Damian's Chronicles Complete series Boxed Set

by Michael Todd

  Damian smirked. It seems like a possibility to me.

  Ravi chuckled and continued. There was no word of Lilith for a long time after that, then we heard whispers that she was wandering, finding her place in and out of humans. Sometimes, she would wander for decades and then fall back into hell and spend time there. About five hundred or so years ago, it emerged that she had been taken as a bride by Lucifer. At first, no one thought much of it, but Lucifer was obsessed and dubbed her the Queen of hell. She was the almighty standing at the side of the almighty, at least down below. She ruled with force; it was almost as if something happened to push all her anger out.

  Damian listened, finding the account curious. It seemed to fit Pandora, but there was way more depth to her story than he had ever imagined. Ravi spoke with certainty, especially about the later years. She ruled with Lucifer for a long time, but rumor has it one day she was gone. She left him and returned to Earth. I heard her brother tricked her, trying to make her human so he could kill her. He was always jealous of her.

  He laughed. He wanted to be Lucifer’s bride?

  Ravi giggled. Can you imagine?

  Well, his plan backfired on him.

  So it did. I was shocked when T’Chezz’s head was severed from his neck. It was a big deal for many demons, and probably angels, too. There were many times through history when we heard nothing about Lilith, and no one really knows where she was during those times. Some say with God, others say roaming the Earth. Wherever it was, she stayed low-key.

  Damian scoffed. Low-key sounds like an oxymoron for someone like Pandora. Did you ever meet her?

  Ravi fell silent, and Damian waited. After a few moments, she spoke quietly. Yes, but it was only for a brief moment and far too long ago for me to really remember. My accounts are mostly from what we hear in hell. I had an admin job, so I got the skinny. Anyway, so yeah, that’s the whole story.

  He was surprised at how quickly she stopped the conversation but could tell she wouldn’t divulge more. The questions racked up in his head, and he wondered if they would ever be answered.

  Chapter Five

  This one has a stronger burnt taste, indicating a higher caffeine content. I discern hints of char, a bit of chocolate, and a smoky finish. I would say this is the K7, grown in Africa. It’s a selection of French Mission Bourbon selected at Legelet Estate in Muhoroni, Kenya. I like it, though not on a daily basis. Astaroth was explaining the taste of the coffee Max had just sipped.

  The two had signed up for a tasting a few blocks from the house, where coffees from all over the world were available. Astaroth was good at it, and Max could basically tell it was coffee. The priest moved to the next cup and sipped. How about that one?

  The demon hummed to himself. This is a tricky one. It’s definitely an arabica. Hmm. It has a rich, full-bodied flavor. It’s well balanced in acidity, and there are multidimensional hints here. I would say…Sulawesi Toraja Kalossi from Sulawesi, Indonesia.

  Max flipped the card. You’re absolutely right. Dang, how do you do that?

  It’s all about relaxing the taste buds and going with it. Okay, you try. Put on the blindfold and start in the middle.

  Max lifted the blindfold and hesitated. Are you sure? I’m terrible at this.

  Astaroth chuckled. I’m sure you will be green, but nothing too bad.

  The priest shrugged pulled the mask on. He ran his fingers over the cup in front of him, picked it up, and sniffed the brew. Carefully, he took a sip, running his tongue through the hot liquid. Astaroth waited for him to swallow. All right, rookie, what do you think?

  Max cleared his throat and tried to concentrate. Well, I taste some deep…char. And a hint of…basil? Oh, and I can taste the acid bubbling in it. I say it’s a fire brew from Hawaii.

  Astaroth sighed. Are you completely braindead? You just described some sort of pasta sauce. That is the Interspecific hybrid, Timor from India. How could you screw up that badly? And what is with the basil?

  He removed the blindfold and shrugged. I told you I was terrible at this. And we’ve been here for five hours. I seriously feel like my heart might burst out of my chest and fall to the floor. It wouldn’t even stop beating. It would grab a cup of coffee and run off.

