The Daemon in the Details: An Adult Urban Fantasy (The Ironspell Chronicles Book 12)

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Llaughing Llama Media, LLC

  The Ironspell Chronicles Series

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

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  The Ironspell Chronicles Series

  Chapter One

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  The Daemon in the Details

  Book 12 of the Ironspell Chronicles

  MH BONHAM

  Llaughing Llama Media, LLC

  © 2021 by M. H. Bonham.

  Published by Llaughing Llama Media, LLC.

  This is a work of fiction. All characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious, and any resemblance to real people is purely coincidental.

  Cover by M.H. Bonham.

  Printed in the United States of America

  9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  The Ironspell Chronicles Series

  (Asterisk Denotes Full-Length Novels)

  That Dragon was in No Way my Fault (Book One)

  A Date with a Werewolf (Book Two)

  Alchemist Rules (Book Three)*

  Elfshot (Book Four)*

  The Trouble with Bats (Book Five)

  Wolfsbane (Book Six)*

  Oathbreaker (Book Seven)*

  Winter of Our Discontent (Book Eight)

  Hellfire (Book Nine)*

  Yes, Ironspell, There is a Santa Claus (Book Ten)

  Frost and Fire (Book Eleven)*

  The Daemon in the Details (Book Twelve)

  The Name of the Daemon (Book Thirteen)*—Fall 2021

  The Last Templar (Book Fourteen)*—Winter 2021

  Chapter One

  I had been asleep when Faust summoned me. I hadn’t been on the Earthly plane before that time, which made the summoning all that much more surprising. Sure, daemons get called from my plane of Onoys, so it was a matter of time before someone got to me. Only I was hoping more for a blonde with double Ds and kissable lips.

  The pock-marked kid instantly dashed my hopes.

  I stared at the kid—he was maybe in his late teens or early twenties. His really crappy beard grew as patchy as his skin. He wore a tacky magicians robe and—I shit you not—a conical hat. A fashion maven, he was not.

  “Where the fuck is your master?” I glared at the kid, trying to look as fierce as possible.

  The kid laughed and whooped it up while I considered the summoning circle I stood in. I didn’t see any flaws, and honestly, it was impressive. Too bad, because I would’ve given the kid an “E” for effort and a stern warning to never summon anyone again if I broke through.

  “I am the master! I am Faust! You must obey me, Tuzren!” The kid pointed to me.

  “Says who?” At that moment, I felt a distinct twist inside my guts. Not only did the little shit get the circle right, but also the compulsion spell. Fuck me. Instead, I leaned back and crossed my arms. Despite feeling surly, I was still sleepy, but I noticed my form for the first time. I only had two arms and two legs. My green-gray skin looked pebbly and I had claws and wings. Wings? I wondered if I could fly. That would be cool. However, it appeared Faust stood a lot taller than me.

  Faust just laughed. I shook my head. This sucked. I looked a lot better in Onoys than here. Where ever here was.

  Now, in truth, I never knew anyone in Onoys who got summoned, so I thought it was a rumor or faerie tale that we tell our kids to scare them. But now confronted with the truth sort of makes one into a believer. But who would’ve thought some pimply-faced kid would conjure anyone, much less me?

  “He’s kinda small.” Faust peered at me.

  Oh great. He obviously thought size mattered. But maybe I could use that to my advantage…

  “Yeah, I’m small and harmless. Why don’t you let me out and we’ll chat, eh?” I hunched and looked up with him with pleading eyes.

  That’s when a gentleman appeared beside Faust. He wore a custom-tailored black suit, vest, black shirt and tie, and stylish black boots that reached to his knee. He had slicked back his long, white hair into a ponytail, and two small horns sprouted from his head. Yeah, a bit on the cliché side, but after all this was Mephistopheles. I recognized him immediately from my higher level daemonic studies. He was a Christian demon from their Satanic Hell.

  Now, Mephistopheles was a powerful demon in his own right, which is why I wondered why he was hanging with this pimple-faced kid. Unless, the kid somehow summoned him.

