Opening the door wider, I tested the air from below. Despite the ritual chanting, I didn’t smell magic. That meant that either the girls were playing at being witches, or they really sucked at it. Good thing too; from what Latin I remembered, they were calling forth an incubus.
Descending the stairs, I entered a pagan temple of sorts. Ridged, plaster columns, painted white, were spaced along the left and right walls. They supported red cloth banners the color of fresh arterial blood. On top of every third column were red candles that struggled to push back the darkness. The space was the same size as the sanctuary above.
I walked past where the old false wall had been. At this point in time, nothing had been walled away; no bodies—or secret temple—were concealed. I followed a red runner on the concrete floor. The chanting grew louder as I approached five girls in white sheets.
At least it’s not a meeting of White Lives Matter More.
The girls paraded around a couple of crates that supported a twin mattress with a brown blanket: an impromptu altar. Another girl lay there, naked, hands tied, a cloth across her mouth. She was wide-eyed and mouthing guttural sounds. Somehow, I didn’t think she’d volunteered for this choice assignment.
One of the girls was a little taller than the others. She let her sheet fall, showing off a insubstantial chest and a long cascade of midnight-black hair. Their leader, she carried a Latin primer with handwritten cheat sheets inside that she frequently consulted, throwing out phrases that the others mindlessly echoed. Their pronunciation nearly made my ears bleed.
“Daemonium in colubrum, Lamia alumni exaudivit nos!”
Damn, she’s invoking Lilith, Queen of Demons, Adam’s wife before Eve. This will so not end well.
These amateurs were one grammatical error away from opening a gate to hell, or Pittsburgh maybe. I had a very bad feeling. There are spells that professional magic users aren’t insane enough to try, spells that the stupid rattle off like their own Last Rites. These girls were just that stupid; calling up a demon to share its blood and make them demon queens, too.
Idiots. There are no shortcuts to that kind of power.
The other girls dropped their sheets but the endless circling continued. Despite the nakedness, I wasn’t turned on. These girls were barely budding. They needed more time on the vine.
Moving closer, I tried to get a better look at the girl on the make-shift altar. It seemed likely that she was the mother-to-be of the nagi child; at least, that’s where the ceremony seemed headed.
The moving bodies kept blocking my view.
I willed myself to rise in the air, and found myself floating languidly several feet in the air. In better light I thought the girl on the altar might turn out to be strawberry-blond. She had a stubby nose and freckles, maybe a year younger than the other girls. And there appeared to be some kind of brace on her lower right leg, maybe polio, or a congenital birth defect.
The chanting finished. The circling stopped.
The leader of the coven leaned over the altar to whisper, an evil smile on her face. “Don’t worry, Kayleigh. I’m going to keep my promise. Your leg will be fixed. You’ll be the queen of the ball. Giles will be smitten by your grace; true love will conquer. Having a demon baby is a small enough price to pay for all that. Tell my brother the child is his and he may even marry you, if he doesn’t run for the hills.”
Giles? Ah, yes. The Romeo upstairs, putting another notch on his pew. A sordid tale of lust, magic, and betrayal on so many levels. I wonder if Kayleigh knows he’s up there.
Something moved in the shadows along the far wall, something that hadn’t been there a moment before. A tall black man with a shaved head and very thin eyebrows glided through the shadows, approaching the altar. He was naked, human from the waist up, snake down below. His stomach descended into beige bands of muscle. His sides were patterned with dusty green, olive, and black scales. I saw no reproductive organs. Probably sheathed safely inside his body until needed—some things are better not dragged on the ground.
Wide-eyed, several of the girls gasped in surprise, stumbling aside. A few of them shrieked, trembling. I guess they hadn’t really expected the spell to work, just a dark-of-night thrill; an out with the girls party. The weak magic probably wouldn’t have brought a response if the naga hadn’t already been in the area.
He stopped at the altar, his green-lit gaze stabbing the sacrificial offering with interest. His gravelly, deep voice emerged. “Hello, little sparrow.”
