Damian's Chronicles Complete series Boxed Set

by Michael Todd

  Ravi sneered. I’ll take that bitch out. Seriously. I’ll take her down to hell and contort her body into a damn apple tree, and when she is full of apples, I’ll fucking bake her. Baked Rose. Lucifer would love it.

  The priest’s eyes went big. Calm down there, Hannibal. I think I will be fine. You don’t need to go killing old ladies for me.

  Not for you, for the pie.

  He chuckled at her weird but honest humor. Sometimes, I’m really happy to have someone in my head to make me laugh. Talking to myself started to get weird after a while. Although I do have God, He rarely ever says anything back.

  The demon smirked. I have a secret for you. Anyone who says they have heard the voice of God is a liar. That was one of the rules He put on himself when He created you. He would never talk to humans. He would always send angels or prophets to do it. He put his magic on it, and it can’t be undone, even by Him. Pretty impressive, in my opinion.

  That’s pretty neat.

  She sighed. Mhmm. Okay, so what do we got here?

  Damian rubbed his hands together. First, we have Monkey Shoulder Blended Scotch. It’s a blend of Speyside single malt scotchs with a fruity aroma infused with mellow vanilla. It is aged in former bourbon casks, which is where the vanilla comes from.

  Mmm, that sounds freaking delicious. And there are monkeys on the bottle. That’s seriously amazing. It signifies to me that these gents have some taste.

  The priest raised an eyebrow. Okay… Next is the Hudson Baby Bourbon. It’s made by the Tuthilltown distillery in Hudson, New York, which has been open since the time of Prohibition. It has hints of charred American oak barrels and is slightly sweet with a roasted corn flavor.

  Ravi shivered. Prohibition…that was a nasty time in America. You fools find something that makes most of you nicer, and you take it away. I think the rulers of this place want the people to be grumpy and unhappy. Or they really like to torture themselves. Though I have to admit, the men who came up with the rule were probably the worst when it came to smuggling it in.

  Damian shook his head. That didn’t last long. Now, the next one I got is ten-year-old Whistle Pig Rye. It is a hundred-proof one hundred percent rye whiskey. It has warm wooden notes with hints of vanilla, caramel, dried orange peel, cinnamon, allspice, and clove.

  She gagged. Sounds like bottling autumn and calling it a whiskey. But a hundred-proof makes me think it’ll be one badass whiskey.

  There are also hints of creamy flavors, leaving notes of dark chocolate too. Then there is the Glendronach eighteen-year-old Sherry Cask. It’s a single malt scotch with characteristics of ginger, orange, cherry walnut, dark chocolate, and…Christmas cake.

  How do you make something taste like Christmas cake? The demon laughed loudly. And hold up. What the hell does Christmas cake actually taste like? I’m really confused here.

  The priest wasn’t sure either. I guess we’ll find out. The last two I got are the same company, Highland Park, but I got the ICE edition and the Loki. There are only 3915 bottles of the ICE floating around, and I got one. It was matured in ex-bourbon casks.

  And it comes in that nifty holder. How old is it?

  Damian looked at the label. Seventeen years old. The Loki has a hint of orange and lemon. It apparently smells like gingerbread and has water, licorice, and aromatic smoke scents. I’m not really sure what aromatic smoke is.

  Ravi snickered to herself. You humans create a lot of aromatic smoke. Most of the time, it makes people want to vomit all over themselves.

  That’s disgusting. If we’ll be tasting scotch and whiskey—some upward of six hundred dollars a bottle—you’re not allowed to comment about bodily functions. It makes me want to simply go to bed. Don’t disrespect these like that.

  She agreed hastily. You’re right. I should bow to the altar of the bottles, but instead, I’m being obnoxious. Straight-faced the rest of the time. Promise.

  Damian was surprised at how well that had worked. Ravi had to be dying to try the different bottles if she actually apologized and blew off things like that. He wouldn’t complain, though. It was pleasant to have an amicable relationship. Back in the day, they would never have been able to sit down for something like this, so they had both come a really long way and tried to meet somewhere in the middle.

