Demon Jack
Page 25
I knew all to well. A nobody rises up, punks the boss, he loses all respect. It was a situation like the little kid beating the shit out of the playground bully. Once shorty wails on mister big and scary, he doesn’t seem so big and scary anymore. After that, he’s fair game. When it’s in the criminal world, it’s a lot more violent. It’s the equivalent of putting a nice fat cow in a river full of piranhas.
“I can put two and two together.”
“Then you understand the favor you did for me.”
“Wasn’t for you,” I said.
“But the end result was the same,” Lucy said.
“Whose side are you on here anyways?” I asked, cutting my eyes towards her. The flat stare she gave me answered that question. She was on her own side, plain and simple.
“You also understand that you’ve created a power vacuum of sorts in Boston amongst my kind. They’re going to be fighting for power, each one trying to take Adam’s spot. I intend to win that contest.”
“Well bully for you. Not my problem,” I said, standing. I didn’t feel too bad all things considered, sore as hell, but I had expected worse. “How long was I out?”
“A week,” Lucy said. “You had a piece of glass through your femoral artery. You're lucky you didn't bleed to death.”
“He almost did,” Siobahn said.
Well, that would explain that then.
“No, it's not your problem. But it is your opportunity. I’d like to offer you a job.”
I looked over at Siobahn. I had spent a lot of time working for monsters. Working for monsters was what had put me in prison, gotten me into the mess with Adam to begin with. I studied her, her features, running through scenario after scenario in my head. I’d probably be able to get the respect I once had back, I could get off the streets. I knew how it would end though. Poorly.
“I will make it quite worth your while,” she said. “You will be well taken care of.”
“Not interested. Where are my things?”
“Jack. You don’t have things,” Lucy said.
Siobahn nodded slowly.
“I’ll give you time to think it over then.”
She looked towards Lucy.
“Show him out when he's ready,” she said, pulling the door to the room open. She stood there for a moment, hand on the doorknob. “I do hope you’ll reconsider.”
I didn’t bother to look up at her. A moment later, I heard the door shut.
“You take orders from her now?” I asked.
“No. But she’s going to teach me, protect me. Something I can’t ask or trust you to do, Jack,” she said. “She found me at the church when I was looking for you. She’s the one who pulled you out, started the fire. She saw the way Adam treated me, how he tried to make me hurt you. She... She offered to take me in and I accepted.”
“What’s it going to cost you?”
“Nothing I haven’t already lost.”
I stared at her for an uncomfortable moment.
“It’s your call. I won’t try and talk you out of it,” I said finally.
“Excellent,” she stood up, motioning me to follow with a wave of her hand.
She walked me out of what turned out to be a nondescript house in the suburbs. It was dark out, early evening. Come to find out, Siobhan had been holing up there since all hell had broken loose after Adam’s loss. After everything at the church, she had scooped me up and brought me there as well. At least, that's the story Lucy gave me.
I hit the streets again almost immediately, huddled inside the leather jacket, jeans, and hooded sweatshirt which Siobahn had left for me. They were all new, expensive, and near chokingly warm. The warmth was a good thing, temperatures in Boston had plummeted overnight and a bone jarring cold had settled in.
I still slept on the streets.
Essie’s funeral was a few days later. The only people who showed were Hernandez and I. He said a few words, and we lowered the casket. It was white, gleaming in perfect complement with the snow.
He was on crutches, and I walked beside him when it was all said and done. I kept one hand held out, just in case he slipped. He did a few times, but each time I caught him and set him right before it got disastrous.
“Yavetta was a good man once,” he said quietly, after we had walked for a few minutes in silence.
“Maybe so, once. Why do you think he did it?” I asked.
“Principal makes men do strange things sometimes, Jack,” he said quietly, pausing to look over the graveyard. His face was drawn, eyes distant. “We’ll probably never know the whole story, or how he learned to even call something as purely wicked as Legion.”
“Well, it’s done,” I said.