  “I would advise you to never underestimate any daemon of any size.” He looked down his glasses at me, his dark eyes glinting with a hint of crimson demonic power.

  “But he’s a gargoyle, not a demon,” Faust whined. “You said Tuzren would be a demon.”

  I drew myself up to my whole one and a half feet. “I am not a gargoyle.”

  “You look like one.” Faust shot back. He rounded on Mephistopheles. “Why did you bother having me conjure this thing?”

  “It is a lesson in proper summoning. You need to learn how to summon and contain what could be a dangerous entity.”

  “Yeah, whatever.” Faust turned to me and glared, his hands on his hips.” I glowered back. I was really enjoying my nap when this asshat woke me. “So, what do you do?”

  Great. I was summoned by the village idiot. Just my luck. “I tear people’s faces off when they interrupt my nap.”

  “Go ahead and try.” Faust sneered at me.

  I raised a claw and tapped at the circle’s invisible force field. It sizzled as my claw touched it. Summoning circles were the real shit. Breaking out was impossible, unless someone outside screwed with the circle’s integrity. A smudge or misplaced rune could free me. Unfortunately Mephistopheles made sure it was perfect.

  I had heard—friend of a friend type of advice—that the best way to get sent back was to discover what the moron wanted and do it. In most cases, it meant answering some questions or playing hitman. Look, never judge a daemon by his size. In this plane, a powerful daemon could be huge or tiny. Size really doesn’t matter. No matter what she said.

  I tapped my foot impatiently. “So, what do you want, other than a congratulations for summoning your first daemon?”

  “You’re the second demon I’ve summoned. Mephistopheles is my first.” Faust rolled his eyes.

  “I’m a daemon. Not a demon from your Hell.”

  “Whatever.” Faust looked bored. “What do I do with him?”

  Mephistopheles sighed. “Ask him a question.”

  Faust turned to me. “Okay. Tuzren, how do I win the heart of Gretchen, the woman I love?”

  “Bring her chocolates and flowers,” I snapped. “Write her love poems and do nice things for her.”

  “Will that make her love me?”

  I shrugged. “How should I know? No one knows what causes a person to truly love another. But chocolates and flowers are a good start.”

  Faust glared at Mephistopheles. “You had me summon a defective demon?”

  “Daemon. And I’m not defective,” I corrected.

  “Could’ve fooled me.” Faust still faced his demon mentor. “I didn’t sign my soul away for a crappy day-mon.”

  “Want a guarantee? Buy a toaster.” I crossed my arms.

>   Faust stared at me. “What’s a toaster?”

  Mephistopheles sighed in annoyance. “Toasters are mechanical devices one uses to brown bread.”

  “Why would you need one when you have slaves?” Faust looked bewildered.

  “Wrong century.” I scratched my horn with a claw. “Maybe you should just take the girl out on a nice date? Buy her nice things and say nice things to her. A lot of chicks like that.”

  “Chicks? Why would I care what a baby bird thinks?”

  “Oops, wrong century again. My bad. Look, apparently I’m not getting through to you. Send me back.”

  “No way. I just summoned you.” Faust scrunched up his face in a peevish sort of way. “Can’t you make a love portion or something like that?”

  Mephistopheles nodded. “Teach Faust how to cast a love spell or make a love potion.”

  I sighed. “Seriously?”

  Faust looked hopeful. “Can you teach me?”

  “Yeah, but only if you send me back.”

  “Hooray!” Faust did a little dance, and I wondered what I had gotten myself into.

  ~ * ~

  I know what you’re thinking. I’m an asshat for even agreeing to teach Faust how to cast a love spell. I mean, love potions and love spells aren’t harmless. They take control of a person without their consent and force them to do things and feel things that are against their will. In most cases, people don’t want love spells cast on them. Those that do are sadists.

  While I’m a daemon—not a Christian demon like Mephistopheles—we have our own set of morals and rules we live by. My own personal code was the “survive and let survive” philosophy. Basically if you weren’t fucking with me, I wasn’t going to kill you. I had no reason to compel anyone that little shithead wanted to fuck—except the asshat had me in a circle. Which mean if I wanted to see my comfy bed in Onoys any time soon, I had to come up with a decent love spell so I could go home.

