Green Flame Assassin (Demon Lord series, book 2)

by Morgan Blayde

  “I like my balls where they are!” I yelled. Damn, bitch almost made a eunuch outta me. Millions of women would have mourned.

  She forced the lid back and vanished from sight. I climbed after her, emerging into a cramped space under a work table of some kind. I put the trapdoor down and noticed that its edges almost disappeared in the filth in the floor. Dust, grime, and oil clogged the air. I ducked out from under the table, straightening up to look around. Several windows high in one wall were caked with dust, turning sunlight gray as it slanted in. The shadows of foot traffic moved across the windows. There was an old water heater, cold, unlit, and several crates with clothes in them. Boxes were marked “Christmas ornaments.” One corner contained gardening tools. Elsewhere, a sheet covered a car with flat tires.

  I didn’t think anyone but Kat and I had been here in years, wherever here was. Speaking of Kat… “Kat, where are you?”

  Feet came tromping down a rickety wooden staircase. Halfway down, Kat squatted to look me in the eye. “This way. It’s an old house, antiques everywhere. Come and see.”

  Since it was the way out, I did as she said. The steps creaked and groaned their resentment. Through another door, I entered a kitchen with faded floral-patterned linoleum on the floor. There was a kitchen table and chair set that had been new sixty years ago. Yellowed lace curtains covered the kitchen window over the sink. The faucet dripped; thup … thup … thup… Both stove and oven were vintage, and probably broken.

  I went into a living room where sheets covered chairs, couch, and a loveseat. A book case was filled with heavy books. Their spines were crumbling and too faded to read. More windows let gray light seep through blinds. One table with clawed feet had an old time radio on it.

  “Okay,” I said, “we are officially in the Twilight Zone.”

  Kat unlocked the deadbolt on the front door and went out onto a porch. She froze, reading the address on the outer wall, then turning to see the street sign at a nearby corner. I followed, closing the door behind me. I passed her, heading down the sidewalk, taking note of a for sale sign that canted to the left, about to fall over. I think whoever had once been trying to sale this property must have given up by now. Looking back, I noticed that a fallen tree limb had punctured the roof in an upper bedroom. Someone had packed the area around the hole with plastic tarps that were now sun-faded and fraying.

  “Nice little fixer-upper,” I said. “You can probably buy it cheap, maybe just by paying off the back taxes.”

  “That would be great!” Kat said.

  I stared at her. “Seriously?”

  “Owning the house would give us control of the backside of the warrens. Also, we needed a new entrance no one else knows about.”

  “Well, the house has a good foundation, sturdy walls. Once it’s repaired, and brought up to code…”

  “There’s potential. I can see it.” Kat walked over and plucked up the realty sign. “I’ll just take this with me.”

  “Whatever. There’s a little café down the street. Let’s go there and wait for our ride.” I took my phone out punched in a number. “Limo’s gone. Osamu will have to use your bug.”

  Trudging toward the café, Kat gave no sign she’d heard me. As I dallied outside on the phone, lighting a fire under my driver, she went inside and claimed a table by a big window. She pored through the menu on the table, as I sank into a chair opposite her, a checkered red-and-white, plastic table cloth between us.

  A waitress bustled over, pad and pen in hand. She wore a too-tight dress but lacked the figure to set it off. I felt like pulling my eyes out and throwing them at her. Instead, I ordered a beer, a pulled-pork sandwich, and seasoned fries. Kat got the Southern Sampler and an iced tea. After the waitress moved off, she looked at me, eyes turning serious. “My people have always run from danger, hidden from it. I’ve made Josh do it, for me. You really think I’ve been holding him back?”

  “Think about the peaceful world you could give your child. A world built on Josh’s strength. Isn’t that worth fighting for?”

  “I hate saying this,” she said, “but you might be right.”

  “Kat, by any chance, do you know where I can hook up with a gun dealer, a good one?”

  A slow, wicked smile stretched her lips.

  “That old, yellow iron bridge,” she pointed out the window. “I know the troll that lives under there.”

  “I don’t get along with trolls.”

  “Or just about anyone else. Look, Caine, suck it up. He’s got the best stuff in the city and we can get it right now, no questions.”

