Demon or Angel (Age of Exilum Book 1) Read online

  Demon or Angel

  Book One

  Age of Exilum

  Lynn Michaels

  Copyright © 2019 Lynn Michaels, Rubicon Fiction &

  Blue Eyed Dreams, LLC

  All rights reserved.

  ASIN: B07Q83WC8P

  DEDICATION

  For Hali.

  Without her and the countless trips to Georgia to visit,

  this one wouldn’t have been possible

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  A big thank you to everyone who’s helped me get this book rolling. That includes Beta Readers Denise GremoryKohta, Kaila, Lori Clark, and Tanja, who also did a bang-up job proofing. Also thanks to Simply Defined Art and Jay Aheer for the incredible cover and interior art, Sharon Stogner and Devil in the Details Editing Services for Authors, and Sid Love from Creative Minds Promotions for an excellent proof read.

  Also a shout out to the super-awesome Lynn’s Looney Bin Facebook group and the ARC Angels Facebook group. Y’all keep me going, and motivation means so much.

  A special thanks to Maggie Chatterton who developed the demon language. She’s brilliant and added so much richness to the story!

  Also a note to Jim Jacobs and Warren Casey, as the original authors for Grease.

  To all the readers who waited so patiently for this one!

  Author Note

  This is a supernatural, contemporary novel that centers around demons from Exilum, the realm known to us from popular mythology as hell. It has a language that is used sporadically throughout the story. I’ve included a glossary of sorts at the back of the book under Bonus Features to help with translations and meanings. I’ve also included a cast list of demons. I hope you’ll find these things helpful.

  Enjoy

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  ONE

  TWO

  THREE

  FOUR

  FIVE

  SIX

  SEVEN

  EIGHT

  NINE

  TEN

  ELEVEN

  TWELVE

  THIRTEEN

  FOURTEEN

  FIFTEEN

  SIXTEEN

  SEVENTEEN

  EIGHTEEN

  NINETEEN

  TWENTY

  TWENTY ONE

  TWENTY TWO

  TWENTY THREE

  TWENTY FOUR

  BONUS SECTION

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  ONE

  Teague

  Teague took a long slow drag off his cigarette, even knowing the glowing tip could give him away. He didn’t give a damn. He needed a glimpse of the kid...to be sure he was safe and relatively unharmed.

  The voices in the dilapidated joke of a house raised. The father’s gruff mutterings carried less in the wind than the woman’s shrill pitch. Doors slammed. A light came on in the back room—the one Teague had been waiting for.

  He took a few tentative steps closer, pine needles and dried leaves crunched beneath his boots. He pressed his back against a tree and took another drag.

  He’d kept his primary form for Manna—for earth—to conserve energy, but dressed in dark jeans and dark hoodie to cover his light hair to blend into the dark. He doubted anyone would see him. There was no reason someone would hide in the woods stalking an unimportant boy like Vern.

  Certainly not the boy’s family, they had no idea Teague existed. Even if they looked out the back windows and stared right at him, they probably wouldn’t see him. And if they did? He’d influence them to think they hadn’t.

  So why was he worried?

  Probably because Teague’s brother, Zepher, wouldn’t like him watching Vern so closely and so passively. But it wasn’t time, yet. The boy was only sixteen, a rëisch—a baby. His life had already been hard enough from what Teague had witnessed.

  Vern’s shadow moved back and forth in the window. He seemed fine, but from this distance…

  He pulled a folded eye from his back pocket and shook it out, popping it into an elongated shape. He’d become overly comfortable using such tools, knowing the cost. They weren’t always necessary, but they were helpful.

  He put one end up to his eye and peered through it. He needed to be sure Vern was okay.

  TWO

  Vern

  Vern set his glasses on his dresser and pulled the worn t-shirt over his head. It had been his father’s, but that didn’t make it desirable. He only liked the softness of it, but hated wearing his clothes. Why should he care about wearing his father’s things? He could swear he didn’t care a million times, but he still did. His mother would have told him to pick a better battle, so he ignored it. Stuffed the emotion inside. Stupid crappy hand-me-down, anyway.

