Apostle: A Supernatural Action Adventure Opera (Damian’s Chronicles Book 3)

by Michael Todd

  Ravi said nothing for several moments. Yeah? Yeah? Well, whatever. One day, you’ll wear orthopedic shoes, shit your diaper, and say hello to the invalid next door. Fortunately for you, as it is for me, today isn’t that day.

  He stood and returned the journal to the safe. One day you’ll hold back too much, and it will cost us both our lives and our freedom. But do as you will. You are a demon, after all. It doesn’t surprise me that you are stubborn. What surprises me is that whatever you’re holding back scares you. I didn’t think you scared easily.

  The demon fumed. Go fuck yourself, priest. Not everything is as cut and dried as you would like it to be. Even your precious Katie has secrets she will never reveal to you.

  Damian closed the safe. You’re right. The difference is, if she had a secret that would move us forward in this war, she would bite the bullet and tell us.

  Ravi sulked in the shadows of her prison and remained obdurately silent. Part of him felt bad for barking at her like that, but it was time she knew how he felt. Whether it did any good, only time would tell. For now, he would focus on work and the cardinal, and his demon could take her time.

  Chapter Fifteen

  “Ahhh.” Damian sighed, put his feet up, and sipped his hot coffee.

  The sun was out, but fall had arrived. The leaves were colorful, the breeze was cold, and they’d had their first frost of the year. It would be his first full autumn and winter in London, and he hoped it wouldn’t be worse than those he had experienced in the States. He shivered slightly, pulled his collar up, and tucked the scarf more securely around his neck. He wore black fingerless gloves, a pair he’d owned since he’d joined the mercs. They were rather the worse for wear at that point, but they did the job.

  Ravi snickered. You look like an old hobo in those things. And what is the point? You want to keep your palms warm, but fuck your digits? They can freeze?

  Damian chuckled as he opened his fallen angel book and flipped to his place. Notes were written on the sides, obviously in Pandora’s hand. He took his time reading the page from top to bottom before he tried to make sense of the annotations. It seemed that was her way to ease her frustration, but they were hilarious. On the top of the page, written in large letters, was Pandora’s sassy attitude.

  If you are reading this book, save yourself time and burn the fucking thing.

  He smirked and turned the book sideways to read the next scribble.

  Apparently this writer has no idea what an angel is, much less a fallen one. Are all humans this fucking dumb? Angels of any kind don’t have magical powers, you fucking idiot. Move out of your mom’s basement.

  Damian laughed loudly, covering his mouth. Along the binding of the book was another message to the reader.

  Eat a dick, bozo. If you think fallen angels are all death and destruction, you have another think coming. Maybe you deserve a little death and destruction…of your asshole.

  He shook his head and sipped his coffee. She had underlined and crossed out information throughout the text. He didn’t know when Pandora had worked on it, but she must have been more than bored. It made him think about Katie and Pandora, and he felt homesick for a moment.

  Ravi chuckled. This is what it takes for you to feel homesick? Vulgar language by the Queen of hell talking about the destruction of someone’s asshole?

  Damian shrugged. Hey, I didn’t pick my friends. They picked me. I guess they grew on me more than I thought they would. Even Pandora, who turned out to be a surprising ally.

  He turned the page and paused as the sounds of scraping footsteps came from Rose’s doorway. She stepped slowly out of the shadows, her gaze fixed on the broken paving. Damian straightened quietly, shut the book, and put it on the table. She hadn’t noticed him, and he wanted it to stay that way. He wanted to see what she was doing.

  Her dress was dirty and wrinkled, and her hair was no longer pulled back in a perfect bun. The silver strands stuck in all directions and framed her wrinkled face. She seemed to have aged ten years overnight. Her back hunched as she walked, and her left foot dragged slightly. The bones in her curled hands looked twisted and frail, and her eyes were a constant deep red that shimmered in the shadows around her.

  “Damn broom,” she mumbled, followed by inaudible sounds.

