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

by Michael Todd

  He opened his eyes again. The ghost now wailed loudly and swirled the wind around them. “Deus est creator. Deus est enim qui delevit. Benedicat sibi in orbem terrarum et hoc homine. Huc non pertinent. Fratremque vestrum in sanctificationem illius animae imaginem creantis eum renovatur...”

  The spirit lashed out, and bursts of energy scudded across the room in waves. Max stumbled but regained his footing. Damian nodded urgently. “Continue. He is not strong enough to hurt you at this point. He will try, but keep going.”

  The trainee nodded and repeated the prayer over and over. He gave Damian the bible and held the cross with both hands, calling on the power of God to exorcise the spirit. “Domine Omnipotens accipere eum in domum tuam. In nomine Patris et Filii et Spiritu Sancti.”

  The entity rose from the floor, its near-translucent body vibrating. He hovered below the ceiling and gasped as rays of light burst from his chest. Max scrambled for cover. “Fucking shit, he’s gonna blow!”

  The two men lay flat behind the counter and covered their heads. This ghost, unlike the one in the cemetery, offered no words of wisdom or screams of anger. Instead, he growled loudly before exploding into a clear oozing mess that splattered from one side of the kitchen to the other.

  The wind died immediately, and the burners’ flames returned to normal. Max and Damian stood slowly, ooze dripping from their hats. The older priest looked at his suit and sighed in obvious relief. “He managed to miss my entire suit. Good job, dude.”

  Damian slapped the trainee’s back, and his hand froze for a moment. When he raised it, strings of goo followed, and he grimaced. Max simply stood there with ooze dripping down his cheeks. Wordlessly, the young priest slid the cross into the leather pocket of Damian’s coat. He removed the gloves and handed them over, slightly dazed from the whole occurrence.

  Concerned, Damian asked, “You okay?”

  Max swallowed and stared at the burn marks on the kitchen walls. “We really need to wear coveralls and goggles when we do these.”

  The pub was loud and boisterous. Music from the jukebox competed with the chatter around them. The only person who seemed to notice was Max, who slumped unhappily in his chair with his shoulders raised to his ears. Maps bobbed her head happily in time to the music, and Damian sipped his whiskey calmly. “It feels good to be here; like coming home.”

  “That’s disturbing for a priest to say,” Max remarked snidely

  Maps glanced at him and laughed. “Oh, lighten up, you old stooge. Have a shot and relax. You aren’t fighting demons right now.”

  Damian chuckled and raised his glass, taking a sip before anyone could respond to the silent toast. “How about you, Maps? How is business?”

  She nodded around a huge bite of pizza. “Mmm, good. I actually have a lot of return clients and one new one. He’s slightly odd, and I haven’t figured him out yet. On the one hand, he might simply be weird, but on the other, he might be infected.”

  Damian tensed, a little curious now. “Does he have red eyes?”

  Maps shrugged. “I don’t know. He never removes his glasses, and it would be rude if I asked him to. He seems really nervous around me.”

  “Smart guy.” Max chuckled drily.

  She stuck her tongue out at him and dipped her pizza in ranch dressing. “He’s not flirty and nervous like Max was when we first met.”

  The trainee straightened angrily. “That’s not true. I simply wasn’t used to derelicts like you, and wanted to make sure you wouldn’t shank me or anything.”

  Maps pointed her plastic knife at him. “You can never be sure, can you? Anyway, I really don’t think he’s up to no good.”

  “How can you be sure?” Damian asked. “You should let me check him out.”

  “I appreciate that, Pops, but it’s not necessary. I say that because everything he orders has to do with either food or the preparation of it. He asked for these ancient tart recipes, things Queen Victoria was fed, and all kinds of weird desserts. Unless he plans to attack someone with a crème brûlée, I think the world is safe.”

  Max rolled his eyes and glanced at Damian. “I’m pretty sure I could go the rest of my life without talking to another chef after today. In fact, if I had the choice, I would avoid all kitchens and food for eternity. I knew chefs could be testy assholes, but that guy had a serious issue.”

