Fire and Fantasy: a Limited Edition Collection of Epic and Urban Fantasy

by CK Dawn

  “I’m supposed to know? I don’t have the kind of clearance this situation requires and frankly, I don’t want it. All I was looking for was a bit of love and possibly—”

  “An orgasm so explosive it deafens you?”

  “Well, yes. I mean not a lifetime of that—don’t want to be greedy, but is it so wrong to hope for an affair at least? I would’ve been satisfied with a few stupid weeks.”

  “Well, you got that and then some. Point is, the then some is quite a bit more than regular folks have to deal with.”

  “Didn’t I just say that?” Dragon glared at Saras who flipped her the bird.

  “And you’re willing to deal with the then some? Incorporate it into your life in return for coming like gangbusters a couple of times?”

  Dragon hesitated and picked up the last roll, staring at it as if it could divine her future.

  “How about in return for true love?” Saras qualified.

  Dragon turned the roll this way and that, examining its craters and toasted warmth. “Maybe,” she said and looked at Saras with large eyes that begged for understanding.

  “You and me both, baby girl,” Saras sighed. “You, me and the world.”

  Seventeen

  Fel stood in the darkening shadow of the large cashew tree across the street from Vera’s and debated waiting another five minutes for Charlie, or assuming Gemma got to him and heading out on his own to look for a place to hole up.

  “I called ahead for some take-out,” Charlemagne said pleasantly from beside Fel. “I’m not hungry, but I was thinking about asking one of the waitresses out. You know, the okay-looking one with tits as big as ripe soursop and snakes for hair.”

  “You’re late,” Fel said.

  Charlemagne shrugged. “Had to pack a bag and change clothes. Be honest, does this outfit say I-can-look-good-even-if-I’m-on-the-run-from-my-demon-boss or does it make me look fat?”

  “I got a place on the corner of Ramsdale and Slate that’s good for a couple days at most. You wanna go or should we stop in Fashion City so you can refine your image?”

  “After you, buddy,” Charlie said with a hand flourish.

  “Double time,” Fel smirked at Charlemagne’s dress slacks and three-hundred-ven silk-spun oxford.

  “No problem, lieutenant.” Charlie met Fel’s eyes with forced impassivity.

  They indulged in a staring contest for fifteen seconds before Charlemagne backed down.

  “Fuck you, man,” he said, running a frustrated hand through his hair. “Let’s go before we’re spotted.” He took off, leaving Fel and his triumphant chuckle in the dust.

  They took a circular route through downtown Halo City, backtracking through dark alleyways and leaving false clues for any bounty hunters that tracked them.

  “So what’s this safe house?” Charlie said as they entered a working-class neighborhood.

  “It’s a house I own through my alias,” Fel said, then erupted into a series of hacking coughs. “Been renting the place out,” he watched the smoky wisps of undertow his lungs expelled dissolve in the night air, “but had to install a couple of gargoyles when the last tenants tried to invoke Bacchus at their last party.”

  “Bacchus?” Charlie laughed incredulously. “That old fart asks for the senior-citizen discount every chance he gets and drinks two glasses of prune juice before bed at seven.”

  “Which his home health aide spikes.” Fel checked their perimeter again, watching as a golden retriever barked at an overgrown rhododendron. Two seconds later the dog sneezed, whimpered unhappily and ran away. The odor of skunk quickly drifted in their direction.

  “No shit?” Charlie said surprised. “Didn’t know Martha had it in her.” He pulled off his stylish shirt, dropped it on the ground and used his foot to grind it into the gravel, then reached in his duffel and extracted an old T-shirt and a small vial filled with blood.

  Fel glanced down at the now-filthy shirt that looked as if it had been lying in the dirt for days. “Whose?” Fel grinned, suspecting the answer.

  “Gemma’s,” Charlie chuckled evilly and emptied the vial on his shirt. “Bangers and Mash are willing, effective, but totally stupid. That’s why most people neuter their hellhounds when they’re puppies.”

  “Do it old, stupid unfolds. Cut’em young, intelligence is won,” Fel quoted Halo City Animal Control’s latest spay/neuter advertising campaign.

  “Exactly. Mash will smell the blood and go after his next meal without bothering to note that it’s his owner he’s hunting and Bangers will follow Mash because that’s what he does.”

