Daemon

by Doug Dandridge

  DAEMON

  A Steampunk Fantasy

  by

  Doug Dandridge

  Books by Doug Dandridge

  Doug Dandridge’s Author Page at Amazon

  Science Fiction

  The Exodus Series

  Exodus: Empires at War: Book 1

  Exodus: Empires at War: Book 2

  Exodus: Empires at War: Book 3: The Rising Storm (Coming Spring 2013).

  The Deep Dark Well Series

  The Deep Dark Well

  To Well and Back

  Deeper and Darker (coming Summer/Fall 2013)

  Others

  The Shadows of the Multiverse

  Diamonds in the Sand

  The Scorpion

  Afterlife

  Fantasy

  The Refuge Series

  Refuge: The Arrival: Book 1

  Refuge: The Arrival: Book 2

  Doppelganger: A Novel of Refuge

  Others

  The Hunger

  Daemon

  Aura

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  “There’s no way out,” called a deep voice.

  Jude turned and saw that the Mage was at the entrance to the alley. He raised his gun and fired, then fired again, watching as both bullets stopped and fell to the ground.

  “I’m afraid that weapon is of no use against me,” said the Mage while the gunman came up behind him, careful to keep the Mage between himself and Jude. “I understand that you have some magical talents yourself,” said the Mage to Jude, his eyes laughing at the Detective. “But you’re cut off from any power.”

  “What do you want?” asked Jude, frantically trying to think his way from out of the situation.

  “Why, your silence,” said the Mage, a cold smile on his face. “You’ve been asking questions that have disturbed some powerful people. And so you have to disappear. Convenient of you to choose such a place to make your stand, where you can disappear so easily. A pity that you killed so many of my associates. But you have proven to be competent, and competent people sometimes have plans and ambitions of their own.”

  “Just what the hell is Daemon up to?” said Jude, still trying to buy time. For what, he knew not, but time was always a useful commodity. Especially when it looked to be running out.

  “I am here to keep you from asking questions, young man,” said the Mage, pointing his staff at Jude. “Not to answer more of them.” The Mage spat out a word of power and Jude felt his muscles lock. He could still breathe, could move his eyes. But the rest of his skeletal muscles had locked in place, leaving him at the mercy of the two men.

  Jude fought against the spell with all of his will. Being a mage himself, he knew how to fight back. Whether he would have the strength to defeat the spell was another question. The Mage moved to one side, his eyes and will focused on Jude, while the gunman approached, pistol pointed at the Detective. The Mage moved closer to the wall with his eyes locked on Jude, not paying attention to his surroundings. Jude felt some hope as he saw how close the Mage was to the dark doorway, and moving closer.

  No one really knew what the Shadows were, or where they came from. They had first started appearing three centuries ago, and were made up of negative energy, the opposite of the life force that animated living creatures. Most of the time they took the form of black constructs of once living creatures, though they could assume the aspects of mythological beasts and animals that had been extinct for millions of years. They were physically hurt by light, and long exposure to bright light could break up their structure. They fed on the raw, unprocessed form of life force, when they could get it. And they could sense that life force, like a normal predator could take the scent of a prey animal.

  The large claw came out of the pitch blackness of the room, hooking into the shoulder of the Mage and ripping his flesh. Blood poured down and the Mage was turned toward the door. Jude thought the great head that came out of the darkness, roaring in pain at exposure to the light, was reminiscent of a lion, a predator that had been extinct for almost two hundred years. The maw opened and closed on the head of the Mage, then pulled back into the darkness, jerking the body of the man with it into the dark room. Jude knew the Mage was dead at that instant, because the paralysis left his body and he gained control of his muscles.

  The other gunman let out a yell as he looked back over to where the Mage was standing. He raised his pistol and fired a round into the dark doorway. Jude wasn’t sure that was a good idea. The bullet was more likely to kill the Mage than hurt the Shadow. But then again, the Mage was already dead. Jude did think it was a good idea to raise his pistol and shoot the gunman in the side, walking forward, cocking the hammer, and shooting him in the head as he started to turn. He stepped over the body, heading for his partner. As far as he was concerned the men they had killed could lay there and rot till the end of time. They weren’t real people as far as Jude was concerned, but faces of the evil that was polluting his world, without whom the world was a better place.

  Dedication

  This novel is dedicated to writer Jeff VanderMeer, who introduced me to the concept of Steampunk.

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  http://dougdandridge.net

  @Brotherofcats

  Copyright © 2012 Doug Dandridge

  All rights reserved.

  Prologue

  “They’re compatible,” said the wizard in an excited voice.

  “Fully?” asked Lucian Daemon, looking at the other man in the office, then back at the wizard over steepled fingers. Mark Talbot was one of the better wizard/techs of the corporation. Nowhere near in the class of Daemon and his peers, but very proficient at what he did.

  “There are some impurities,” said the man, nodding his head, the smile never leaving his face. “But nothing we can’t filter out. I think this is the answer to our prayers.”