One of the girls snatched up her sheet and bolted, hauling her wiggling ass toward the stairs. It started a chain-reaction. In a moment, only the leader, the intended victim, and the naga remained to entertain me.
The naga lifted his face to where I hovered like a wingless angel. His green eyes flared brighter. His lips stretched in a travesty of a smile with no warmth. A flicker of garnet, his serpentine tongue tasted the air, seeking prey.
He sees me?
Time stopped for the girls, but not for Snake-Eyes and me. The naga spoke. “This is not your time and place. Be gone, little demon. We shall meet soon enough.”
Little, huh? Little?
“Fuck you,” I said.
“You’re not my type.” He raised a clawed hand and made a dismissive gesture. Suddenly I smelled his demon magic, the bitter melon scent of wormwood. A savage wind kicked up from nowhere. The girls remained statues, but I was hurled backwards, slammed across the basement, into a wall. Pain stole my breath as I sank into the wall, my turn to be buried alive.
* * *
I came awake gasping for breath, feeling icy cold, like death not warmed over. I couldn’t move my legs. Staring at the ceiling, I tried to roll off my back. It was like swimming with concrete galoshes. My heart pounded, desperate to break out and fly free.
“What the freakin’ hell?”
Half turned in the bed, I noticed Christie was gone. Her scent was stale; she’d been gone a while. On the plus side, the basket with the fey wine bottles was there. But first… I looked down my body. My legs were white with a bluish tinge.
“Fuck! A poison-magic attack? From a dream?”
No, more than a dream. The naga and I had been spirit-walking in the same pocket of disjointed time. I wondered where he really was, and how often he revisited that dream. It had been a lot more his than mine.
We’ll meet again, Snake-Eyes, on my terms, and I’ll be ready for you. I could taste his cold blood already.
Golden eyes opened in the back shadows of my mind. My inner dragon bared white fangs and fanned leathery wings. He was fully awake—and pissed. He roared at me. What the hell did you get us into this time? Without my dragon blood, you’d be dead. We’d be dead.
“Shut up,” I told myself. “A lot of help you were, anyway.”
I looked in the basket and one bottle was missing. The remaining two were green glass with homemade labels pasted on with a cute logo: pictures of a little pixie with tiny bumble-bee wings. She stood on a dandelion core that bled fluff into the wind, green saw-tooth leaves behind her. She had the same kind of white fluff for hair. The bottles were crowned with gold foil screw-caps. I broke the seal on a bottle, hearing a soft snap along the perforations. The herbaceous scent of dandelion wine flavored with raisins escaped the bottle.
My inner dragon stared. We’re half-paralyzed. Is this really the time to get drunk?
“Can you think of a better time?”
There was silence in my head for a few seconds, then an answer came. Good point.
1
TWELVE
“I am committed to vengeance
because everyone needs a hobby.”
—Caine Deathwalker
Halfway through a bottle of fey wine, the feeling in my legs returned, that annoying pins-and-needles prickling of awakening nerves. This didn’t surprise me; I was resilient due to my genetics, and the fey wine served as an unnatural restorative as well. The only drawback to my half-dragon metabolism was that it kept me from getting drunk t
oo easily—I really had to work at it.
After a while, my legs lost their poisoned blueness and obeyed my will as I ordered them to move. I managed to sit up on the edge of the bed and finish off the bottle. It went back to the basket I set on the floor near my piled clothing. I picked up my clothes and began to dress.
Beyond the screen, I heard the door open and soft padding footfalls. Christie said, “I’ll put some coffee on. Just be a few minutes.” I saw her passing the gap in the screens. She wore a silk robe: black with green lily pads and pinkish lavender flowers on it. Her hair was wrapped up in a turban. She smelled fresh from the shower, the scents of shampoo and body wash clung to her. I smiled. The scent of Holy also clung to her. My bodyguard had found it necessary to enter the shower with her and, um, guard Christie’s body very closely.
Apparently, Christie’s willing to let just anyone rape her. I’ll have to ask Holy if she left any bruises.
Carrying a small can of ground, generic coffee, Christie walked back past the gap and never once looked my way.
