Rasputin clapped. “Oh, well done. Well done. But tell me, is not one coffin much the same as another? Is it not just the indignity you are concerned with? The affront to your honor?”
“My honor is always a concern, but in this case, what I lost was very precious indeed.” Dracula pulled a wallet out of his inside suit pocket. He opened the leather pouch and rummaged inside a moment until he found several photographs. He held these out to Rasputin for the man’s inspection the way a proud grandfather might flash pictures of a grandchild.
I groaned softly in the depths of my soul. Not the photos again. I’d seen them in L.A. when the Old Man and I first received Dracula, considering the job he offered. They showed the coffin from various angles, lid up and down. The wood was black oak, intricately tooled, and polished within an inch of its life. The handles were solid gold. The inner lining was the finest in purple-dyed silk, a quilted cushion guaranteed to cradle one in bliss. The required bags of native soil were under the lining. There were also LED lights and a miniature TV set inside the lid. A wrap-around minibar had been placed at the head of the coffin, stocked with the blood of certified virgins.
Rasputin perused the photos with great interest. “A work of art, truly. I can see why you want it back so badly. It must be worth quite a lot.”
“True, but it is the principle of the thing mostly. I can’t have people thinking that I’ve grown weak and can no longer protect what is mine.”
“With the celebrity value alone,” I said, “opening bid on the coffin will likely start around sixty-thousand dollars.”
Vlad shot me a pained glance. “So little?”
I shrugged. “It will probably go for a hundred thousand dollars by the time the auction ends, maybe more.”
Vlad brightened at the new figure I’d named. “Of course, I am an undead legend, the only self-made vampire.”
“Not anymore,” I said. “Rasputin also turned himself to form his own line, just like you.”
“Really?” Vlad gave the other vamp an eyeballing. “Then your people are free of the Grand Constraint I place on my children.”
Rasputin blinked. “Grand Constraint?”
“Yeah,” I said. “Those of Vlad’s line cannot enter a home without an invitation, or walk on holy ground for that matter.”
Rasputin said, “We respect holy ground, but it does not injure us. As for entering homes, why such limitation?”
“Vampires are not good at restraint,” Vlad said. “The human herd must have some protection, or it will be wiped out by the undead in a bloody feeding frenzy of epic proportions. And without humans to sustain us, vampires would be reduced to feeding on animals, until that blood source, too, were wiped out. When only vampires remain, we will perish under each other’s fangs. At least, that was how I reasoned in the first days of having become Prince of Darkness. I may not have been entirely rational in those early days, adjusting to vampirism.”
Who says you’re rational now?
A thought troubled me. “Say, Drac, did you ever identify who these guys in the black vans were?”
“No, why do you ask?”
It seems to me—when I was first going into the art gallery next door—that I saw a very large number of black vans parked out on the street.”
He looked at me, but his eyes were vague, as if he were searching his memories. “You know, I think you may be right.”
Vlad and I both looked at Rasputin.
“What?” he said.
And then we heard automatic gunfire and explosions from next door. I grinned, summoning both Berettas to my hands. Things were finally interesting.
“We are under attack!” Rasputin shouted. And then he was gone, either too fast to see, or he’d bent my perception of reality without rolling my mind. I looked at Vlad and asked, “Did he just…?”
“Bend reality with his thoughts, or something close to it? I think so. The man’s more dangerous than I’d given him credit
for.”
In other words, he played upon your arrogance and got you to underestimate him. I shrugged. “Shall we go join the party?”
“Definitely. I need to discuss with these villains the error of their ways.”
I was moving before he finished speaking, but he passed me in a dark blur of speed. Vampires, always showing off.
TWENTY
“I live for the days when a man just
has to kill everything that moves.”
—Caine Deathwalker
I retraced my steps through the hallway and entered the Russian gallery. The air was tainted with gray-white smoke. My heightened senses stalled me for a moment of overload as they adjusted to battlefield conditions. Garlic went off in my nose like a grenade. In fact, from the multiple hisses, smoke grenades were being used loaded with garlic—ones especially designed for vampires. My eyes brimmed with tears. I fought the impulse to gag.
In the distance and out of sight, the air was shredded by semi-automatic weapons set to fire in three-round bursts. There were the usual shrill screams of panic and fear from the high society patrons that surged into view, desperate to get away from the front of the gallery. Several of the patrons caught slugs and fell, their bodies ventilated, leaking blood onto the floor.
They have only themselves to blame. Not one of them came armed. When will people learn?
Feet pounded down the stairs from the second story. I went to the foot of the landing as Madison and Grace appeared, the latter back in human form, wearing a quite fetching tablecloth. Right behind them was Onyx and his new girlfriend, the Mistress of the City. I’d expected Rasputin to prioritize the vampire princess’s safety, but he’d left her to us, taking the fight directly to the enemy instead. If I had to guess, Vlad was right there with him. I was hearing screams of agony through the smoke and a lot less gunfire.
I pointed Madison and Grace toward the door I’d just come through. “All of you, get Dominika out of here. She’s a high-probability target.”
“No,” she said. “This is my territory. I will defend it.”
