Dusk of Death: an Armen Leza, Demon Hunter novel (Armageddon Trilogy Book 1)

by N. L. Gervasio

  “Your domain holds much better protection than hers,” Sariel said with an evil grin and lit a cigarette by merely sucking on the end. Its tip flickered to life in bright red embers. He blew out a ring of smoke. “I see something other than the two of you survived the fire.”

  “On purpose, I’m sure.” Terry reached into his t-shirt and pulled out a trinity knot pendant attached to a silver chain. He clutched the top of the painting tightly. Part of Armen wished he’d break the damn thing over the demon’s head.

  Sariel sneered at the pendant. “You think your little pendant is going to keep me from you?”

  “Well, it looks to me like you aren’t too fond of it.” Terry looked down at the demon’s black leather shoes. “Feet hurt yet?”

  Smoke drifted upward from his soles. Sariel frowned. “Consecrated? How?”

  “My father was a priest,” Terry said. “When I bought the house, he blessed the entire property for me.”

  “A holy man, how divine,” Sariel seethed and lifted his right foot and placed it back down.

  “Yes,” Terry said. “I wasn’t sure if it would actually work, though. Never had a need for it before. Cool plus in my favor.”

  “Except that priests are not allowed to marry, so your father broke his vows to . . . .” He looked up briefly before setting his eyes on Terry again.

  “God? Is that what you’re getting at?” Terry said. “He asked God for His blessing, and God gave it, so no, he did not break his vows.”

  Sariel sneered again, lifted his left foot, and placed it back on the ground. “Your human father spoke to Him? I doubt it so.”

  “Sure as I’m standing here talking to you,” Terry replied. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have someone to take care of.” He swung the cane at Sariel, who grabbed the end of it.

  “Has she told you yet what she once was?” Sariel yanked on the cane, bringing Terry a step closer to him. His hand sizzled against the wood.

  Armen cringed at his words. She didn’t want Terry to know.

  Terry smirked. “I’ve figured it out, demon. It’s not all that difficult a puzzle.” He looked at the demon’s hand. “This is blessed too.”

  Sariel hissed and withdrew his hand with a jerk. “Wait until the next show. I shall make it special for you.”

  “Leave my property, demon,” Terry commanded.

  Sariel cringed and took an involuntary step back. He hissed at Terry, who took a step forward and pushed the end of the cane to his chest.

  “Goodbye!”

  Sariel screeched and vanished in a cloud of red smoke.

  Armen gasped, covering her mouth with her hand. So that’s why he never says goodbye to anyone.

  Terry turned toward the house, and Armen hurriedly hobbled back to her chair.

  “Bloody bastard,” he muttered as he shut and locked the door, and leaned the cane and painting against the end of the sofa. He stepped over to Armen and knelt beside her. “Warmer now?”

  She peeked from around the edge of the blankets that covered her and nodded.

  “Good. Would you like some cocoa or tea?”

  “Cocoa,” she whispered hoarsely.

  He stood and went to the kitchen. When he returned, she’d pushed the blankets down to just below her shoulders. “Here, this will help warm you,” he said and handed her the cup.

  She looked down into it and smiled faintly. “Marshmallows.”

  Terry pulled a chair next to hers and sat down. “Give me some of that blanket, would you?” He scooted his chair closer.

  The corner of her mouth curved upward. “Are you expecting to get shot in your own house?”

  He looked down and laughed when he saw he still had his Kevlar vest on. “Think I should with demons showing up everywhere?”

  “Wouldn’t work anyway,” she replied.

  “True,” he said and shrugged. “Guess I’ll take it off, then.” He stood, unfastened it and pulled it off, dropping the vest to the floor next to his chair.

  Armen tried very hard not to stare, but it was extremely difficult when muscles bulged beneath his tight white t-shirt. Before he could notice her distraction, she handed him her cup and pulled the blankets from underneath, rearranging them so that they could cover them both. “I heard voices outside.”

  Terry’s brow rose. “Oh, yeah, I was talking to a neighbor.”

