Demon Lord 4: White Jade Reaper

by Morgan Blayde

  Good thing I’m such an ethical person.

  I went to the elevator and pressed the call button. The doors opened at once since we’d brought the car to this floor, and no one else had used it since. I entered and pushed the button for the first floor where the offices were. The doors closed and I was carried away. A short ride later, I disembarked and went strolling around. The administration and faculty offices were clustered together, all of them seemed empty—at least, I didn’t see light under the doors. Beyond them, I found the faculty lounge. And there it was, a door labeled: PRESIDENT. I tried the knob.

  Locked, as expected.

  I could have used a lock pick, but I’d been way too nice lately. Congeniality, I’d discovered, was a terrible burden. I gripped the knob tighter, drew a deep breath, and my dragon-born strength nearly ripped the whole door off the hinges. The frame splintered with multiple cracks. As the sounds faded, I paused to listen. No sign of anyone taking notice.

  I went inside the office and turned on the light. In the wash of bright illumination, I took stock of very expensive furnishings: a big red Chinese urn next to display case with old song books, antique instruments, and a few bronze busts. There was a decapitated doll’s head under a bell dome. A complete doll wore a cheery yellow dress, leaning against the glass dome. There was an antique metronome there, its single arm still, no longer counting off the seconds.

  The carpeting was honey gold, a yellow with a hint of brown, as were the drapes to the window beyond a triple-sized desk rendered in the violet-purple of Brazilian heartwood. The color didn’t seem natural. Neither did the spectral mist swirling in the chair around a core of pulsing green. Something small and spectral was slowly taking form, human form; a little girl, her hair twisting in a phantom room that stirred nothing else. Her eyes were fixed on me, immune to the warding-off magic of my tattoo. I understood: the dead have their own way of seeing. Her misty body solidified, doing little to fill the seat she occupied.

  Ghost Girl scowled at me. “About time you got here.”

  Rising up off the floor, having curled behind her chair, a teal blue mound drew my focus, especially when it swung a leathery face, framed with tight curls, toward me, blinking sleepy lavender eyes.

  I stared back. “Tukka! What the hell?”

  FIFTEEN

  “I like to fill in the gaps whenever

  possible, but enough about my sex life...”

  —Caine Deathwalker

  “Dead Man Walking,” Tukka said.

  “That’s Deathwalker,” I growled. “And where the hell have you been?”

  “Tukka hang out with ghost child.”

  “Grace getting too old for you?” I concentrated and a Berretta Storms appeared in my left hand. I raised the semi-automatic and aimed at Tukka’s head. “You know, the only good perv is a dead perv, right?”

  His jaw dropped in shock. “Not perv! Tukka respectable fu dog.”

  “Tukka good doggie,” Ghost Girl said. “He saved me from Big Bad.”

  I lowered the gun. “Big Bad?”

  Lives at theater, Tukka rumbled.

  Ah, the unseen presence I sensed. “What is it exactly?”

  Tukka came around the chair and stopped with his massive head hanging above the heartwood desk. Ghost Girl reached sideways to run her little hand along his leathery back. Not appearing to notice her touch, Tukka kept his lavender eyes on me. In their depths, violet shadows stirred. He said, “Not ghost, stronger. Can’t see, can’t touch, but it there.”

  “A haint,” Ghost Girl said. “The ghost of something that was never alive.”

  I sent the gun from my hand, letting it return to the satchel in my hotel room. Crossing my arms, I considered what they were saying. “I have to tell you; that makes no sense at all. Any idea what this presence wanted?”

  “Wants to be heard,” Ghost Girl said. “It tries to sing to me. Hurts, a lot.”

  Tukka nodded grimly. “Tukka wanted to bite own ears off.”

  I’d pay money to see that.

  Ghost Girl leaned over to give him an awkward hug. “Awww, poor Tukka.”

  I had the feeling Grace would have her hands full trying to get Tukka back. So, how did you guys know I was coming here?” I asked.

  “This is where I have to stay,” Ghost Girl said.

  “Except when Tukka take her into dreamscape,” Tukka said.

