Last week we announced that Candice Bundy’s The Daemon Whisperer (The Liminals Series Book 1) is our Romance of the Week and the sponsor of thousands of great bargains in the Romance category: over 200 free titles, over 600 quality 99-centers, and thousands more that you can read for free through the Kindle Lending Library if you have Amazon Prime!
Now we’re back to offer our weekly free Romance excerpt, and if you aren’t among those who have downloaded The Daemon Whisperer (The Liminals Series Book 1), you’re in for a real treat:
Meriwether Storm discovered the grisly remains of her parents when she was only fourteen–the result of a failed daemon summoning. Meri immediately swore vengeance on the daemon who’d killed her parents, but there was only one problem: she had no idea which one had committed the atrocity. Before their untimely deaths, her parents trained her intensively in the arts, which Meri used to follow in their footsteps, ever seeking the daemon’s name. Now, despite her years of searching, she’s no closer to the truth and her time is running out.
When a mysterious daemon named Azimuth offers Meri a deadly summoning in exchange for information about her parents’ murderer, she takes it immediately and without intimidation. What does worry her is her attraction to Azimuth: when he touches Meri, her pulse races and she breathlessly awaits the feel of his lips upon her skin. Meri knows she should keep him at arm’s length, but her traitorous thoughts obsess over him night and day.
Blinded by her desperation for the truth and her desire for Azimuth, Meri places her trust in the creatures who are her sworn enemy, jeopardizing her need for vengeance. After Meri discovers there’s more to the deal than the daemon cabal first promised, can she accept all they have to offer?
When retribution is the only thing that drives you, how much are you willing to sacrifice before you lose yourself to the cause?
Genre: Horror/Urban Fantasy/Paranormal Romance/Erotica, Content: Contains graphic violence and explicit sexual situations, recommended for readers 18+.
The Liminals series is set in a future dystopian Front-Range Colorado filled with daemons, god-touched, and other not quite human creatures. Liminal beings stand at the crossroads between our world and alternate dimensions and have the ability to set things back to rights, if they so choose.
And here, for your reading pleasure, is our free excerpt:
CHAPTER ONE
Meri coughed as the summoner heaped yet another handful of cinquefoil onto the brazier. She pulled her cowl lower and tucked a stray lock of her long, chestnut-brown hair back underneath, not wanting to be recognized. Her employer had hired her to oversee two daemon invocations this week. At the first one, she had been a mere bystander to an uneventful and failed attempt. Would this be yet another waste of her time?
Reverend George coughed and mumbled in low tones through the required chants, and she shook her head, rubbing her fingers along her brow. She recognized the words for the spells meant to cleanse and ward the space, but without the proper consistency of intonation — which he lacked — they held little force. He continued chanting away as he picked up a bowl from the small altar and then walked clockwise, laying out a line of mostly even sea salt along the ground around the outer perimeter. The attendees’ faces she could make out through the shadowy fog held undeniable tension and fear — not exactly a show of faith in the summoner’s skills, or perhaps they rightly feared the ritual’s intended product.
“Amateur,” Meri whispered under her breath. Reverend George was an abject example of ‘you get what you pay for’. In daemon-infested Denver, this was just another abandoned hovel, permeated with mold and filled with rats as the backdrop to yet another summoning. The internal walls of the building had been stripped of any burnable wood for nightly cook fires for the city’s homeless, and anti-Corporate graffiti decorated what remained.
In the economically depressed city, it never surprised her how many desperate souls were willing to risk a career as a summoner for the promise of the cash payoff. The Reverend was a middle-aged man of mixed heritage, his hair and long beard held equal parts buzzard feathers and blackened mud. His flamboyant, long-sleeved, velvet, purple jacket and alligator boots lent him an air of eccentricity, enhanced by the speckles of mud scattered upon them. Would the people, maybe the same ones who crowded this room, mistake the ritual elements as signs of power? Plus, she’d heard the newcomer worked for reasonable prices. What a deal.
Not exactly a selling point when the summoned creature might end up eating you for dinner. But heck, he’d made it this far, right? So let’s fire up that brazier! A few words mentioned on the street guaranteed you an audience of random onlookers, all the better to spread your reputation. Assuming, of course, you lived through the night.
She itched to step in and show the Reverend each of his mistakes before anyone got hurt. However, she wasn’t being paid to be a Good Samaritan, so she held her ground and waited, as much as watching such poor techniques chafed her.
Reverend George finished warding the space using a bowl of sanctified water, repeating a similar pattern as he had with the salt, and then he held up his hands to those in attendance. “If you have doubts or fear that your mind can’t handle what you’re about to see, then leave now!” Everyone stood still, waiting to see if anyone would bolt. No one did.
