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

by Michael Todd

  “You sound like you have good parents.”

  “I didn’t always see it, but yes, they are. Anyway, I delivered groceries for the local deli for extra money. My town was small, and I could put them on my bike or the trailer I rigged up and go anywhere in our area. I was paid every day for the work I did, and I worked whenever I wasn’t in school or studying.”

  Damian smiled, imagining a young, enthusiastic priest-in-the-making. “Sounds like you learned from your father.”

  “I did. Then I had all this money, and I didn’t know what to do with it. I wasn’t interested in cool stuff, so I walked into the deacon’s office one day and donated the whole lot to the church. I never thought to keep five bucks in my pocket for emergencies. I figured the church had bigger problems and needed the money more than me.”

  They turned a corner and kept walking. Max was thoughtful for a moment before continuing, “One day, I checked on one of the older people in the neighborhood, Mrs. Shale. She lived in the smallest house in town and didn’t have a car, and most of the time her food was donated by the church. I found her laid up in bed, but she had no money for medication. It was relatively simple, over-the-counter kind of stuff. I didn’t know it would keep her from getting pneumonia, though.”

  Damian sighed. “That’s a shame. What did you do?”

  Max drew a long breath and shrugged. “I didn’t have the money either and asked one of the priests. He told me God would take care of her. It was incredibly frustrating. In the end, I stole the medication, and the church found out. They were harder to explain to than my parents were. I felt it was the right thing to do, even though it broke all the rules I’d been taught. It seemed wrong that people had to beg to save their lives.”

  The older man paused and looked at his companion. He patted him on the shoulder and laughed. “I think you were born for this job, Max. Not many people think that way anymore. We leave our elderly to fend for themselves while the world goes on. What happened to Mrs. Shale?”

  Max frowned. “She died two months later from pneumonia when she ran out of medicine and had no one to ask. But at least for a few months, she felt better and could spend time gardening or sitting on her porch. I checked on her now and then from afar.”

  Damian shook his head, astounded. “You surprise me every day, young Padawan, although your fighting skills reflect your background.”

  Max smirked, knowing his mentor was teasing. “That will get better—or not—but either way, I’ll be dangerous.”

  “The question is, to whom?”

  They laughed and continued their walk. Damian turned his collar up and used his umbrella as a cane. “This has always been my favorite time of year. The leaves change colors, and it starts to get spooky.”

  “Right, like we need more spookiness in our lives. We hunt demons and have a pie-wielding old lady across the courtyard.”

  Damian sighed. “I have a feeling she won’t be with us much longer, at least not in Rose form. The demon has almost taken full control, and I am not allowed to help her.”

  Max shoved his hands in his pockets in irritation. “That sucks. She doesn’t deserve that life or death. I don’t understand the church sometimes, but I have to say, she may be better off if the demon takes over. It has to be exhausting to fight him off with her limited ability.”

  “It’s a shame. A damn shame. Who will sweep the patio?”

  “And who will make me disgusting poisoned pies?” Max grinned. “And no whisper of a thrill, dodging planters when I go home. Though if the demon stays, he may continue.”

  Damian glanced at him. “I wouldn’t count on it. He seems to struggle with motor skills, and can’t even hold the broom. He would probably burn the place down while baking.”

  Max rolled his eyes as they reached the end of a cul-de-sac. “That would be just what we need.”

  The older man put his hand on his companion’s shoulder. “Do you hear that?”

  Shrieking and screaming echoed from the house on the corner. They turned toward an old Victorian-style home with large front pillars, a well-manicured lawn, and a wreath on the door. At first, it seemed incongruous for those sounds to come from there. It was nothing like the haunted rundown houses they usually found themselves in, but the shrieking grew louder as they moved closer.

  Max looked at the upstairs windows. At first, he could see directly into the expensively-decorated space, but the apertures suddenly darkened. A loud menacing laugh sounded, and he stumbled off the curb. Damian pointed at the window where thick red liquid seeped down the panes, covering them.

