07- Black Blood Brother

by Morgan Blayde

  “Wouldn’t that be wonderful?” I picked up the titanium diver’s knife, rotating it between my hands absently as I thought. “In our world, it’s certainly possible. In the Village, close to the source of their power, maybe not. But if it’s possible…”

  I could squeeze their balls and make them squeal like pigs at slaughter.

  “There’s your creepy smile again,” he said.

  “Shut-up. A man needs his dreams.”

  “Yes, but why are yours all drenched in blood?”

  I dropped the knife I’d been playing with and stood. “Just lucky, I guess. Speaking of getting lucky, I need to make a run to a drugstore. Hold down the fort and watch out for assassins while I’m gone.”

  “Take Thule with you,” the Old Man said. “Without your magic tatts, you are at a serious disadvantage.”

  “True enough.” I left the sitting area. Thule was the inside guard on the right, a long-time favorite of the Old Man. The guard wore the image of a human, but under the illusion spell, there lurked an ivory-feathered humanoid with black eyes and a cruel curved beak. He had a more bird-like form he could morph into—one big enough to lift a truck. He lost hands to wings in that form, so in some ways, he was less useful. Demons of his type had given rise to the legend of the roc in Greek mythology.

  He nodded at me as I stopped at the door. “Hey, kid.”

  I’d always be the kid to him. When I was an actual kid, he used to give me rides on his back. We’d go pigeon hunting; he’d gobble them up on the fly, decimating entire flocks. I’d always thought it a neat trick, if somewhat messy.

  We went out. I stopped for a word with the outside guards. “Keep an ear out for a sudden ruckus in the suite. Merc teams have been on my ass regularly since I got here. They have access to shadow portals. You might not sense that kind of magic bringing them in.”

  They nodded. One of them said, “I hope we see some action. The Old Man likes to take out his own trash.”

  “I know! And he yells at me for doing the same thing. Listen, there’s a silver dragon and a Villager involved in this, too. Don’t let the Old Man take too many chances.”

  They nodded again.

  Thule and I went on to the elevators and waited for a car to come.

  “A silver dragon?” he asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “You’re a gold dragon. Is this politics?”

  “Everything concerning dragons is politics, especially family. Some dragons dislike the idea of me taking my mother’s throne, especially since I’m half Villager. My father and mother were supposed to kill one another or die trying. Not get married and have a kid.”

  “They bent the laws of genetics.”

  “Busted them all to hell and back.” The doors opened. Chrys was there, waiting. She smiled seeing me. I said, “Thule, this is Chrys. She’s okay, but you have to watch out for her family. They seem to think she can do better than me.”

  “I’m available,” Thule said.

  “I’ll keep it in mind,” Chrys said. “What are you? Demon?”

  “Demon security,” I said. “The Old Man worries.”

  As stepped up to her, she gave me a kiss. “He’s in town, too? My father will be interested. Atlantean genetic material for research is rare.”

  “Offer him a dollar,” I said. “Maybe he’ll pee in a cup for you.”

  Thule stepped into the car behind me and punched the button for the lobby. “I’ll pee in a cup,” he said, “but I’ll want more than a dollar. Especially if people are going to watch.”

  “I’ll keep it in mind,” Chrys said.

  I held her close. “What did you tell the cops that dragged you off? And how did you get away so soon?”

  “I told them it had been a huge misunderstanding, that you were harmless. When they didn’t buy that, I stepped into some shadow and whisked myself away. They’re probably still wondering where I went to. By the way, where are we going?”

  “Drugstore. I need some condoms. A crate or two.” I gave it some thought. “Extra-large, of course, with a reservoir tips. Should I get them in assorted flavors?”

  Chrys gave me a cross expression. “But honey, I want to go at it bareback. I told you, I want your child. A love glove defeats the purpose.”

  “About that,” I said, “your father would likely come after my balls with a rusty scalpel.”

  She smiled. “Once he sees his grandchild, I’m sure he’ll come around.”

  “Aren’t you a little young to be tying yourself down with a kid? What’s the hurry?”