  The demon groaned. Fine, let’s go. I don’t need you to have a complete caffeine stroke-out here in the store. You would embarrass the hell out of me.

  Max smiled at the guy behind the counter as he collected his coat and hat, nodded at the staff, and left. He stuck one hand in his pocket and gripped the large bag of coffee they had purchased tightly with the other to ease the feeling that his whole body was shaking. As he walked, he swayed to the side, looking like a drunk leaving a bar. He steadied himself on a bench for a moment, trying to calm the heart that now felt like it was in his throat.

  Astaroth scoffed. Lightweight. You can’t even handle a five-hour coffee- tasting. I have always said, if you can’t handle your caffeine, you shouldn’t drink and drive. That is how high-speed accidents happen.

  Max put his hand out to hail a cab. No need to worry about that, but you might want to focus on keeping me from puking in the back of this cab. Good Lord, I feel like I had one too many shots with Damian.

  The demon laughed loudly. Wait until the hangover hits you. When the crash comes, you’ll drop wherever you stand. You might as well know, you could become an addict.

  He rolled his eyes as the cabbie pulled out toward the row house. Great. I’ll walk around chewing coffee beans, looking for my next brew.

  That’s the good stuff.

  Damian smiled kindly at the woman behind the counter of the store he had just entered. After lunch, he decided to indulge Ravi a little more since she had been so helpful with the information on Pandora. He knew she hadn’t told the whole truth, but that would hopefully come in time. If shopping didn’t help her open up, nothing would at that point.

  He walked down the aisle of shoes until he found the men’s section, which displayed dress shoes of all types and designs. The selection included alligator, leather, patent leather, and everything else imaginable. Shiny boots were spotlighted along the back wall. He stopped at a pair of calf-high lace-ups similar to those he wore. His boots were old, and he admitted that it might be time to invest in a new pair. He looked at the price tag and coughed discretely.

  Ravi laughed. They will last you a lifetime, though. I can promise you that. Not everything more expensive is better, but this designer is worth the money. Those would look decent with your suit, too. I can’t imagine you wearing dress shoes to kick ass anyway.

  Damian shrugged. James Bond did.

  She chuckled. Yeah, but 007 had a stunt double who didn’t wear dress shoes.

  Good point. I can see myself slipping on a pile of ashes and sailing over the side of a building. I’d look good, but I’d be dead.

  At least they wouldn’t have to change you for burial.

  The priest nodded. True. That’s convenient, I suppose.

  The demon squealed and Damian dropped the boot, looking around. What? Where is it?

  She repeated the girlish shriek. Do you see those leather heels on the showroom wall over there? Those are the same ones that Meghan, the Countess of Sussex, wore on one of her first outings with the prince before they were married. Oh, my gosh, they are so beautiful.

  Damian pursed his lips and bent to retrieve the boot. I thought I had to slay a demon, and you’re freaking out over heels?

  Ravi exhaled, awed. There are so many beautiful shoes here. I would be in heaven if I could wear them.

  He tapped his foot. I don’t think my feet would fit in those. It might be a little unsightly, anyway, given the hair on the top of my feet.

  She giggled. I don’t know. I think those red pumps would be fantastic with your bowtie.

  The priest chuckled and rolled his eyes, thinking of Timothy’s response. Ravi would love to be in his body. They would never shut up about fashion. Damian retreated and left the store without buying anythin
g. They were at the end of the main shopping street, but he continued his stroll, enjoying the early evening air. He turned right at the end of the block, not sure where he was going.

  A little farther down, he paused and studied a small sign pointing down an alley. “Huh. I wonder…”

  He turned right and walked carefully down the clean walkway, finally reaching an iron gate. Cautiously, he pushed it open and looked around before stepping inside. A long stretch of bright green grass ahead was surrounded by trees, and a bench stood in the center. He had found one of the hidden Memorial Gardens that London was known for. Damian smiled. He hurried over, sat on the bench, and crossed his feet in front of him, enjoying the rest. As he soaked in the warmth of the sun, his phone rang.

