1
TEN
“If you’ve a taste for rattlesnakes,
you’d best be an eagle.”
—Caine Deathwalker
I burst into the cafeteria, leaving the rest of my companions to catch up when they could. I expected Shiva and Holy to arrive soonest, with Thorn close behind—not that I could afford to wait. If the nagi-ghost made it out some gap in the boards, or through a broken window somewhere, recovering the necklace would be a challenge.
The yellow-green ball of spectral light sped in a circle, shooting past wall after wall. Teresa and Malevolence stood in the center of the room, just watching. I saw no sign of Christie.
Clifford and Crusher came out of the kitchen area with armloads of can goods. They put them on the serving line and chucked them at the ghost. The missiles thudded off the walls. Some of the strikes came close; others missed by yards. Clifford’s tosses were particular wobbly.
I guess can-chucking isn’t his sport.
He pulled back a jumbo can of sliced peaches and heaved it like a shotput, screaming. “This will teach you to possess the woman I love!”
“Passionate,” Malevolence said.
“Good for ratings,” Teresa said. “I couldn’t have scripted anything near this good.”
I yelled at Clifford and Crusher. “Hold your fire, I’m going in.” I needed wings. I could have grown dragon wings from my back, but that would take a while, and give away too much of my true nature to those here—and those watching in the monitor room.
Plan B, then.
I called on my shadow magic. Darkness pooled into my palms, obedient to my will. I put my hands together, mingling the darkness, shaping it.
The last flung can clipped a wall camera, dropping it to the floor. The nagi-ghost turned and took a course toward the kitchen. The necklace trailed the ball of light, a fluttering tease. I needed to have perfect timing.
I crouched, a martial arts stance with a low center of gravity, knees deeply bent. The shadow force I’d summoned grew into an extra-long katana; technically an ōdachi. The gently-curved five-foot blade was poised to strike—and strike I did, jabbing upward.
The ghost ball was cut in half. Stalled, the ghost halves wobbled overhead, the pieces dimming with lost energy due to the damage I’d inflicted.
The necklace fell at my feet.
The ghost halves extended filaments that tied together, pulling themselves back into one piece again, but the shock and loss of strength I’d caused made it fade out, going immaterial until it could recover.
I reabsorbed my shadow sword, bent, and retrieved the snake-tooth necklace.
By then Shiva, Holy, and Thorn were crowding up to me. Teresa slipped out of the cafeteria. She probably wanted to see the recordings made by the cameras. Clifford and Crusher were going around, rounding up the stray cans.
Malevolence pushed through the throng of women and came up to me. “What happened to that long-ass sword?”
I offered her a practiced expression of puzzled innocence. “Sword? What sword?”
She glowered. “I know you had a sword. Where did it go?”
“Oh, that sword. I put it in my invisible sheath. That’s why you can’t see it.” I slapped the air near my right hip and pantomimed running my palm along something hanging there. “I never leave home without it.”
“Wise ass,” Shiva muttered.
I shook my head. “No, all of me is intelligent.”
“What are you going to do with that necklace?” Thorn asked.
“Sleep on it. Something will come to me, I’m sure.”
Holy gave Thorn a sweeping stare. “I still don’t know who you are.”
“Thorn,” Thorn said. She didn’t elaborate.
I guess that’s my job. “She’s a friend of Deedee’s from just down the road. Make her feel welcome. I have her on retainer and she’s under the protection of our clan.” My glance slid to Holy. “You stay with me. Shiva, you stay with Thorn at all times. Clear?”
“Clear.” Uber-spirited, Shiva went rigid, all but saluting.
Holy shrugged. “Whatever.”
Malevolence draped an arm over Thorn, whom she still thought of as a younger girl, believing the fey glamour. Thorn’s face warmed with the attention of her musical idol. Malevolence said, “Hey, let’s have a girls’ only sleep-over. We’ll use my room. I’ll just kick Dad out. He can find somewhere else to sleep for the rest of the night.”
