Green Flame Assassin (Demon Lord series, book 2)

by Morgan Blayde

  I pulled both PPKs, hearing a foot scrape up ahead, seeing a shifting shadow where no shadow was supposed to be. “Who’s there?” I called.

  There was a sinister laughter, a foul rotting stench, and a swirl of midnight green cloak—and I had my answer. Autumn fey. The one I saw in Dallas by the burning car. He’s not only traced me, but he’s broken in through the Old Man’s protective wards, probably weakening them with rot.

  And he seemed to be holding some of my property.

  “Put down the apocalypse suit and your death will be merciful,” I promised.

  His cold, mocking laugh came again, followed by a few of the flash grenades off my suit. They smacked to the floor and bounced toward us.

  “Fuck me blind!” Achill cursed.

  SEVEN

  Never trust anything that bleeds

  for five days and doesn’t die.

  —Caine Deathwalker

  The flash grenades detonated; low level concussions and blinding bursts. My protective shield flared, filtering the effect as I lunged to the side—eyes squeezed shut, head reflexively turned away. I drew both PPKs. Somewhere behind me, the Fenris was out of my line of fire so cutting loose wasn’t a problem. My guns bucked in my hand, spewing death. I fanned the shots, hearing them tear hell out of my workstation. That grieved me, but things could be replaced easier than my life. I didn’t have a tattoo for that.

  Note to self: See if Red Fang can whip up a bounce-back-from-the-dead spell.

  Yelling to be heard over the gunfire, Achill clamped a hand on my left wrist, “He’s gone, Caine. You can stop now.”

  Running out of rounds, I did stop. “How can you tell?” My eyes were open, blinking, spots of color obscuring fine detail as I peered across the armory. His eyes were even more sensitive. He shouldn’t have been able to see any better than me.

  He released my arm. “Air’s gone clean. He’s dropped down whatever rabbit hole he came in through.”

  “Damn fey magic. I hate it when they do that.” I reloaded my weapon with clips from the armory, then whipped out my phone and speed-dialed the Old Man. “I need you down here, fast.”

  He popped in next to me, making a small gust of displaced air, and laid a hand on my shoulder. “You called?”

  I waved at the armory. “Intruder, Autumn fey.”

  He pulled away from me. “Through my mystic barriers? Don’t be … son of a beast! There’s a tunnel here.”

  “Told you,” I said.

  “Just a suggestion,” Achill said, “but if I were a water mage, I might conjure up a small flood and drown the rat in his own burrow.”

  My eyes were recovering, but the blurry mist lingered, becoming pearlescent white with a hint of blue. Smelling moisture in the air, I knew there really was a rolling mist in the basement. Pale clouds formed and took on a bruised look, bluish purple strobing with little electrical flashes inside. I backed toward the elevator. Achill kept pace. I slammed the call button. The elevator door opened. Stepping in with Achill, I called back to the Old Man, “We’ll leave this to you.”

  “Try not to break California off from the mainland,” Achill yelled.

  I thought of Atlantis, Old Man’s hometown, and shuddered slightly.

  He muttered to himself, but his booming tones easily carried. “Destroy one ancient civilization and you never hear the end of it.”

  The clouds around Old Man dumped torrents of water. A roaring wind funneled the deluge into the tunnel. The closing door cut off our view. Achill and I were lifted to the first floor, making the trip in nervous silence. We emerged behind the bar. William was sitting over by the fireplace, nursing a draft beer.

  “I’ll put that on your tab,” I said.

  He took a gulp, shooting me the finger.

  Freeloading ass.

  Achill went around the bar and crossed the room to join him, taking one of the red leather wingback chairs. I fixed a fruit punch and rum—no umbrella—and took my first sip as the door opened and Kimberley swept in wearing a lime green sundress and matching sneakers. Still in reaper black, Haziar faithfully dogged her steps, his grim, dark eyes stabbing in all directions, hunting for danger. He kept one hand on his sheathed sword.

  Kimberley stopped between two barstools, peering at me across the bar. Her purple eyes were clouded with concern. “Mister Deathwalker, when do you plan on starting this job?”

