It’d been months since the old thing had rang. At this point, it had more use as a prop than as a business tool. The shrill tone continued well past four rings. No answering machine. Way old school.
I walked over to the corner and picked up the receiver.
“Hello?”
“I have information on the problem in your town.” The line was filled with static.
“Who is this?”
“You go to Tina Chen’s event tonight, you will perish,” my mystery caller said. The light accent sounded familiar.
“That so? Well, Nostradamus, you gonna introduce yourself or—”
“Edge of town. Near the vagrant shantytown. The closed down Soft Walk Deli. You know the spot?”
“I can find it.”
“Eight. Come well dressed.”
“I thought you said I’d die—”
A click announced that the caller had disconnected. After breathing into the receiver for a couple seconds, I hit *69 and waited. A digitized voice played back the phone number, which I furiously tapped into my smartphone.
Instead of calling back, I ran the number through a reverse-lookup service.
Staring at the results, a little smirk creased my lips. “Interesting.”
It seemed my mystery caller wasn’t such a mystery at all.
I shut down the app and sighed. My dance card was getting crowded, and with less than four hours to go, I’d need a miracle to get everything ready in time. But that was why I’d come to the office in the first place.
Diving through the rusted file cabinets with gusto, I found what I’d come for a few minutes later.
The polished jet square gleamed softly in the single-bulb office light. About the size of a pack of playing cards, it was a little favor from an old associate.
After close to eight hundred years, it was time to cash it in.
12
“Your tailor do night calls?” I asked as I sat next to Gunnar on the Porsche’s hood. We overlooked the reconstruction of Lux, about a mile from the town’s limits. Inonda was too small to hold the monstrosity that would be the reborn blues club.
“You have a date that I do not know about, my friend?” Gunnar smoked an e-cigarette and watched the last workers file into their pickup tricks. He nodded along, as if he approved, his golden hair bobbing across the tailored shoulders of his immaculate suit.
Smoking never really did it for me. The vamp loved it, ever since mortals had started hand-rolling tobacco. Then again, if you couldn’t die of lung cancer, maybe it was more appealing.
“Something like that.” I took out the piece of jet to show him. “Desperate times, you know.”
A plume of vapor wafted past my ear. “It must be desperate, for you to dress up.”
“You hear about this shit around town? The woman on the lawn? And the receptionist at the precinct?”
“I did not hear about the precinct,” Gunnar said. “I presume you know something I do not.”
I briefly explained the encounter Nadia and I had survived with the wendigo.
“I understand why they have not told the reporters,” Gunnar said, unfazed by the news. Then again, wendigos weren’t nearly as scary to vampires as they were to demons. Formidable opponents, sure, but not almost guaranteed death in a hairy, foul-smelling package.
“Makes sense,” I said. “The public is already on edge. I think I saw a snowflake the other day.”
There was a drawn out silence while Gunnar puffed thoughtfully on his e-cig.
Finally, I said, “You’re from a cold place. Any ideas?”
“I have not seen anything like this,” Gunnar said. “Although I have encountered wendigos before.”
“Any tips?”
“Don’t let them catch you, demon,” Gunnar said with what almost passed for a smile. “She was not so lucky.”
“You knew the victim?”
His frosty eyes flashed at me quizzically. “You did not hear?”
“Hear what,” I said, an uncomfortable feeling rising in my chest. It wasn’t Isabella trying to blast my organs into mush, but it was unpleasant all the same.
“It was Diana the Fae on that lawn,” Gunnar said, somewhat indifferently. “The woman from the Sol Council who—”
“I know damn well who she is.” Who sent me on that damn goose chase with the kidnapped wolves created with light essence. “Was. You heard that on the radio?”
“Through channels. It has been quite some time since we had a political fracas.”
“That’s a new word for you,” I said.
“I am nothing if not a man of the world.”
“Could just be a murder. No strings.”
“That, I believe, is wishful thinking for us all.”
“Can’t blame a man for optimism.” I extracted a plain flask from the folds of my jacket and drank heavily, whiskey dribbling down my chin. As if there weren’t enough problems for one day, someone was trying to start a supernatural war.
And pale little Diana the Fae had been the first casualty. Hopefully she wasn’t important enough for this to be an Archduke Ferdinand redux.
“Do you not need to be sharp, Kal?” Gunnar gestured at the whiskey. In defiance, I took another small sip. “Demons are already rather…disadvantaged against a wendigo.”
“Unlike some of us, I can handle my liquor.”
“My constitution when it comes to the devil’s wine is delicate.” He almost smiled again. That was about as friendly as the handsome bastard got. “But can you handle what is coming for you?”
“If you have any tips from the frozen wilds, now’s the time.” It was half the reason I’d come—any sort of intel on the creature bringing winter to Inonda would be welcome. The other part was that I had no idea how to dress myself for a formal affair.
“As they say,” Gunnar replied, blowing a hazy cloud into the dimming night, “if you have to ask, you’ll never know.”
“Wonderful. Think you can help with this auction?”
“What attire is required?”
“Whatever the hell black tie is. I’m not a man of wealth and taste like Argos.”
