The Daemon

Benjamin hated charity races. He hated this particular track and this particular event. The only thing that could be said, is that it raised a ton of money for the shelter and that was the only reason he was having anything to do with it.

Hey, Ben, an entitled nasal twang called out from the outside of his trailer. He ignored it; the voice belonged to Jake Court, pampered son of an indulgent father who had too much money for his own good. He felt his jaw tense and forced himself to exhale and concentrate on fastening the last of his gear.

He heard a murmur outside and the same petulant voice raised slightly in objection to whatever was being said. The door opened and Volta stepped in, ducking his huge frame as he turned sideways to accommodate himself through the aperture that was supposed to afford him some privacy.

The movement was swift and graceful, made with the barest whisper of sound. Try as he might, Benjamin never got used to these creatures, the Enforcers. Volta was assigned to him and was practically deferential in his demeanor, but Benjamin reflexively tensed any time Enforcers came into his personal space. There were several times he’d had reason to be grateful for their superior speed and strength and they went out of their way to set him at ease. Nonetheless, the image of their leader, Helion, his eyes red with battle fire, razor-sharp armored wings extended, fingers clawed into metallic talons and the teeth- pointed metal that gleamed with menace- the whole package elicited a shudder every time it came to his memory.

Of course, Volta resembled nothing of the sort at the moment. Yes, he was abnormally large as all the angels were, and his physique was naturally intimidating. It did look as if he walked around with the starting line-up of a pro football team when his guard accompanied him. A very quiet football team at that. Enforcers were not talkative, but they could get intensely excited during competitive events. There was never a lack of volunteers to attend Benjamin’s races.

The boy, Volta said quietly. I sent him away. Told him this is a preparatory time for you.

Benjamin nodded his assent and straightened, ready to inspect his motocross bike one more time. The Enforcers had already checked it, but old habits die hard. Benjamin climbed through the ranks the old-fashioned way by building and maintaining his own ride. With Lucifer’s sponsorship, he had several state-of-the-art bikes now, but, that didn’t mean he was allergic to a wrench. He ran the pro circuit and more than returned the investment of his sponsor. Hah- he really shouldn’t judge the Court kid, he thought wryly. Since Lucifer backed him, it could be said he was also an overly- indulged darling as well. Volta silently held the flap back for him and nodded his approval of Benjamin’s gear. Everything in place, except his stomach.

The dust in the air hit his nostrils, prompting a quick cough. It was a dry and airless day, slightly overcast. His tent was situated on a hill; Volta always insisted on high ground, acting as if a race were a trial battlefield, which Ben thought, it probably was to his mind. This was technically a great track, but he didn’t like the way this venue allowed the spectators to crowd the turns. The thing about this form of racing is it was classic. When it was in its prime, liability forced tracks to consider safety first. Now, it seemed like getting close to the action was paramount and he especially disagreed on this head at charity events.

Is there something you wish me to take care of? Volta asked, picking up on Benjamin’s unease. They were uncanny that way, which only added to their creepy repertoire.

Nothing you can do, he returned curtly. Let’s just get this over with. A bunch of inexperienced riders paid a lot of money to charity for the thrill of riding with circuit pros. His job today was to keep the hell away from the ones who lost their heads, anxious to demonstrate that they could ride just as well. They couldn’t, but the after party would be all about puffing up their egos to make them think they had. Autographs and pictures and food. He just wanted to get home to Grace. This was the last event of the season and he was ready to hunker down with her to wait for the baby. The thought lightened his mood until he spied the Court kid tricked out in garish gear that was clearly intended to draw all eyes. As he scanned the other riders, it was clear who the pros were and who the wannabes were too. The amateurs all demonstrated the nervous tension of an ADHD kid off medicine before a test.

