Green Flame Assassin (Demon Lord series, book 2)

by Morgan Blayde

  Achill said, “However he got here, if he’s not going to fill the power vacuum he made, we need to make sure he doesn’t kill the next Alpha I send in.”

  “If the wolves are going to give me a lot of trouble,” I said, “It’ll cost extra.”

  Old Man finished trying to coax liquor out of my bottle. He set it down on the bar.

  I picked it up and refilled my glass without difficulty. The obsidian bottle remained full. Greatest bottle ever!

  Old Man walked Achill away from the bar, over to the living room furniture that formed an island by the fireplace. Kimberly and her fey guard followed, leaving me behind. I started around the bar as the others held a whispered consultation. Old Man had raised me like a demon; he knew I’d drive a stiff bargain for all I could get. Greed is our way of life whether it’s for money, women, alcohol, or power—we always want more. Achill’s first offer would be lowball. I was sure of it. Probably just bling. He’d been alive for a long time, so I knew he had a lot more to bargain with. He’d probably seen entire civilizations rise and fall. His eyes revealed a dark and ancient soul.

  I came around the bar and approached the others. “Come on, Old Man, what else did the courts cough up?” He might have been my adopted father, but he was still a demon, holding out was second nature with him.

  “They know you’re a dragon mage, so they’re willing to give you scale gauntlets as well, I, ah, would have mentioned that … eventually.”

  “What else do you have?” I asked.

  Achill spoke up, “And I’m offering stock in my construction company, not more than five percent.”

  “Ten percent,” I said.

  “Seven,” he countered.

  “Okay, give me three days. I need to rest, plan, and make arrangements for the trouble I’m heading into.”

  “No,” Kimberley said. “Time is critical. The other fey courts are going to grow suspicious if my Mistress is in seclusion too long. You need to start right away. Surely the diamond is incentive enough.”

  “One day at least. If I go unprepared,” I said, “I risk failure. It’s better to go when I have all my rubber ducks in a row.”

  I looked at Haziar behind her. With his support, I wouldn’t have to wear myself out arguing. Kimberly was already used to going along with what he needed her to do. I could take advantage of that. His eyes were cold, hard as steel—pretty much the same color too. He might not have ever heard the Old English nursery rhyme I was about to quote, but its logic would be clear to him; he had the feel of a seasoned warrior.

  “For want of a nail a shoe was lost.

  For want of a shoe a horse was lost.

  For want of a horse a rider was lost. Forwant of a rider the battle was lost...”

  Our eyes remained locked a few seconds longer, then, grimly, he nodded and stared down at Kimberly, who’d settled in a brass-studded, red leather wingback armchair by the fireplace. There was no fire burning, no orange light to paint her pale skin. The chair around her was big, like some bloody maw about to swallow her whole. Like the marble mantle above the chimney, her face was hard, set, and impervious to fate. Still, she managed a quality of soft delicacy that inclined men to protect her. I was not untouched by her vulnerability. It made me want to drag her off—for a fast and furious fuck.

  Haziar leaned against the side of her chair, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. I think this was his way of telling me the lady was spoken for. He said, “He’s right. Let him take the time he needs. Few situations as bad as ours are salvaged by half-measures.”

  Sitting on the couch, Old Man lifted his size-thirteen feet to the coffee table. His hand made a languid gesture toward our visitors. “During your mission, they will be staying here.”

  I smiled at Kimberley. “Sure, we’re all friends,” my voice dropped to a mutter, “and consenting adults.”

  Kimberley seemed oblivious to my interest, but her bodyguard scowled, fingering the silver rose pommel of his fey sword.

  Ignoring the new tension in the room, Old Man went on, “Achill will add to Kimberly’s protection. She hasn’t seen anyone, but has a feeling she may have been followed into our world. If so, we want that attention here in L.A., not following you to Sacramento.”

  I nodded. “Fine, but I don’t want to hear crap about my personal habits.”