  “I do like no questions. We’ll go as soon as Osamu gets here.”

  We ate, paid our check, and headed out as Osamu pulled up. We piled into the VW and pulled away. Osamu raised an eyebrow at the realty sign Kat carried, but wisely said nothing. We drove to the iron bridge, leaving Osamu with the vehicle while we made our way under the structure, picking out a path in brown grass, watching for loose rocks. The “bridge” was an old railway trestle that spanned a nameless, twenty foot creek. Bamboo spiked up through the water, clawing for the sky.

  Under the shadow of the trestle, Kat took charge, launching a piercing whistle into the air. Only silence answered. Walking to one of the supporting girders, Kat knocked. A moment later, we heard two knocks back. Kat nodded. “Okay, we go in.”

  A hatch in the bank lowered on rusty chains, becoming a drawbridge. We step walked across the dropped door—into a totally different world.

  Black marble bricks formed the floor. Great, black iron lanterns hung from the cavern roof on more chains. The light spilling out was an unhealthy green. Kat and I both looked like green Martians in that light. There were treasure mounds mixed with junker cars and items of trade from dwarf, fey, and goblin worlds.

  I stared in disbelief. “Wow, not what I was expecting.”

  Kat walked us to double, wooden doors. The handles were huge and heavy looking. Kat didn’t try to manage the door. She jiggled the handle and waited.

  The door opened and the troll towered over us, all smelly, hairy, fourteen feet of him. Wide as a mountain, his craggy face was homely, half covered by a dark green beard. He extended a hand in invitation. He grinned, showing off yellowed tusks. The expression made his red eyes look small and beady. He wore an imitation of a blue polo shirt and black cargo pants cut short to show off knobby knees and bare feet.

  His voice crashed out, deep and river-rock smooth, “Kat, how have you been, young lady?”

  “Just fine, Zingu. Good to see you again.” She went and I followed.

  The troll closed the door behind us and walked over to a workbench in the center of an enormous room. The whole place was filled with tables of every size, loaded with every weapon you could dream, even magical ones. “Where’s Josh?” the troll asked. “And who’s that with you?”

  “Josh couldn’t get away. He’s dealing with a lot right now. This is an acquaintance of mine. He wants to do some business with you.”

  Acquaintance? Thanks for the ringing endorsement.

  The troll shook his head, throwing hair like seaweed out of his eyes. “You know I’m not cheap. With that said, take a look around.”

  “Got a small mirror I could use for a moment?” I asked.

  The troll shrugged, trundled off, and came right back. He held out a circular mirror that was six inches across. A makeup mirror, similar to the one I’d had on the chest of my zombie apocalypse suit—the one the autumn fey thief had made off with. I muttered a spell Old Man had taught me, and reached into the mirror. My whole arm went in, through ether, and emerged from a stand up mirror in my vault below the Malibu house. Feeling blindly, it took a moment to locate what I wanted. I pulled my hand back and it came out with a canvas sack that clinked with fey gold. On a whim, I decided to keep the mirror, slipping it into a pocket of my black, nylon windbreaker.

  I opened the sack, spilling gold coins into my open palm.

  The troll’s face did hideous things as he smil
ed widely. “It’s been a while since I’ve been paid in gold. Let me show you the good stuff.”

  Zingu walked me over to the table in the very back of the room and pulled off a dust cover. He picked up a handgun and held it out. “This is a Beretta PX4 with a silencer. It has a lighter trigger than older models, and a blue dot laser sight built in. I’ve infused it with magic to reduce the recoil to almost nothing.”

  I grabbed the one he offered, a second one like it, and the silencers sitting on the table. “I’ll take them.” I noticed a more compact version of the same gun, and took two of those as well.

  Zingu picked up an assault rifle looking thing and handed it to me. “I just got this one done, it’s the Beretta MX4 Storm with an extended clip.”

  I pulled out the clip. It was over a foot long, full of .9mm ammo.

  Zingu said, “The forward grip has a button for laser sight, and another that triggers what I call a “glass” spell. Where the blue light hits, you’ll be able to see through any wall, any metal, anything, but constant use kills the batteries in five minutes.”