He practically wrenched his helmet from the outstretched arm of the Enforcer who brought his bike over. He jammed it on. A movement in his peripheral vision caught his attention and it focused on a spectator who stood a head and a half taller than those surrounding him. He looked like a tough customer, a totally different genre of biker than motocross, he thought, as he took in long dreads, leather chaps and tats winding all over any exposed skin, including his neck. For a second, their eyes met, putting Benjamin in mind of a lion, the way the other man’s tawny gaze seemed lazily dangerous. He was fanciful today, he thought, and was taken aback that the man was suddenly gone.

Shrugging away a sense of unease, he stole a quick glance at Volta, only to see him staring in the direction the stranger had just been. He had that blank look on his face Benjamin recognized as the concentration it took for the telepathic communication between the angels. He knew it well and hated it when his wife employed it. It was rude, even though Grace insisted it was just private.

What’s wrong? he asked the hulking giant at his side. Volta regarded him silently. Benjamin hated that too, because the pause meant he was checking with his commander if it was permitted to share information with him.

Paranoia, was the clipped reply.

Benjamin issued a short bark of laughter at the sheer improbability. Paranoia was a human foible he knew all too well and the response was meant to throw him off.

I doubt it, he tossed back, for some reason itching to let this guard know he wasn’t taken in, even if he was a puny human. He turned his attention to the starting line, eyes turned towards the scantily clad woman holding the sign that would signal the parade lap when the gate dropped. It was more like a warmup lap to get the crowd going and give the track a quick inspection. His irritation ratcheted up as he mounted the bike and started it up. Maybe an adrenalin rush was the best thing for him today. He sped off on cue, minding the spacing as he found his groove in the track. A glint to his right caused him to look over at its source. It was sunlight off the camera lens of the videographer. He raised his hand briefly in acknowledgement; it was Billy, one of his favorites. Billy always got the shots. He had taken the last batch of pro stills that Ben was going to be signing later.

He made his way around the curve he hated and considered poorly designed. Some in the field referred to it as the Deal Breaker, meaning it separated the amateurs from the pros. Timing, spacing, and careful gauging of speed were essential or a slide to a drop was pretty much guaranteed. The best way to avoid that was to be where he intended to stay- away from the pack. He pulled back up to the gate, ignoring the raucous noise from the crowd.

When the gate crashed down, he felt his heart leap ahead of him, as it always did. A quick peripheral check showed the start was good and he pulled forward, getting himself in his preferred position, the bike responding with his body as if it were part of him. He took the hills effortlessly, with a grace that had made him famous and had every young rider mimicking his style.

He began to enjoy himself, losing his earlier irritation as he fell into the rhythms of hills and corners, a well-developed second sense assuring him he had room to maneuver. This race would be over quickly; there was no real endurance involved because it was just a display for charity to give rich people some bragging rights. The only real paranoia was his own, he admitted, casting off his earlier bad humor. Soon, he’d be home with Grace.

He worked past the Deal Breaker for the fourth time with ease and approached the longer curve that was offset by a hill he didn’t have to take because it was an embankment that spectators arranged themselves on to get a better view of the field. He saw Billy’s tripod and camera set up for business- he’d moved his location. As he leaned in, that second sense kicked in and he saw a flash of brilliant color out of the corner of his eye. The Court kid was coming in too close, excited to be only a few lengths behind him, and gauging the speed he went into the curve incorrectly. He could hear the classic mistake in the whine of the engine and gazed wildly at the row of people on the hill. He waved at them all to move, watching them scatter as if in slow motion. With the same hand, he signaled Jake to slow down, but the kid must have panicked, because the bike lurched forward sickeningly and began a slow drop and slide, hitting Ben’s rear wheel and rendering him airborne. His arms and legs clutched at nothing, his eyes registered people’s hands at their mouths, aghast as they watched him sail over the hill like a clumsy superhero in training. He wondered where his bike went through this elongation of time. He would roll out of this, he thought, until he recalled the old bleachers dumped behind the hill. There was that man he saw earlier, his face cast in a sardonic smile of what? Triumph? That was the last thought that registered as Benjamin’s body connected ingloriously with the tilted and battered remnants of a bygone award stand.

