by Tee Ayer
With a palm to his shoulder, Vee pushed Kort away and dusted herself off.
Syama got to her feet and clacked her way closer to stand at Vee’s side.
“That’s enough for tonight.” Vee kept her voice cold, uninterested, and met his eyes head-on.
“But—” Kort protested, curving full lips and giving her a slight flutter of incredibly long lashes. Still, it was obvious that he made every effort not to look her in the eye.
“Sorry, buddy. That’s all I paid for.” She gave him an apologetic shrug and stared hard at him until he took a few uncertain steps away, and then melted into the shadows.
Satisfied that he wasn’t about to come screeching at her like the demon he was, Vee strode across the street, with her hellhound at her side. She’d paid for more than that, but having a word with an ex-employee of the underworld queen would mean evidence enough to put the woman away.
Vee stepped onto the wet sidewalk and followed Benny, keeping a good ten yards between them as he headed toward the corner. As he passed a street lamp, he glanced quickly over his shoulder, and Vee glimpsed dark eyebrows, a wide nose, and black eyes. When he took a sudden left into a dark alley, she knew he was onto her.
Syama paused at the mouth of the alley, standing guard as Vee walked unfaltering into the shadow-ridden depths. Leaving the only source of light behind, Vee slipped a hand into her satchel, and withdrew a metal ball the size of a small orange.
She pressed a little red button and tossed the silver sphere into the alley, all the while not missing a step. Black night had swallowed most of the length of the narrow backstreet but Vee didn’t need light. Not when she had a special kind of sorcerer-science on her side.
As the ball flew through the air it began to emit a soft beep, an alarm that increased steadily as it sailed through the shadows. The sphere hit the ground with a metallic clink, the sound almost drowned out by the beeps which had morphed into one long insistent scream.
Vee automatically held her breath as the metal covering of the ball snapped open, four sections falling away like the peel of a quartered orange. Tendrils of pale gray smoke snaked into the darkness and Vee waited.
A soft grunt echoed from down the alley toward Vee and she gave a satisfied smirk. Without hesitation she strode into the darkness and smiled as she came upon Benny. He was scowling hard, his eyes now burning a bright red as he glared at her, but for all his fury he didn’t dare move a hair on his head.
Benny stood motionless, surrounded by a sphere of tiny metallic darts that hovered in place. Each deadly sharp point gleamed in the weak light drifting into the alley from a distant street lamp, an air of almost tangible menace around them.
“What do you want with me?” he asked as he glanced nervously at the barrier of threatening darts. He leaned forward, putting his weight on his toes, as if he was considering making a run for it. “And what the hell did you just do to me?”
“I suggest you don’t struggle. Or run. The more you fight, the smaller the safe bubble will get. Too much movement and poof, you go right back down to where you came from.”
“No.”
Benny’s outcry was so filled with anguish that Vee actually found herself affected for a moment, especially when his sneakered feet went slack. Affected only for a very brief moment, though.
Then she reminded herself that it was irrelevant how she felt. She had a job to do.
“Look, Benny. It’s best for everyone if you just come quietly. That little silver sphere around you contains nanites. You know what nanites are, Benny?” Vee tipped her head as she watched his face, waiting for an answer.
He gave a hesitant nod, then said, “Yeah. Sure, I know what nanites are. Tiny metal bug thingies. It’s called science fiction.” He lifted his chin, staring at her, a belligerent look in his eyes.
Vee shook her head slowly. “Unfortunately for you, Benny, nanites are a science fact where I am concerned, and the ones hovering around you now are programmed to destroy your specific blood type.”
He scoffed, his fingers closing slowly around the edges of his faded denim jacket, but his gaze jerked back and forth between Vee’s face and the hundreds of metal darts aimed at his body. “I’m O-positive,” he said, lifting his chin as he cleared his throat and scanned the gray barrier.
Vee laughed softly, the sound eaten by the night as she stepped closer to him. “Don’t you mean O-positive rakshasa, Benny?”
