Crucifix: A Supernatural Action Adventure Opera (Damian’s Chronicles Book 1)

by Michael Todd

  Damian breathed deeply. “That does sound like a nice way to live out the rest of time, just you and the grasses and the breeze. Too bad we don’t get a choice.”

  The priest’s face looked grumpy. “Maybe one day before I meet my maker. In the meantime, I get to babysit you and your new student. Maximus Gray, twenty-three years old and ready to kick some demon behind. How is he settling in?”

  He glanced at Max’s door. “Good. I mean, I am assuming good. He only arrived a couple of days ago and has pretty much stayed to himself. I’ve tried to give him some space to get settled, though he does come out and have dinner with me at night.”

  Father Kirkpatrick looked down at Max’s picture in the file in front of him. “He will warm up to you. In fact, he kind of reminds me of you a bit when you first came to the church, before you joined the SWAT team. Tries to be sure of himself on the outside, but I could see right through him. I figured he would be the perfect student for you. Try not to get him killed, and please teach him the right way, not the Damian way.”

  He lifted both eyebrows. “Hey, the Damian way is the right way most of the time.”

  His companion raised an eyebrow as he fished his cell phone from his pocket and looked down at the incoming text. He let out a groan and closed the latch on his bag. “I can never get a moment of peace and quiet these days. Duty calls, so I need to run. Is there anything else you can think of that you need?”

  “Whiskey?” Damian suggested with a grin.

  Father Kirkpatrick straightened his robes. “That would be against the rules, Father. But if you get any good stuff, you better call me right away.”

  He snorted, then stood and walked the other priest to the door. “I don’t have any questions that I can think of now, but I know how to reach you.”

  His mentor stepped out of the doorway and turned back to him. “You do. And please, stay out of trouble with the Wise Men. You know how much they despise comedy of any sort. It took me long enough to assure them that your humor wouldn’t rub off on young Max. They still remember the last meeting they had with you where you drew pictures of an attack using a large cross as the head of your stick figure.”

  Damian tried not to smile. “Hey, they needed to know exactly what happened.”

  Father Kirkpatrick put on his hat and turned, walking away without dignifying that with a response.

  Chapter Two

  The smell of oil and exhaust floated through the air of the adjoining garage. Damian lay flat on a rolling cart underneath the SUV. He had rolled up the sleeves of his white button-up shirt but left on the suspenders that clipped snuggly to his brown corduroy pants. It was time for an oil change in the truck, something that he knew how to do but hadn’t done in years.

  He grumbled to himself as oil splattered on his face. “The church can give me golden teacups but not pay to have someone change the oil. Backward.”

  As he dislodged the plug and wiped the oil absently off his hands, he stared at the warm stream of black ooze coming from the SUV. It looked almost like the blood that flowed through the demons’ veins—the same blood that tried to take over the humans it infected, which was exactly what he didn’t want to happen. Once the blood had taken hold, he could no longer save the soul of the person infected. The demon had reached in and taken hold of everything.

  A bubble burst, glopping the oil down next to him, and a few drops hit his forehead. He grabbed the rag next to him and wiped off the goo, smearing it across his skin. He may have been grumping about doing something as simple as changing the oil, but it really didn’t bother him. In fact, it was almost a relief, a break from his daily horror show of a life filled with demons and dead bodies. An oil change was something everybody dealt with, whether on a rolling cart in a garage or sitting at the mechanic’s reading a two-year-old magazine and trying to pass the time.

  As the stream began to slow, he smiled, thinking about the time he had taught Calvin to change the oil back at the very first base that he had been in with Korbin’s Killers. It had an attached area they’d turned into a garage, and his friend couldn’t figure out why they didn’t pay to have the oil changed.

  He had looked at Damian like he was crazy. “I just got a check for… Well, let’s just say it’s the biggest check I’ve ever held in my hands. Why in the world do I need to know how to change my oil? It doesn’t even save that much money.”