“No,” Onyx said. “No combat for you until you get rid of that death wish of yours.” He yanked her toward safety, his cold eyes like obsidian chips.
I expected the willful lady vamp to argue, but apparently Onyx had her number—and anything else she had to give.
Grace looked more than a little annoyed, failing to hide it. “Vamps don’t need babysitters.”
“Tell me about it,” Madison said. “I’d have staked her by now but Onyx is being difficult.”
He grinned at me in passing. “Yo, Dawg, look at me. I’m a player.”
“Being played is more like it,” Grace said.
They went on, and I headed for where most of the action was. By the time I rounded the corner to the main part of the gallery, the innocent bystanders were dead, as well as quite a few men in dark coveralls with ski masks over their heads, and machine guns. A cluster of vampires, Rasputin’s security people, had caught a fragmentation grenade and were blown to pieces. They would regenerate eventually, but for now were out of the fight.
Vlad and Raspy had three disarmed gunmen cornered. The vampires were calmly discussing whom to rip apart first and what not-too-vital organ should be extracted without anesthesia.
I hurried past them, leaping over assorted corpses on my way to the door. If the drivers weren’t gone yet—having lost communication with their hit squad—they’d be leaving soon. I’d missed a lot of the action, but there was still a chance to run amok in the street.
I went out the door, guns fanning in front of me. I gave fair warning to the innocent bystanders. “Get down or die!” The passersby on the sidewalk ducked low and ran for cover. A fast scan of the area showed four vans, all black. All were rumbling, primed to flee. One parked on my side of the street pulled away from the curb. I ran and jumped, landing on the rounded top of a cobalt blue BMW M coupe. Under other circumstances, I wouldn’t mind stealing the car and seeing what she could do. Unfortunately,
I was busy now emptying the Berretta in my right hand, pumping shots into the rear tires of the escaping vehicle. The last couple of slugs went to clipping off the driver’s side mirror. The vehicle lost control, fishtailing into on-coming traffic where the van was T-boned.
Collateral damage, too bad, but these thing happen.
I spun around as a burst of bullets zipped past me close enough to hit me with a breeze. The other van on my side of the street blazed its headlights, but I could make out the driver holding a machine pistol out the window.
I ran down the back of the BMW and jumped down into the street. I flicked my empty gun away, sending it back to the magical case in my hotel room so I could summon it again with a fresh magazine. Using the gun still in my left hand, I shot back at the driver. A line of holes appeared in the windshield. The driver jerked with a hit and dropped his weapon. His limp hand dangled out the window.
I dashed into the road, waving traffic back from me with my remaining Berretta. Straddling the center line, I opened fire on the right vehicle, the one most in danger of getting away. I drilled its side, making sure to put a few holes in the gas tank. Since this wasn’t a Hollywood movie, the vehicle leaked gas instead of violently exploding.
I called my right-hand semi-automatic back from the mystic ether as I sent my second gun away, but what filled my hand was a toilet scrub brush. What the Fuck! Obviously, my satchel at the hotel room had been compromised. Some sneak thief was going to die slowly, roasted over hot coals, with a plunger up his ass.
I warmed up both my Demon Wings and Dragon Flame tattoos. The double payment of pain—like having one’s spine knotted and eyeballs pealed simultaneously—staggered me a second, breaking my stride. That proved helpful as the driver from the fourth van leaped out, sweeping his gunfire my way. A
burst cut across my path, hitting the Gallery.
I tossed the brush with dragon-born strength. It flew true, forcing the gunman to duck his head, uncertain what whizzed past him. He raised the gun to continue firing, but stopped dead, no longer able to see me with my Demon Wings tattoo activated. My right hand swung toward the pooling gas under the third van. Super-hot flames engulfed my hand, jetting out to the street. Flames leaped up to spark the fumes of the draining gas tank, the van exploded, a concussive wave shoving me back several steps so that I sat on the low-slung hood of an English import. Smoke climbed into the night. Ripped pieces of van rained everywhere. Car alarms shrilled in protest all along the street.
I sent a lance of dragon fire at the remaining gunman, converting him into a screaming crispy critter crumbling to the street.
So much for you. Sadness set in with no one left to kill. I released the magic I was using, letting the tattoos go dormant again.
My Mustang shot up to me, squealing to a stop. Onyx was behind the wheel. The girls were in back with the vampire princess sandwiched between them. Grace had replaced the tablecloth with her usual clothes. I ran and opened the driver’s door, shooing Onyx over so I could drive. Moving bonelessly, flowing like black water, he reformed in the other seat much faster than a human could have done. Settling behind the wheel, I closed my door and sent the car accelerating at high speed. I still had a booty call to get off my Who-To-Do list. Besides, cops were coming. Sirens shrilled. This was no longer a good place to be.
Running a red light, I reminded Onyx, “You don’t have permission to drive my car.”
“I’m just a dumb shadow man from another dimension. I don’t understand concepts like ‘no.’”
“What about the concept of my steel-toe boot up your ass?”
He laughed. “Sorry, you’re not my type.”
“Where are we going?” Grace asked.