Like a hospital, maybe. I wondered if he were still passed out in the hall outside Lillian’s door, in need of burn ointment. Oh well, not my problem.
“Not much of the night left,” I said, “but I can use a little sleep myself. Holy, c’mon. You’re with me. Shiva, if something happens, stay with Thorn, but give me a call.”
She nodded. “Right.”
I headed across the cafeteria with Holy beside me. She asked, “Where are we going?”
“To find Christie. I’m betting her room will have all the creature comforts I need.”
“She’s probably already using her bed.”
“She can share,” I said.
“So what do I do? Just stand around and watch you two sleep?”
“That’s your job, right?”
“Now that we have two targets to protect, we need more people on this detail.”
I stopped outside the cafeteria. “You know, you’re right.” I pulled out my phone and speed-dialed a number. The connection finally went through.
A female voice broke from the earpiece. “Caine? Do you know what time it is?”
“Hi, Izumi. I need you to portal here right away.”
There was a delay. I heard the sound of her shifting on her bed, then the sound of a lamp switched on. “Where are you calling from?”
I told her. “How soon can you get here?”
“What’s in it for me?”
“What kind of a question is that? You’re my sugarplum fairy, aren’t you? I seem to remember a coronation and everything.”
“Yeah, and my mom keeps wanting to know when you’re going to manage to knock me up. She wants grandchildren.”
Kids are delightful, when they belong to someone else. “Having kids requires a great deal of sex, you know. Too bad you’re not here.” I hung up on her and put the phone away. “That will probably work.”
“How are you still alive?” Holy muttered.
I slanted her a killing stare. “You said something?”
“No. Nothing at all.”
Moving toward the stairs, I shuddered at the thought of a bunch of rug-rats with my DNA running amok in the world. It would be the end of civilization as we know it. The idea made a zombie apocalypse sound like a really good idea.
We went to the floor with the monitor room. I figured Teresa kept her crew handy to that location, separate from the stars on the first floor.
Passing the monitor room, my heightened dragon-half hearing easily picked up Teresa’s voice—more of a delighted cackle at first. “This is pure gold. This is going to be our best season yet.”
I paused outside the door to gather intel.
A male voice said, “No one’s going to believe some of this stuff isn’t CGI. Damn, even I don’t believe we captured this without a blue screen.”
Teresa cackled again. “As long as the ratings are good, who cares?”
I could smell old traces of Christie, but nothing fresh, telling me she was off duty. I moved on until I smelled her scent strongly through a side door on the left.
“Here we are.” I put my hand on the knob.
“You’re not going to knock? Just barge in?” Holy asked, frost in her voice.
“I’m being considerate. She could be asleep.”
“Then the door will be locked.”
I tried it. The door was locked. I used a little extra-human strength. The trim of the door gave way before the lock itself shattered. I raised my voice in mock surprise. “Oh, look! The door seems to be broken. Good thing we’re here to kee
p her safe.”
“Wild coincidence,” Holy deadpanned. “Guarding you is turning into a real education.”
“That’s because only my life matters. Ask any social justice warrior.”
I went in and made room for Holy to follow. The air smelled of dust bunnies, burnt metal from a soldering gun, and Christie of course. The space was windowless, large, with one corner hidden by four-sectional rice-paper screens. I assumed a bed was in there. I heard the voice of a TV and saw its light through the screens. Christie was the type who enjoyed watching TV in bed.
Another corner had a rickety dresser that looked like it came from a thrift store. Above it hung a four-foot Chinese paper lantern, a frosty orange color. It cast Halloween highlights across the walls and the work-tables occupying the center of the space. Three metal, backless stools were there in case of company. The work-tables were loaded down with tools, electronic components, and a coffee maker. I also saw a stack of steamer trunks. Something told me those contained her cosplay props.