  Damian could remember simply smiling and laughing at him as the oil spilled out down his arm because he didn’t move fast enough.

  “It’s a rookie mistake,” he had told him. “One I can promise you won’t do again.”

  “Yeah, because someone else will change it from now on,” Calvin had said grumpily.

  That had been a good day, a day that felt normal—much like what Damian felt right at that moment beneath his blacked-out SUV in his London garage. It made him miss the team, but he was content with his choice. He was where he wanted to be and where he knew he should be.

  As he tended to the oil, Max wandered into the garage looking for him. He could see his feet sticking out from under the truck and smiled. He stuck his hands in his black dress pants pockets and meandered slowly over to him. The newcomer was young, but looking into his eyes, you could see a life that didn’t fit his twenty-three years on Earth. There were small creases at the corners of his blue eyes, and his dark brown hair stayed neatly trimmed but not too short. He was tall with strong arms but a thin waist, something he had been trying to beef up for years to no avail.

  Max shifted the stool with his foot and sat down, leaning back against the large work shelf behind him. He didn’t want to disturb the process, so he merely waited for him to notice he was there.

  Damian watched the last few drops of oil drip from the truck before putting the plug back in the pan. He heard the scraping of the stool on the cement floor and tilted his head to the side, seeing the black dress pants, black socks, and low-top Chuck Taylors. Working quickly, he put the assembly back together and pushed the rolling cart back out, sat up, and nodded to a pile of clean rags. “Pass me one of those, would you?”

  The young man grabbed a clean one and tossed it over, watching him wipe the oil meticulously from beneath his fingernails. Damian glanced up at his companion staring at him but didn’t make any sudden movements. It was the first time Max had come around without food being involved since he got there.

  He put the rag to the side and pulled his knees up, resting his arms on them. “So, did you get everything unpacked?”

  Max nodded. “I did. There was definitely enough room in there. I don’t have that many clothes, only the ones given to me during my training. Still, it’s nice to have more than a cot and a metal cabinet.”

  Damian chuckled. “I’m sure. Those things suck, and your pants are always wrinkly when you pull them out. So, I can assume you are comfortable?”

  The trainee’s face was serious. “Absolutely. I mean, it’s no Hilton, but then again, I’ve never stayed at one. Was that Father Kirkpatrick I heard out here this morning?”

  He grunted as he stood up. “Yeah. Just checking on us. Doing his normal rounds. He thinks pretty highly of you. I told him the jury was still out.”

  The younger man chuckled slightly, not knowing if he was joking or not. He grabbed a wrench and fiddled with the end of it. Damian turned and lifted the hood. “So, you decided to become a priest, huh?”

  He lifted an eyebrow. “Priest? You mean I didn’t sign up for Disney on Ice?”

  “Ha ha,” he responded dryly.

  Max smiled, looking down at the wrench. “Yeah, after Incursion Day and getting infected, I just felt compelled to. The church had always been my home anyway, I guess.”

  Damian wiped off the dip stick and set it to the side then removed the oil filler cap. “Well, Maximus…”

  The young man put up his hand. “Just Max. Please.”

  He glanced at him for a moment. “Right. So, Maximus, tell me what you learned during your not-so-extensive traini
ng before coming to me.”

  Max shook his head. “We learned the typical exorcisms and the ones that you can perform in the middle of an incursion. We watched films—you were in a couple of them—and then went on some scouting assignments with the Fathers.”

  Damian rolled his eyes. “Did you have Father Randolph? He was a killer back in the day, and I don’t mean like a mercenary. I mean he was the meanest priest I ever met.”

  He cleared his throat, trying to hide a laugh. “I met him my first two weeks, but he passed away shortly after that. He was old as dirt, though.”

  “It’s not nice to talk about the Fathers of the church that way, Maximus.”

  Max looked up quickly and opened his mouth to protest, but Damian cut back in. “And I can imagine he was one of the disciples in the bible. He was that damn old.”

