Green Flame Assassin (Demon Lord series, book 2)

by Morgan Blayde

  He said, “The blade still comes inadvertently sometimes. I’m working on getting it right.”

  “Good.”

  As I relaxed, he sent the car easing ahead. Between my jobs, Osamu insists on driving me around. And because good combat butlers are hard to come by, I’d ended up getting a fully armored car with top-of-the-line magical protections installed. I got the stretch version because the Old Man’s part giraffe, muscle bound, and wouldn’t shut the hell up about leg and elbow room.

  “Caine-sama, the bar has been stocked as you requested. And the PPKs you mirrored home are inside as well.”

  I looked at a gap in the wrap-around seating where a built-in bar held a selection of rum, whiskey, and fine white wine. I shed my coat, pulled out my guns and harness, and put them on. Then I drank from a rum bottle. First drink home is always the best. “Good job, just what I needed.” I took several more pulls. By then, we were clearing the airport.

  “Take Pacific so I can see Venice Beach.” Girls in bikinis, one of the many reasons I stay in California. After I’d feasted my eyes, we continued down the Pacific Coast Highway. Our headlights cut the deepening gloom. We swept past numerous creatures of the night mimicking humankind. They did their best to blend in, but I knew what to look for.

  I said, “By the way, have the wolves been behaving?”

  “William-san has been diligent in training the new wolves, but many still lack control.”

  “That’s normal.” They were made during the night of the red moon, and were still young. William was an evil I put up with, an Alpha wolf in my demon territory. He’d sided with my enemies once. I didn’t trust him as far as I could piss. If he weren’t useful, I’d have no reason to let him live.

  Thinking of the red moon, of the alternate dimension where I’d met the Red Lady, I absently rubbed the Dragon-and-Lotus tattoo on my right forearm. This was the strongest magic I had. The tattoo summoned the red moon, opening a door to Her, to a realm I’d avoided all these months since last time, I almost didn’t made it out. The Red Lady haunted my dreams. She’d claimed that, in time, I’d find my place at her side. Outside of linear time, she’d experienced this already. Me? I wasn’t convinced. She was extra hot and all, but I don’t like being strong-armed into anything.

  The red pearl she’d given me hung under my shirt on a gold chain. It flared, warming my skin. I smelled blood-soaked roses and I heard her soft laugh echoing in my head. Her words fluttered in my soul like moths in search of a flame—We are destined, my love.

  I scowled. We’ll see about that.

  Eventually, the limo pulled up to my Malibu beach house—a mansion really—and parked inside the garage next to a black Mustang convertible with electric blue flames on the sides. I got out, toy dragon under an arm, leaving my black duffle for Osamu to fetch. An inner garage door led to the kitchen. I passed through. The living room was deserted. I heard only my own soft tread as I took the short hall to my bedroom, opening the door.

  Leona sprawled on my bed, grinning, her long red tongue lolling past sharp white fangs. Her rich black fur was well groomed. Her tail lashed sluggishly. Her green eyes burned with mystic fire. She was an oversized spirit leopard from the Amazon jungle, just showing up a few years ago and—taking a liking to me, and my booze—had never left.

  “Hey, Leona, off my bed. I’m not into bestiality.”

  She snapped her tail like a whip. “The neighbor’s cat will be disappointed.”

  I flipped her a one-finger salute.

  She said, “Drag your mind from the gutter and tell me how the job went?”

  “Great, even got to kill a fey from the Autumn Court. He was playing bodyguard.”

  She grumbled deep in her throat. “Those guys are nasty.”

  I threw my longcoat on the bed along with the stuffed toy. Leona looked at the dragon, then back at me.

  “What?” I asked.

  “Nothing.”

  I focused my mind downstairs in my office, visualizing the stereo, and rode out a jagged lash of pain that came as my raw magic turning it on, pumped the volume, and magically sent music echoing throughout the house; Hello darkness my old friend... It was my way of letting the Old Man know I was back.

  “Wow, really going old school there,” Leona said. “Next, you‘ll be playing Sinatra’s greatest hits.”

  “Hey, what’s wrong with that? He had some really great songs.”

