Read Online Personal Demon by Susan Sizemore - Free Book Online

between worlds. That was what the demon claimed he could do once the blood power was his.
    As for him, the mortal servant, loyal, loving, fervent in his service, he was promised demonhood himself. His mortal body would be peeled away. His soul would be clothed in immortal demon skin.
    And the effects of dark magic had begun to grow in him, change him. He was becoming purified—
    Then that interfering bastard came along and unceremoniously killed him. Just like that. There’d been no meaning to it, no purpose. Just—death.
    “Darkness. For so long.”
    Even this new body and new purpose did little to help the pain of being lost in the void, growing colder and colder as the dark magic faded. The Master had gotten to him just in time. He lived again, but the pain was still fresh enough to make his throat so tight with anguish he could barely speak.
    The remembered darkness was around him even though he knew he was seated in a town-house living room. Alone, even though he was surrounded by others.
    The demon put a hand briefly on his shoulder. He gasped and opened his eyes. The impression of fingers burning into his skin would show up as red marks on his shoulder. Marks of ownership, marks of belonging. The touch of pain broke him out of the darkness.
    “Focus,” his Master said. “You were flashing, weren’tyou? It happens to all of us, even me. It’s all right. We must remember who we were before we took over these forms.”
    “I—yes. Back then—I failed you.”
    “No. Your body was murdered.”
    He shook his head. “I failed you last night, and tonight.” He’d been so certain, so confident, happy when he went on the hunt. “She wasn’t at home, or anywhere else I searched for her. I don’t know what happened to the bitch. But I did something that will scare her,” he added. “The fear will grow in her, give the kill a stronger burst of energy when the time comes.”
    “You came back clean-handed, didn’t you, Jack?” Ted asked. “It’s so easy to sulk when we haven’t made a kill.”
    “I know I do,” John said. He rubbed his flabby belly. “I eat too much, too.”
    Dick just laughed. He laughed too easily, stupidly. He slapped John on the back. They were seated close together on the couch. “You’re funny.”
    John certainly liked to think he was. He and Dick had bonded, called themselves local boys. It was because this pair had terrorized Chicago at different times that the Master had the idea to reanimate their lost souls into modern bodies. For the irony of it as much as the terror potential, the Master said.
    All four of them came out of a database the Master’s human host had compiled. Technology combined with magic. He’d studied to find the perfect tools. Their souls were conjured back to the world, into host bodies, bound to serve the Master who’d made them again, as the Master’s host body also served the demon spirit.
    Jack was the only one who had served the Master before.
    The other three claimed they looked up to Jack. Jack was their role model, their hero, even though they each had more kills to their credit than he had during his original efforts. The pair of
local boys
resented Ted. He was an outsider. Butthen, Ted was smart, handsome, charming. At least Ted claimed he was charming.
    Jack didn’t see it. He didn’t trust Ted. Ted was sneaky and ambitious and selfish. He’d warned the Master about Ted.
    The answer had been a laugh, and a reassuring burning touch.
He’s a tool. It’s always going to be just you and me, Jack.
    His name wasn’t Jack. It had never been Jack, but there was no fighting the history of the name, the reputation equaled by no one else. In his nineteenth-century life, he had worn the sobriquet with pride. Jack the Ripper.
    “Too bad you aren’t living up to your reputation lately,” Ted said.
    Once again, Jack was drawn out of black reverie. He hated that the other murderer was right.
    “No teasing, boys,” Master said. “There’s a