  Daemon raised an eyebrow as he looked at the other Mage, then shrugged his shoulders. Probably just a slip of the tongue, thought the most powerful Mage in the world, and its richest man. Mages did not pray. They did not follow any religion, what there were of them in the shrinking life zone. But many had been raised into families that had at least one believer, and so heard the terms of the superstitious fools while growing up.

  “Very well,” said Daemon, looking the man in the eyes. “Set up the system for processing the new donors. Hopefully this will solve the energy crisis.”

  “I’ll get right on it,” said Talbot, nodding his head and retreating from the luxurious suite, closing the door behind him.

  Daemon swiveled his chair to look out the wide tall window set into the wall. On either side of the window conduits of blue energy rose to the top of the building, and the powerful globe of light that sat over a mile above the ground. The office itself was only a hundred yards down from that summit, and afforded a terrific view of the city below.

  “Our last real city,” said Daemon, looking at the brightly lit areas interspersed with areas of pure darkness. Areas of pure death, controlled by the Shadows at night. Only the magic of his corporation was keeping those beasts at bay.

  “Maybe we can actually push the Shadows back,” said the other man in the room from his chair. “Get some more cities going.”

  Daemon swiveled back in his chair to face the tall lean man. “It is not your job to plan for future expansion, Stark,” said the powerful man. “Your one and only job is to go and get us the donors that we need.”

  “That’s an interesting term,” said Lieutenant Steiner Stark of the Magara, the Secret Police of the Mage’s Council. “Donor. I think that victim might be a better term.”

  “Call them whatever the hell you want,” said Daemon, turning a cold glare o
n the man. He ran his hand through his long, graying hair . “Just make sure you use the proper term in official communiques. Now I want your boots on the ground as soon as possible. We must have that energy if we are going to survive the crisis.” The crisis we brought upon ourselves by the profligate use of magic, thought the Mage. Not that we had much choice, and it gained the position that I’m in. But it did paint us into a corner, and now we can escape.

  “I wish you would let me use my own men,” said Stark, a smirk on his face. “I really don’t trust these company goons you’re saddling me with. My own men…”

  Daemon slammed a hand on his desk. “And I don’t trust too many tongues outside the company,” said the Mage, his voice rising. “Now use what I gave you and get the job done. I’m fucking paying you enough to moonlight.”

  “Yes sir,” said Stark in a surly tone, getting up from his chair. “It will be done as you say, sir.”

  The man stormed from the room, slamming the door on the way out. Daemon stared at the door for a moment, then swiveled his seat to look back at the panoramic view of the city. He hated having to deal with men like Stark, but he needed a man like him, and Stark had proven reliable in dealing with problems in the past. Problems that Daemon did not want the Council or the public getting wind of.

  But good days are coming back, thought the Mage, looking up at the conduits which had lost some of their brightness over the last month. Sucks to be the donors, but that’s what they’re there for.

  Chapter One

  “So we got a whole bunch of suspects here, and no one will talk,” said the Detective, looking at his notepad.

  Detective Lieutenant Jude Parkinson looked down at the body, that of a middle aged man in a business suit, lying on the ground in a pool of blood. The photographers were still at work, making sure they got the body at all angles before the coroner moved it to the morgue. He looked over at the four men who were sitting on a nearby couch just outside the bosses office. All were younger men, all white, all in business suits as befitted someone who worked for this prestigious accounting firm.

  “Any reason that any of them killed this man?” asked Parkinson, taking off his hat and tossing it to the surface of the desk.

  “All kinds of reasons,” said the junior Detective who was the primary on this case. “He was not a nice boss, according to his secretary. She found the body. Says she was using the bathroom, came back, and Mr. Seth Morris would not answer his door when she knocked. Walked in and found him like this. Deader than hell from a stab through the neck.”

  “What the hell is this world coming to,” said Detective Sergeant Sebastian Montoya in slightly accented English. “Committing murder in an office building, in broad daylight.”

  “From where I stand it looks like the whole world has gone to shit,” said Jude, looking over at the men. He said a short spell that gave him wizard’s sight, and could see no trace of murder on any of the men. Of course one of them might have some training in magic, and so erased the traces. There was only one thing to do, and that was his job, much as he hated doing it.

  “Get everyone out of here, Montoya,” he said to his partner, bracing himself for what he was to do next.

  “You heard the man,” said the short Sergeant, waving his hands. “Clear the room. Unless you want to go through it too.”

  That made everyone hustle to clear the office. Within moments the door closed behind Montoya, the last man out. Jude looked back down at the man and cleared his mind. He looked down at the body again, hoping that maybe this would not be the bitch he thought it would be. After banishing that thought the Detective again cleared his mind and concentrated on what he needed to do. He said the ritual words while he concentrated on the mystical symbols, opening himself up to the power he needed for the incantation. The energy flowed through the city grid and into his body.