  “If you say so.”

  Before I could dis her for her techno-world fusion, my phone played Iron Maiden’s Tears of the Dragon, Old Man’s ring tone.

  Fuck a virgin! What the hell does he want? He knows I just got back. I let the call go to voicemail.

  Leona shook her head and sighed melodramatically, “Doesn’t anyone listen to anything new?”

  The doorbell went off.

  I warmed my newest tat to life, bit off a scream of searing agony, and projected part of my awareness down the hall, to the front entrance. The follow-up knock on my front door was enough to split it in half, if not for the new protective runes carved in the wood. As it was, the door rattled on its hinges, groaning like a damned soul.

  I drew one of my PPKs, splitting my awareness between the bedroom, and Osamu opening the front door. He let in Old Man and two others. Old Man didn’t need to knock. He lived here with Leona and me. He’d known my highly developed combat senses would kick in. This was his making sure he had my attention after I’d just ignored his call.

  Machiavellian Bastard.

  I hurried from my room, gun in hand, and found my uninvited guests in the living room with the Old Man. He gave Osamu housekeeping instructions as I arrived. My combat butler nodded and hurried off to prepare spare rooms and add a few place settings for dinner.

  I cut in front of Old Man, blocking the way to my office—I called it my office, but it’s actually a bar, complete with stools, mirrors, booze, plush carpeting, everything but a house band and a pole dancer. I might have screamed just a little, “Old Man, what in hell is all this? I just get back and you’re dragging business home? I’m entitled to some down time. It’s only fair to Angie, Izumi, and a hundred other bitches waiting on my call.”

  Never seeing it coming, I got slapped on the back of the head by his fifth-dimensional shadow hand. He said, “Don’t cuss, you have company. Deal with it. This is Achill, the Fenris over all the wolves in the U.S. This is Kimberly, an envoy sent by our new client. Haziar, the fey warrior behind her, is a bodyguard.”

  Thoughts of Angie faded from my mind. Great, I just told the Fenris I’m fucking one of his people.

  I put my PPK in my holster rig, opened the office door, and hurried in. I moved behind the bar, my favorite spot in the house, and waited for everyone else to drifted in. The Fenris and the bodyguard moved without sound, as expected of warriors. On the other hand, the envoy wore heels no sensible fighter would try to maneuver in. She had crystal-purple eyes that cataloged every weak point in the room. This was someone who’d been attacked before and wanted to know where things could come at her from.

  She sat on a stool opposite me. The recessed lighting in the ceiling over the bar gave her brunette hair and slightly tanned skin a gentle glow. Her lips were red-violet. Her white summer dress turned opalescent, catching some of the colors from the spotlighted liquor bottles behind me. She had very soft features, fully human, so her purple eyes were unusual. Behind her—clad in pitch-black armor, wearing a matching cloak, and a crimson-sheathed sword—Haziar waited patiently for something to kill.

  Old Man didn’t sit down either, watching as I pulled out Crown and Coke, and placed them on the counter. His deep voice boomed at our guests, “Achill, Kimberly, this is my son, Caine Deathwalker, dragon mage, and Red Moon Demon.”

  I studied the Fenris in his dark, expensive suit. Simply cut, it set off a lavender silk shirt that opened at the throat. Wavy black hair flowed back to his collar. The hint of a smile lurked at the corner of his mouth. The whole vibe was casual cool. Built like a li
nebacker, a little under six feet, with more muscle that he would ever need, he looked young for his responsibilities—until you noticed the eyes. They were onyx pools, cold and dead. Here was experience, and weariness beyond reason, as if his soul had been stretched thin across the blade of too many centuries.

  “Caine,” Old Man gestured to Kimberley, “she’s human, but born with the sight, and adopted into the Dream Court of the fey. That’s why she has a fey bodyguard.”

  A seer, that explains amethyst eyes.

  “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Caine,” the Fenris said. “Lau’s told me much about you during our games.”

  “Would you like your drink in a bowl, on the floor?” I responded.

  Eyes wide, Kimberly swung her face toward the Fenris. She might have been seeing imminent violence as a seer, or she might just have expected it, knowing wolves.

