by Morgan Blade
“Do you feel I need to muster my troops and have them ready?”
“I have a plan for dealing with the Phantom Court. They’re the last to fall in line, though I do have to go back and pick up the oath of the Phoenix Court. If I need help, it will be with the Wild Hunt, and that is an affair for only the most powerful fey. An army would just get chewed up and spit out, murdered by beasts from ambush.”
She smiled, leaned in, and planted a kiss on my cheek. “Well, if you want to come by and discipline me sometime, my bedroom door will always be open.”
I smiled back. “Good to know.” She strolled away in her tight dress. I watched the lovely sway of her ass.
“A new recruit for your harem.” Colt looked normal and comfortable again in his beloved hoodie. “How many is that?”
How many, in deed?
“I think I’m in trouble. I don’t really remember.” I could have counted on my fingers, but suspected I’d run out, and didn’t want to remove my boots and use my toes. “Let’s just say a lot. Colt, if I mentally envision a person, do you think you can locate her on Earth and take us there?”
“If my future self knows where, probably.”
“Okay. When you think you’ve got a lock on her, portal us over.”
“Okay, dad.”
Closing my eyes, I pulled up a memory of Grace in hunter-green sweats, and black sneakers, one shoe with lime green laces, the other watermelon pink. I pictured dark red hair dangled down her back in a ponytail. Her sharp, seventeen-year-old face pale and triangular, her eyes yellow as butter amber.
But that was four years ago. Better picture her a little older, with bigger tits. Hopefully.
To my mental image, I added the distinctive details of feathery, pale gray antennae sprouting from her forehead, and cute little moth wings poking out slits in the back of her top. In my mind’s eye, the undersized wings fluttered, a quiet whup-whup.
Grace—and her two-ton fu dog Tukka—would be very helpful with the Phantom Court. They routinely dealt with ghosts and demons as special consultants to the Feds in Texas. My kind of demon, those in my clan, were a different type. My demons came to Earth through prehistoric portals, coming as “demons” from assorted hell-dimensions. The demons Grace dealt with where the evil spirit variety that needed to hijack bodies like in the Exorcist. Her demons were ex-celestial lifeforms native to Earth’s dimension.
To Grace’s image, I added a teal blue fu dog. His curly-haired head turned my way, a stupid toothy grin on his face. I pictured glowing lavender eyes like magic pearls.
“Okay,” Colt said, “I think I’ve got a lock. Here we go,”
I opened my eyes and a copper-red disk of light winked open and loomed beside us. It lunged like a living thing and swallowed us whole. The portal’s end on Fairy closed. I felt a savage thrust, a bullet leaving a barrel. My stomach fluttered along with gravity as the conduit spat me out. I flipped myself through the air, righted myself, and managed to land on my boot soles, keeping my balance. I was getting used to the power of Colt’s portal after so many trips.
Unlike my wild-assed exit, Colt’s was rather tame; his portal actually liked him. He stepped out onto a paved street and looked at me calmly as his portal shut down. With the portal gone, I saw in the street a rusty red station wagon that we’d cut off with our extra-dimensional arrival. Rather than looking impatient, the senior driver just looked shell-shocked. Motionless, she stared through thick round glasses.
I tilted my head toward the sidewalk. “Colt, let’s get out of the street. People are using it.”
Turning, he saw the car. “Oh, my bad.” He walked to the sidewalk. I joined him there. The station wagon sat a few moments, then sped off, burning rubber.
Bye, Granny! Better not tell anyone what you saw. They’ll think you have dementia.
We’d left Fairy in the morning. Here on earth, time wasn’t synched; a late afternoon sun greeted us. We stood in a run-down rural neighborhood, in front of a dingy yellow clapboard house. It looked large enough for three bedrooms, and had an attached garage with its door down. That proved to be the source of the most horrific noise imaginable. I thought someone was feeding an electric guitar into a woodchipper—along with the player. The screams in no way passed as vocals. There was a garage band here that needed to stay in the garage, forever.
“Grace has talent, one of the most phenomenal voices I’ve ever heard. I can’t believe she’s been roped into this non-sense.”
