Happy End of the World (Demon-Hearted Book 3)

by Ambrose Ibsen

  CONTENTS

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Disclaimer

  Chapter One - 1

  Chapter Two - 2

  Chapter Three - 3

  Chapter Four - 4

  Chapter Five - 5

  Chapter Six - 6

  Chapter Seven - 7

  Chapter Eight - 8

  Chapter Nine - 9

  Chapter Ten - 10

  Chapter Eleven - 11

  Chapter Twelve - 12

  Chapter Thirteen - 13

  Chapter Fourteen - 14

  Chapter Fifteen - 15

  Chapter Sixteen - 16

  Chapter Seventeen - 17

  Chapter Eighteen - 18

  Chapter Nineteen - 19

  Chapter Twenty - 20

  Chapter Twenty-One - 21

  Chapter Twenty-Two - 22

  Chapter Twenty-Three - 23

  Chapter Twenty-Four - 24

  Chapter Twenty-Five - 25

  Chapter Twenty-Six - 26

  Chapter Twenty-Seven - 27

  Chapter Twenty-Eight - 28

  Chapter Twenty-Nine - 29

  Chapter Thirty - 30

  Chapter Thirty-One - 31

  Chapter Thirty-Two - 32

  Chapter Thirty-Three - 33

  Chapter Thirty-Four - 34

  Chapter Thirty-Five - 35

  Chapter Thirty-Six - 36

  Chapter Thirty-Seven - 37

  Chapter Thirty-Eight - 38

  Chapter Thirty-Nine - 39

  Chapter Forty - 40

  Chapter Forty-One - 41

  Chapter Forty-Two - 42

  Thank You For Reading!

  Happy End of the World

  A Demon-Hearted Novel

  By Ambrose Ibsen

  Copyright © 2016 by Ambrose Ibsen

  All rights reserved.

  This one’s for Miss Maki Nomiya.

  Cover Designed by Lou Harper

  This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, locations, events and incidents come from the author's imagination, or are otherwise used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is coincidental.

  CHAPTER ONE

  1

  What I'd have liked best upon my return would have been a bit of fanfare. Perhaps a fireworks show. Or a bottle of good champagne. Shit, at least an attaboy for having served my sentence abroad. But the only thing welcoming me as we flew in was the cold, Midwestern sky.

  We hit the tarmac with a little bounce, the colorless scenery of Detroit flashing by the private jet's windows. Germaine crept up onto my shoulder and sighed. “Back in the good ol' US of A. You ready to return to the hustle and bustle after our little holiday?”

  It didn't matter how many times the idiot spider made that joke. Our three-month exile to a Tibetan monastery hadn't exactly been a dream vacay. I stretched out my legs, draping them over the seat in front of me, and yawned. “It's good to be back, I guess,” I finally replied as the plane rolled to a stop.

  Germaine crawled up and down the windows, taking it all in. “The welcome party's a little sparse,” he said. “Just Kubo and some other guy. And here I thought they'd roll out the red carpet for us!”

  I stood up. Yanking my carry-on out of the overhead compartment, I went through my things and made sure everything was in order. Cell phone, its battery long-dead; wallet; keys; the dingy street clothes I'd worn while flying out. Straightening the rust-colored monk's robe that hung over my frame, I stood and waited near the door.

  Three months ago, not a full twenty-four hours after saving the city of Detroit—and possibly the planet—my bosses at the Veiled Order had decided to send me away. I was too unpredictable, they said, too dangerous. My reckless actions during the fight against Agamemnon, a powerful necromancer, had been inexcusable, and unless I wanted to end up within the crosshairs myself, I was informed that it was in my best interests to hop onto a plane and fly with Germaine to a Buddhist temple in Tibet for supposed “mindfulness” training. It was hoped that I'd learn how to control the demon, how to rein in my impulsive behaviors and become less a liability to the organization that had both blessed and cursed me with a demon's heart.