She watched him face the crowd, arms stretched out wide, inviting challengers. He walked into the center of the ring of salt and knelt. Dramatically, he tore open his shirt and picked up a consecrated ceremonial blade from the altar before him. Not a speck of daemon ink was in evidence on his skin. Definitely a novice.
“Engetheus, daemon of rage and retribution, I invoke thee!” Reverend George took the blade and sliced across his abdomen above the liver. A trickle of blood ran freely across unmarked skin.
He doesn’t even know the right offering? This is going to end predictably.
“I present my flesh offering in kind, and command you to rise up and take form!”
Meri waited and listened to the Reverend repeat the chant, over and over, until a familiar tingle in her liver crept under her skin, building into fingers of flaring heat and ice tracing patterns across her nerves. A swirling vapor cloud wafted from the floor. The familiar colors of green, gray, and black were visible even in the dim light; contrasting against the sigils the reverend had drawn earlier on the floor. She smiled then, knowing things were about to get interesting. Her employer’s fee would be well spent.
The chanting Reverend George kept his eyes closed, so he missed the emergence of Engetheus. Gasps and shrieks erupted from the onlookers as they beheld the daemon’s bright red, muscular form, all seven feet of him — not counting the jet black horns which rose another foot. His coal-black eyes and long, sharp fangs matched his gleaming horns. If the crowd was expecting rage personified to look like a bunny rabbit, they’d just gotten an education. Only the bravest resisted fleeing the hovel and everyone but Meri took a few steps back.
Reverend George stopped his chanting and gazed up at the beast, eyes wide with fright, fixated on the daemon’s horns. She sighed and watched him stand up in front of the rage daemon. This is why she never knelt at a summoning. Even after standing, the daemon still towered over the reverend, emphasizing the inherent lack of power balance. Being only five-foot eight and weighing about one fifty-something, she was used to looking up to the often-tall daemons. The important part was never showing them a hint of fear.
“I am summoned, Reverend George,” Engetheus rumbled, “but to what end?” By the glint in his eyes, she imagined he had a long list of his own vengeance targets.
At least one gasp went up from the crowd and Meri guessed the witness just put two and two together and figured out daemons could identify humans by scent alone, even if it was the first time they’d met you.
“I have called you forth to exact retribution upon Harold E. Fields.” He pulled from his jacket pocket a small bag and held it out with a shaking hand. “This holds his hair and will guide you to him.”
Engetheus snatched the bag and took a long whiff, and then tossed the bag aside. “Yes, I have met this one. Finding him again is no challenge.”
Meri lifted her chin and narrowed her gaze on Engetheus while running her hand over his marking over her liver. The daemon’s eyes flashed to hers for a moment, no more.
“What form of retribution is required?” Engetheus asked the Reverend.
“Death to him and any kin abiding with him. The form is of your choosing.”
“That is to my liking, summoner. But first, payment is required.” A smile spread across Engetheus’ face, revealing more sharp, black teeth. His thick, black tongue snaked across his teeth; he was eager for his due.
Reverend George took a small bowl from the altar, and made a light cut above his abdomen again, taking care to collect the blood in the bowl. He held the bowl out to the daemon. “Accept this blood from my liver, to satiate your hunger.”
At this, Engetheus chuckled and Meri sighed. Reverend George hadn’t done his homework.
Engetheus slapped the bowl from the Reverend’s hands. “That is not a fitting payment. You will give me what I require.” The daemon moved with lightning speed, knocking the man to the floor. Engetheus crouched over him and raised his fangs over his liver. The few remaining onlookers fled, not wanting to watch or be next in line for the daemon’s appetite.
“Engetheus, hold!” Meri commanded. She dropped the cowl from her cloak and stepped forward, tracing her hand over the pattern of Engetheus daemon-ink under her clothes. An answering fire lit in the daemon’s eyes, his ink a living fire across her flesh.
Engetheus roared, now unable to move any closer to the errant reverend. His black eyes turned to stare her down, but he didn’t back off from his intended prey. Her liver burned in reflection of the daemon’s emotions, a visceral reminder of their prior engagements.
“I saw you, summoner Meri. I assumed you were just here for the show.” The daemon flashed her a wide, toothy grin, which held no mirth.
“Bound once, bound always, rage-bearer. I’m here to modify your orders.”
“No, you can’t do that!” said Reverend George. “I summoned him!”
“Yes, and you were doing so well, sport.” Meri said. “Unfortunately for you, Engetheus and I go way back. If you were a pro, you’d know not to invite anyone else to your summoning to avoid just this potential conflict of interest for the daemon. Daemons will respond to whoever displays the most powerful hand. It’s called the A Priori Rule, not that it helps you now.”