The tall man in dreadlocks and chaps strolled over and carelessly lifted Benjamin’s head by his curly hair, freed from its helmet on impact, his neck limply lolling over the metal bar it had hit. It had broken instantly. He let it fall again, and sauntered into the silent, horrified crowd, where he disappeared.

Chapter 1

Grace’s gaze fixed on Janik’s departing back, which was, from behind, set in miserable defeat. For the third time in so many hours, he had offered her the comfort of his embrace and for the third time, she had refused, this last time with sharp words. Even so, she concentrated on his form, waiting for some kind of emotion to strike her. Her irritated rebuff was the closest she’d come to any kind of emotion in the weeks since she’d been informed of her husband Benjamin’s death. Her faithful dog, Prince, rebuked her even more strongly with his expression, casting silent glances at her as he followed Janik out the door.

The trouble with angels, who were eternal and moved back and forth between this mortal world and the heavenly realm, is they had no real appreciation for the perception of the finite, since they didn’t even experience the illusion of it. Having literally all the time in the world, the death of a human being wasn’t anything to get upset about- the soul was eternal and they knew Benjamin had not ceased to exist. She knew that too. But he didn’t exist here anymore. Not with her. Her hand crept down of its own volition to cradle her swelled abdomen, extending comfort to the unborn child who would not know her own father in this lifetime.

Her eyes wandered to the mantle, where a specially crafted urn housed what was left of Benjamin’s mortal body. She had celebrated a ritual in his honor, given herself the catharsis of a funeral pyre in the ancient ways. Modern funerals were so removed from physical death. Bodies were neatly bagged and drawn away from the public eye, disappeared and reappeared magically packaged and sterile in a box. How could she be sure it was Benjamin? How could she leave so intimate a task as preparing his body to strangers?

She exerted the only advantage she was permitted in this case. Since she was not allowed to resurrect him, she had determined exactly how she wished to honor him and connect to him one last time. She didn’t care how his public funeral appeared; she had no connection to that whatsoever. They could do what they liked in that regard and she had no memory of it even though she knew she attended and accepted the condolences of too many people to count. He was popular. That may have comforted other people, but it only served to highlight the futility of his death.

The fire Janik had set blazed under the mantle. It was an uncharacteristically damp and cool evening for June. It was fitting that Benjamin’s remains would sit on a shelf that perpetually framed a fire. It recalled to mind the moment that her mother’s arms guided her own to draw the bow that released a flaming arrow to light the pyre floating in the river behind the gipur. The muted thunk it made as it found its mark in the tightly woven branches under Benjamin’s inert body was a sound that echoed in her mind like a looped drumbeat. It followed her every waking moment.

Knowing Benjamin’s persistent trepidation of the Enforcer angels in particular, she’d requested the angel artisans who had built the gipur and Lucifer’s home to construct the pyre. Paul and Uriel crafted the boat. Otherwise, she limited the enactment of the ritual to her human apostles, with whom Benjamin served, which now made them only three after they had lost eight of their apostles in the bombing. She still had not appointed replacements. The only one insensitive enough to remind her was Lucifer, stickler that he was for the ritual law, especially when it came to the Mother Goddess.

Her reverie was interrupted by a hard kick delivered to her rib. Gabriella said the child was fine, but Grace knew part of the reason she was so separated from her emotions was because she was afraid a grief so huge would do something awful to the baby. No amount of reassurance from Gabriella could sway her from that surety. A developing child in its mother’s womb shared in all her processes. She guarded her thoughts with vigilance and stemmed the tide of sorrow that rose up to choke her in the middle of the night. This darkness must not touch the child.

This reminded her that Janik had left a tray of fresh fruit and cheese for her snack. Without any notice of how artfully the fruit was arranged to tempt her nonexistent appetite, Grace popped a plump grape into her mouth. It could have been sawdust for all she cared. She crammed some cheese in after it, mechanically polishing off half the contents of the plate, which was all she could manage. She choked down half the yogurt smoothie Janik prepared as well.

