Green Flame Assassin (Demon Lord series, book 2)

by Morgan Blayde

  Kat peered down at me like I was something she’d scrapped off her favorite pumps. “What now?”

  “We need wheels,” I said. “And a place for you guys to go to ground.” I was surprised there were only ten of Kat’s clan, but then again, there had probably been more before they ran afoul of the wolves, and Josh had stepped in to save them.

  Kat caught the eye of one of the toms, a scrawny dude in tie-dye shorts and a black mesh shirt. He sported a little goatee and had had blond dreadlocks fizzing up his head, gathered back at the nape of his neck. He wore a cheap watch, and his kiwi-colored kicks were untied on his feet. “Jamie, you live back here somewhere. You got wheels we can borrow?”

  “My mom’s van, but she’ll kill me if something happens to it.”

  I pointed at the shoulder holsters I wore over my sleeveless tee—wishing I had a light weight jacket to hide the rig from casual view. “Armed and dangerous,” I said. “Make your choice: die now or maybe later.”

  He nodded decisively. “Later’s good.”

  * * *

  We were back in Old Sac. The van was parked, I’d bought a new jacket to hide my guns, and we played tourist, wandering over to see the old railroad switching yard that was no longer in use, and no longer functional.

  My phone chimed. I answered, “Go ahead.”

  “Where are you guys?” It was Vivian.

  I had no idea who might be with her, listening in, so I played it cagey. “Got a side trip I have to attend to. Don’t worry. I won’t start any serious trouble without you. Just hang loose until I call.”

  Kat jammed an elbow in my ribs. “Oh,” I said, “how’s Josh doing?”

  “In and out like you were. PRT medics are using several intravenous drips to feed him and restore his electrolyte balance, whatever the hell that is. I don’t know what kind of drone they used on him, but it had some decidedly unnatural elements in the design. The PRT boss says it was developed to take out class-nine boggill, kyeme, and the occasional lindwyrm.”

  Nice, she’d tipped me to the PRT breathing down her neck. Well, it wasn’t as if I didn’t expect it.

  “Listen,” Vivian said, “I’m supposed to tell you to come in for a debriefing. PRT want to hear about things directly from you. So far, this is just a request.”

  “Okay, when I can. Sorry, gotta go.” I hung up, knowing they’d triangulate the call towers and get a good idea where we were. “Debrief my ass.”

  Past the historical museums, we stood near a maintenance depot for old engine repairs. I studied the great wooden wheel set in the ground. The deck had railroad tracks that could be turned to direct a train inside to be worked on. I felt a demonic aura rising from underground where the mechanisms for turning the switching wheel were hidden. The vibe I got was slick, old, and powerful, but not yet aggressive.

  Kat didn’t seem to notice. I wasn’t surprised. Most creatures can’t feel dark energies unless they’re under direct attack. I, however, grew up around such forces.

  We went on to the river walk along the Sacramento River. Kat led us to a place on the bank where we could see under the extended pier. There were circular metal doors welded shut, out of everyone’s view, unless you knew where to look. The bottom of the doors was under water, only an inch or two.

  “Prisoners were once kept in there—and allowed to starve, though that’s not in most of the historical records,” Kat said.

  “Those were better days,” I said.

  “We need in there,” she said.

  “Let me guess,” I said, “we’ll be moving through the demon’s territory.”

  Kat laughed weakly. “You can sense him? Well, yeah. I was kinda hoping you’d keep him distracted while we snuck by.”

  “Isn’t it about time you told me where exactly we’re going? What’s under there, besides a demon?”

  “A sacred place of our kind, with relics brought from another land. An ancient power may awaken here to help us. If nothing else, there are furnished chambers with supplies where our people can wait out the storm. I don’t think even the water fey know what’s beyond those iron doors.”

  “This isn’t the normal way you get in, is it?” I asked.

  “No.” Kat set her fists on her hips. “We’d normally go through a secret K Street entrance, but recent construction in that area required that we seal off that way. Joshua’s been trying to find another way in, besides here, without much luck.”