  Old Man’s eyes—now blue-green fireballs—were on me. “Caine we talked about this. The wolves don’t owe you tribute for being in our territory. Achill is my friend. He and his people get a free pass.”

  Kimberly’s bodyguard seized her shoulders, a heartbeat away from pulling her away from trouble. The fey warrior knew his job.

  But Achill just laughed, as I knew he would. You don’t get to be dominant over a country full of Alpha pack leaders by jumping on every little insult. You’d be fighting all the time.

  He said, “I take my drinks in a glass like everyone else.”

  “Caine,” Old Man said, “behave?”

  “Then I wouldn’t be me.”

  Achill said, “It’s okay, old friend. Your son has balls. You raised him right”

  Old Man relaxed. “One does not survive long in the true night without guts … and a lot of firepower.”

  “Yeah, I’m all that and a bag of chips.” I said. “What’s so important I can’t get a few days off?”

  Old Man finally took a seat. “For one, the Witch Courts have asked our clan to fix the mess in Sacramento.”

  I shock of surprise jazzed through me. “The Witch Courts agree on something?”

  “Black, White, and Gray,” Old Man said. “Though preternatural, they are also fully human, and care most about the balance of things since their power is rooted in nature.”

  “What you mean is, they want to rule the humans from the shadows, and not be tied in with us should naturals and preternaturals wage war.”

  Old Man shrugged. “War in Sacramento won’t help any of us. The wolves used to dominate the various were-communities there, but their grip’s gone shaky since their Alpha was uh, ripped to pieces. The shifters are in a panic. The city’s day-walkers and fey are agitating for control of the city. If conflict breaks out, the preternatural communities could be exposed to human scrutiny. I don’t know about you, but I’m fond of being thought an imaginary creature.”

  I thought of the Feds. The Preternatural Response Teams had their own way of keeping supernaturals secret—killing them. There’s no reason for me to run to Sacramento and become a target.

  “We should police our own,” Achill spoke as if scenting my thoughts. “If the PRT get too used to taking us out, they might not stop with just the problem element.”

  “The circle must hold for all of us,” Kimberly said. “You can’t let things fall apart.”

  I put a drink in front of her and waited for more.

  Old Man grabbed his drink and threw it back.

  Achill did the same.

  I reached for my glass and found it replaced by an obsidian bottle. The switch had happened without anyone appearing to notice, but me. I opened the bottle and smelled the liquor inside. Crown and Coke, heavy on the Crown, just how I like it. The red pearl that hung around my neck climbed up out of my shirt and swung on its chain. The pearl tapped the bottle—a sign of approval?—and fell back against my shirt, inert once more.

  I understood. A gift of the Red Lady.

  A silent lull fell that no one wanted to break.

  I pulled out a glass and poured from the bottle which stayed completely full. I smiled and touched the red pearl around my neck. Old Man saw what I did, but said nothing. He smiled too, which scared me just a little.

  I said, “Okay, why can’t the PRT take care of this?”

  Kimberly met my gaze. Her eyes seemed to swell, becoming endless pools of amethyst. The depths tugged at me like doors to strange new realities. “The Oracle Stone was stolen from the Dream Courts. My Mistress can feel it being used in Sacramento. She needs it back. This will be next to impossible if we have to avoid federal agents and the mystics that aid them.”

  “Your Mistress is a seer. So are you,” I said. “Why can’t one of you pop in, grab the stone, and pop out again?”

  “My Mistress has made a lot of enemies over the ages, mostly because she won’t help many fey courts that only want to kill for power. Her powers are limited now, having long been tied to the stone. She’s vulnerable. Chasing down the stone personally, openly, would invite enemies to attack her when she’s too weak to fight back.”

  Explains why she sent an envoy and didn’t come herself.

  Achill said, “So she sends a human who has even less power than herself?”

  Kimberly’s eyes flashed with angry heat, resenting the criticism. “The Oracle has concealed the loss of the stone by officially retreating from her court for a time of meditation and renewal. And I am not helpless. She has been teaching me to use my powers. I can see several minutes into the future, giving me more than enough warning to get out of harm’s way.”