“There’s no conflict for me.” Drool dripped down onto Reverend George’s chest, drawing a whimper from him, but the daemon deferred to Meri. “Command me.”
“First, you are to ignore the previous command to inflict retribution on Mr. Fields and his kin.”
“For what length of time?” Engetheus asked.
“Until I, and only I, lift the restriction. Now, tell me who hired this summoner.”
Engetheus sniffed deeply, and then returned his expectant gaze to her. “Mr. Sam Hodge.”
“Well done. You will hunt him down, tear him limb from limb, and then feast upon him, as you will. You will leave his kin unharmed.”
Engetheus frowned, no doubt disappointed at having fewer targets to kill. “Done.”
“Third, when this task is complete, you will exit this dimension and return to your own, harming no others in your wake.”
“As you command. Anything else?”
“One last thing. I feel this client would like some trophies. Bring me the standard ones when you’re done.”
Engetheus’ muscles rippled across his torso and his inky tongue darted out. Meri steeled her nerves, and wondered what range of emotions the daemon tasted in the air right now. “This pleases me,” he replied.
Her gaze drifted from the tips of Engetheus’ ebony horns, his cruelly curved fangs, his broad and stout red-skinned bulk, all the way to his black-clawed hands and feet.
“This isn’t about your amusement or mine. I simply wish to make a statement to a sub-standard and weak human, should he challenge me. Surely you can appreciate this?”
Engetheus bared his full complement of fang. Meri supposed it was a smile. “I like your style, summoner. As you command.”
Their agreement bound, she steeled herself. “As to your payment.”
She picked up the bloodied bowl and gave it a quick rinse with the handily available sanctified water from the altar. Without a second thought, she shoved two fingers down her throat and then on cue, vomited into the bowl. She swished some water through her mouth and spat it out into the bowl as well. She turned to see a disgusted human gaze and a worshipful daemonic one.
“You see, Reverend, rage daemons hunger for our hate, and energetically we store hate in our liver. As our bodies cleanse, this negative energy is secreted as bile.” She handed the bowl to the still-crouching daemon. “All debts are paid?” she asked, still holding the bowl.
“Paid in full,” Engetheus replied with greedy gaze. “All shall be as you command.”
“Thank you for the lesson, Miss Meri,” Reverend George said.
She looked him in the eye, yet managed no remorse. Engetheus noisily consumed her offering, engrossed in his momentary delicacy.
“I guess I’ll be going now,” Reverend George said. She watched him try to back his way out from under the massive daemon.
“There’s still the matter of your payment.” Engetheus pinned him down with a clawed foot while he finished the offering from Meri.
“But you’re not taking commands from me anymore. I don’t owe you anything!”
The daemon’s laugher reminded her of rocks scraping together. “You summoned, you pay. Her payment doesn’t apply to our arrangement.”
“But … but, I can’t throw up easy like she can! Just give me a moment!”
“I’m not the patient type.”
Meri watched as Reverend George’s skin was torn asunder, his tortured cries echoing through the exposed rafters of the dilapidated building. He was no match for the powerful daemon he’d summoned and failed to bind. It was a risk each summoner faced at every summoning. She stood and watched, unable to walk away, the grotesque reminder of her own potential future staring her in the face. Instead she witnessed Engetheus eat the man’s liver bite by bloody bite. The Reverend refused to die quickly. He continued to whine while he tried to fight off the daemon.
With every mouthful, Engetheus’ marking upon Meri’s flesh pulsed with invigorating life force. The connection wasn’t lost upon her: this creature was rooted under her skin. When the daemon swung his head in her direction and met her eyes, his dark eyes blazing with hidden knowledge, she knew without words he reveled in their bond.
She finally left the building when the Reverend ceased flailing, the pool of blood around his body hauntingly familiar. She walked on, despite the growing awareness in her liver as more daemon ink bubbled up onto her skin, intensifying her connection with the daemon. And deeper, as only summoners understood, under her skin, her bile churned and her mood inflamed. She could have bargained with the daemon for the man’s life. However, there was only so great a payment she was willing to take on to any daemon. She had to preserve every inch of remaining bare skin and every ounce of sanity she had left.
* * * *
Meri walked a few blocks, hoping for a taxi, when the air turned sultry, perfumed with vanilla and sandalwood. Soothing warmth heated her blood, easing the pain in her belly and traveling like an electric current from the top of her head to the tips of her toes.
Meri stopped and scanned the area around her. She’d had daemons sent after her before, but one who curled her toes? That was original. “Reveal yourself!”
