07- Black Blood Brother

by Morgan Blayde

  Chrys placed a hand on my arm. “Why the hell did you do that? I do business here.”

  “It was the eyes, right?” Zero-T asked.

  I nodded. “Yeah. He saw a payday coming and I could tell he wasn’t going to let it go of it. No one with eyes like that ever does.”

  “So, you killed him for what he was going to do?” Chrys asked. “What if you’d been wrong?”

  “Better safe than sorry,” I said.

  She just stared at me.

  Zero-T punched my arm playfully. “My hero.”

  Employees from the front room crowded the door, staring in. Zero-T guided them back, out of our faces with his zombie apocalypse hammers. They did seem useful. We strolled out and returned to the SUV. Chrys remained quiet, the gears in her head spinning with deep thoughts. She climbed behind the wheel and buckled in. Zero-T and I settled into our seats. The vehicle throbbed to life, roaring.

  Chrys shot me a sidelong glance. “Caine?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Back when you first met my family…?”

  “Yeah?”

  “When I was chained in the bag, with your foot was at my throat…?”

  “Yeah?”

  “You threatened to dragon-stomp me to death.

  “Yeah.”

  “If you’d had too, would you have?”

  “Yeah. Is that a problem?”

  The SUV pulled away from the curb, merging with traffic. I picked up the carafe of poisoned coffee from the floorboard. My inner dragon blinked golden eyes at me. He said: What are you going to do with that?

  I shrugged. I don’t know yet.

  “Caine,” Chrys said. “How much of the way you are is because of being raised by demons?”

  I made a show of pursing my lips and gazing off into space with a thousand-yard stare. “I expect the demon upbringing was probably a moderating influence.”

  Zero-T leaned forward, speaking from the back seat. “Gosh, yes. Caine is a helluva lot worse than the rest of us.”

  Chrys said, “I see.”

  She remained quiet on the trip back to my hotel. We parked and disembarked. Zero-T gazed toward his pimpmobile. He said, “I’m going to go check on my baby.” He had the two backpacks with him and a Snickers bar protruding from his jacket pocket.

  Chrys said, “Don’t hurry. Caine and I need some private time.” She took my hand and tugged me toward the hotel entrance.

  I had the carafe tucked under my free arm. “We do?”

  She smiled at me, quickening her step. “Senseless violence and bloodshed get me hot. Oh, the things I’m going to do to you!”

  I smiled at her. “I’m entirely in your hands.”

  “Not yet,” she said, “but you soon will be.”

  We went in and caught an elevator. “You’re about to get worked up even more,” I promised.

  “I am?”

  “There’s more senseless violence and bloodshed coming.” There were two men in the lobby watching us. One of them spoke into his phone as the elevator doors closed. “I expect someone is going to jump us when we get out.”

  “Really? Who?”

  “I guess we’ll just have to ask them, rather impolitely.”

  TEN

  “It’s nice to be wanted in so many ways…”

  —Caine Deathwalker

  “What if they’re police?” Chrys asked.

  “I’ve dealt with gang members before.”

  “Gang members?”

  “They dress in their special colors and live by their own code, extorting money from the public through threat of violence at traffic stops—enforcing traffic codes instead of laws; what would you call them? They’re vigilantes. Parasites. Name one average person on the street that voted to be preyed upon by traffic codes?”

  Her ever-ready smile appeared. “I take it you’ve been stopped a number of times.”

  I thought of all the times I’d used my Dragon Voice tattoo to command the police pulling me over to hand me the money in their wallets. I smiled. Then stopped. Without my tattoos, I’d have to resort to violence, deception, or I’d need infernal assistance from the pits of hell. I watched the numbers changing. The elevator was about to open on my floor.

  “I don’t suppose you know a good lawyer in town in case I need one?” I asked.

  She said, “All our lawyers are corporate, not criminal.”

  “Too bad.” So much for getting infernal assistance.

  The doors dinged open. A group of men pointed handguns my way. Several of them held up badges. They wore cheap, wrinkled suits. A man with greying hair and a flattened nose said, “Police. Don’t move!”