  He took a moment to stare out the window into the dark woods behind their house. How many times had he dreamed he had a guardian angel who would come rescue him? He’d burn their rickety old house to the ground in a fury of anger and vengeance then carry Vern off to some exotic place. Somewhere he belonged. Maybe Hollywood. Someday he would be an actor. He’d make it there.

  Tapping his fingers on the glass, he scoffed. He knew better than to indulge in silly fantasies. The fact remained...this was his life, and he couldn’t get out of it. At least, not until after high school. If he lived that long. His dad could potentially kill him—literally.

  With a sigh, he turned back to his bare room with its plain white walls and threadbare carpet. His friend Sean had posters in his room. Memorabilia from movies and plays he’d seen or wanted to see. He had nice curtains over his window too. And a rug on the floor and comfortable bedding. Sean didn’t wear his father’s hand-me-downs, either.

  He’d been over to Sean’s a few times after school. Maybe, with a little luck, Vern might get to stay at Sean’s house one weekend. Sometimes, Sean had Bible study groups stay over. He had always been nice enough to invite Vern, but so far Vern’s parents had never let him go.

  This past summer they had let him go to Bible Camp and he hoped he could go again for spring break. The Camp had been an opportunity to get away from his father, eat good food, and hang around with other kids. He had felt out of place since they all knew a lot more about the Bible than he did, but they had put on a play. Vern didn’t care about the religion part of it. He simply loved acting, and it’d been a lot of fun.

  He crawled into bed. School play tryouts were in the morning, and he couldn’t wait. Staring at the ceiling, he dreamed about becoming a star. When he became rich and famous, he would totally ignore his father. He’d want to come around, want to be Vern’s father—his pal, but Vern would turn away from him. Pretend he didn’t know the man. His security team would escort him away.

  He turned over in bed with a little snort. Even Vern’s dreams were pathetic. Eventually, they faded, and he slept. His blanket was thin, but the nights had gotten warmer.

  He slept through the night, waking when the early morning sun peeked into his room. He got up and put on shorts and his sneakers and left quietly out the back door. He needed to get his head straight and ready to tackle the day and be ready for tryouts. A quick run would help.

  The cloudy Georgia morning dampened his mood. It was gray and overcast, and rain drizzled enough to make everything damp. When Vern started his run, chill bumps ran up his arms, but as he warmed up, the sun breached the clouds here and there. With every stride, he thought about the play, running the lines through his head.

  All right...put those things back on the car.

  A sarcastic line from Roger...Rizzo comments on the car...

  He splashed through a puddle. The song of the thrashers accompanied him instead of music from Grease. The well-camouflaged birds hid in the brush and overgrowth around
the road.

  Yeah, this is it. Isn’t it cool?

  The path he chose coiled through the woods for miles and passed the Baptist Camp on one end. It headed all the way up by the highway on the outskirts of McDonough on the other. But he never went that far.

  What would he give to get a good part in the play? I have to rock this!

  He crossed back on smaller roads and ended right back at the little dirt drive leading to his front door to complete the five-mile circuit. He hoped he was ready. Becoming an actor was not simply important to Vern, it was everything.

  He walked in through the front door to find his father storming around the house. Vern tried to get to the bathroom unnoticed to take a quick shower. Most of the time he easily snuck in, because his dad had made a habit of ignoring him, but not this morning. He was probably still hung over and looking for a target. Vern shuffled into the living room and down the hall at exactly the wrong time.

  “What are you doing, boy? Get your ass to school. I’m not driving you in if you miss the damn bus.”

  “I’m not, sir. It’s still—”

  “Don’t backtalk me. Get some clothes on and get out of here.” His face had steamed past red and into a volatile purple, like a warning sign.