  The cats moved under the pier. Kat and I followed. I examined the iron doors. The welds looked weak, old. I took a step back and kicked as hard as I could. The metal rang loudly, causing several of the toms and tabbies to whisper hasty curses. The doors flew open. “It’s nice when something actually goes right for a change.” I went into the tunnels first. My eyes adjusted to the darkness in seconds. The floor was concrete, the space dark, damp and cold. The walls and ceiling were red brick, old and pitted.

  Cleo moved up next to me, as if seeking reassurance, shining a tiny LED ahead of us that hung on her key chain. She said, “During the sixties and seventies, regular humans used to break in here. They had an old opium den here, somewhere. The ghosts of dead hippies can be seen wander in here some nights.”

  I believed her. Besides the local demon, I felt the presence of spirits lining the tunnels, partly embedded in the brick as if it were consuming them. The ghostly presence was so strong, you could see them in brief flashes at the edge of sight. They tended to fade when looked at directly.

  “Hate this,” Teri said.

  Kat spoke softly, “Don’t worry. These are just bad copies of souls that have moved on, replicates born from dying trauma. They’re not strong enough to hurt you.”

  Except for a little girl in Victorian clothing.

  She stood in my path, looking at me with a mischievous smile, pointing to the tunnels branching left. The demonic aura was stronger that way. If I wanted to get the cats to their safe place, I had to talk to the demon anyways, but I had to wonder, Is she trying to help me or the demon?

  Ghost girl retreated, staying in my path. The tunnel passed several junctions. We kept to our course, and reached an old wooden door. Ghost girl walked right through it. Cleo walked up to the door with me, her arm locked around mine.

  “What are these carving on the frame?” I took out my cell phone and used its display screen to provide a little more light. I felt the carvings with my fingers. “Ah! It’s the alphabet of daggers.”

  “The what?” Kat called out from behind me.

  I answered, “One of the first writings ever created. You guys stay here until I get back. Try not to piss your pants.”

  Kat growled low in her throat at me.

  I warmed up my Dragon Sight tat to get a translation of the message. As the magic activated, it felt like ghostly hands had found my private parts and were playing tug. The sensation passed. The writing looked scary—and cool—but it really only said: Open the door.

  I opened and closed the door going through. The room I entered was rounded. The center had tree of mechanical gears. This was the sublevel that had once switched the train tracks on the surface for various the repair docks. Hand-carved furniture lined part of the room. The flooring was redwood, very old, and very well made. A dozen paintings hung on the walls.

  I went along one wall. Reaching out, I touched a cloth draping the painting closest to me. I’d never felt silk of such high grade before. Like everything else in the room, it had been handcrafted. A big-screen TV hung from the ceiling, across the room from where I stood.

  My eyes were drawn to a darkening shadow in a recliner near the gears, a shadow with hell-red eyes.

  The demon in the chair said, “You have much courage coming alone, young one.”

  Steeping closer to the chair, I saw the edges of the demon better than its center. His dark blue suit made me think of Roma, but it wasn’t him. The demon smelled of old grease, and stale, moldy bread. He put a glass of wine down on the small table next to his chair. The shimmering of
the cloth of his sleeve lacked imperfection. His hands were callused. In life, he may have built everything down here, forging a bond to this place.

  I knew how to best deal with him. Respect. I pulled out a gold coin, a luck piece Izumi had once given me, and held it out. “We are just passing by, this should pay the toll.”

  He plucked the coin from my hand. The energy of the fey gold made his hand firmer, more human. He stood and walked over to a desk near another door. He was only a little taller then me, maybe five-eight. His shoes were the same color as his suit. I couldn’t tell what they were made of, but they were well cobbled. The demon turned and faced me. His close-cropped, black spiky hair looked in grave need of attention. His eyes lost their red glow, becoming midnight blue, feebly glowing.

  “Your party may have safe passage.” He gestured towards both doors. Both opened. “Move quickly,” he said. “No gawking.”

  I waved to the gang. “Hurry up, guys.”