  Maybe. A lot can happen in a split-second.

  I didn’t like any of this. The Oracle—Hell only knows how long she’s been alive—is old, and old fey are strong fey. How did she get that thing stolen? It must have taken major magic. She wants me to go in and get it back from someone matching her strength? That’s a death sentence for anyone else than me.

  I said, “Yeah, I don’t think she can afford me.”

  Kimberly reached into her purse and pulled out a princess-cut blue diamond the size of my fist. I couldn’t believe my eyes. Staring, even Old Man and Achill were stricken mute. She set the diamond on the counter, her gaze a fierce demand. “The Oracle says, ‘A stone for a stone.’”

  I grabbed the diamond. The new tattoo on my back burned like hellfire, a violent rampage pulling my senses to superhuman levels so I could tell the diamond had no flaws. The cut was perfection, the coloration perfect, unassisted by dyes, lacking impurities except for trace amounts of boron that gave it its blue color.

  My greedy inner child spoke up, “Okay, I’ll do it.”

  THREE

  “I don’t care, for free.”

  —Caine Deathwalker

  The Old Man plucked the stone from my hand, knowing I’d be deaf to his words while enthralled by the jewel. “Caine, recovering the Dream Stone is just half the job. You can’t go up to Sacramento and just ask around for the stone. You’ll need a cover. Setting up a new Master of the City needs to be an equal priority.”

  I eyed the diamond in his hand. “What am I getting for the second job?”

  “My eternal gratitude,” Old Man said.

  “No, really?” I asked.

  “For one thing, I’ll give this back to you.” He moved the diamond, left and right, watching my eyes track it. “For another, the Witch’s Court is throwing an enchanted item into the pot.”

  I looked him in the eyes. “What kind of item?”

  He tossed the diamond into the air, knowing I’d snatch it at warp speed. I did. As his hand came back down, shadows churned in his palm, becoming a glittering dagger. He used it to stab the bar. Pulling his hand away, the dagger remained upright. I’d have been pissed about the damage to a very expensive bar, but I knew Old Man would magic up a repair. Besides, the parrying dagger held my interest. I put the diamond away in a spell-sealed lock box under the bar, without taking my eyes off the weapon. It was a sword-breaker, a type of left-handed blade with extra hand protection, and
prongs—paralleling the blade—that could catch and break an opponent’s rapier, if used just right. The dagger was twenty-four inches tip to pommel. The five-and-a-half-inch grip was wound with black leather. The end knob was one and a half inches, the blade seventeen.

  “What does it do, besides stabbing people?” I asked.

  “The sword-breaker is also a spell-breaker, provided it’s a low level spell, or curse.”

  “That could come in handy,” I said.

  Kimberley’s purple eyes were almost glowing as she stared through me, into some infinity only she could see. She whispered, “In the end, it will.”

  After a moment of silence, Achill said, “The day-walkers consider Sacramento to be their territory, keeping full vampires out. Without a strong wolf leader to guide the shifter communities, the dhampyr will consolidate control. They might even close the city to the rest of us as well. As it is, I’ve not been able to contact any of the Sacramento wolves.”

  “You could go there,” I suggested, “and take over until a new Alpha is chosen.”

  Achill shook his head. “If I go there, it will kick the whole mess into open warfare.”

  I finished my drink and poured another. “So, problem one is to find the Dream Stone. Problem two is to make everyone play nice with each other. Is that it, Old Man?”

  Old Man took the Crown and Coke bottle on the bar and tried to pour some for himself and Achill. Though the bottle was full, nothing poured out of it. The bottle didn’t seem to like anyone’s hand but mine.

  Achill noticed the difficulty and smiled, then turned his attention to me. “You know what killed my Alpha?”

  I nodded. “Yeah, somehow a wereliger was made. I’m looking into how.” There are no hybrids among the wereclans. What turns you dictates what type of werecritter you’ll become, provided you survive the attack. Most don’t. The virus that makes you a shifter is species specific, immunizing you from becoming any other type. I’d already ruled out that this wereliger was a child of a lion and tiger shifter. Shifters can’t have kids. The regular transformations cause pregnant shifters to miscarry. Always.