  I left before anyone could say more. I had a visit to make before it got too late and Red-Fang closed up shop. I returned to my room and grabbed the stuffed dragon. Leona was gone from my bed. With a strange werewolf in the house, she’d gone invisible and intangible. Except for Angie, Leona had a jungle cat’s instinctive dislike for werewolves. If Achill didn’t watch out, he might wake up with her sitting on his chest, eyeing him as dinner—though as a spirit beast she only drank blood. Still, I was sure he had plenty of that. It would be hella funny if the Old Man forgot to warn her of messing with the Fenris. Expensive too, repairing the damage they’d cause.

  I went around my bed, past the bedroom windows, to the full-length standing mirror on the wall. Hidden in curlicues and scrolls were random Atlantean runes. My fingertips sought out various symbols in a specific order. To gain a faster, emergency access, I could have warmed up a tat, paying for magic in pain, but urgency wasn’t required. As I traced the last rune, entering my personal code, the glass surface ghosted away. I could have stepped through the frame, into my secret vault adjoining the wine cellar in the basement, but I dialed another location, holding it firmly in mind as I stepped through.

  Talon City, also known as Underground, appeared around me. There was no sensation other than what you’d get going from one room to another. That was because the mirror used its own stored energy to power the transition spell. The city lay somewhere inside a mountain on Europa, the sixth closest moon of Jupiter. The streets were smooth granite. A great shadowed space hung overhead, and beyond that oppressive darkness was a ceiling clawed out of frozen rock. The street lamps created islands of light with dim murk swimming between. Deeper darkness lay in the poorer parts of town. The upper-class establishments furnished stronger lighting to advertise their wares, and discourage thievery.

  The shop I wanted was prosperous, but not pretentious. Assorted creatures of the night passed Red Fang’s place, few of them casting more than a casual glance at the windows of the tattoo parlor. I pushed on inside. A little girl stood on a stool behind the counter so she could reach a wall calendar. Her back was to me as she scribbled something there, unaware I’d entered. The shop didn’t need a bell over the door. It was dragon-owned. Not even the most stupid criminal would risk running afoul of dragon magic. Besides, dragons have a reputation for eating thieves.

  I’d brought the girl here to be cared for after her mother had been killed. The killer had been trying to get to me, but it’s not like I felt any guilt. I’d only shown kindness to the girl because she had dragon blood. Her being lost, alone, with nowhere else to go had nothing to do with it. I certainly hadn’t brought the stupid, green, dragon toy because I liked her. And I wasn’t checking up on her.

  I’m demon-raised after all. There’s little true humanity left in me.

  I threw the stuffed dragon onto the counter and continued to the backroom where I saw Red-Fang cleaning his tattoo guns. They were disassembled, the pieces on a big metal tray. He was wiping them down with a cotton cloth. Rubbing alcohol scented the air. Behind him sat a metal box the size of a microwave. Its door yawned open, waiting for the tray. The sterilizer would finish the cleaning with hot steam. A book was propped open on a stand.

  In human form, Red Fang read while working. Without looking up, he said, “Hi, Caine.” The old dragon didn’t have to look to see it was me, he could smell the magic he’d put in my skin. “What brings you here so early? Your tattoo design isn’t ready yet. I’m still ironing out the last rune.”

  “You can at least tell me what this one will do.”

  “Nope, not yet.” Red-Fang looked past me, yelling toward the front of the shop, “Julian
a, bring me the calendar.”

  So that’s her name.

  She walked past me with the calendar in one hand and the stuffed dragon clutched to her side.

  Red-Fang looked at the toy, and smirked at me.

  “What?” I said. “I had nothing to do with that. I’m a demon lord, remember?”

  Juliana gave him the calendar He marked a date a few weeks away, and copied the date onto one of his business cards. I went up and took it for later reference. He gave the girl back the calendar. She turned past me, smiling, eyes flicking to my face as she went away.

  I looked back to Red Fang, scowling. “Shouldn’t she be with your wife at home? Kids are supposed to play. Aren’t there child labor laws around here?”

  “My wife lets her do whatever she wants, and Juliana likes helping me in the shop.”

  “Really?”

  “Aggie always wanted a daughter, so she spoils her rotten. I’m just glad the child actually helps. You should see my appointment book. It’s never been so organized.”

