Green Flame Assassin (Demon Lord series, book 2)

by Morgan Blayde

  He had his son show us out, leading us to an elevator this time instead of the stairs. On the main floor, he left us with a word of caution. “Enjoy our hospitality, but no sneaky white-eyes magic. We’ll be watching.”

  I wanted to take offense at white-eyes, but lacked knowledge of my own ethnicity. If it turned out I had Indian blood, I ought to agree.

  Josh walked away before the warning was finished. I hurried to catch up. “Do you have to take such big steps?” I asked.

  “I want to find Kat. She can sometimes get carried away.”

  “When she wins or loses?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  It didn’t take long; she was playing high-stakes poker with a huge stack of chips on the green felt table in front of her. Slot machines everywhere filled the air with electric-voiced chaos. I stopped short of the poker table. A bar near the central hub captured my attention. “Josh, have her play a few more hands. I need a drink, or three.”

  He waved me off, taking up a position behind Kat’s chair.

  I sauntered away, threading the crowd, eyeing the ladies that passed. I’d have done quite a few of them, but I had a sense that things were moving toward a showdown with the lady and her bear. She was driven by vengeance. It would demand to be fed soon. She’d surface and I’d take her out. True, I wasn’t quite sure how, but I’d think of something. That’s why I needed to drink. Some of my best ideas come to me from the bottom of a shot glass, or the g-string of a stripper.

  I entered the bar, taking a seat at one of its corners. Dreamcatchers were all over the place, one of the few Indian touches to an otherwise modern décor. Black leatherette booths lined the walls. The central bar and stools were high off the ground. The area behind the bar was all chrome and glass shelving where a multitude of bottles. A big screen TV hung from poles that ran down through the false ceiling they used to create the feel of an intimate space.

  The bartender was a chick in black slacks, white dress shirt, vest, and apron. Her name tag said: Tammi. Her hair was neon red, a color only natural to demons in certain hell-dimensions I knew of. Her roots and nails were black, as well as the raccoon-eye mascara she’d over-applied. I took a sniff, filtering out the smells of the bar. Using my new heightened senses was getting easier all the time. Tammi smelled human. She also smelled vaguely of pot and recent sex. Party girl.

  She smiled brightly. “What can I get for you?”

  I was in mood for something earthy, sweet, and electric blue. “I’ll take an Envy.”

  “That’s not a real drink.” She gave me a look like I was a tool, just making her job harder.

  I shook my head sadly, Amateur. “You may want to take notes,” I said. “Mix tequila, blue curacao, and pineapple juice, shake and serve in a cocktail glass with a crazy straw. Hold the umbrella.”

  A man in a longcoat slid onto the stool next to me. “Sounds interesting,” he said. “I’ll have one too.”

  She got to work on the drinks as I eased a PPK from shoulder holster, pointing it at the fey next to me under concealment of my coat. I knew his smell: rot and decay, ancient detritus and winter-killed birds. Autumn Court fey. This was the guy I’d tangled with in Dallas, whose brother I’d killed.

  “Kind of far from your stomping grounds, aren’t you,” he asked.

  I thumbed the safety off. “You’re one to talk.”

  “Got me there. Are you going to shoot, or are we going to talk?”

  “I’m surprised you’re not trying to kill me.”

  “I want to,” he said, “I really do, but I promised her I’d lay off. In exchange, I get that dhampyr bitch of yours. When she’s begging me for death, screaming—and not in a fun way—I’ll let her know all of it is your fault. Who knows, if she gets broken in and learns to please me, I may keep her alive for breeding stock. Of course, she won’t be much to look at by then.”

  “This ‘her’ you mentioned, would that be the lady who’s fond of green fire?”

  He nodded. “My brother’s widow. Her hate puts my own to shame.”

  I decided to push for a little more Intel. “So, she’s fey too?”

  “From another clan. We took the cursed one in when she was cast out by her people.”

  “And the bear that travels with her, what’s that about?”

  “No,” he said. “That’s all you get, just enough to whet your appetite.”

  Our drinks were served on bar napkins. He tossed out a twenty and smiled at the bartender. “Keep the change, sweet lady.”