  The trainee was in shock. “Did we just happen to walk up on a haunted house, or did you plan this?”

  Damian was just as surprised. “I didn’t plan it, although I am glad we are here for it.”

  Max’s jaw dropped. “Glad? I’m not sure that’s the word I’d use. Glad is more like, you made it to dinner before all the turkey was scavenged. This is more like, can I rewind and ignore?”

  Damian took one last sip of his coffee, emptied the rest on the road, and tossed the cup into a handy trashcan. “Max, I think it’s time we did a little something on our own and saved souls without being told to. Trust me, it’s a real morale-booster.”

  The trainee wasn’t convinced. “Oh, sure, until you lose an eye or an arm.”

  The older priest simply patted him on the shoulder and set off toward the house. Max groaned and ditched his cup. “Wasting a perfectly good cup of coffee. It’s a travesty.”

  Astaroth yawned. Walking into a haunted house without a perfectly good cup of coffee is the real travesty, but I understand. You aren’t talented enough to have one hand occupied.

  Max rolled his eyes, ignoring the comment as he jogged to where Damian stood in the front yard, studying the house. “You really have to give me a heads-up on these things.”

  Damian’s grin danced with mischief. “Hey, Max?”

  “Mmm?”

  “We’re doing an exorcism. Is that enough notice?”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Max leaned closer to the front door, his ear almost touching it. For several moments, all was silent. As he touched the wood, a loud bang rattled the door in its frame. The young priest recoiled. Damian glanced at him and chuckled. “I assume you’ve reached a conclusion?”

  He nodded at his mentor, his expression solemn. “This house is haunted.”

  Damian laughed and shook his head. “My, my, aren’t you a regular Sherlock Holmes? We might as well head right in there. No use standing on the porch.”

  Max gulped and patted the front of his shirt. His eyes went wide, and he felt inside his jacket to find nothing but the coffee receipt. “Well, damn. I left my cross and bible back at the house. I never thought a leisurely walk in London would bring me face to face with an angry ghost.”

  “I’ve learned to always be ready for a fight. Demons appear at the most inopportune times. They have no idea what it takes to go in there and do battle.”

  “Or they do and are smarter than us.” Max shook his head. “Surprise is a really good tactic.”

  Damian drew his bible and gloves casually from his pockets. “Well, it worked. I’m very surprised. Now, let’s not dally. I would love another cup of warm coffee to stave this chill breeze off.”

  He handed the items to Max, who took them suspiciously and glared at the old leather gloves etched with burn marks. Damian rolled his hands expressively. “Put them on. We don’t have time for your melodramatic thought process. We have a house to clear.”

  The young priest donned the gloves and flexed his hands while Damian used a handkerchief to retrieve his cross and placed it on top of the bible. Max looked at it with surprise, then picked it up. “What is this? Are you giving up already? I didn’t come here to watch you commit suicide in a haunted house. How would I explain that to anyone? They’d think I murdered you.”

  Damian chuckled. “I know. It would be my parting gift to you—a little snark to go along with the life of demo
n hunting. You’d appreciate it later. But alas, no, I am not here to kill myself. These things are on loan for this fight. I’m handing you the reins for this exorcism. I want you to take the lead.”

  Max shook his head and took a hasty step back. “That’s not possible. I mean, two days ago I was locked in a closet, and now you want me to be in charge?”

  “You’re ready. You’ve watched me several times, and this isn’t an incursion, merely a simple exorcism. You can do this, Max. And don’t worry. I’ll be right beside you—or behind you—just in case.”

  “Just in case the demon cuts me to bits,” he retorted

  His mentor chuckled. “No, just in case you need support, but you’ll be fine. I wouldn’t have you do it if I didn’t think you were ready. But please don’t try your karate moves unless it’s absolutely necessary.”

