Demon Rogue (The Half-Demon Rogue Book 1)

by Erikson, D. N.

  “Nadia?” I’d play dumb, ask him how he knew, but dogs had the whole smell thing down pat. Her scent was stuck to the interior of the sedan like bad luck to my recent life. “Think I might get a date.”

  “I’ll believe that when I see it.”

  “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

  “I’ve been a good wingman. I wag my tail and let her pet me.”

  “Oh, because getting your belly scratched by the pretty neighbor is putting you out.” I took the turn off the two-lane highway and headed down the dirt road. The smartphone’s GPS blinked twice and then our dot disappeared. It searched for a satellite without much luck.

  “I’m a man in a dog’s body,” Argos said, with no shortage of overwrought annoyance. “It’s humiliating.”

  “Just like putting your head out the window. Heard Galileo loved that shit.”

  Argos barked, but didn’t pull his head in. Apparently pretending had its limits. Dust streamed past and came inside. I coughed, peering through the grime-encrusted windshield, trying to get a bearing on our position.

  “You see anything?”

  “Someone’s out here,” Argos said, ducking his head inside and heading to the floor. He looked up at me, terror in his brown eyes.

  “Who?”

  “I can’t tell from the smell, Kal, but—”

  Another vehicle T-boned the Cutlass on the passenger side, sending us spinning out in the dirt. The wheels on the driver side clung to the dry soil, the other half of the car suspended in mid-air. I heard Argos yipping in between the screeches and twisted metal.

  Then we were turning, upside down.

  My sternum rocketed against the seat belt. The plastic bit into my skin, drawing blood as the car spun along the desert on its top, like a child had accidentally flipped over a toy. Except this was no game—I was inside, head jumbled, rocks and silt streaming through the windows.

  We came to a jarring halt after an eternity and a half, pebbles clinking against the ruined frame. I choked from the dry chalky soil floating through the air.

  Outside, an engine cut off. Heavy footsteps strode across the barren land, making quick time.

  I tried to eject from the seatbelt, but the old thing was jammed.

  “Argos,” I whispered. “You all right, buddy?”

  There was a split-second pause, and he said, “I think I peed.”

  “It’s okay,” I said, as I checked myself for broken bones or missing limbs. All good, except that my forehead felt a little woozy. Bringing my knuckles up to my temple, I found a small gash. “Time for a new car, anyway.”

  “You think?”

  “Get in the back. Out of sight. And be quiet.”

  “I can help,” Argos said. “I’m a herding dog.”

  I appreciate the sentiment, but Argos was more of a scholar than a fighter. Whipped up a mean potion, could research the occult with the best of them. But not exactly my first choice for a battle partner.

  Still, there was one way he could lend an assist.

  “Tell me what he smells like.”

  There was a snuffling sound as the bootsteps came closer. “It’s not a troll.”

  “Narrow it down a little further.”

  Argos scrambled toward the back seat, his claws tearing into the foam in the ceiling. If the Cutlass hadn’t been totaled by the impact, it was surely done for now.

  “I don’t know, Kal,” he said, his voice muffled. At least he was keeping my advice to stay out of sight. “He smells funny.”

  I jerked against the seatbelt. Still no dice. Wincing from the bruise running along my chest, I reached for my boot. Time to cut myself free.

  There was the tell-tale click of someone checking their pistol. Hell of a day to leave home without packing heat.

  No one said demons were well-organized. We’re more of the tear shit up type.

  I’d been working on these weaknesses for a while. One of these days I’d get it down.

  If I lived beyond the next thirty seconds.

  Finally managing to extract the blade from my ankle sheath, I quickly severed the belt. A little too quick, because I hurtled to the car’s ceiling headfirst, banging against it.

  “Son of a bitch,” I said through gritted teeth. The knife had skittered to the other side of the car.

  “I remember now, Kal,” Argos said, his voice frantic. “It’s a Marksman.”