  A thin guy in back yelled. “Slowly, move off the elevator and keep your hands where we can see them.”

  “Don’t move, and move slowly? You guys need to make up your minds,” I complained.

  Another guy yelled, “He’s got a bomb!”

  The coffee carafe? A bomb. These guys have watched too many reruns of Miami Vice.

  Chrys smiled at me. “Give them the bomb, Caine. I don’t want to die.”

  A woman off to the side—who only looked like a guy—was on her radio. “We need a bomb squad here—ASAP!”

  “It’s just poisoned coffee,” I said.

  The elevator door began to close automatically. Flat-Nose jumped in and blocked it with his body. His gun muzzle never wavered from its lock on my heart. “Turn around. Put your hands on the wall!”

  I had to ask. “You won’t shoot me for moving, will you?”

  “Do it!” he yelled.

  “Fine.” I slowly lifted my hands, one of them hefting the carafe into the air. I turned and eased to the back of the elevator. I put one hand against the wall and used my other hand to hold the carafe there. I spoke to Chrys. “How come they’re not messing with you?”

  “I’m the victim here. You abducted me from my room after setting it on fire, remember? Hey! Take it easy.”

  “It’s okay, you’re safe. We’ve got you now.” A cop dragged her to safety, clearing the way to deal with her abductor: me. The bitch was having way too much fun at my expense.

  Time to bail. I still had my Demon Wings tattoo. Its magic was demon based, not dragon; the shadow magic that had taken most of my tatts had missed it. I flushed my upper back and shoulders with raw magic, a tingle that activated the tattoo. Pain came and took her payment for the spell: a sensation like being stabbed repeatedly in the gonads.

  Fuck! Magic’s a bitch and a half.

  The sensation went as fast as it came, and I shifted position in case they decided to just fire blindly.

  “Where’d he go?”

  “What the hell?”

  “Hey…!”

  “What the fuck!”

  “What the flaming fuck!”

  I joined in the chorus. “That ruggedly handsome bastard has escaped!”

  There was abrupt silence.

  Flat-Nose said, “Careful, he’s got some kind of military grade optical camouflage.”

  Damn, should have stayed quiet.

  Carafe tucked under an arm, I pushed out of the elevator before they could come in and crowd me. Being half-dragon, and Villager through my sperm-donor-of-a-father, I had more than human speed and strength. I used it, moving between cops, dancing out of their way like a wagging wind. I didn’t need to crush any skulls or break any bodies as I cleared the danger zone. I was happy about that. It’s not that I mind hurting people; I just don’t dynamite fish in a barrel. There needs to be some challenge to these things.

  “The bomb!” someone yelled. “Don’t forget the bomb.”

  “Careful, he could blow it by remote.”

  “Everyone back!”

  “Evacuate the area.”

  “Anyone got wire cutters? I think I should cut the blue wire.”

  “No, the red wire?”

  Flat-Nose said, “I’ll ride the bomb to the parking garage where we can minimize the damage. The rest of you—find that madman and kill him dead
!” The elevator doors closed on the reckless fool and he was gone. And I still had the carafe under my arm.

  I’d gotten clear and strolled down the hall to a window overlooking the Strip. There was another cop by the window, keeping out of the way of the rest. He dressed a little better than his fellow detectives, a tailored suit. It wasn’t imported, but the material and hang weren’t bad. His hair was dark blond and he had amber wolf-eyes in a youthful face, which meant nothing since werewolves didn’t physically age. The reading glasses he wore were out of place. Werewolves don’t have those kinds of defects. After getting bit and turned, a new wolf finds glasses a thing of the past. After their first full-moon change, they lose dental work and regrow original teeth. Appendixes grow back.

  As I leaned against the wall, the window between us, he looked my way. “Are you done having your fun?”

  “You can see me. The glasses?”

  “An enchanted item. Even with them on, I have to constantly fight the urge to look away from you. That’s some spell you’re using. Witch or demon magic?”

  I ignored the question to ask one of my own. “You’re not going to try and arrest me, too?”

  “I’m with the police’s Preternatural Unit—I know better. We just try to mitigate the damage from visitors such as yourself. Besides, I saw the crime scene at the young woman’s hotel. The way I read it, you were there for consensual sex when attacked through the window.”