  Max rolled his eyes and swallowed hard as the door rattled once more. He tapped the doorknob tentatively, making sure it wasn’t hot. Damian nodded approvingly. “Very good. You are learning.”

  It was cool to the touch, so he turned the knob and pushed the door open. A few inches in, it was jerked from his hands and slammed against the wall. Max glanced at Damian but stepped forward, and they moved warily and remained alert. When they cleared the entrance, the door slammed shut behind them and the lights flickered in the large chandelier that swayed above their heads.

  Damian noted that Max didn’t flinch when the door slammed. As the young priest grew into his responsibilities, his fear began to slowly melt, exactly as it should.

  Max studied the large entryway with tall ceilings, shining hardwood floors, and beautiful paintings. A small table in the center held a vase. Directly ahead was a tall winding staircase, and to their right, a hall lined with doors. The house had obviously been remodeled recently.

  The older man cleared his throat. “I’ve seen homes like this before. They started out as ramblers, the kitchen to your left, and living room ahead. The second floor was added more recently. I would say you should stick to the ground floor.”

  Max held the cross tightly in his hand. “But how do I find the heart if I know nothing about the haunting or the house?”

  Damian shifted his stance and glanced toward the hall. “The heart must be located. We usually know it beforehand because someone else has found it. You have to find it now.”

  The trainee walked to the stairs and looked up. Despite the manifestation on the windows seen outside, the upper level was dark and quiet. He paused in the entrance to the living room, where nothing was disturbed and a grand piano stood by the bay windows. Shaking his head, he crept forward to listen at the swinging door to the kitchen. The house had gone completely silent since they had arrived. Tapping his fingers on the bible, he moved to the center of the living room again and closed his eyes, concentrating hard.

  Damian kept watch, making sure nothing snuck up on them. Ravi yawned loudly. This is interesting. Junior looks unsure. Why don’t you push him?

  He shook his head. This is his exorcism. I won’t always be here. Do you sense any demons in the house?

  Ravi sniffed. Nah. There isn’t anything within ten miles of here except me—and that stuck-up asshole inside Max, of course.

  You’re getting pretty good at this, my little hound dog. He smirked in amusement.

  The demon gasped. I will give you the worst case of diarrhea ever. Don’t you dare disrespect my magnificence in that manner. Man, it’s good you’re a priest. The ladies would hate you.

  Damian snickered. That is probably true, although I do have a suave side in there somewhere. I have kept it locked in a box for so long that it may be a tad rusty, though.

  Oh, yeah, okay, Grandpa. Keep that shit locked up. No one wants to see that.

  Max sighed, grabbing his mentor’s attention. He looked completely unsure of himself, and Damian squeezed his arm. “This is the moment when you have to rely on your skills. Go with your instinct here. You can ask your demon, but they generally lack knowledge when it comes to ghosts. If your instincts fail, go with logic. There aren’t many places in here the spirit could use as the heart. What does your gut tell you?”

  The trainee centered himself, closed his eyes, and drew a deep breath. Tingles shot through his body, and images of the different rooms flipped through his mind like a deck of cards. When they slowed, he realized he knew exactly where the heart was, as if it had called to him. He opened his eyes and pointed at the door leading to the kitchen. “It’s there, in the kitchen.”

  Damian patted him on the back. “Good. Now, remember to assess the situation before rushing into the room. Never stick your head in first unless you absolutely have to. Your safety is imperative.”

  Max gripped the bible and nodded as he walked quietly to the door. He breathed deeply and pushed it open barely enough to see inside. “I was right.”

  His companion peeked around him. A ghostly figure stood between the island and the stove. It seemed to be chopping vegetables and cooking something. There was no food, but he used the cookware like there was. The apparition was draped in a chef’s coat and wore a tall chef’s hat. Half his face was burnt to a crisp. The priests backed back out before the entity noticed them.

  “Do you think he was killed here?” Max asked.