The daemon appeared a few paces in front of her. He was over six feet tall and could pass for human, that is, if humans could ever be mistaken to look so perfect, or to manifest out of thin air. He was lanky yet muscular. Silvery blond hair framed his angular face and was cropped close to the nape of his neck. His clothes appeared like a typical human’s black pants, boots, and an expensive-looking button-down white shirt.
The intensity of his ice-blue eyes riveted her, and Meri couldn’t help but notice his full lips and imagine what his skin might feel like pressed against hers. Would it be cool in contrast to hers, as it appeared in color, or deceptively warm? The texture could be silken smooth, as it looked, or rough as sandpaper. It was difficult to know with daemons. Things were never as they first appeared.
Wait a second, Meriwether Storm, daemon summoner extraordinaire, mesmerized by a daemon? She focused on the pain in her abdomen, a stark reminder of recent, and very real nature of the daemons she’d come to know. This one was likely no different, regardless of his charms. Meri sighed deeply. Why couldn’t she have better taste in men? Could she at least be interested in a human male? She put her best game face forward.
“State your name, daemon,” Meri demanded.
“Azimuth.”
“Why have you sought me out?” And, more importantly, who had summoned this creature to her? She doubted his arrival meant anything fortuitous.
“You look unwell, and this is not the best place for a … private conversation.” His solicitous gaze struck her as either entirely genuine or cunningly calculated.
Yeah, a private conversation was the last thing she needed to have with this temptation. “My present health is not up for discussion,” she replied, knowing it would take days for her liver and mood to recover from the encounter with Engetheus. “My schedule doesn’t presently permit time for a private meeting with the most impressive Azimuth.”
The faintest hint of a smile curled his lips. “Perhaps you would feel more comfortable closer to home?”
He moved towards her, his steps fluid and graceful as a cat, and she fought the instinct to back away. She was determined to concede no ground and show no sign of reacting to him.
He reached out towards her and it took all of Meri’s willpower to resist flinching when his hand rested lightly on her arm. Azimuth’s teleportation was instantaneous and had no sense of movement and the next moment they stood on her front porch. He stepped away from her, breaking their near-electric connection.
“I’m not paying for that. I’d intended to catch a cab.”
“Consider it a simple gesture of my goodwill. Besides, that neighborhood is a slum. I wouldn’t trust the taxi drivers there.”
“And yet I should trust you, daemon?” She took a seat in one of the wicker chairs on her front porch, a welcome relief for the pain in her belly. Azimuth smiled broadly and Meri warmed under the focus of his attention. Damn him.
“That’s entirely up to you, Meri. I’m sure in time you will judge me as you see fit.”
He took a seat across from her on the porch, and she gave him the once-over again. His fine linen white shirt was spotless and draped his form yet held a crease. Meri had no doubt he’d had it tailored. Did daemon tailors exist? His black leather pants molded to his thighs in all the right places. His black leather boots didn’t have a single scuff mark on them. Was this daemon a master of illusion or very well compensated by his master? What did he mean, “in time”? How long could this job take, after all?
“What business, pray tell, does your summoner have you on tonight?”
“My employer wishes to hire you, due to your impressive reputation.”
His flattery stroked her pride, and in turn flamed her temper, which echoed the burning in her liver. She knew what daemon flattery was worth: nothing. However, she’d never had a daemon present a job offer before, and she couldn’t help but be curious.
“Your employer sent a daemon instead of contacting me directly?”
“I can be suitably persuasive.”
“Oh, I bet you can,” She replied under her breath. He raised an eyebrow and Meri sucked in her breath and focused on the pain in her liver. If she didn’t watch herself, he’d catch on that her interest was more than professional. “You’ve piqued my curiosity. What’s the job?”
Azimuth’s lips curled in a self-satisfied smug. “Rest tonight and I’ll be in touch tomorrow.”
Before Meri could speak another word he was gone, and to her distaste, she discovered she wished he wasn’t.
CHAPTER TWO
The buttery fragrance of blueberry pancakes roused a smile on Meri’s lips, waking her like a beloved alarm clock. The muscles of her slight teenage form protested an extensive under-the-covers full-body stretch, and then her feet hit the floorboards running towards the kitchen. Golden shafts of morning light filtered through the white cotton eyelet drapes covering the windows, bathing the entire family room in a warm sunny glow. When Meri’s body slid into seat of the chair at the small kitchenette table, the legs groaned and the feet danced a noisy jig.
“Hungry?” her mother, Bethany, asked, casting a grin over her shoulder while she flipped another pancake.