She would be left in peace for the night after she had so sharply dismissed Janik, who was her personal guard. This was a profound relief. While she always craved the peace of solitude, she usually relaxed completely in Janik’s presence, which had become increasingly tender since he’d first lent his strength to her after the Atonement. The Enforcers possessed an ability to convey restorative strength to the afflicted, although, before their commander Helion had first shared his with her mother Elizabeth, it had only been shared between their own kind for the purpose of battle.

It was complicated by the fact that sharing contact with their wings was the most deeply intimate act an angel could offer. This depth of intimacy was the reason Helion had bonded emotionally with her mother in the first place; Enforcers were generally thought incapable of emotion. It had come as a surprise to the entire realm to have been mistaken in this regard. There was no one left in any doubt of the strength of connection between the two now, as Helion was one of Elizabeth’s husbands.

So, the magnitude of the honor in Janik sharing his wings with her was commensurate with the offense he was taking that she had refused his comfort since Benjamin’s death. He had even entreated her on behalf of the baby. But she was already protecting the baby from herself and she had determined to enact this grief on her own steam, without the buttressing of Janik’s strength. Benjamin deserved it. He deserved her sorrow, her weakness, and even the depression she felt pressing upon her from every side. She felt deeply that allowing Janik to make this any less would be cheating Benjamin from the full effect of his loss. Cheating herself from the impact as well. As her Abba had told her often enough, her human self was here to experience everything that was mortal. There was nothing more mortal than grief.

But she knew that Janik did not understand the rationale in refusing him now that she was widowed. He accepted it well enough when she’d cut herself off from their intimacy when she felt it encroaching on her exclusivity with Benjamin. She had confessed to her husband why she stopped the practice, but being mortal, he had not given it the same significance as sexual union, when in fact, it had more. She had come to realize that, and was grateful at the time that Benjamin was not hurt. He had even given her permission to continue because he supported anything that enabled her to be strengthened, comforted, or allowed her to continue her healing practices.

It was true that she could not keep up the same pace without Janik’s strength, yet, she abstained, because she knew that she was starting to take great pleasure in the act rather than accepting it restoratively. Lucifer admitted that there was no way to prevent that from happening and he did not lie; he only presented the options. She knew well enough when he did that, there was moral ambiguity involved- not that there was anything forbidden or wrong in continuing the practice, only that she and Benjamin had decided on exclusivity and that needed to be honored. Yearning for Janik’s wings did not figure into that paradigm.

She would not lose her parents; Uriel was an immortal archangel and her mother was immortal as well since her resurrection. She was spared that pain. She knew the depth of that sorrow when Samyaza had lost his mortal life in the bombing, but she had been allowed to restore him to his former angelic state, so Daddy was safe too. Grace had endured years of painful separation from Lucifer as well, but she hadn’t thought him dead, because he wasn’t. She had the love and protection of all four of her mother’s husbands and the certainty that she didn’t have to endure the separation mortal death imposed.

But she had chosen her husband and he had chosen her and their mortality was a certain thing in this lifetime. They had created this life that grew under her heart. Gratitude that she had this tangible piece of his mortality to love suddenly flooded her, simultaneously opening her heart to the agony that rode in on it. Ruthlessly, she shut both of the feelings out, making a soft shhhh-ing whisper as she rubbed the taut flesh of her belly. The numbness descended upon her like a cloak.

Briefly, she considered turning to Yeshua, who had promised he would make himself available to her under any circumstances. That was another relationship she had shelved in favor of concentrating on Benjamin and the baby. Unlike her mother’s overlapping, expansive love for four husbands, Grace took comfort in maintaining the boundaries of mortal monogamy. Since she was soul-sealed to Yeshua, she had set that aside for when she ascended and joined him in the realm. He honored that decision, as he honored all her choices.

Now the room was feeling oppressively warm with the fire. In her last trimester of pregnancy, the hormone levels made it hard to predict when she’d be cold or hot. Grace walked over to the round wall and released three windows in quick succession for some fresh air, which always blew gently off the river in back.