  Her voice was deep and scratchy, unlike the Rose he knew. It was obvious that at that moment, the demon had taken her over. Every once in a while, her voice would emerge between the words of the snarling, snapping creature. Damian could hear a plea in her tone, and it broke his heart. The beast would take control quickly, and her head would twitch to the side.

  Damian pulled one leg over the other and watched as she attempted to use the broom. She was clumsy and had difficulty moving it and her body at the same time. The demon tried to use her like a puppet, but it was clear he hadn’t mastered human movement yet.

  Ravi groaned. Looks like you might be losing old Grammy over there. I can barely sense her human presence.

  Damian sneered. This is bullshit. She is a fighter, but she shouldn’t have to be. She doesn’t deserve this.

  Damian, none of them do. You got lucky, like the other mercs. So many humans are taken, and no one even notices.

  He balled his fist. Does that make it right? I’ll answer that for you. No, it fucking doesn’t.

  Rose dropped the broom, and a deep demonic voice snapped, “Pick it up! Useless sack of meat. Either die and let me go or let me have what’s left of this crippled old body.”

  An echo of her voice shimmered across the courtyard like a ghost in the wind. It sent chills up Damian’s spine as he sat there and watched her struggle. Her eyes flashed a brighter red as she retrieved the broom and continued to sweep. The demon, lost in trying to take her over, hadn’t noticed him. Damian held his coffee tightly for a second before he slammed the cup on the table.

  Rose turned and looked at him. He narrowed his eyes, dropped his feet from the chair, and leaned forward on his elbows. Her eyes flashed again, and the demon grumbled. She turned and ran back into the house, slamming the door behind her. Damian straightened and shook his head. I don’t understand how the church—or why the church—would do this to her. If she was so devout, why wouldn’t they want to ease her suffering?

  Ravi exhaled slowly. I don’t know, Damian. Maybe it was her choice. Maybe she wanted to fight the demon on her own, but the church seems to have more secrets than Lucifer these days.

  Damian scoffed. You’re telling me. I can’t get a straight answer out of anyone. Still, there must be a limit. They must eventually allow me to do something for her, right?

  I wouldn’t bet on it, especially after the whole debacle in Scotland. You’ll be lucky to get permission to take a piss at this point.

  He tapped his fingers on the table and glanced at his phone. The more he thought about it, the more frustration built in the pit of his chest. Ravi could tell he was worked up. Calm down, Damian. If you’re going to do what I think you are, you might want to think twice.

  I don’t need to think twice about what is right. When something is wrong, you need to say it’s wrong, no matter who will come down on you.

  Damian scrolled through the phone and found the Secretary’s number. He hovered his finger over the call button, but before he could press it, the device rang in his hand. He squinted at the screen. Leaning his head back, he dropped his hand to his lap and groaned loudly, rolling his eyes. “You have got to be shitting me right now.”

  He took a deep breath and clicked the Answer button. “Please tell me this is some strange coincidence and that you’re not calling me because I was about to call you. I may work for you and the Wise Men, but I do have a right to my privacy, for fuck’s sake.”

  The Secretary cleared her throat. “That’s some language for a priest, although I am not in the least surprised. Your file is a mile thick, and it took me three months of research before I understood who I would be directing. And what exactly would you consider a coincidence?”

>   Damian scowled. “Not you watching me and knowing I was about to call you. You calling to say hi and to apologize for being a crazy stalker, maybe. Perhaps asking me how to upload information to your mainframe. You know, the non-creepy shit.”

  She stopped typing and chuckled. “What can I do for you today, Damian? Are you calling to find out what the rules of your job are? Because you don’t seem to be able to follow them. You went through the basic courses, and I know you are an intelligent man. This can’t be that difficult.”

  He smirked. “My, aren’t you in a snippy mood today? No, I’m not calling for a refresher on rules. Quite the opposite.”

  The Secretary spoke slowly and carefully. “How so?”

  Damian tapped his finger on the edge of his mug. “I was actually calling about breaking another of them.”

  She exhaled a long, deep breath and adjusted the phone. “Okay, I think I’m ready for it. What rule are you breaking today?”

  He glanced at Rose’s door. “My neighbor, the elderly infected lady.”