Benny’s eyes widened as he stared at Vee, as realization slowly dawned on him. “No,” he whispered, the skin on his face growing pasty, taking on a deathly pallor. “You’re going to take me back to her, aren’t you?”
Vee shrugged lightly, then moved closer.
Benny began to struggle, his eyes growing round and petrified. The gray sphere made a sound like a soft metal gong. Then Benny let out a high-pitched shriek as the hundreds of tiny needles sprang forward, closing in on the demon, emitting a sound like a thousand swords being drawn from their sheaths. The needles shivered as if they desperately wanted to be one with demonskin, and the expression on Benny’s face said he knew as much.
Fear was beginning to mess with Benny, so much so that he seemed to be losing his glamor. The outer skin of a well-built dark-haired guy, who’d pass for the average white male if you came across him on the streets of New York, shivered, growing translucent enough for Vee to see beyond it.
She suppressed a shudder. Rakshasas were the ugliest kind of demons. With their deep red skin and deadly sharp teeth, they were literally the stuff of nightmares. The only problem was their annoying ability to create some of the most attractive glamors.
Vee lifted her forefinger and wagged it at him, shaking her head while clicking her tongue softly. “Now, now, Benny. Those nanites don’t like you jumping around like that. The more you struggle, the more excited those little guys will get and who knows, some of them may decide it’s party time and head over to those little demon cells inside your body. And I know you don’t want that.”
The roughly-spiked black hair on Benny’s skull began to shiver as he started to give his head a responding negative shake, then thought better of it and froze. “I’d rather die than go back to her. You have no idea what she is.”
Vee hesitated for a moment. She knew Cress well enough, probably the same as anyone else did who knew what she really was. There weren’t that many sorcerers in New York who could summon a rakshasa with the curl of a finger. The woman’s reputation preceded her all too well.
Vee cleared her throat. “I know exactly what she is. You should know you can’t go AWOL with unpaid debt.” Let him stew on that. Vee hoped she’d be able to get on Benny’s good side long enough to obtain the information she’d come for.
Benny let out a harsh laugh but it only ended up sounding pathetically sad. “With Cressida, there’s no such thing as being paid up. You have no idea what we have to put up with. It’s slavery, is what it is. A life-sentence.” His eyes filmed over, now gleaming with what looked suspiciously like tears as he pleaded with her.
And Vee felt her stomach tighten. The guy certainly seemed to think he didn’t belong back with Cressida. Vee frowned and wondered if there was more to the sorcerer than Vee already knew. She was well aware that there was more going on beneath the banner of Lane’s demon-outreach program, but what else could Cressida’s secret be?
Bringing demons up from the underworld who want to live a normal life on the human plane was easy enough to accept as long as the creatures behaved themselves, but taking advantage of them, enslaving them, was not something either gods or humans would turn a blind eye to.
As Vee took a long breath, needing a moment to figure it out, her phone began to beep, the pattern indicating an incoming text. That special ringtone to denote one specific person.
“Perfect timing,” she grumbled as she dug into her pocket for the cell. She glanced up at Benny and held out the forefinger again. “I won’t be a moment. Don’t go anywhere.”
Vee glanced at the p
hone, read the message and suppressed another expletive as she dialed her boss, Assistant Director Anthony Rossi, her supervisor at the agency. Vee’s investigation into Cressida was going to have to wait.
Vee tapped her foot.
“Yes.” Rossi was always all business.
“We have another body, Sir. Karan just messaged. I’ve texted you the address.” Vee blinked as her phone buzzed again, announcing another message.
Rossi’s voice was a rich baritone, classy just like the man. “When?” he was asking, his tone indicating he already knew the answer.
“Yesterday,” came Vee’s crisp response, glancing at the latest text scrolling at the top of her screen. “And, Monroe just messaged.”
Karan, her contact who provided her with what often seemed suspiciously like insider information, didn’t like wasting time. Vee didn’t mind jumping when he said jump, but only because he’d been bringing her cases which had impressed Rossi as well.