  “Liar.” She took a sip of her cocoa.

  He chuckled. “You have good ears then.”

  “Yes, it’s frightening sometimes, the things I hear.”

  “I’ll bet.” He took a sip of his drink and looked at her. “Do you feel like talking?”

  She sighed. “I suppose. It’s now or never, right?”

  “It doesn’t have to be now. You’ve been through a lot tonight.”

  She swallowed the sob wanting to escape. Demons don’t cry. “I’ve lost everything, Terry.” Her eyes watered and she reached up to wipe one of them. There was so much more to her statement than he would ever know or understand. “All I have now are the clothes I’m wearing and my Jeep.” Not to mention losing every piece of humanity she’d procured in her three years of flesh. Except the Goya. “What am I going to do?”

  “You can stay here as long as you need to, you know.”

  “I don’t want to burden you.”

  “Nonsense. You would never be a burden to me, Armen.”

  She stared at the flames, not sure what to think of that. Again, Terry’s blatant interest in her brought on a level of anxiety she wasn’t used to. But the flames comforted her, reminding her of what she had once called home. Armen decided that her next home would have a fireplace. After an eternity of staring into the orange hues and watching embers float up into the chimney, she turned to Terry, who sat cozy in the blanket and sipping his cocoa.

  “What are we going to put in the report?” They certainly couldn’t report that they’d encountered a demon. That was a quick ticket to a psychological evaluation, regardless of what the captain had heard, or thought he’d heard.

  Terry shrugged. “Let me sleep on it. I’ll think of something.”

  “You have to have a reason for firing your weapon.”

  “I know,” he said. “I’ll figure something out. Captain trusts me.”

  “Why is he so hard on you?”

  “Keeps me on my toes.”

  “Then why does he hate me so much?”

  He looked at her, flames reflecting in the green of his eyes, turning them almost brown. “Says you give him a bad vibe.”

  She certainly couldn’t hold Terry’s honesty against him, no matter how much the truth stung. It was one of his defining qualities. “How so?”

  Terry shrugged again. “Not sure what he means.”

  “Do I give you a bad vibe?”

  He lifted his mug to his lips. “Would you be in my house if you did?”

  “I suppose not,” she said softly and moved her eyes to focus on him again. “So, your father was a priest, huh?”

  Terry smiled around his mug. “Yes.”

  “So that means you probably know the bible like the back of your hand.”

  “And then some.” His eyes flicked back to hers. “Yes, the parts that didn’t make it into the final book.”

  “Really?” Her usual tone had returned now that she’d warmed up.

  Terry nodded. “I know who that surly bastard is. And yes, I know your name too.”

  Armen stiffened. “How long have you known?”

  He glanced at her briefly before his eyes returned to the flames. “I’ve been piecing it together for a while now. What I want to know is why you’ve been forsaken.”

  Armen looked into her cup, swirling her finger around the edge. “Which time?”

  Terry laughed. “Well, at least you still have your sense of humor.”

  “It helps me sort through all the bullshit.”

  He smiled. “Something tells me you’ve seen a lot of bullshit.”

  Her eyes met his. “You have no idea.
”

  “So tell me. I recognize your name and have picked up on the hints you’ve dropped, unintentionally, I’m sure.”

  “On one condition.”

  “What would that be?”

  “You tell me why you’re so damn calm around a demon.”

  He shifted toward her in his chair and leaned on the arm. “My father.”

  Armen cocked her head. “What about him?”

  “Well,” he began and took a drink, “he wasn’t just a priest.”

  A demon wrangler. Had she heard that correctly? Terry nodded when she asked for clarification, and she sat for some time, staring into her mug.

  “So he hunted them?”

  “Yeah.” He took another drink. “Some of ‘em were pretty nasty too; he’d come home all beat up.”

  She remembered hearing about the wranglers and was told to steer clear of them, but she’d never run into one.

  Painted ivy grew up the sides of the stone and stucco fireplace. The wall was painted Navajo white to blend in with it. At least it wasn’t a bright white; otherwise, Armen would have to seriously reconsider Terry’s sanity. At this point, however, she started questioning her own.