  “You don’t live in the old Victorian? This building wasn’t around when you were killed.” I moved to the side of the desk and turned a laptop around to face me. I powered it up and lifted the screen.

  “Some ghosts haunt the place where they died and some haunt people.” Ghost Girl pointed at the damaged doll on the wall. “That was mine. It was there when I died, becoming my anchor. It holds enough of me so that my killer can’t find the rest.”

  I looked over my shoulder at the doll in question. “You’re using some kind of ghostly bi-location that keeps him from adding you to the other spirits in his collection?”

  “I suppose,” Ghost Girl said.

  She seemed confused by bi-location. Note to self: use smaller words. Neither she nor the fu dog are mental giants. I said, “So if the bad guys get the doll…”

  “Tukka not let that happen.” The fu dog looked at me like he wanted a second on the motion.

  “Promises are a waste of breath,” I said. “A man of action needs no words.”

  Ghost Girl grinned. “Yeah, you showed that door a thing or two.”

  I shot her a steely glare. “You got anything else useful to say?”

  She nodded. “Pops, the security guard, comes around about this time every evening.”

  “Just one?” I asked. “How often?”

  “Supposed to be every hour, but later in the night, he falls asleep and misses a few rounds.”

  “Security office, second floor,” Tukka said. “Lot of TVs there, but shows aren’t very good.”

  Ah, so the cameras do work. “Good to know.”

  I could hear the guard out in the hall; the tinkle of keys on a ring, an off-key whistle of notes. Time to look elsewhere. I stood and strolled to the shelves, taking the doll from the display. Ghost Girl gasped. From the sound, you’d think I’d touched her unexpectedly. “You’ll be safer if this stays with me.” I turned to look at her.

  She paled with transparency, dissolving at the edges into a cold swirl of motes. Soon, only that flurry of green static remained and then that was gone. Tukka looked from the empty chair to me. “Keep doll safe.” He said the words like there was an “or else” attached.

  “Things that threaten me don’t last long, fu dog. You should remember that.”

  He smiled in reply. It wasn’t pretty. As if preparing a place to lie down, Tukka turned in a tight circle. He nudged the chair away and vanished from snout to tail, as if walking around an invisible corner. That left me alone in the room as the security guard appeared. I saw him from the edge of sight, but kept working the keyboard. Tap-tap-taps accompanied me, but he couldn’t hear them.

  The guard was an old man with a glasses and beer belly. His skin was the color of coffee with cream. A white mustache adorned his upper lip. The man wore a brown uniform with a Taser, nightstick, handcuffs, and flashlight in a thick leather belt. I suspected he had a radio in back as well. His clothes were crisp, clean, and pressed. His shoes had a high glossy polish. A badge from a private security firm gleamed on his chest. A name tag said: Miller.

  He blinked at the door which was obviously off one hinge.

  His glance took in the broken frame as well. His right hand rested on his nightstick as he peered into the well-lit office. His gaze slid across the room, the desk and off-center chair, and past the point where I stood. With my Demon

  Wings tattoo in effect, he didn’t notice me, but his gaze did go to the wall behind me, to the gap I’d made in the display.

  “Damn kids, always playing games. Making my job harder.” Strolling into the room, he reached behind his back and his hand
came out with a radio. He reported the break-in.

  I held the doll in one hand, using the other to check the various files on the laptop. So far, nothing looked suspicious. Still talking on the radio, the guard left the room. I assumed he was checking the entrances to see if any other doors had been forced.

  I was still there minutes later when Dr. Shawcross arrived, out of breath from running. He scarcely looked at the damaged door, rushing in. I stepped back from the desk, letting the laptop become visible. If he thought it had been stolen, this might all get more attention than I wanted. The man went to his laptop, frowning to see an open document on display. He closed down the computer and checked the desk. Apparently all else was normal; he abandoned the desk at once, going to the wall behind me.

  I turned and watched him stop by the big Chinese red urn. He leaned over it and gripped the top edge, giving it a twist. The thing moved more easily on its base than I would have thought. In response, a section of shelving swing out—a hidden door.