“Grace is the girl you’re looking for, the one with moth wings and blue dog?” Colt asked.
“Yep. Let’s go interrupt the rehearsal. Someone may give us a medal.”
Colt nodded. “It is awful.”
I led the way across a cracked driveway to the garage door. I lifted it. Inside, the alleged musicians stopped to stare back at Colt and I, except for the bass player, a skinny black kid with a leaning afro who continued to sway and thump away. There was a dude in his early twenties with frizzy hair the color of a Twinkie, his little beard braided into two points. His eyes were a washed out blue, and his beer gut seriously stretched a Green Day tee shirt on which a hand gripped a heart-shaped grenade. The drummer was a girl with ripped arms, and dishwater-blonde hair. She wore coveralls and a pink tee. Her hands stopped banging with her sticks, but her bubblegum chewing maintained the timing of the backbeat she’d been using.
My gaze slid over to the side where Grace sat at a mini soundboard, adjusting levels. Recognition flared in her gold-amber eyes. “Caine!” She leaped up and ran over, throwing herself into my arms. “You’ve come to save me. Please tell me you need my help and are going to throw an obscene amount of money at me.”
Gigs not working out.
The fat Viking-looking dude yelled. “Hey, we’re having a rehearsal here!”
“That’s what you call it?” I shook my head sadly, then let Grace go so I could talk to her. “My recording label will sign you, kid.”
“Kid? I’m legal now, and I’ve got boobs!”
It had always bothered her, being flat-chested. Her mom, Cassie was a total knock out. Grace’s genes had finally kicked in and made up for lost time. She had a hell of a rack. And she seemed to have done something about the antennae that used to bob off her forehead. They were gone, no longer drawing attention from hair that was a close match for Colt’s. I wondered if Grace still had the baby wings under the sea-green top and gray windbreaker she wore.
The girl drummer and the vocalist hurried over. The guy said, “Record label? You got one of my submissions?”
I stared at him. “Who are you, exactly?”
He gave me half a frown, a twitch of lips. “I’m Ronnie Dunn. We’re Armadillo, hottest garage band in Corpus Christi!”
“Dunn? You’re Dunn all right. I hate to burst your bubble, but we came for Grace.”
Dunn stared down at Colt. “He’s a music exec?”
“In charge of bubblegum pop,” I lied.
“Wait a second,” the little drummer girl said. “Grace? You sing? Then what the hell are you doing on the soundboard?”
“It gets me cheaper rent.”
“We have a singer,” Dunn said. “That’s me.”
“Yeah, good luck with that,” I said. “Grace, get your stuff. Don’t leave anything valuable behind. I’m relocating you to L.A. so you’ll be convenient to my operations.”
“You can’t go,” Dunn said. “We’re playing a bar tonight.”
Grace smiled at me. “Give me five minutes to pack.”
“Sure,” I said.
“Dammit!” Dunn glowered, finally achieving a full frown. “I’m the one you ought to sign. I am a rock god!”
“Grace,” I said. “Give god a sample of what you’ve been hiding.”
Bass dude was still thumping along. Grace nodded her head in time, then belted out the same song that had been playing when we walked up. This time, I actually made out the lyrics. They were cringe worthy despite the voice of an angel.
“
Why should I wait, to have my way—
Nobody tells me no—
I’m specially entitled, to be unbridled—
Don’t have to take it slow—
Gimme, gimme, gimme, all I’m due—
Or this little snow flake’s gonna melt all over you—
Ooooooo— It’ll be all over for you—”
Grace cut off, her clear, soaring voice missed at once. The bass player thumped on. I wondered if he ever stopped.
Grace muttered. “I so can’t wait to get that out of my head. My own stuff is so much better.”
Dunn stared, mouth open. Shaking off the spell of a truly phenomenal voice, he found his words. “Grace! We could have had you on vocal backup all this time. Why didn’t you say anything?”
“Five minutes,” I reminded her.
Drummer girl grabbed her sleeve and whispered loudly. “Please, don’t leave me here with them! They’re complete slobs.”
