by Michael Todd
He chuckled. “Naw, and I don’t use them unless I feel like we might have room for a friendship, so don’t take it personally. It’s a good thing. I’m impressed by your skills. You should be, too.”
Damian nodded and sucked in a long breath. “Yeah, thanks. You were pretty good yourself. Who do you work for?”
The older man snorted, putting his guns away. “I used to be a merc out in Chicago, but me and the team lead didn’t really see eye to eye on fighting. I guess I’ve never been one to take orders too damn well. So, I branched out on my own. You know, I could use a partner out here on these streets. You and I work well together. What would you think of branching out on your own and teaming up with me? We could really rake in the dough.”
He smiled but shook his head. “No. Thank you, though, but I made a vow. I have a duty to my church. You know, we are always looking for badasses on Korbin’s Killers. He’s is a decent guy—fair, and cares for his people. I’m sure they would love to have someone with your skills. Besides, I’d pay a few bucks to have you call Korbin a princess or one of your other pet names from your goodie bag.”
Abraham laughed, not saying a word. Damian smirked and glanced back at the guy’s mangled body on the floor.
He hated when they didn’t turn to dust.
The man put his arm around his shoulders and led him out of the building. The rain had stopped, but he pulled his black hood back over his head anyway. He put his hand out, and Damian grasped it.
Abraham shook his head, looking at his companion’s suspenders. “You fight like a badass, kid. If you ever want to get some of that out of your system, just find me. I’m usually around here. Make sure you keep your head clear and your nose down with the mercs. They can be cool, like a family, but sometimes, you gotta do it your way.”
He nodded and pursed his lips as the old man walked off. He’d tried life his own way, and it hadn’t worked out. Never would he go solo again.
Never.
Chapter One
Present
The small ceramic espresso cup clanked against the saucer as Damian walked out of the creaky front door of his house. His slippers scuffed across the uneven stone as he staggered, half asleep, into the shared courtyard. It was old-school English living, a private area amongst the chaos of the city of London barely a few blocks away.
He plopped down in one of the wrought iron patio chairs and set his espresso down. Leaning back in the chair, he rubbed his hands over his tired eyes, trying to clear the fog that hovered over his brain. The hand on his watch shifted to the seven, and he looked up at the sky, clear and brightening in the morning. It had been one month to the day that he had arrived in London, and he still hadn’t gotten an assignment.
“We will get you rolling real soon,” one of the heads of his sector had told him. “Just relax, Damian.”
“Oh sure, take your time,” he had responded, not really meaning it.
Not only did the church drag their feet more than the military, but they wanted to give him a chance to settle into his new life after decades of fighting with the mercenaries. Damian didn’t mind at first, as visions of a grandiose London vacation filled his mind when he arrived. However, once he walked into the library in his house, he knew the sightseeing and lazy afternoons at the café would be put off for another lifetime. Stacked from floor to ceiling were historical references, non-public church accounts, and priest journals detailing the centuries-old demon war.
He hadn’t even fully unpacked before he was diving into the bounty of information, taking notes, reading and re-reading specific texts, and smothering himself in the knowledge. Most people, especially priests in his position, would have grown weary of it after a few days, but four weeks later, he still stayed up until the wee hours of the morning reading. Every night over a plate of potatoes and roasted beef, he told himself that he wouldn’t indulge past eleven. Every morning, though, he found sheer and complete exhaustion dragging his body out to the courtyard, the lights still burning in the study from the night before.
Damian couldn’t believe how one month of the proper texts could bring him more understanding of the war, the angels, and the demons than thirty years of mercenary work with Korbin. It wasn’t his job to be informed then. It was his job to fight and support the mercs. In reality, it still wasn’t his job to be informed, but he had been given residence at one of the church’s homes which previously housed an expert on demons who neglected to clear anything out of it before he arrived. It was one of the few forgetful moments his higher-ups had that he didn’t mind in the least. He might have been exhausted, but a twinge of desire to go back into the library hovered in the back of his mind at all times. His scholarly sense couldn’t get past it no matter how hard he tried.
“Morning, Father,” one of the younger neighbors said from across the courtyard.
He blinked his eyes and waved. “Morning! How are the babies?”
The tired mom chuckled, folding a cloth diaper. “A wee bit of a handful but a blessing nonetheless.”
“As they were meant to be.” Damian smiled as she walked away, the sound of morning cartoons coming from behind her.
Lifting his espresso to his lips, he looked around the courtyard. It was well maintained by the people who lived there but still sported the same large stones and crookedly built flower beds from its inception. It was quaint and had an English countryside feel, even with the cars roaring down the street a few hundred feet away behind a small, black gate.
The sound of another creaking door drew his attention to the bottom floor apartment opposite his row house. An older woman with long, silver hair pulled back hurried out the door. Short and round, she wore a flowered dress, tennis shoes, and an apron around her waist. She had been the first neighbor he’d met when he arrived, and she seemed pleasant enough despite the fact that she had a dark-red tint to her eyes.
“Morning, Rose,” Damian called.
She jumped and looked around at him, the red fading quickly. “Oh, Father, you nearly gave me a heart attack. Fit morning for a cup of coffee, finally not raining and all.”