  “You found the zip line outside.”

  “Yeah. So, who’s trying to kill you and why?”

  “Who isn’t? I’ve got twenty million on my head.”

  He whistled softly. “That will buy a lot of lamb chops.”

  Note to self: stop telling everyone how much you’re worth. It’s counter-survival.

  I sighed. “You’re going to find out anyway, so I might as well tell you; I’m Caine Deathwalker.”

  “The Red Moon Demon?”

  “Yeah.”

  “The scourge of L.A.?”

  “It’s my territory. I’ve got a right to scourge it if I want to.”

  “You don’t feel right, for a demon. Where’s the dark, troubling aura of dread and fear? I don’t smell sulfur or brimstone.”

  I shook my head sadly at his ignorance. “Sulfur and brimstone are the same thing.”

  “Oh.” He took a tiny notebook out of a shirt pocket and penned himself a note. “So, are you here to take over this hub? Thaddeus King will not take that kindly.”

  “I’m here for a wedding.” I was true, far as it went. Wolves can smell a lie so with them, the best lie is the truth.

  He nodded. “I’ll pass that along and maybe we can all just chill the hell out.”

  “I’ve only been acting in self-defense.”

  “What’s with the bomb?”

  “It’s what I said it was. Poisoned coffee. It was served to me at breakfast.”

  “Must be tough, being you. I hear you’re the one who let the wolves back in L.A?”

  I thought of Angie, my hotter-than-hell, redheaded lawyer who was also the temporary Alpha of the wolves. I remembered her feral cries of delight as I’d last fucked her in the hot tub. She’d been in human form; I don’t do actual bitches.

  I said, “Some of my best friends are wolves.”

  “And you run a demon clan, but you’re not a demon?”

  He was still trying to figure me out. I decided to throw the wolf a bone. “When you change, your mass stays the same. If I should change, this hall wouldn’t hold me. I’m the royal heir to the dragon throne, in exile—sort of.” The last time I’d been in the dragon world, I’d raised seven flavors of hell. If I were to show my face there any time soon, they’d be lining up to kick my ass.

  He gently sniffed. “Dragon? I’m not getting anything lizard-like.”

  “The Demon Wings spell I’m using blocks all senses, unless I want it otherwise.” We now had the hall all to ourselves. The police had cleared out and taken Chrys with them. So much for my afternoon delight.

  With a thought, I shut down the Demon Wings magic.

  “That’s better,” the cop said.

  His Preternatural Unit interested me. “Your unit, is it public knowledge? I thought most law enforcement agencies were trying to keep us secret. Control the panic, and all that.”

  The Woo-woo Squad is known to exist, but isn’t taken seriously by other cops—unless they’ve seen something on the job they know has no rational basis. I survived an attack by a rogue wolf, a burglar who’d take everything at a heist but the fancy silver. If the Preternatural Unit hadn’t taken me in, I’d have had to stop being a cop. I like being a cop. I’m good at it. Especially with the advantages of being a closet werewolf.”

  I nodded. “If you ever need a change of scenery, come look me up in L.A. I can always use good people.” I handed him one of my new business cards. It was black linen cardstock with metallic gold printing across a red moon: CAINE DEATHWALKER. The clan house’s phone number was underneath. Someone who needed more information, didn’t need to call.

  He handed me his card in retaliation. I read the name: Det. Eberhard Winter. “You made that up, right?”

  He studied the card I’d given him. “You’re one to talk.” He put my card in his notebook, putting them away. “I’m going to have some people keeping an eye on you while you’re in town. Try not to get any of them killed. Also, I’ll have the city brass pull the investigation off of you. Do me a favor and try to keep things quiet.”

  “Quiet is a stranger to me, but I promise to try.”

  “How big do you get when you turn dragon?”

  “Really big. And I spit electricity, not fire. I’m a golden dragon—half-dragon really.”

  “What’s the other half?”

  “You really don’t want to know. As it is, you can sleep at night.”

  “Elder god?”