  “Very nice,” Fel squinted. His eyes started to tear as the wind blew the defensive power of the skunk into his eyes.

  “Yeah, well it won’t stop her or whoever she’s sent after us, but it will slow them down a couple hours.” Charlie hauled on the T-shirt and zipped his duffel closed.

  “Then let’s make them count.” Fel held his hand over the sharp stitch in his side as he started to jog, then doubled over when the stitch blossomed into agonizing pain.

  “You gonna make it, Fel?”

  “Sure,” Fel tried to laugh and only managed to groan. “DTs are a bitch and a half.”

  “Why didn’t you get Bobby to give you something?”

  “This is the something Bobby saw fit to give me.”

  “Damn. Either he’s losing his touch or he fucking hates you.”

  Fel exhaled as the pain started to dissipate. “I’m an addict, Sarge,” Fel wheezed. He met Charlie’s sympathetic eyes and slowly straightened. “I’m all right.”

  Charlie’s eyes narrowed with skepticism. “You sure this girl is worth all this? She seems nice and all. Good tits, nice skin…does it feel as soft as it looks?”

  Fel’s eyes glowed with laughter. “You finished?”

  “For now.” Charlemagne slung Fel’s arm around his neck to help prop him up.

  “You’re a good friend.”

  “Damn straight,” Charlie said, guiding him into a lurching jog.

  Gradually Fel’s gait became more balanced until he and Charlemagne ran side by side like they did when they took new recruits for an easy fifteen K.

  The tidy rhythm of their steps lulled Fel, and apparently Charlemagne, because neither one noticed the Pazuzu demon jogging alongside them.

  “Holy shit!” Charlie stopped and punched the demon’s head while Fel jabbed at its kidneys.

  The demon’s enraged scream echoed through the night and it took flight, its double pair of wings lifting it over the men’s heads. It hovered there, hurling curses down at them in four demon dialects that Fel could recognize before landing about twenty feet away.

  “What the fuck!” the demon said and Fel and Charlemagne geared up for another attack. “I was out for a midnight jog and here you two come with completely unprovoked violence.” He twisted at the waist, groaning when the movement affected his abused kidneys. “Did I attack you?” He pointed at Fel then glared at Charlie, fingering his wide, flat snout gently.

  “You guys set a helluva pace. I’m usually not so fast. I got shin splints,” he admitted, motioning to his muscular, scale-covered shins. He’d punched holes in the toes of his neon running shoes and wiggled the talons that poked through.

  “But I want to be challenged, I want to improve. That’s all I was trying to accomplish here, so thanks for fucking up my dreams with your judgment and your prejudice.”

  A disbelieving silence permeated the small public playground they occupied for a solid minute.

  “Dude, didn’t I see you at Gem’s Christmas party last year?” Charlie asked.

  “Did you?” The demon’s lion face scrunched in question.

  Remembering, Charlie said, “He’s on Gemma’s on-call list. A loaner,” he explained to Fel.

  “A loaner?” Fel repeated. “Haydon was new to the business and this one Gemma borrowed.”

  “A Blushing Bride contract,” Charlie guessed Fel’s thoughts with a nod.

  “For t
he record I’m not an intern,” the demon said angrily.

  Both men raised their eyebrows in skepticism.

  “I teach the Psychology of Your Prey seminars,” he relented after a minute.

  “And?” Charlie pressed.

  “And I’m on loan from Lucy’s Odds-n-Ends. It’s on 4th next to that divine little charcuterie…”

  “Nick’s?” Fel reached into his own bag for his gun, wishing he had his broad sword.

  “Oh my God, have you had the foie gras there?” The demon took a few steps towards them and held out his hand. “Name’s Jeff. Maybe not,” he said when Charlemagne and Fel simply looked at him. “So what usually happens now is I give the target two choices, they choose one and either a transaction occurs or they run, then scream, I count to ten, get myself a latte—nonfat, gotta watch the calories—make a couple calls then close the deal. Rape and torture are complimentary for new customers or after you’ve had your contract club card punched five times.”

  Holding his gun loosely at his side, Fel ignored the demon and addressed Charlie instead. “We can expect old and blue before this is over.”