“You know I love blueberry pancakes!” Meri rested her head on laced fingers to contain her excitement while her feet wound around the chair legs below the table. Her mother was already dressed for the day, as usual. Meri sat up, her back ramrod straight, hands gripping the table. The low-slung neck, cap sleeves, and above-the-knee dark red dress exposed her mother’s daemon ink, which complimented her olive skin tone, although she wore an apron over it while she cooked. She’d even pinned her long, raven tresses up atop her head. “Big summoning today?”
Her mother gave her ‘the look’ and placed a plate of pancakes and bacon in front of her. Meri’s stomach kicked into gear and she dug in, forgetting her question for a moment.
“You know your father and I don’t like to discuss specific clients with you, sweetie. Summoning techniques, yes. Daemons and their attributes, we’ll drill you on rigorously. It’s the least we can do in case the worse happens and those damned daemons find a way to run rampant on Earth. But until you’re out of high school, we won’t have you involved with any of our jobs, no matter how impressed we are with your attempts to date.”
Meri pointed with her fork. “I’m not a child, mother. I’m fifteen, and I’ve been summoning for four years now. That’s more than many adults in the trade.”
Bethany ran her fingers down the side of her daughter’s face and sighed. She held out her arms. “Look at my ink, and then look at yours. I still have some advice to give you, no?”
Meri surveyed her mother’s skin, a patchwork of daemon ink and testament to many, many successful summonings. She smiled sheepishly in response.
Her mother placed a glass of orange juice next to her, and Meri took a long drink. “Wait, this is fresh orange juice!”
Her mother drew herself up to her full height, which wasn’t much considering her Spanish ancestry, yet her imperious gaze knew no bounds. “We are not poor, Meri, and I will not act a pauper simply to try and blend in! Now finish eating, you’ve got to get ready for school.”
She groaned, but resumed eating. Bethany turned and cleaned up the kitchen.
Her father, Gary, wandered in through the living room, around the simple brown couch framed by the pair of armchairs, his attention focused on the shoe box of family photos he was rifling through. He was similarly dressed in a crisply pressed short-sleeved shirt, black slacks, and black shoes, his short hair carefully groomed.
“So, what’s wrong with school?” he asked, catching on to his daughter’s mood.
“Jerry’s telling kids I cheated on my report using my summoning skills. He’s told a teacher I used daemons to research society before the Fall.”
Her mother turned to her, wiped her hands dry on a dishtowel, and laughed. “You know, that’s a clever idea. If you did, your grades would certainly improve. Not that we’d allow it, of course.”
Meri nodded. “I pointed out my unimpressive grade to my teacher, and she agreed. Then she said if I spent as much time studying math, Corporate history, and English as I did summoning, I’d be a much better student.”
“You’re a fantastic student. But if you study what they want, you’ll grow up poised to make a pauper’s income in the post-Fall economy,” her father replied. He placed a handful of photographs on the table and then served himself up some breakfast.
“The preferred term is Corporate, Gary.” Bethany’s lips pursed, her eyes drawn to the photos.
“Aren’t you going to eat?” Gary asked Bethany. Her fingertips lingered on one of the images he’d placed on the table, and her complexion paled slightly. Without a word, she placed the image back in the box. Meri’s heart hammered in her chest as she tilted her head, trying to get a glimpse of that picture, but the image was just beyond her line of sight.
“I don’t have much of an appetite this morning.”
Gary caught Bethany’s hand, and squeezed it tight. Meri looked back and forth between the two of them, caught up in the gravity of their caress. She opened her mouth to speak, but the words stuck like glue to the back of her throat.
“Go get ready for school, Meri,” her mother prompted. “You’re going to be late.”
The tension on her mother’s face shifted and wavered, the scene changing, fading away with the light. Meri tried to hold onto the image, to her mother, but it was stolen away and she stood in the front door of her house, backpack full of books slung heavy over her shoulder as the smell of death filled her nostrils. The early afternoon light filtered through the curtains, making the normally cheery home drab and the oppressive silence muffled her ears.
Where were her parents?
The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end, alerting her to recent daemon presence and the tapestry of spell wards hanging thick in the air. She dropped her backpack to the floor, knowing her father would chastise her for it later, but Meri knew something was off. Why would they leave the summoning space without clearing out the wards?
“Mom? Dad?” Her call echoed through the home, fear building in her throat, spreading downward through her chest.
Meri stepped into the open living space, eyes scanning the mahogany desk next to the front window for clues on the summoning, but it held the barest of tools, the bowl of pristine water, consecrated knives, thick charcoal pencils, and a collection of unlabeled oils.
On the corner sat the shoe box of pictures, filled with family memories.