  He was joking. And still fishing. I gave him a cold, hard stare. “Something like that.”

  “I think I got what I need.” He pushed off the wall, walked to the elevator, and pressed the call button.

  That left me wondering what the hell to do with myself for the rest of the day. I left the window, heading for my suite. As I came up to the elevator doors, they opened. Zero-T stepped off, carrying my backpacks. He didn’t have the zombie apocalypse hammers so I assumed they were in his pimpmobile.

  Detective Winter stared at Zero-T as they passed each other. The cop stiffed. He muttered, “No Brimstone.”

  “You can’t go by that,” I said. “Old Spice hides a multitude of sins.”

  Zero-T stopped and looked back and forth between the cop and me. “What’s going on?”

  “Don’t worry about it, Zero-T. Go on and take the illicit weapons to the suite.”

  “Sure.” He went on.

  Det. Winter caught the closing elevator doors, holding them open a moment. He stared at me with those piercing amber eyes. “Illicit weapons?”

  I smiled at him. My inner dragon used my eyes to stare back. I knew one of my eyes had just gone dragon with a vertical pupil and gold lightning dancing across the iris. The other eye was black as sin, except for a hell-red dot in the center. I wondered what he made of my half-breed stare.

  He said, “Spit lightning, huh?”

  I nodded.

  “Good to know.” He let go of the doors. They closed. The elevator took him away.

  I went on to my suite. The door was open. Zero-T was inside, lying face down on the floor. He’d tumbled over a trip-wire and knocked himself out. The pieces of his broken mask were scattered around his scaly head. The magic of his disguise had shattered as well. The backpacks were beside him. A six-inch fairy with iridescent wings—one of them seriously bent—stood on his head. She had slate-green skin and wore a tunic of mottled browns. It was the merc-fairy from Chrys’ room, the one she’d smashed with the bathroom door, the fey I’d tossed out the window.

  She held a three-inch sword of silver, pointing it at me. “I’ve come f
or my ring, dragon-scum. Hand it over, or suffer my wrath!”

  ELEVEN

  “There’s no storm without tears;

  no threat without opportunity.”

  —Caine Deathwalker

  I pulled out my phone and took a photo to commemorate Zero-T’s failure. The shot would look good on the next demon clan newsletter we sent out. Then again, maybe I’d hold onto the shot for blackmail purposes. After all, there was a small possibility that he might actually win the poker tournament and collect some money. I put the phone away, closed the door behind me, and turned back toward the defiant little fairy.

  Time to get serious.

  Moving at dragon-speed, I tossed the carafe. It blurred across the room, smacked Pixie-girl flat against the back of Zero-T’s head, and careened wildly, clattering into hiding. I’d just made Zero-T’s headache much worse, and no, I didn’t care. The crumpled fairy slid off Zero-T and fluttered to the carpet. She lay there, maybe stunned, maybe dead; probably not.

  The wee little bitch is tough. I wonder how tough. Maybe I’ll find out. I need something to keep me occupied. And dolls are fun when they’re anatomically correct.

  I strolled over and picked her up by the wing-casings. Normally, when not in use, the fragile wings are encased in hinged shell pieces that protect them. At the moment, the shell was open, the transparent wings exposed. They were like veined, flat jewels, breaking light into pastel sheens. I carried her into the sitting area so we were surrounded by the white leather furniture. Her head drooped. Her body was lax. I laid her out on the coffee table and went to the bedroom for my sewing kit. I never leave home without one; missing buttons are so untidy.

  Returning, I found she hadn’t moved. Some people just can’t handle their coffee. Using sewing needles, I pinned her down through the folds of her clothes. Once awake, she’d be able to squirm, but it would take time for her to fight free. I wasn’t going to lie to myself and claim there was a need for torture. I doubted she had any information that was relevant anymore. No, this was about pure entertainment.

  And possibly recruitment. Pixies were rare in the human world, usually preferring the natural wilds Under-the-Hill. And I’d never heard of one with a warrior spirit, ready and willing to kill for hire. An added attraction was her toughness; she gone through enough trauma to kill one of her kind several times over. I could use a spy of her caliber. A willing spy.