  “Shit,” I said, crawling on my elbows toward the weapon. “You’re sure?”

  “It’s all the wards and amulets,” Argos said. “They throw everything off. But it’s definitely a mortal.”

  Fuck.

  My fallback would have been to use the Remkah Talisman on this asshole. But these guys were decked out in so much dampening gear that usually magic—unless it was of the nuclear, total annihilation variety—wasn’t effective.

  Say what you wanted about the Marksmen, but they were prepared. Maybe I could learn something from them.

  My fingers gripped the knife’s handle, just as a cheery whistle sliced through the air. I tumbled into the back, joining Argos.

  “My very first demon,” the Marksman said. “Sensors picked you up. And whatever you got in the passenger seat. That’s new.”

  I tightened my hold on the knife and stared out the shattered back windshield. Argos panted heavily. The boots came into view and then the man stopped. A gun’s hammer clicked back.

  Too much space to close. My brains would be used as cactus mulch if I rushed out. Instead, I grabbed Argos by the scruff of his neck and slid backwards, toward one of the smaller windows. A shot buffeted the side of the sedan, glancing off the frame.

  “Come out and play, demon,” the man said. “You’ll look great with my other trophies.”

  “Not likely,” I said, scooting backward towards the driver’s side back window. This one was still intact. I kicked it out and pushed out into the broiling sun. We were on the opposite side, shielded by one mangled heap of former car.

  But playing hide-and-seek wasn’t going to keep me and Argos alive for long.

  “You can run all you want, demon,” the man said. “I got patience and backup on its way.”

  A shot blew through the open windows, about two feet from where were huddled outside against the window frame. Moving anywhere else would expose us. The car’s back end hung a couple feet off the ground. Easy shot, even for the over confident.

  I clutched the Talisman and made the call.

  Time to reach out for help.

  I channeled my energy, allowing my essence to interact with the Remkah’s stored essence. This wasn’t an offensive spell to use against the Marksman. His wards and magical armor pretty much locked the area down and weakened the strength of my spells to BB gun pellets.

  So I was sending up a magical SOS—a flare to whoever was listening on the Council or the Conclave. I had to pray that they wanted me alive enough to show up express.

  A burst of light shot out of the emerald stone, rushing across the desert at lightning speed. Then, as quick as it had come, the magical flare went out.

  Fucking magical dampeners. Out here in the middle of nowhere, the chances of anyone hearing that pitiful signal was like waving your arms in the middle of the raging Pacific.

  Whenever I think things can’t go from bad to worse, I’m always wrong.

  A hot breeze whipped through my hair. Argos shook, his ears itching from the sudden gust. After this long, it was going to end like this. Next to a smoking beater, with my best friend. To a Marksman.

  Not that these guys were pushovers. As mortals went, they were formidable. Crafty and ruthless. After the Inquisition blew over—if that’s the correct phrase—some people weren’t so convinced that supernatural creatures were a myth. The Order of the Marksmen formed, a group of fanatics bound by one creed: to rid the world o
f its supernatural scourge.

  Most people thought they were crackpots.

  But anyone with essence running through their veins knew better.

  Pieces began to fall into place. This had their fingerprints all over it. I’d been too focused on the reemergence of old enemies and problems to even suspect the Marksmen.

  Not that I had a lot of time to think.

  A gunshot blasted the soil nearby, almost catching me in the finger.

  Argos hopped into my lap.

  “Shit, you really did pee,” I said, as his wet coat rubbed against my T-shirt.

  “We’re not gonna die, aren’t we, Kal?”

  “Not if I can help it,” I said, not feeling hopeful. I squinted in the direction of the flare, hoping that a group of Fae would suddenly emerge from the ether spitting white magic. No such luck. Apparently my plea had fallen on deaf ears.

  The Marksman’s boots crunched in the crusty desert. “This has been fun, but I believe it’s time for you to die.”

  Metal clasps jangled as he hunted for something.

