Daimonion (The Apocalypse Book 1)

by J. P. Jackson

  “Expecting someone?” she asked.

  “No,” I said. The Shishi were alive again and on guard. “Tell them to hold off. I don’t need any more body parts to clean up.”

  Jenae patted each of their heads and calmed them down, but they continued to watch intently.

  As I walked over to the door, the knock came again.

  Hemming stood on the other side, except standing wasn’t quite the right word. He was bent over and holding his midsection with his hands. The clothes beneath his hands were shredded and bloodstained, and his hands were covered in the slick dark-red liquid.

  “Sorry, Dati, I…. I needed somewhere to go.” And with that, he slumped towards the nearest wall and slid down. His breathing was fast and shallow. I hoisted him up and brought him over to the couch, gesturing for Jenae to move. She was wide-eyed again, then pointed and remembered.

  “You were at the summoning,” she said, then smiled, proud of herself for remembering.

  My couch was becoming a convalescence bed. After lying Hemming down, I took a closer inspection of his wounds. There was blood everywhere, another reoccurring theme.

  It looked like Hemming’s midsection was ripped open, but I couldn’t really tell with the bloodstained clothes. The shirt needed to come off. Hemming was mumbling and trying to talk, but it was incoherent.

  “Jenae, down the hall there’s an office. On the right-hand side of the desk, there are several drawers, and in the top drawer of the desk, there should be a pair of scissors. Go get that and bring them here.”

  Jenae disappeared.

  “Hemming, what happened?” I asked, shaking his shoulders a little to try and get him to focus.

  “Three at once. I may have provoked them a little. But yeah, I had three guys come at me…” He trailed off into a mumble I couldn’t understand. Jenae showed up with the scissors, which I used to cut open his shirt.

  Hemming grabbed my hand, and I almost sliced his fingers on the blade of the scissor. “Dati, they ripped themselves out of me, flew through the air, and embedded themselves into the bellies of each of them.”

  His intense gaze drove fear into my heart, but not as much fear as the words he said. I took a moment to fully understand what he said because I didn’t want it to be true.

  It was only a matter of time before the metal demons within us ripped their way out, just as they had done to Hemming.

  Hemming’s eyes rolled into the back of his head.

  “Hemming, stay with us, come on…” I shook him again, and he peered up at me, his eyes losing focus. “Where did this happen? When did this happen?”

  Hemming garbled something and passed out.

  I sent Jenae for other items: hot water, a bucket, and some towels, gauze, and bandages. I wasn’t Marta, but we needed to get him cleaned up to see how bad the wound was.

  As I cleansed his midsection, a sharp silver spine poked out of the wound, warning me to keep my distance.

  Perhaps I could take him to Marta. I had no idea whether or not she would help Hemming, but I didn’t see any other option. But I couldn’t possibly move Hemming in this state. I’d have to bring Marta to my place, to Hemming.

  Jenae, who had been blissfully quiet, stared at me. She visibly crawled back a little further into herself as she said, “This is going to happen to all of us, isn’t it?”

  I nodded. I understood her retreat; it was the same retreat I had made a hundred times after Master had delivered punishment. It was a retreat into the corner of myself, where I thought I might be safe, but knew I had lost, had been beaten. It was the knowledge that Master ruled over me, and controlled everything about me.

  Transmutation

  ALYX

  I had been tending Mother’s shop all Sunday, and with almost no customers, it had been boring.

  So out came the spell books. Again.

  First I’d attempted an incantation from an old book Mom kept in the back—a short little rhyme that was supposed to change the weather. Except after reading it several times, it remained bright and sunny outside. No change at all.

  I had stacked up several books with various spells that I’d tested out in the past with no success. After that last meditation, I was damned if I wasn’t going to make at least one of these spells work. The entire afternoon I spent thinking about the man with the eyes and working my way through the pile of books with no success.

  The final book contained a Voudon ritual for summoning fire. I scratched several symbols onto a piece of paper in front of me and then set a small metal bowl in the center and waited.

  It was supposed to erupt in flame.

  There was nothing. Not even a sizzle.

  I gave up.

  So then what had happened during that meditation? Why had that been successful? Was the Satyr real? Was the information I had been shown about the man of my dreams just my subconscious’ way of dealing with my own obsession? Would it really hurt to go look at the high-rise?

  I glanced up at the clock.

  Five minutes to five.

  My heart felt like it would beat right out of my chest. I giggled to myself. It was time to clean up the cash counter, stuff any receipts into the deposit envelope that would wait in the back office for Mom to reconcile, grab my coat, and head out. Time to lock up the shop and leave, and then maybe walk past the building—that’s all—just walk past it, just to make sure that it really is still standing there.

  Flicking the lights off, locking up the door, I headed out of the shop.

  Here we go.

  I can’t believe I’m doing this.

  No one would be waiting at home for me. Sundays had always been Mom’s day to get together with her girlfriends and do whatever women of her age did when they went out in small gaggles. I imagined it was shopping or cards or trying out a recipe at someone’s home. In the end, I really didn’t mind. It gave me time to myself.