  The younger man smirked. “The rest of it was mostly textbook stuff, a lot of prayers, and then the rules. The rules were a textbook of their own.”

  Damian pressed his lips together. “That they are, but I can tell you now, you won’t see a lot of rule-following when it comes to demons. The church compartmentalized it, but the rules can’t always be kept. I spend a lot of time simply trying not to get my head bitten off.”

  He dropped one of his tools on the floor, and Max stood. “You want some help with that? My dad owned an automotive shop when I was a teenager, so I learned how to really work on cars. It’s one of my few talents.”

  Damian nodded. “I like a kid with talent. So, you worked on cars. What were your other hobbies?”

  Max walked over to the truck and looked under the hood. “Uh, mostly just cars. I did a lot with the church, and spent most of the rest of the time with my parents.”

  Damian grabbed a bottle of whiskey from the top shelf of the tool cabinet, making the young man look pointedly at him. Of course, he ignored that, poured a glass, and sat down on the stool, relaxing. Max turned the wrench, tightening the oil filter in place, and grimaced as it slipped, bashing his knuckles on the block. “Sonofabitch!”

  Without looking up from his glass, Damian said, “Language!”

  Max shook the pain from his hand. “But engines don’t have ears!” Damian looked up at him with a blank face. He wiped his bloody knuckle on a clean rag and went back to working on the truck. “So, I’m assuming you’ve done a lot of real exorcisms.”

  Damian nodded.

  Max shifted from side to side, trying to not clam up. “What are they like?”

  He shrugged. “Less dramatic than the movies, most times. The demon spits and spats, calls out names in Aramaic, and then either leaves or dies.”

  At this, the young priest seemed to relax his shoulders, and Damian could tell he was pleased with the answer. He knew he couldn’t let his first trainee off the hook that fast, so he started to mess with him. “Of course, there are those occasions where serpents come out of the mouth, and they wail like banshees. Then there is the fire and the not too uncommon oozing of blood and pus from all their orifices. You also have to watch out for the claws.”

  Max cleared his throat and glanced over. “The claws?”

  Damian waved his hand nonchalantly. “I’m sure you will be fine. We haven’t had anyone die in a while.”

  The trainee could feel his hand tighten on the wrench, but he wouldn’t let himself give in to the fear—not yet, at least. “So, why did you take this assignment? I know you were a mercenary, and there is a lot of crazy stuff going on in that world right now.”

  “I felt like this was where I needed to be.”

  He looked up at the hood and put his hand on it. “I can understand that. Did it have anything to do with what we are going to be doing?”

  Damian took a sip of his drink. “To be honest with you, I’m not real sure what we’ll be doing out here. I joined up after a talk with the three Wise Men, but they weren’t exactly the most forthcoming individuals. I swear they are cloaked in secrecy all the time.”

  Max finished adding the oil and checked the level with the dipstick. “Yeah, I wasn’t really clear on what we would be doing either. All I knew was that I was getting really tired of sitting around the parish. I had to do something, use this demon thing for good. I was going nuts confined in that small space. My mentor offered it, and I jumped at the chance to join up.”

  “I’ve never heard someone say they were joining out of boredom before, but you definitely came to the right place. I don’t think I remember the last time I was bored at this job, or the one before this, really. It’s all the same to me, though, saving souls as often as I can.”

  Max put the old oil filter into the trash and rinsed his hands off in the sink. He wanted to ask about the Killers, but he wasn’t sure how his mentor would take it. He dried his hands off and walked to lean against the wall beside him with his hands in his pockets. “Can I ask you what it was like being a mercenary with Korbin and with Katie? I’ve heard nothing but amazing things about them and watched a bunch of their videos when I was bored at the parish.”

  Damian wasn’t sure how much he should say. He didn’t want to give the kid the wrong impression of what everything would be like, but at the same time, he didn’t want to scare the piss out of him right out the gate. “It was a job. It was a real cool one, you know? I, uh, I met a lot of good people there and saved a bunch of souls.”

