Demon Lord 4: White Jade Reaper

by Morgan Blayde

  Rasputin waved him away. “Let it warm a bit.”

  The waiter left.

  “I know this part of the story,” I said. “You were wrapped in a curtain, driven to the Bolshoy Petrovsky Bridge, and thrown in the Malaya Nevka River.”

  “It was still dark. I remember coming out of an inner darkness to find myself wearing my beaver coat, dangling over the railing. I lost a rubber boot on the bridge, and so, with one stocking foot, I dropped into a hole in the ice that fishermen had cut. That might have been the end of me, but the fools had forgotten their plan to weigh down my body with chains. The twine tying my hands parted, and by the grace of God, I was able to surface long enough to make the sign of the cross. Weak, with cold turning my limbs to lead, I sank into a kind of breathless sleep, currents dragging me along under the ice.” He paused to scan my face, making sure I was enjoying the story as much as he was.

  “You know, I can’t help but notice your eloquence. History says you had little skill in speech, and in fact, were quite incomprehensible most of the time.”

  “True. I had neurological issues, tics, and such. One of the benefits of being a vampire is that most of that has straightened itself out.”

  The waiter returned with food and drink. I sipped the flavored vodka with pleasure. “Excellent.”

  I sampled the food and found the quality high as well. As I ate, Rasputin poured and drained his first glass of blood. I scarcely looked at him as he continued speaking.

  “I remember thawing out in a dim-lit mortuary where the attendant probed my wounds and removed the bullets that hadn’t passed entirely through me. My face was further damaged by the grapnels used to drag me out of the icy river. Someone had also kicked in my genitals. Odd, you’d think I’d remember coming by that injury. Anyway, once some of my strength seeped back into me, it wasn’t that difficult to damage a similar corpse to myself and leave him in my place. With my vampire strength, I used a fingertip to pierce the corpse’s forehead to leave a ‘bullet hole’ there. You see, death had brought a new wisdom; I understood that I was no longer alive needed to go into hiding so I would not be hunted down as some unholy, accursed thing.”

  I nodded, taking another sip of vodka. “That certainly answers the question.”

  “Then you can answer one for me. What is your true purpose in coming to our city?”

  “Money.”

  Silent, he looked at me. A tiny muscle jumped in his cheek. “Don’t you think you owe me a few more words than that?”

  “Lots of money,” I said.

  He sighed.

  I relented. “Okay, I was hired to recover a stolen item that is coming up for sale in a local, private auction among the preternatural community. Once said item is restored to the original owner, a person of European nobility, I will pocket a huge chunk of change. After that, said owner will descend upon the thieves like a zombie apocalypse, but without the zombies. There, happy?”

  “So this has nothing to do with the vampire community here, or a territorial invasion of demon kind?”

  I gave him a rather cold smile that complemented my dead, killer’s stare, the kind that show how much I enjoy killing. “If the thieves are vampires, they will be destroyed. If vampires get in my way, they will be destroyed. If a vampire so much as breathes on me…”

  “He will be destroyed. I am sensing a theme here.”

  “Vamps can keep what they have,” I said. “This territory is too far from L.A. for me to care about who runs it.”

  I’d heard approaching feet, but hadn’t anticipated that anyone was coming to see me. Madison stopped by the table. Tall, blond, and Nordic, she was everything you’d want in a Valkyrie. She carried a young fox in her arms. I looked at the fox, all rusty orange and white fluff with black legs. The fox looked back—and grinned, which was as freaking weird as the little antennae bobbing from her forehead, and the baby moth wings folded flat to her back.

  Grace. She’s shape-shifted.

  Madison ignored me, her focus set on Rasputin, careful though not to look him in the eye. I felt killing rage roll off her, an aura of impending violence totally at odds with her sweet tone of voice,

  “Can I join you?”

  “No,” I said.

  “But of course,” Rasputin answered. “Such a pretty young

  girl. And a fox!” He winked, “Both of you.”

  As pick-up lines go, I thought it was pretty sad. “Rasputin,” I said, “don’t embarrass yourself. She’s a vampire slayer in training with not enough sense to back off a target she has no hope of staking. She’s going to force you to kill her.”