  “Yes, sir.”

  Vern needed a shower, and he had time to take one, but getting by his dad would be risky. He wished he could wake his mom up, but that would piss his dad off worse than he already was. With no choice, he blindly grabbed his jeans and a t-shirt and scooped up a pair of underwear and socks out of his top drawer. He waited by the door until all seemed quiet then cracked the door and peeked into the hall.

  His dad picked that exact moment to crash into the bathroom. It took him two tries to get the door shut after it banged back open.

  Fuck!

  The water ran in the bathroom. His dad took forever in the shower. Vern had lost his chance. He leaned against his bedroom door, trying to figure something out. It’d been nice and cool outside, but he had generated a lot of stink on his five-mile run.

  A moment later, he heard his mother stir. He scrambled out of his room and blurted out the situation, but she held up her hand to stop him.

  “Coffee first, Vern. Seriously. Shh...”

  He followed her into the kitchen, still clutching his clothes in his arms.

  After she poured a cup and had a few sips, she looked up at him. She had the same mousy brown hair and petite build Vern had, but her eyes were muddy-brown and his were hazel.

  “Wash up, best you can in the sink, Vern.” She looked at the grease-stained clock above the stove. “You do not want to miss the bus today. Your dad...” She visibly shuddered then went back down the hallway.

  “I know.” He mentally cussed and dropped his clothes on the table and grabbed a clean dishrag and washed his face, neck, shoulders, and pits as quickly as he could.

  His father bellowed about the water going cold. Vern turned the faucet off and pulled his clothes on, starting with his underwear and jeans, and hoping the shower steamed back up. He wasn’t fast enough.

  The shower turned off, and the door slammed open. His dad raged into the kitchen like a bull after a red cape. He shoved Vern against the table, banging it into his hip, and screamed unintelligibly. His words slurred but remained loud and aggressive. Probably been drinking in the shower. He’d been known to drink in the morning after a bad night to take the edge off. Whatever. He had to focus on getting his clothes on and getting out of the house.

  He grabbed what was left and trundled to the front door, his dad hot on his heels and his mother behind him, grabbing his shoulder. “Frank. Frank...leave the boy alone.”

  Her begging did not help.

  Before Vern got out, his father shoved him again. This time he banged his head against the front door denting the composite material passing for wood. He was grateful for the cheap hollow core instead of what could have been solid.

  Good ol’ Frank grabbed him by the arm. “Get the fuck out, boy. You’re nothing but a pansy piece of shit. Can’t be my son. Cheatin’ bitch.” He turned, pulling Vern’s arm with him, and twisted it hard.

  Vern made an involuntary squeal as his arm wrenched, but his dad either didn’t notice or didn’t care. He turned his tirade on Vern’s mother and let go of Vern’s arm. She backed into the kitchen shaking her head.

  Vern yanked the door open and grabbed his shoes off the porch. He dashed across the drive and around the corner, out of sight. Finally alone, he pulled his shirt on. His arm hurt worse than his head, and he could see red fingerprints where his dad had grabbed him. He’d received worse at his father’s hands. Socks and shoes came next.

  Headed toward the bus stop, he could still hear his parents yelling but couldn’t make out the words.

  He took a deep breath. The day already sucked, and it had only begun. He’d left his books in his room, but no way in hell was he going back for them. Probably had failing grades in half his classes anyway, no need to worry about more damage.

  It wasn’t like he couldn’t pass the classes. Most subjects came easy to him, but he had no interest in them. He did well in English and obviously drama. The rest of it kind of sucked. As a junior, he only had to pass his core classes, and he still had time to pull the grades up if he wanted. Maybe after spring break he’d concentrate harder. For now, he needed to get through the day without his books.

  Shit. His glasses.

  He’d left them on his dresser. They weren’t needed for running around day to day, but for reading and board work, they were crucial. He would surely have a massive headache by the end of the day to top off the rest of his bullshit life.