  “I need to get your genetic codes before someone kills you,” she said. “It’s only a matter of time, luv, given your awful personality.” She kissed me again.

  The doors opened. I broke the kiss and walked away from her. “Somehow, I’m just not feeling the love.”

  Thule followed me, staying a step behind.

  “Caine, wait!” Chrys ran after me. “Don’t be like that.”

  I didn’t slow my stride. Nor did I shake her off when she grabbed my arm and wedged herself against my side.

  “Company,” Thule said.

  I’d already seen them: four big men in dark suits, wearing black shirts open at the throat, leather gloves, and dehumanizing sunglasses that hid their eyes. It was the kind of outfit you wore when beating people up regularly, if you didn’t want the blood to show and couldn’t afford to keep buying new clothing.

  They have “cheap thugs” written all over them.

  “Looks like a parley,” I said. “No visible weapons.”

  “A gun can come out pretty fast,” Thule noted.

  We stopped in the middle of the lobby, halfway to the entrance, and waited for them to come on. Thule came a step past me so he’d have first crack at the enemy. I picked a point at the center of their group and focused through them, as if to see something tagging along behind them. I held them in peripheral vision, my eyes sensitive to sudden movements; an old martial art trick the Old Man had taught me.

  “Friends of yours?” Chrys asked.

  I didn’t look away from the men. “With my winning personality? No.” I shook my arm a little. “Don’t cling. I may need to move—fast.”

  She let go and stayed quiet.

  I was acutely aware of the Glock 17 in my waistband, hidden by my coat, but my first reliance was going to be on a burst of speed and my half-dragon strength. The safest place to be was going to be in their midst so they couldn’t shoot me without risking shooting themselves.

  I told Chrys, “If you want to leave, this is the time.”

  “You’re not getting rid of me that easily,” she said.

  The boys stopped a few feet away. The beefiest one among them was about forty with a sandy crew cut. He had a square jaw and a small scar under his right eye. He said, “You’re Deathwalker.”

  “Yeah.” Why deny it?

  “We’ve been sent to invite you to a meeting.”

  “With who?” I asked.

  Thug Leader said, “Thaddeus King.”

  He spoke the name like it was one I ought to know. And I did. I keep up on all the players in hub politics. I know who runs every city that contains a nexus to other realms, or an assorted community of preternaturals; the same way others know that L.A. is mine. Thaddeus King was the closest Las Vegas had to an official Master of the City. He was also a vampire. He might be strong enough to be awake during the day, but he hadn’t come in person. That would have made him a crispy critter.

  Normally, I like to have more of my clansmen with me when going into an enemy stronghold, but Thule counted for a dozen demons just on his own. And in my dragon form, I was a force to be reckoned with. Then there was Chrys; I didn’t know what she’d done to the mercs at the bar where we’d first met, but there hadn’t been much of them left intact. She was a wild card I had confidence in—up until I knocked her up. Then, I might not be needed.

  I smiled at Thug Leader. “I’ll be taking my Mustang. It’s parked outside. You guys can lead
the way.”

  He took off his sunglasses and stared at me with cold blue eyes. “Just like that? I was told to expect a hell of a lot of trouble from you.”

  I put on a look of utter amazement mixed with an equal measure of appalled injury. It’s a really difficult expression to do right without heading into overkill, but I nailed it. “I just don’t understand why people keep saying such hurtful things about me. I am a fine person and a hell of a man besides. Doesn’t anyone know the real me?”

  Thule, despite his training, looked away from the goons, slanting me a quick look that spoke volumes.

  “Shut up,” I told him.

  THIRTEEN

  “Real negotiation is a game of

  Whack-a-Mole. Just saying…”

  —Caine Deathwalker

  We wound up at a club slightly off the Strip. The outside was plain brown brick—a six-story building with regularly spaced double windows. A round electric sign extended from the building. It was unlit, waiting for night: the Latin word Noctem, meaning Nightfall printed across a crescent moon. The entrance was locked, a closed sign on the blood-red, double doors. They opened at our approach; we were expected. Thug Leader and his minions escorted us in.