Now, with Karan’s info, Vee just hoped they’d be able to solve the latest killing spree haunting the city.
She slid the phone back into her pocket and slipped a tiny remote control panel out. She faced the demon and pressed the button. “Looks like it’s your lucky day, Benny,” she said, as the sphere of silver darts gave a metallic groan before disintegrating into an iridescent cloud of fine shards.
The nanites turned into a gray amorphous cloud, and drifted toward the open ball, where the four sections closed, sucking up the swarm with a soft whoosh.
Vee crouched and reached for the small globe, feeling the weight of it in her palm. She glanced over at the demon who stood shivering before her. “What are you waiting for, Benny?” she asked. Then she smiled and said, “Go.”
And he ran.
~ Continue Vee’s adventure in Immortal Bound ~
Dark Sight: The Dark Sight Series #1 Sample
1
When Allegra received the call from Nike Rehab sending her to her latest patient, she went with dour reluctance and not even an iota of impending doom.
Had the Fates been kind to her, they'd have allowed her a tiny premonition. Maybe even a palpitation or two. Or at the very least, a tiny butterfly's flutter.
But Allegra got nothing.
She'd driven past the ancient, and mostly abandoned, temples of Apollo and Athena, and neither had seen fit to provide her with even a little foresight.
Allegra slammed her sandaled foot on the brakes as she neared the wrought-iron gates guarding her client's mansion, the car making the turn onto the cobbled, elm-lined driveway with a sputter and a hiss.
Struggling with the clutch on her battered old Branson A Class, she came to a shuddering stop only a few inches from the sentry, who stood stiff-spined and expressionless before the gate.
Going to have to have a talk with Senator Branson one of these days. Of all the things to leave car production for, the man had chosen airlines. And she'd once thought him one of the smartest minds in the world.
Allegra pulled the brake, prayed it would hold, and opened the car door. Grabbing her small black leather purse, she looped the strap over her shoulder and alighted.
After slamming the car door shut and sending a prayer to Apollo that it would remain so, Allegra faced the mansion and smoothed down the front of her pale pink pantsuit. She kept her work attire low-key, but wealthier clients tended to require a classier look, even on the hired help.
Tossing the long matching organza shawl over her shoulder, she checked that her bland blonde hair was still neatly within the high ponytail on the top of her head. She faced the guard who stood in the already-strong mid-morning sun, even though the row of trees lining the short driveway provided sufficient shade.
The Breslins were of the level of wealthy where style bordered on the ridiculous. The latest craze, among those blessed with money, was house-staff dressed and treated as slaves had been in ancient times. When Allegra had read the article on the elektroweb, she'd sworn the world was going mad.
Slavery had been abolished centuries ago, and today the wealthy were bringing it back, even if they were just pretending. Allegra tilted her head to look up at the polished ebony abs of the sentry.
He wore leather sandals, a pleated red skirt, a pair of bronze armguards that glinted in the bright sunlight, and a bronze helmet topped with a bouquet of blood-red feathers.
And pointed a very sharp spear at Allegra's left eye.
The guard glared at her, his expression hard enough to shatter diamonds. "In the name of Darius Breslin, state your business."
Apollo save me.
Allegra pasted a smile on her lips. "I have an appointment with Citizen Breslin. I'm Allegra Damascus."
No response.
Allegra gave it another try. "His physio. For his torn tendon?”
She pointed at her left arm, annoyed now with the show-and-tell. They were expecting her, but she still had to jump through hoops to get inside.
The man's expression didn't change as he shifted the sharp edge of the spear to a slightly less-deadly position.
At her left boob.
"Proof of identity."
Man of few words, huh?
Allegra dug inside the little bag at her waist and withdrew her Nike Rehab ID badge. She handed it over, and waited, watching his muscles bulge and shift as he examined the plastic card.
A soft breeze rustled through the trees, ruffling the red plumes on his helmet. It also lifted the hem of his short pleated skirt, revealing an expanse of toned, muscled thigh.