The music of tree toads and crickets filled the air and she inhaled deeply of the cool, damp air. It was colder outside than she expected, so, she reconsidered and shut the two outer windows again, leaving only the middle one slightly cracked. Consequently, she was scared out of her wits to turn around to an imposing presence leaning against the doorway to her inner sanctum. Her hand flew to her mouth to choke off the startled scream that automatically flew out of her lips. She pinched her nose for good measure to hold back any sound that might give rise to alarm.

Despite her heart hammering against her chest like a bass drum, she unclapped her hand from her mouth and forced herself to take a calming breath before she spoke to the being standing expectantly at her door, his golden eyes slightly narrowed as he unabashedly surveyed her from head to toe, noting her simple linen garb she preferred for the ritual she performed in honor of Benjamin every night.

The sleeveless tunic draped lightly over her, the darker beige capris pants had a soft cord running through the waist to adjust to her ever expanding bump. He even inspected her bare feet, which she could no longer see without propping them up in front of her. She submitted patiently to the perusal, keeping her breathing even to steady her nerves. Finally, his predatory eyes snapped back to hers and an insolent, slow sneer formed on his face. Intuitively, she knew he expected her to speak first.

Thank-you for coming, she began, her voice a little thin and reedy with nerves.

His dreadlocks were so long, they reached his elbows and they jangled musically with the slightest movement, as they had pieces of silver clasped intermittently throughout the finger-thick twists. His golden skin attracted the firelight, which casted shadows in the hollows of sculpted cheekbones. He shifted his weight, still leaning on the door jam, crossed one leg over the other and then his arms. This drew attention to the tattoos winding in script like snakes all the way up to his shoulders, which were covered by a battered t-shirt with the sleeves cut off, but the ink designs resumed up his neck. She took her time, deliberately inspecting him as thoroughly as he had her. The silence stretched. She sensed his curiosity, had counted on it to bring him here.

You must be wondering what caused me to summon you. She went for direct.

His expression turned thoughtful. No, I’m wondering why I answered. His voice, deep and low, was an intrusion on the quiet of the night. His eyes had been described to her before as resembling a lion’s and she thought that it was so. It did seem as if he mesmerized with that predatory stare to immobilize prey before he pounced. She’d been warned he could turn maniacal on a dime; he was a daemon after all.

She gestured to a chair adjacent to the fire, inviting him to sit. He ignored the gesture and remained standing.

Don’t worry, you are under my protection by invitation, she reassured him. It was in her best interest to allow him the dignity of his response being voluntary.

His head tilted and his brows furrowed. Do I seem worried?

You seem … alert. They can’t harm you under my order.

I don’t care if they do, was his quiet rejoinder. To emphasize the point, he picked at something under his thumbnail in a leisurely fashion. Clay, he explained the offending substance he had just removed. Well? He was done with small talk. Those golden eyes glittered eerily, reflecting the flames from the side.

She decided to sit. Body language conveyed so many messages. She wanted to appear unthreatening when she made her request even though of the two of them, it appeared he was the more dangerous, but they both knew this was not so. She moved to the chair with the ottoman so she could put her feet up. He studied her every move as if committing it to memory. It was patently clear he had no intention of underestimating her.

I hear you live in caves, she stated.

The silence stretched as he seemed to wrestle with where she could be going with such inconsequential small talk. Finally, he nodded, clearly baffled and suspicious.

As you know, I’m in mourning. I would like a favor. She felt herself rattle on, pushing the words out. They all mean well- I’m grateful- but I need a retreat. I know you are able to hide yourself to the point of seeming to disappear. Even Lucifer admits it’s impossible to find you when you don’t wish to be found.

High praise from my Prince, he remarked quietly, continuing, I’m not a cave realtor. I don’t have a spare to rent. He said this disdainfully.