Grace looked at me. “She is a good drummer.”
Drummer girl gave me pleading eyes. “I can be ready in two minutes.”
“What the fuck!” Dunn shouted. He jerked forward, like he was going grab Grace and yell reason into her brain.
He stopped short, eyes huge, mouth gaping, as Colt’s demon sword suddenly fit his fist, the blade catching Dunn just under his chins. The blade was darkness surrounded by a sizzling infernal-red aura that radiated hunger, begging to kill.
I nodded approval to Colt. His performance here was a lot better than when the coppersmith had tried to kill me. He’d learned his lesson without having to have his nose rubbed in his mistake.
Kid’s smart.
I said, “Not bad on the response, but you left his head on.”
“He’s just a bad singer; I won’t kill him unless he makes me.”
“You’re right. Why should we end the life of a miserable failure with so much grief ahead of him? That would be merciful.”
The girls ran off through a door, into the house.
Dunn backed off and collapsed to the concrete floor. He pointed a trembly finger at Colt and me. “You’re trespassin’. “I’m going to call the cops!”
Sudden silence caught my attention, such a relief. The bass player pulled off his guitar, unplugging from a bass speaker. “Hey, are we done with rehearsal? I think I missed a meal.”
Dunn ignored the question, his finger still quivering with outrage as it pointed just at me. I guess he had a policy not to irritate kids with swords. He yelled. “She can’t use any of our songs. I’ve got the copywrites.”
I nodded at the katana Colt still held. “I’d shut up if I were you; dead people don’t own copywrites.”
Dunn swallowed heavily and finally shut his mouth. But he did take out his cell and punch in some digits.
A moment later, my dragon hearing picked up an operator’s voice. “Please state the nature of your emergency.”
He whispered loudly into the phone. “There’s a home invasion goin’ on. I need help!”
Yes, you do.
Bass player went into the house, probably to raid the fridge.
I smiled at Dunn. “If you were a cat, that would have been your ninth life. Hang up.”
Dunn whispered. “He’s threatening me!”
“No,” I said. “This is a threat.”
The concrete under him darkened to an oily black, a spreading pool that stopped at my feet.
Colt said, “Dad?”
Tentacles curled up into the air, encircling Dunn. He screamed as they wrapped him up, squeezing him purple. Dunn sank into the dark pool. When his head went under, golden silence returned. The pool contracted, vanishing, leaving no trace of Dunn or his phone.
Colt stared at me, anger on his face. “Why?”
“You have to ask? Put the sword away.”
He did, but still glared.
“Look,” I said. “I did the world a favor. He might have gotten on U-Tube and posted some videos.” I shuddered at the horror.
The girls came running back, each with a suitcase and a backpack. I led the way out of the garage, up to the sidewalk.
“No car?” Grace’s face sharpened in the sunlight, hinting at her kitsune nature.
“That is so old school,” I said. “I thought we’d catch a dimensional portal instead.”
Why hide what I am. It’s time the whole world knew its owner.
Drummer Girl lifted a brow and gave Grace a concerned stare. “Is he sane? And why is he wearing a crown? More importantly, he is with a label, right?”
“Colt?” I lifted a hand, a get going gesture.
“Fine, but no more tentacles. I’m serious.”
A red-copper light flashed into being and swelled so it could take us all. Colt went in. Grace shoved Drummer Girl in next and followed. I went last, looking back in time to see the whole house go black and sink into a lake of darkness. Whatever evidence Grace had left behind was now forever gone.
The portal closed and we were on our way to L.A., having made the world a better place.
TWENTY-SIX
“A friend is someone you can always
impose upon—when carrying cash.”
—Caine Deathwalker
“Where do you want to come out?” Colt asked. “The Island House?”
“Gloria’s, the Velvet Door. It’s…”
“I know where Aunt Gloria works,” Colt said.
I lifted an eyebrow. “Really? Hang out in bars much?”
My nine-year-old son shot me a glance that still had lingering annoyance in it. “Remember that barbwire tattoo the older me has?” Colt asked.