  I smiled. Great, we’re getting somewhere.

  He went over to the secret door, passed through, and pulled the shelf closed behind him. If I followed, he wouldn’t know, not with my magic in effect, but I figured I’d just come back later when I could take my time with whatever it was he was hiding.

  Better make sure my troops get off-campus first without a hitch. There’s too much weirdness around here to risk the people I need to keep alive. Besides… I remembered the hot maid I’d met this morning at the hotel. She’s good at making beds and I’m good at messing them up. We’ve a lot in common. With any luck, she’d keep me amused for quite a while. Just because I have two jobs pending doesn’t mean I should neglect the essential point of life, getting laid.

  Doll in hand, I returned to the elevator. On the ride up, I cancelled the Demon Wings magic, letting the tat go dormant. Minutes later, I was back upstairs at the music room, arriving as everyone was filing out except for the pianist. The flute kid had an arm draped over Grace’s shoulders. “You have to come back in the morning and let me show you the place. It looks much better in daylight.”

  “She’s claimed already,” Onyx said.

  I shoved the doll into his shadow-body. “Hold that for me. It’s an important clue. I’ll want it later.”

  “Sure,” he said.

  I wondered if that would still be his answer if I wanted to drive a dump truck into his darkness as well.

  As we strolled en masse to the elevator, Madison shot Onyx a glare that landed with little effect. “So Grace is property?”

  He nodded eagerly. “Something like that. All shadow-kin belong to her father, the high king. I’m a prince in an adjoining kingdom and even I am property.”

  Onyx’s alien perspective was going to raise troubling questions. I needed to head him off from these types of revelations. “Onyx, shut up!”

  “Yeah,” Madison shot me an appreciative glance for inadvertently supporting her. “Lincoln freed the slaves.”

  Yeah, ending slavery was the popular excuse for the criminal invasion of the South that had legally succeeded from Northern federal tyranny. Gotta admire Lincoln’s PR spin; history barely noticed him wiping his ass with the constitution while destroying the liberty the Southern states.

  Grace dislodged the arm weighing her down.

  Onyx pouted.

  Grace shot me a glance. “So, did you get your business taken care of?”

  “For now,” I said. “I ran into a friend of yours, too. Tukka says hello.”

  Her face brightened like a phosphorous grenade going off. “Really? I was wondering where he’d gotten off to.”

  I decided to stir the pot for the general hell of it. “He’s got a new girl-friend, but hey, you’ve still got Onyx.”

  He smiled at me. “She certainly does.”

  Grace growled. “Men! You can’t live with them, and you can’t nail-gun them to a wall with an eraser in their mouths.”

  “Yes, you can,” Madison said.

  “I’ve done it, minus the eraser,” I added.

  “You can nail me, if you like,” Onyx told Grace. “Really, I don’t mind.”

  Smiling with saccharine sweetness, Grace murmured, “Soon. I just need to stock up on railroad spikes.”

  We piled on and let the car take us down to the ground floor. When we got there, Dr. Shawcross was in the lobby with several security guards, talking about the break-in. It hadn’t taken him long to check on his hidden room. I’d have been tempted to believe he had abducted ladies down there, but he was way too old to be Kid Psycho from the dream I’d had.

  “What’s going on?” Grace asked. Her gaze was on me, her eyes narrowed in suspicion.

  “I gave her my most innocent look. “Why ever would I know?”

  I walked up to Dr. Shawcross, touching his frail shoulder. “Security is my business,” I reminded him. “What with the “accident” at the music hall and this trouble over here, I think someone is targeting your school. If you’d like me to look into it—”

  He turned and made brushing-away motions with his hands. “No, no, I’m sure it’s fine. Just kids. Probably some kind of scavenger hunt, youthful hijinks.”

  I shrugged. “Well, call me if you change your mind.”

  He nodded. “Yes, yes, of course.

  We went past the security men and the professor, pushing out the exit. The air felt cool, fresh, bringing the scent of sage. Grace walked beside me. I said, “I don’t mind you coming back tomorrow, but I want you to stay away from the music hall.”