Just outside the screens, against the wall, a small refrigerator hummed quietly. It was the mini kind of fridge used at many colleges. The power cord plugged into an orange extension cord that poked through a hole drilled in the baseboard of a wall. Holy peered about with the same curiosity I displayed, taking a few more steps in than I had. This let me close the door behind her.
The floor wasn’t exactly level. This caused the door to swing open a little now that the frame was broken. I fixed that by grabbing one of Christie’s screwdrivers and wedging it under the door so it stayed where I wanted it, ensuring privacy.
Holy crept on cat-feet across the floor, somehow avoiding creaky boards. She stuck her head through a gap in the screens, and pulled it back out. Facing me, she mouthed the words, “She’s asleep.”
I walked over. The floor groaned with my movements. I brushed Holy out of my way.
She whispered. “Why is she sleeping in a Power Ranger costume?”
“What makes you think she’s not a real Power Ranger? You’re a real demon, as unlikely as that seems.”
Holy used her normal voice. “Not everything on TV is real.”
Christie spoke in her sleep. “Is, too!”
We both looked at her a moment.
Catching Holy’s gaze, I told her, “Go down to Lillian’s room. Outside her door, there should be a basket of fey wine, three bottles. Bring them here. If any are missing, hunt them down and break the thief’s fingers.”
“I’m not going to do that!” Holy said.
“Some demon you are. Are you sure you’re cut out for this profession?”
“Just because I like people to like me doesn’t mean I can’t kick ass. I just like having a good enough reason.”
That made my head hurt. “Just go.”
“Fine.” She stomped off, and still the floor didn’t creak.
Weird. Maybe she’s half angel. Holy moved the screwdriver, went out with it, and put it back under the door to keep it closed.
I went inside the screens. Christie lay on a twin bed, on top of a fluffy pink comforter. A little electric heater warmed the closed-in space. A nightstand at the foot of the bed held a 13.3 inch LED HDTV. An old black-and-white movie played. And Christie was indeed wearing her black Power Ranger costume.
I shed my clothes so that all I had on was a smile and the snake-fang necklace. The talisman might prove useful. I often experienced weird-assed dreams, events that later proved real. I couldn’t control this ability, but I thought it couldn’t hurt to wear the necklace to bed.
You never know.
As I stood at the edge of the bed, Christie rolled onto her back, her eyes in the mask slitting open. “I have to warn you, stranger, even though I have compassion for your understandable obsession with my perfect virginal body, I’m not going to make it easy for you to take me.”
Kneeling at the edge of the bed, I leaned over her. “You’re a virgin? I find that unbelievable in this modern age.”
“That’s my story, and I’m sticking to it.” Christie’s voice went husky with need, and muffled by the mask she wore. Lying there, she assumed a battle pose that somehow failed to intimidate me. In a final act of provocation she wiggled cupped fingers in a come-and-get-it motion.
My grin widened. I straddled her. My cock engorged. “Fine, if that’s the way you want it.”
She pumped a gloved fist into my chest with the enraged might of a rampaging hamster.
I laughed. “You are strong, Ranger, but my lusty loins will not be denied.” I snagged her wrists and pinned them to the bed. Using one hand for this, I freed up my right hand, gripping the costume at her neck.
“Damn you,” she said. “Too … powerful. I can’t fight … free!”
“Yeah, I hate it when that happens.” Rippppp! I tore the cloth from chin to crotch, laying nubile flesh bare.
She gasped, loudly. “Oh, whatever will become of me?”
I gripped a rosy-nippled tit and squeezed firmly, managing another sinister laugh. “Oh, you’ll get accustomed to me, if you survive the first dozen orgasms.”
Then Holy was back, a stool raised high to bash out my brains. “You beast!” she cried.
“Hey, that’s my line.” Christie said.
1
ELEVEN
“Playing with fire is always fun,
until the Fire Department arrives.”
—Caine Deathwalker
The ass-destined end of the stool dropped toward my head. I punched the seat with dragon strength, imprinting my knuckles in the metal. There was an explosive pop of impact followed by the stool flying over Holy’s head.