  Maps reached over and ruffled his hair, much to his dismay. “Aww, what’s wrong, Maxie-poo? You get a bad chicken salad?”

  He slapped her hand away and folded his arms.

  Damian laughed and shook his head. “No, something way more awesome. Our man Max here did his first exorcism without my assistance—minus me making sure he didn’t blow away in the wind. The ghost happened to be a chef. When we arrived, he was whistling to himself like a Muppet and chopping invisible vegetables.”

  She frowned. “What made him join the land of the dead?”

  Damian tilted his head in thought as he sipped his whiskey. “At first we had no idea, since we actually stumbled on the house while we were out for a walk. When we got home, we did a little research, and it turns out he was a Michelin three-star chef from London. He liked to experiment in his multimillion-dollar kitchen—which is now a pile of rubble—before he took recipes into the restaurant. Apparently, his creativity got a little out of hand one day, thanks to a bottle of Scotch he left near the stove, and everything blew up in his face…literally.”

  Maps grimaced. “Yikes, that sucks. Did anyone else live there?”

  Damian shook his head. “No, he was divorced, as so many in his profession are. I made a call to the real estate agent, who said they couldn’t show the house because of the ghost. I told her that aside from some necessary repairs to the kitchen, they were good to go.”

  She wiped her hands and chin with a napkin. “Every time I tire of my chosen career, I remind myself how lucky I am to work with the living instead of the dead. I don’t think I could handle the whole dramatic ghost thing. Seriously, they’re dead! What do they have to whine about? Move on, please. I mean, what was his unfinished business—an unbaked souffle? People have real problems in this world.”

  Damian smirked. “That’s true, although most of these spirits have no idea that they’ve died. There is the unfinished business part, but then there is the missed-the-bus kind. From what I’ve been taught, when a person dies, there is a limited window to move to the next place. Some of them are so confused that they end up missing that and are stuck in an in-between existence. They don’t compute that no one talks to them. They don’t compute that they aren’t actually frying anything in that pan. They feel anger, rage, sadness, and mostly, fear. When we show up, they fear us. I don’t know what they think we’re there for, but they do everything they can to take us down.”

  Maps gulped her beer. “Yeah, well, the living can be that way too. Sometimes they let all their rage out on the people who try to help them. It’s sad, really.”

  “It is,” Max agreed. “Life is sad, and death is sad. Can’t get away from it.”

  She startled suddenly. “Oh! Have you watched the news?”

  “No, I’ve been a little busy,” Damian said.

  She grimaced and leaned forward. “Man, there have been some serious incursions lately. On top of that, Katie and her crew went back to hell and had themselves a jolly old fight. I’m talking bombs, fire, and troops running in and out. They showed video from the drones they sent in, and it was nuts. They hurt that big-ass demon pretty good, but a ton of them were injured too. Katie is okay, but one of their teammates—some huge guy—apparently bit it. At least, that’s what the news said. It’s been insane out there.”

  Damian frowned. “That’s not good. I’ll have to give her a call and make sure everything is kosher.”

  Maps exhaled loudly and gazed into the distance. “Shit is so wild out there. I mean, even I can tell it’s getting worse.”

  Damian was interested in what she had to say. “How so?”

  Maps shrugged. “I
see infected people wherever I go. I don’t mean like in the ‘I see dead people’ kind of way either. There are literally red eyes everywhere—people in suits walking down the street, homeless blokes, protestors—the whole nine yards. And forget about the places I usually go. I’m in the minority, not having red eyes, and I now wear sunglasses so they can’t identify me as quickly. I don’t need anyone to grab me and try to put one of those things in me. No offense to your demons. I’m sure they’re cool, but I don’t want one. I like my alone time.”

  The older priest groaned and set his glass down. “This is what I’m talking about. When the mercs started disbanding and doing their own thing, there was more protection at the government level, but the everyday action decreased exponentially. There are no longer teams on every corner making sure the streets are safe. What they need is a better and bigger merc team here in London. They need boots on the ground to take these cells down, and eventually, you’ll see fewer red eyes.”