  When he arrived at the crossroad where the bus picked up, he still had time to wait. He sat on the little brick wall, lining the road a few feet away from the curb.

  At this intersection, all four corners had a little curb and a sidewalk covering them like a cap but not leading anywhere. It merely gave students a safe place to stand. Behind the knee-high wall, a small grassy field edged the woods where kids sometimes tossed around a ball or frisbee while waiting for the bus.

  It didn’t take long for other kids to show up. They chatted with each other and pointedly ignored Vern, but he was used to it.

  A few younger boys played around, rough-housing in the field, and a few girls in short skirts with too much makeup on chatted with each other while side-eyeing everyone else. Typical. Normal.

  Vern sighed when the bus arrived, coming to a stop with a screech of air brakes. He got in line with the others. A bigger kid shoved him, and he let the guy cut in front of him. Not worth the hassle. Vern sat in the middle of the bus in an empty seat and slid over to the window. Nobody sat beside him. He didn’t fucking care. Then the same asshole kid slid in behind him and kicked the seat. Repeatedly. That he cared about.

  Couldn’t he get through one damn day without dealing with these assholes? Vern tried to ignore the kid. He was only a freshman but built like a tank with wide shoulders, and he stood a good foot taller than Vern, who still held out for another growth spurt to get him over the five-foot five dilemma.

  “Hey, dude. You stink. No one sits with you ‘cause you stink.”

  “Fuck off.” Vern had already dealt with too much, and he still had the whole damn day in front of him.

  “What? What’d you say?” The kid stretched over the back of the seat. “Didn’t hear you...”

  Vern blew out a breath. “Please stop kicking—”

  “Shut the fuck up, Stink-boy, or it’ll be your head I’m kicking.”

  “Very original.” Why couldn’t he keep his mouth shut?

  “Where are your glasses, Stink-boy? Don’t you normally wear glasses? Like all the other nerds? Oh, wait...you’re the only nerd around here, Stink-boy.”

  “Seriously? That’s all you’ve got?”

  Some of the other kids laughed, but Vern didn’t know if they laughed at his smart replies or the fact that this freshman was in all probability going
to kick his ass when they got off the bus. A part of Vern was resigned to shut up and deal with it. Suck it up! He only had a few months left until he was a senior, and then after graduation, he could leave this shit school behind. Another part of him, the part watching his father descend into the depths of his alcoholism, told him it was a lie. The rest of the world was probably as bad, if not worse than this crappy school with its crappy students and even crappier faculty who did nothing to stop the bullying.

  The freshman kid shook the seat and grunted but didn’t say anything else. He recognized the sign—a bad one. If Vern had a phone, he’d text Sean to meet him at the bus so he could help him escape the Neanderthal. But Vern didn’t have a phone. He didn’t have anything.

  After a few more stops, the bus finally pulled into the school parking lot, and Vern dashed to the front and out the door as soon as it opened before his most recent bully had a chance to catch him. He dashed between groups of students standing around, then off to the left side of the school where the cafeteria was. Sweat dripped down his back from the nape of his neck. He wanted to relax and cool off, but adrenaline still flowed through his blood, pumping his heartrate up and setting him on high alert.

  He pushed through the door into the cafeteria. The smell of syrup and fried meat hit him, making his stomach growl. He had no clue how they passed this shit off as real meat, but Vern still ate it, grateful for the free breakfast program. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have anything in his stomach until lunch or maybe late afternoon if he skipped lunch. Frankly, with all the morning drama, he had to get something in his stomach to settle it, so he headed to the line.

  Grabbing a tray, he pushed forward as the line moved. Around him, in front of him, behind him, others snickered and giggled. He had a sneaky feeling like cold fingers dancing up his spine. They were laughing at him. Joking about him. He didn’t much like being the butt of their jokes, but he’d rather have them making fun of him behind his back than blatantly harassing or bullying him. No one threatened him or spoke to him. They stepped away, giving him space.