  They ran through, carefully not meeting the demon’s eyes, a response that he seemed to find amusing. As soon as the last werecats went through the second door, the one we’d come in through closed. I followed my people, pausing on the threshold of the room, looking back. “You have a nice home, Mr.?”

  “Vapula, Duke Vapula.”

  Ah, one of Solomon’s Pillars in hell’s pantheon.

  He added, “Don’t come back, without more gold.” He gestured.

  The door slammed in my face. The werecats were waiting for me. We moved on to the next intersection of tunnels. They passed ahead of everybody to join Kat. She was studying old markings on one tunnel wall. “I’m not sure of the way. We’ve not come this way before, for obvious reasons. By the way, how did you win him over?”

  “Fey gold. No one says no to fey gold. It’s 22 carats, 97 percent pure.”

  As we studied the branching tunnels, the little girl faded into view, peeking from a corner just ahead. She stepped fully into view, and waved for me to follow.

  Not like we have much choice.

  “C’mon.” I led the way. Because I acted like I knew exactly where I was going, the others followed. I shot Kat a side glance, “Who was the retard that put your safe house down here anyway?”

  We both shined our phone lights ahead of us as we went on.

  Kat answered just when I thought she wasn’t going to. “When the cat clan came from Europe in 1850, we had no Alpha, led by custom by a priestess of Bast. Her statue is down here. Though the modern clan is much different than that which came from Egypt, we honor her holy days. The spirit of Bast that sleeps in the statue has shielded us when we’ve sought her out across the years.”

  I was still following the little ghost girl. No one else noticed her. I didn’t want them too. If they freaked, it would only slow us down. Some deep secret part of me had claimed the little girl. Mine. That part of me didn’t want to share. Who am I kidding? No part of me wants to share. That’s just not in my nature.

  We walked about four hundred feet. Manhole covers overhead were closed tight with sealing wards on them, heavy duty magic. I sensed that the manholes could only be opened by humans without ill intent. That certainly left me out. Putting specific instructions on wards like that took a lot of talent and knowledge. The old priestess had been gifted.

  The ghost girl stood halfway up the tunnel. She waited until I was watching her, and went through a wall. She poked her head out of the wall for a second, and ducked back in.

  Kat spoke up, “Hey, I think I know where we are. It shouldn’t be much further.”

  We reached the spot where the ghost girl had disappeared. Kat touched one of the pale, discolored old bricks in the tunnel wall, pushing it in. She did the same to a couple of lower bricks. A small part of the wall moved inward, brick separating from smooth-edged mortar. A secret door. I smelled dust and old leather within.

  I waved everyone in. “There you go. Hurry along and I’ll give you some catnip.”

  That got me a few dirty looks. After a moment, I was alone in the outer tunnel, except for ghost girl. She appeared right beside me.

  I turned to face her. “Thanks, darlin’”

  She curtsied and was gone.

  TWENTY-NINE

  “Opportunity’s a door waiting to be kicked in.”

  —Caine Deathwalker

  I went through the secret door and closed the way behind me by pulling a red lever set there for that purpose amid the well-oiled gears, pulleys, and chains that made up a rather complex locking system. The device attached to the upper wall and the door looked old and intricate, like something from a steam punk anime.

  Dwarf work, I think.

  I crossed a five-foot tunnel that opened into a large, triangular space. I was disappointed. I’d wanted an ancient, subterranean Temple of Doom, or something like the Batcave. Instead, I got industrial chic. Florescent tubes added a harsh glare that spilled over me as I joined the toms and tabbies. There were crates, A dozen cots with blankets and pillows, and a small refrigerator that hummed happily to itself, powered by a splice into a power line. A kitchen area included a table, cutting board, a small microwave, a set of hot plates, and assorted paper cups, bowls, and plates.

  Elsewhere, a construction site Porta Potty gave evidence that a skilled cat burglar used this lair. Magazines and toilet paper were stacked outside the toilet door.

  Moving around, I didn’t see any air ducts, but a current of fresh air came in from somewhere.