  I threw the rifle over my shoulder and picked up all ten clips off the table. I looked at Zingu, “Got a bag? I think I’ll need one for all my gear.”

  Zingu got me a bag and went to show Kat something in a baby stroller.

  I snatched up some specialty ammo, some flash bags, a sawed-off shotgun with three barrels, and a 1911 Magnum. Further along, under a black sheet was a muscle car. I pulled the sheet off and fell in love. A’65 Ford Mustang. She’d seen better days. There was no backseat, carpeting, and the bottom had spots that had rusted through. The paint job was a sun-faded root beer. Still, with a little love and care, I knew I could restore her to showroom caliber. The keys were in the ignition. I started the car up. She purred like a sexy dream.

  By the time Zingu returned, I had my gear stowed in the trunk. I grinned at him. “So, how do I drive this baby to the street above?”

  “Oh, I have a freight elevator for that.”

  Perhaps, just perhaps, I’ve been wrong about trolls all these years.

  He handed me my final bill. I stared at the grand total.

  Fuckin’ crook!

  THIRTY

  “Like good sex—the secrets of the dead are

  messy and interesting. And no, I don’t

  do zombie chicks. Well, just that one time...”

  —Caine Deathwalker.

  The sun descended, but twilight lay hours away. Osamu parked the VW on K Street and got out with Kat and Josh. With Vivian seated next to me, I parked my new Mustang in the mouth of a nearby alley, a few blocks from the Darth Vader building. Sleek, dark, mysterious, the black glass tower looked like someplace dhampyr would hang out at. They’d be strong in the lobby, in the stairwells, and ready to lock down the elevators at the first sign of trouble.

  Mason would be in his office, business as usual—or at least trying to project that illusion.

  Kat hadn’t listened at first, but Josh made her stay with the car, claiming a fast escape might be needed. She’d pointed out that Osamu was the chauffer. I told her we’d need his demon sword, and had asked her if she were able to pull one out of her pregnant ass. She’d said no, which settled things nicely. That left me, Osamu, Josh, and Vivian hoofing down the hot sidewalk, hoping the PRT didn’t get wind of what we were doing. We really didn’t need any more help from them. Josh barely survived their last assist. He was functional, but still a little shaky.

  When we arrived, we found the front glass doors locked against us. Tempered safety glass. Very strong. I warmed up my Dragon Fire tat, and felt the sensation of ants biting behind my eyeballs, stomping along my optic nerves. The pain went away, leaving my eyes watery. I blinked the tears away. Real men cry on the inside.

  I thrust a hand out and pulsed out several fireballs. The dragon fire was hotter than normal flame, clinging to a glass panel beside the door like white-golden napalm, fanning out high and low.

  Vivian stared in through the door which lacked the darker tinting. “They’re buzzing around in there like someone smoked their hive to steal the honey.”

  “Screw the honey. We’re here to kill,” I said.

  “Their guns are coming out,” Osamu reported.

  “That’s why me and my shield are going in first,” I said.

  The fire died out as I pulled back on the magic I was feeding it. A big oval hole was left, with dripping threads of molten glass, like someone was trying to bar our entry. Osamu summoned his demon sword and cleared the gaping maw of the window for me. And then I was through, my red shell shimmering to life as sizzling lead slugs fanned over it, getting deflected.

  I yelled out, “Hi, I’m here to beat the shit out of your boss, so would you mind fucking off please?”

  There was no receptionist, just gunmen. A dozen guns spat fire, barking like rabid dogs. The rounds slapped my shield, were deflected, and used up more energy bouncing off the marble walls. Several shooters cursed as ricochets sliced them in passing, or gouged deep into their bodies. The blood smell in the air made many of the dhampyr bare fangs as their eyes burned pink in sudden hunger.

  Their weapons ran dry pretty much at the same time, a fact I knew when my shield dropped. I stepped out of the way and pointed. Osamu exploded past me. His blade slashed an X pattern that literally disarmed two dhampyr. Amputated stubs pulsed bright, arterial red blood into the air. Crumpling, the two dhampyr soldiers died on their feet as Osamu’s demon blade drank the silver mist of their souls.