  Bastards hadn't even given me a chance to pack a bag, to get my affairs in order. They'd gotten the jump on me like a bunch of concerned family members staging an intervention and that'd been that. Excuse me if I wasn't exactly jumping for joy at the thought of returning to Detroit.

  As the door to the plane opened and Germaine and I were allowed to exit, I was struck by a fierce wave of cold. The monk's robes didn't do a whole lot to keep the icy breeze out of one's more delicate areas, and I shivered.

  Germaine huddled up inside one of my sleeves, cursing. “Shit, you mind if I wait in the plane?”

  There were two people waiting for us on the runway. One of them I knew, and was, admittedly, kinda happy to see. Chief Kubo, the no-nonsense guy who'd led me on three different missions now, the one who'd all but shoved me onto the plane three months prior. I admit I was still a bit sore about that final point, but I reached out and shook his hand all the same.

  This other guy, though, I disliked instantly.

  He was thin and tall, wearing a crisp black suit and a pair of sunglasses with reflective lenses. I spotted my own frown in those lenses and immediately set about throwing up a fake smile when the guy smirked. He looked sort of young, his hair a dark brown bowl-cut that would have better suited a second-grader. I wasn't really sure why he was there at all. “This, uh... your personal assistant or something, Chief?” were the first words out of my mouth.

  To my surprise, Kubo's eyes widened, as if in alarm. “N-no, Lucy. This is...”

  The suited fella nodded at me. “The name's Nicholaus Arson. It's nice to finally meet you in person.” Straightening his sunglasses with an extended finger, he flashed a pearly smile. “I'll be watching your work with a great deal of interest, Lucian,” he said.

  “Yeah... nice to meet you too,” I offered. Of course, I didn't mean it. There was something slimy about this dude, something that screamed “smarmy bureaucrat” or “corporate kiss-ass”. I smiled and offered him a handshake, but when he didn't accept it I knew my hunch had been right.

  Arson glanced down at my hand from behind his reflective lenses and crinkled his nose, like he'd just watched me wipe my ass with it, and then placed his hands behind his back. “I expect I'll be hearing a great deal about your progress abroad?”

  “For sure,” said I, motioning to my robes and cracking a grin. “And the best part of the deal is that I've got next year's Halloween costume all set. Unless Kubo here decides to ship me off to God knows where.”

  As expected, Mr. I Wear Aviators Even When It's Not Sunny didn't laugh, didn't so much as smile. There was something at work behind those lenses. I couldn't see his eyes, but I knew they were dissecting me, studying me with minute closeness. Either he was checking me out or he really didn't like me for some reason. Arson reminded me of a praying mantis and was every bit as cuddly. In my chest, there was a subtle roiling, as though my heart were protesting against something.

  I guess that meant Gadreel didn't care much for him, either.

  Idling some thirty or forty feet away was a black car with dark windows. A driver scrambled out of the vehicle and held open one of its doors for Arson as he turned and started towards it. He didn't say anything more to me as he left. No “Nice meeting you” or “Au revoir.” He just turned and walked off. When the guy had climbed into the back seat of his Bimmer, sparing Kubo and I another glance, the
car sped off.

  Germaine peeked out from beneath the sleeve of my robe. “And just who the hell was that kid?”

  Kubo buried his hands in his pockets, watching the black sedan disappear narrowly. “He's the new boss.”

  Arching a brow, I slung my bag over my shoulder. “He's your new boss?” I asked. “You're kidding, right?”

  “That kid even old enough to vote? To buy a six-pack? I ain't buying it,” added the spider.

  Kubo didn't seem to want to talk about it, starting slowly from the air strip and leading us back to the concrete hulk that was the headquarters building. “A lot's changed since you left, Lucy,” he said. “There's been a bit of a shake-up around here in the past three months. But enough about that. Tell me, how was your trip?”