  He grabbed the Monkey Shoulder and poured a splash in the glass. With elaborate care, he swished it around and inhaled the aroma of the alcohol. He took a sip and smacked his lips. Ravi went silent as she tasted the scotch. When she was done, she cheered in his head. That one was awesome. It was smooth and vanilla-ish, but still held the traditional scotch flavor. I like it.

  The priest concurred, and began tasting one after the other. He poured another splash of the ones they both liked the most. The demon did her best to absorb the liquor and speed up his metabolism, but she wasn’t a pro at it. Despite her efforts, after two hours he was drunk, and she could feel a slight buzz herself. She made a smacking sound in his ear. So far, I would have to say the Loki is my favorite.

  Damian was surprised. Really? I would have taken your demon self for a lover of the burnt flavors of the Tuthilltown. You know, something like home.

  Ravi snorted drunkenly. You kill me, Pops. No, I mean it. You kill me, keeping me bottled up in here. I like the bitter orange and lemon flavors of the Loki.

  He stood, walked jerkily to the dining room, and grabbed his fallen angel book off the table. Back in the living room, he sat cross-legged on the floor and opened it. I think it’s time for the educational portion of the evening. What do you think?

  OK, as long as you don’t start to hiccup. I can’t stand that.

  The priest was too busy flipping sloppily through the pages of the book to react. Finally, he simply tossed it on the floor, leaned back on his hands, and stretched his legs out in front of him. Tell me some fallen angel lore. I like to hear my people’s insane legends.

  She giggled. Oh, goodie. This is my favorite. Well, let’s see, stupid human angel lore. Irish folklore is a good place to start. They believed that there were fairies, which were actually angels fallen from heaven. They put tiny houses out for them.

  Like that video we watched where that woman bakes the tiny cake for the hamster. Damian chuckled, the image vivid in his mind.

  Ravi hated that video. Ugh, don’t remind me. Then there is the folklore about God and Azazel and his journey on Earth. Apparently, he was one of the leaders of the two hundred angels, but he lusted after some human booty. God punished him by casting him down to Earth—which was dumb, really, ʼcause that’s where all the booty was. Anyway, he recruited giants or something to pillage and ended up becoming a demon djinn. We’ve all heard the story, but no one knows if it’s true.

  Damian swayed as he listened to her. Wasn’t there some lore about giants?

  Oh, yeah. That one’s true, though. They said that the giants were the guardians of the fallen angels’ children—the ones who came down and got…it…on. They ended up killing the children and were cast into hell. Those are the big motherfuckers you have to deal with all the time. They are the rape-y giants from early on.

  He wrinkled his nose and laid back on the rug, yawning. Great. Not only do we have to fight demons, but we have to fight rape-y ones. I’ll be sure to remember that. I know Pandora has a thing for lopping dicks off whenever she can.

  Yep, she was like that in hell too. No dicks were safe when she was angry. Walk into a room, and whoops, tripped over a stump of cock on the floor. Gotta tread carefully.

  That makes me want to puke. Damian grimaced.

  Ravi groaned. No, I think that’s the Whistle Pig.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Maps stepped over a pile of papers and picked up one of her books. She glanced at Abraham, who stared at her maps, and narrowed her eyes. For some reason, she couldn’t help but give him side glances. She dusted the book off and continued her exploration, looking for anything that could help her. It was incredibly hard to do, though, with the rogue fighter
creeping around.

  She took an old compass from his hand and replaced it on the shelf. It was the fourth time she’d had to rescue something. He couldn’t seem to get it through his head that her apartment wasn’t a museum. She had gone to great and sometimes dangerous lengths to acquire many of the things she had. They paid her bills, but they also held secrets that she didn’t want someone like him getting hold of. She tried to be nice, but Damian could see the frustration on her face.

  He walked over and tapped the man on the shoulder. “Look but don’t touch.”

  Abraham rolled his eyes. “Yes, Mother. This is an impressive collection of things, though. I have to say, she has a talent for finding the unusual. I always throw stuff away, and a year later wish I had kept it. Kind of makes me want to scream.”