  The priest smiled as the Secretary’s name appeared on the screen. He pressed Accept and put the phone to his ear. “Well, well, the stalker has returned. I knew you would miss me. Though I have to admit, it took you longer to call than I expected. You’ve perfected the whole make-him-think-you’re-not-interested vibe. Good for you! I have a feeling you’ve had plenty of practice.”

  The Secretary’s voice remained monotone. “Did you know that those Memorial Gardens have been there for over fifty years? The bench was added about twenty years ago, but it is very well-maintained. I especially like it during that time of year when the leaves on the trees turn from green to gold-yellows and burnt-oranges. If it weren’t for you being there, it would be the perfect scenery.”

  Damian eyed the gold-yellow and burnt-orange leaves. He pursed his lips and shook his head as he sighed dramatically. “You are aware that stalking is illegal, right? Not that I could get a restraining order. You tend to stay well hidden. Or, like I said before, you are the drone, creeping up on me from afar. I knew that one day, technology would take over and try to kill us, but I didn’t realize its personality would be so…English Nanny.”

  The Secretary smirked. “Well, when we first decided to take over the human race, we thought it would be a challenge. Then we realized how infantile you are, and we had to switch gears. It’s easier to babysit than eliminate. We can have you do our bidding.”

  He shook his head. “So, the nanny cams are actually nannies.”

  “Yes, but we had to dumb them down so that people wouldn’t want to play with them.”

  Damian laughed, finding the conversation amusing. It was the most the woman had ever said to him. She realized that too, and was quick to shut it down. “Moving on, I have a new assignment for you.”

  “Are you going to ask if I want it?”

  The Secretary paused before answering, “No. You are to take Max with you as well. A spirit is wreaking havoc, damaging graves and scaring off mourners who come to the cemetery. He is a nasty bastard, and has perfected the art of launching objects into the air.”

  Damian groaned. “By objects do you mean rocks and stones, or are you talking about people? Dead or alive?”

  She cleared her throat nervously. “Let’s say we’ve had a few opened graves, several broken headstones, and at least one mausoleum moved about three hundred yards. The point is, he is completely out of hand. At first, it was a whisper of a haunting. Now, no one leaves unscathed. A large funeral was held there a week ago, with about three hundred mourners in attendance. The ghost appeared, chased them away, and started throwing people. At least a dozen were injured, and one was hung upside-down in a tree. It was the talk of the town. As you know, we don’t smile on situations that turn into chatter amongst the townspeople.”

  He narrowed his eyes. “Do robots smile?”

  The Secretary ignored him. “This cemetery is inside Castle Combe’s grounds in the Cotswolds. It’s one of England’s prized historical sites, and the cemetery is the final resting place of some of the most prestigious artists and writers in our history. It is important that we attempt to preserve as much as possible when we deal with this ghost.”

  He snorted. “I like how you say ‘we.’ Where should I meet you to tackle this problem? I’m sure there is a charging station nearby for your battery.”

  The Secretary went quiet, and Damian laughed and slapped his hands on his lap. “I accept your mission, Secretary. Don’t get any more uptight. You’ll short a circuit.”

  “I suppose that might be better than getting my ass chewed by three old priests like you do on a regular basis simply by breathing,” she snapped back.

  Damian put his hand to his mouth. “Oooh, she’s got jokes now. All right, bring it. Or should I say zero, one, one, zero, one, zero, one?”

  The Secretary chuckled. “Let’s try to take care of this ghost without knocking out any priests, innocents, or furry animals, shall we? I have complaints regarding the vehicles we send you. The companies are tired of cleaning blood, fur, and slobber from the carpets.”

  “Then you should probably groom a little better before you get into them.”

  A smile hovered on the priest’s lips as her typing abruptly stopped. Finally, she said, “I’ll send you the details. Don’t fuck it up.”

  With that, she hung up. Damian placed the phone on the bench beside him and laughed, shaking his head. Ravi giggled. One day, she will send us on a mission to the middle of Antarctica and leave us there.

