Demon mage book 1, p.1
Demon Mage Book 1, page 1
DEMON MAGE 1
D. LEVESQUE
CONTENTS
Info
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Demon Mage Spells
Succubi Abilities and Spells
Imp Spells and Abilities
Patreon
About the Author
Where to find me
LitRPG
Chapter 1- Elemental Summoner
Demon Mage 1
By D. Levesque
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Copyright © 2020 by D. Levesque
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof
may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever
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CHAPTER ONE
I stopped in my tracks, looking up at the sign that bore the establishment’s name. Books Knowledge. I had to grin. This was one I had not seen before. But, then again, it was in a part of town I rarely visited.
“Brian, really? We don’t have time for this,” my friend said in displeasure. “We have people waiting for us at the bar.”
“I’ll catch up with you later,” I said, turning to Leo. “You’ve got your work friends waiting for you at the bar, and you shouldn’t keep them waiting. Don’t worry about me. I just want to browse the bookstore, savor the ambiance, and take in the scent of the books.”
Leo scowled. “Why do you even do that? You never buy any of the books!”
“But the thought that they contained knowledge from years past! There could be books in there from over a hundred years ago! Or even older!” I said excitedly.
It was a strange thing, but I had a peculiar obsession. It wasn’t anything sexual or taboo; no, it was simply my love for the smell of old bookstores. The aroma of aged paper and ink was like nothing else in the world. To some, it might have smelled of mold, but to me, it was the scent of history and antiquity. I’d always been like that, since I was a kid. It’s what got me into reading books. Even though I normally read some of the older works, I still enjoyed current stuff.
The older writers weren’t necessarily bad, but it was more exciting to delve into stories about dragons and other fantastical things. Most of the older books were, shall we say, dated. The stories weren’t really that exciting, and to be frank, many times, it was a thesis on this, or that.
“Fine.” Leo sighed.
He wasn’t unaware of my obsession since he’s known me since we both were eleven. He rolled his eyes often, but as a good friend, he didn’t belittle it.
“Just make sure to come before the bar closes, alright?”
“Yeah yeah,” I said with a grin, already looking at the entrance to the store in anticipation.
The buildings around me were old and run-down, with faded paint and cracked windows. This store wasn’t any exception. The sign above the door was faded, but I could make out the words “Antique Books available.”
I couldn’t resist places like this. It was like a drug just for me. I always grinned when I saw places like this. I had always loved old bookstores, with their musty smell and yellowed pages. And this one looked like it had been around for decades.
As I pushed open the door, a bell jingled overhead. The inside of the store was dimly lit, with shelves upon shelves of books. The air was thick with dust, and I could barely make out the titles of the books in the dim light. Damn, this place was older than I had thought. I would say this has been around since the 1980s.
An old man sat hunched over the counter, his gnarled fingers holding a book that looked just as ancient as he did. Wispy white hair framed his face, and wrinkles etched deep lines into his skin, telling stories of a long life filled with wisdom and experience.
His eyes, though faded with age, still held a sharp glint that hinted at a lifetime of knowledge and secrets. As I approached, he looked up from his book, and his eyes met mine with a sense of curiosity and interest. Despite his frail appearance, there was a spark of energy about him, as if he still had much to offer to the world.
“Do you mind if I just look around?”
He smiled at me and nodded, and said in a surprisingly deep voice for such a small man, waved around and said, “Go right ahead. If you need anything, let me know. Just be careful with the books. Some of these, I’m sure, are older than your grandfather.”
I smiled at him and nodded. “Thanks. I’ll be careful.”
I couldn’t help but feel a sense of reverence as I started to walk around the bookstore. The musty smell of old books surrounded me, and I knew that I was in for a treat. This was a place of knowledge and wonder, and I had always felt drawn to it. Except, sometimes, the stories were, shall we say, stale. It’s not that I had not read any. It’s just I never read one that kept my attention or found some long-forgotten knowledge that I could laugh over.
It was simply a different time, a different era. I should have been born when these books were first printed, but because of current Fantasy writers, I tended to get lost in their stories.
As I walked through the aisles, running my fingers along the spines of the books, I couldn’t help but think of the writers of these books. What were they like? What did they love to do with their time other than write? Nowadays, you can go to a writer’s page or blog to find out their thoughts on writing. But, alas, these fine writers, be they men or women, sometimes are never known.
