Damian's Chronicles Complete series Boxed Set

by Michael Todd

  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 bee
n 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, although 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.”

  “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.”