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[email protected] 1. Fallen
(Book two: Shadow Magick preview)
"Why are you doing this?" The Shadow asked imploringly.
It had been inside that Vacant for so long that it's once lost humanity was beginning to slither through the darkness.
"Because there is some higher power that hates me and takes pleasure in mocking my poor attempt at a life.” He answered as he raised his right hand and placed it against the center of the Vacant's chest. The Shadow's eyes widened in terror.
He saw no problem in venting out his frustrations on the sad excuse for a minion. He was only seconds away from handing it a one way ticket to the burning cesspool it was so desperately trying to escape. First class.
"I'll go into hiding, please don't make me go back there!" The thing pleaded as it let out one of many pathetic sobs.
“It's for the best, you don't belong here." He cursed his human side, he was tempted to say that he was sorry before he wielded the fiery cold power that his demonic half endowed him with and willed the compromised Shadow back to the pits it hailed from.
It had already served its purpose and there would be no point in letting it linger.
Black smoke emerged from every available exit as his own power surged forward and left a simpering mess of tears and sobs lying at his feet. The once possessed human took one look at him and fainted. This one was unfortunate enough to be alive.
He would definitely not envy the horrible nightmares that it would have, for he had experienced them all too well himself.
Damien Leoni bit back the urge to scream in frustration as he had painfully learned to do so many years ago. He grew tired of this, fifty odd years of killing off bits and pieces of his soul so he could avenge his mother and he still wasn't strong enough.
Perhaps, he would never be.
He felt the Shadow's presence recede completely. A bang resounded around the corner from where he stood. Someone was coming, he took that as his cue to leave.
He took one last look at the crumpled heap that lay out cold on the dirty ground and faded back to Eden Manor, his mentor's mansion in England. Somehow, being there, listening to Buer's first hand accounts of the famous battles that he had only read about at the Circle's library, gave him a false sense of belonging that helped him cope.
It was ironic, being able to relate to the Shadow's senseless need to cling to a fake life. Especially as that life meant for him to yearn for Dante's uncle's approval. But, Damien knew that although they shared the same genes, they were nothing alike. Just as he had nothing in common with his mother's murderer, save the fact that they shared the same father.
Dante insisted that he hadn't killed Amelia, but Damien didn't believe him. He had spent too many years hating him. It was the only thing that had kept him alive, he couldn't lose that now.
But, he did have something else to look forward to, didn't he?
He looked at the room that he had faded into and saw that it was not the familiar library that he always chose. This pointed to the state of his unstable emotions. But, he couldn't think of her.
Not until he finished what he started fifty five years ago.
He needed to vent, but there was nothing in sight that he could getaway with breaking.
As he made his way to the room's massive gilded doors he noticed that, true to its namesake, Buer's green house looked like what he imagined the Garden of Eden would be.
It took up an entire wing of the mansion and was filled with small forests, flower patches and ponds – complete with waterfalls and live fish.
Why the man needed all that inside his house escaped his understanding, but even he could learn to appreciate the peace that could be derived from such a place.
He exhaled as he reached the exit and stepped out of the room, headed for the previously intended library across the parlor.
Damien walked with decisive footsteps, thinking about asking Buer for a sparring session. Maybe the ancient would be in a charitable mood that evening and indulge him.
He caught a glimpse of his youthful reflection in one of the decorative mirrors on the wall. A low growl escaped him before he could even think about it. To the untrained eye, he still looked to be in his early twenties. However, if you were to take a deeper look, you would be able to catch the glint of weariness in his blue eyes or the tiredness of his expression.
His human half – his mother's blood – appeared to have no weight on his aging process. He was already in his late sixties and his physical appearance was that of a man one third of his age.
When he first arrived at Eden – being only thirteen years old – he was told that after he became of age, he should expect to age differently than normal humans would. But, he had been mostly sheltered by his mentor given the circumstances of his birth and so he hadn't had many opportunities to mingle with others of his kind.
Nephilim, that was how Buer referred to them.
What some people called the offspring of angels, were – in his experience – basically demon-human hybrids.
His body changed naturally. His black hair still grew as it did when he was but a naive fatherless boy oblivious to the evils that inhabited the world.
He often wondered what his mother would think if she saw how long he had let it get now. She had always made him crop it close to his head.
“As a gentleman should.” She would say as she took him to the local barbershop.
Thinking of his mother made him snap back to reality as he remembered the events that lead to his arrival at Eden Manor.
He was grateful to Buer for having bargained for his life. He'd given him the illusion of a home. But, he could never forgive or forget the fact that his mother had been assassinated in cold blood, by the same secretive society to whom he worked for now, for the simple act of loving his father and bearing him a son.
The big mahogany doors that lead to the library opened by themselves as he neared them.
He hadn't done that.
Buer must have sensed him fade in, a skill that would come in handy if Damien could ever learn to master it.
"I see there is no need to ask how it went. Another success to add to an ongoing list." His savior greeted him.
He found him standing by the fireplace with his elbow leaned against the ostentatious mantlepiece. He held a cup of Amontillado Sherry from his personal stock in his other hand and a small plate full of Spanish olives rested close to his elbow.
They locked eyes and Damien found that he wasn't able to speak for fear of disrespecting him.
Buer was everything if not a father to him. He had taken him in the night of his mother's murder and kept him protected from those members of the Brethren that thought that he should be killed.
More so, Buer took it upon himself to raise him as if he were of his own kind and taught him as one of his children.
"I take it the Vacant still lives, seeing as you are not off breaking one of my precious vases somewhere." Buer spoke again and his words filled Damien with both warmth and great shame at having his weakness known so well by another.
"I can only fathom what living like this while being saddled with human emotions must be like. However, I am sure that I have taught you better than that.” Damien's eyes stuck to the floor like glue on a post it as he received the accustomed speech. Buer placed the half empty cup on the mantlepiece and walked towards the room's desk.
“You must not act upon them, that is a luxury that you cannot afford. The Brethren would have your head in an instant. They wait impatiently for a reason to do so and now, after the Riser incident, they have the perfect excuse. Do not make me lose yet another of you like that, Damien." That last comment stung and he kn
ew that Buer could see that in his eyes too.
He was used to his mentor's long lectures about his behavior, but he knew that when he talked about losing another one of them he was referring to Azazel, Damien's father – one of the original Fallen, which was supposed to be a big deal around their kind – and the way that he had let himself be swayed by his feelings, emotions that had ultimately led to his demise.
Damien did not presume to dwell on delusions. Being one of the ancients himself, Buer was Dante's uncle first and foremost. After all, his mother's murderer was the offspring of two of their own. One of the few full blooded demons that exist to that day.
His golden blonde hair and pale icy eyes were a testament to his origin. The firstborn, and only, son of Azazel and Lilith together. His half brother was something akin to royalty amongst their people.
That made Eden something similar to neutral territory, like one of the safe houses hunters used as sanctuaries.
Buer did favor Damien, although the latter couldn't really see a reason as to why.
"I'm doing my best." He finally found it in himself to reply.
"I am clear on that. You are still young, in time you will begin to see why it is that you must keep those feelings at bay."
"Am I that transparent?"
"Only to me – and to your brother, Buer added silently – but, if it keeps up, sooner rather than later, the wrong person might catch a glimpse of your remaining humanity and that would be the end of it." He didn't dare ask what the end of it was, deep down he already knew. “What has