  The vast space would easily accommodate me if I needed to change into dragon form. Regular lighting made the place ordinary, but magic waited in the wings; scaffolding near the three-story ceiling was loaded with an abundance of stage lights. And there were laser projectors built into geodesic balls of chrome with midnight-purple, triangular lenses that were dark at the moment. These were the disco balls of the far future, waiting for disco to become popular again. Several of the four-foot globes hung over the dance floor. Tables huddled together left and right. A bar occupied the wall that held the front door. Roofing the bar area was a balcony with extra seating.

  The place was nearly empty. Four female dancers swayed and grinded on the looming stage. They clutched poles, but I didn’t get the sense that they did the kind of dancing where you take off your clothes. Their outfits were fashionable, complex, not made for graceful shedding. A DJ played hip-hop. The girls practiced their moves, beautifully synchronized. Beautiful period; they were definitely eye-candy.

  A man on the dance floor watched them. He wore a green suit the color of fresh-printed money. From the back, all I could tell was that he was tall, thin, and broad shouldered, but not as buff as the muscle he employed. I took him to be Thaddeus King because Thug Leader lead us straight toward him.

  As we drew near, my gaze went to one of the dancers. She wore mid-thigh black leather boots, fishnet stockings, and black-satin superheroine hot-pants with straps that went all the way up over her shoulders. She wore a matching top that looked like a satin sports bra. Between her top and bottom was a triangle of flesh pointing down. Her figure was athletic, toned, and familiar.

  My cock stirred in my pants, trying to place her.

  It took a while for my gaze to reach her face. Raven wings of black hair framed it. Her eyes had a hint of a vampire-red to them. She glared like she knew me, like she was trying to send me a non-verbal shut-the-fuck-up message.

  Hell! It’s Vivian. What’s my favorite ex-Slayer doing in Vegas? The answer hit me like a brick at a riot: She’s undercover. And I’m drawing attention to her.

  I hastened to explain my absorption to anyone who might have noticed. “Hot. I’d do her.” There are advantages to being known as a male slut. Rudeness is expected.

  Stopping several yards from King, Thug Leader turned and gave me a hard stare. “Look, but don’t touch, especially not that one. Lois is Mr. King’s favorite.”

  Lois?

  I wondered who’d paid her to infiltrate this place and why. It was a good fit, actually. Her half-vampire nature gave her immunity to vampire mesmerism and she had a body designed for sin. She was born for this. And I didn’t like it. Being near a hub-lord was dangerous. I should know. I regularly put all my friends in dreadful danger. Not that they ever thanked me. I especially didn’t like the thought of anyone else between her legs. While Vivian wasn’t an official member of my harem, my cock still considered her personal property. Not that I’d tell her that. It would get me staked.

  Thaddeus King took his time turning around, noticing our presence. Vamp posing; I think they’re required to take a course at a community college. It’s like they can’t have power if somebody else does too, like there’s just so much juice to go around.

  The man had the dry, musty smell of a vampire who’d just left his coffin. His face was thirtyish, angular. He had iron gray, slicked-back hair above a high forehead. His eyes reflected gray like crystalized iron. The stone on the large ring he wore actually was hematite. Instead of a handkerchief in his breast pocket, there was a fan of hundred dollar bills. My heart burned with the need to pick his pocket.

  King’s gaze took in Thule. Then Chrys, lingering on her tits. Lastly, his crystal gaze shifted to me. “You’re Deathwalker? I expected someone more…formidable. Maybe taller.”

  I gave him a dead stare, showing him I didn’t fear his mind-control powers, and followed up with an easy grin to show I’d choose when and where to be provoked. “Only stupid people go by appearances.”

  He nodded. “True.”

  “Why am I here?” I asked.

  “When one hub-lord comes into the territory of another, is it not customary to pay one’s respects?”

  “Vegas has no hub-lord, let alone an official Master of the City. Power is disputed by many unnatural factions, some of them even human.”

  The faces of the thugs tightened with anger. Jaw muscles knotted. Glares flashed. Breathing deepened. Apparently, I was not supposed to speak such truths in this place.

