Personal Demons: A Supernatural Action Adventure Opera (War Of The Angels Book 4)

by Michael Todd

  Personal Demons

  War Of The Angels™ Book Four

  Michael Todd

  Michael Anderle

  Laurie Starkey

  Personal Demons (this book) is a work of fiction.

  All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Sometimes both.

  Copyright © 2019 Michael Todd, Michael Anderle, and Laurie Starkey

  Cover by Ryn Katryn Digital Art

  Cover copyright © LMBPN Publishing

  A Michael Anderle Production

  LMBPN Publishing supports the right to free expression and the value of copyright. The purpose of copyright is to encourage writers and artists to produce the creative works that enrich our culture.

  The distribution of this book without permission is a theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like permission to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), please contact support@lmbpn.com. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.

  LMBPN Publishing

  PMB 196, 2540 South Maryland Pkwy

  Las Vegas, NV 89109

  First US edition, February 2019

  Contents

  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

  Author Notes - Michael Anderle

  Connect with Michael Todd

  Books by Michael Todd

  Books written as Michael Anderle

  Personal Demons Team

  JIT Readers

  John Ashmore

  Nicole Emens

  Larry Omans

  Misty Roa

  Dorothy Lloyd

  Micky Cocker

  Peter Manis

  James Caplan

  Angel LaVey

  Jeff Eaton

  If we missed anyone, please let us know!

  Weapons Consultant

  John Kern

  Proprietor

  Spurlock's - Henderson NV

  Editor

  Skyhunter Editing Team

  Dedication

  To Family, Friends and

  Those Who Love

  to Read.

  May We All Enjoy Grace

  to Live the Life We Are

  Called.

  1

  “Thank you so much, please come back soon,” Amir Aboud said, handing a sandwich to one of his customers.

  He smiled and waved as they walked out of the door, then straightened the magazines on the rack to the right and wiped up some stickiness on the counter in front of him. He stood back, looking out over the shop as he twirled his finger through his magnificent gray beard. The bell on the door clanged, and Amir smiled at a man coming in.

  The guy waved. “Evening, Amir! I see you’re still sporting the NY Giants jersey. You’ll never let it go.”

  Amir laughed. “Never. Giants forever. How are you doing, Frank?”

  Frank grabbed a Coke from the cooler and set it on the counter. “Oh, you know, same old. Shifts are long, but I get paid for it. Hey, how long has this bodega been here now? I remember it from when I was a teenager.”

  Amir nodded, putting the Coke in a bag. “Oh, yes. Twenty-two years this year, but it doesn’t feel that long at all. Everyone in this neighborhood is family.”

  Frank smiled, taking his change. “I’m glad. With the way the world is now, I always worry about folks like you and your family. Just know this neighborhood has your back. Besides, where would we go for a killer tuna melt on Tuesdays?”

  Amir tapped the counter happily. “Not a place in New York that can beat mine.”

  Frank pointed at him as he backed up to the door. “Damn right. You have a good night, and be careful closing up. Things are getting wilder out there every day.”

  Amir waved. “Always safe. Thanks, Frank. See you tomorrow.”

  Frank waved over his shoulder as he pushed outside. “See you tomorrow, Amir.”

  The door closed and Amir glanced down at his watch. Fifteen minutes until he could close up and go home. For Amir, though, it was never a clock-watching job. He owned a bodega in New York City—something he hadn’t known he would ever have the ability to achieve, but he had. He sold handmade sandwiches, drinks, and all sorts of grocery items to the neighborhood.

  And it was a fantastic neighborhood. There were older people here who had supported him for years, and young people that had grown up coming to his shop for quarter Cokes. And then there were the new people who came and went in the rentals down the street.

  Everyone always made sure to look out for Amir and his family, and no one ever complained if he had to charge a little more to keep his mom-and-pop operation open. It had provided him and his family opportunities he’d never had as a kid. He sent his daughter and son to a private school, gave heavily to his mosque, and showered his wife with beautiful clothes as often as he could. He was not rich by any means, as shown by the ten-year-old sneakers he was wearing, but he was smart with money and knew how to give excellent customer service every single time.

  To Amir, this night was no different than any other. He would be closing the shop soon and heading to the mosque for evening prayer and then home for dinner with his family. He looked forward to it every day and had a bag under the counter with gifts for both his son and his daughter—a teddy bear for her, and a new comic book for his son.