  He waved his hands. Nah, she likes us. I can tell. I think it’s my fancy bowties.

  Just then, his phone buzzed again, and he squinted at the screen. The new text message from the Secretary wasn’t her normal info drop. He opened it and read it out loud. “I would have to say that new suit suits you better than the hobo outfit you’re wearing now.”

  The priest looked at his brown pants and button-up shirt and shook his head. “We need to carry an umbrella everywhere we go.”

  Ravi shrugged. Maybe she likes the peepshow, or she likes to torture herself.

  Chapter Six

  Damian leaned against the doorframe of the upstairs training room and watched as Max completed the last ten of his fifty push-ups. Sweat beaded on the young man’s forehead and his arms shook as he pushed his body up and lowered it to the floor. His face was the color of a tomato, but he was determined not to complain. “Forty-eight…forty-nine…fifty. Ugh.”

  He dropped to the floor and laid his cheek on the mat beneath him, breathing heavily. After a moment, he pushed up to his knees. Damian clapped and stretched to help him to his feet.

  “That was impressive,” his mentor said. “When you first came here, you could do six and a half.”

  Max shook his arms and lifted his eyebrows. “Yeah, that was definitely a challenge. What’s next?”

  Damian rubbed his hands together and bounced on the balls of his feet. “Let’s work on our hand-to-hand combat skills, shall we? I will take offense, and you defend yourself. Imagine that my fingers have long, sharp talons.”

  The young priest squared his shoulders and stood eye to eye with his mentor. They circled one another, Damian’s smile challenging. He faked with his left hand and swatted his adversary on the side of his head with his right. Max shook his head and quickly stiffened his arms. Damian feinted but didn’t swing. Max lifted his hands and scowled because he’d fallen for it.

  The older man chuckled. “The secret to defending yourself is anticipation.” He swatted at the trainee, but Max knocked his hand away this time.

  “The other secret is assuming that your opponent is smarter than you,” Damian said.

  He swept his foot, tripping Max, and knocked him twice on the back of the head. The trainee gritted his teeth and turned quickly, red flashing in his eyes. Damian immediately tapped him in the stomach and swatted his head again, chuckling.

  “You can’t let your frustration take over or you will have one hell of a headache tomorrow,” he continued. “I know you’re used to fighting bushes and all, but imagine you’re fighting actual demons for a moment, okay?”

  Damian threw his palms forward in a one-two combo. Max dodged clumsily and tripped over his own feet to fall on his ass with a grunt.

  His ment
or stopped and scrunched his forehead. “Maybe we should take a step back to not beating yourself up.”

  Max stood and put his hands up, trying to ignore the smartass comments. Damian stood with his arms at his sides, watching him. Seconds later, he swung right and then left and boxed him in the ears without much effort.

  Astaroth growled loudly. Come on, can’t you see him moving? You’re like one of those rag dolls. You’d be better off dancing around him like a fool. It’s all in reading the body. I’ve become somewhat of a pro at it. There! He’s going to slap with his right.

  Max tried to shake the demon’s voice out of his head, wanting to do it alone. Before he knew it, he received another slap. Astaroth sighed. Now left. Damn. Now right. Come on, kid. Listen to me. You’ll have little birdies flying around you for the next three days if you don’t.

  I don’t need help. I can do this.

  Oh, sure. Go ahead then, Rambo. Show me what you got.

  The young priest tried to dodge, but after a few more blows to his head, he began to see double. Damian didn’t hurt him physically, but his pride was slowly being pulverized.

  Astaroth whistled. You had enough knocks to the dome? You ready to take my advice?

  Max groaned. Fine.

  The demon studied Damian’s moves and gave Max warning before each attack. Suddenly, Max was on a roll. He circled his opponent, dodging or blocking every blow. His mentor laughed loudly and picked up the pace. Still, with Astaroth in his ear, Max maintained his defense. He evaded the blows and slapped Damian’s hands away. After the last attempt, the trainee stepped to the right, tapped Damian gently on the back of the head and chuckled.