  “He’s gonna blow the car,” I said, keeping my voice low. “You up for helping?”

  Argos shook in my hands. “Can I take it back?”

  “You want that copy of Origin of the Species?”

  “I guess.”

  “You’re the decoy,” I said.

  “Why?”

  The Marksman cursed and dropped something.

  “Because you’re harder to hit and you’re faster,” I said. Then I explained the plan to him as quick as I could. He gave me a short, if uncertain, nod of approval, and hopped out of my arms.

  “I don’t want to go back to the Underworld, Kal,” Argos said, his long snout looking serious. “It’s cold down there.”

  “I know. It sucks.”

  Then he raced away from the busted car, across the empty desert, hauling ass away from the sedan’s tail end. The Marksman yelled, surprised by the sudden action, and fumbled with his gun. I watched Argos kick up dust, his legs burning at high speed across the open plains.

  “Stupid fuckin’ dog,” the man said. “Knew there was something to him.”

  A shot rang out.

  That was my cue.

  My fingernails tearing into the knife’s handle, I jumped up from the dusty ground.

  “Hey,” I yelled.

  The Marksman was caught between two choices. He froze, unable to pull the trigger again, his hatred wanting to kill us both with a single shot. His eyes gravitated toward the knife in my hand, and they grew wide.

  The gun began to swing my way, and I brought the blade up and snapped my wrist.

  He grunted and fell straight back into the dust.

  No more shots came.

  Cautiously, I edged around the ruined vehicle to check on him.

  Right in the eye. Not a bad throw. I dug the knife out, whistled at Argos, then took the guy’s gun. I didn’t doubt he had backup, although they were probably a way’s out. Whatever they were doing around the Four Points, it wasn’t to guard an old crime scene. They were probably just scouting who came sniffing around the honey pot.

  And I was the stupid asshole who had stumbled into their net.

  Argos came racing back, kicking up dust like a little black and white ATV. He skidded to a halt right before my legs and panted, his tail wagging.

  “Did I do good?”

  “You’re a regular hero,” he said.

  “I don’t care about that stuff,” Argos said, but his tail beat against my leg so hard I thought I was going to get bowled over.

  A thin bead of sweat trailed down my cheek, reaching my mouth. It tasted of salt and copper, having mixed with the blood from the wound. I looked around. There was nothing for miles.

  Then, as luck would have it, Athena the Goddess Killer came hurtling out of the sky, shooting up dust.

  “Kalos Aeon,” she announced. “Imagine my surprise that the half-demon was begging for help.” Her eyebrows rose when she saw the body on the ground.

  “No such luck,” I said, nudging the dead Marksman. “Thought you guys might want to know about this little problem.”

  She seemed less surprised than I would have expected. No one liked seeing Markmen. They’d been pretty quiet, recently. And now they were back.

  But apparently I was more interesting.

  “You have continued your investigation.”

  “Maybe I took a wrong turn.”

  She instinctively reached for her sword, the bronze blade gleaming in the harsh Texas sun. Should’ve thought about who would answer the call when I sent out that SOS. Sometimes the cure was worse than the disease.

  Beating Athena in one-on-one combat was an impossibility. Anyone would be a fool to try, even if they had no other option. Suicide was preferable and quicker.

  I noticed that Argos’ tail had quit wagging.

  Then a funny thing happened.

  Athena took her hand away from her weapon and ran her fingers along her golden braid. An unmistakable aura drifted from her being, across the empty desert. Powerful, dark. A warning signal.

  “The hours are ticking, Kalos,” she said, taking one more look at the felled Marksman. “You have our thanks for eliminating this problem. So you will get a pass for defying us. But only one stay of execution.”

  Athena looked past me, at the smoking car.

  “You could use a lift,” she said.

  “Any suggestions?” I glanced at the Marksman’s truck, which had rammed the sedan. Its front tires were jammed up into the frame.