“Yes, the dog is an interesting one.” The vampire pocketed his electronic smoking device and slid off the hood. “He is better equipped than the angel Lukas to deal with Isabella’s spells.”
“You’re right.”
“Then my question stands,” Gunnar said. “The dog is superior in the art of potion crafting. Why use your shiny stone on this?”
“I’m sure he’d be stoked to hear your testimonial.”
“I am honest,” Gunnar said, the bare skin around his open top buttons literally shimmering in the setting sun. His beauty regimen had to put even the sharpest woman’s to shame. The guy was obsessive, even after all these years. “He is still a coward, however.”
“Argos is busy with research.” I scratched my cheek, staring at the massive pit in the Texas desert. It was difficult to even imagine the new Lux—or who would visit it way out here. Not that Gunnar really cared that much. The club was part money-laundering front, part palatial estate.
He had earned it, as far as I was concerned, with the way he had bailed me out before. Worth every drop of essence.
“It is strange, to see a dog reading.” His back straightened, and I heard his fangs click.
“What is it?”
“Coyotes.”
“Oh,” I said, rolling my eyes. “I need to get going. Ex-lovers trying to kill me and all.”
“This is why I do not date witches,” Gunnar said, his leather chukkas padding softly along the asphalt. “Too much baggage.”
“That ship’s sailed. All I can do is damage control.”
“You could always kill her.”
“You know I can’t do that,” I said.
“She will be the end of us all.”
“I’ve been hearing that a lot lately. Considering I’m first in line, I don’t really understand why everyone else is so damn concerned.”
Gunnar sized me up, his ice-blue eyes assessing my build. “I will have formal attire ready for you at eight. Where shall it go?”
“The Soft Walk Deli.” I grinned as he raised an eyebrow. “I told you, desperate times.”
“I hope you know how to use that thing if you are traveling there,” Gunnar said, with a quick nod toward the .45 in my waistband. “That won’t fit in your tuxedo.”
“Why I only wear t-shirts.” I walked to the driver’s side door. My fingers lingered on the handle. “So you think it’s a bad idea?” I held up the polished jet.
“It is a wonderful idea. Angels never fall for a reason.”
“Your objections and sarcasm are duly noted. Get me something dapper.”
“I would not do otherwise.”
I got into the car and set the GPS for the Soft Walk Deli. No one went there unless they had to. Before pulling the emergency brake, I had a slight change of heart and gave myself a two block cushion.
After all, I didn’t want my not-so-mystery caller to see me talk with angels.
13
Seven o’clock, and I only experienced slightly concerning pain on the ride over to the declining part of town. Isabella was slacking. Or I was made of tougher stuff than anyone believed. The buildings in this section of Inonda made my office look like the Ritz. At least there was a consistent architectural aesthetic—crumbling and decrepit.
I heeded Gunnar’s advice, exiting the car with my .45 at my side. I shivered; the heat wave must have decided against visiting the edges of the shantytown. Unfortunately, a more sinister explanation was afoot, one linked to the frozen bodies and revived cannibalistic beast.
I clutched the magical jet calling card that would bring Lukas rushing down, like a genie from the sky. The edges of the hard stone bit into my palm. But my grip remained tight, since it was the only thing that would prevent my heart from being pulverized.
The symbolism of the literal heart attack was hard to miss. It was fortunate that, perhaps, she was a little on-the-nose about the whole thing. Crazy tends to breed tunnel vision: there were other ways of getting at me.
Although it dawned on me that, without my blood or DNA, perhaps our essence bond was the only way to snipe me from afar.
Unfortunately for her, my response was going to be absolute.
There was one particular reason I hadn’t asked Argos to work on her blood, like I had the last time. I needed something nasty. And while you might think of angels as halo-wearing beacons of light, the truth was a little murkier. As an angel, you had relative carte blanche to travel through a number of restricted access locales. Like how a roadie gets a backstage pass to all the biggest shows, this access was strictly for work.
But that meant they could travel freely between various places that even I couldn’t normally get to.
The Underworld.
The Plains of Eternal Woe.
Agonia.
The Fae Plains.
Any magical destination, they could pay it a quick visit. Which meant that if you needed something not available on this mortal coil, an angel’s services could be very valuable indeed.
And that was also how angels became fallen angels. Running black-market barter schemes was a sure way to piss off the Sol Council and get yourself shunned. But you could amass a healthy collection of in-demand goods before anyone ever knew.
Which is kind of what I needed right now.
“All right, you bastard.” I took a final look around the narrow street. No sign of life—not even a stray cat hissing. That suited me just fine. Better this be done in private. I placed the .45 on the convertible’s hood and gritted my teeth for what came next.
I had to sign the calling card. This was a favor for me, and for me only. Lukas would not answer another’s call. Which meant blood.
Taking the sharp edge of the stone, I sliced through the skin on my palm. Dark blood flowed freely around the shiny black surface. Nothing happened, but then, I didn’t expect it to.
Not until I slammed the jet down against the concrete.
The stone burst open like a grenade, bathing the block in orange light. Luckily, this was all for show—angels had a sense of theater long before Broadway or even the Colosseum existed. I grabbed the .45 while the light show dispersed.