How soon you’re forgotten when the bee moves on to another flower. Ah well, I can at least have fun tormenting Holy for stealing my girl.
My grumpy inner dragon nodded in agreement. We saw her first. Ours!
It was my turn to nod in agreement. Another first for me: my first starring role in a rape fantasy. I wasn’t sure how I felt about that.
Dressed, steel-toed boots on my feet, I stood, finding my balance compromised only for a moment as I picked up the last bottle of dandelion wine from the basket and left the walled-off bedroom.
On the workstation, Christie’s coffeemaker burbled to itself. Waiting on high-rise stools, the girls sat very close, leaning into each other. Their eyes were locked, their lips about to be. In a new change of clothes, her hair wet, Holy reached out and teased Christie’s robe open. Christie didn’t object, not even when Holy’s hand found other things to do inside the robe.
Tech-girl gave out a needy little whimper.
Perfect timing.
I made a little noise with my feet, staggering a little as I passed them. The girls jolted a little, reminded they weren’t alone. It was funny; I’d recently fucked Christie and had certainly seen all of her, but she closed up the robe in sudden modesty. I felt her eyes on me as I headed for the door.
“Drunk!” Christie made it an accusation.
“Actually not,” I said. “I’ve only had one bottle of fey wine, and while that’s enough to kill a human many times over, what I’m really suffering from is demon venom—and the betrayal of a bodyguard stealing my girl while I lay recovering from a magical attack she didn’t protect me from.”
I sighed dramatically as I reached the door, leaning there a moment as if I really needed the support. I used a toe to dislodge the screwdriver on the floor that was keeping the broken door shut.
I said, “Oh, Holy, be on the lookout for a naga. I don’t know where he is or when he’ll get here, but we’re uncovering secrets he probably doesn’t want disturbed. And his poison magic was potent enough to mess with me while I was spirit walking. Another thing, you really suck at your job. This will so not look good on your performance review when we get back. You’ll probably get transferred to housekeeping. How good are you at making beds? Never mind. You’ll learn. By the way, you wouldn’t happen to know anything about a missing bottle of wine, would you?”
I didn’t wait for an answer, wobbling out into the hall. From there, I headed off, firming up my stride.
My inner dragon thumped his tail. That was fun.
“Yes, it certainly was.”
The monitor room was silent. I didn’t stick my head in to see who was on duty. Moving on, I took the stairs down to the first floor and made my way to the cafeteria. Morning sunshine made the place look cheery. Lillian and Deedee were in the kitchen, hard at work. I smelled biscuits, ham and eggs, orange juice, and coffee.
My inner dragon stilled, nostrils flaring as if he could take in the smells without using my senses. He rumbled, unless that was my stomach. He breathed two words with great reverence: Pig meat!
Still clutching my bottle, I got in line for a plate, returning waves from a table where Rooster—still a little singed—sat with his daughter Malevolence. Thorn and Clifford were at the table, too. Crusher and Teresa weren’t in evidence. I stood behind Shiva, waiting for her to move on with her food. Having nothing else to do, I studied her fine ass.
Note to self: make sure all future bodyguards are into guys so they won’t poach my conquests.
After a moment of woolgathering, I realized that Shiva had acquired her plate and had turned, seeing me. I lifted my gaze slowly, scanning her shapely terrain. She would be a scary fuck. With stone magic, she could accidently break me off if I were inside her while she climaxed. The prospect terrified, but the danger also had a certain allure.
“What?” she said.
“You know, you are really beautiful.” I said it sincerely, but her eyes narrowed suspiciously because she knew me. Her face warmed with a blush.
“Don’t play with my heart. I will kill you dead.” She moved on to the others. They pulled over a chair so she could join them. It looked like I’d be sitting by myself.
Like a knife, a new voice stabbed out. “Caine! There you are.”
I caught Lillian’s eyes. “I’m going to need another plate.”
Turning, I watched Izumi’s approach. Her beauty was exotic, landing like a punch to the guts. People think because I have my own harem, that I don’t fully cherish all the women in my life.
My inner dragon snorted. It’s a poor collector that doesn’t value all he owns.