  Vivian passed me, a gun in each hand. Her weapons bucked, littering the floor with bouncing, brass shell casing.

  Josh came in last, still in human form, holding a shot gun, another one strapped to his back. We were holding him in reserve. With the last of the dhampyr dead—or wounded and slowly healing from massive damage—the resistance was broken.

  Osamu went around, demon sword humming in ecstasy as he lopped off heads. This level of thoroughness meant that we wouldn’t have to wade through this bunch again if we had to fight our way back out. Mercy has no place on a mission against superior numbers. A couple of the decapitated soldiers had been women. The one with A-cups didn’t bother me much. The gal with D-cups all but falling out of her black shirt and red bra made me want to cry. This wasn’t the way I wanted to fuck with her.

  Such a waste. My penis is sad.

  We took the elevator, Vivian pressing the button for the penthouse. Vivian and I were both using the new Beretta PX4s. My clips were fully loaded. She reloaded hers as we rode upward. I activated my Dragon Sight tat, needing to spot magical traps before we blundered into them. The price I paid for the magic evoked sympathy in me for Prometheus. It felt like my liver, too, were being ripped out by a giant bird of prey.

  “Sonnuvabeast!” I hissed.

  Osamu looked at me briefly, with little interest. He was used to such outbursts, knowing how I paid for my dragon spells.

  Joshua and Vivian didn’t bother even to glance my way. They got to either side of the elevator doors.

  There were several stops the car tried to make, but each time, I pressed the button for the top, overriding the stops, keeping the doors from opening. We reached the top floor and I stood there, my red shield hazing into view. The doors opened to an empty hallway. I stepped out to see if I could draw enemy fire. I looked left and right across a lobby designed to screen guests before they got to see the big boss.

  Empty.

  I softly sang, “Oh, Mason? Come out, come out wherever you are.”

  He didn’t. That meant we had to go hunting. There were several doors to choose from. I motioned Joshua to checked the room on the right. A similar signal sent Vivian to the left. Osamu waited with me, as both doors were opened. Josh and Vivian went in, and a minute later returned. They shook their heads no. No alarms. No guards. No resistance.

  And so far, no magical traps.

  That left the central door. I went in first. We paused to view a living room on par with a luxury hote
l’s best. The walls were a deep-ocean blue. The right wall had a large screen TV on it in a living island where a pair of burgundy couches faced off against each other with a huge leather ottoman in between. The left wall had a few doors. The far left corner had a formal dining room set with high-backed chairs. Straight ahead, the farthest wall had sliding glass doors that opened onto a balcony overlooking the city.

  And still no Mason.

  We moved forward. An arch to the right showed a kitchen. I went that way to check for guards. Josh and Vivian went to check the doors to the left. I was beginning to wonder if Mason had gotten smart and skipped town.

  Vivian kicked in her door, and stared in.

  Josh did the same.

  “Guys,” Vivian called, “over here.”

  We hurried to join her. Even before I got there, I smelled pungent death and knew what we’d find.

  Vivian put away her weapons. Nonchalantly, she strolled into a home office ahead of us. A headless, male dhampyr sat behind the desk in a leather throne of a chair. He wore an expensive suit—once black, now brown from a lot of dried blood—his navy shirt had been ripped open, along with his chest. His heart was also missing. I couldn’t tell if it was Mason without the head since I didn’t have a crime lab in my pocket.

  We fanned out. A moment later, I found the head in a corner trash can behind him. The head belonged to Mason. It wasn’t smiling. I wasn’t either. “Body’s been here for a while, maybe a week.”

  Joshua moved closer to Mason’s body. He said, “Air conditioning is turned way up in here to slow decay, insects haven’t had access, but from the discoloration of the skin, and the blisters on the skin, I’d say you’re right. I can also smell the scent of his killer.”

  Well, I had a crime lab in my pocket after all.

  “Who is it?” I asked.

  “Brielle.”

  I nodded. “No use looking here for the dream stone. She’ll have taken it. Probably killed Mason just to get it, otherwise, he’d have displaced her as leader of the pack.”