A shadowy figure stepped forward. I looked for the wings—if the stories got one thing right, it’s the damn wings—but couldn’t see them.
“I always wondered how these things worked, Kalos Aeon.”
Something was wrong.
Yeah, something was really wrong. Because I’d recognize that mellow voice anywhere. And it sure as hell didn’t belong to Lukas, or any other angel I knew.
My response was a pistol shot into the ether. It ricocheted harmlessly off a burned-out streetlight at the end of the block. I dove over the convertible’s hood, landing on the sidewalk.
“It’s not very smart, Kalos, to contact old associates who your enemies might know.”
“Fuck you Marrack,” I said as I scrambled away from the car. An electrical burst sizzled over my head, sending the sign for an old dry cleaner almost down on my head. I rolled over on the broken concrete and hurried to my feet.
“That’s not how you should treat the man who holds your fate in his hands.”
“Fuck you. I’d rather die.”
“I bet you would.” Marrack the Demon King emerged from the hazy swirl of smoke. He brushed at his designer pants with disdain and adjusted the cuff links on his fitted shirt. His eyes glowed orange with demonic anger. Combined with his lean musculature, he cut an impressive image. I’m sure Gunnar would appreciate the sartorial flair. But Marrack was really missing his audience with me. All I saw was a giant asshole. “I know you, Kalos.”
“You don’t know shit,” I said, aiming the .45 at his eyes.
“Do it.”
Didn’t have to tell me twice. I pulled the trigger. His face blurred slightly as he dodged the projectile with ease. I emptied half the clip at him anyway. None of the bullets found their mark. He smiled defiantly after I finally stopped and lowered the gun.
“I assume Lukas isn’t coming.”
“We thought you might phone a friend again. Delphine caught us off-guard at the gas station. Best that sort of thing doesn’t happen twice.” His eyes glowed so bright I had to look away. With the extra essence from my distilled magical haul now running through my veins, I figured I could take a couple shots from him with the Remkah Talisman’s assistance. But there was a reason he was the Demon King and I was just a half-demon. “And so, we’ve been eliminating lifelines. Old friends. Associates. The same as you did to us while we were…away.”
Marrack’s right hand came up and launched a fiery burst across the ground. It stopped just short of my boots. But then, that was his intention. Always dramatic, always swinging his big demon dick around like a childish jackass.
“It was getting cold, anyway,” I said, not moving. I made no indication that I intended to use my own magic. I’d shoot myself in the head before my soul became as empty as his.
“You’re like me, Kalos,” Marrack said, tilting his head toward the sky. “I made you.”
I winced, briefly recalling his teeth tearing into my rib cage more than seven thousand years before. “It was a cup, Marrack. You could let it go.”
“It was a drinking chalice, you ignorant swine,” he screamed, the sense of cultivated European cool disappearing in an instant, “and you have humiliated and wronged me repeatedly for centuries.”
“How is Agonia this time of year?” I said, scratching my thigh with the barrel of the .45. Marrack looked ready to go apoplectic.
I only had to hold out for another minute or two. These angelic transportations were temporary, sustained purely by magical energy. More conventional means of travel were required to traverse long distances permanently.
“You will see a fate worse than that,” Marrack hissed, keeping his emotions barely in check. “The reason you are not dead is because you will suffer. That is your true destiny, Kalos Aeon. To suffer at our hands.”
“But I’ve suffered tons already,” I said. “It sucked when I went to Agonia.”
“You have never been to Agonia.”
“What do you mean?” I gave him a pensive look, even stroking my chin for effect. “Ah, my mistake. That wasn’t me. See, we’re so much alike that I get our lives mixed up—”
A massive chunk of concrete rose from the street and sailed toward my chest. With a truly epic effort, I leapt out of the way of imminent death. Slamming against the road wasn’t pleasant. But I smiled grimly when I heard the block of road demolish a small building down the street.
Footsteps pounded across the deserted street. With the wind knocked out of me, I struggled to get up.
“You will see what an Earth ruled by a demon king can be,” Marrack roared. I could sense the aura in the street darkening, energy being sucked away from everywhere. I shut my eyes. It was a better fate to die than to see him become King of the Universe. “I know about your journal. It will be mine.”
“Kill me now.”
“Ever the funny man. No wonder the Conclave considers you an embarrassment to dark magic. Athena’s pet, they used to say. I said no, this is not the Kalos I have known. But I see you on the ground, and perhaps my minions were correct.”
“If I’m an embarrassment and helped put you away for a thousand years, what does that make you?”
“A fool.” The aura of the street darkened further—more hopeless than I’d felt since 979 A.D. All signs of life had vanished from the immediate area. Then the light went out, leaving me alone.
I breathed a slight sigh of relief. A minute later, I rose unsteadily to my feet. The street, already crumbling, looked even worse for wear—a feat I didn’t believe possible. Scorching already ruined soil seemed excessive, but you don’t get a reputation for being an asshole for the ages by reducing only meadows to ash.
Blood Frost (The Half-Demon Rogue Trilogy Book 2) Page 7