He nodded and lifted his cup as she began to sweep. At first, her red eyes and the sidelong looks she had aimed at him all the time had worried him. He called his teacher at the church to ask about exorcising her, but she was a touchy subject. She had been there for decades and was extraordinarily devout. When she had been infected, the church stepped in immediately, but due to her age, an exorcism would surely have killed her. They kept their eye on her but, in the end, decided that her demon wasn’t quite smart enough to cause any real damage.
Besides the occasional falling pot or stomach ache the priest got from eating her baked goods, she was harmless. She was a strong old bat, able to trick her demon into using just enough poison to make a fellow sick but never enough to kill him. The church had put a protective order on her that shielded her from extermination unless it was under “the direst of circumstances.”
That was one of those things that Damian liked about his church. They still had a love for people caught and twisted up with the politics of it all. She might be a demon, but she was still Rose Hartwell, a devout member of their congregation and worthy of a pass in her old age. Merely watching her made him chuckle thinking about her trying to off people with afternoon tea and biscotti. She had to be the most proper of all the demons in London.
“This patio never seems to get clean,” Rose complained, pushing her broom around the table.
He put his cup down. “I do agree, but that’s how it seems for any area in which you like to spend time.”
She stopped sweeping and leaned against the broom, pushing the demon back from her eyes. “I daresay I’m gobsmacked ye spend so much time out here when ye have a house as fancy as that one.”
Damian smiled at her. “True, it is a beautiful place, but I like the fresh air. Reminds me of being back in the States.”
Rose wrinkled her nose and started to sweep again. “That’s right. Ye came
from Vegas. I don’t know how ye did it with all that sin and all those lights. How are ye settlin’ in here?”
“It’s been a nice transition. There is a beautiful library inside, and I’ve spent my nights taking in all the information. I think my brain needed as much of a workout as my body had back in the States.”
She stopped and stepped closer as if she had a secret. “The last priest that lived there—only for a bit—he wasn’t that friendly. He liked the place fancy. Before that was dear old Father Rufus. He was a nice one, studied the demons extensively.”
Damian listened and kept a kind smile on his face as he sipped his espresso. Rose sighed and shrugged. “I heard the last priest was killed in some underground nightclub in the city during an incursion. Not sure why he would have been in there in the first place. It was not a proper place for a priest, but then again, the church isn’t what it used to be.”
He took it with grace and merely nodded kindly. It wasn’t his place to spread rumors, and he really had no information on the last priest who was there—only on Father Rufus, but he had been gone for a while. Rose continued to sweep, going over the same stones again and again. He could tell her concentration was somewhere else, maybe inside her mind speaking to her demon.
She turned quickly with a flash of red in her eyes. As she opened her mouth to say something, his phone began to buzz on the table. Damian looked at the screen, doing everything in his power not to let out a sigh of relief. He held the phone up to her. “I’m sorry, Rose. It’s been lovely speaking with you. Unfortunately, this is an important call, so I must take it. If you need anything, you know where to find me.”
Her grin was entirely fake. “Always answer the call for God.”
He grabbed his empty cup and saucer and headed for the door. As he turned his back to the woman, her grin faded quickly and was replaced with a sneer. She fought it, her eyes flashing back and forth, then went back to sweeping.
Damian closed the wooden door and pressed down the black iron lock, raising the phone to his ear. “It’s like you have some sort of psychic ability to know the perfect time to call.”
Katie wasn’t exactly sure what he meant. “Did I interrupt?”
“Yes, but it was needed. I have an interesting neighbor. Sometimes polite. Other times trying to kill people without the proper ability to do so.”
She giggled. “That sounds like the kind of neighbor I could have some fun with. You need me to come there and rough some shit up?”
He laughed, sitting down in the living room. “I’m not really in the business of roughing up old women.”
Katie cracked up. “Pandora isn’t against it.”
Damian let out a deep breath, happy to hear her familiar voice. “How is everything going over there?”
She sighed. “Oh, you know, same old same old chaos. Calvin decided to take a vacation to Mexico. Anyone else would have been eyelids full of tequila and tacos but not Calvin. He had to get himself all wrapped up saving some woman. He can’t help but be a hero.”
He chuckled. “I know. I heard about his Mexican standoff at the border. He’s an everyday hero to people out there right now. He took out two major cartel bosses and half their men. All the while, I’m over here talking to my old infected neighbor and sipping espresso. Send something my way. I need to kick some demon ass to feel better.”
She giggled. “I’m sure I could arrange something.”
Damian put his feet up on the ottoman. “What about you? How are you faring in the Big Apple?”
Katie snorted, shoving part of a donut in her mouth. “Well, I bought a condo. Beautiful place right by Central Park, and it should be completely done in the next few weeks. Other than that, I’ve been helping the police and running the general’s errands. Oh, that reminds me. How are you on ammo? Do you need any extra covertly shipped to you?”
He glanced at the open office door where a crate of ammunition sat. “I actually haven’t gotten orders yet, so I am okay on that. I will go through it slowly since the church technically prohibits it. I know too much about these fights, though, to follow that asinine rule. I’m devout, not an absolute idiot.”