  “You okay?” Terry asked as he finished off the last of his cocoa.

  Armen nodded, still deep in thought, staring into the flames. “Fine.” He continued to talk about his father, the demon wrangler-slash-priest-slash-father. Then, silence. She looked up.

  “What?” She studied his face, which held a grin not suitable for the topic.

  “What’cha thinkin’ about?” That was a bit more than friendly or on the topic of ‘Hi, my dad’s a demon wrangler’.”

  “What am I not thinking about would be a much better question.” Like how mundane her job used to be where demons didn’t appear out of thin air, or how hard it can be to blend in with the humans, to mimic them, especially now that she was one. Or about the day she fell . . . .

  “I’m exhausted. I think my entire body hurts.”

  “You should get some rest.”

  Armen set her cup on the table. “Which room am I staying in?” She carefully stood.

  “Last door on the left.” He held a hand out to catch her in case she fell, which she apparently needed because she stumbled. “I think I’ll help you.”

  “It’s just because I’m so tired.”

  “Mm hmm. I take it this conversation is over.”

  She looked up at him as he slipped an arm around her waist. “Would you mind if we continue it tomorrow?”

  “Sure, that’s fine.” He walked her down the hall and into the small guest room, depositing her at the bed. “You need something to sleep in?”

  After wondering what his comment would be if she told him she didn’t wear anything to bed, she shook her head and gave the mattress a small bounce. “Ever sleep on this?”

  “Why?” he asked, his lips separating enough to show his pearly whites.

  She cocked an eyebrow at him.

  He laughed. “Yes, it’s fairly comfortable. You’ll sleep well on it.” He walked to the foot of the bed and opened the cedar chest. “Blanket?”

  “Please.”

  He extracted a deep red plush blanket and laid it on the bed. “There you go. Anything else I can help you with?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “You sure?” he asked, brow arched.

  “Terry, all I have left is to undress and climb into bed,” she said. “You most certainly aren’t helping me with that.”

  He chuckled this time and grabbed the doorknob. “Okay, fine.” He half-turned as he stepped out the door. “Goodnight, Armen.”

  “Night, Terry.” After he closed the door, she turned down the bed and kicked off her shoes. Terry was milling around in the room next to hers, and she wondered if he wore anything to bed. “Ah.” She slapped a hand to her forehead. “What’s wrong with me?”

  Finally undressed, she crawled under the covers and pulled them up to her chin, but her mind kept wandering back to Terry and his oh-so-perfect muscular body. Why did humans still have such primal urges? She blew out a frustrated breath, turned off the light, and turned over. “Bastard,” she whispered and closed her eyes.

  Blood seeped from every pore of the middle-aged woman’s face, pushing its way out as her face swelled until the skin cracked from the pressure and she let out an agonizing, shrill scream. Armen blinked at the sight, unable to believe what her eyes were showing her. She turned away. A man with black bile trickling slowly from his mouth, nose, and eyes came into view. Another man, with dark hair, his face twisted in pain, his flesh peeled off one long strip at a time by fingers that didn’t exist. Just the heads showed, like at a carnival walking through the House of Horrors; nothing else. She scanned for Sariel’s presence, knowing this sideshow was his style, but she couldn’t find him.

  With a gasp, she struggled to force her eyes open. Dark shadows swirled above her bed in and out of her vision, mixing with the nightmare. Still caught between waking and dreaming, her body couldn’t move except to shiver. A weight on her chest pinned her to the bed, robbing her breath. She was trapped like a fly in a web.

  Early morning light swept through the small house in the Historic District of Phoenix. The sound of Terry stumbling into the hallway reached her ears. He opened her bedroom door and gasped. Then a language damn near as ancient as the one she’d used the night before passed his lips.

  “I banish you back to the darkness from which you came, demon.”

  Why hadn’t he said ‘goodbye’ to it? A hiss shuddered through the air. What he’d said had some effect on the beast above her. Armen broke out of the dream world and swung her right arm.

  “Leave this realm!”

