit.”
He crossed his finger over his heart. “Swear it. Go on, tell her, Damian.”
The priest narrowed his eyes at him. “You do know that I know where you sleep, right? You know that I can sneak in and out of your room without you so much as yawning or turning over?”
Max looked at him from the corner of his eye. “Are you saying you creep into my room at night and watch me sleep?”
Maps leaned her chin on her hands. “Ooh, this is getting interesting. I knew priests were weirdos. I just got the feeling.”
Damian knocked the fry out of her hand and shook his head. “We are not creepy. We just don’t get to have all the fun you sinners do, so we take what we can get.”
Max shook his head and waved his hand. “Wait…hold on. That sounds as bad as priests being weirdos. We don’t take our fun wherever we can get it. What he means is soaps are entertaining and fill the time. It’s something we enjoy, and you should reserve your judgment for Jesus.”
He grinned at Maps, and she gave him the death stare. She looked back at the priest. “Did you like going out on incursions?”
Damian furrowed his brow. “Like it? No. You knew innocent people would die, and you knew there was a chance that you or one of your friends weren’t coming home. So, no, we didn’t like going on them, but we found it necessary. They have been getting steadily bigger and bigger, even before Incursion Day, and we knew that we had to help people because they wouldn’t be able to fend the demons off on their own.”
She gave a half smile. “Thanks for doing that. You both have these wild, exciting lives, and I’m over here slinging maps and old books. Don’t get me wrong. I love making maps, and I love finding this crazy information for people. It’s like discovering the hidden secrets of the world, but I’m no mercenary. I don’t know how I’ve managed to stay un-Damned for so long, but knock on wood, no beady red eyes for me.”
Max looked at her. “How about you? What was your childhood like? I feel like you have wild stories about your youth.”
Maps laughed, her cheeks flushing. “You aren’t going to believe me if I tell you. It’s probably pretty much the opposite of everything that you’re thinking.”
This made him even more intrigued. “I’ll believe you. Try me. I think Damian knows better than any of us that there is nothing that can shock us anymore.”
She looked at the other man. “All right. Well, I was born into a really rich white suburban family. I grew up in a house that was considered a mansion. It had sixteen rooms, a pool, and a garden. I played tennis when I was younger, and I rode horses. I was part of a club at the country club where my father was a member. My hair was pulled back in pigtails, and until I was eleven, my mom dressed me in pink and lace. I was supposed to go to law school. It was in my cards, apparently.”
Max looked at her with disbelief. She shrugged. “See? I told you it would sound crazy. It’s true, though. I was a little rich girl.”
He kept his tone caring. “What happened?”
Maps folded her hands together. “My dad died, and my mom turned into one of those middle-aged alcoholics screwing the pool boy. I never felt like myself there, so I left when I was seventeen. I never looked back, and from the look of it, my mom never tried to find me. Funny thing is, whenever I tell that story, people ask me if I miss the money. Truth be told, I am happier now in my old-ass warehouse apartment in the ghetto. I wake up excited every day because I can be whoever I want to be. Not everyone in the world can say that. Most people live their lives based on how much money they have in their pockets. I know firsthand that money does not make you happy. It simply makes it harder for people to see your inner demons—and not the snarling kind.”
Damian raised his bourbon. “Thank you for sharing that, Misty. I didn’t know any of that.”
She waved her hand, embarrassed. “How about you, Maximus? You got stories?”
Max wasn’t even sure what to say. “I grew up an only child. My parents were hardworking people, loving, caring, and pushed me to be better than they were. Sometimes, I felt suffocated, but all in all, I had a really good upbringing. They’re still alive and not Damned. We were in Incursion Day, and that’s when I became infected. It’s all been history since then.”
Maps tilted her head. “Is it hard? You know, not seeing them very much?”
“Of course, but I call them when I can. I don’t want to put them in danger, so I keep my distance, but they are happy that I’m still alive and wasn’t sacrificed as a demon after ID.” Max fiddled his thumbs together.
Damian loved hearing about that kind of stuff. “You guys are awesome. We are some interesting misfits. That’s for sure. And now, after all that time, we are family, the three of us, and anyone who might join us in the future. I can’t remember a time in my life where I had people whom I considered family be average and normal. That wouldn’t be exciting at all. I like the exceptional, and I like the weird.”
Maps raised her tequila and tapped Max’s coffee mug. “Hell, yeah. To the misfits. We make the world go round.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Fallen angels aren’t the typical demon. They not only feel the pain and suffering that hell brings to them, but they live in their own personal struggle for the truth. On the outside, they may seem content with brimstone and fire, but on the inside, it is a different story. There is a mark on their souls from God, one that brings a pain that is so deeply rooted that it pounds at their very being day in and day out. They are the ones who wreak the most havoc, not always because they like to see the pain but because they are lashing out, trying to release their own.