She backed away from the desk, fear gripping her gut, lancing through her fingertips. Where were they? Meri’s sneakered foot slipped on the floor, and she caught herself, spun around, and fell forward onto her hands and knees.
Face first into a pool of blood.
Sitting back on her heels, she freed her hands of the viscous substance as a sob bubbled up from the depths of her soul. Although she’d smelled the stench, the blood hadn’t stood out against the dark hardwood floors. However, now it was all she could see through her welling tears, the outline of a bloodstain covering the living room floor.
So much blood … littered with scraps of clothing she recognized all too well from this morning.
* * * *
Meri sat bolt upright in bed covered in a layer of cold sweat. The otherwise empty house was hushed, standing in silent effigy these past thirteen years. She ran a hand through her damp hair, pulling it out of her face and threw her daemon-ink covered legs out of bed, automatically checking the clock. Despite the dim light sneaking in around the thick slatted blinds, it was already 8:15am. She needed to hurry if she wanted to get this business wrapped up with Mr. Fields before noon.
Meri disabled the alarm on the clock and then pulled the shoe box of photos out from under the bed, driven by the nightmare of her parent’s final day alive.
She picked through the pictures, a swath representing a slice-in-time of her family history starting the day her parents met and ending the day they died. She’d meticulously destroyed all pictures others had created of her after their death. A single person isn’t a family; after all, she was an orphan.
Meri shuffled through the pictures, grateful again for her parent’s foresight to protect her with the best lawyers. They’d kept things tied up long enough in the court system to have Meri declared emancipated at sixteen. She’d never had to endure the additional nightmare of foster care, thank goodness. Now she was financially set for life, yet her heart ached for the one thing she could never have back. The daemon had stolen her family from her, and she would find a way to make it pay if it killed her. Yet she was running out of skin, out of time.
No matter how many times she went through the photographs, Meri couldn’t make sense of the meaning. None of them were specific to daemons she’d been able to map, whether by location or emotion. For all she knew she’d already summoned her parent’s killer and never knew the difference. It’s not as if the creature would have bragged to her … not necessarily.
In the last picture taken of her mother and Meri together, they were strolling through a park on a sunny day and shared wide smiles towards the camera. Her father had taken the shot, and Meri was struck by much she favored her mother, especially in the eyes. They both had the same dark brown and slightly almond-shaped eyes from her mother’s touch of eastern-European heritage.
Meri stared at a picture of her mom and dad, vacationing in Venice, nestled together on a gondola and kissing under a bridge. The lighting was poor, the sky was overcast, and it even appeared to be raining in the shot. Why did they keep a reminder of such a miserable moment?
She put the photo back into the shoe box, shoved it back under her bed, and headed to the shower, frustration mingling with her tears.
CHAPTER THREE
After a quick breakfast and shower, Meri performed the obligatory post-summoning self-exam checking for changes in her daemon ink patterns. Although she’d long ago accepted the changes to her body, her morbid curiosity couldn’t help but track every modification to the most minuscule detail. She was content with her body, if not the treatment she’d given it over the years.
For every payment, every offering made to a daemon, a receipt etched itself into her skin. The forms took all shapes and sizes; reminiscent of tattoos, but sometimes they rippled, scarred, spiked up, or even sparkled. There was no faking the source of true daemon ink. How the forms manifested depended on the daemon involved. Somehow, through the transaction of wills, they got under your skin, permanently.
Forever linking you with the daemon, until death.
She recognized the new Engetheus marking quickly as it extended from his earlier one located right above her liver. It wrapped in brilliant, dark green tribal cuts around and back over her right hip. How … lovely? She gave silent thanks that at least the vengeance daemon markings never sparkled or spiked. Through this psychic tie, Engetheus had found her last night and delivered the requested tokens for Mr. Fields, and then he’d teleported back to Sheol.
Surveying her unmarked skin, she considered gaining some weight. After all, there was the matter of her skin’s available real estate, and she was seriously dwindling in free space.
Some clients asked for a showing of markings, if they were well informed. A summoner’s tally of markings indicated their degree of proficiency. Meri was only twenty-eight, but she would be hard-pressed to display a ten-by-ten inch area clear of “daemon ink,” as it was commonly called in the trade. This led to her reputation, and thus her steady clientele, and thus the continuing daemon ink. In a few places, her markings overlapped slightly, while others had a clear delineation of space around them, but somehow the new daemon ink always surfaced in and around the existing marks. For instance, her light green envy ink on her right forearm got solo space. If she didn’t know better Meri would swear it had staked a claim, jealous of the real estate, but that would be silly, right?