“Back to the hotel. Someone there has messed with my
stuff. There’s a possibility they’re stupid enough to be waiting for me.”
“I hate thieves,” Madison said.
“Me too,” I said. When it’s not me.
We crossed town, reaching the edge of the city where we were staying. I pulled into the parking lot and found a spot. Killing the engine, I got out. The others bailed as well. I called across the car to Onyx. “Get another room and take the girls there. I’ll take care of this.”
“You hog all the fun,” Grace said.
“So you’d prefer to be the one to skin the thief alive and carve out his eyeballs?”
“Eeeeww! That’s icky,” she said.
“Thought as much.” Damn, this is like being a camp counselor, but no s’mores.
I left them there, taking the stairs up to the second floor. In moments, I was outside the door to my room. The door was closed. There was no sign the lock was forced. I called my demon sword to me. The black, folded-steel blade appeared with its red sheathing of malevolent energy. The will of the sword to kill was a palpable thing.
Where’s my prey? It demanded.
“Inside, I hope.”
I stood to the side of the door as I tested the knob. It was now unlocked. I shoved the door open and ducked back, anticipating a hail of bullets. Nothing came out of the door except an icy breeze.
Ah, hah! Mystery solved.
I sauntered into the room, closing the door behind me. The cold intensified. I stopped, my cock hardening in response to an amazing sight. Elena, the hot Hispanic cleaning lady I’d met earlier, was naked and bound to the bed with shackles of ice on her feet and hands. Her jaw clenched. A furious rage simmered in her eyes, all that was keeping her warm. Her clothes were ripped up, forming a little pile in the middle of the floor. The only thing Elena still had on was a piece of chalcedony, the type known as a bloodstone. The dark green mineral had bright rusty flecks of iron oxide in it, tied on with a brown leather thong around her neck.
My friend Izumi was the source of the cold and the ice. She was an ice fey of the Winter Court, transformed by glamour to resemble a Japanese ice woman. She’d spent years hiding from her mom in this alternate identity. Though she hadn’t a Japanese bone in her body, I still thought of her that way. Like most fey, Izumi was tri-sexual; ready to try anything. Kneeling on the bed, she held a dildo of ice, sliding it between Elena’s proud tits.
I didn’t know if this was torture or foreplay. “Uh, Izumi, what’s going on?”
Elena lifted her head and stared at me with desperation. “Get this crazy bitch off me!”
Izumi smiled my way, her long legs in white stockings, her hips supporting a plaid, school girl skirt. Her shirt was white, the long sleeves rolled back from the wrists to form cuffs. Her extra-large breasts strained the blouse, her nipples easy to locate. She had obviously come ready to play naughty games with me. Izumi straightened up, pulling back from her prisoner. The necklace was caught on the ice dildo, pulled taunt.
Izumi said, “I arrived and you were gone, but this creature was going through your luggage. I recognized the transport spell inside the satchel and figured a small substitution was the best way to get you back here.”
“Well, it worked.” I remembered the sense I’d gotten earlier that Elena might not be fully human. It was likely she was a spy for one of the local preternatural clans, nervous about my presence in town.
“I was waiting for you,” Elena said. “We talked earlier about hooking up.”
I walked over to the bed and wagged the tip of my sword at her. From the horror blanching her face, she definitely knew what a demon sword was.
Give me her soul! My sword demanded. I’m starving!
Not just yet, I said. We need information.
My sword said, Give me a taste of her life, she will scream out all you want to know.
Izumi studied the captive and then looked up at me. “You were going to fuck this thing? Do you think she’s prettier than me?”
There was no good way to answer that question, but I tried. “She looks hot, right? I thought you and I might try her out.”
Izumi looked at Elena with more of an evaluating stare. “That would depend on what she looks like under the mask.”
>
I stared blankly. “Mask?”
Izumi wiggled the ice dildo so that the bloodstone jiggled. “This is necromancy—death magic. There’s a captive soul in the stone that provides the pattern for a ‘false reading’ that masks the wearer. One thing we know; she’s not fey, the iron oxide in the rock would burn her skin.”
“So what is she?” I asked.
“Please,” Elena begged, “don’t do this.”
“Got to.” I nodded to Izumi. “Go ahead.”
The ice from the dildo grew, enveloping the stone and the leather cord. Frost appeared on the dangling thong. Izumi jerked what was now a club of ice. The leather snapped, turned brittle with intense, magical cold. The club shattered, and the stone dropped into Izumi’s open palm. She backed off the bed to watch the transformation.
Elena’s Hispanic features flattened, going fish-belly white. Her forehead plate became more pronounced, her hair tough, green tendrils like some kind of sea grass. Her eyes stayed black, but the whites filled in with that color as well. Her nose receded, nostrils becoming thin slits like those a knife might have left behind. Her lips splayed open as her teeth went triangular, shark-like, growing in three rows. She was still female, but with smaller breasts, high and firm like apples. Her pale body was hairless as was the smooth mound above her pussy.
“Don’t look at me,” she begged. “I’m ugly.”
Demon Lord 4: White Jade Reaper Page 17