She allowed herself a small smile but wondered where this subdued persona came from when her mother had described him as nearly manic and out of control. She’d braced herself for a scene and a showdown with her own contingent. I’m pregnant.

I see that. What difference does that make in this bizarre conversation? She saw his hands begin to lift as if he were getting ready to depart.

Wait. She said this in a tone of command. His brows raised expectantly.

I want you to take me with you. I want to disappear for a period of time- at least until the Autumnal Equinox. I do need protection. I will need help with the child.

His eyes flashed with irritation. What is this? You are surrounded by protection and have nothing short of an archangel to attend your brat’s birth, he practically spat this at her. She knew it was a sore spot with him to be mocked and it was evident he believed that was what she was doing. What is it you really want from me, since you know who and what I am and that I’m trying to figure out how to kill you as we speak? He had closed the distance between them, stopping in front of the ottoman. You do know you can die- they told you that? She nodded. You know I have nothing to lose at this point. She nodded again. So, out of sheer curiosity, what new punishment or torture are you setting me up for because I’ve already had the tour several times. He looked as if he was barely restraining himself. This was more along the lines her mother had described.

She decided to tell him. My mother saw it in a vision.

My good friend Elizabeth, eh? She must have my best interests at heart. If I get ahold of her, she’s in for a treat. I’ve had years to think about that one. His malevolence was palpable, his earlier even tone turned to a snarl.

You’re not her personal favorite, Grace admitted. That’s why the vision was so compelling. She knows it is prophecy.

His smile was feral. You expect me to believe I am the subject of prophecy that requires you to shack up with me? A short burst of ironic laughter came forth. Try again, Savior, he mocked.

She kept her voice steady, infusing more confidence than she actually possessed. Yes. She has. I will be living under your protection, in a network of caves- she saw a room that was mine. It has a series of carvings on it- the representations of the Maiden, Matron, and Crone with a carpet of lilies underneath. She said the caves were sandstone. There is a large, domed cave that has water for drinking and bathing- an underground waterfall. All is bathed in natural light from strategic placement of skylights. She said you had fashioned every aspect of these caves with your bare hands- all artistry, no daemonic workings. Your cave is where my first child is born.

He was frozen in shock at first and then barely able to contain his outrage. Who found me? Who told her these things?

She shrugged. She dreams. You know that. She saw it. I have to make it happen. I think you owe me, considering you tried to kill me as an infant, so, I thought it best to invite you to hear my proposition. Frankly, a cave sounds really good to me right now and I certainly know you wouldn’t be fawning all over me. She pulled a small afghan over her legs with a flick of her wrist.

He whirled in agitation, striding as if to walk out the door of the living space but instead, brought himself up short as some thought occurred to him. His back remained towards her. Does Samyaza or Uriel know of this? The question came out in a low hiss.

No, she replied truthfully.

He spun back around to face her, incredulous. No? A pause. Lucifer? She shook her head in the negative. Why? He demanded.

They won’t understand; they may not believe it. It’s none of their business. The last was offered on a slightly defensive note.

Both hands went to his knees, bracing himself against silent laughter that shook his large frame. "No? What could be so difficult to understand about their precious little girl running off with a daemon for protection? The laughter escaped him again. Really. I have to thank you for the laugh. It’s been a while. I haven’t had a good one since I saw your husband’s body draped on the bleachers."

She felt herself blanch at his cruelty. Volta thought he sensed you there, she whispered.

He slapped his knee in amusement. I was there. Oh, I was there, he said gleefully. Still want to go on vacation with me? He taunted.

Abruptly, his eyes fixed hers and some shock of feeling went through her that ripped and tore at her throat. She swallowed against it and restored herself to equilibrium. Will you do it? My mother thought it might just be weird enough for you to agree.

His mouth screwed up thoughtfully while he made a big pretense of stroking his chin to think it over. Finally, he said flatly, No.

Why not?

"Because I can say no. I can’t refuse much once your lot get ahold of me. This is my house, the house that Jack built. It’s my sanctuary