  Segregated in the farthest point of the chamber, a nine-foot limestone statue almost scrapped the ceiling. The stone figure was rough hewn, a woman with the head of a cat. Her eyes were dark depressions, and her face lacked expression. Her breasts were bare, but she wore a gold-painted skirt that brushed her ankles. This was a poor man’s shrine to the Egyptian goddess Bast. An uninspiring altar sat before her, a varnished, pine box that might doubled as a coffin in a pinch. Or another place to sleep. I’d went through a phase a while back where I used to sleep in one, but that was Gloria’s coffin and it smelled of her.

  Ah, happy memories!

  The tabbies pulled their cots over to a corner where stacked supplies gave them an illusion of privacy. The toms took another area, turning a radio on low so soft rock stirred the shadows.

  Feather duster in hand, Cleo wandered over to the statue. Like an adoring child, she stared up, as if into her mother’s face. As I approached, she cleaned away offending dust and cob webs. The duster wiped the statue’s face, and I thought I saw a faint topaz glow in the eye sockets.

  I casually touched the statue and felt dormant power. There was a buried presence here that might answer if called.

  “You guys going to be all right down here?” I asked.

  “Yeah, I think so. Of course, if you need me and the girls—”

  “No, but thanks for the offer. Josh wants his people out of harm’s way while things get worked out, so that’s how we’ll play it.”

  I turned and started to go.

  Cleo stopped me with a hand on my arm. “You’re going, now?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I won’t say be careful, just don’t get too crazy.”

  “You know me.”

  “Yeah, that’s why I worry.”

  I crossed the room, passing Kat who was giving detailed instruction to a number of her people.

  She called after me, “Caine, wait up. I’m going with you.”

  “Like hell,” I said. “Josh will rip me a new one if I let anything happen to you.”

  Leading the way back to the secret door, she smiled. “Then don’t let anything happen.”

  Revving up the door controls, we went out, into the tunnels. Touching key bricks caused the door to shut behind us. Kat led us away through a section of tunnels and chambers that were new to me. We walked a long while. I had no idea of the direction, but we weren’t necessarily still in Old Sac.

  “Are we just wandering aimlessly, looking for a way out that doesn’t involve a demon spirit?” I asked.
>
  “Yeah, that’s the plan.”

  “In that case, I think it’s time I took over.” I pulled the red pearl out from under my shirt, stretching it out on its chain. I created a mental picture of the Red Lady as I’d last seen her in her otherworld fortress, a place where time ran in circles, where there was supposed to be another, much older version of me residing. During my last visit, that other me had avoided the younger me. I’d been told this was to protect the timeline that had shaped him.

  Inside my head, I whispered, Which way?

  The pearl warmed in my palm. A ruddy light hazed the air around it. No answering thought burst into my brain, but a soft pencil-thin beam of light shot ahead of us to a junction, a left turn. Using the beam as a guide, we went on, around the corner, through several more tunnels, and ended at a dead-end where there’d been a cave in.

  Kat said, “I’m impressed you actually asked for directions, but I don’t see it did much good.”

  I looked up and smiled. “Oh, I don’t know about that.”

  She followed my gaze to a brick shaft that had an iron ladder inside it. Her voice turned happy, “That chimney’s got to go someplace. We may just have found a new entrance we can use to visit the warrens.”

  “One way to find out.” I pocketed my phone, leaving Kat’s as the only source of light. I jumped, caught the bottom rung, and pulled myself up. Once I got high enough to bring a knee up, the going went easier. Six feet up, I banged my head into a lid. I pushed, and cursed, and shoved some more. Nothing. The lid was stuck. Too many years had gone by since anyone had opened it.

  Actually, that was good. An unused door meant it was ours alone. I rotated on the ladder, holding myself upside down by the strength of my arms alone, planting the soles of my steel-toed boots against the stubborn lid. I kicked hard, one, twice. The last kick moved the lid, slanting one end up so a little gray light could filter down.

  I was about to rotate again and use a shoulder to push out of the chimney, when Kat’s light went out. I heard her leap and grab the ladder. A moment later, she clambered past me like a cat outta hell.