  The Chief was sizing me up in the corner of his eye, as if he hoped to note some marked change in my appearance indicative of improved self-control. I hated to disappoint him, but other than the Buddhist monk getup I was wearing and a slight gauntness in my face owed to months of subsisting solely on barley and roasted goat, I didn't have much to offer him on first glance. “Well, I tell you, those monks really know how to throw a party,” I began. “Not too many young girls out that way, but there were more than enough goats to go around.”

  Kubo led us through the back door. The sterile, polished surfaces of Veiled Order HQ met my eye for the first time in what felt like forever, and dare I say it even felt homey when compared to the rustic trappings of a Tibetan monastery. We ambled down the back halls in silence, stopping eventually in an empty conference room. Kubo offered me a chair and stood against the wall with his arms crossed, leaving the door slightly ajar.

  The Chief cleared his throat. “So, you going to tell me about how your trip went?” He frowned a little. “Did you... did you make any breakthroughs? Learn how to control that demon any better?”

  Germaine lounged on the tabletop, basking in the warmth that came from a nearby vent.

  Kubo and the others had shipped me off on the recommendation of senior leaders in the hopes that the monks might teach me how to control my powers. And, you know, some progress in that sphere had definitely been made. But that wasn't the subject I most wanted to discuss at that moment.

  “First, how about you tell me a little bit about that slimy guy who's apparently your new boss, eh?” I said, leaning forward and folding my hands under my chin. “I've been wanting to catch up on all of the company gossip.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  2

  As he began, Kubo reached into the pocket of his sport coat and pulled out something I recognized. It was my work-issue phone. Sliding the black clamshell over to me, he dropped into a chair. For a moment he didn't seem to know where to start, but in typical Kubo fashion he quickly got his thoughts in order and dove straight into it. “Two months ago, the leader of the Veiled Order died.” He paused. “You don't know a whole lot about the Order's upper levels, Lucy, but let's just say that picking out a new leader is a convoluted process, something akin to picking out a new Pope for the Catholics. The council of senior leaders got together and started the selection process, and somehow, Mr. Arson won out.”

  Germaine jolted up at once, his hairy limbs twitching like they'd been electrified. “W-wait, you mean to say that fella runs the whole show? Where's he from? If he's such a big shot, how come I've never heard of him?”

  “He was previously in charge of the Veiled Order's offices in Stockholm, I believe,” replied the Chief.

  I was less impressed. “Eh, he should have just kept on doing what those Swedes do best: Putting together IKEA furniture. What did the other leaders see in him? He's young and stuck-up. Seems like a spoiled brat with a bad attitude.”

  Kubo hesitated for a time. Usually the guy wasn't at a loss for words, which made this a rather uncomfortable talk. Whatever he was trying to force out wasn't going to be good news. That was for sure. “It's more complicated than that. I don't know the factors behind his nomination to the top spot. He's young, and I suspect the council liked that. They don't enjoy selecting new leaders too often, of course. Better to stick a young guy in there, who'll be able to hold the position for a few decades. But there's more to it. See, recently Arson's been gaining a lot of support for his hardline stances against certain initiatives.”

  “Like what?” I asked.

  “Like the Demon-Heart experiment,” replied the Chief flatly.

  I sat back in my chair, chuckling. “Oh? He's not a fan of me? As if I couldn't tell from the moment we met!”

  Kubo took to stroking his stubbled jaw for a moment, his eyes weighed down by what I guessed was concern. “From the start, Arson was opposed to the organization creating a Demon-Heart. He opposed the plan from the get-go, didn't even support it when Mater Agatha looked close to winning Gadreel over to her side. He was the one who began the motion to send you off to Tibet, calling you unstable, dangerous, and if he'd had his way, you'd have been there more than six months, probably.”

  The chuckle in my throat died away. The more I listened, the more I disliked this guy. “Has Arson been paying attention to my track record? To the lives I've saved, the enemies I've brought down?”

  Kubo nodded. “Sure has. But he's a lot more focused on your faults. Getting loads of our guys killed in the campaign against Agamemnon, for instance. Drawing too much attention to yourself with flashy displays in public spaces. You get the picture. He's not fond of your kind, thinks our shacking up with a demon was a terrible mistake, and is basically looking for whatever reason he can to get rid of you.”