“Yeah, that’s crazy, but I guess it’s a church thing. Whatever. The whole church process confuses me anyway. You fight Holy Wars, but when you’re fighting the children of Lucifer, you can’t use a weapon.”
Damian smirked. “Well, we aren’t all half-angel like yourself, though many of us like to believe it. How are those angel powers coming along anyway?”
Katie shrugged. “Cool, I guess. I’m still trying to figure everything out. My guide on this isn’t exactly the most forthcoming guy. Likes to talk in riddles a lot.”
“I’m sure you will figure it out in time and then continue adding to your ridiculous array of skills.”
Just then, someone knocked on the door, and he tilted his head back to look out the window. Father Kirkpatrick poked his head around, his white hair glistening in the light. He smiled and waved.
Damian was excited to see him, hoping it would have something to do with getting to work. “Katie, I hate to cut this short, but I have an important visitor.”
“No problem. Do your priest thing.” She sounded happy to Damian, which calmed him.
“And you take care of those wings. Start collecting the feathers. You can make specialized headdresses for the dancers in Vegas.” He couldn’t help but tease her.
Katie snickered. “Please don’t give Pandora any ideas!”
Pandora gasped excitedly inside her head. I was thinking maybe a pillow. No, wait. That means I’d have to lay my head on angel feathers all night long. Hell, no.
Damian walked carefully from the kitchen, balancing two cups of tea on their saucers. He used his foot to slide the door closed behind him, not wanting Father Kirkpatrick to see the pile of dishes he had neglected to wash. Reading had pretty much taken precedence over everything else in his life at that point.
The visitor walked around the darkened living room. He perused the shelves next to the small table, picking up the gold and silver trinkets. Every now and then, he shook his head, not feeling the decadence of the place in the least.
The room had an old-world charm to it with deep mahogany antique furniture, bronze and silver crosses everywhere, and heirlooms from around the world propped against the spines of old books. It looked more like the living area of a rich, old aristocrat than a mid-level priest.
Damian set the tea on the table. “Here you are. One sugar and cream, exactly how you always liked it.”
Father Kirkpatrick turned around with a warm smile. “Thank you, Damian. I just can’t get over how some of these uppers in the church live. We are supposed to be living for God, not for the first edition of whatever book we lust after. It’s really a shame. My chambers at the church look like a dusty, old prison cell compared to this. Not that it’s your fault. This was from the priest before you, but still.”
Damian pulled out his chair and sat down, hiding a smirk. “That’s one thing I always love about you. You tell it like it is. Feisty would probably be the best word if you weren’t a man of the cloth.”
His companion lifted his cup to his lips and winked. “Feisty would be perfectly fine.”
Damian crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back. “So, they tell me we are being reunited once again.”
“Mmmhmm, yes. I will be your mentor while you are in London. After all the scolding we got when I was your fatherly mentor in the beginning, I’m not sure exactly what they were thinking, but who am I to test the choices of the church?”
His mind flashed back to his first days in the church. “Ahh, the memories. I was so young and so ready to take on the devil. Little did I know, just a few years later, I would literally be taking on the devil out in the field. You did give me some great insights into the church before I was Damned, though. I always appreciated your guidance.”
Father Kirkpatrick gave him a side glance. “You were a handful, always questioning
everything. My favorite out of all the boys but don’t tell them I said that.”
“It’s ours’ and God’s secret.” Damian laughed.
The older priest raised an eyebrow and put his cup down. “That’s what I’m afraid of. Anyway, I am here to move you forward. You’ve had a month to get settled in, and now, it’s time to get to work.”
He clapped his hands together. “Excellent.”
Father Kirkpatrick ran his eyes over Damian’s pajamas and robe. “I would suggest better attire when you actually go out.”
Realizing he hadn’t changed yet, Damian looked down. “My apologies. I was caught off guard by the neighbor and then a call this morning.”
“Yes, Rose. How is the old woman? She has missed church the last couple of Sundays. Maybe you can help remedy that. Keep that idiot demon of hers in check.”
Damian groaned. “She’s definitely a handful, but I like her. I’ll see what I can do. Now, how does all this work? What are the logistics?”
Father Kirkpatrick pulled his bag into his lap and took out a manila envelope. “It’s pretty simple really. You will be contacted by your main liaison over the phone. He or she will be your main point of contact, besides me. They will give you the information on your targets and the instructions on how to complete the job. Then you will meet with the three Wise Men, and we both know how exciting of a circumstance that is. Old bats never change.”
He chuckled, taking a sip of his tea. “There you go again. Feisty as hell.”
The old man continued, ignoring his statement. “Your stipend will be deposited into an account, and you will get a cut for the demons you are able to reduce to ash. Of course, it won’t be like the mercs. The church gets the majority.”
“As usual.”
The father sneered. “Maybe they can buy some more gold-leafed books.”
He held back a laugh. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you miss being out in the field.”
Father Kirkpatrick sighed and shrugged. “I’m too old for that nonsense at this point. I simply wish I didn’t have to work with the higher-ups in the head church. Put me in a little country church out in the fields of Scotland, and I’d be happy as a clam.”