Damian looked up from the book as the fire in the hearth crackled loudly. He took his feet off the ottoman and removed his glasses, rubbing the bridge of his nose. The day had been full of confessions, sharing secrets that he held deep inside with his new family. Maybe that was where his obsession to understand and figure out the fallen angels came from.
Maybe he had his own inner struggle.
Ravi, are you there? he asked his demon.
Mhmm, right here as always. What’s up?
He chewed on his questions for a moment. If the fallen angel is in so much anguish from this fall from grace, why don’t they repent?
She chuckled. They aren’t humans. That is the biggest gas of it all. Humans revere angels like they’re these beings who are grander than them. The thing is, humans are God’s true love. He created the angels to watch over you humans. They aren’t allowed the same repentance as humans because they’re held to different rules.
Damian grabbed the bowl of Captain Crunch and took a mouthful. What are these rules?
Mmm, this cereal is the bomb, dude. Seriously, they didn’t have this last time I was on Earth. It’s like sugary goodness wrapped in a crunchy layer of deliciousness. Last time I was on Earth, there was oatmeal—which, by the way, is not a cereal. I think Cheerios had just come out, and then some wheat crap. Oh, and Grape Nuts, which literally tastes like dog food. I know this because I got stuck in a dog for thirteen years once. It was awful. You wash down the taste of your own ass with food that tastes like…ass.
He closed his book and leaned back, taking another mouthful of cereal. It was obvious that he had already lost Ravi to the bottomless pit of the cereal bowl. He was learning to let it go, to let her bow out of a conversation when she obviously didn’t want to participate. It was a bit frustrating, though. He wanted more, info that the journals and the books wouldn’t give him.
Ravi changed the subject again, floating further and further from the topic at hand. I need you to know that I overheard a conversation in the bar today. There were these two guys two tables over ranting about bourbon, and I changed my list of the kinds that I want to try. I’m thinking Bakers and Traverse. The thing is, I know the process, but I don’t really understand it all that well.
Damian smiled and sat up. First, you need to know there are three different types of whiskey. There is bourbon, which is seventy percent corn and has a sweet, musky taste. There is Wheat, in which they use wheat instead of rye, but it is prepared the same way as Traditional. Then there is Rye, which is less corn, barely any barley, and has a serious bite. They are distilled and usually aged for a better flavor in big wooden barrels.
She wrinkled her nose. Well, that makes things more interesting. At the bar, the guys were talking about Black Maple Hill—small batch, of course. Then there was Hill Rock, and the one I really want to try, Angel’s Envy. There is apparently an old whiskey tale that angels steal whiskey as it evaporates, which would totally make sense because most of them are whack. They are like top-end whiskeys.
He laughed. That’s definitely something that I can look into. Angel’s Envy is a pretty old-school whiskey, but I don’t think I’ve ever tried it before.
Ravi got excited. This will be so much fun. Of course, I will ramp up your metabolism so that we can try a bunch, and you won’t get hammered. No one likes a drunk as hell priest. That’s for damn sure. Maybe we can bring Max and Maps in on this one. I like that Maps girl. Don’t understand her fashion taste in the least, but she is sassy, and I like sassy.
Before he could reply, a loud crash echoed from the courtyard. It sounded like glass breaking. The demon stopped talking about the whiskey and sniffed. What the hee-haw city is going on out there?
I don’t know, he said suspiciously, setting down his glass.
He wandered to the door and opened it to look around the courtyard. Across the way, Rose stood cursing under her breath as she cleaned up a pile of apple pie. Damian raised both his eyebrows, feeling the fury in her racing all around. She stopped sweeping and looked up slowly, the red in her eyes flashing. Noticing him, she stared at him for a moment then shook her head.
A big smile moved across her lips, and a chirp of a laugh came out. “I made you and Max this delicious apple pie from scratch. But on my way out the door, I tripped and down it went. Took out my good glass pie dish with it. Such a waste of so many delicious apples and I know that Max had mentioned how much he loved pie.”
Damian looked at her with concern. “Are you all right? Did you hurt yourself when you tripped?”
She waved off his concern. “Oh, I’m fine. This old body seems to be resilient. I want to make sure I get all the glass up. Those babies upstairs like to run around barefoot, and we wouldn’t want to see one of them get hurt. As far as the pie, don’t you two worry in the least. I still have a bunch of apples, and I will whip you up another one, hot and ready to eat.”