“Ka-tang!” Christie yelled, adding a sound effect of her own.
The stool hit high on the far wall, half embedded there. I heard drywall breaking, pieces of it splattering to the floor.
Holy staggered back and fell on her ass. “Ouch!”
I hissed at her. “This is role play, idiot. Get a grip and get outside the door. See that I’m not disturbed by people who might have heard the ruckus.”
“Yeah,” Power Ranger Christie said. “I don’t mind being raped, but doing it in front of people is icky.”
I figured—without the protective barrier of the mask—Christie would have reverted to customary shyness already. Anonymity was her brand of courage.
Staring at Christy, Holy looked like a puppy that had just been kicked. “Sorry, I thought … I thought...”
I sighed. “Just go.”
Holy picked herself up and scurried away. And I still didn’t hear the damn floorboards creak or groan under her feet. The girl walked like a ninja; she was the one who needed the Ranger costume.
I put my hands on the bed and leaned in to stare into Christie’s eyes through the holes in her mask. The snake-fang necklace swung between us. I smiled. “Now, where were we?”
I couldn’t see her smile, but I heard teasing in the tone of her voice as she pulled my lips to her exposed breasts. “I’ll let you figure that out, you vile beast.”
* * *
For some reason, I dreamed of hot molten cream drizzling from the heavens. Fluffy whiteness splattered to the ground as if the Mother of all Pigeons were seeding the clouds. One huge glob hit the haunted mansion, covering a third of the roof, creeping down the back of the building in gooey runnels, adding a sugary flavor to the night winds.
I wondered if there were a giant ark nearby where the faithful would be loading aboard animals of every kind, hoping to survive the Marshmallow Apocalypse. Yeah, I knew this was a dream. What else? And, no, knowing it was a dream didn’t kick me out. Most of my dreams were nightmares and they never—easily—gave me up.
Pleasured moans emanated from the nearby chapel. Apparently I was revisiting the site in my sleep; only this chapel was in perfect condition. The stained glass filled every window, dark eyes that returned my stare. The outer walls were intact, smoothly coated with white paint. That meant that I was not only asleep, but occupying a vision of the
distant past.
This was what I had hoped might happen. The same psychic mechanism had provided answers in Santa Fe where a ghost girl had put me on the trail of a serial killer. I was a long way off from making this ability reliable, but for now, I’d take what I could get.
Note to self: talk to Thorn about how I can develop this power more fully.
I approached the side door. It opened by itself as I reached it. I crossed the threshold and stood listening in the gloom of night.
A young woman spoke, “Giles, did you hear something?”
“Only the pounding of my heart, love.”
“Are you sure you locked the door?”
“Positive.”
Yeah, but this is my dream.
I closed the door behind me, taking in the scents of the room: furniture polish, bee’s wax, and horny teenagers. I heard the sound of fumbling fingers and rustling cloth. The girl said, “Wait, I’m not sure I’m ready.”
“But you know I love you, Rhonda. I want you. I need you, honey. You’re everything to me. Tell me you believe in us, too. I know you want this as badly as I do.”
“But what if I get pregnant?”
“Oh, that can’t happen the first time. It will be okay. I’ll just pull out before I cum.”
I snorted softly to myself. Yeah, that never goes wrong.
I ghosted along the wall, passing the stained glass windows as I headed toward the stage. The sounds were coming from the choir benches, near the baptistery.
An interesting choice for fornication.
I stopped at the front pew. Surely voyeurism wasn’t the reason for this dream, not when I could be reliving memories of my own legendary conquests. On a hunch, I went on. An inside door and a short passageway took me to the back hallway. That in turn led me to the basement door.
I found it open a crack. Young female voices spilled out, a droning cadence. “Puer nobis ad inferos. Ipsaeque matres et daemonium habes.”
Demon Lord 6: Garnet Tongue Goddess Page 8