  “Mmm, Rose. Yes, I know who she is.”

  Damian nodded. “Well, she looks terrible. She is morphing into a full demon. Even her voice isn’t her own. My demon can’t smell her human soul at all. That creature is taking control of her, and she is tortured almost every second of the day. It’s ridiculous on so many levels. I haven’t seen an infected like this before. Usually, when they’re in this bad shape, they’re attacking. Her body is too old for that, and I heard the demon trying to coax her into death. She isn’t giving in, though, and I can only imagine how hard that is on her.”

  He waited for her to say something, but when she didn’t, he continued, “I wanted to ask if I could take steps to help her. It doesn’t even need to be a full exorcism, merely something to lift some of the weight off her shoulders. She is a devout Christian, and shouldn’t have to suffer through this alone until death.”

  The Secretary began typing again. “The answer is no. Look, Damian, I appreciate the concern and empathy you have for this woman. That’s one of the reasons you’re so well respected in this church. At the same time, it has been made very clear to you that no one is to intervene in Rose’s life or her struggles with said demon. You have your orders when it comes to her.”

  Damian growled. “This is bullshit, Secretary, and you know it. You won’t even give me a good reason.”

  The short silence seemed interminable. “The truth is, I don’t need to give you a reason. You need to trust the church. Even if I wanted to give you a reason, I couldn’t. They don’t explain every choice they make.”

  The priest held the phone angrily in front of him. “Then maybe you should start doing a bit of damn research for yourself. Stop hiding behind your telephone!”

  He pressed the End button and hung up, slammed the phone on the table, and shook his head. At that point he was livid, unable to fully comprehend that he had just hung up on his only ally in the circle of leaders of the church. He didn’t care, though. The decision was stupid and left his neighbor struggling and suffering.

  As he sat there fuming, the front door opened and Max appeared, squinting against the light. Damian raised an eyebrow, his angry lips now twitching into a smile. The trainee wore a pair of black fleece pajama pants with bright orange jack-o-lanterns printed between little cursive Happy Halloweens. His bright orange tee featured a carved pumpkin.

  Max caught his mentor’s startled expression and glanced briefly at his shirt before he shrugged and sat. “What?” He smirked. “I like Halloween, and my mom bought me these. She always gets interesting pajamas since she can’t buy me any other clothes.”

  The older priest laughed at a mental picture of Max growing up over the years with a fresh pair of jammies for every holiday. The kid was proud of them too, which made it even funnier. The lighthearted moment eased a little of Damian’s anger, and he leaned back and lifted his cup in a mock toast.

  “Max, this is why we make a really fucking good team. I handle the shit part of the job—the demons, the politics, and the secrets. You handle my horrible moods with God-awful pajamas and stories of your twelve-year-old attitude toward your mom. Well done, kid. Well done.”

  Max frowned, looking a little uncertain. He crossed one leg over the other, highlighting a pair of puffy pumpkin slippers and bat-printed socks. “Glad I can be of service. Wait until you see the ones she sends me for Christmas. I couldn’t roll over in last year’s—the stuffed antlers on the shirt made it feel like I was sleeping on a moose.”

  Tears welled in Damian’s eyes with renewed laughter. “Thank God you don’t observe Static Electricity Day. You might kill us all.”

  “Is there really a Static Electricity Day?”

  “Sure the hell is,” Damian affirmed, laughter still bubbling. “It’s January ninth, but please try to refrain. We don’t need the house going up in smoke.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Max swallowed the last of his coffee and stood. “Well, I’d better get dressed. It’s tempting to sit around in my pajamas, but that would be frowned on, I suppose.”

  His mentor stretched lazily. “Yeah, I should change out of my cleaning clothes and get decent for the day.”

  They headed indoors, and Max rinsed the cups as Damian headed to his room. He opened the closet and hesitated for only a moment before selecting his new suit. Ravi cheered. Finally! I wondered if you would ever wear the thing. I mean, I know it cost a pretty penny, but you’ll never appreciate it if it’s hidden in the closet.