  The world around him blurred, to be replaced by the shadow world of spirits. He was still aware of the office around him, but it was overlaid by the energies that had been created in the last hours of Mr. Seth Morris. The spirit of the man was still in the room, and would be there for several days before it went off to its final reward, or punishment. Jude could see the energy of the spirit, troubled, agitated that it was no longer attached to a body.

  And you were a slimy bastard in life, weren’t you Mr. Morris? thought Jude, looking at the roiling energy that was also agitated over its knowledge of its destination. The man had sins to pay for. Many, and probably awful. But he wasn’t going to delve into the sins of the murdered man. He was too respectful of his own soul to allow the corruption of the man to enter into him.

  And who killed you, Mr. Morris? he thought, probing with his mind through the link of the spell. He stared into the dead eyes of the man, looking down on the glazed orbs, willing the connection.

  And then he was looking through the eyes of the dead man, linked with his mind and the visual memories that were still there. He expected to see one of the men come into the room, to attack the man he had a reason to kill. To his surprise the last person to enter the sight of the boss was the secretary. He watched from the bosses point of view as she walked into the room, a smile on her face. She walked around and out of sight, then one of her hands came into view as he looked to his right shoulder. A hand that was massaging his tense muscles. Jude wondered for a moment why there was a glove on that hand. Then the vision jerked away, the view blurred, then shifted. It seemed as if the man had gotten to his feet. The view jerked as the man stumbled away from the desk. His hands came into view, both covered with blood. The view spun, desk, wall, higher, ceiling. The man falling to the floor. The woman walked into view, a long thin knife in her gloved hand. There was blood on the blade and on the glove, and the woman smiled down at the man while his vision blurred. The vision went dark as the man bled out and died.

  Why did she kill you? thought Jude toward the spirit of the man. What did you do to make her kill you?

  I was fucking her, came back the voice of the spirit in Jude’s mind. It was either give it up, or I would fire her, and see she didn’t work in our industry again.

  You were a sick bastard, weren’t you? he thought at the spirit.

  I didn’t deserve to die, thought the spirit. I don’t deserve the fires of Hell.

  You do deserve it, thought Jude, wanting to spit on the body, restraining himself. It was not professional, as much as he didn’t want to be at the moment. The man had ruined a woman’s life while he was alive, forcing her to kill him so he would no longer force himself on her. And in death he would do even more, sending her to execution, her energy harvested for the needs of society. I truly hope there is a Hell for you to go to. He stared at the spirit for a moment.

  Burn in Hell, thought Jude, sending his hate and anger over the connection again. You will be avenged. And may my soul be forgiven for what I must do.

  Jude broke the connection and took a deep breath, trying to clear his mind of the evil he had just connected with. He looked at the closed door and wondered about his duty. He knew what his duty was. He just wasn’t sure he really wanted to do it. But I have to, he thought. None of those men under suspicion is guilty, and one might go to his death for a crime he didn’t commit.

  Jude opened the door to expectant looks. The men on the couch looked scared. You didn’t have to be guilty to be afraid of the law, thought Jude. Mistakes were made, and the innocent sometimes suffered what should have been reserved for the guilty. Jude made eye contact with each of the men in turn, thankful that soon they would be relieved of the pressure. He looked over at the secretary, Sandra Kerry he knew her name to be from the spirit. There was the hint of tears in the corners of her eyes. She knows, he thought. How could she not? She knew that a forensic mage would be called in to the murder of a successful businessman. It wasn’t like he was some bum or homeless person.

  “I’m sorry,” Jude said to the woman as he walked over to her chair. “His spirit said that you killed him.”

 
“Then it lied,” said the woman, the tears now rolling down her cheeks.

  “I looked through his eyes and saw you,” said Jude, looking down at the woman. “The eyes don’t lie.” Jude turned away from the woman. He looked at the Detective as he walked away from the murderer. “Place her under arrest for the murder of Seth Morris.”

  “But he deserved it,” cried Sandra, pushing herself up from the chair. A pair of uniformed cops grabbed her arms, and one pulled her right arm behind her to begin the handcuffing. “You don’t know what he was doing to me.”

  “I do,” said Jude, looking down at the floor. “And I’m very sorry. But we cannot let people take the law into their own hands. He will get his punishment.”

  The woman started yelling at the cops while they finished cuffing her. Jude shook his head and motioned for Montoya. “I’ll file my interrogation report down at the station,” he told the young Detective, who would get to solve a murder case thanks to the efforts of the Lieutenant.

  “You look like you didn’t like doing that,” said Montoya as they reached the street.

  “I didn’t,” said Jude, looking up and down the street. There were numerous homeless people about. That had been a problem for the last couple of years, always coming in from the newly dead zones, hoping for something better in the city. And not often finding it. “I almost wanted to let her go. The sick bastard was making her perform sex with him to keep her job. And he threatened her with worse. She was probably thinking she would be out here with these poor bastards.”

  “But you did what you were supposed to do,” said the Sergeant, walking around to the driver’s door of their unmarked steamer. “Otherwise an innocent man may have to pay.”