  “Oh, yeah,” Justin said, his flute case under his arm, “you said there’d been an accident over there. Weird, that chandelier falling right after you guys showed up.”

  I gave him a cold, flat stare, the kind I give people just before I kill them. “Don’t give it too much thought.”

  We took the path that led us close to the Victorian. Justin split off and went in. The rest of us headed for the front parking lot. I smelled vampire, but not the usual kind. The difference wasn’t easy to pin-point. Then I saw them, three guys around the car Madison had “borrowed” for us.

  She tensed, drawing a pair of wooden stakes from hiding. “Vampires!” she hissed.

  They had the trunk of the black Nova open. One of the black-suited vamps had the car’s owner by the shirt, pulling him out.

  I made my voice hard and cutting, “I think you’re about to eat something that doesn’t belong to you.”

  The vamps finally looked our way, though I know their heightened hearing had to have picked up our footsteps—our very heartbeats—long before this. Two of the vamps looked to be mere thugs, the knuckle-dragging, mouth-breathing type, but the closest one to us had a more cultured look. He had cuff links, a red silk kerchief in his jacket pocket. His hair was dark blond, slicked back, and he wore fancy cowboy boots that were pink leather with black sequins, and engraved in front with bat-winged hearts.

  He offered the ladies a wide smile, and settled his gaze on the stakes Madison carried. “My goodness, a slayer. We are in trouble now, boys.” His laughing tone resonated with confidence.

  “He’s mine!” Madison announced.

  “I need him alive,” I said. “I have questions.”

  “Fine,” Madison said, “the last piece just needs to be able to talk.”

  Pink-Boots smiled at her. “Darlin’, you should save yourself a lot of pain. We were sent to pick up your boss for a meet. If we don’t, the next group will be bigger. Much bigger.”

  I held up a hand to stall Madison, happy to get answers quickly. “Dominika wants to see me?”

  The vampire goon holding the kid from the trunk glared at me. “Mistress Dominika is the new

  Master of the City. Speak her name with respect.”

  I curled my hands in front of my crotch, as if holding a massive log. “She must want me to choke her with my cock.” Mentally, I reached into the mystic ether calling my demon sword to me. I stayed absolutely still, knowing it would be useless to
match vampire speed this close, not without activating my Vampiric Speed tattoo—which had a delayed, though nasty price tag. Still hoping for sexual conquest, I didn’t want to be crippled later with muscle ripping cramps.

  I barely registered the kid being released by the vamp, allowed to fall. The thug blurred for a moment but I could still follow his movements. His huge hand wrapped my face in a punishing grip. I suspected he wanted to lift me by the head and shake some sense into me. The Old Man used to do this to me when I’d mouth off at him as a child.

  Vamp dude froze in place, his plan aborted by the sword I held. Moving at Mach speed, he’d impaled himself. My sword went through him, his heart, and stuck out about a foot. My blade’s red fire fondly licked the vamp. A last rattle of breath escaped him. His eyes went flat and unfocused. His hand fell from my face. I grabbed his neck and squeezed. His throat exploded. His spine poked out, as his head fell back and his neck broke. And still he stood. I wasn’t sure his body really knew it was dead again.

  No soul, my sword complained. Damn, I hate vampires. Nothing to eat but the life energy of the blood they feed upon. This one doesn’t even have any magic for flavor.

  “Suck it up anyway.” The dead vamp I’d skewered slumped, his legs buckling as his skin grayed, going gaunt. If he were older, he’d have burst into dust. I tipped my sword down and let him slide off the blade.

  Seeing what had happened to his minion, Pink-Boots didn’t rush to close with Madison. They circled, feinting, wary but into the game. Grace had a fire-wrapped bar of shadow in her hands that looked a lot like my demon sword. The difference was my sword was alive. Hers was shadow and fox-fire, an extension of her double nature.

  The remaining thug picked up the fallen kid who’d come from the trunk. The kid hung limply, on the verge of passing out. He also seemed to have pissed himself. The vamp’s fangs tore open the kid’s neck. The vamp guzzled, getting a blood spray down his chest.