  Okay, okay, Onoys wasn’t the vacation spot, but I had my own apartment, my aforementioned comfy bed, and I was looking forward to the next screening of Star Wars.

  Yeah, Star Wars transcends all dimensions and universes.

  What? You didn’t know daemons lived in apartments, paid rent, held jobs, and had comfy beds? Come on. We’re superior to Humans in intellect. We certainly haven’t lived in caves for billions of years.

  Onoys daemons are quite advanced. There’s a reason we’re prized for summoning. We have an awesome educational system and our libraries are the best anywhere. Yet despite all our knowledge and technology, we still haven’t figured out how to keep a certain ape descendant living in a different plane from using magic to conjure us out of our homes. Not that we haven’t tried, mind you. The moment someone figures out how to do that in Onoys, you can bet there’s going to be a stampede to the local Daemon-Mart to buy one for $19.95 DD (Daemon Dollars).

  Daemons, like Humans, can be okay or complete assholes. I pride myself for not being an asshole daemon. I don’t like hurting people, if I can help it, which is why I couldn’t figure out how Mephistopheles or Faust got hold of my name. Daemons who wanted to put the hurt on someone gave their names freely. Nine times out of ten, the summoner was an idiot who fucked up the circle, which meant the daemon could rampage on his ass. Get enough summoners, and you pretty much have the makings of a deadpool to bet on how long it took before the daemon in question murdered the summoner.

  And they say Onoys daemons don’t know how to party.

  But that left the question of how did Faust get my name. Unless…

  “Hey, how did you get my name?” I looked up from the parchment and quill they had given me. Without, sadly, compromising the circle. I hadn’t used an inkwell and quill in ages and my first attempt left me with ink blotches all over my hands, arms, and face. I gave up and pulled out a ballpoint pen. Don’t ask from where.

  Mephistopheles looked over his glasses at me. He sat behind a desk on one side of the room. Faust was still looming over me, trying to read my writing as I recalled the love spell. My German sucked, which is why I depended heavily on the daemonic version of a universal translator. The translator was nifty when it came to speaking, but sucked for writing shit down. Which is why I wrote it in daemon first. Mephistopheles looked somewhat sheepish—or about as sheepish as a demon from Hell could look. “Faust already had it from somewhere. But I heard of you, I read a great piece by you in Daemon Life.”

  “Oiy!” I facepalmed. “Hell has a subscription?”

  “Yeah, but actually I was surfing the DaemonNet from Onoys, and your name popped up.”

  Shit. I knew I should’ve used a pseudonym. But like any decent writer, I’ve got an ego. So I put down my true name. But that didn’t explain why Faust already had it.

  Unlike Earth’s universe, or Midgard as the Norse gods refer to it, a daemon can’t summon anyone here, let alone from any other universe. So, I thought I was pretty safe using my real name, only I never expected my work to go viral. Especially not in other planes of existence. Guess when I’m done with this asshat here, I’m going to have to find all my work and purge it from the DaemonNet. But there are still archives…

  Sigh.

  “Are you done yet?” Faust glared at me.

  I set down my ballpoint pen and glowered back at him in my most fierce daemon look I could muster.

  “Mephistopheles, why is he making that face?” Faust turned to the demon.

  Mephistopheles looked up from writing something—no doubt some sort of contract a used car salesperson would hand to a customer—and gazed at me. “It looks like he has gas.”

  “Eww!” Faust moved back and the demon went back to writing.

  I knew I should be insulted, but instead farted loudly to keep Faust away from me. A green miasma floated in the circle around me and I almost puked after inhaling it. Okay, no farting in magic circles. Live and learn.

  I stared at my Onoysese handwriting and nodded. The spell was powerful and would work on anyone who casted it. Translating it into German would be a bitch, but I could do it. But I didn’t want to, because even though I didn’t know this Gretchen person, I didn’t want to be responsible for making her fall in love with this wanker.