He chuckled. “Thank you, Rose. That is very considerate. Let me know if I can do anything to help. I’m sure there are pie plates in the house somewhere. I can have a look and bring you one over to replace it.”
The red flashed in and out of her eyes as she gritted her teeth. “Oh, no, that was my clumsiness. Don’t you worry about that. I have about a dozen more inside and waste not want not, you know?”
Damian walked across the courtyard and took a seat at the table, feeling the cool breeze move across his face. Even under the heavy cinnamon and sugar, he could smell the laundry soap she had put into the pie wafting over him. Ravi made a gagging sound. This bitch is trying to Tide your colon.
He held back a laugh and watched Rose closely as she continued cursing under her breath, sweeping up the mess she made. She scooped it all up and grabbed the hose hung perfectly on the side of the building. Her expression fixed and determined, she hosed the area off and replaced the hose, trying not to make any more eye contact with Damian as she walked back into her house.
Once she was safely inside, he couldn’t help but laugh. The woman had been so intent on feeding them a poisoned apple pie that she tripped over her own feet. She had to be the least graceful infected he had ever seen. Ravi laughed as well, finding the whole situation peculiar.
Damian leaned his head back and let the giggles move through him. You know what is even odder than the fact that she dropped her poison pie? The fact that there is a demon living across the street in an old woman’s body and somehow has managed to turn her into an undercover hitman, only instead of bullets, she uses apples pies and biscotti.
I’m pretty sure she is drying tea up there too. If you get a basket of fresh teas, don’t drink them.
He rolled his eyes, shaking his head. I’m almost tempted not to exorcise her because it’s so comical to watch her struggle through it. The poor woman is a killer grannie with some really comfortable sneakers.
She would probably stab you with her knitting needles if you came too close to her inside her house. I can see the handmade doilies through the window. She is wicked talented with those things.
Damian winced. Oh, man, can you imagine being stabbed by knitting needles? I mean, that would fucking hurt.
Ravi sniffed again. Uh oh, she’s already on the move in there. Maybe if I talk nicely to her demon, I could get him to stop trying to take everyone out. Maybe he simply needs like a friend or something.
That’s nice of you, Ravi, offering your friendship.
She started laughing hysterically. Oh, you misunderstood me there, Pops. I said I’d find out if he needed a friend. Then I would go find him one. I’m not going anywhere near that crazy sonofabitch and his poison puppet. I’d like to keep your eyeballs firmly in your skull.
Damian couldn’t agree more. Yeah, eyeballs are pretty important in my line of work. I’m not the guy willing to be blindfolded to fight a demon. That’s just stupid. For now, though, I am going to sit here and relax before my evening turns. They always do, even when you are expecting it.
Ravi scoffed. Ain’t that the truth.
He released a deep breath and leaned his head back, closing his eyes. The amazing cold breeze washed right over him, and it was incredibly refreshing. It had been months since he’d felt that calm and relaxed. London had turned out to be a place that he grew to love very fast.
The city was beautiful and historical, the little shops and the local people
were interesting and unique, and there wasn’t as much hustle and bustle as there was in the States. Even though he had the same amount of downtime, it seemed like he spent it so much better. The one thing that he couldn’t stand, the one pitfall of London, was the fact that it always rained. It seemed like every time the sun was given a modicum of time to shine that the storm clouds rolled right in behind it.
That night was beautiful, though, the perfect temperature to sit outside and take it all in. Just then, his phone buzzed in his pocket. As he pulled it out, he sighed on seeing he had one new text message. He opened the screen and scrolled down to see the Secretary listed on the new message.
“This ought to be good,” he mumbled as he opened it.
The text read, You might want to go inside because it’s about to rain.
Damian looked around quickly, making sure there was no one or nothing buzzing past and spying on him. The only thing he could see was Rose in her kitchen, still grumbling to herself. He tilted his head toward the sky as thunder clapped above him and raindrops began pouring down. With a scowl, he lowered his head, letting the water run over his face.
He narrowed his eyes and shook his head. “How in the hell does she do that?”
Author Notes - Michael Anderle
October 15, 2018
THANK YOU for not only reading this book but my (ever so humble) Author Notes as well ;-)
This book is credited to my partner (not quite in crime, but maybe in mischief?) who worked to move Damian into another stage of his travels and bring to life to his stories.
To Loraine, who created a killer cover, thank you!
To the many JIT readers and beta readers, thank you for your time and suggestions as we move forward with other stories in this ‘world’ of the Damned.
For those who are part of the Facebook group, I want to apologize for all of the unnecessary food pictures of delicious donuts and barbeque from around the world. Food is life, and we share it every time we want. (Editor’s note: he doesn’t mean the apology. I’ve seen the man eat!)