  I was glad Juliana was doing well, and that my next tat was almost ready. “All right, Red, I’ll see you later.”

  “Later, Caine.”

  My business done, I entered the front room. Hugging her new toy, Juliana ran from behind the counter, stopping in front of me. She got on tiptoes and pulled my coat for me to bend down. I did. She gave me a kiss on the cheek. “Come back soon.”

  “Yeah, yeah.”

  Leaving, I looked back and saw Red-Fang between rooms. He’d seen it all. My bad reputation was in danger. I snarled, “Red, say one word about this and I’ll kill you dead.”

  His face settled into a display of innocence. “Say a word about what?”

  Outside, a couple of water fey bowed out of my way with smiles. The thought that Water Court fey still weren’t as afraid of me as I’d like, further pissed me off, but hell, they helped out a lot around L.A. so I let it go.

  Damn, I hope I’m not mellowing with age. I should probably kill something soon. Lots of something.

  I crossed the street and stood in the spot I’d arrived at. I held up a hand, focusing my magic, and ran though a spell Old Man had taught me. Accessing the mirror back home this way took some of my life force, but no penalty in pain from using my dragon-blood tattoos. It would be nice to move around this way all the time, but programing coordinates into the mirror was too time-intensive.

  The portal opened, turning the air into a wavering mirror. I stepped into my own image and returned to my bedroom. The air was different, sweeter. Why do I smell vanilla?

  Catching a small flickering light from the corner of my eye, I looked at one of my nightstands. There was a white votive candle burning there. The bedding was changed. The place had been straightened up by someone.

  Who has the balls to do this to my room?

  I came around the foot of the bed, heading for the door. The closet door flew open and I caught a flash of bright red hair. A warm female body—quite naked—crashed into me. I grabbed her ass purely by reflex. Honest.

  Angie shrieked, “Surprise! Did you miss me?” She pulled back and tugged on the fastenings for my pants. “It’s been so long…”

  “I’d go away more often for this kind of reception.”

  Tattoos on the sides of my legs burned like a brush with a blowtorch, increasing my strength and stamina to god-like levels. I let my pants fall to the floor and stepped out of them, quickly shedding the rest of my clothes. I scooped Angie up and tossed her onto the bed. She squealed as she bounced.

  I fell on her like a starving beast, but heard no complaints.

  FOUR

  People talk about souls having a

  Final Destination—mine’s a bar.

  —Caine Deathwalker

  I opened my eyes and saw our sprawled reflections on the ceiling mirror. Angie’s eyes were closed. A slight smile indicated happy dreams—probably of me. I looked sated and a little sleepy. A bit of blood marked where my earlobe had been nipped. Fortunately it was still attached. I sat up slowly, trying not to wake Angie, and felt the sting of nail marks on my back.

  Standing, I looked down at her freckled face, framed by blood-red waves of hair. The color was natural. When transformed, she made a red wolf as well.

  Some of her wolf’s feral personality had come out in bed, enhancing her sex drive and endurance. It’s a good thing I don’t bruise easy. It was also good I had a dragon-blood tattoo to protect me from picking up lycanthrope from Angie. I wouldn’t have made a large wolf, just a very dangerous one.

  The alarm clock on the nightstand said eight o’clock. It was not my habit to be up so early, but I had business in town with people who kept regular hours. Can’t be helped. I showered, shaved, and got dressed in a black Italian suit, shirt with no tie, and put my PPKs in their shoulder holsters. I didn’t need to turn on any lights. The light spilling in the windows lit me up as I glanced in the full length mirror.

  As usual, I make death look good. What’s next? Oh, yes, time for my pre-breakfast drink.

  I strolled down the hall, and past the kitchen, smelling sizzling bacon and skillet potatoes. Osamu was manning the stove with highly focused intensity—nothing was going to burn, not on his watch. It looked like I still had a few minutes, so I went through the living room to the office door. In my office-bar, Achill occupied a couch, feet crossed, glass in one hand, and a book in the other. Near him, on the coffee table, a vodka bottle sat half empty, a work in progress.