  Amir whistled as he walked around the store, doing his normal cooler checks at the end of the worknight. From the back, he could hear the bell ring, but he couldn’t see who had entered. He smiled, happy to have last-minute customers, and made his way behind the counter to the register. When he looked up, though, his smile faded. Standing in front of him were two demons. Their eyes were a muted red, not shiny like those he had seen on the news, and there were two small horns protruding from both of their heads. One’s clothing was all black, and the other wore a NY Mets baseball jersey and cargo shorts. They stood hunched at the counter, angry looks on their faces.

  Amir slowly reached his hand for the button under the counter, putting the other in the air. “I don’t want any trouble.”

  One of the demons lifted his gun. “Both hands up, NOW!”

  Amir quickly snatched his hand back above his head. The other demon snarled at him, slamming his bat on the counter. Amir flinched, turning his head away as the demon snarled, “Empty the register, and hurry the fuck up.”

  Amir nodded, frightened by the sudden change in atmosphere around him. Just moments before he had been thinking about his children, and now he was faced by demons wielding weapons. He reached carefully over and took the guy’s duffel bag, then opened the register and began to pile the cash inside it.

  The first demon waved his gun. “Put a few cartons of smokes in there, and don’t forget the safe.”

  Amir, hands shaking, threw several cartons of cigare
ttes into the bag and put it on the counter. The demon narrowed his eyes as his friend laughed loudly, running through the store smashing shelves with his bat. “Don’t fucking make me tell you twice. The fucking safe, old man.”

  Amir whimpered softly, swallowing hard. “Please, I do not keep the key to the safe in the store. We only empty it once a week, and I bring the key in then.”

  The demon growled, reaching over the counter and grabbing Amir by the collar of his Jersey. “Don’t fucking lie to me!”

  Amir shook his head. “I’m not. I swear.”

  The other demon bounced over. “What’s going on?”

  The first one let Amir go. “Old man says he can’t get in the safe. I think he’s full of shit.”

  The demon with the bat snickered. “I think we should show our friendly terrorist fuck here what we do to liars.”

  The demons smiled at each other and lunged over the counter. They tackled Amir to the ground and stood up, punching and kicking him with everything they had. The demon with the bat hit Amir hard in the back, knocking the wind out of him. Blood gushed from his nose and mouth as he begged them to stop.

  The demon with the gun leaned down and grabbed Amir by the hair, lifting his head up. “That’s what we do when we find fucks like you trying to take advantage of people in this town. You lose it all.”

  The guys laughed, grabbing other things from the racks around them and throwing them in the bag. Before walking back around the counter, the demon with the bat raised it over his head. Amir put his hand up and closed his eyes. The bell on the front door rang, and the two demons turned. The guy walking in froze and furrowed his brow. “What the fuck?”

  After that moment, everything seemed to proceed in slow motion. The man reached for his jacket pocket, trying to grab his phone. The demon with the gun panicked and raised his pistol, pulling the trigger three times. The bullets slammed into the patron, and he fell to the ground. Amir curled into a ball as the guys grabbed their bag and ran out. Amir looked through the crack between the counter and the floor at the face of the patron, eyes open, dead. Blood pooled around him and trickled across the floor toward Amir. The bodega owner groaned as he slowly reached up and pressed the security button, then passed out.

  It was a windy morning in New York City. People bundled up tightly, donning gloves and thick jackets, pulling their scarves over their mouths and noses, and tiptoeing in and out of the patches of ice as they went down the sidewalks. The holidays were over, and the city was stuck in the in-between months—the dreariness of winter without the flash and excitement of the twinkling lights of the holidays. It was the countdown period, the time where everyone waited impatiently for the first sign of spring, all so they could get to summer and complain again because of the heat reflecting off the concrete jungle they lived in.

  The condo was quiet, the smell of coffee wafting through the halls. Katie and Juntto sat silently by the window sipping cups of coffee. Angie was perched on one of the counter stools, her legs sprawled across the others, reading Girl, Wash Your Face by Rachel Hollis with a donut in one hand and a cup of coffee on the counter in front of her. Pandora shuffled into the kitchen, her hair tangled and a mess. She didn’t say a word, but neither did anyone else.

  Pandora went straight over and grabbed two donuts and a cup of coffee, then stood at the counter slurping her coffee. She was trying to act as normal as she possibly could. Angie was the only one who didn’t know what was going on, but she could feel the weight of the silence in the room. She looked up from her book and moved her eyes from Katie to Juntto to Pandora. Katie was staring out the window in a trance, and Juntto was stirring his coffee with his finger. Pandora looked at the ceiling as she chewed her donut, not making eye contact with anyone.

  Angie narrowed her eyes and slowly closed her book, then cleared her throat and broke the silence. “So, we have had a small reduction in demon instances over the last week. At least, that’s what the paper says.”

  Katie blinked and looked at Angie. “I’m sorry. My mind, it was… What did you say?”