  I hadn’t turned the right way for home; instead, I went to go see the high-rise. And it really was only a few blocks up the street. I’ll just go take a quick peek.

  Rounding the corner, sweat dripped down my back.

  “Geez, Alyx, get nervous much?” I said out loud to myself.

  I rolled my eyes at myself. This was so silly.

  Within a couple minutes, I was across the street, counting the storeys of the high-rise. It wasn’t even close to the tallest building in the downtown core, and certainly not the newest, but the windows reflected the partly cloudy, slightly cool sky of late September on the prairies.

  Without really thinking about it too much, I walked into the lobby of the high-rise. Ornate marble floors, black leather couches, and a faux Persian rug off to one side created an elegant sitting area, where the concierge’s desk could spy on the inhabitants and keep them in line until the upstairs tenant came to retrieve their guest from the foyer.

  But it was Sunday, and there was no one behind the desk.

  I went over to the enormous bureau and inspected the front panel plaque that had a listing of all the apartments in the tower and the last name of the tenant who occupied the suite. Next to the name was a call button, and an intercom speaker was next to that.

  I had no idea which apartment number to look for, nor did I know the name of the resident.

  At this point, I lingered in front of the roll call of residents, with sweat still dripping down my back and my usually hot hands turning cold. A sure sign that I thought I was doing something wrong.

  Damn it, this is just asinine. What the Hell am I doing?

  Honestly, a fucking Satyr gave me this information—stop and think about that little fact, Alyx. I repeated in my head all the arguments as to why this was a stupid idea in a vain attempt to talk myself out of walking over to the elevator.

  But I was already there, and within a second, I had pushed the call button for the elevator and the whirring of the mechanical gears and machinery became audibly noticeable. The elevator sped quickly down to its summons on the main floor, and when it
reached its destination, the doors opened wide and I peered inside.

  It all seemed sort of familiar, but weren’t all elevators kind of the same? This one was no different, studying the panel of numbers, as the doors slid close. I swallowed hard as my finger traced the right column of numbers. 3…6…9, my finger continued all the way up to the top, 27, and then I pushed it—hard—probably a little harder than was really necessary.

  The elevator took forever to reach the top floor. I readjusted my backpack, still feeling stupid and really uncomfortable—until finally the doors opened.

  Left or right, which would be the correct way to the broken door? With only a fifty/fifty chance, I swung to my right and proceeded down the hallway. All the doors were the same, but after only a few steps, I could see the end of the corridor. There it was, the apartment at the end on the left-hand side of the corridor, and the door was ajar.

  My heart skipped a beat, and my stomach sat tightly in my throat. What the Hell am I doing? Following up on information that a Satyr gave me. A Satyr, Alyx, a Satyr.

  I had almost convinced myself to turn around and go home when I noticed that the door on the left-hand side of the corridor wasn’t ajar, but off its hinges, and did that mean broken?

  And there were voices coming from inside the apartment.

  Leave, right now. This had gone from silly to creepy, and now I was slightly more afraid than I was giddy. Was this actually happening? These were the signs that Silenus had shown me; the building, the top floor, the broken door—was the vision that the Satyr had shown me coming true?

  A tiny voice from deep within my subconscious screamed at me, Of course it’s real, and it is exactly what you wanted to have happen, and this is exactly where you need to be!

  As I took a couple more steps forward, I could hear a girl’s voice talking and then a man’s as well.

  Well, see right there, this clearly was all wrong. There was a girl, and there shouldn’t have been any girls. And yet, that male voice made my insides quiver.

  It had to be him.

  I knocked.

  What the Hell did you do that for, I scolded myself.

  There was immediate silence from inside the condo. I was just about to turn and run.

  If it wasn’t the right apartment, I could always just say that I had been given incorrect information and thank the resident and apologize for inconvenience. After all, that wouldn’t have been far from the truth.

  A pretty young girl’s face appeared in the crack.

  “Hi, can I help you?” she said. She wore an oversized T-shirt and a pair of sweats that were huge on her. Wow, talk about your Sunday lazy lounge-around-the-house clothes.

  Crazy thoughts swam through my head. Maybe this guy was straight after all; maybe I had misinterpreted his stare. Maybe he was doing this chick?

  A small part of me really did not like that idea at all. If he did girls, at least he could have chosen one his own age.

  “I…um, sorry, I was just expecting a guy,” I started, when suddenly the girl shoved the door to the side.

  “Sorry, this thing… can you give me a hand?” she said.

  I dropped my backpack and helped the girl slide the door to the side, just enough so that either my skinny form or her lean petite body would have been able to get past it.

  “Thanks, there, that’s better,” she said, and then she turned around and went back into the apartment. “Dati, there’s a guy out here asking for you.”

  Voices came from inside the apartment, not really an argument, just sort of tense words, and then there was silence. It was weird.

  I stood just sort of on the threshold of the apartment, and now I felt beyond uncomfortable and stupid. My hands had gone ice cold. I cupped them and blew hot breath to warm them up.

  That’s it, this is over, it’s time to leave—but I didn’t want to be rude. I didn’t want to just disappear on the girl. I poked my head around the corner. “I’m sorry, you know, I clearly have some wrong information. I’m sorry to bother you. I’m just gonna go.”