  His smile widened. “Really? That sounds like fun.”

  “Not so much,” I said. “If you hurt her, you’ll have to deal with Grace, the fox, and she will kick your ass six ways to Sunday.”

  Rasputin stared at the fox.

  The fox stared back, tongue lolling out of her mouth. Feathery antennae rippling in the air.

  Rasputin looked back at me. “This fox does not seem as formidable as you suggest.”

  “She’s not really a fox, or rather, not just a fox.” I finished my drink and slid the glass away. “Tell him, Madison.”

  Her voice resonated with deep pride. “Grace is the legendary Shadow Fox, a creature of extra-dimensional prophecy, and my best friend, next to Fran who didn’t make it for this trip.”

  Rasputin raised an eyebrow at me. “You certainly travel with interesting people.”

  “You haven’t heard the best part yet,” I told him. “Grace’s mother is an insane kitsune assassin who does wet work for a Preternatural Response Team out of Texas. Potentially, that means federal heat on your operations.”

  Rasputin smiled. “Then I suppose I had best behave.”

  Madison said, “Did I mention her father’s High King of the shadow men?”

  Rasputin shot me a shred glare. “So, the young man who was with you, he’s not security for you, but for…”

  “The fox, why would I have security weaker then myself,” I said.

  Grace yipped and whined, nudging Madison with a black-button nose. The girls exchanged glances. Madison looked at me. “Grace wants to know where Onyx is.”

  I gave Madison my best don’t-cross-me stare. “He’s fine.

  Don’t start trouble that will complicate my business.”

  The fox whined.

  Madison said, “You didn’t answer the question.”

  Rasputin smiled widely. Delight danced in his eyes. “Deathwalker, are you not able to control your people?”

  The waiter came up to Madison. His smile was strained. “I’m sorry, Ma’am, but we don’t allow animals in this establishment.”

  She glared at him and lied. “She’s a service animal.”

  The waiter looked unconvinced. “A fox?”

  Madison pointed at Rasputin. “You let walking corpses in here. What’s the big deal?”

  “Mr. Rasputin owns this establishment. You should show him respect.”

  “What I should do is stake his heart, cut off his head, and burn him to ashes.” Her glance slid from the waiter to the vampire. “Vampire scum!”

  The waiter had grown red-faced. “Leave at once, or I will call the police and have you arrested.”

  I shook my head sadly. “Can’t we all just get along?” And summoned one of my semi-automatics with a thought. The Berretta PX4 appeared in my fist, pointed at Madison. “Stand down,” I told her.

  A new, male voice insinuated itself into the conversation, drawing the waiter’s eyes to someone past Madison that was still out of sight to me. I knew that voice, speaking English but with a slight Romanian accent.

  Shit, not him, not now.

  Forgetting to breathe, Rasputin studied the newcomer with intensity. The Russian’s lips moved, but no sound emerged. Having trained myself to read lips, I knew what he said: Vlad Drăculea, Prince of Wallachia. Rasputin hurried to rise and formally bow. His voice shook with deep emotion, “I am honored, my Prince.”r />
  Dracula angled toward Rasputin and returned the bow. “Do I know you, Sir?”

  I made introductions. “Vlad the Impaler, this is the Doom of

  Russia, Grigori Yefimovich Rasputin. He’s the power behind the throne of the local vampire house.”

  Hearing Drac’s name, Madison whipped out a stake, dropping Grace to the floor like an old habit. Her moth wings snapped open, fluttering on the way down. I knew what was flashing through Madison’s thoughts: Vlad Dracula was the head of the “cursed” type of vampires. If he died, those descending from his line would also expire. One fell swoop could end the existence of hundreds, maybe thousands of blood-sucking fiends—at least, a lot of people thought so. I blamed Anne Rice and her novel Queen of the Damned for this. Killing Dracula would do nothing but deprive me of a paycheck.

  Fortunately, he didn’t need my help. Dracula caught Madison’s wrist in a steel grip and pulled her in—for a passionate kiss.

  NINETEEN

  “I’ve always wanted to be the kind of person

  who’s still alive after a round of cards.”