Allegra averted her eyes.
At last he gave the card a nod, then handed it back to Allegra before reaching for a button on the fence wall.
Automatic gates. No surprise.
Breslin, the handsome darling of international tennis, had won gold at the last Olympic Games. Seriously, the man was deemed so attractive that the Vestal Virgins were clamoring for the Olympic Games Events to return to the ancient rules of compulsory nudity for all participants. His win had garnered him huge support in the New Germanic States, including an advertising deal as the face of Daimler-Benz, the reigning leaders in international automobile manufacturing.
Cursing Branson, Allegra jumped back into her vehicle and gassed the engine, crossing her fingers and hoping it wouldn't die on her. Allegra thanked the Fates when the heap of metal grumbled its way along the long drive up to the villa.
The avenue, lined with a row of tall firs on each side, took Allegra up the hill to a classic Greek-style mansion. It resembled a massive temple with gigantic white pillars guarding the front face of the residence.
Hades would be proud of such excess.
At least the entrance wasn't bracketed by a second pair of sentries.
Must be a limit to slave ownership in these parts.
The old Branson coughed out a cloud of black dust as Allegra brought it to a halt. Allegra frowned as she exited the car as gracefully as she could, and wondered if the car was finally in its death throes.
It would be an annoyance because automobile-shopping was her pet hate. Reason she'd held onto her first car all this time.
Hitching her bag higher on her shoulder, Allegra grabbed her leather case which contained her oils and cloths, shut the door with a solid thunk and climbed the majestic flight of marble stairs to the double-doored entrance.
The Breslins had made a determined effort at majesty with the gaggle of expertly-cracked statues of armless, nubile gods, satyrs and nymphs, the males all well-endowed.
But the result was nothing less than tacky, and nothing more than fake.
No judging, Allegra. Keep your mind on the job.
The door opened and a tall brunette met Allegra's gaze. Honey eyes studied Allegra from head to toe. "You're the physiotherapist?" An arched eyebrow dared Allegra to confirm. Her bearing, and her clothing, said lady-of-the-house.
Portia Breslin.
Allegra eyed her short skirt. It ended just above the knee, with generous folds of silky fabric draped loosely
from her waist, across her breasts and over her right shoulder.
"Yes. Allegra Damascus from Nike. If there's a problem, I'm sure the agency will send some oth—”
Portia raised an imperious hand, silencing Allegra. After a moment in which the skin on her forehead puckered and her lips pursed, she gave a cool nod and spun on her heel.
The fabric trailing the floor behind her was the only thing gracing her bare back.
Fashion these days.
Allegra’s hostess led her deeper into the building, exiting into a square courtyard fringed by apple trees and dotted with stone benches.
At the center was a pool of clear water that reflected the sunlight like shards of glass. On a cot beside the pool lay the magnificent construction of muscles, limbs and pheromones that was Darius Breslin.
His skin gleamed a dull gold from baking in the strong Fornia sunshine, and he didn't seem to notice, or care, that he was slowly getting burned.
Guess you have to suffer for true beauty.
"Darius, darling. The therapist girl is here."
Allegra eyed the woman as she crouched beside her husband and gently helped him up. Citizen Portia Breslin, the pretty and very jealous Breslin wife. Some of the gossip mags - not that Allegra read such trash - claimed Darius had a taste for more than just one woman at a time.
Where there's smoke?
As Portia leaned over, the fabric slipped off her shoulder and dropped to her waist, exposing her from neck to navel. Neither blushing nor blinking, she tossed the fabric back over her shoulder and lifted her chin to give Allegra a nod.
Maybe being flashed will be the highlight of my day. Please let it be so.
Allegra stepped around the cot and came face-to-face with Breslin, and was surprised to be unaffected by his stunning manliness.
Just as well, since he was a client. Despite his undeniable beauty, Allegra barely blinked an eye.
Instead, she introduced herself.
Breslin gave her a noncommittal nod. "Before you touch me, I'll need some sort of reference."