  Damian shrugged. “It’s hard to say. From the looks of him, he isn’t from when the house was first built. It’s possible the person or persons who live here had something to do with his death. It’s also possible this is his home. There have been cases where someone dies at an office, restaurant, or somewhere else and comes home to settle in. They haunt their own house and don’t understand why their loved ones fear them. This often creates rage, and that’s when things can get ugly. This fellow seems content to cut his imaginary carrots and cook with nothing in the pan. Hopefully, that means that you can expel him quickly.”

  Max nodded. “Then maybe he won’t be as bad as the others.”

  The older man shook his head in warning. “Don’t underestimate him. We are intruders prepared to send him from this world, something he doesn’t fully understand right now. It is the equivalent of someone breaking into our home and trying to kill us. He will fight back, but maybe we can do this quickly and painlessly.”

  Max opened the bible to a prayer, read it through quickly, and gripped the cross. “All right, here goes nothing. Hopefully, this guy wants to make crepes in heaven because he can’t stay here.”

  Damian laughed and followed as the young priest pushed the door open and walked cautiously inside. Hopefully, the ghost wouldn’t notice them for a while. Max stepped to the side, and his mentor let the door swing shut behind them. They pressed against the wall for a moment, watching as the apparition whistled happily, sprinkled non-existent spices into the empty pan, and shook it a little before placing it on the medium flame.

  Max glanced at Damian, who shrugged and pointed to the bible. He licked his lips and stepped forward to begin the exorcism. The ghost froze and his gaze settled on the intruder. He snarled warningly.

  “It’s okay,” the trainee said gently. “I’m here to help you move on to the next place.”

  It was silent for a heartbeat, then the spirit screamed, his mouth now large and wide. Max stumbled back against the wall as the apparition went berserk. “I think he wants us to go.”

  Damian laughed. “They always do.”

  The young priest grabbed his mentor and yanked him down. “Watch out!”

  An entire rack of pots and pans rocketed over their heads and crashed into the walls behind them. They shielded their heads instinctively, but Max’s feet began to slide on the floor as the wind picked up. He clutched the leg of the kitchen island to anchor himself. The ghost created another strong gust of wind, and the entire island hurtled to the right and smashed through the window. The men rolled across the floor with their backs toward the debris.

  The spirit screeched again and slammed his fists to his sides. Simultaneously, the cooktop exploded behind him and flame
s shot into the air. Knives slammed into the wall beside them, and Max looked at Damian with wide eyes. The older priest raised his eyebrows. “Hopefully that is all the sharp objects in here.”

  A cleaver spiraled onto the floor between Max’s legs. He yelped and thrust the cross and bible in front of him. “I need to act fast, or this guy will flambé us and serve us to his ghostly little friends. Being a spitted roast is not my idea of a pleasant end.”

  Damian snorted. “Nor mine. I know where they stick that rod, and it’s not pretty, my friend. Not pretty at all. But you have to face him head-on. Get to your feet and project the exorcism at him with power.”

  Max groaned and eyed the cleaver one last time. The spirit grew increasingly volatile, intensifying the wind and throwing anything he could. The dishes on the shelves rocked crazily against the glass-fronted cabinets. The doors swung open, and Max instinctively grabbed the top of the island, which had broken off, and raised it like a shield. They ducked and the crockery shattered against it. Glass exploded around them, and shards landed as far back as the wrecked window.

  The young priest peered over the edge of the countertop and ducked again as a turkey carver embedded itself in the wood. Damian grabbed the makeshift shield and fixed Max with a firm look. “You can do this. I’ll anchor you the whole time. When he runs out of things to throw, you can really focus on him. You’re doing great, Max.”

  “Right. I’m merely trying to stay alive.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Damian knelt and held fast to Max’s leg as the young man stood. The firm grip anchored him against the ever-increasing wind, and the young priest cleared his throat and held the cross with one hand and the open bible in the other. The pages flipped wildly, and he closed his eyes to focus inward. Come on, you know this prayer. You don’t need the bible.