  —Caine Deathwalker

  It was the one attack the slayer-in-training had not been prepared for by her school instructors. Drac had a hand in the small of her back, offering support while he leaned her off balance, lips pressed tight to hers. His other hand didn’t relinquish her knife-wielding hand. No one really wants to die for love, though many bad songs have been written about it. Madison had her eyes squeezed tightly shut so her mind couldn’t be rolled by the vampire. Otherwise, she was too surprised to struggle.

  Then like a switch being thrown, she remembered that kissing vampires was bad. Her head dipped even lower as she wrenched her face away. Eyes closed against mesmerism, she whipped her head forward in a head butt that should have split his nose and splattered blood into the air.

  But he’d drawn back as well, looking down at the floor from where a vicious, high-pitched growl arose. He let go of Madison and she fell backward onto her lovely ass. Dracula sort of danced on one leg while he shook the other. A small winged fox had his ankle in a death grip. The beast’s tail went every which way, a battle flag wagging with exuberance.

  The waiter that had been standing by knew this was above his pay grade. He ran off, no doubt to summon the manager.

  “Spirited … beast.” Dracula kicked with more vigor. “Someone want to … get it … off me?”

  From the ground, Madison pulled out a vial of what I could

  only assume was holy water. She threw it at Drac’s face.

  I already had my gun in hand. Squeezing off a shot sent a lead slug through the vial, exploding it before it reached its target. The slug went on across the room, between two diners, burying itself in the wall. Rasputin’s aura washed out in the wake of the slug, and the diners remained oblivious to the disruption of their meal.

  I pointed the muzzle at Madison’s leg. “Stop, Grace, or you’re friend’s going to catch a bullet with her knee.”

  Grace let go of Drac’s ankle, looked at me, and whined.

  I glared at her. “I don’t care if I am ruining your fun. If I don’t get paid, you don’t get paid. College fund, remember?”

  Grace sat on her haunches and smacked the carpet with her tail, one last thump of impudence.

  Madison stared daggers at me. “Traitor!”

  I smiled at her sweetly. “You might want to go fix your face. Your lipstick is smeared. Oh, and Onyx is still in the art gallery, being seduced by an uber-hot vamp chic. You better go save his virtue.”

  Madison pointed toward the back of the restaurant. “Sniff him out, Grace. I’m right behind you.”

  Grace gave off an excited yip and flounced away.

  Boobs heaving spectacularly, Madison scrambled up and ran after her.

  “Uber-hot?” Rasputin said.

  Vlad said, “Someone travelling with you has virtue?”

  I turned my attention to Vlad. “Need a Band-Aid? Maybe a rabies shot?”

  He shook his head minimally. “The damage has already healed, but I am moved by your concern. I am also grateful to have heard your comments on what the fox really was, or I might have shown less restraint.”

  “You are indeed a hell of a guy.” I gestured at the other end of the booth. “Want to join us?”

  “If it would not inconvenience…”

  “Please, do,” Rasputin said. “I had hoped one day that chance might bring us together.”

  Dracula locked glances with Rasputin. “Kind of you.”

  “Not at all,” Rasputin said. “We were just sharing stories over food and drink. Perhaps you have a tale that might prove entertaining, informative even?”

  Vlad nodded gravely. “First, let me assure you that I am passing through with no designs on your territory. I offer my pledge of peace, if you will receive me as a humble guest under the protection of your house.”

  “You are known as a cruel man,” Rasputin said, “one quick to take insult, but your honor has never been tarnished. I believe we can rely upon your … peace. If one of mine gives offense, allow me to mend the discourtesy.”

  “Of course, but if actually attacked, I will defend myself rigorously.” Vlad moved to the edge of the table. Either Rasputin or I were going to have to move and take the center in the seating. I didn’t budge. I liked where I was. Having to watch two superfast vamps at once was easier if I didn’t have to look to both sides of myself.

  Vlad glared at me.

  I glared at Rasputin.

  Rasputin slid over to the middle spot.

  I smiled in victory.

  Vlad took the place Rasputin had vacated, and slid the cup of blood over to the Russian. Vlad picked up the bottle and sniffed delicately. One of his eyebrows rose. “I do not believe I can identify the animal this came from.” He looked about for another glass, as if one ought to magically appear just because he’d sat down.