  I smiled.

  King blurred, stepping into arm’s reach with vampire speed. He did nothing else, his way of saying boo!

  I laughed at him. “Such cheap theatrics...”

  He bared fangs. “Nothing about me is cheap.”

  Ah, struck a nerve.

  Thule had a 1911 wingmaster handgun—with a blue mirror finish and a textured wood grip—extended, its muzzle locked on King’s head. The draw had been even faster than King’s advance. The thugs had been caught flat-footed. They dared not go for their own weapons now; their boss would literally lose face if they did. They knew it. I knew it. King knew it.

  He smiled. “Let’s all calm down. Anyone want a drink?”

  I said, “Put the gun away, Thule. You’ve made your point.”

  The gun vanished, returning to a shoulder holster. Thule said, “I’d like a Corpse Reviver No. 2.”

  “Gin and absinthe. Good choice.” I shot King a sharp glance. “Would I be getting my hopes up to assume you stock Blavod?”

  “Blavod?” Thule asked.

  I explained. “There are two kinds of vodka: Blavod and everything else. It’s an English Black Vodka that adds an Asian herb called catechu.” Rich in tannin, catechu doesn’t change the vodka's flavor, but smooths it out while darkening the drink to a proper morbid hue.” I sometimes amaze myself with the overspecialized depths of my knowledge; this was one of those moments.

  King said, “I’ll have to check.”

  I turned my back on him and walked toward the bar. I heard him grinding his teeth as he followed. Thule and I were making a hell of an impression.

  Baiting vampires is so much fun. I should do this more often.

  On the way to the bar, I realized the music had stopped. Practice was over. I heard running steps, a woman’s heels. I didn’t turn to look, but I drew a deep breath. Vivian’s scent was stronger, her mirabilis scented perfume highly distinctive. Sultry and sweet, her voice lacked the edge I remembered. “Thaddeus! I’ve missed you.”

  King said, “This is not a good time, my dear. Business…”

  I put heavy disapproval in my tone, “Yeah, a woman’s place is in the sheets. This isn’t the time.”

  King said, “By all means, sweet pea, join us for a drink. I’ll break out my private
stock.”

  Sweet pea? I’m going to hurl.

  A bartender showed up and hurried to fill orders as King, Vivian, Chrys, and I claimed seats at the mahogany bar. Thule stood behind me, watching my back and the thugs that stood near King.

  It turned out they did have the Blavod. Mine came in a martini glass on a red napkin. Vivian and King were served actual blood from a dark green bottle with a gold label. Thule never got his Corpse Reviver. Apparently, hired help weren’t entitled to have fun.

  King took a drag from his goblet and vented a sigh. It came out more like a hiss. “So, are you moving, Deathwalker? You think the cold war here between human magic users, politicians, and the preternatural community means we’re easy pickings? You’re going to stroll in and take another hub with a demon army at your back!” His hand squeezed too tightly, shattering his goblet, spoiling his monolog.

  The bartender threw down a bar towel to soak up the spill. He used another towel to sweep up broken glass.

  King looked at his damp hand. Some of the blood was his. He used a napkin to clean his palm. The cuts closed, leaving no scars.

  “Show off,” I muttered. “Look, I’ll break my usual policy and actually be honest with you; I do intend to eventually conquer the known universe, you included, but right now I’m engaged in a struggle against Villagers and a certain rogue silver dragon that I am going to kill—slowly. It may be decades before I get around to Las Vegas. You’ve got time to get ready. That will make it more interesting for me.”

  He looked at me then. “Your heartbeat tells me you’re speaking the truth.”

  I finished my drink and slid the glass toward the bartender for a refill. “If you don’t believe me, ask Chrys. She’s one of the Villagers. I assume you know her people have a portal from their world into your city. Maybe you should be rooting for me. They’re the bigger threat.”

  Thug Leader spoke up. “Uh, Boss, I’m a little hazy. What exactly is a Villager? I mean, I’ve heard of the Village People, but…”

  I rolled my eyes. “I hope your night-shift security is better informed.” Likely, they’d be vamps, the A-Team.