  I held it up in my claws. “Okay, it’s written up. If I give it to you, you must swear to never summon me again.”

  Faust looked at the paper. “I can’t read it. It’s in daemon.”

  “Oops. I guess you should’ve specified what language.” I shrugged. “Swear you won’t summon me again and I’ll write it in something you can read. In one-syllable words, preferably.”

  “No deal.” Faust crossed his arms.

  “Oh well.” I tore the paper in two.

  “Stop that immediately! I command you, Tuzren!” Faust shouted.

  And suddenly I felt the compulsion spell. Compulsion spells are just what their name suggest. They compel you to do what the summoner wants. Unfortunately that meant that the moment Faust used my name, I felt another sickening twist in my chest as if someone grasped my heart and squeezed. I coughed, unable to do much of anything as the magic took hold. After I stopped hacking, I looked up, filled with burning anger. So, this was what being compelled was like. And I did not like it one damn bit.

  “I will fucking kill you.” I glared at Faust. This time my expression was undeniable and Faust backed up. Even if I was only a foot and a half, he knew I was powerful enough to make it stick.

  Faust hesitated a moment, regained his composure, and laughed. “You’re too small to hurt, let alone kill, anyone.”

  “Keep thinking that, fuckface. But I don’t see you releasing me from my cage.” I bared my sharp, pointed teeth.

  “You will obey me, Tuzren.” Faust glared at me.

  I felt the invisible noose, now on my neck as well, and in my chest, tighten. “You want it in German, you’ll send me back and never call me again.”

  “Okay,” Faust shrugged. “You’re too small to be any use otherwise.”

 
“Swear on your power.”

  Mephistopheles stood up and walked over to the circle with a contract in his hand. “No need for him to swear by his power. I’ve written up a contract between you two.”

  “No deal.” The noose tightened and I wondered if I would pass out from the lack of oxygen, or if my heart would explode first.

  The contract and a pen appeared in my circle. My claws moved toward the contract as if someone else controlled them. Which obviously was happening. I stared dully at the parchment as my hand moved across the paper with my own signature. I felt a burning on my left shoulder like someone stick a hot iron against my skin. I screamed and my vision tunneled. The last thing I remember was collapsing into oblivion.

  Chapter Two

  I awoke in my own bed. For a moment, I looked around my room, dazed by what had to have been the worst dream of my life. I lay there beneath my Star Wars sheets and stared up at the ceiling’s wooden rafters. Had my summoning to Earth really happened, or was it a demented dream concocted from too much daemon ale and too much partying?

  I lay there for what had to be an hour or more. What was today, exactly? I picked up my communicator off the nightstand and stared at the date. When I laid down, it was Winter Season in the Onoys Year Twenty Billion, 35 Million, 735K, and 629. Give or take a few centuries. Now my communicator showed the date as Twenty Billion, 37 Million, 321K, and…well, fuck. I was late to work. Big time.

  Now, you might think with those years, my apartment would be gone, or at least rented out to someone else. But due to the Summoning Mitigation Accords, daemons paid their rent five million years in advance, and landlords couldn’t kick someone out unless there was a death certificate. And even then, that was tough. It was all because of the stupid summoning that went on. And no one wanted to lose their homes because some Earth wanker got their names.

  I tossed the communicator back on my nightstand and pulled the covers over my head. Chances are they replaced me at the Archive, and while I could demand my job back, it seemed like a lost cause. Onoys daemons have three gifts: high intelligence, copious knowledge about the multiverse, and a penchant for mounds of paperwork. That meant I’d have to get a note from the doctor, signed in triplicate, stating I was the victim of a summoning. Then, I’d have to fill out Government forms D-SUM-A21, D32-summoning-5, E-contam-2 and 3, and G77-Haz-D. Assuming I got those filled out, again in triplicate, I’d have to have at least three friends or family members fill out form ID-Dae-3 and get it notarized that I was the daemon I said I was, and that they would vouch for me.