  By the time I had half of the sentence out, I had craned my neck to discover a living room that looked like a tornado had gone through it, with walls that had the weirdest paint job I had ever seen. It seemed as if the place was rotting, and there was a guy lying on the sofa who was pale and bloody.

  What the Hell have I got myself into?

  And then I saw him.

  It was him.

  All of him, in loose sweats and tight T-shirt that showed exactly how muscular he was, with his bearded face and black tousled hair. All I could do was stare. A smile crept across my face.

  Silenus had done it; Silenus had led me right to him.

  Holy freaking crap, that magic shit really worked!

  He spoke for the first time—a deep baritone voice.

  “Alyx! You can’t be here, what the…how the Hell did you—” But he stopped abruptly. That gorgeous man’s face went ashen white as the colour drained out.

  His face contorted into a grimace.

  I saw why.

  Dati’s stomach exploded with blood.

  The girl screamed.

  I started to move towards him—to help—but before I took a second step, something hit me in the gut. I glanced down and put a hand where something hit me, like a baseball had come hurtling out of nowhere and smacked me right in the gut.

  A sharp pain like the blade of a knife drove into my belly.

  I glanced up to see Dati falling onto his knees.

  I didn’t understand what was going on, but the pain was excruciating. I ripped up my shirt in time to see the spikes of a silver bug boring its way into my midsection.

  I felt hot and feverish, and my hand instinctively went towards the bug to try and pull it off me, but I had become so dizzy.

  My eyelids fluttered, and the scene before me went hazy.

  Then Dati was there, and he had me in his arms, and he said something, but the ringing in my ears was so loud I couldn’t hear a thing.

  And then…darkness.

  Cocoon

  DATI

  Hemming slept, but his rest was punctuated by bouts of flailing arms and the occasional flying fist. His sudden jarring movements were going to undo whatever first aid I had patched together. I hoped my poor curative skills protected him enough so that the wound wouldn’t fester.

  Hemming had once been human, that much I had learned of his history. Master had rescued him from his self-destructive tendencies, binding a deal with him when he had been a young gambling addict who drank too much and didn’t know when to stop wagering. That contract landed Hemming with a primeval Shape-Shifting skeleton, a demon’s anger, and a sudden lack of people who were searching for him and his funds. However, Master owned him.

  On the rarest of occasions, Master would pair me with others within his band of fiends. A long time ago, he’d sent Hemming and me out to track an errant demon, one who never should have escaped the boundaries of Hell. After a couple of months searching for the creature and trying to capture it, we applied a limited scope of trust on each other.

  When dealing with demons, one always wants to keep an ace up their sleeve.

  It had not been easy to find the beast. It enjoyed taking up residence within children. Getting the demon back to its rightful place was costly. Most of the children it had possessed didn’t survive.

  Jenae squeaked out the tiniest noise of empathy from behind me. When I glanced back at her, she immediately quietened and turned tight-lipped, her eyes watery with impending tears. The silence was short-lived.

  “Is he going to be alright? It looks so painful,” Jenae asked in a small voice.

  “He’ll heal faster than a human.” I was more concerned about the bugs twisting inside my guts, waiting to tear a matching hole through me.

  Jenae’s hand was pressed up against her midsection, and her gaze hadn’t moved from Hemming’s wrapped belly.

  “I can’t do this.”

  “I don’t think y
ou have a choice,” I said.

  “Take them out of me right now. I’ll get you a knife from the kitchen; just get those fucking bugs out of me!” She clawed at the oversized shirt she had borrowed; bunches of fabric gathered in her hands. “I can feel them moving inside of me. I don’t want them there for another second.”

  “Jenae, I’m not cutting you open, and frankly I can’t imagine that the creatures are going to let me pull them out of you. I’m afraid you’ve just been exposed to the cruelest thing Master has ever done to us. As sick as it is, welcome to the club.”

  She hung her head low in defeat. “There’s got to be a way. I can’t stand the thought of them in there,” she mumbled, tears running down her cheek.

  “I’m not wasting time thinking about it right now, but if you come up with a better idea than trying to cut them out of yourself, let me know. Keep an eye on him,” I said, pointing to Hemming. “I’m going to clean the blood off my hands.”

  If I was honest with myself, I felt the same, but I held no confidence in Jenae to circumvent Master’s devious plan. Now if I had the soul vial that held my dismembered spirit, then that would open a few doors of possibilities, none of which ended well for Master. Until then, I would do as I was bid, suffer through Master’s torment, and likely put others through pain and misery.

  I washed my hands in the bathroom sink, staining the white porcelain bright red, until Hemming’s blood washed away and swirled down the drain.

  A knock coming from the front door, and then Jenae’s voice.

  “Hi, can I help you?” Jenae said, perky and friendly, apparently over her panic attack.

  What the Hell now?

  “I…um, sorry, I was just expecting a guy.”

  I froze. The voice, where did I know that voice from?

  “Sorry, this thing…can you give me a hand?” By the scraping coming from the other room, Jenae must have been moving the door out of the way.