  I sent a flicker of power to my Dragon Sight tattoo, taking a stab of pain between the ribs. For a moment, I saw through the elf’s glamour. The twenty on the bar was a large, brown leaf, crinkled and mildewed, with wormholes in it. I smiled. “You didn’t? You idiot!”

  He turned his lean, gaunt-checked face toward me, raising an eyebrow.

  I put my gun away as the bartender picked up the bill. She wore a bracelet of woven horsehair. A silver eagle feather dangled from it. As she looked at the fake bill, it crumbled to dust. She reached under the bar. I knew I had very little time before security arrived.

  I pulled out some real money. “This is for my drink. I’m not with this guy.”

  Two male bartenders had come over to stand by Tammi. One of them took my ten, checked it out, and offered change.

  “Keep it,” I said.

  The fey next to me looked like he was sweating now. “Well, I’ve got to be going now.” He tried to push away from the bar, but it was as if his butt had been super-glued to the barstool. He reached into a pocket and drew out several small silver coins. Not strictly legal tender, but Tammi swept them up. “You’re not getting out of things that easy.”

  The bar under his hands cracked, flaking with age. With his anger, his smell took on a rotting corpse quality. The fey glared all around, then narrowed his eyes. “Do you know what I am?”

  Sliding off my stool, getting clear, I huffed a little laugh. “Dead meat?”

  He snarled at me.

  I threw back my drink, savoring the sweet coldness sliding down my throat, and set the empty glass back on an untainted section of bar. Strolling out the door, I was almost stampeded by a phalanx of grim-faced security men heading into the bar.

  Something told me Vivian wasn’t going to have to worry about this guy any time soon.

  TWENTY

  “Never bring wolves to a cat-fight,

  or you’ll have angry pussy on your hands.”

  —Caine Deathwalker

  Osamu’s leather-gloved hands were rock-steady on the steering wheel as we tore through mid-town Sacramento. He flicked a glance at the side view mirror. “Caine-sama, who do you think is following us?”

  I shrugged. “Long list to choose from. It could be any of the local factions: Our Lady of Green Fire, a wolf, or one of the dhampyr. With my luck, it’s an old girlfriend with a meat cleaver.”

  I’d have to handle this without the liger. Kat and Josh had been left behind. They were making a date out of our casino trip, and had wanted to linger. That was cool with me. I wasn’t sure how they’d get home without the VW or limo, but they’d figure it out.

  The car phone chimed. Osamu picked it up and listened, nodded, and put the phone back on the console. “The girls are in place, and not happy with being called away from their clubbing.”

  “Then let’s bring them a chew toy.”

  We roared along a fairly empty street. There were houses on both sides of the street, and a lot of vehicles along the curb. This struck me as a little risky with the thick canopy of branches making a tunnel overhead. I easily imagined one of those limbs coming down and caving in a car roof. Of course, the canopy overhead was why the girls were here. I knew they were above the road, doing the werekitties-in-the-tree thing. My job was to bring them something to pounce upon. Ambush 101. A thirty-foot drop wasn’t a problem for the transformed party girls. I just hoped they remembered we needed some questions answered before they were done playing with their prey.

>   “Slow up a little,” I said, “like we’re looking for an address.”

  Osamu tapped the brake. The limo rolled on a few blocks, stopping at a red light. A vehicle pulled up on our bumper. The blue halogen glow of headlights through our tinted, back windshield kept me from making out most details of the following car. I could have activated my Dragon Sight tattoo and mystically enhanced my senses, but there was no need to waste magic, and I’m not into pain for its own sake. It was easy enough to see when the trap was sprung; the other car’s headlights bobbed and we heard loud thuds.

  I opened my limo door and stepped out onto the street. The scene was magical with overarching trees holding up black sky. Leafy branches exploded with vivid greens where streetlights brushed off the gray gloom of night. Some of the houses were still lit up, casting runners of light across various lawns. The windows of the red Camry were shattered. Jewel-like shards of tempered glass were strewn on the asphalt. The roof was caved in. There were foot-sized indentions in the hood. The werekitties tails poked out from under short, frilly black skirts. They wore matching tights and black sports bras, displaying bare abs as they ringed the damaged vehicle, looking for movement.

  Cleo sniffed delicately, her face naked without her usual glasses. A look of alarm flashed across her features. She took an involuntary step backwards, and stopped herself. “Wolves!”