  The priest chuckled and winced at the slight pounding in his temples from the hangover that Ravi had tried desperately to remove. “That’s why we love Maps. She is on top of it and has all the stuff we thought we would never want but end up needing. Honestly, she can find anything, anywhere, any time. She is a mastermind when it comes to this kind of thing.”

  He winked at her as she piled stuff on her desk. She nodded in thanks and began typing on her computer. “Give me the address.”

  Damian pulled the paper from his pocket and began to walk forward, but Abraham stopped him. “You’re sure this is the right thing to do? You can trust her, right?”

  Maps grumped and kept her gaze fixed on her keys. Damian patted him on the shoulder. “I trust her with my biggest secrets.”

  He placed the paper beside her. She smiled at him and glared up at his companion. “Is that all the information you have?”

  The rogue fighter pulled another scrap of paper from his pocket and set it beside the first. It was a newspaper clipping of a missing student from a local college. “That’s one of the boys who was there when they attacked. He’s the one who hit me in the head with something and knocked me the fuck out.”

  She nodded and looked at the paper. It would definitely be helpful, although she hated that it came from him. He was shifty, like so many other clients she had to work with on a daily basis. She tried desperately not to let that bother her, though. She had a job to do, and she wanted to do it for Damian. She trusted him and his judgment when it came to the people around him. Whoever that guy was, she figured they had a past, especially since Damian was taking on an incredibly dangerous job just to help the man.

  She typed faster on the computer and glanced up from time to time to monitor Abraham. He had settled and now kept his hands in his pockets. At least he was no longer touching things, even though she knew he surreptitiously read some of the documents on top of the piles. “You guys can wander around or have a seat. It’ll take me a few minutes to get all this done. But please don’t touch anything. I have everything organized in a system.”

  The older man looked at the stacks and piles. “I can see that. Very nice.”

  Damian accompanied him along the wall, and they studied the pictures hanging there. The display varied from photos of famous murderers, maps of ancient historical sites, and several pictures of the same woman and man. The priest wondered if they were Maps' parents, but decided that was a conversation for another day since Abraham was with them.

  The rogue fighter glanced at her and raised his eyebrows. “You always manage to have fucking hot chicks as your friends. First, that girl who used to be on your team…Melissa. Then Katie? Whoa, fucking steaming hot. And now this one. Granted, she’s a bit strange, but I can dig the goth thing.”

  The priest kept his eyes trained on the pictures, knowing his companion was trying to get a rise out of him. He tended to do that when he was bored. “Do I need to remind you that I am a man of the cloth? You know, gave my life to God, made a vow of celibacy? These women are all strong and independent people whom I greatly respect.”

  Abraham chuckled. “Oh, yeah, I’m sure. But does that vow of celibacy mean you no longer have a libido?”

  “No, it means I’m a human being who can control myself. I know that is foreign to you and all, but it does exist.”

  His companion scowled. “Hey, I’ve been with Elizabeth for years, and I have never cheated on her once—and let me tell you, I had the chance to. But I was faithful, so yes, I know what control is, asshole.”

  “Good for you. It’s a lot better than the way you used to be. You had a different girl every night.”

  “I was kind of a suave guy back then, wasn’t I?” He smiled and tilted his head back.

  Damian somehow managed to keep a straight face. “No, girls like bad boys. I can’t say your choice was based on their brains.”

  Abraham grinned. “Hey, I wasn’t trying to get their brains into my bedroom. I also didn’t plan on ever meeting anyone I wanted to be around for more than a few hours, and talking really wasn’t involved.”

  “Oh? How did Elizabeth get so lucky?”

  The older man elbowed him. “I tried at first, but she wouldn’t have it. Next thing I knew, I was immersed in our conversation. I don’t know…she changed me, I think. At least, she changed me for her. Doesn’t mean I don’t still look when I see a beautiful woman. I appreciate the female body. I appreciate the delicacy of their features and the way they’re strong but soft.”

  Damian looked at him with distaste. “Yeah, I’m sure that’s exactly what runs through your mind when you look at a woman. ‘Oh, she has such delicate features.’”