  “If the werekitties turn up soon, I’ll probably hit the road in the morning.”

  “You’re taking werecats to Sacramento?” she asked.

  I nodded, setting my glass down. “They’ll get me into the cat community to see the wereliger. He’s a big piece of the puzzle that has to come together up there.”

  “You should be on the phone, calling around for them, not guzzling liquor,” Haziar said.

  I felt an immediate urge to rip his head off and play soccer with it. “The only thing I ever do efficiently is kill.” Before I could demonstrate, a window at the far end of the room exploded inward. Something toddler sized, bristling with segmented legs, hurtled into the room. Shell-backed, jade green, it bounded off the floor like a ginormous superball, and came spinning at the bar.

  Kimberley looked startled. This thing had slipped in under her psychic radar; so much for her second sight. She put a hand over her mouth, stifling a scream.

  Haziar’s sword scraped free of its scabbard. He leaped to meet the pint-sized monster. It grounded itself, clawed at the floor for traction, and wobbled inside his guard, avoiding the blade. The demon creature popped up and mashed itself against his torso.

  “What the fuck is that?” I lunged across the bar, slid off to the other side, and put the envoy behind me.

  By this time, William and Achill had slammed out of their chairs, leaping toward the action. I had my PPKs out, waiting for an opening. A cloying brimstone stench told me this beast was fresh from some far away hell-dimension. Haziar whirled, one hand prying at his attacker, his other hand using his sword to hack. A segmented length dropped from inside the shell, arcing back up to hang behind the demon like a scorpion tail. Instead of a stinging barb, the tail ended with a curve-bladed dagger made of chitin.

  William snagged the tail with his claws, and kept it from stabbing Haziar’s face. Achill seized two of the creature’s legs, trying to disengage them. Already, the fey guard’s shirt was in tatters with bloody scrapes across his upper torso.

  “It’s a taxrasque,” Achill said.

  I vaguely remembered Red Fang once talking about these things. “Aren’t they supposed to be bigger than that?”

  “It’s young, lost, and hungry.” Kimberley sounded breathless and scared, but was trying to help out with what little she knew. Her eyes were wide, peering into some alien dimension.

  “I see a world of eternal night, where black waves wash tourmaline shores.”

  It gave up on Haziar, jumping on William’s face. He managed a muffled “Fuck!” His supernatural strength allowed him to pry partially free. The demon’s tail whipped up, hunting an opening at William’s face.

  Waving Achill back with one gun, I used the other PPK, firing at the base of the tail where it emerged from the shell. I figured any shots getting through or past the tail would hit the shell and be deflected safely away from William, not that I cared if he caught a slug or two.

  The shock of bullets loosened the taxrasque enough for William to toss it aside. The baby demon hit on its back, flipped over, and skidded to a stop. A bulbous head poked out of its shell opposite the tail which was dripping a straw-colored poison. Its leaf green eyes blazed. It opened a beaked mouth with serrated edges, hissing like a Texas cockroach, waving its stubby green tongue.

  The taxrasque had two wolves and a very pissed off fey circling it warily. I don’t think it knew who to go for first. The way it had changed partners, going for William, giving up Haziar, made me think it was undirected, no more than a diversion. I think the plan had been for it to keep us all busy up here while the Autumn Court fey broke
into my nerve-center in the basement. His plan would have worked if he’d sent the taxrasque in just a little sooner.

  “Hey, William,” I called, “why don’t you hump it to death?”

  “More your type than mine.” His face had furred over, growing wolfen. His bared teeth were white and fanged. His shirt tore at the seams as he hunched, his posture going more bestial. He snarled, eyes flashing yellow.

  About then, I noticed Osamu had joined the party, coming up on my right. He was unarmed, the calm at the center of a storm. He loosened his tie and shot me a glance. “When one has a combat butler, one is supposed to summon him for situations such as this.”

  I shrugged off his words, but he had a point. The man had a job description to live up to.

  The taxrasque scurried at Haziar, but changed course at the last moment as the bodyguard’s sword flashed down, just missing. The taxrasque sprang up at Achill.

  The Fenris kicked it toward William like a giant football.