I nodded. I know, right?
A wave of cold air hit me just before Izumi reached me. Her arms wrapped tightly around my neck. Her heart-shaped face pressed against mine. Her high cheekbones held the palest of blush, making her look like a perfect doll. The kind you’d want to fuck. Not that I had to resort to that. I wrapped my arms around her, returning the embrace, careful not to drop my bottle.
When I’d first met her, she’d been masquerading as a Japanese Snow Woman, a kind of Asian demon. She’d been on the run from her mom, a fairy queen who’d wanted to drag her home to a shotgun wedding.
Now that Izumi was mine, she didn’t need a disguise, but she’d grown fond of the illusion and used it most of the time. Her perfect, pale skin was real enough, but her hair—long, straight, and black—concealed a snow white mane. Icy eyes also hid under a fey glamour. What I actually saw were large, black pools you could drown in. Five-foot nothing, a hundred and five pounds, she could freeze a man’s blood in seconds, but had a smile that could thaw him out just as fast.
She was smiling now.
Lillian cleared her throat. “I’ve got your food here, lovebirds.”
Izumi released me. “Great, I’m starving.” She snatched up some silverware rolled in napkins and grabbed two small glasses of orange juice for us.
I brushed the frost off my chest, stuck the bottle under an arm, and took the two offered plates. “Thanks.”
Lillian smiled. “Any time, my lord and master.”
That caused Izumi to stare grimly at me. “Spreading yourself around, I see.” She followed me to an empty table where I put the plates and the bottle down, and noticed that those at other table had fallen silent and were staring at my guest.
Rooster stood, glaring the hardest.
Thorn put a restraining hand on his arm. “Winter fey, be careful.”
He ignored the warning and yelled at me. “How the hell do you get all the hot women? It isn’t fair!”
I grinned at him. “Yeah, I know.”
Rooster dropped into his chair.
Ignoring the disturbance, Izumi sat down, scooted my fork and napkin across the table to me, and dug into her food. As she chewed, she rolled her eyes heavenward in delight. I picked up my fork, combining ham and eggs in one bite. Mmmm, good!
A moment later, Shiva was at our table, edgin
g in between Izumi and me. The women locked stares. Shiva spoke over her shoulder to me. “This is the extra support you called in? I don’t remember seeing her around the clan house.”
“Backup, yes,” I said, “demon, no. This is Izumi, a queen of fairy, and heir to the Winter Court.”
“Ice magic?” Shiva said.
Izumi inclined her head a moment in acknowledgment, then lifted a questioning eyebrow, canting her head. “Stone magic?”
“Yeah.” Shiva stuck out a hand. “Pleased to meet you.”
Izumi smiled, shook the hand, and shifted her gaze to me. “Take good care of my ‘lord and master’ here. I’m the only one who gets to kill him.”
I grabbed a buttered biscuit off my plate. “I hear that all the time.”
Shiva said, “He’s got me watching Thorn. I need to get back to her.”
“Thorn?” Izumi said.
I ignored the question in her voice, addressed my underling. “Shiva, get some eye protection from Christie, and tell Holy to stop moping and get down here.”
“Eye protection?” Shiva echoed.
I nodded. “I’m expecting an attack from a naga that uses poison magic. Your skin should protect you, but…”
A fierce look overtook Shiva’s face. “Understood. I’ll be back in a couple minutes.” She headed for the door.
“You seem a little more mature,” Izumi said. “Power becomes you.”
“You don’t have to suck up,” I said, “unless you really want to.”
Izumi said, “Caine, who’s Thorn?”
I looked at the other table, saw that Thorn was all eyes and ears, riveted on our conversation. I wiggled a finger at her. She got up and came over. Surprisingly, so did Malevolence.
I took a drink of O.J. and used the glass as a pointer. “That’s Malevolence and this is Thorn, human and fey.”
Izumi’s dark eyes held Thorn’s gaze. Izumi asked, “What court are you from?”
“No court,” Thorn’s voice trembled slightly. “I’m from a free village.”
Demon Lord 6: Garnet Tongue Goddess Page 9