  Damian chuckled. I feel like it’s a brand-new wand or something.

  She sniffed. Might as well be. I mean, it’s beautiful.

  He dressed, grabbed his hat and the long umbrella, and headed to the living room. Max hadn’t appeared, so Damian wandered the room. He ran his finger over the layer of dust that had collected on the shelves and scowled. Thankfully, Max opened his door and distracted him from any thought of cleaning.

  “Grab your coat,” he told the trainee. “It’s the perfect day for a walk to clear our minds.”

  Max raised a brow and smirked. “When did you become a cover for GQ? That suit looks like it cost more than my soul.”

  Damian laughed and shook the umbrella at him. “It probably did.”

  Max shrugged into his jacket. Tentatively, he ran his finger over Damian’s sleeve. “Maybe I should think about wearing a nice suit every once in a while.”

  “I think you should. Although to afford it after the cut the church takes you’ll have to kill about six demons, and that’s once you’re out of training.”

  The young man snorted disdainfully. “I can do that in about an hour with the incursions you take me on.”

  Max closed the door behind them and glanced at the broom, which still lay on the ground. Familiar fury rushed through Damian along with concern. Rose had not come back outside.

  “I haven’t seen Rose lately,” Max observed thoughtfully as they traversed the courtyard. “No pies, no smiles, no sweeping. It’s been oddly and scarily quiet out here, and I have to admit I don’t like it.”

  Damian held the gate open for him. “I know. Trust me, I noticed. I’m working on a plan. For now, though, we do what we do.”

  The young man shoved his hands in his pockets and looked happily at the blue sky. “Can I ask you something?”

  “Sure. What’s up? Babies come from the stork.”

  Max chuckled. “Yeah, so I’ve heard. No, I wondered why you were so angry when you left the meeting with the Wise Men the other night. You tried to play it off like nothing was wrong, but you have to realize I have spent enough time with you to know it was bullshit. I could also tell you weren’t in the mood to talk about it.”

  Damian cleared his throat and swung his folded umbrella at his side. “Max, doing what is right and following the orders of the church are sometimes two completely different things. There are times when they tell you one thing while your gut or your prayers tell you another. Those lines are often blurred, althoug
h at other times the lines are more than obvious. You have to decide which repercussions you are comfortable with—the reprimand of the church or that of your own conscience. It’s often a hard decision.”

  The trainee nodded, recognizing that no further explanation would be forthcoming. “Is that what’s hard about Rose?”

  “Yeah. The lines in her case are obviously in conflict. To me, there is no question. The woman is infected, her demon has almost taken her over completely, and she needs either release or help. Then I remember who I work for, and how I took a vow to trust and protect the church. That sometimes means following orders that you don’t understand or agree with. Sometimes, it will enrage you, and sometimes it will make you incredibly sad. It’s a hard thing.”

  Max pointed at a coffee stand on the corner. “You want a cup?”

  “Sure.”

  The young priest paid the vendor and handed his mentor a cup. Damian wrapped his hands around it and heat surged through his palms. Holding a hot drink was one thing he loved when he was cold. It seemed to soothe his entire soul, and after the battle the day before, he needed something warm and uncomplicated.

  They walked on between the people going about their day. Max chuckled at a shop owner hanging a picture of Katie in the store window. “She seems to be all the rage.”

  Damian noticed the picture and laughed. “Wow, I suppose so. You know what, though? I’m not upset in the least. She doesn’t always follow the rules, sure, but she gets stuff done, and she saves lives. That motivates me.”

  They left the main part of town and started down a long suburban street. Max smiled to himself as a memory surfaced. “I want to tell you a story from my childhood.”

  “All right. I like that. Whatcha got?”

  Max laughed. “It’s a moral-of-the-story kind of thing. When I was about thirteen, I hit that stage where I wanted things. Normal kids wanted CD players and game systems—that kind of thing. Me? I wanted to tithe on my own. I wanted to go on mission trips. My parents weren’t poor, but my father was a hard-working man. He wanted me to understand the value of money and why it meant so much to give to the church, so I found a job.”