  William ducked under, but the tail flailed under its body this time, furrowing the Alpha’s back. William shivered and howled. He tried to get up, but collapsed to his knees.

  Osamu assumed a combat stance with knees bent, body poised to move explosively in a relaxed burst of power. He stretched out his hand, as the little monster oriented on him, hissing once more. The corner of Osamu’s jaw knotted. He closed his hand, but not on emptiness. Thanks to the brand seared into his right palm, the demon sword bonded to him materialized, answering his silent call. Garnets winked like dull red stars in the circular webbing of the hand guard. A yellow tiger’s eye glowered from the pommel. It was long for a katana, glossy black with graphite ripples along its edge.

  The dark energy of demon curses had been hammered in at its forging. In Osamu’s hand, the sword thrummed softly in joyous anticipation of the kill.

  The taxrasque bounced at Osamu.

  The PPK in my right hand bucked as I shot out its eyes, splattering viscous gunk. It shrilled in fury, its wounded head ducking back inside the shell.

  Osamu closed with the beast, a blur of motion, the demon sword a black, screaming wind. Osamu ended his lunge, spinning back toward the demon. It lay in several large chunks on the floor, each one quivering like Jell-O. We all closed in to watch as the beast melted into green goo, raising blobby filaments that swayed like something from the bottom of the sea. The strands snaked out and meshed with those from other chunks as the monster began to literally pull itself together.

  The room lights flickered, went out, and returned as the maintenance spells set in the building engaged, dealing with the problem, whatever it was.

  By this time, Old Man had returned from the basement. He broke into the circle of spectators, peering down at the taxrasque in mild curiosity. He shifted his eyes to me. “Caine, this is the only time the monster can be truly destroyed. Before it finishes solidifying, you need to burn it out of existence.”

  “My dragon flame will seriously do damage to more than just the taxrasque.”

  Old Man sighed. “Can’t be helped.”

  “All right.” My Dragon Flame tattoo ignited as if taxrasque venom had seeped under my skin and melted out a huge pocket of flesh. I swallowed a scream, forcing my breath to go deep and slow. Sensation is a ghost in the mind. Embracing the ghost, becoming one with it, kept me functional when anyone else would have curled up in shock, waiting to die.

  The pain faded as dragon magic boosted my strength and stamina to superhuman levels, a simmering, seething tide of heat that made my whole body feel as if it were expanding under the influx of power. My clothes burned to ashes as red-orange fire enveloped my arms, bursting from my chest to mask my face. My palms pointed down at the pieces of green gummy monster.

  My dragon fire washed over the taxrasque, rippling out for five feet from its pieces. Comically, the wolves leaped back cursing, flames licking at their toes. Osamu stood relaxed, his thrumming sword pointed into the flames, curling them back from him.

  It’s good to have a demon sword.

  A circular patch of flooring burned away, showing bare concrete. A heavy wet mist slid off the Old Man’s skin. The cloud hugged the floor, circling my dragon flame to keep the rest of the room from catching fire.

  Despite the dragon flame, the taxrasque continued to pull its chunks together. Becoming one mass, it bubbled, a greenish smoke curling off its still sludgy shell. The damn thing was resistant to dragon flame, healing damage almost as fast as it was made.

  Some things just don’t know when to die.

  I reached deep inside, pulling out even more flame, trying to weave it tighter as it spilled from my hands. Small jags of red-gold lighting dancing between my fingers. The fire on my chest died down and shifted from red to gold, as though my heart had become a golden star, the surrounding flesh a clear window. The fire pouring over the taxrasque turned gold as well, kicking back more raw heat than ever.

  The taxrasque screamed as its legs and tail blackened and ashed away. It lost shape, slumping into twisting mire that shuddered, steaming away to nothing. Then it was gone.

  Feeling quite proud of myself, I released my flame, returning my Dragon Flame tat to dormancy—and heard a series of pops and crunches as the floor cracked. The large pieces grinded, sagging a few inches.

  “Ah, crap!”