Conversely, her gleaner ink, black as the night itself, wound itself in a thin spider web of lines around and about others from her stomach, down her left leg, and up around her back. Yes, the gleaner ink was downright chummy, assuming you anthropomorphized daemon ink, which she was nowhere near fool enough to do.
Her parents were completely covered in daemon ink by the time she was fourteen. However, the skills they’d gained hadn’t kept them alive.
She’d been summoning for over a decade and didn’t know of another summoner in Denver who had been in the field as long as she had, despite her youth. It was well known that most summoners died from a botched summoning before they ran out of skin.
Meri turned from the mirror, shutting those morbid thoughts out of her mind.
Instead, she dressed and turned her thoughts to the enigmatic Azimuth from last night. She rummaged through the grimoires on her mahogany desk, quickly locating the one that she preferred for daemon classifications. She flipped the pages, skipping the sections on the Princes of Sheol, Elders, and Arch-daemons. Obviously if Azimuth was in one of those categories, he’d appear more daemonic, and less human. In addition, it would take a talented summoner to call forth and bind a daemon of that power, and there were few available, besides herself, who could do such a thing.
Paging through the sections on daemons versus lesser succubi/incubi, Meri weighed what little she knew about the creature. He’d implied an ability to persuade her, and certainly she’d felt charmed, yet he’d done nothing untoward. No, besides teleporting her, a skill all daemons at every level possessed, he’d revealed nothing about his skills. His cunning alone made her lean towards a fully-ranked daemon, but she’d never know until he revealed his powers to her, and by then she might be under his, and thus his employers, control. She’d have to handle things carefully.
But she smiled, looking forward to their next encounter. He’d be fun to spar with, even if he was dangerous.
They were all dangerous. She slammed the volume shut. They weren’t all stunningly attractive.
She drove downtown to see Mr. Fields with her special tote, magically modified to retain scents and liquids, in the seat next to her. Engetheus had returned to her with the trophies not long after Azimuth left the night before. She hadn’t even missed her beauty sleep.
Navigating her sedan off the Valley Highway and through the maze of downtown city streets, Meri looped through the heart of LoDo. She had an apartment above the Purple Martini purchased on a whim during her early twenties, small but intended as a crash pad after late nights dancing. That was back when she’d still entertained ideas of some form of social life. Predictably, the intimidation factor of her summoning had always been too high, or those who befriended her always wanted daemonic ‘favors’ from her. She watched people walk along the street in groups, eating at street cafes, enjoying the sunny day, and looked up to the second-story housing.
She needed to call her lawyer and tell her to sell it. Meri hit the gas and left the hipster district behind, ignoring the lonely ache in her chest.
The office of Fields and Associates was located on an upper floor in an exclusive corporate building in the heart of Denver. The day was humid, and Meri had dressed to impress, wearing a black sheath top and skirt, which exposed her arms and shoulders and her calves just below the knees and comfortable but practical walking shoes, which completed the set.
No one else needed to know she’d sewn extra pockets into the skirt and hidden away certain protective items a summoner never left home without. A vial of sanctified water, a pouch of sea salt blended with saltpeter and kerosene, charcoal pencils, a few assorted vials of incense, oils and mixed blessed waters, and lastly an empty binding container lined her pockets. She’d never had a daemon sent after her in an attack, but Meri had heard of it happening to other summoners. She’d been late to intervene with a client before, and being able to delineate a small but safe space where the daemon couldn’t get to, and thus destroy, had saved her life.
She parked at the valet, and handed the keys to the attendant, who then dropped them twice in quick succession, his eyes riveted to Meri’s ink-covered forearms. Summoners were a rare sight in the city during daytime, despite Denver’s reputation for rampant daemon activity. Meri was deliberately displaying a great deal of ink.
Despite his fumbling, the doorman was the essence of politeness. “Good Day, Ms. Storm.”
Meri offered him a modest smile. He’d put up with whatever it took just to keep a job that paid in actual cash. Mr. Fields was one of the larger players in town, dealing in property management, high-to-mid class rentals, and new construction. Jobs here were at a premium.
A short ride up the elevators and Meri witnessed the receptionist’s eyes open wide. The woman checked her schedule book, her scarlet lips forming a pathetic pout. “Ms. Storm! Is Mr. Fields expecting you?”
“I’m most confident he is.” He’s alive, after all.
Meri was promptly led back to the CEO’s posh office, swinging her tote comfortably at her side. All of the paneling in the office was real mahogany. No fake paneling, here. The decorative accents running down the seams of the molding was actual fine-grained white marble that Fields had probably imported from Italy. Everything here reeked of cold, hard, cash. Of course, Mr. Fields could afford her services. His corporation was stinking rich. Then again, his wasn’t the only one in Denver who employed her, either.