  I went behind the bar and got my own bottle, grabbed some Bloody Mary mix, and made something for my own enjoyment.

  Achill called out, breaking the pleasant silence, “You have a very good collection of grimoires, Caine.”

  “Have you been up all night reading?”

  “Hard to get any sleep with the leakage.”

  Leakage? Oh, yeah. When a werewolf is getting some, the sensory data can sometimes pass magically to other members of the pack. Achill probably felt a little mystic heat from my dragon magic as well.

  I smiled as I lied, “Sorry about that.”

  The door to the living room opened. Angie tromped in wearing skinny-legged jeans and a green shirt, tight in the chest, cropped to show a pierced bellybutton where an emerald tear winked as she moved.

  Angie stopped the second she saw Achill, and dropped her gaze in a show of wolfen submission.

  Achill lifted his glass in greeting as he studied her.

  She trembled under the force of his stare. He had the power to kill her for no reason at all, and her own Alpha couldn’t save her. William might be her whole world as leader of the L.A. pack, but Achill was the star reining in the planets.

  Achill put his cup down. “Relax, Angie, I’m here doing business with Caine. You and William are good.”

  I felt pack magic spin off him, a light skittering over the skin where my tattoos lay dormant. As he connected to Angie, she relaxed and continued to the bar. She took the seat closest to Achill, also staying close to me. He didn’t look like he cared if she shared orbits with us both. His gaze shifted to the door before it swung in again.

  Kimberly swept in, wearing a billowy white summer dress with green leaves and dun colored vines printed on. Her feet were sheathed in white leather sandals. Her toenails, painted candy red, matched her fingernails. The clutch purse in her hand was covered in silver scales. Her amethyst eyes were bottomless crystal pools, peering through us all, into more than a few realities.

  How many of my secrets are exposed to her casual stare?

  She focused on Angie who she’d not yet met. “Hi, I’m Kimberly.” She stuck out her hand in greeting.

  “I’m Angie.” As she shook hands, her eyes flicked at me. “Are you here to see…?”

  Great, someone’s getting territorial.

  Kimberley’s gaze returned to me as well. “Yes, my Mistress has engaged the Lauphram

  Clan. I’m going to be staying here a while.”

  “Where’s Haziar?” I asked. A body
guard ought to stay close to the body he’s guarding.

  “He’s checking out the property, muttered about a disturbance in the Force or something.” Kimberley locked arms with Angie and drew her down toward the windows at the far end of the room. “So, what’s it like to be a werewolf?”

  Achill rolled his eyes, answering for nobody in particular, “You have to be a wolf to know the heart of a wolf.” He went back to his book.

  I finished my drink, set the empty glass down, and headed around the bar. I left my office and strolled through the living room, the smell of breakfast sharpening my appetite. As if we’d rehearsed things, I reached the kitchen table, sitting down just as Osamu arrived with a full plate and a steaming mug of Brazilian dark roast for me. In addition to the bacon and potatoes I’d smelled earlier, eggs and toast had joined the party.

  I dug in, studying the pattern of sunlight slicing through the window blinds, striping table and floor. On the far side of the table from me, a swirl of black mist formed from nothing, solidifying. A moment later, I was matching stares with Leona. The black leopard looked all snarly, like she wanted to bite off the head of a chicken. I knew she didn’t want what was on my plate though. As a proud spirit beast, she refrained from taking human form, or usually eating human food. For nourishment, she only drank blood—though she loved the smell of coffee.

  Osamu hurried to put a cup on the table near her so she could indulge her sensitive nose.

  “That’s better,” she said, “Clears out the stench of fey.”

  I remembered Haziar: massive, brooding, surly, and possessive of Kimberley, but he hadn’t reeked. Then I remembered the stench of the fey I’d killed in Dallas. My hands stilled, suspending coffee and a forkful of eggs over my plate. My brain leaped into gear. Autumn Court fey! Had they tracked me across the country already? I had the feeling time was running out faster than I’d thought. I needed to hurry things along. I needed to get Vivian aboard for the mission. I’d once accidentally saved her from a homicidal warlock. She owed me.