  The floor caved in and I fell into water. My basement had become a swimming pool. A dark swimming pool with the basements electrical system shorted out. The maintenance spells could repair the wiring but the damage would repeat until the water was removed. Rather than waste power, the maintenance spells for the basement just shut down. Treading water, toes scrapping bottom, I looked up at the hole in the ceiling. Old Man was there, staring back at me.

  He said, “Good job, son.”

  His face was hiding the surprise he should have felt at the sudden leveling-up of my dragon fire. That told me he probably knew why it had happened, and wasn’t about to tell me.

  “Keep your secrets, Old Man. I’ll find them out sooner or later.”

  He smiled. “Later works for me.”

  I slapped the surface of the water. “Don’t you think this was a little excessive?”

  He shifted his gaze to the ragged edge of the hole I’d made. “Got the job done.”

  Having magically sent the demon sword back to my hidden treasure room, Osamu joined the Old Man in peering down at me. My combat butler smiled. “I’ll go and gather some towels.”

  EIGHT

  A lot of drunken women guarantees

  an orgy or a cat fight, sometimes both.

  —Caine Deathwalker

  The Old Man whipped up a water spout that spun me like a washing machine, lifting me out of the basement. The water flung me away from the hole. I crashed through a coffee table, onto an area rug and lay looking up at the ceiling. I knew I’d soon have fresh bruises. “Thanks, Old Man.”

  “Don’t mention it.”

  “By the way, I expect my basement to be put back the way it was.”

  The Old Man adopted a puzzled tone, “You say that like I’m somehow to blame.”

  Osamu strolled over and dropped some bar towels on my face.

  I pulled them off, coughing. I wasn’t the only one. The air was foul with the stench of burnt taxrasque. I sat up in my soggy clothes, a puddle gathering under me, and watched the wolves pad to the windows, throwing them wide open. Haziar was at one end of the bar, on his knees, head lax, hanging. Kimberley was with him, also kneeling, clutching him in what might have passed as a passionate embrace, if she hadn’t been sobbing her heart out.

  “What’s wrong with the fey,” I asked. “The taxrasque didn’t bite or sting him, right?”

  Old Man turned a grave face my way. Sadness darkened his eyes, aging his blue features. “The taxrasque has poison in its claw tips too. It’s a miracle Haziar hung on this long.”

  Eyes full of tears, Kimberley looked around at all of us. “Do something. You can’t let him die.”

&
nbsp; I eased myself off the floor, standing. “We’re not letting him die. We just don’t have a way of keeping him alive.”

  She glared at me, hating what I’d said. “Surely, you have a healing spell, some kind of demon magic?”

  Old Man loomed over her and Haziar, all his power useless. ”Taxrasque venom has its own magical elements. Healing spells don’t work on this. I’m terribly sorry.”

  Haziar lifted his face, a brave smile tugging at his lips as he turned Kimberley’s face to his. “It’s all right. I’d die for you a thousand times if such joy were possible.”

  William was back, staring down at the fey warrior. “You have my word; I will protect the woman until all this is over.”

  I didn’t see what all the fuss was about. Everyone dies, eventually. I headed for the door to the living room. “I’m going to change.”

  I walked through a silent house and went into my bedroom. Stripping off my clothes, I dropped them in my closet hamper, pulling out a new outfit to change into. Oddly, I picked up the scent of sex with Angie from my bedding. It was as if she were pressed right up against me. Weird.

  In the bathroom, I studied myself in the mirror. My chest looked normal. No golden glow lingered. I touched the area over my heart. My skin felt harder, thicker. Not just my chest. Everywhere I touched, my skin had grown dense. Luckily, my fingertips retained their usual sensitivity.

  I heard the alarm clock ticking in the next room and frowned. Another change; my hearing was sharper, matching my new heightened sense of smell. I closed my eyes and drew a deep breath. I identified cleaning chemicals in the cabinet under the sink. Opening my eyes, I stared at my face in the mirror, trying to work out why these sudden changes had kicked in.

  “What the fuck.”

  My right eye had a slit pupil. The iris was its normal light brown but the pupil was a deep red slit. As I watched, my eye went back to normal, but not the rest of my senses. I’d need to adjust to that so they wouldn’t distract me in the next battle down the line.