“I’m sorry, Ms. Storm,” the receptionist apologized. “I keep failing to get your appointments on the schedule book. It won’t happen again.”
“Look, these meetings can be fairly impromptu. I don’t expect you to keep up. Ever.” Meri flashed her a fake smile.
Mr. Fields met them at his office doors, waving his receptionist off. “Meri! I don’t think you know how good it is to see you today!” He smiled a bit too broadly as he closed the doors behind her.
Meri tried not to take in the flashy abundance of the room. The crystal decanter set. The gemstone-inlaid globe on a silver stand. The wall of collector’s edition books, no doubt many first edition and signed. Did he even take the time to read them, or was it simply all a status symbol?
She took a seat in front of his desk and eyed the expansive view. “Oh, I think I might. But how about you show me just how happy you are to see me?”
Fields sat at his teak desk and typed at his computer for a few moments, and then swiveled the monitor around to show her. Meri read the payment amount, $50,000, off his screen and an unwelcome flash of rage roiled through her gut. Just another side effect of the binding, but it was harder to control this time for some reason. She barely squashed the emotion before it flared out.
“And just how happy were you to see your wife and kids this morning? Mr. Hodge ordered death for any and all under your roof last night.”
Fields turned white as a ghost, but then stammered out his next words. “I can’t believe the gall of that bastard! Sending a daemon after me just because I flirted with his wife at a holiday party.”
“Oh, c’mon, you knew better.” Meri checked her nails.
Fields nodded agreement, scraping a hand along his jawline.
“On the upside, there no longer is a Mr. Hodge, and the vengeance daemon Engetheus is bound for life to not harm one hair on your head. Nor your kin.”
Mr. Fields face lips set in a grim line, not appreciating Meri’s squeeze play. “How do I know you’re the one who did the job? For all I know, the other summoner just botched his work and the daemon took it out on the man who’d hired him.”
Meri huffed and bent over, unzipping her tote bag. The reek of decomposing flesh suffused the room immediately. Mr. Fields recoiled in terror as Meri unceremoniously cleared his desk and then deposited the bag in the center. Opening it fully, she dropped the sides down to reveal the head of Mr. Hodges, now staring directly at Mr. Fields.
Engetheus had done a clean beheading, but the look of horror on the man’s face made Meri think he’d been alive when his heart was ripped out. Meri smirked. That daemon truly took pride in his work.
Mr. Fields, to his credit, didn’t vomit, although he paled visibly. Meri reached into the bag and produced a heart for his inspection.
“The heart and head together can be used in a few protective ceremonies.” She slid a business card across the table to him. “Here’s the number of a voodoo priestess I recommend. You might consider getting your home warded. You know, just in case someone else in the family retaliates. Next time I might not be so lucky in hunting down the summoner.”
“Thank you,” Fields replied.
Meri leaned forward and tapped the monitor with her clean hand. Mr. Fields took the hint, typed into the keypad, and tripled the original figure. Meri smiled in satisfaction. She placed the heart back in the tote and zipped it back up. She used a tissue from his desk to wipe off her blood-soaked hand.
“I’ll take your advice, Meri. I’m in your debt.”
“No, you’re not. You’ve paid up.” She rose and walked towards the door.
“If I may, can I see the new ink?” Fields asked.
Meri raised an eyebrow and met his gaze. “Seriously?” She fumed inwardly, yet his request was an industry standard. Then why did an image of his belly ripped open keep swimming through her mind? It must be an aftereffect of the summoning.However, it was worse this time, much worse. Every moment she resisted the urge shooting sparks of pain lanced through her Engetheus ink, drowning out other thoughts. She even tasted bile in her mouth.
“I’m just curious. And I’ve paid well.”
Meri hesitated, regaining her composure. She often had to show clients quite a bit of skin in the past to show her street cred before a job. Fields had never asked. She walked around the desk, turned and raised her tight shirt up slightly and pulled the skirt down a little to reveal the area over her liver and right hip.
“Impressive. I had no idea they were that big, from what I’ve seen on your arms and legs.”
“Actually, only the part past my hipbone is new, the rest is from prior encounters with this daemon.” She dropped her shirt.
“Vengeance must be pretty popular,” Fields shook his head.
“That it is, Mr. Fields. That it is.” She adjusted her clothing back into place and turned to leave.
“Meri, what happens when you … run out of skin?” Fields asked.
She met his gaze, her expression blank. She refused to appear weak to a client. It was bad for business. Everyone knew there were no old summoners. Most died summoning a daemon too powerful for their abilities. She had no idea what would happen.
Instead, she held her chin high. “You’re assuming I live that long.”
She left the office.
* * * *