  Maps grabbed a fry from Max’s plate, ignoring his scowl. “You’ve got the ammunition. Why don’t you create a group? With your connections, you could have the next Katie’s Killers here in London. Then you could clean house.”

  Damian shook his head. “Sounds fantastic, but I’m not in that business anymore. There is only so much I can do within the limits of my current position with the church. I unfortunately have to follow the rules now. After the last incursion two days ago, I need to keep to the straight and narrow.”

  Maps wiggled her eyebrows and grinned. “Uh oh. What did you do two days ago? Broke the rules and took names?”

  Max scoffed and folded his arms militantly. “More like locked me in a closet while he fought demons with a bunch of mercs. There were hundreds of them. I could have gotten in on the action, but no. I sat in a dusty old closet in the dark until he finally remembered he’d put me there.”

  “Poor Maximillian. Seriously though, he probably did you a favor. I’ve seen those bad boys in action, and it wouldn’t have been as much fun as you thought. So, the higher-ups are pissed because you fought with the mercs?”

  Damian wrinkled his nose scornfully. “Yes and no. Yes, because I shouldn’t use weapons beyond my bible. My task was to exorcise those I could and get out of there. Of course, there was no way I could leave that team without pitching in. Then there was Max. The Wise Men wanted to see what he could do. I kind of defied them, feeling he wasn’t ready for something of that magnitude, and stuck him in the closet instead.”

  Max slapped his hand on the table. “I knew there was more to it than what you told me. The Wise Men wanted me set free, and you were afraid I would die.”

  Maps nudged him. “Don’t get too mad. That was actually really nice of him. I’ve read some of the secret artifact documents. They don’t look fondly on priests when they break the rules. I’m sure that the people in charge—these Wise Men—are more than pissed.”

  Damian shrugged and glanced at Max, who relaxed a little. “So, tell me what’s been big in the news besides incursions? Any new reality television on the tube?”

  He changed the subject quickly, knowing she would launch into a diatribe against the latest Bachelor, Dancing with the Stars, and Celebrity Rehab. Damian knew that things with the church could go one of two ways. Either they would remedy his inability to follow directions by removing him completely, or they would permit him to do what he used to do. He had to believe he was too valuable to get rid of, and he wondered how long it would take until the second option took precedence.

  Becoming a merc under their auspices would be both a curse and a blessing. He would do what he did before, which would be exhilarating, but he would still have to maneuver through the limitations of the church. Whether or not they wanted him to fight, it was an inevitable part of the job. He wouldn’t argue if they finally embraced that fact.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Back home that night, Damian made a beeline for his bedroom. He looked tired, and Max could tell he had a lot on his mind. Left to his own devices, the trainee meandered into the kitchen, served himself a huge bowl of lavender ice cream, and made a piping hot cup of tea. He smiled in anticipation and clicked the light off with his elbow, maneuvered through the darkened living room without mishap, and kicked his bedroom door shut behind him. His latest set of pajamas were a few weeks premature, but he didn’t mind. The pants were covered in turkeys, and two eyes and a beak stared from the shirt.

  Astaroth chuckled. It’s a good thing I couldn’t give two shits about fashion. If I did, you’d burn all your clothes. Every single last pair of printed pajama pants would vanish in a flash of fire.

  Max smirked, climbed on the bed, and pulled the covers up. Don’t be jealous because I have legs to wear pants on.

  Touché, touché. The demon laughed loudly. That was a good one. You’re learning.

  The priest smiled and grabbed the remote. He had splurged a little on a flat-screen for his bedroom. Damian spent most of his time reading in the living room, and Max didn’t want to bother his mentor when he watched television at night. He was hooked on the soaps, and it was non-negotiable that he stayed as current as possible. Originally, he’d watched because Damian was into them, but over time the older priest had shifted his focus to his books.

  Max didn’t know what the books were about, but whatever it was, he became completely engrossed in them. If Damian wanted him to know, he would tell him. Besides, Max completely understood the pull of books. He had once read seven books in only four days.