  I thought it was just a trick of the light, but as I leaned forward I saw that the Chief was actually sweating.

  “He wants to get rid of Lucy?” blurted Germaine, extending a bristly digit. “Guy's out of his mind. Lucy's one-of-a-kind, a frigging super-weapon. And he ain't just a run-of-the-mill plague demon or something. He's got royalty in there. A grigori. Better to have ferocious power like that on one's side than to let it go to waste.”

  Kubo continued. “Arson doesn't see it that way. You're going to have to be on your best behavior, Lucy. I believe you're an asset to the organization, and I'm not the only one. But that doesn't change the fact that there are members of the Veiled Order—in leadership positions and lower ranks—who vehemently disagree.” Arms crossed, Kubo threw out his chin. “So, what've you got? What did that time at the temple do for you?”

  I'd have liked to answer the question, but was still grappling with the fact that I was apparently persona non grata at Veiled Order HQ. The organization had taken a gamble in hunting down Gadreel and sticking his heart in me, but overall their investment had been sound, no? I'd been an integral part in the operation to take out Mater Agatha's coven, instrumental in defeating Agamemnon. Didn't those missions count for anything?

  Germaine replied on my behalf. “Oh, Lucy made some real headway in learning to control the demon. He can speak to Gadreel now. Imagine that! He can actually communicate with the demon, have a conversation with it in his head. Out in Tibet, they didn't even have to leash him when the new moon came!”

  Kubo seemed surprised. “Is that true?”

  I was knocked out of my thoughts and gave a weak nod. “Yeah,” I admitted, “Sometimes I can talk to him. When he feels like it. It's like having a teenaged girl in my head. It's not consistent.”

  “Well, that's still progress,” replied Kubo. “I imagine the leadership will be happy to hear that.”

  I grimaced. “Yeah. They'll be super pleased to know that their mongrel dog has learned to heel.”

  The Chief frowned, but in his eyes I could see that he didn't think my declaration too far off the mark. “You've been away from home awhile,” he continued, standing up. “Get out of here, relax a little.” It was a bit of uncharacteristic leniency on his part.

  “Oh?” I stood, Germaine crawling up my robes. “That's it? What about my next assignment?” I asked.

  The Chief opened the d
oor and waved me out. “You haven't got one yet. Things happen to be a little slow around here, if you can believe it. We held down the fort just fine while you were gone and right now there's nothing for you to get caught up in. Enjoy the downtime while you can.”

  “I'll see what I can do.” I left the conference room, spider in tow, feeling completely out of sorts. I'd gone on a three-month business trip, only to return to the office and find a new boss behind the desk. A boss who happened to hate me. I wasn't feeling great about that. I shuffled through the main lobby, tugging on the edges of my robes and stepping out into the cold evening.

  “Son of a bitch,” blurted Germaine, taking refuge once again in the folds of my robe. “It's so damn cold out here. I'm tellin' ya, we should see if they can't relocate us to their headquarters in Florida or something.” Peering out across the parking lot, he glanced up at me. “Where you wanna go? The world's our oyster now. What first? Please just make sure it's someplace warm.”

  The cold pressed into me nice and hard. Stifling a shiver, I folded my arms and tightened my grip on my bag. “First thing I want to do is buy a damn coat,” I replied. “After that, there's someone I want to catch up with.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  3

  I don't often dole out life advice, but I've got a little kernel of it to dispense should you ever end up in a situation like mine:

  If you ever find yourself returning from a ninety-day exile to Tibet and want to get your head back in the game, I recommend you go someplace that serves greasy cheeseburgers and milkshakes. If they offer chili fries, all the better. Nothing will help you overcome the jet lag and disorientation of reentering society like a binge-fest with a friend.

  Joe snickered, nearly spitting whipped cream all over the table. “No, really, I want to know,” he pressed. “Where the hell did you get that jacket, Lucy?”