As I passed a bookshelf, my fingers still running along the spines, taking in deep breaths of the environment, I felt something fall behind me with a loud thud.
I turned in surprise and some shock and gazed downward.
One of the old books had fallen from the shelf, which was surprising, as all the books had been pushed into their shelves pretty tightly because of the number of books that the proprietor had shoved into them.
Looking up, I surveyed the tightly packed shelves, surprised that a book could even fall with how tightly the owner had pushed them into the shelves. The proprietor had truly shoved as many books as possible into the small space, creating a labyrinth of literature that was both fascinating and intimidating.
“What was that!” I heard the old man shout from the front of the store.
I turned his way. “Somehow, a book fell off the shelf!” I shouted back.
“What?” he cried in concern.
Within seconds, he was coming toward me with a scowl. His back was hunched over, making him shorter than he already was. He looked down at the book that had fallen and at the bookshelf.
He eyed me suspiciously. “No book can fall by itself. I have them so tightly packed you would need to tug them to get them out!”
I lifted my hand defensively. “Listen,” I explained. “All I was doing was running my hands along the spines of them, and suddenly I heard a thump behind me, and that book was on the floor.”
He glared at me. “If it’s damaged. It’s yours.”
And how the fuck would he know it was me? I mean, most of these books in here were old, and I could see that there were damages on some of them already. Hell, look at that one book on the shelf. The spine was half gone!
The old man reached down to pick up the fallen book, and I couldn’t help but be drawn to it. It was a thick, leatherbound tome with gold lettering on the spine that had faded with age. The cover was worn and creased, with a few small tears along the edges.
As the old man handed it to me, I could feel the weight of the book in my hands, the leather soft and supple with years of handling. He pointed to a spot on the book. I noticed there was a fresh tear on the spine, at the bottom of the book, with a jagged line that cut slightly through the leather.
He was glaring at me. “You’re the proud owner of a torn book.”
“What?” said, almost dropping the book. “It wasn’t me.”
“Fine,” he said, with a shrug, still glaring at me. “I guess we call the cops. And don’t think you can run out on me. This might be an old bookstore, but I have cameras.”
He pointed to the ceiling, and I looked up. I noticed that there was a security camera there.
“Fine,” I said with a smirk. “Let’s see the footage. Call the cops.”
The old man glared, but finally, he went to the back of the store, l ifted up an old phone, and dialed a number. He pressed three buttons, so I knew he was calling 911.
“Yes, police, please,” he said, glaring at me the entire time, with the phone to his ear. “Yes. I’m at 234 Junction Street. Yes. I have a young hooligan who damaged one of my books and refuses to pay for it. Yes. I have cameras in the store. Yes. Thank you.”
The old man hung up the phone with a grin, showing me stained teeth and the fact that he was missing a couple of his teeth. He said to me, “They are on their way.”
“Fine,” I said with a shrug. “We will see that it wasn’t me who caused the book to drop.”
Then, within minutes, the door behind me opened, and the little bell over it rang. I turned around in surprise. Jesus! Cops aren’t usually that fast.
The police officer who walked in was tall and broad-shouldered. He had a mustache and was white. He also had a scowl on his face.
“Are you the proprietor who called 911?” he asked the old man.
“I am,” he replied. “This young hooligan damaged a book and refuses to pay for the damages.”
What is with him calling me a hooligan? I mean, who the hell uses that term anymore?
The cop turned to me. “Why don’t you want to pay for the damages?”
“Because I didn’t do it,” I replied, rolling my eyes. “I was walking around the store with my hand touching the books. But, one fell. I may have touched it, but I did not pull it out or pick it up. There is no way it was me, since the damn books are so tightly packed, there was no way unless I had pulled one out. So, I told him to call the cops so we could watch the video footage.”
“This true?” the cop asked the old man.
“Of course not,” he snorted at the cop. “I have video that will prove he was the cause of it. If it was on the shelf before he walked by and on the floor after, then it’s his fault. I told him if the book was damaged, it was his. He refused.”
The cop sighed. “Fine. Is the footage in the back?”
“Yes,” the old man said with a big grin again. “This way.”
With that, the old man turned around and headed to the back of the room. I was about to follow, but the cop stopped me with a hand on my chest. “You’re not required for this. It’s up to what I see. Stay here. Don’t try to run away. My partner is outside in the patrol car.”
“What? What do you mean I can’t see it? I’m the one who is being accused!” I cried out in anger.