  His smirk was telling. “Something like that. Man, I would love to get inside your head and know what you really think about. I want to know how many times you have a normal-man moment when you walk past a beautiful woman.”

  Ravi yawned. He should know it’s not very often. It’s not very exciting up here. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not complaining. I would hate to hear about tits and ass all day. That would definitely put a damper on our demon-to-human relationship. Your friend is kind of an ass.

  He’s got a good heart in there…somewhere.

  “Okay, so there isn’t a ton of information about this cult on the surface,” Maps said as she approached with a single sheet of paper.

  Damian glanced at Abraham and gave him a stern look to remind him to behave. “What did you find out?”

  She seemed disappointed. “Just that they originated in Los Angeles, but the cult itself goes back decades. They have chapters here and there but are relatively small right now. Surprise, surprise, there are wars among the cults, and they were extensively thinned out during the sixties.”

  “That’s it?” The older man sighed.

  Maps’ head snapped up, and Abraham cringed visibly at her glare. “For now. You came with an impossible task, and I made something of it. Don’t get all high and mighty.”

  Damian put up his hands before his companion could say anything. “Thank you. That’s a good start.”

  She took a deep breath and turned her back on Abraham, who grinned at her. “I’ll continue to look for information, and as soon as I find out more, I’ll contact you. These guys may be thin on the ground, but from what I can see they’re still dangerous. Very organized. They also maintain strict secrecy. Most sites that previously had information no longer provide anything. Even on the dark web, sites have been destroyed.”

  The rogue fighter looked down at his fingernails. “Maybe you aren’t as good as Damian says.”

  Maps growled at him. “Obviously, if you were as good as you say you are, you wouldn’t be standing in my place right now asking for my help.”

  Damian put his hand up. “Okay, kids, let’s try to calm this down. Thank you again, Maps. Give me a call when you have anything else.” Damian started to turn but stopped abruptly. “Oh, and you know that book you got me before?”

  She thought about it for a second. “Yeah, yeah. The one about…yeah.”

  “I get it. You want privacy.” Abraham rolled his eyes.

  He headed for the door. The priest lowered his voice and leaned in. “I’
d really like to find out more about the fallen angels. Things that aren’t available to the public. If you can find any of that, it would be really awesome, although I imagine it might be difficult. There’s no rush on it. Take your time, but I would love to see it.”

  Maps gave him a thumbs-up. “Sure, no problem. I actually have a contact who handles stuff like that. I’ll see what he can dredge up for me. Folklore is so crazy, and it’s all over the place. It’s hard to recognize what is or isn’t true.”

  “I know. Luckily, my demon knows a fair amount about it and can usually spot the bullshit from the beginning. She just doesn’t know enough to satisfy my curiosity, I suppose.”

  She shot him an inquiring look. “May I ask why you want to know?”

  Damian shrugged. “When I met Katie and Pandora, my interest was kindled. Then I found out what I suspected all along—that Pandora was a fallen angel—and it grew from there. I guess I’m trying to understand her a little better and figure out some of their secrets. They seem relevant enough in this time period with the war and everything.”

  “I agree.”

  He gave her a hug. “I’ll talk to you soon. Let me get this guy out of here before you two end up in a dogfight.”

  The priest found Abraham peering into a cabinet, grabbed his arm, and dragged him to the door. The older man looked at Maps and waved. She gave him a tight-lipped smile and flipped him her middle finger. He gasped as they walked out the door. “Your friend isn’t very nice. I like it.”

  Damian was done with that conversation. “Come on, asswipe. Let’s grab some food.”

  They headed to one of the pubs and ordered food and beers. The priest didn’t drink beer often, but after last night he didn’t really feel like anything harder. As they ate, they talked about old times and how much Abraham missed it sometimes. He shared his inner thoughts, something he hadn’t done before. “When you’re in the thick of it, you just want out. Then, when you’re chilling, relaxing at your house with nothing to do, you start thinking about the fight. You almost crave the adrenaline. I bet you fight ten times harder now because you don’t fight every day.”