  I warned him, “I wouldn’t try that. Rasputin can drink what you can’t; he’s still a creature of

  Eastern Orthodox faith. That makes his Blood of the Lamb as sacred as holy water.”

  “Interesting.” Vlad set the bottle down and slid it well away. “So, we are telling tales, are we?”

  “Your turn,” I said.

  But we weren’t done with distractions: the manager appeared at our table, his eyes on Rasputin. “Sir, is everything

  alright? I understand there has been some trouble.”

  Rasputin furrowed his brow in puzzlement. “No, I don’t believe so. You may return to your duties.”

  The manager inclined his head and backed away. Another moment, and he was gone.

  Vlad ran a finger across his upper lip, as if the thin mustache needed taming. “Very well then, let me recount for you the tragic tale of a missing coffin and the mercenary band that took it one dark night from one of my secret lairs.”

  Not so secret, apparently.

  Vlad’s voice acquired a dancing lilt as he got into the theatrics of the situation. “I was ghosting across the sky, a sentient mist in the setting light of the moon, when I glanced down at a host of black vans tearing away from the country estate I was renting just outside of Denver.

  Ah, ha! I thought. This is suspicious.”

  Rasputin was listening closely.

  Me? I was impatient for the punch line. I’d heard much of this story already.

  Vlad glared at me to make sure I was paying attention. “With dawn mere moments away, I could not pursue the vehicles to sate my curiosity. I settled into my violated home, still immaterial in case a nasty surprise had been left to deal with me.”

  “Wait,” Rasputin said. “You can truly shift your molecular structure to a coherent plasma state? I’ve been attempting that for years with little success.”

  Vlad’s voice took on a tone of condescension. “Well, I am half a millennium older than you.

  The longer a vampire lives, the stronger he grows.”

  I caught Rasputin’s eyes.
“You’re just a spring chicken hawk.”

  “Says the baby at the table,” Rasputin said.

  “If I may return to my story,” Vlad said.

  I made a small flick of my hand, granting permission.

  Vlad said, “A hasty search of my mansion assured me that no one had remained behind to stake me in my daytime sleep. Nasty habit, that. Anyway, I descended into the wine cellar, and there found chaos. The shelves had been ripped away from the walls. Wine had spilt. Shattered glass crunched beneath my shoes as I reformed in full sartorial splendor. Moving in, I’d had servants come and build a false wall behind which I’d hidden my favorite coffin, filled with the native earth I needed to properly rest. Imagine the killing rage that burst from my noble soul as I found my coffin gone. The villains had dumped out the plastic bags of dirt that had lain in within, a small mercy, but not one I could take advantage of. Lying upon the bags in the cellar, lost in the stupor of sleep, returning thieves would find me helpless.”

  Rasputin nodded, and drained his cup of blood.

  I watched the food growing cold upon my barely touched plate, wishing I had a bottle of Monkey Shoulder triple-malt scotch.

  Vlad pressed on, “Fortunately, I had foreseen such difficulty, having survived many generations of stalking by that damned Van Helsing clan.”

  “Madison is one of the prize students at the Van Helsing Academy for Gifted Slayers,” I said.

  Vlad looked at me. “Really? Perhaps I will drop in for a little visit when all this is done with.”

  I nodded. “I’m sure he’ll be thrilled.”

  Rasputin could stand the suspense no longer, reaching out, laying his peasant hand on Vlad’s arm. “But tell us, what did you do to survive?”

  Kindly, Vlad did not break the fingers daring to touch his person. I guess everyone loves an enthused audience. Instead, Vlad smiled and sank into his story once more. “Whenever I set in for an extended stay, I always make sure of a doomsday contingency plan. In this case, I’d buried a second—far less splendid—coffin in case I should be close to home, but cut off from rest at daybreak. The second coffin was in the back gardens, buried several feet down, but with no betraying passage leading to it. I swooped up through the building in mist form once more and located the spot. No one was around and the ground was undisturbed. With some confidence, I willed myself to seep into the earth while the gray of false-dawn was lightening the sky. Before the true rays of the sun blazed in the east, I was buried and asleep.”