“Yeah.”
“Who do you think paid for it? That will be a birthday present one day. Mom’s still miffed.”
Thinking about non-linear time is giving me a headache.
The copper-red light peeled away from us and I skidded across a parking lot, catching myself against a charcoal colored Buick Enclave. Colt stepped out without the same runaway velocity. Grace and Drummer Girl had no problem either.
Is it just me the portal hates?
The portal closed with Drummer Girl watching it. She turned her face to Grace. “Anything you want to tell me, oh girl with many secrets?”
An intense focus hardened Grace’s face. She leaned in and used a hushed voice. “Okay, but you can’t breathe a word of this to anyone.”
Drummer Girl nodded and crossed her heart.
Grace said, “There are dark forces in the world. Inhuman things that would send anyone off to gibber in a corner. Thus, to save humanity from all that would feed upon it, Providence has called in an elite team of heroes to stand in the breech.” She paused dramatically. “We are those heroes.” She rushed the next five words. “Swear to God; true story.”
“Why don’t I quite believe you?” Drummer Girl asked.
“Fine, you didn’t just travel across half the country through a glowing hole in space.”
Drummer Girl couldn’t find an argument for that.
I led us toward the front of the bar. Claude the doorman saw me coming, a big man, ugly as a cold plate of oh-my-Gawd! He leaped to open the door for me. I’d once improved his face by smashing it into the dumpster out back. Fear of death produces good service. It also kept Claude from objecting to my underage son. He eyed the green agate crown I sported, but asked no questions.
We went inside. Black tables and chairs and red carpeting made me think the décor had been chosen by a demon sword. One of the red walls had plaques, assorted clan symbols from many preternatural communities. The postings showed this bar was neutral territory, a no-kill zone.
I intended to impose on an old friend. Twenty-five hundred years old—and holding. Gloria owned the place. She had the hot, petite body of a seventeen-year-old girl, five-foot-four, under a hundred pounds, and no sane person wanted to mess with her. A pure-blood vampire, she was royalty, almost a god to other vampires. Like a dhampyr—a half-vamp human—she was strong enough to function during daylight,
so there was a chance I’d find her here already.
We waded past assorted patrons, most passing for human, and took a booth against a far wall, the luggage going under the table. I saw Cleo, one of my were-kitties mixing drinks behind the bar. Pulled into a ponytail, her brown hair had darker and lighter streaks mixed in. She stared back through gold-wire framed glasses, smiled, and waved.
I waved back. “You guys sit and relax.”
I strolled over to the bar. Sitting on his usual stool, I spotted Gray, a half-angel. He still wore his Raiders jacket. His hair was a mat of wilted spikes. His eyes were red and weepy. His wrinkled khaki pants were stained and slept in. Long ago, he’d said “No thanks” to Heaven and Hell, siding with anarchy and chaos. Born with the sight, he usually had a prophecy to depress me with. By the time his visions clarified, they often proved too late to be useful.
I stood next to him at the bar, waiting to talk to Cleo. Though he was blind, I nodded his way.
He nodded back. His stare drilled a hole through my head. He said, “What the hell have you done now?”
I grinned. “You’re guessing. It’s always a good bet that I’m mixed up in something.”
“You broke the seal. It’s too early for that. The end of days isn’t here yet.”
“Good to know,” I said. “Buy you a beer?”
His face went vague as he stared into his private nothingness. “You’re going to lose the blue beast if you’re not very careful. Oh, and when the time comes, trust your paranoia.” His face writhed as he blinked both eyes and widened them like a man half-blinded by a penetrating light. “A beer would be nice.”
Clio came over, the bar between us. I asked, “Is Gloria here?”
“Inventorying a delivery in back. I’ll let her know you’re here. Anything else?”
“Three sodas for my posse,” I said, “a rum and Coke for me, and another beer for Gray.”
“Coming up,” she said.
My phone played Alicia Keys’ Girl on Fire.
Imari. I thought of my ebony-skinned First Sword, with fire for hair and a rockin’ hot body. What does she want?