“Do you want him in the back with us?” the cop turned back to the old man and asked him.
The old man shrugged, but he still had that smug grin on his face. “Sure. Why not.”
Yeah, well, wait until we see the video feed, you jerk. Then that smile will disappear, and it will be my turn to have a smug smile.
With that, we all went into the back room. It was tightly packed with boxes, with what I could see were boxes, as some of the boxes were opened, showing their contents. There was a desk there with a monitor, and what I could see there were two live security footage, one on either side of the screen.
One showed the walkway outside. So the old man wasn’t kidding about that, was he? I also saw the other one, which showed the bookstore itself. Based on the angle of the feed, it was the camera he had pointed out to me.
The old man sat down, with us looking over his shoulder, worked the mouse and started opening another window. The view of the interior of the store came up, and he hit the rewind button on the control keys that were at the bottom of the feed. It reversed at a fast speed until the old man and I were in the picture. He kept going backward until I came into the store.
Then, he hit play, and we followed the image of myself, saying something to the old man, but there was no sound. Then, I started walking through the store with my hand on the books, stroking them lovingly, and then, it happened. I touched a book that, according to the video, caused the book to somehow get pulled out and fall to the ground.
“See!” the old man cried triumphantly, pointing to the screen and turning to look at me haughtily. “I told you he did it.”
The cop stood up and crossed his arms, and gazed at me. “The choices then are pay for the damages, or I book you for personal property damages.”
I stared at the screen in shock. How the fuck did my just running my hands against the book cause it to fall like that? That’s a fucking fluke!
“It was an accident! You can tell I didn't pull it out or anything! I just touched it!” I cried out.
The cop shook his head. “Doesn’t matter. You still caused the damage. How much is the book?” he said, turning to the bookstore owner.
“$500!” he cackled.
Shit! Are you kidding me? $500! That’s nuts! I mean, I know some old books are worth a lot, but $500?
Groaning, I tell him, “Fine. I only have credit cards.”
The old man’s glare turned into a grin, and he said, “That’s fine. I can take credit cards.”
“Let’s go to the front, and he can pay it. Then, I will escort this young man out.”
“Sounds good,” the old man chuckled.
He walked out of the back, with me following and the cop last. He then walked back to the counter, got behind it, and took out a card reader with that grin still on his face. Fucking prick.
Well, I guess I will have to eat the cost of it somehow. What was worse, I had just been laid off from work because my boss was retiring. At least he gave us all a small leaving bonus. There goes that bonus.
Thankfully, I had money in the bank to survive for three or four months. I was only going out tonight with Leo since he said he’d pay for my meal and drinks. And right now, I think I honestly needed to get shitfaced on his dime.
The machine beeped after I entered my pin, saying authorized, which made me wince. So much for hoping it would fail and he would kick me out. Or worse, I was sure the cop would simply arrest me if the payment failed. Last thing I needed was to call Leo from jail.
He pushed the book toward me and said with a large grin, “Enjoy your new purchase.”
I grimaced in response. “Thanks. Can I get a bag for it, at least?” I asked, not bothering to hide my annoyance.
“Of course,” he said, his grin still plastered on his face.
He reached under the counter and retrieved a plain, grey plastic bag. Carefully, he slipped the book into the bag and handed it over to me. I snatched it from his hand, my frustration still palpable. At least he didn’t charge me for the damn bag.
With the cop behind me, I stepped out of the shop, and I heard the distinct sound of the door locking behind me. Irritation simmered within me as I turned to face the man inside. He was looking at me through the glass door, that annoying smile still present on his face. He even flipped the sign to show that the store was closed.
“Now, try not to get into any more trouble,” the cop said. “And I don’t want to see you around this store. I will be patrolling.”
Sighing, I nodded. “That’s fine. I have friends who are at the bar up the road. I assume I can still go there?”
He nodded. “Sure. Just don’t come back and bother him tonight,” he replied, thumbing behind him.
Nodding my head in frustration, I turned and followed the path that Leo had taken earlier. The bar was only a few blocks away. I needed a drink.
Clutching the bag in my hand, I couldn’t help but glare at it as if it was somehow responsible for my current mood.
“You better have a good fucking story inside you.”
CHAPTER TWO
My head was pounding, and my mouth tasted as if I had sucked on a sewer hose. I groaned as soon as I opened my eyes, the afternoon light hitting the back of my eyes. I stared up at my ceiling, trying to remember what had happened.