  Angie stared at her for a moment and then at Pandora, who shrugged. “Not my awkward silence.”

  Angie pulled her legs down from the stool and pursed her lips. “Okay, what the hell is going on here? You are all trying to act so normal that it’s coming off like a freaky wax museum.”

  Katie let out a deep sigh, and all three of them started talking at once. Katie shook her head. “Is it just me, or was Baylahn fucking wild? I mean, I didn’t think about it while I was in there, but that has to be like one of the Great Wonders of the World. I don’t even fully understand how it all fucking works.”

  Pandora’s eyes went wide, and she put out her hands. “Thank you! I have been wracking my brain about it ever since we got back.”

  Juntto looked up from his coffee. “Guys, we were inside a fucking Leviathan.”

  Katie and Pandora sang out in unison, “I KNOW! So fucking insane!”

  Angie froze, not having a clue what they were talking about. She knew they had been on a mission to find Baylahn, but the details hadn’t been talked about. Pandora picked up her plate, piled more donuts on it, and hurried over to the table, sitting down. “I can’t believe we met the Atlanteans. I won’t lie. I heard the same legends as the rest of you, but they were nothing like the stories.”

  Katie grabbed a donut, nodding enthusiastically. “Right? They were small and not like normal humans. I always thought Atlantis was this enchanted realm with beautiful people.”

  Juntto chuckled, shaking his head. “And we ended up with people with giant bug-eyes who liked to kill people in the streets for revenge, not to mention that they were fucking wizards.”

  Pandora sighed. “Seriously. They had fucking Harry Potter abilities. I just don’t get it. If you have magical abilities, why don’t you just swish your magic stick or staff or whatever and rebuild the civilizations? Why are they living in one ruin after another? Always having to move to another foul-ass spot inside Baylahn?”

  Katie shivered. “Yeah, and the way the floor rippled every time it breathed or anything. Didn’t you find the shit pool, Pandora?”

  Pandora groaned. “Don’t remind me. It was a nightmare.”

  Angie sat there wide-eyed, looking back and forth at them. She was completely blown away; she’d had no idea they had gone deep-sea diving inside the Leviathan. “Wait, you were inside that thing? And there were people living in there?”

  Katie swallowed her coffee, nodding. “Mmhmm. And a river, and multiple ancient civilizations, and the lost sword of Lucifer. It’s a pretty big place.”

  Juntto shook his finger, slumped at the table. “One thing bothers me. Before we reached the sword, we fought our shadow selves—”

  Angie choked on her coffee. “Your what?”

  Juntto glanced up at Angie. “Shadow people. They were like our mirror images, only they fought back. Anyway, we won by not fighting. We won by putting our weapons down and doing the honorable angelic thing. But how in the hell did Red and Wilson defeat their shadow selves? I’m not even sure those things can die.”

  Everybody went quiet, looking around at each other. Katie shrugged her shoulder, popping a donut hole in her mouth. “I guess they laid down their weapons, too. Or somehow, they ran. I don’t really know.”

  Juntto wrinkled his nose. “I feel that neither Wilson nor Red was intelligent enough to know that.”

  Pandora scoffed. “No, but they could have been scared enough to wave the white flag. Maybe they shat themselves and threw down their weapons in fear. That probably would have had the same effect. The shadow people would have sunk back down in that lagoon.”

  Katie snorted, then laughed. “Damn glad none of us decided that was a good time for a fucking swim. Next thing you know, you have shadow people rolling up underneath you. Not the surprise anyone wants when they are paddling around.”

  Pandora snickered. “Unless it’s purposeful and the guy is headed right for the golden pal
ace…if you know what I mean.”

  Katie rolled her eyes, and Juntto tilted his head to the side. “No, I don’t.”

  Everyone picked up their coffee and slurped silently, and the room got quiet again. Angie glanced from one to the other, waiting for someone to start talking again. Finally, Pandora broke the silence. “Guys? We were in that thing’s guts. That was fucking wild.”

  The flashing police lights reflected off the buildings surrounding the bodega. People from the neighborhood began to gather at the police tape, trying to get a look at what had happened and find out who was killed. The police had taped off a wide area and pushed the crowd and media back as far as they could. The front door of the bodega was destroyed, the effect of one of the bullets that had struck the patron and gone through him and out his back.

  Detectives Travers and Schultz pulled up in their car, creeping through the crowd and finally coming to a stop. They got out and looked around the area. It was an old neighborhood, but the crime rate tended to be lower than most other places in the city, largely because much of the population was either older or blue-collar workers. The lack of public housing staved off some of the drug runs and other criminal activity that usually plagued the lower-income areas.