  Dani and Terri went from casual slouches to tense, combat crouches. Their curved fingers became fuzzy claws. Their ears migrated to the top of their heads, going pointed and also fuzzy, laying back on their heads. Their tails lashed with nervous energy. After a second, Cleo copied their posture. It was funny, seeing the warrior side of them. Few shifters willingly face pissed-off wolves. The courage I was seeing bordered on stupid, but it was magnificent.

  But then again, they had Osamu and me to back them up. I changed the clips in my guns, going for silver loads with a few explosive rounds mixed in for good measure. That done, a gun in each hand, I moved behind the ladies. I wasn’t surprised to find Osamu on my right, his demon sword in hand. Wearing his black chauffeur’s uniform, gloves, and cap, he did a credible imitation of Kato from the Green Hornet movie.

  We froze, listening to a chorus of deep, base growls. The shifters in the vehicle were voicing their rage. The caved-in roof reverberated to blows. Furry fists broke through. Clawed hands peeled the ragged metal back. Werewolves scrambled out, five of them, bloody and unstable. On two feet, they were in half-phase, holding themselves between man and wolf, wearing shreds of clothing, but no shoes.

  These weren’t ordinary werewolves. Either that or they were drawing heavily on pack magic. My guess was confirmed when I saw them wearing leather cords round their necks with little medicine bags attached. It looked like the pack’s new Alpha was using his shaman to turn run-of-the-mill wolves into an elite hit squad.

  I started emptying my clips, going for heart shots. One wolf shuddered as silver slugs ripped through his torso. His growl became a choked yelp as he slumped to the street, thrashing as death closed in. I clipped a wolf’s shoulder, and chased another back over the vehicle which he used for cover. The remaining three wolves closed with the kitties, forcing me to hold my fire.

  Closing in on the hiding wolf, Osamu circled the vehicle’s front grille. I left the girls to their own devices, followed Osamu. He was most likely to need help. Sure, he had a demon sword—and was spry for his age—but he was only human. A couple scratches and bites, and he could find himself howling at the moon.

  The wolf sprang from cover.

  Osamu spun, slashing. Both of the wolf’s arms came off at the elbows. Continuing the motion, Osamu turned his back to the shell-shocked werewolf, sliding his sword behind him. The demon sword thrummed with joy as it pierced the wolf heart, coming out the creature’s back, severing his spine. Osamu kicked backwards and the wolf slid off his sword. I’d seen wolves come back from much worse, but this wolf lay still, eyes glazing in soulless death. The sword had drained his soul. Its hum of satisfaction had an odd sexual quality to it that I could relate to.

  Osamu flicked the blade, spraying blood onto the street, and looked at me as I stopped in front of him. “Yes, Caine-sama?”

  “Uh, never mind.” I turned my attention toward the remaining wolves. I hopped on the damaged hood, vaulting to the opposite side of the vehicle.

  Dani was holding her own, circling her wolf, staying just out of range of his claws. Every time he slashed at her, she dodged and slashed the attacking limb before it pulled back. The wolf’s fur was drenched in his own blood, new tears opening as older ones healed shut.

  Terri had her wolf stumbling back under a rapid-fire barrage of kicks, her toe-claws ripping at his throat and eyes, with an occasional stab at the groin to keep things amusing.

  Cleo was in trouble though. Having ripped her clothes to tatters, her wolf had her on her back, his drooling jaws close enough to bite away her lovely face. She writhed under him, unable to throw him off. The tip of her brindle-colored tail twitched vigorously.

  I had a couple of rounds left in both guns. I lifted my PPKs, taking careful aim.

  Osamu touched my right sleeve. “Wait. He has her right where she wants him.”

  “What? Oh, I see.”

  She wasn’t trying to buck him off. She was rubbing her crotch against his, and from his pleased rumble, he liked it a lot. She lifted her head, laved his nose with a pink tongue, and rubbed cheeks with him as she reached down to grip what must have been a massive lupine erection. Claws seized both her breasts. The wolf leaned on her, arching as he probed for entry between her legs.