  Charlie nodded. “Blushing Bride is a big order for a big fish, not delinquent drug addicts or employees on the run. Gem would never waste that kind of bank on us.”

  “No, she definitely wouldn’t, so who’s backing her and why?”

  “I can see you two have a lot to talk about, so I’m gonna skip my opening spiel that lists my qualifications and lets the target know that at no time will they gain the opportunity to escape, and get right to your options.”

  Charlie pulled his sword out of his duffel, quickly shucking the scabbard.

  “You wouldn’t happen to have another one of those?” Fel asked, knowing that shooting at any assassin that Gemma sent after them could result in anything from mild irritation to berserker rage, depending on how well she armed them.

  “Not on me, but Tony at Pawn It Again owes me a favor.”

  “You know,” Jeff said. “I can handle myself.” He rolled his shoulders and stretched his neck and arms. “You guys are going on about getting a sword, but what I’m saying to you is sword, gun, shrimp fork, teaspoon. Your choice of weapon won’t change the inevitable death and dismemberment.” The Pazuzu stretched his quads. “Or you could pay me and we can call it even.”

  “How about no and we promise not to torture you.”

  Fel smirked at Charlie. “Speak for yourself.”

  “Okay, there will be torture, but we’ll try not to enjoy it. That’s fair,” he nodded.

  The demon made a show of scratching his abdomen with his three-inch talons as he considered then raked his claws down Fel’s shirt with blinding speed.

  Fel looked down at his tattered shirt and unmarred chest, his adrenaline pumping.

  “I do need the exercise. Shall we dance then?” Jeff said, blocking the kick aimed at his genitals and directing a swipe at Fel’s neck and face.

  “No one says that shit anymore,” Charlie said, clipping the demon’s ear with his sword as Fel sidestepped its claws. “It’s just so corny.”

  Fel grabbed the demon’s arm and kicked his legs out from under him. On the ground, Fel repeatedly rammed his elbow into the Pazuzu’s snout.

  The demon caught Fel’s arm before he could strike again, put him in a choke hold and tried to get to his feet. From his nearly seated position, Fel managed to knee the demon’s face and elbow its gut.

  The demon dodged Fel’s punch and delivered a roundhouse kick to the chest, sending Fel skidding backwards on the patchy lawn of a darkened prefab house.

  “You gonna help or what?” Fel growled at Charlie, leaning against the trunk of a leafless white elm.

  “Already donated a three hundred ven shirt to the cause, buddy. Oh hey, go for the groin again,” Charlie advised.

  “Asshole,” Fel muttered, getting to his feet and heading for the demon who strode towards him.

  Fel threw a few sham punches, knowing they’d be easily dodged then turned his head laterally to slip the punch directed at his jaw. Instead of countering, Fel grabbed the demon’s wrist with both of his hands and twisted until the demon was on its knees, its arm outstretched at an unnatural angle from its body. Fel raised a foot over the demon’s elbow, planning to crush it.

  “I gotta work, man, don’t break my arm!”

  Fel hesitated as he never would’ve during the war.

  “Just break it, ya pussy,” Charlie said, walking towards them.

  “Cover my expenses and I’ll give you the details of the contract,” Jeff bargained, panting.

  “You know who’s pulling Gemma’s strings?” Fel said, still gripping the demon’s arm.

  “I know a lot of things. Do we have a deal?”

  Fel looked askance at Charlie who rolled his eyes. “Whatever, man, it’s your show.”

  Fel released the demon and backed away, running a frustrated hand through his hair.

  All he wanted—all he’d ever wanted—was the easy living that comes with the truth. Speaking it, acting on one’s most sincere instinct, finding reward, pleasure and lasting solace in it, these were the things he’d mistakenly thought to gain while in Mahb’s court, and hoped service in the war would be a replacement for lingering in that glittering place too long. He’d left court, not interested in navigating its barbed, circular pathways—only to find that K'Davrah was a relentlessly violent version of the same.

  And then there was Dragon. They were soulmates as far as he was concerned. Two people who met accidently and found they just clicked. Somehow she managed to find what was real in him, despite his broke-down spirit. What’s more, she seemed to be entranced by it. Regardless of her shy smiles and laughing denials, he knew she loved him. A person didn’t risk everything they’ve ever known for a foot rub and good sex.