  The sound of the fire being stoked caught Max’s attention, and he crawled out of bed and opened the door. Damian sat in his usual chair. Max waved as his mentor looked at him. “Just wanted to say goodnight.”

  “Night, Maximus. See you in the morning.”

  Recognizing the dismissal, he closed the door and jumped back into bed. He dug his spoon into the ice cream and shivered slightly as the cold hit his tongue and the treat melted enticingly.

  Astaroth groaned along with him. You have turned me into a soap-opera-watching housewife with an obsession for ridiculous flavors of ice cream.

  Max chuckled. I know, isn’t it the best? I never thought I would like soaps, but hey, they catch my attention. It’s a world I know nothing about. Do you think people really live like that?

  The demon snorted. Maybe, but I hope not. They seem absolutely miserable all the time. It would be exhausting living in a constant dramatic battle with everyone around me.

  I feel like that’s exactly what our life is like, minus the romance.

  Astaroth exhaled a snarky breath. My dear boy, you will never truly understand the meaning of drama until you have been caught up in a love triangle. It’s exhausting and makes hell look like the fucking Caribbean.

  Max shrugged. That’s one drama I’ll never have to worry about.

  He grabbed his mug and sipped the hot liquid. Astaroth coughed and made a fake gagging sound. What in the world are you doing?

  What?

  The demon groaned dramatically. Why would you drink tea when you could have an exotic lavender-blended coffee? It would counter the sweetness of the ice cream but pair perfectly, with hints of that floral bouquet.

  Max frowned dismissively. I like tea, and this one in particular with my ice cream. Besides, it’s decaf, and I really don’t want to drink coffee and be up all night. I’m trying to relax, not send my heart rate through the roof. Maybe we could try some decaf coffee blends.

  Are you absolutely out of your mind? Astaroth sputtered. What kind of heathen do you take me for? No one drinks decaf because they appreciate the subtle hints of wonder in the bean. Next thing you know, we’ll have a jar of instant coffee on the shelf and a carafe of fake-flavored creamer. Disgusting. You are disgusting.

  Sheesh, relax. I’m simply trying to relax after the exorcism today. I think, all in all, I did pretty well.

  Astaroth cleared his throat. I have to agree with you. I don’t know if you would have been as spectacular on your own, but it was
quick thinking to use the kitchen island counter as a shield for the two of you. However, I have to say that during the incursion, you were a hot mess. Did you really poke a demon in the eye with your finger?

  Max grimaced at the memory. I hoped you hadn’t noticed that. In the gym, I have the moves down, but I panic a bit out there.

  That happens. It means you aren’t comfortable with the moves yet and they don’t come naturally, but they will. All you have to do is get back into the gym, and we will work harder on everything.

  Oh, boy, I’m so looking forward to more hard work in the gym.

  The demon sniffed. I’ll ignore the sarcasm and focus on the new episode coming on.

  Max grinned and turned the volume up. He watched the recap of the week’s episodes and started the show. As the opening scene rolled, he raised the spoon to his mouth but froze, and the ice cream plopped back into his bowl.

  Astaroth gasped. Oh, no, she did not. Are you kidding me? After all Troy did to get her out of hell, she cheats on him with Mr. Perfect Teeth? That is complete bullshit. They say demons are bad, but I think women have the ticket to pure evil.

  Max thumped his fist on the bed. Not to mention that Troy lost his dang hand in a battle with one of the underlings below. He has one hand and is a hero, and she wants the flipping dentist? I don’t get it.

  Wait! Pause and rewind. Yes, look at that.

  The priest narrowed his eyes and focused on the still shot of the dentist turning toward the camera. He saw a distinct flash of red in his eyes. Whoa. So either the actor is a demon in real life, or the dentist is infected. If he is infected, that means he’s used a spell on her, and she didn’t really choose him over Troy. Wow. That would be some shit.

  Astaroth clicked his tongue in disapproval. Women are the strongest and toughest creatures on Earth, but these shows always make them fall for infected so easily. I truly believe that in the real world, she would have kung fu-chopped his perfect teeth down his throat.