  The dark shadows swirled about and flew up through the ceiling, leaving a mocking giggle to echo in the room until silence fell.

  Terry ran over and sat on the edge of the bed. “You okay?” His bandaged hand reached for her arm, but stopped short of gracing her flesh.

  She nodded and flopped back down on the bed.

  “You forgot to shield yourself before you went to sleep,” he said softly.

  She opened one eye. “And you didn’t shield the house,” she replied. “I was distracted. What’s your excuse?”

  He chuckled. “I guess I was distracted, too.”

  “Yes, well, let’s take note to not be distracted ever again.”

  He looked down at his hand, resting on his leg. “That’s rather difficult around you.”

  She closed her eye. “Please don’t start with the date thing again.”

  “I’m not,” he said. “I’m just concerned for your safety.”

  She flipped an eye open again. The longing in his eyes was ever-present. “Liar.”

  He smiled and closed his eyes briefly. “Was that Sar— him again?”

  “Several of his minions, the little bastards,” she replied. “I’m never going to get any sleep now, not until he’s burning.”

  Terry frowned, confused.

  “In the fires of Hell, Terry,” she added. The confusion left his face. “Or maybe I’ll just throw him into the Pit. Got any calendula around here, since mine’s all burned up?”

  He shook his head. “Never needed it here.”

  “Because daddy blessed the place?”

  He nodded. “Yep. Good ol’ Dad.”

  “I think it’s wearing off,” she said. “It needs to be repeated now and then.”

  “I’ll call him later,” he said and shifted on the bed next to her. “I saw you struggling. I didn’t quite know what was happening or what to do.”

  Armen blew out a breath, tucked the blankets around her chest, and propped herself up on one elbow. “I was being pressed. Ever heard of that?”[1]

  “Is that when it feels like someone is holding you down while you’re sleeping?”

  Armen nodded. “And it’s not a fun feeling, either.”

  “I think that happened to me once when I was a kid,” he said. “I r
emember my father freaking out about it and going through the entire house with his sage and some other herb.”

  She smiled. “Calendula. Smart man.” Armen looked around the room. “I feel like I got only a few hours of sleep?”

  “About that.”

  She dropped back to the bed on her left shoulder and closed her eyes. “I need more.”

  “Me, too,” he said. “Want company?”

  Armen opened her eye. Terry’s handsome face held a devilish grin and that damn twinkle. “You really don’t ever give up, do you?”

  He leaned forward. “Not when it comes to you.”

  Armen then realized he was shirtless, and she could see every tattoo running up his could-lift-a-small-car strong arms and across his breaks-the-mold amazing chest. She barely contained the urge to run her fingers over his skin. “Nice tats,” she said in attempt to distract her thoughts. Totally didn’t work.

  “Thanks.” He leaned closer and waggled his eyebrows. “Got any?”

  Armen nodded and she pushed her head back into the pillow.

  “Where?”

  “Someplace I don’t intend to show you right now.”

  “Ah, but that means you’ll show me someday.” Damn if that grin didn’t reach his ears.

  “No, it means that I’m naked and you’ll see everything if I show you right now.” She cursed herself immediately.

  “Real-ly?” he said, dragging the word out as his brow jumped.

  “Oh, Terry, go back to bed.” She slapped his arm.

  He chuckled. “I really frustrate the hell out of you, don’t I?”

  “Yes, you do. Now get out.”

  He laughed, leaned forward, and kissed her forehead. “Night, Armen.”

  She watched him walk away and grinned. “Nice chonies, Terry,” she said with a laugh. “Are you getting into the festive season?”

  He stopped in the doorway and looked down at his boxers, which had little Christmas trees all over them. “Nah, I just haven’t done my laundry yet. Besides, these are boxers, not chonies. Get the lingo right.” He shut the door. “Shield yourself if you don’t want me in there again!”

  Armen laughed, took a deep breath, and closed her eyes, hoping for at least a few more hours of uninterrupted sleep. She chanted softly as she drifted off to sleep, shielding not only herself, but the house as well.