  What they shared was rare even among the fae, and worth the political machinations, violence and death that loomed. More importantly, just being close to her viscerally reminded him of better days.

  “Think I’m starting to understand why Gemma wants her so bad,” Fel said to Charlie.

  “Wants who so bad?” Jeff asked.

  Fel ignored the demon’s question. “There is a covenant between us for the terms stated. Once the terms are fulfilled, the agreement will be filed with the appropriate judiciary, catalogued and forgotten,” he said.

  “You’re a Pazuzu demon, right? Do you guys spit to seal the deal or is it a handshake? It’s been a long time,” Charlie confessed with a grimace.

  “Well, we put our left foot in, then we put our left foot out. We put it in and out, we shake it around a little—it’s a cultural thing,” Jeff explained, getting to his feet. “We shake hands just like everybody else.”

  Fel and Charlie exchanged a long, speaking look before Fel held out his hand to the bounty hunter.

  They shook and between the accompanying body language and wary stares, managed to turn a universal gesture of respect and welcome into something oddly threatening.

  “So,” Fel withdrew his hand, examined it then wiped it on his jeans. “Spill.”

  “Call came in with the order, ‘Dead by any means, status: priority; deadline: yesterday; payment: twelve Ethiopian virgins of varying age and gender.’ Have you had an Ethiopian virgin? Oh man, something about the soil in that part of the world—the meat just falls off the bone.”

  Just the thought seemed to make the demon fall into ecstatic stupor.

  “Should we, uh, wake him up?” Charlie squinted at the demon’s euphoric smile.

  “Sorry.” Jeff shook off his reverie and adjusted his erection through his spandex running shorts. “Okay, so the payment came from two different delivery companies. Signature on the first was Gemma of GemSin Corp. The one on the second was John Smith of NOYFB, Inc.”

  “None of Your Fucking Business, Inc.,” Fel clarified. “Payment ever delivered to you like that before?”

  “No. For some reason my clients tend to pay in full, up f
ront and in person. Could be my ‘no pay, I’ll rip your head off’ policy. Anyway, Gemma dropped off her end. We had drinks, I fucked her up the ass then sucked her dicks, business as usual. John Smith, on the other hand, dropped off his end and disappeared. I don’t mean around the block. I mean into thin air.”

  “So?” Charlemagne shrugged. “Facsimile craft is nothing new. Hell, I faxed a couple of mango trees to my ex just last week. Desi finally eased up on the alimony payments,” he confided to Fel with a grin.

  “John Smith or whatever his name was wasn’t some electronically generated copy with a reach-and-grab delivery wyrm hole attached. I could smell the blood running through his veins, feel the heat of it and hear the thumping of his heart. He was frightened. Whoever John Smith really was, he was scared to death.” Jeff pulled a cigarette out of his fanny pack and lit up. “Sauté that with a few shallots in a port wine, maple syrup reduction and ooh,” he moaned smoke spiraling out of his mouth and nostrils in a puffy cloud. “Nirvana.”

  “Was he scared of you?” Fel said.

  “Well, I’m definitely good, but I’m not that good. That much fear—like winning a lottery so big you’d be set for ten lifetimes. A hundred. I’ve never seen a miscellus so afraid.”

  “So, the delivery guy was definitely other?” Charlemagne said.

  “He looked it. I would’ve sworn on my mother’s grave that he was, but then he up and vanished like I said.”

  “Puff of smoke?”

  “Nada. A true disappearing act. I watched flesh dissolve and electrons orbit protons before they winked out of sight like the last hopeful breath of a flame,” he said, a shy smile making his monstrous face seem clownish. “I’m thinking about reading my shit at Fitzgerald’s open mike night.”

  “Humans can’t live through that kind of magic without help,” Charlie said. “And even then they go splat nine times out of ten.”

  “And there’s no miscellus who can do that kind of magic alone. Not in this recession.” Fel frowned, hating where his analysis seemed to be heading.

  “Fuck it,” he said. So far sobriety sucked balls, but he believed in the process, believed he would be better off in the end. True he’d believed the same thing about K'Davrah and nearly drowned for his troubles, but it had been he who’d filled up his lungs, not some nameless illness or injury. The long and short of it was that keeping his peace benefited him to the sum of zero.