“For now. But there’s always a new monster. That said, so you're aware, you’ll be provided with a place to sleep, an allowance every week.” He handed me a card. I took it, looking over the address scribbled on the back and then turned what was left of my eyes towards him, brows raised. All in all, it was a weird sensation not having eyes and all. I wasn't exactly sure how I was even capable of seeing it, to be honest. I mean, I knew that I was technically seeing it through Alice's eyes and she was translating it to my brain somehow. Either way, everything had a sort of overlay, a slight glow to it. It was like everything now radiated with its own internal light. “There’s an apartment near the church, but off the property. There’s a bank account as well, you’ll find the debit card at the apartment in the drawer of a small table beside the door. A car too, though it’s nothing special.”
“What the hell is this?”
“Me keeping up my end of the deal. You don’t think this allows you out of the Ordo do you? Or that we’d leave you in the cold after the service you provided?”
I blinked. I wanted to hit him, to lash out and break the priest. After a moment, it passed and my shoulders slumped. The initial moment of shock wearing off, I was simply resigned to it.
“You can’t be serious.”
“I am very serious. You’ve killed, Jack, more than once, and we have the proof. Adam’s police officer, the young woman whose car you and your vampire compatriot stole, Father Davidson. As long as you continue to hold up your end of the deal and continue to work for a greater good, that proof will remain obfuscated.”
My jaw hung open. I was dumbfounded. After all this I was still under their thumb.
“We will be in touch,” he said finally, turning and hobbling towards his car on his crutches. I let him go without helping him. I suddenly wasn’t feeling that charitable.
“Alice,” I said a few minutes later, after watching Hernandez drive away.
She appeared, right on cue. She was standing on a headstone beside me, watching the graveyard, a slightly amused look in her eyes. She was still the little girl, but her shadow, that of the angel, stretched out about twenty feet in front of her.
“Yes?”
“Been meaning to ask you something.”
“Go on.”
“Why did that demon keep referring to me as Host?”
“Who said it was referring to you?”
“Right, so why you then?”
“You know the answer to that already, Jack,” she said.
I shook my head, shoving my hands in the jacket’s fur lined pockets. “No, I don’t.”
“Heavenly Host?” she asked.
“I got nothing.”
“As in the army of Heaven, heavenly host.”
“Wait, are you telling me you’re an angel?”
“Now he gets it,” she said.
“Then why were you in Hell if you’re an angel? Shouldn’t you be, I dunno, playing a harp somewhere?”
“I’m a deserter, Jack. Cast into Hell by Michael himself,” she said after a long pause. Her eyes grew distant, the look on her face one of remembrance, of things playing out behind her mind’s eye which she didn’t care to see. “I saw too many of my family slaughtered by each other when Lucifer revolted, I was done with it, so I laid down my sword and refused to co
ntinue fighting.”
“You’re a deserter?”
“Yes.”
“Wonderful. So what does that make you, angel or demon exactly?”
“Doesn't matter. You’re still stuck with me,” she said.
* * *
Acknowledgements
I owe thanks to a lot of folks, so here goes:
Heather, for threatening me with bodily harm whenever I strayed off the path, Matt and the folks at Fable Press, who are awesomely awesome, Doc Schweitzer for teaching me most everything I know about writing, Lisa the Goddess of Cake and an all-around amazing and supportive person, Danielle for believing I wasn't just a talentless hack of a word monkey, Leslie and Erin for the same reason, Bec for being my counterpart in snark, Jason for reminding me when it was time to sit down, shut up, and have a beer, Chad for being one of the most genuinely decent human beings on the planet, Rob for the constant support and chocolate from a far off land, Jim Butcher, Kevin Hearne, Richard Kadrey, and Jennifer Estep for being the people that got me mixed up in this crazy, crazy genre, and to anyone I've forgotten to mention, didn't mention, or what have you. THANK YOU.
* * *
About the Author
A fan of pop culture, Patrick Donovan writes urban fantasy for no other reason than to entertain. His first novel, Demon Jack, makes its home at Fable Press.
He started writing at a young age, drawing his stories on paper bags connected together by his mother. This makeshift canvas was the closest thing he had to a notebook. He thinks characters are what breathe life into a story as the reader watches them fight for survival, make choices (for better or worse) or just fall in love.
Like many authors, he lives off of coffee and would consume it via IV if that was a viable option. When he’s not writing, he can be found reading, gaming and playing dad to the "coolest person on Earth".
Armed with his Bachelor’s Degree in writing from High Point University, he is working for a Masters in English with a focus on Creative Writing.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34