  Cleo reached up and filled her hands with his mane. A look of lust dominated her face, bloodlust, as she jerked his head sharply. His neck vertebrae cracked and his spinal cord was torn. The head came off his neck, completely ripped away. The wolf’s headless body spazzed, still trying to fuck her as she tipped it to the side and picked herself up.

  I stared. “Wow.” I dropped my nearly empty clips and loaded fresh ones. “Remind me to never underestimate a werekitty ever again.”

  Osamu crossed to Dani to lend her a hand.

  Cleo flashed me a grin, running over to support Terri as her wolf ripped off his medicine bag, tossing it to the street. He’d finally figured out that half-woman-half-cat was a nature state for the werekitties. They fought well in that form. He was actually at a disadvantage, unused to killing this way. Bad movies aside, wolfmen aren’t as effective as four-footed wolves with their humanity completely swallowed. No longer in stasis, the wolf’s shift continued, but it would be several minutes before the change completed. The time lag was why half-states were useful to shifters in emergency situations—those able to pull them off.

  The wolf flopped and rolled, trying to stay clear of Cleo and Terri until its shift finished. I helped the girls by firing between them, zipping the wolf from brain to crotch. Its magical healing useless against silver ammo, the animal crumpled and died, drooling onto the street as its change hit reverse. Death always brought back the human form.

  By the time I turned my attention to Dani, she’d gone low and broken both her wolf’s knees, creating an opening for Osamu.

  His humming sword blurred. Garnets—flaring like new-born stars—left pin-point trails of light where the handguard passed. The yellow tiger’s eye on the pommel added a thicker, golden streak as the glossy black katana lopped off the wolf’s head, which hit the street and bounced under someone’s white pickup truck. The wolf’s body slammed to the pavement, and we were done.

  As sirens filled the air.

  Someone had called the cops. Turning, holstering my guns, I shot a glance across the houses on both sides of the street. More lights were on. Many of the windows had people staring out into the night. A few braver souls had ventured onto their porches.

  Their work done, the girls ran to a tree and leaped up into the branches, climbing quickly from sight. Lost in the canopy, they’d make their own way home.

  Casuall
y, Osamu strolled over, flicking his wrist, sending the demon sword back into the limbo it had come from. Together, we walked back to the limo, finding it surrounded by a bevy of chicks, some of them hot, some of them not so much. They wore jeans and sneakers, pink berets, and white tee shirts with long-stemmed roses silk-screened on them. The roses were pink. The writing over them said: Thorns of Justice. Under the roses, it said: Citizen’s Patrol.

  God, kill me now!

  At parade rest, their hands locked behind their backs, the Thorns blocked our way, forming a line. In front of that line loomed a chunky Amazon lacking makeup. Instead of sneakers, she wore well-worn combat boots, and carried a clipboard and heavy flashlight. There were dents in the handle as if she’d used the light to beat in a few heads in her time.

  Osamu bowed to her. “Excuse me, Ma’am, we are in a hurry.”

  “I don’t know exactly what’s been going on, but you will remain until the police get here.”

  I gave her my most practiced look of surprised innocence. “This has nothing to do with us. We’re just good Samaritans who stopped when we saw an accident, hoping to maybe save a few lives.” I looked back at the now human bodies on the street. “Unfortunately, those naked frat boys were beyond help. Drunk driving, it’s a terrible thing.”

  Osamu nodded sagely.

  The Amazon, her pink beret canted at a rakish angle, jabbed her flashlight into his chest. “Didn’t I see you poking those corpses with a sword just now?”

  The police cars were getting closer. We needed to bail.

  “You can search me if you want?” Osamu offered. “It was probably just a trick of shadows.”

  I started to push past her. “Look at the limo while you’re at it. Not a dent. Not a scratch. We didn’t cause the wreck.”

  She swung the flashlight over to block me.

  I don’t have time to kill them all. I sighed in regret and went to Plan B, warming up my Dragon Voice tattoo. A wash of agony offended every nerve-ending as if I’d been skinned in a wink. I shuddered, swallowed a scream, and forced out words that rolled like thunder, deep as the abyss where I’d dropped my heart years ago. Magic gripped the Thorns, the power of my words, “You know we had nothing to do with anything here. Get out of our way, and when the police arrive, you will promptly confess to these murders—and completely forget you ever saw us. Do you understand?”