  Max stared up at the ceiling, listening to him. “I can’t imagine what it was like being right in the middle of fighting like that. I was in Incursion Day, but I only really remember up to the part where I was infected. Did you kill a lot of demons you couldn’t save?”

  He opened his mouth but shut it again, hearing the bell in the square begin to toll. He glanced down at his watch, realizing it was already the afternoon. He cut off the conversation, mostly purposefully, and took the wrench from Max. “Go get cleaned up. I’m starving, and it’s lunchtime. We’ll head to this small deli down the road that I love. I met the owners when I first moved here. Really nice people…after I exorcised nasty as hell demons from them.”

  The young man’s eyes grew huge, and Damian turned, not wanting him to see the smirk on his lips. Max backed up, running into a cart. “Sorry. Yeah. I’ll go get dressed.”

  Damian waited until he was out of the room before laughing out loud. “This is gonna be fun. I should have been training for years!”

  Chapter Three

  Max adjusted his tie as he sat at the small table in the corner of the deli. A middle-aged woman with a kind smile came from behind the counter and gave Damian a huge hug. All he could picture was this pretty woman lunging over the deli counter and ripping people’s heads off. He could already see her eyes gleaming bright red.

  He looked down quickly as his companion headed toward him with their sandwiches. Damian set the tray down on the table and smirked at him. “She says she thinks the demon is still in her.”

  Max sat up straight, gripping the edge of the table. “Really? What do we do? Should we do an exorcism?”

  Damian nodded, trying to keep a straight face. “Oh yeah. Right there on the counter. It’s gotta be where the demon first entered her. We can lure it out with a few slices of salami and maybe some Muenster.”

  He nodded until he realized what the older man had just said. He straightened his face and stared at him. “You are screwing with me, aren’t you?”

  Damian let out a loud laugh and sat down across from him. “Of course, I am. It would be convenient, though, if we could lure the damn things out with lunch meat.”

  Max raised an eyebrow. “You’re cursing.”

  His mentor didn’t even look at him, merely took a sip of his Coke. “Being one of the Damned, I don’t think the word ‘damn’ is going to condemn my soul to hell.”

  He shrugged. “You never know.”

  Damian chuckled and shook his head. “Do as I say, not as I do.”

  Max let out a frustrated breath. “Great, it’s like I’m back in my parents’ house again. I can’t get away from i
t anywhere.”

  The other man laughed and picked up his pickle. “So, do you like it in London?”

  Max shrugged. “I haven’t really gotten to see a lot of it. I was in the military, but a non-combatant—office-bound. After Incursion Day, I moved straight to the church and then to the training program. They kept me busy.”

  “I was here years ago but not recently. Luckily, between that, working with the Killers, and being here this last month, I made some contacts for us.”

  Max suddenly felt like he was part of something secret. Intrigued, he leaned forward and whispered. “Contacts? Like spies?”

  “Last time I checked, we weren’t in Russia during the Cold War,” Damian whispered back, deflating his excitement.

  “So, only people who can help us with whatever exorcisms we have to do?”

  Damian nodded. “Right. People who can get us the info that the church doesn’t readily offer up. I actually met a girl. She’s a cartographer by day but can get anything I need by night. Nice girl. We’ll go see her when we get our first assignment.”

  Max took a bite of his sandwich. “Is she Damned like us?”

  “Now who’s cursing?” his companion asked, grinning. “But no, she’s only a local in London. She needed some help when I first got here, and randomly, we crossed paths. She’ll be a good addition to our little team.”

  “You sound like you are building your own mercenary squad,” Max said through a mouthful of sandwich.

  Damian lifted an eyebrow. “First of all, please stop talking with your mouth full. Secondly, we are priests, not mercenaries. Third, when it comes to working with demons, you can never have enough allies out there. You never know when you will need something on the fly, or an item that’s hard to get. It really helps having someone in the game with you. This is no different. She’s good people. So are the others I know here, but none of them will really be much help when it comes to exorcising.”