  Probably wasn’t going street legal.

  Athena reached into her back pocket and extracted a leather pouch. Moving quickly—not as nimble as a vamp, but still startlingly fast—she spread it around the car. The smoke began to dissipate, and the metal popped out with loud bangs.

  As a final display of her power, she took hold of the car’s hood and, as if she were picking up a feather, flipped it upright in the desert.

  “One pass, Kalos,” Athena said. “I suggest you take it.”

  “Lot of people have been giving me orders the past couple days.”

  “Maybe you would be wise to listen for once, half-demon,” Athena said. “For I do not want to battle you.”

  Then, in a cloud of dust and smoke, she disappeared, screaming off to the heavens—or hell, or wherever she resided.

  I glanced back, where the dead Marksman had been only seconds before. His bloody imprint remained in the cracked soil, but other than that, it was as if he hadn’t existed. I wondered what horrible tests the Crimson Conclave would use to gather more data about this threat.

  Stuff I didn’t want to think about.

  “You’re not going to leave,” Argos said, walking up to my side. He cocked his head at me, eyes not blinking.

  “You know me too well, old friend.”

  “I hope Nadia is hot underneath those clothes,” Argos said, trotting toward the back and hopping inside the open door. “Would suck if her boobs were saggy.”

  “It’s not about that.”

  “Maybe a little bit,” Argos said.

  “It doesn’t hurt.”

  I gave a final glance over the simmering landscape.

  What was it about, then?

  Maybe proving to myself that, after all these years, I was more man than demon.

  13

  I found the crime scene. It’d been scrubbed clean, other than a few drops of blood that Argos followed without finding anything. Total dead end. But the appearance of the Marksmen, while an unwelcome wrinkle, did give me some new ideas to work on.

  Could be they were sick of being the crackpots of the world. If even the Illuminati enthusiasts think you’re nuts, that can really sting. And they were sadistic enough to twist the knife on the supernatural r
eveal.

  We drove back to Inonda in silence, reaching town at around the time normal folks got off work. I wasn’t one for convention, but rest did have an allure.

  Looking dusty as all hell, me and Argos stumbled up the walk to the apartment.

  I entered to find Nadia, streaming sweat in a sports bra and sweatpants, furiously scrubbing the couch.

  She gave me a smile as I walked in, then her expression darkened. I tossed my leather jacket on the now clean couch and surveyed the premises. Better job than I’d ever done, and she’d been here for all of a few hours.

  “My god, what happened?”

  “The bad guys lost,” I said, with a weak smile. Ignoring the rest of the questions simmering in her eyes, I walked straight toward the kitchen. In one of the cheap plastic cabinets, I found the handle of whiskey and poured myself a drink.

  Then I thought better of it and poured a double.

  Feeling every year of my age, I walked stiffly to the table and sat in the rickety chair. The liquor was gone before Nadia could even join me. Luckily I’d had the good sense to bring along the entire handle.

  Argos trotted off to the bathroom, probably to take a bath. The water started, and she raised an eyebrow.

  “Did your dog just turn on the water?”

  “He likes baths,” I said, with half a mind to just explain everything to her right then. Keeping secrets takes a toll on a man over the years. It sucks sitting on a gold mine—the biggest news of everyone’s life—and being unable to tell anyone. Unless you wanted a stake through your heart or a fire lapping at your snitching ass.

  It was enough to make me wish I’d kept the Marskman alive. Just to shoot the shit for a little, talk about the strangeness in the world. Or maybe I just wanted to direct the rage boiling beneath my skin against someone who deserved it.

  Nadia’s fingertips brushed against my dirty cheek. “Let me help.”

  “I don’t think anyone can help me,” I said. “Something I gotta do alone.”

  My phone rang in my jacket. The gap between me and the couch was about six miles, so I let it go to voicemail. Whoever was on the other end felt the need to leave one, and the device chimed to let me know.

  “You’re not getting that?”